Scraps of Evidence: Quilts of Love Series (21 page)

Before he could say anything, Stu’s voice rang out. “You thievin’ injun, pay up!”

Harold raced past Frankie and Nick, with Stu in pursuit. A wet stain down Harold’s shirt looked suspicious. Frankie fingered the spools of thread in her pocket, wondering if Stu was in a bartering mood as Harold hid behind his mother.

The attendant wagged a finger. “All right, Frankie Chasing Bear,” he said. “That’ll be a nickel. And I’ve got a mind to charge you for the water. That boy of yours is getting to be a real headache.”

Nick gave Frankie a puzzled look, but dug into his pocket. “Here,” he said, producing a nickel. “Indian head, no less.”

Stu took the money.

Frankie pulled Harold around to face her. She spoke in a low, even tone. “You did this?”

Harold looked ready to cry. “No, Ma.” He raised his tee shirt to reveal his waistband. “See?”

Frankie nodded. “Look Stu, my kid didn’t take anything.”

Stu narrowed his eyes. “How do I know he didn’t stash it somewhere?”

Nick stepped toward Stu. “The kid says he didn’t steal it.” He dug out more change. “But we’d like cold ones for the road.” Nick strode to the cooler and brought back three bottles.

Stu glared, but nodded and straightened his cap.

Nick handed a cold, sweaty bottle to Frankie. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t let on, but RC Cola tasted like heaven. She elbowed Harold. “Where are your manners?”

“Thanks.” Harold tipped back his soda and began walking back down the road.

“Harold! Wait!”

But Harold waved her off and kept walking. The kid could be as stubborn as his dad.

Nick brought her attention back. “Let me take you back to your rig.”

Frankie hoped her son’s moodiness wouldn’t embarrass the both of them. “Harold’s got a mind of his own,” she said. “Some days I think one of us won’t live to see Christmas.” She smoothed her bangs with her palm. “Sure, I’ll take a lift.”

Nick smiled too. His forehead and cheekbones had a noble hint that tugged at Frankie. She wanted to ask him which Lakota band his mother was from, was he related to any of the famous chiefs. He tilted his head toward the truck. “C’mon, let’s get that rascal.” He held the driver’s side door open.

Frankie climbed into the cab and slid across the bench seat, still gripping the soda bottle. Nick got in after her and started the truck. When he slammed the door, she picked up a whiff of sage.