A Certain Kind of Hero by Kathleen Eagle Page B

glimmer of something within her tears that told him the kiss was right.
    We can’t let this happen?
    Didn’t she realize it was more than fifteen years too late for that?

Chapter 5
    R aina returned to Pine Lake after spending two days tying up loose ends at home. Her neighbor couldn’t be expected to take care of the place indefinitely, which was exactly the kind of time frame Raina was looking at now. “ Indian time.” It was the leisurely pace Jared had been determined to put behind him when he’d left the reservation. He’d often complained that the stereotypes hounded him—the notion that “Indians” never got anything done on time. That if they showed up at all they were always late. Good workers once they got started, but undependable. Unpredictable. Inconsistent.
    She’d heard all the modifiers and qualifiers, too, and she’d watched her husband try to ignore them whenever speaking up might cause a rift with someone with whom he did business. She’d watched him try to change minds that didn’t want to be changed, to try—without offending anybody—to kick holes in cherished images and long-held assumptions. All he’d gotten in return for his efforts, besides a lot of stress, was theoccasional, presumably complimentary observation, that he certainly had come a long way from those roots of his.
    Roots like Indian time. There had been many times when she’d wished Jared could slow down and smell the roses, maybe rediscover the meaning of Indian time. But he’d set his course for changing times, and he’d followed it religiously to the end.
    He’d left her with more house than she and Peter could manage easily. She’d been inclined to sell it, but friends had advised her not to make any major changes immediately after her husband’s death. Now she hired a lawn-care service and a home-security agency to tend it while she was gone. She couldn’t say how long it would be. All she knew was that she had to stay close to her son. She had to accede to someone else’s terms, to someone else’s schedule—or lack of one. All things in good time. On the reservation, good time meant Indian time. And the reality was that, no matter what her husband had endeavored to be, her son was physically, legally, undeniably, Chippewa.
    But he was also a twelve-year-old boy, and he was hell-bent on acting like one. When Raina returned to Pine Lake, she learned that Peter was “on restriction” for the weekend.
    And, for the first time in over two years, she hadn’t been the one to make the decree.
    â€œWhose restriction?” she demanded. “The court’s?”
    â€œMine,” Gideon said simply as he passed Peter the potatoes he’d helped prepare for supper. “Since my experience with kids is pretty limited, I’m not used to sleeping with one eye open.” He arched an eyebrow over that one eye, and Peter quickly lowered his. “But I’m learning fast.”
    Raina sighed. She’d thought her son had learned his lesson the last time he’d tried using the basement window instead of the door for an exit. “Did you sneak out again, Peter?”
    â€œMe and Oscar did.” He served himself a generous helping of potatoes. “We went to check out the casino, but they carded us, so we just hung out. This place is really quiet at three in the morning.”
    She gave Gideon a look of apology. “I forgot to warn you that Peter is a night owl.”
    â€œI’ve been known to do some hootin’ with the owls myself.” Gideon sawed on his well-done beef with a table knife. “I know all the haunts around here and probably a few tricks you haven’t thought of yet, Peter. So I’m way ahead of you.”
    â€œDid you get grounded, too?” Peter asked.
    â€œDidn’t get caught too often.” Gideon glanced at Raina. “Didn’t have anyone out