Wicked Garden Read Free Page B

forward later.”
    “Didn’t see you in the cafeteria. Did you get a snack?”
    He angled his Denver Nuggets baseball cap toward the carpet. His unlaced high-top tennis shoes swung beneath the chair. “Not hungry.”
    Thomas had more pride than the average twelve-year old. But pride didn’t fill hungry, growing bellies. She unwrapped the Rice Krispie treat and set it on the edge of her desk.
    “Too bad. My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”
    “S’pose I could eat it.” He ate with a delicacy that belied his age and gender. “What’m I doin’ today?”
    Eden pointed to the cardboard boxes on the floor. “Those are the monthly newsletters from the last four years. I want them filed chronologically.”
    Panic flared in his brown eyes. “Chrono-what?”
    “Chronologically. In order of date, January 1999, February 1999, and so on.”
    “Do I hafta read them?”
    “Not all the way through, just enough to put them in the correct order.” Thomas had let it slip he lagged behind his classmates in school. Despite his grumbling, she’d decided to challenge his mind, hoping he’d recognize mental aptitude was as important as physical skills.
    “Can we at least listen to some music? Like KILI?”
    KILI FM was a Native American radio station that played an odd assortment from Powwow music to rap. “Sounds good.”
    “Cool.” He flopped on the floor behind the chair, dumping the box contents into a messy pile.
    Eden turned the boom box on low and sorted through her own stacks. The rhythmic chanting and steady beat of the tom-tom drums made soothing background noise. The music reminded her Jon White Feather, a.k.a. Johnny Feather, a drummer/singer with the Lakota musical group, Sapa, was due to roll back into town soon.
    Jon personified rock star: long black hair, tribal tattoos, all buffalo-leather clothes and warrior attitude. He was a smokin’ hot, sweet-talkin’ Indian who could charm the panties off any woman—and probably had, but Eden didn’t care. They had a great time together.
    With her, Jon could just be Jon, her old college buddy, not Johnny, heartthrob to the Indian nation. With him, she could be Eden, the wicked temptress, not Eden the buttoned-up community center director. Sex was off-the-charts phenomenal between them because neither one pretended it was anything more than two old friends acting on mutual lust.
    Would sex with Billy be that explosive?
    Not helping you concentrate, Eden.
    Twenty minutes later she hit the total button on the calculator and frowned.
    “How is it possible you look beautiful even wearing a scowl?”
    Billy’s gravelly voice brought color to her cheeks. She glanced up—his crotch was eye-level again—and saw he wore thigh-hugging faded jeans rather than suit pants.
    A boyish snort sounded from behind the chair. Thomas leapt to his feet. “Man, that was so lame.”
    “Thomas. Be nice.”
    Billy thrust his hand out. “Billy Buchanan.”
    Grudgingly Thomas accepted the proffered hand. “Thomas Fast Wolf. Billy, huh? Another guy by the name of Billy, Billy Mills , came here last year and talked to us. Ever heard of him?” Thomas recited Billy Mills’s feats of Olympic glory, while Eden stood by with her mouth hanging open. The kid did pay attention.
    “I’m not much of a track and field fan, but I do like the occasional basketball game.” Billy regarded Thomas’s hat. “The Nuggets aren’t as good as the Bulls.”
    Thomas snorted. “The Bulls are a has-been team.”
    “Better than a wanna-be team.”
    “Enough.” Eden directed her attention to Thomas. “If you’re finished sorting, scoot. I don’t want you to miss a minute of your game. I’ll see you same time next week.”
    “Aren’t you comin’ down to watch me?”
    His tone was shy of pleading. Thomas, no stranger to disappointment, rarely asked anything of her. “Absolutely.”
    He treated Eden to a broad smile, but gave Billy a skeptical once-over. “So Mr. Bulls fan, you oughta come down