Indian Country by Philip Caputo

Author:Philip Caputo [Caputo, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-82206-2
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2012-06-06T00:00:00+00:00

June had just finished drying herself when she heard Butternut’s bark, then the front door open, and Chris announce that he was home. His voice sounded odd, warmer than normal, but with a forced, false warmth—the voice of a husband doing a bad job of trying to sound not guilty. Naked, she stood in the warmth of the space-heater, rapidly debating how she should greet him: Should she be accusatory or indifferent? But even as her mind was sorting through these options, her heart impelled her to dash into the bedroom, slip on the pair of midnight-blue panties he thought were sexy, and arrange her hair so it fell in two jet-black lengths over her breasts—which, she suddenly feared, had begun to sag, to look bovine. Down the hallway she heard him and the girls speaking briefly together. Dammit, the kids were still awake. Then he came into the room, and it gave her a rush to see him and to know he was back. Bye-bye, blues. He looked a little wild, his hair tousled by the wind, his face wind-reddened, his eyes wild-looking, too—glittering, kind of, but with what or from what, she couldn’t tell. He reminded her of the day she’d first seen him, the Viking god, and this impression had the same effect on her as it had then; but a new element entered her attraction. His rupture of his habitual routine, which had had her so upset minutes ago, revealed a streak of unpredictability in his nature that now excited her. She couldn’t understand it; she thought she hated unpredictability in men. Neither could she understand why his tangled hair and untamed eyes pierced her with a thin blade of fear, nor why this keen sensation heightened her desire for him. She nevertheless kept herself under control and asked him where he had been. There was no bitchy bite to the question, nor even expectation of an answer. She’d asked it more or less by rote, out of a sense of obligation to her womanly self-respect.

“Looking for you,” he answered, pulling off his sheepskin coat and shutting the door, his eyes never leaving her—which was another strange thing, because his eyes hardly ever stayed in one place longer than a few seconds. “Where did you think I was?”

“I didn’t know.”

He draped his coat on the chair by the dresser and switched off the light. The bathroom light was still on, casting a half-glow into the bedroom that coppered June’s olive skin. “I didn’t know where you were, either,” he said.

“One of my cases was hurt. I had to drive her to the hospital. I called, but you’d already left.”

“Lisa told me. It doesn’t make any difference.” He peeled off his shirt and threw it on the chair, atop his coat. “Everything is going to be all right now.”

She was trying to figure out what he meant by that, but the sight of his lean torso, his muscles twisting like vines under his skin, bemused her. Still,

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