Collision Course: A Romantic Thriller

by Susan Donovan

  “I have no idea, grandfather.” Ruben mumbled. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Old Gallegos laughed hard at that and gestured for Ruben to return to the table. He put a hand on his grandson’s forearm. “Ruben, she doesn’t know who she is. You don’t want to know who you are. I don’t think this will be a good marriage.”

  Ruby cradled his forehead in his hand. “I’m not getting married, grandfather. Can we change the subject?”

  “Our people always know exactly who we are. There is never any doubt.”

  Ruben nodded silently.

  “I pray for your mother’s spirit every day.”

  Ruben looked up to see the old man’s eyes water.

  “It was the greatest trouble of my life, that she turned her back on me after your grandmother died, that she grew to hate this part of herself.”

  Ruben sighed, touched by the pain in Gallegos’ eyes. “Grandfather, she didn’t hate it. She just loved the life she had in the city with Dad. She loved her painting and her teaching at the University. She was a very happy person.”

  “But she did not speak well of us.”

  “She hardly spoke about the Pueblo at all.”

  “That is even worse.”

  Ruben shook his head. “How have you been, really? Are you keeping busy?”

  “Of course,” he said, squinting at Ruben. “You look more and more like your father with each year. He was a fine-looking man. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I am sorry they died and left you, Ruben, but it’s good you have Frank. A man can’t be alone in life, no matter how nice his job is.”

  Ruben smiled at that. “Grandfather? Would you like to show Zia around?”

  Old Gallegos moved at a pretty good clip as he walked them through the plaza. Each time someone passed through the dusty Middle, they would nod politely to him, squint hesitantly at Ruben, and stare at Zia.

  “Hey, Joe.” A man in a white straw cowboy hat and wind breaker gave a friendly nod to Ruben’s grandfather. Then he stopped.

  “Joe? Is this Antonia’s boy?” The man stared at Ruben, then at Zia.

  “Ruben, do you remember Paul Archuleta?” Old Gallegos stretched his arm out toward the man.

  “Of course! Hello!” Ruben saw Archuleta startle at the sight of Zia, who smiled politely. He introduced them and they shook hands.

  Archuleta put a hand firmly on Ruben’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time, Ruby. I don’t think I ever got to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your mother and father.”

  “Thank you.”

  They talked for a few moments before he said, “You have a nice visit, now,” and went on his way.

  Just then a group of girls walked by, giggling and whispering, their eyes on Zia.

  “Am I doing something wrong?” she asked Ruben, taking his hand and moving closer.

  Ruben shot her a lopsided grin. “Not sure if you noticed, but the visitor center is closed today. And it’s obvious you’re not from here.”

  “Oh.”

  “And there’s something else.”

  “What?” She looked at him, worried.

  “It’s just that you’re so beautiful it makes people nervous.”

  Zia closed her eyes and pressed closer against him. “Do I make you nervous, Ruby?”

  He laughed. “Oh, hell yes.”

  One of the first stops was at the remodeled ruins of the San Geronimo mission, which old Gallegos said was built in 1598, about sixty years after Coronado first ventured into pueblo land.

  “The name for our home was Towih, which was too hard for the Spaniards to pronounce, so they called it Taos.” Gallegos looked up at the white cross on top of the adobe bell tower. “Outsiders have been trying to tell us what to do ever since.”

  Ruben rolled his eyes at Zia. “Hang on. Here comes your guided tour.”

  Zia smiled and joined Gallegos in front of the church. “I saw the petroglyphs, Mr. Gallegos. Ruben was telling me about the Pueblo symbols and how important the land is to you.”

  He chuckled again. “That’s true. Our story is the story of this place. We were always joined together.”

  Gallegos turned to Zia and studied her. “Your eyes remind me of my wife’s. They were beautiful enough to take me from my place.”

  Zia blushed.

  Old Gallegos linked his arm with hers and they walked ahead of Ruben, past the church and toward the mountains.

  “She was Anglo. Like you. She was a schoolteacher who came out to teach the Indians. We met in 1955.”

  Zia nodded. “You must have loved her quite a lot.”

  Gallegos didn’t laugh at her this time, only closed his eyes in concentration, as if trying to remember the details of a face he had not seen in decades. He held on to Zia’s arm for balance. “I’d never met a finer woman, and I never will.”

  “Was it difficult for you both?”

  He nodded. “Nobody married Anglos back then. I lost my right to live here at the Pueblo. We moved to town. After we were married five years, she earned a place on the tribal roll, but never really felt comfortable here.” He looked at her. “Do you know that Ruben is enrolled here, that he has full privileges as one of our people?”

  “No. What does that mean?”

  “It means he could participate in our spiritual ceremonies. It means he’s one of us, if he ever wants to admit it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ruben caught up with them, unsure if he would be rescuing Zia or interrupting her.

  “Love,” Zia said, turning toward him, all smiles. “Just love.”

  Gallegos made them a supper of chili stew and tortillas, and walked with them through the Middle and to the outside wall.

  “Can you come back tomorrow?” Gallegos asked.

  “We can’t. I’m sorry grandfather.” Ruben placed a hand on Gallegos’ arm. “I promised I’d take Zia back to Albuquerque and try to find out who she is.”

  He nodded, catching Zia’s eye. “That’s a brave thing to do, Ruben. I’ll be thinking of you, and praying for you both—that you each come to know who you are.”

  He reached out his hand toward Zia. “Here. These are for you.”

  In his palm were a pair of delicate silver earrings in the now familiar Zia pattern, the circle of the sun with four sets of rays pointing in each direction.

  “I know the lady who makes these for the tourists. I thought you might like them.”

  Old Gallegos yelped in surprise when Zia hugged him tight.

  “Thank you for a wonderful day, Mr. Gallegos. Thank you for making me feel so welcome.”

  He chuckled at her.

  Zia’s hands were clawing at the buttons on his shirt before he’d even closed the hotel room door. In seconds, she had his belt unclasped and her hands cupped around his bottom. She steered him toward the bed, where she turned him around and set him down.

  Zia admired him, disheveled, unbuttoned and dazed. “You’re so adorable, Ruben.” She reached down and removed the glasses from his face and placed them on the bedside table.

  She backed away from the bed then, and watched with pleasure as he lengthened and hardened under the open fly of his jeans.

  Ruben laughed. “Hey, if old Indian men have this effect on you, we can go back to the pueblo tomorrow.”

  “Just this particular handsome, one-quarter Indian man,” she whispered. “And I don’t think I behave like this in my other life.” She tossed her hair as she removed the black leather jacket and kicked off the boots.

  “I don’t think I’m this over-sexed,” she smiled, reaching for the hem of her sweater and pulling it over her head. She wore nothing underneath, and she enjoyed Ruben’s wildly hungry expression as he figured that out.

  Slowly, she brought her hands to her breasts, and cupped them, watching Ruben’s eyes go wide. She brushed her fingertips over her nipples, which immediately sprung to life. She pulled and pinched and drew circles for him. Then she slid her hands
down the front of her body and into her jeans.

  Ruben’s eyes followed her hands and his cock jumped in his lap like a fish out of water. Other than that, he was unable to move.

  “I don’t think I’m usually this bad,” she said, opening the snap at her waist and pushing her hand completely inside. She gasped at the touch of her own fingers. Her head fell back and her eyes closed. “I’m almost sure of it,” she breathed.

  Ruben was frozen, amazed that she stood there, just beyond his reach, pleasing herself, one knee bent slightly to part her thighs.

  She suddenly brought her head down and looked right at him, her eyes darkened with longing. “Ruby?”

  He nodded, unable to speak.

  “I need your help now.”

  He was up. His hands were at her hips and her jeans were on the floor. He brushed his fingers upward from her knees, over the top of her thighs, her stomach, over her breasts, to her neck. He stopped there briefly, encircling her throat with his fingers, her beautiful face turned up to him, then he moved his hands into her hair.

  Ruben kissed her lightly, teasingly. He nibbled her lower lip and her chin. He left a soft kiss on her earlobe. “Tell me exactly what you need,” he whispered. “Tell me everything.”

  A laugh escaped her throat and she abruptly shoved his jeans down to his ankles. She stepped back and watched him shed the rest of his clothes.

  “You want to know what I need?”

  “I do.”

  “I just need you, Ruby.” She let her fingers trail down his belly. “Everything you can give me. Everything you are. I want that.”

  Before he knew what hit him, Zia jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands gripped at her thighs.

  “Give it to me now,” she whispered.

  His mouth reached for hers and they devoured each other with slick, rough kisses. Then Ruben clasped her bottom and moved her up and out from his waist. He made a slight adjustment and brought her back down where she belonged, run through, his.

  “Oh, God, yes…” She moved on him as he supported her weight in his hands.

  Ruben turned in a slow circle, pushing into her, watching her turn on his axis, ask for more, clench down upon him.

  She leaned back and held on to his shoulders. “Dance with me Ruby,” she called out, smiling, her hair falling back into the air.

  Chapter 11

  Thursday, March 23

  A terrible dream woke Zia before dawn. She went to the motel bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at herself in the mirror.

  Hello, sweetheart.

  The memory of that voice sliced through her, sharp and icy. It left her sick with fear. Her heart began to pound. She continued to stare.

  The man was there. The truth was there, ugly and horrible and coming fast now…

  “Zia?” Ruben nuzzled behind her and wrapped his arms around her naked body. She watched in the mirror as he pressed his cheek to her hair. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. The confusion and dread raged inside her. She blinked. What was she doing with this man who embraced her like this, with love? She should be running. She should be hiding. What was she doing here?

  She pressed her eyes closed and felt the tears run hot down her cheek. She remembered it now. She was on the motorcycle headed to the house she’d leased over the Internet in a town in the middle of nowhere, but where? Where?

  She was going too fast on the motorcycle… way too fast… but she was too upset to pay attention. Why wasn’t she more careful? She had been thinking about blood, about death…

  “Oh!” Her eyes flashed open at the feel of him behind her, nudging the tender cleft between her legs. She saw his reflection in the mirror and gasped at the beauty of his face and the intense desire in his dark eyes.

  And suddenly he was taking her again, holding her hips in front of him, entering her over and over again. She watched the whole drama play out in their reflections, his breath hot on her neck, the flames shooting through her with his rhythmic demands.

  “Do you like this, Zia?” he asked her, his whisper at her ear and his eyes locked on hers in the mirror.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Now he was kissing her up and down her spine, still inside her, still taking what he wanted from her. She began to whimper, and his hands went around to the front of her body, and his fingers pushed down until they were swallowed by her heat, until they found the exact spot.

  “Ruben!”

  Ruben Jaramillo. Oh, God, what had she done? Oh God, what was she doing? She had no business with this man. There was no room for him, for them, for the power of what she felt.

  But he took more from her, and she kept watching. His face was filled with greed and sadness, and his eyes flashed at her in the mirror until she could not bear it another second…

  “No!”

  She pushed hard against him and pulled quickly forward, ending forever his possession of her. No more. Never again.

  She ran into the room and found her clothes on the floor. The jeans, the sweater, the leather jacket, the boots. Had she really undressed in front of him like that?

  She clasped the bundle to her body and began to tremble – she was on fire from his touch, from his needs! She had let him claim her, and worse yet, she wanted it—she wanted to be his! Oh God, she could never be his! What had she done?

  Ruben was suddenly there, his arms around her, very tender and loose, requiring nothing.

  “What did you just remember?” he asked softly. “Tell me.”

  But she couldn’t tell him, because there was nothing to tell. Because in an instant she had remembered everything yet gained nothing new. She saw it, felt it, knew the truth of herself and the man who lied to her, but none of the details.

  She shook her head against his chest.

  “Zia?”

  “I’m not Zia,” she said bitterly. She pushed him away and began to yell at him.

  “I’m not the woman in this motel with…with some man I hardly know! I’m not like this! I don’t go to bed with strangers! I don’t…” she waved her hand at where she stood and lowered her voice in shame. “I don’t masturbate in front of men. I’ve never watched myself in the mirror with a man! I’ve never has sex on a kitchen table! I’ve never felt like this! This is not me!”

  She fell to her knees and cried.

  Ruben fell to the floor with her.

  “Oh yes it is,” he said simply.

  She looked up, startled, then angry. “How the hell would you know?” she shouted.

  Ruben couldn’t help himself. He smiled at her until he thought his face would break. “How would I know?” he asked softly.

  “Yes! How the hell would you know the first thing about me? About who I am?”

  Ruben’s hands came slowly to either side of her face. He took in the fierce pale blue eyes and the tears, and he threw away his promise to himself.

  “You’ve shown me who you are, and I love that woman—I love you.”

  “No…”

  “And I don’t give a damn what your name is or where you live or what you’re running from. I know you anyway. I love you. And nothing else matters.”

  She was breathing hard and the tears would not stop.

  Ruben leaned closer to her, his hands still cupping her face. “That’s the truth and you know it. Now tell me you love me, too.”

  She blinked and gulped in air. He felt her body go limp. “How did this happen?” she moaned.

  He grinned at her. “We crashed into each other, remember?” He kissed her with a series of gentle tugs and nudges before he pulled back to look at her again. “Now tell me you love me so we can get on with this.”

  “Get on with what?” she smacked his hands away, angry again.

  He smiled sadly. “I want to show you how much I love you, at least once more, before it all falls apart.”

  She stared into his face, so full of yearning and affection. Her hand reached up to him and she traced a trembling f
inger along his bottom lip.

  “There’s one thing I’m sure of… I’ve never loved anyone before. Just you.”

  They were nearly back to Albuquerque when Zia woke up, lifting her cheek from the truck’s cold passenger side window.

  The first thing she saw was Ruben, humming quietly to himself as he drove, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. The rich warmth of his skin glowed in the light. His profile was straight, clean and strong.

  The next thing she saw was the face of the other man – narrower, wholesome, and ruddy. His eyes were a greenish gray framed in light lashes and his hair was brushed back off his face in reddish blond waves.

  It was a face that smiled at her.

  It was a face that lied to her.

  Brad. His name was Brad. She saw the sword in his hands. She saw many different swords in his hands, but why?

  Their apartment had high ceilings and overlooked a busy street and the lights of a city. The windows were tall and narrow and were framed in white brocade draperies that puddled down onto the polished wood floors. She saw the shiny black of the baby grand piano, and the fireplace, and the big white bed where they slept. There was a long, thin glass vase of calla lilies by her pillow.

  “Hey, sleeping beauty. You’re awake.”

  “Sleeping beauty,” she repeated, staring out the window. Her lips began to tremble, and then she screamed – she brought her hand to her mouth and screamed again.

  “What? Shit! What is it?” Ruben nearly drove off the highway.

  “I just saw him,” she yelled.

  “Saw who?” Ruben shouted. He looked out the window, unnerved.

  “Brad.”

  “Who the hell is Brad?”

  “May I speak with Mr. Bradley Rowe, please?” Olivia cleared her throat and tried again. “Mr. Rowe, please.” No. That sounded too official. She needed to sound casual. “Is Brad Rowe available?”

  The line picked up after two rings. “Bradley Rowe Gallery and Imports, may I help you?”

  She swallowed hard. “Mr. Rowe?”

  “Yes, this is Brad Rowe. What can I do for you?”