by Pamela Clare
He raised his beer, took a swallow, set the bottle down again, his conscience refusing to leave him in peace. "I'm sorry, Kat. I had no idea she was going to show up here like that. What she said to you--she was way out of line."
Back to avoiding eye contact with him, Kat dabbed her lips with her napkin. "She seemed very upset that you'd broken up with her."
"I didn't break up with her. We were never together--not like that. We had an arrangement. She wanted more than I could give her. I ended it. She doesn't mean anything to me. Hell, we barely know each other."
His words sounded incredibly shallow, even to his own ears.
Could you have possibly said anything more crass, dumbass?
Kat met his gaze, her hazel eyes seeming to see through him. "So you slept with her, but she doesn't mean anything to you?"
"That's not what I meant." Yeah, it is. That's exactly what you meant. "We did not sleep together."
"I saw how it was when she was here." Kat put her napkin down and stood. "I guess I should thank you for stopping when you did. I'd be devastated if I'd made love with a man and he treated me that way. Thanks for supper."
She turned to leave the kitchen.
"Kat!" Gabe was on his feet, blocking her path, drawing her into his arms, relieved when she seemed to come willingly. He ran a finger over the curve of her cheek. "It wouldn't have been like that, not with you. If we'd had sex--"
The doorbell rang, stopping him from saying God only knew what.
"That must be Marc." She drew away and hurried off to get her things.
Gabe opened the door and found a man about his own age. With shoulder-length brown hair and wearing a faded denim jacket, the man stood tall enough to look Gabe straight in the eye, and Gabe was certain he'd seen him somewhere before.
"I'm guessing you're here for Kat." Gabe moved aside to let him in.
The man stomped the snow off his boots and stepped inside, sizing Gabe up like a big brother who'd found a stranger sniffing around his little sister. It made Gabe wonder whether Kat had mentioned their little make-out session when she'd spoken with her friend. And why did the bastard look so familiar?
The man held out his hand. "Marc Hunter, Denver PD."
And then it clicked. This was the son of a bitch Gabe had spent three weeks chasing through the mountains in the dead of winter, the son of a bitch whose face had spent the better part of a month hanging on Gabe's office wall--on a wanted poster.
"Gabe Rossiter, Boulder Mountain Parks." Gabe shook Hunter's hand, giving back as good as he got. "I busted my ass trying to bring you in."
"It's lucky for both of us that you didn't find me." Hunter glanced about, obviously looking for Kat, his gaze falling on a climbing harness that Gabe had overlooked on the hallway floor. "You're a rock jock, huh? I bet that helps you out when it comes to scrambling up the east face of the Third Flatiron and shit."
"No, not the east face of the Third." You prick. "But it did come in handy when a couple of guys got stuck in a freak blizzard climbing the Diamond on Longs Peak not too long ago."
Hunter's eyebrows rose a notch, and he nodded. "Thanks, by the way, for saving Kat's life this past summer and for stopping that son of a bitch who pulled her hair. I'd like to kick his ass."
"That makes two of us."
And then Kat was there, already wearing her coat and ready to go. She looked up at Gabe, tears shimmering in those guileless eyes of hers. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you did to help Grandpa Red Crow today-- and for being there for me. Walk in beauty, Gabe Rossiter. Hagoonee'"
As Gabe watched her climb into Hunter's Jeep Cherokee and disappear down the snowy road, he wondered how long it had been since he'd walked in any way that even remotely resembled beauty.
CHAPTER 7
KAT WATCHED THE lights of the city glide past the window, as if in a dream, Marc driving in silence, seeming to understand that she didn't have the energy just now to talk about what had happened. He'd already made it clear that he and Sophie expected her to spend the night at their house.
"You shouldn't be alone tonight," he'd said. "No arguments. Got it, kiddo?"
"Got it." She'd smiled at the no-nonsense tone in his voice, his words more protective and brotherly than anything any of her brothers had ever said to her.
Sophie had married a good man.
Sophie was waiting for them at the front door. She greeted Kat with a silent hug, then settled the three of them in the family room with cups of steaming hot tea, little Chase already fast asleep in his crib. Then she and Marc listened while Kat told them about meeting Gabe at Mesa Butte, hiking up the butte and finding first Grandpa Red Crow's truck and then his body.
As the words poured out of her, she found herself telling them things she'd never told any of her I-Team friends before--how her mother, brothers, and sisters had rejected her almost from the moment she was born, why she'd left the dinetah, how much Grandpa Red Crow had done to help her adjust to life off the rez, introducing her to Lakota ceremonies and ways of life, bringing her into his family, helping her to make peace with the life she was living--and the life she'd left behind.
"He was like a father to me," she told them, unable to hold back her tears.
"I'm so sorry, Kat!" Sophie hugged her tight.
"If you'd like Darcangelo and me to look into it, to stay on top of the Boulder cops, we'll do it," Marc offered, something in his eyes telling her they would do it whether she asked it of them or not.
"Thanks. I'd be very grateful."
Of Gabe and her confused feelings for him, she said nothing. She'd reached a decision tonight--a decision to let him go from her life. He didn't want the same things she wanted, so there was no point in spending time together and letting their mutual attraction, or "chemistry," confuse matters. When she'd told him farewell tonight, she hadn't meant farewell only for now.
Sophie settled her in their guest room for the night. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to come wake me, okay?"
"Thanks, Sophie."
The moment Kat's head hit the pillow, she was dreaming. In her dream, a coyote ran loose circles around her, now in the distance, now close behind her, yipping and howling as if trying to tell her something. But when she awoke the next morning, she'd forgotten the dream.
THEY MET WHERE they always met--on the edge of town in the parking lot at the baseball fields. This time of year, the place was deserted, especially in the middle of the night. For a moment, they stood in silence.
"Tell me you had nothing to do with that man's death."
"It couldn't be helped. One minute I was digging hard, the next he was just there. It was like he knew where to find me."
"You imbecile! Murder was never part of our deal!"
"What the hell was I supposed to do? Ask him to please keep a secret? I don't know about you, but I am not going to prison. And if they catch me, they catch you."
"Is that a threat?"
"Take it however you want."
"You know, a dead body is going to attract a lot more attention to that place. At the very least, you should have dumped him somewhere else."
"For someone who claims to be the brains of our operation, you're a fucking idiot. If I'd moved his body, they'd know for sure it was homicide. The way I did it, I bet they'll rule it an accident and maybe even blame the old man."
"It's not that simple. Katherine James from the I-Team is going to be all over this. She's one of them, you know--an Indian. If she finds out--"
"If she finds out, one of us is going to have to deal with her."
"What? You mean kill her? Is that your answer to everything?"
"Either scare her into backing off or kill her."
"I won't have anything to do with it."
"That's what you think."
NEWS OF GRANDPA Red Crow's death raced through Indian country. By the time Kat had retrieved her truck from Gabe's house--he was already at work--and made the drive back to Denver, she had sixt
een messages on her voice mail. By noon, her living room was filled with people who'd come to hear from her what had happened and to pray, pickup trucks parked along both sides of the street for a city block.
Everyone brought food, Pauline taking charge in the kitchen because Glenna was too weak and upset. Nathan Spotted Eagle brought his drum. And Allen Lemieux, called "Uncle Allen" because he was Grandpa Red Crow's cousin and a spiritual leader in his own right, brought his chanupa--his sacred pipe. Everyone listened while Kat told the entire story, silent tears running down the women's faces--and some of the men's, too--when she described how he'd died.
A long moment of silence passed when she had finished.
Then Allen spoke. "I want to thank our sister Kat for her courage and for watching over Grandpa Red Crow's body."
"Aho!" several men called.
Allen went on. "It's a terrible thing to lose our grandfather at this troubled time. Our inipi was interrupted. Our women were harassed. Now Grandpa Red Crow is gone from this earth. But we Indian people know that you can kill a man's body, but you cannot kill his spirit."
"Aho!" More shouts.
Glenna's quiet weeping.
"Whoever pushed Grandpa Red Crow off the butte doesn't know that he sent our grandfather to a place where his spirit can watch over us. Our prayers are stronger than any man's hatred. We'll hold an inipi for Grandpa Red Crow at the lodge up above Conifer tonight. But first I think we should ask this ranger who protected our Kimimila and who cared for our grandfather's body to join us. If you can tell us how to find him, Kat, Nathan and I will go and ask him respectfully--in person."
Kat's pulse skipped. She hadn't thought to see Gabe again. She'd known she might have to speak to him again in a professional capacity one of these days, but she hadn't thought to see him in a personal way again. She hesitated.
Around her, heads nodded in approval.
It seemed fate wasn't going to let Gabe go from her life quite so easily.
GABE GOT THE call around two, just moments after he'd finished helping Rocky Mountain Rescue bring down a couple of drunk college kids who'd gotten themselves stranded at the top of the Third Flatiron, too stupid and drunk not to keep their feet on the ground but not stupid or drunk enough to attempt to climb down. That was the problem with the Third Flatiron. Any idiot could make it up the east face. Gabe could probably climb it in roller skates. But getting down the three deadly hundred-foot pitches of the rappel on the west face was enough to make even seasoned climbers piss their pants.
"There are a couple of Native American men here, who say they want to talk to you," Webb's voice said over Gabe's cell phone. "Know anything about this?"
Damn!
"Nope," Gabe lied, certain this had to do with Kat--whom he absolutely should not have been kissing last night or thinking about today.
They've come to kick your ass, buddy. And guess what? You deserve it.
Yeah, he deserved it. He'd listened to her virginity speech at the South Side Cafe and had understood clearly that she would only give it up for Mr. Right, whom he most certainly was not. He'd known she was upset and tipsy and not herself last night. And he'd gone ahead and gotten beneath her lacy bra anyway.
If that hadn't been enough, he'd opened the door and given Samantha the chance to spew her jealous bullshit at Kat, then tried to explain Samantha away, shoving both feet in his mouth in the process.
I'm sorry you saw that. She's a ... She's just a ...
A failed chemistry experiment?
He'd seen the disappointment in Kat's eyes, those eyes that seemed to see right through him. So he'd gone and made it worse by telling her that Samantha hadn't meant anything to him. And wasn't that just the way to impress a woman?
Yeah, he deserved it.
Be happy it isn't Marc Hunter.
Yes, Gabe was happy about that, all right. If he remembered correctly--and he was pretty sure he did--Hunter had served in Special Forces, fighting in Afghanistan before honing his ass-kicking skills over six years in prison. Gabe would hate to go up against Hunter, for damned sure.
"Tell them I'll be there in about a half hour if they feel like waiting."
He was pretty sure they'd wait.
And they did.
Gabe pulled into the parking lot at Boulder Mountain Parks to find them leaning up against a battered blue Ford F-150 four-by-four. He parked beside them, got out of his service truck, and walked around to meet them. They were both shorter than he was, and he had them in weight, too. But there were two of them.
He held out his hand, testing the waters. "Gabe Rossiter."
The older of the two men studied him through eyes that gave away nothing, then took his hand and shook it, pressing something into his palm.
A pouch of tobacco.
"I'm Allen Lemieux, Old Man Red Crow's cousin. This is Nathan Spotted Eagle. We came to thank you for watching over our sister Kat James and for tending to my cousin's body last night. We'd like you to join us tonight at an inipi in his memory."
Gabe stared at the tobacco in his palm, recognized it as the sign of respect that it was. Well, he'd be damned.
He met Lemieux's gaze. "I'd be honored."
KAT STOOD WITH the other women outside the sweat lodge, her towel wrapped around her shoulders, waiting for Uncle Allen to enter first. She was barely aware of the cold wind that whipped her skirt about her legs or the icy snow beneath her bare feet, her gaze fixed on the man who stood on the other side of the altar beside Nathan. Like the other men, Gabe wore a towel low around his hips, his legs and feet bare, shorts or swim trunks presumably hidden beneath the towel. The tallest man present, he towered over Nathan. Golden firelight played off his body, emphasizing the ridges and valleys of his chest and abdomen.
Kat looked away, alarmed to find that she responded even to the sight of him. He wasn't touching her, wasn't even looking her direction, and yet her heart was beating faster, memories of last night playing through her mind, his lips all over her, his hard body pressing her down into the cushions, his thumb teasing her nipples.
"Ranger Easy-on-the-Eyes," Pauline whispered in her ear.
Yes, he was that.
Then it was time for the inipi to begin.
Kat followed Allen out of the wind and inside the lodge, her position beside him a mark of honor. She kept her eyes downcast, resolved to keep her mind on Grandpa Red Crow and the ceremony and not the man who'd just crawled through the door and now sat directly across from her.
Hot stones. Sage. Cedar. Sweetgrass. Smoke.
Then the door went down, and darkness enveloped them.
She gave herself over to the familiar rhythm of the inipi, her prayers and tears mingling with those of her friends, scalding steam, songs and prayers purging their sorrow, cleansing away their grief, voices raised in unison for a man who had done so much for each and every one of them, a man they had all loved--and lost.
GABE HAD DONE a sweat lodge once during his ranger training. He'd known to expect the pitch black, the blistering heat, the thick, steamy air. It hadn't bothered him before. So why was his heart pounding now? Why had his mouth gone dry the moment the door had come down? And why was it taking all of his strength to keep himself from crawling over the other men in a panicked rush to get the hell out? He wasn't claustrophobic or afraid of the dark.
Get a fucking grip, Rossiter!
He tried to focus on his breathing, on the cool, solid earth beneath him, and still he couldn't make the panic recede. He forced his mind onto other things--the beating of a drum, the hiss of water against heated stones, the sound of both men and women weeping as they sang. Their grief tugged at him through the darkness, permeating him, threatening to open that abyss inside him that he'd fought so hard to close off, to ignore, to forget, every moment drawing him nearer to that perilous emotional edge until there was simply no escaping it.
Jill. God, Jill!
No! No!
He wouldn't go there. He couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever.<
br />
Heart thrumming, adrenaline shooting through his veins, he reached out for the reassuring sound of Kat's voice and held on to it with all of his might.
SINGING WORDS SHE knew by heart, Kat let her tears flow, her thoughts drifting like clouds across the sky as they often did during the inipi. But now that sky was clouded by unwanted images, memories made more vivid by the darkness of the lodge. Grandpa Red Crow dragged from the sweat lodge, eagle bone whistle in his hand. Grandpa Red Crow lying on his back at the base of the butte. Grandpa Red Crow staring sightless at the sky as the zipper closed over his face.
A loud hiss. A burst of steam against hot stone. Scorching heat.
Like Kat, Grandpa Red Crow had fallen. Had he known he would die? Had he gotten the same terrible free-fall feeling in the pit of his stomach as she had when she'd fallen? Had he seen her weeping over his body? Did he see her now?
One song ended. Another began.
Drums beating, beating like a heartbeat.
Gabe Rossiter. Gabe. Gabriel. One of the archangels from the Judeo-Christian tradition. And hadn't he been her angel?
He'd saved her life when she'd been caught in the rockslide. He'd protected her and the rest of the women when Officer Daniels had dragged her by her hair. And he'd been there for her yesterday, shielding her as best he could from the horror of Grandpa Red Crow's death, watching over her, caring for Grandpa Red Crow's body.
Then later, when she'd kissed him, he'd tried to warn her, tried to stop her, but she'd done it anyway. That had been too much for him, and he'd given in and kissed her back, touching her in ways no man had ever touched her, the pleasure of it more than she'd imagined. And when she hadn't found the strength to stop, he had.
He was a good man. He'd proved that to her more than once. The wind knew it. Grandpa Red Crow had known it.
Another hiss. More steam.
But Gabe had his dark side, too, and the woman at his door had shown that he was as capable of hurting women as he was of saving them. Kat pitied that woman. She knew that, had Gabe not stopped last night, she might have become that woman--discarded, desperate, and beyond dignity.
