Love's Dream Song

by Leesmith, Sandra

  The woman was clever, he’d give her that. He’d gathered evidence that possibly connected her to the growing cocaine market suspected of coming from the nearby reservation. The ring had begun operations one month after her arrival. Her family, which owned and ran one of the largest import-export companies in the country, had connections throughout the world. Whenever she turned up on the reservation, drug activity increased. She had to be involved.

  He tilted his hat forward and then straightened. Maybe the old professor’s discovery was a boon after all. With all the hoopla on his property, Jess would have to stay on hand. He’d be able to watch Autumn without creating undue suspicion.

  The stallion took a final leap and landed on the bottom of the canyon floor. Jess eased his mount across the sandy wash and headed toward the springs. Just as he rounded the bend he glanced up, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Autumn and Real Tall Man. The rim of the canyon stood silhouetted against the blue sky. Jagged spires of red rock lined the steep walls. There was no sign of Autumn, but a movement caught his attention.

  The eagle.

  In spite of the heat, a chill traced down his spine. Jess shook it off as he watched the majestic bird. It was coincidence—the flight of the eagle at that moment in time—but Daya would not think so. She would tell him that it was a sign—the time of her prophecy had come.

  Jess muttered under his breath as he spurred his horse into a gallop. Daya always told tales—myths, legends. They’d been no more than that. Even though he’d loved his grandmother, he’d never believed her prophecy.

  As the thought formed, so did the image of Autumn’s hair flowing past her waist. “You’ll meet her at Coyote Springs—the woman of your dreams, my son.” Daya’s words echoed in his memories. “She’ll have long, straight hair and eyes like Apache tears. But beware. There will be many people. Some of them won’t be who they seem.” Jess shook his head clear. If any of Daya’s prophecy was true, it was the part about people not being what they seemed.

  Cottonwood trees loomed ahead as he rounded another bend in the wash. Coyote Springs sat amid the trees, clear water gurgling from the red rock and collecting in large pools of fresh water. Jess headed for the desert oasis, but not before he caught another glimpse of the eagle. He pulled in the reins and paused at the edge of the greenery, watching its flight.

  Ridiculous. Here he was, a man with a master’s degree in range management, and he was sitting on his horse considering Daya’s stories.

  The fact that he’d first met Autumn O’Neill at Coyote Springs held no significance to Daya’s prediction. He no longer believed in the ways of the Dineh. Daya’s claim that Jess would meet the woman of his heart at Coyote Springs was just a wild and superstitious tale, designed to entertain a small boy.

  The eagle swooped into the canyon, caught an air current, and soared upward. Jess waited until the bird disappeared from sight and then nudged his horse toward the spring and Dr. Davidson’s camp.

  * * *

  Autumn watched the eagle circle overhead. Suddenly it swooped toward her and then rose to soar above the red rock canyon on a current of dry air. Its shriek carried across the desert terrain.

  “You see? Even our brother, astá the eagle, agrees with me.”

  Autumn shifted her gaze from the eagle to Real Tall Man. He sat cross-legged on the sandstone, proud and regal. Streaks of silver in his long hair matched the silver belts he wore over the blue tunic shirt. He was the only member of the clan who treated her kindly. Perhaps his position of leadership would influence the others. Someday, with patience and persistence, she’d know what happened to Dora Ross and the clan would recognize her as kin.

  As always, she looked for the visual clues that showed she was related to the man. There were few. Autumn had her grandfather’s height, but his flattened cheekbones and broad features were in contrast to the Celtic characteristics she must have inherited from her father. The only signs of her Navajo ancestry were the exotic tilt to her dark eyes and the thick strands of black hair.

  Real Tall Man waved his arm toward the base of the cliff below. “You must not bring these scientists and archaeologists to the home of the ancient ones.”

  “The Anasazi tablets Dr. Davidson discovered are what we’re interested in. The ruins here are just a few dwellings.”

  “They house a secret—a dangerous secret.” Real Tall Man leaned forward to emphasize his point. “They are filled with bad chindi.”

  Autumn shifted with impatience. She tried to understand the way of The People, but sometimes the beliefs seemed so illogical. “Are you sure?”

  The old man took a deep breath. Worry lines edged the corners of the weathered skin around his dark eyes—eyes she knew better than to look into. “You must tell the doctor.”

  Her shoulders slumped in dismay. Just what she needed—opposition from her grandfather. She had no control over the proceedings of the dig, yet he expected her to put a stop to it. His demand would only put another rift in their precarious relationship.

  She started to protest, but before she could, he held up his gnarled fingers of his hand in a gesture for her to be silent.

  “Last night I dreamed. Chindi live in the ruins—one who will destroy. The eagle came, but it was too late. The evil one disappeared in the earth in a pile of stone.”

  In spite of the early morning sun, already hot on the back of her camp shirt, Autumn shivered. Hasteen Nez’s serious expression belied any doubts. Her instincts told her to listen. She had only met her grandfather and her Navajo relatives a few short months ago. She didn’t yet understand all their ways, but she knew about vision quests and the importance of dreams to The People.

  Real Tall Man spoke again. “You must tell the others to go home—before it is too late.”

  “You know I can’t do that.” She could just imagine what Dr. Davidson would say if she asked him to cancel the press conference on the basis of an old man’s dream—not to mention the uproar from the crowd in the canyon below. “Dr. Davidson has worked long years on this research for the university. It’s his moment for acclaim.”

  “What about our people—your people?”

  Autumn’s heart constricted. “Are they my people? I was not born to the máii deeshghizhnii. My mother—”

  Real Tall Man interrupted. “Your mother was born of it. She was my daughter.”

  “You believe that I’m Dora Ross’s daughter?” Hope soared, but was soon flattened when she saw his closed expression.

  Autumn let the pain of the old hurt come and go. Now was not the time to think of how her mother had denounced her Navajo blood and left the reservation.

  “But if you are with these people who dig through the ruins, you will anger the clan. It may make the path of acceptance more difficult to travel.”

  “This is a major discovery. It will change our perception of southwestern history.”

  “They should not disturb the ancient ones.”

  “They’re scientists. They only want to study the evidence and record the history of the Anasazi. Surely there is no harm in that.” If only she could make him understand.

  Real Tall Man stood and gestured for Autumn to rise with him. “I can see you have a stubborn streak.”

  “It’s not stubbornness, but dedication to my work.”

  Hasteen Nez’s expression let her know he thought otherwise. Autumn sighed. She wasn’t the only stubborn one.

  “I want to give you this.” He pulled a silver chain from around his neck and let it dangle from his fingers. A nugget of uncut turquoise swung at its end. “Wear this at all times. It will protect you from the evil in the canyon.”

  Autumn started to protest, but Real Tall Man stilled her words as he draped the chain over her head. Gently, he lifted the long strands of her hair from under the silver and let them settle around the nugget.

  His warmth touched her skin, while the aged woodsy scent she associated with him surrounded her. It was the closest she’d ever been to the old hataali.r />
  “Grandfather,” she whispered. For how many months had she wanted him to show her some sign of affection? It seemed like forever.

  As if the longing in her voice had warned him, Real Tall Man stepped back. The sadness and pain in his expression mirrored her own. It wasn’t to be—not yet.

  “I have called on the spirits to be with you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. The gift of protection was the closest he’d come to saying he cared. He would never have given it to her otherwise. The cultural gap had narrowed another inch.

  “Jess Barron is a good man. If you have trouble, go to him.”

  Autumn couldn’t mask her surprise. She trusted Real Tall Man’s uncanny instincts about people, but the owner of the Eagle Heights Ranch had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Surely, the old man had sensed the curt hostility between them.

  “I doubt he’d want to help me. Besides, I won’t need it. There are close to fifty people down there.”

  Real Tall Man smoothed his fingers around the silver band on his wrist. “I saw him in my dream.” A strange note sounded in the old man’s voice. “Trust him.”

  Rather than argue, Autumn lowered her gaze and nodded her head.

  “Do not trust Riker. He is like the skunk who tricked the coyote.” Real Tall Man’s expression lightened for a moment, but turned serious again.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been around enough to know about men like him. I’ll be careful.”

  Frank Riker would be a royal pain, but Autumn was prepared for that. The Bureau of Land Management ranger had already caused her enough problems. He took advantage of every opportunity to put the make on her. She wasn’t immune to male attention, and she enjoyed flattery, but Frank was rude. Many of the incidents had been unpleasant, and Real Tall Man surely sensed the friction between them.

  Frank wasn’t her real concern, though. She could manage him. It was her uncle, Arlo Ross, who worried her the most. Hasteen Nez wouldn’t mention his son—not with the obvious hostility Arlo felt toward Autumn. She didn’t want the Navajo rebel along on this project, but Dr. Davidson had hired him to provide the pack train that brought the expedition in to the canyon.

  Why Arlo wanted to work for the professor was a puzzle to Autumn. He lived the old ways and he hated the white man. In fact, he had actively protested the dig. Perhaps he’d hired on to make sure the ancient ruins weren’t destroyed. Or he could plan to sabotage the professor’s efforts.

  Resolving to keep an eye on Arlo, Autumn spoke. “No one will try to make any trouble. You don’t need to worry. I’ve organized everything for Dr. Davidson and I’ve made sure the scientists will do nothing to disturb the ruins. They only want to see the tablets.”

  Real Tall Man didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. His knowing expression told her what they were both well aware of. Coyote Springs was isolated, hundreds of miles from civilization where there was really no one to enforce their rules.

  “You have been warned and I have given you the turquoise. I must return home now.”

  “Walk in beauty,” she said—the traditional farewell of The People. She longed to embrace him like she did Grandpa O’Neill. Her adoptive parents’ family was large and demonstrative. She was used to shows of emotion, a lot of kisses, big hugs. But if she acted like that with this grandfather, she’d lose the months of progress she’d made to win his reserved affection. Have patience, she reminded herself for at least the thousandth time.

  Real Tall Man mounted his horse and descended the sloping side of the butte, soon disappearing between the canyon walls. Autumn walked the few yards to the steep edge and looked down at Coyote Springs.

  Dr. Davidson stood in the center of a large group of archaeologists, students, historians, and reporters. Wayne Carson, his undergraduate assistant, was at his side. Autumn glanced around, uneasy and oddly excited.

  In the months she’d been working as Dr. Davidson’s assistant, there’d never been a crowd like this in the canyon. In fact, she’d wager there hadn’t been a gathering this size since the Anasazi had lived here seven hundred years ago. This group would announce to the world the new discovery that would alter history. She grasped the turquoise nugget and worked it between her fingers.

  What had it been like in that ancient time? She let her gaze travel across the broken walls of the ruins. Farther up the side of the cliff and nestled in the moqui cave were more dwellings. Protected by the large overhang of sandstone rock, these walls were still intact. Small windows made dark spots in the expanse of red block. They looked like eyes studying the scene below.

  They’d witnessed the village life of the Anasazi. Today, they would see the unveiling of the professor’s great discovery. Autumn glanced back at the crowd, sensing the anticipation they all shared.

  Dr. Davidson gestured as he talked and Autumn smiled at the lanky, disheveled man. Never before had she seen him filled with animation. Pride radiated from him as he brushed back the long strands of his thinning hair. This discovery meant a lot to him.

  As a young archaeologist, Davidson had been involved in several significant finds in Central America and Mexico. Unfortunately, his move to the Southwest had proven unfruitful—until now. She knew his dwindling prestige had grated on his sense of pride. Even though she couldn’t hear the professor, Autumn knew he was rambling. Dr. Davidson wanted to draw out his moment of glory. And why not? She knew how long and hard the search had been.

  Over the past months, she’d gone with him to dig in the old Indian ruins scattered across the Barron property. The professor had been exploring the area for five years—since the ranch had been opened to public research. He figured there had to be uncharted ruins, and he’d been right. He was now preparing to reap the reward of the years of hard work.

  Autumn shifted her attention to Frank Riker, who was directing a group who were organizing the gear. Farther down the canyon, Arlo Ross and two other guides were unloading the mules tethered in the shade of the saltbush. She tugged on her nugget as another wave of uneasiness washed through her.

  A shrill cry overhead brought Autumn’s gaze skyward. The eagle fanned his tail and soared higher, circling again and again. She could imagine what he must see—desert for hundreds of miles, dotted with cactus, juniper, and sage. Like hundreds of church steeples, rock spires lined the canyons where water eroded its way to the Colorado River. The sheer cliffs were a giant sand painting of browns, ocher, yellow, and red.

  The eagle glided over his territory, his sharp eyes missing nothing. What did he think of the sudden mass of people invading his domain? As if in answer to her unspoken question, he shrieked and flew toward the distant mountains.

  Autumn sighed, almost with envy. She’d been alone in this isolated wilderness long enough, and while it would be stimulating to converse with others who held the same interest in the Anasazi as she did, the sudden invasion of people, noise, and confusion had disoriented her peaceful existence. For a brief moment, she longed to fly away as the eagle had done. Instead, she turned and stepped away from the edge of the cliff and headed down the trail.

  .

  CHAPTER 2

  It didn’t take long to hike down the trail to Coyote Springs. Autumn approached the crowd still gathered around Dr. Davidson. She found a good viewpoint on a small rise at the edge of the ring of scientists. A quick scan revealed that Jess Barron wasn’t around. Good. Now she could focus on Dr. Davidson.

  Autumn didn’t care much for publicity, but she could tell the professor was enjoying every minute of it. She wondered if it brought back nostalgic feelings of his youth and previous fame. The public acclaim would certainly boost his standing in the political world of higher learning.

  He must have sensed her attention because the professor suddenly stopped addressing the crowd and called to her. “Come here, girl. Let me introduce my assistant.”

  Autumn wove her way through the crowd, smiling at those she knew, nodding at those she didn’t.

  Dr. Davidson
grasped her hand between his slender fingers and pulled her beside him to the top of the flat rock he was using as a makeshift stage. Her hair tossed about in the breeze, and for a fleeting second, she wished she’d tied it back up.

  “This here is the best graduate assistant I’ve ever worked with.” His eyes danced with merriment as he told the crowd of her work.

  Seeing the professor so excited and pleased with himself touched off a flood of fondness. After Jess had broken off their relationship, the older man had been her only source of human warmth this past year.

  “When Autumn applied almost two years ago, I questioned the wisdom of hiring her. After all, she looks more like she belongs on the stage than digging around in the desert.”

  Chuckles echoed in the crowd. Cameras clicked. Autumn maintained her poise in spite of the irritation threatening to erupt inside her. Dr. Davidson could be so condescending.

  “Why did you apply?” a reporter asked. “Don’t you get lonely working out here in the desert?”

  She hesitated in answering, so Dr. Davidson did it for her. “She’s part Navajo, you know. She’s searching for her roots.”

  Murmuring buzzed throughout the crowd. Although she was proud of her heritage, she didn’t want her personal life bandied around by the press. “My thesis is on the ancient culture of the Anasazi.” She tried to sidetrack their attention. “There is much yet to learn about the pre-Columbian history of the Southwest.”

  “Is your choice of thesis because of your Navajo roots?” another reporter asked.

  Autumn inwardly groaned. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss her affinity for Native American culture—it was the professor’s show. “Dr. Davidson’s discovery is going to change our perception of southwestern history. The implications are…”

  “Yes, yes. Let me explain.” Dr. Davidson sent her a grateful smile as he took over.

  For decades, archaeologists had been trying to solve the puzzle of the Anasazi. Most supported the theory that severe drought during a fifty-year period between A.D. 1250 and 1300 had forced the inhabitants of the highly developed pueblos to move, leaving behind evidence of a complex civilization. Yet no one knew where they’d gone. Some had moved southeast to the valley of the Rio Grande, but there were still many unanswered questions about the disappearance of such a major civilization.