Long shadows fell across the rock-strewn floor when Jess finally stopped. They had left the rifle and canteen below and were standing on a high pile of rocks with their backs to a steep cliff. She looked at the panorama of colors. At any other time, the golden rays of the setting sun highlighting the red and orange colors in the rocks would move her. Not tonight. Frustration and weariness dulled her appreciation. She needed what little energy remained for the long night ahead, when she’d have to stay alert for the gunman.
“We haven’t seen a sign of him since we got to this wide spot in the canyon,” Jess said. A touch of annoyance edged the tiredness in his voice.
He moved and sat on a rock below her, jeans-clad legs, scratched and bruised, stretched out while he rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder. A tired sigh escaped her lips as she viewed the sight.
“He’s here—somewhere,” he said, almost to himself. “His footprints came in and didn’t go back.”
“What if he went through the canyon and out the other end?”
She took off her hat and shook down the heavy mass of hair. The breeze felt like a breath of heaven as it cooled the damp strands near her temples. She combed her hands through the tangles.
“He’ll be back.”
“You don’t think he has given up?”
“He’ll come back,” Jess stated with conviction. “Whoever’s out there wasn’t in on this alone. He’ll bring help.”
She glanced across the rugged terrain. Nothing moved but the branches of saltbush, waving in the evening breeze. “You think they’ll head back for the artifacts?”
“Could be, or they may want to keep an eye on us.”
She twisted around to look at him. The idea didn’t appeal. Evidently, he didn’t care for the situation any more than she did. He stood, twirling his hat between his fingers, restless and agitated.
Autumn took one last look across the canyon. A flurry of movement in the distance caught her eye. She held her breath when she saw an eagle flap its huge wings and lift off from a rocky ledge. In its sharp claws, a rabbit struggled to escape. Autumn’s heartbeat quickened. Maybe this was a good sign and they would have their prey, also.
The eagle shrieked.
Autumn stood and shaded her eyes against the setting sun’s glare.
“Autumn.”
She lowered her arm and looked at Jess. His voice sounded strained , and when she saw the expression on his face, she understood why. His glance roamed her body with appreciation. Autumn stood outwardly motionless as she fought the waves of reaction that reached every part of her body that he touched with his look. Her hair lifted in the breeze and surrounded her.
Jess swallowed hard and tore his glance away. She breathed again.
“We’ll circle around and camp near the mouth of the narrows. He won’t get by us. If he returns for the packs, we’ll know it.”
“Sounds good,” she agreed.
“Enough speculation. Let’s head for our gear and go make camp. I’m tired and hungry,” he said as he lowered himself to the canyon floor.
The friendly lights dancing in his eyes buoyed her spirits. With a spurt of unexpected energy, she hopped down the rocks and jumped into the soft sand.
“Don’t move!”
The harsh command split the air. She stilled—every muscle alert. Carefully, she lifted her eyes to peer up at Jess. He stood, poised to strike. The knife in his upraised hand glistened in the last rays of the sun. Her heart thudded as adrenaline burst into her system.
“Don’t move,” he repeated with deadly calm.
.
CHAPTER 11
A deadly rattle sounded behind her. It took great effort to remain still. She focused her gaze on the glistening blade of steel so that she’d know when he threw the knife. Maybe, if she was swift, she could jump in case he missed.
His arm rose higher and the moment approached. She remained immobile. The knife whistled in the air, past her leg, and thudded into the sand. In a flash, she leapt and spun around to see the snake writhing against the steel that impaled it to the ground.
Relief mixed with the leftover fear. Jess’s arm came around her shoulder and she leaned against him hoping she wouldn’t be sick.
“It’s a diamondback rattler,” he muttered, his voice quivering.
She could barely speak, but somehow, the sound of her own voice stabilized her shaky nerves. “You’ve got good aim—thank goodness.”
Finally, the snake stilled and Autumn turned away.
He tightened his hold. “You all right?”
Leaning her head back, she peered up at him. “For a second there, I thought you were aiming that knife at me.”
“I know. What made you decide to trust me?”
“I’m trying to figure it out.”
But she knew. It had something to do with the way he’d treated her these past few hours—the way he seemed to have doubts about her, yet also the small ways he showed that he cared. In spite of his obvious misgivings, she trusted him to protect her. She reached and traced the rugged line of his jaw. His day’s growth of beard scratched, but she didn’t mind. She was alive. She could feel.
He took a deep breath; the action pressed her closer to his chest. “I’m glad you trusted me.”
She wanted more than trust. The feel of him reminded her of times when there had been caring and love. She curved into his arms, wishing to relive the past, when he’d made her feel needed.
He must have sensed her desire. Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her. His lips pressed against her mouth, and after very little resistance, she responded.
The close call with death left her senses hungry. She clasped his shoulders and pressed near. Life flowed through her body. The same energy pressured him.
He wanted her. She wanted him. In a wild flurry, she could take what they both had longed for since the night in the cave.
No. Not here. Not now. Not with dangerous men stalking them. She moaned as she pulled away from the embrace. Time stopped as they stared at each other. Desire, regret, guilt, and more desire stirred.
“It’s getting dark,” he said, breaking the spell. “We’d better make camp.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders, and for a brief second, she thought he would kiss her again. He let go and stepped back. Moving past her, he bent for his knife. She reached out to touch him, but instead clenched her fist and brought it to her side.
She heard a guttural sound, and realized he was speaking Apache—probably apologizing to the snake for taking its life. She half expected a few chants and incantations, and was surprised when he asked, “Are you squeamish about what you eat?” He straightened and wiped the blade on the seat of his pants.
“Not when I’m hungry.”
“I’ll bring the snake then. We’ll cook him for dinner.”
After what she’d eaten in the Philippines, snake meat wasn’t going to bother her. At least the animal’s death wouldn’t be a waste. Her life had been in danger. Jess had reacted instinctively. But now that the crisis was over, she felt bad about the reptile. Even though it was poisonous, the snake, along with all other animals in the wilderness, were part of the life cycle.
Her remorse lasted until the first whiff of roasted meat drifted across the evening breeze. Hunger took over as the savory aroma mingled with the smoke. To keep from thinking about it, she gathered driftwood that had been carried down the canyon by past storms. She piled it in the sand near the fire.
She straightened as she glanced around. It was a good location for their camp. The wall of the canyon was at their back and large boulders framed two sides. The gunman would have to pass right by the open space to follow the trail.
“Are you sure we should build a fire?” she asked for the second time. He, too, surveyed the camp as she unrolled their sleeping bags.
“It doesn’t matter. He knows where we are.” He turned the spit of white meat. “We might as well be comfortable.”
He sounded like he wanted them
to be found. Maybe he was setting up a showdown. “Whoever it is either wants to be sure we’re not near those artifacts, or else wants to keep an eye on us. We’ll make it easy for them.”
“You don’t think he’d shoot at us with our defenses down?” She raised a skeptical brow.
“He could have killed us this morning.”
Autumn studied his expression. His tanned brow was creased with thought, but other than that, he appeared relaxed. Evidently, he wasn’t that concerned. Before returning her attention to the bedrolls she glanced around, still dissatisfied with their position. “I’m worried about him slipping by in the night and getting back down the canyon without us.”
“Don’t. I plan to booby-trap the narrow section of the canyon over there. We’ll hear him if he goes by.”
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, wondering if he really was going to set traps, or was just telling her that to reassure her.
“Special Services in the army,” he replied while he poured them each a cup of instant soup.
That answered both her questions, and the knowledge set her mind at rest.
He stepped around the fire and sat down beside her on a chunk of sandstone. “Have some. It’ll tide you over until the meat is done.”
His fingers brushed across hers as she took the cup. She tried to ignore his touch, but couldn’t when she found herself staring. Strands of his chestnut hair were creased from his hat. The ends were caught on the collar of his western plaid shirt, which was pulled taut against the solid muscles of his back as he leaned forward. Disturbed by the sight, she glanced away.
“Did you learn to throw a knife in the army, as well?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I picked that up as a kid.”
A warm light was in his eyes as he slid back into his memories.
She wanted to know about them. “Certainly not at school,” she teased.
“No way. The teacher would have had my hide if she knew I was out playing mumblety-peg.”
“No one got hurt, I take it?” She remembered the dangerous game of throwing knives. Her brothers had played it.
“We were lucky—and good.”
“Modest, too.” She settled back to enjoy another sip of the soup and probe into his past. “How’d you get away with playing that?”
He scrunched down into a more comfortable position and began talking. “Enrique Valdez. Remember, I told you we grew up together?”
Autumn nodded.
“We used to roam the hills on horseback. It didn’t matter if we were at his place or here. Mumblety-peg was only one of our games, and probably the mildest, as far as danger was concerned.”
“Do I really want to know what your other games were?”
Jess chuckled. “Suffice it to say, we each tried to outdo the other on dares—the riskier the better.”
She watched him turn the spit and tried to picture Jess as a child. It was easy to see the robust youth exploring the countryside in wild abandon with his friend. She wondered if the two continued to goad each other into taking risks. Her brothers had never outgrown the same behavior. Jess probably hadn’t, either. The meat sizzled and brought her attention back to the fire.
“Have you eaten snake before?” Jess asked. “It tastes like chicken.”
“I’ve eaten it,” she assured him, “and a whole lot of other things I’d rather not think about.”
“I know what you mean.” He handed her a share of the meat. “I’ve been in other countries myself. It’s best to just enjoy and not delve into the exact contents of their food.”
She took the plate and balanced it in her lap. “Was your traveling as an adult, or did your family vacation abroad?”
“Both. My father preferred being on the ranch, but Mother liked to tour. Once a year he’d concede and take us all on a trip.”
* * *
Jess heaped his portion onto a plate and settled across from Autumn. The silence and quiet allowed the past to sort through his head. He’d enjoyed the traveling, but he suspected he took after his father on that score. When given a choice, he’d stay home.
In fact, there were times he had remained when his parents traveled—not on the ranch, but on the reservation with Daya. He took a bite of his dinner and let the pleasure of satisfying his hunger mingle with his thoughts. How many summers had he visited his grandmother’s home while his parents were on tour? Her company proved compelling to his youthful curiosity. He remembered as if it were yesterday, even though he hadn’t allowed himself to think of it in years.
Daya had been a tall woman, regal and proud like Autumn. When he’d escort her, they always were stared at. They made a striking pair, especially when their laughter echoed in the streets of Winslow. She could make the stuffiest person come alive with her imagination. She had that gift.
Looking back, he didn’t know how she had done it. She had the ability to make the nastiness and prejudice that surrounded her disappear. It wasn’t until Jess was old enough to go to town alone that he realized how much the woman had protected him from the ugliness of hatred.
Autumn’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Where did you go?”
“On the trips, you mean?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I guess I meant, where were you traveling in your thoughts? For a minute there, you had a smile on your face. Then suddenly, you frowned.”
He contemplated her words.
She stopped eating and returned his look with a challenge of her own.
“Probing?” A hint of sarcasm rang in his tone.
“You’re the one who warned me not to take everyone for granted, but to dig below the surface.”
She’d held her ground—he’d give her credit for that. Relaxed, he talked about the summers he’d stayed on the reservation. Maybe it was her curiosity about her own heritage that allowed him to feel assured that she wouldn’t judge his choice to remain with the Dineh, instead of traveling in the Anglo world. He didn’t bother questioning why that even mattered.
He told her about his cousins and how with them he’d learned to hunt with the men. Of course, when he’d been a child, he’d stayed near his aunts and learned the ways of The People through hearing stories and watching them work. It was the way of the Dineh. Always observe. Watch every aspect of a project—how to prepare and start, how to proceed, how to complete it. When you’d watched long enough to know how and you’d visualized doing it many times in your head, then you tried it yourself.
This training had aided him often in his present job. The Anglo world could afford to learn some of the lessons of patience and respect of experience that The People practiced.
As the stories unfolded, he found himself speaking of Daya. It didn’t occur to him until too late that Daya was someone he never talked about anymore. Thoughts of her reminded him of his Indian blood, something he hated these days to admit he had. In fact, this whole conversation was treading on ground he tried not to remember anymore.
He glanced at Autumn and noticed her smile. Daya had smiled like that and gotten him to talk. Wouldn’t the two women have made a pair? He shook his head and chuckled. He could see that his laughter had startled her. He quirked a brow. What would his grandmother think of her? “She would have liked you,” he said aloud.
“Why?” She tossed back her hair and finished the last bite of her meal.
“She liked gutsy women,” he decided.
“I’m not afraid to explore,” she assured him.
“Nor do you back down in the face of danger.” He let her hear the respect in his tone.
“I wasn’t always like that.” She looked thoughtful. “Before my brothers taught me karate, I used to be very fearful. The martial arts training helped, but Real Tall Man’s wisdom has had the biggest effect. I think his teachings were the turning point in the amount of control I can maintain.” She paused and cast him an assessing glance. “You keep a cool head yourself, but I think you look for trouble.”
He grinned. He liked the
fact that she understood that about him. “I haven’t changed much. I’ll have to admit it.”
“Why haven’t you ever married?”
The question sobered him. Marriage had never fit into his plans. Enrique insisted it was because he’d never fallen in love again. That could be true, but there was much more involved than that. He set his empty plate in the sand. “It wouldn’t work out.” He emphasized the conviction in his voice.
Her expression showed no surprise. “You sound sure for someone who’s never tried it.”
He had to smile. If she only knew. “Believe me. I know from experience that a mixed marriage only causes heartache for the women and children.”
“A mixed marriage?”
“Haven’t you been listening?” He tried to curb the impatience this subject always aroused in him. “I’m part Indian. You should have learned by now what a rotten deck of cards that is to be dealt in life.”
She went very still as his words rapped out. The fire crackled. He stood and paced before grabbing another piece of wood to place on the small fire.
“I wouldn’t know.” But she needed to.
“It’s no great privilege.”
“It is if you believe it. It can be hell if you believe that, too.”
Jess refrained from sneering in disgust. “What do you know about the realities of growing up in two separate worlds in this country?” He gestured toward the rocky terrain. “Part of each, but not accepted by either.”
“Unfortunately, I’m finding out.” He heard the discouragement in her voice. “But I refuse to be bowed by the hatred. Real Tall Man taught me that when you let hatred affect your life, it then exists.”
Jess clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. She sounded like Daya. Was he destined to hear that crock of bull again? He’d tried hard to forget his grandmother’s philosophy. It hadn’t washed in the cold light of reality.
“So, do you get your kicks out of playing the martyr? Do you think you can change anything by hanging around and trying to fit in?”
“I don’t want to change anything.” Hurt sounded in her voice and softened his anger somewhat. “I just want to be accepted.”
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