Hell on the Heart

by Nancy Brophy

  “Goodness there is no pleasing you, is there? If you were killed while working with my team, how would your family react? They’d sue the government and I’d lose my job. And you would still be dead. Not good.” His face remained stern, even though she suspected he was having a laugh at her expense. ‘Goodness?’ What man said that except one who believed in his own infallibility?

  “Why does your family care that I’m Indian?”

  Cezi bared her teeth at his new direction. Was he an idiot? But before she could respond, the footsteps of the others echoed on the hardwood floors as they came down the hall. He eased his grip on her wrists and pivoted his body toward the door.

  She couldn’t see around Mount Stillwater, the human barrier trapping her behind him. In retaliation she kneed his thigh. She was going for a higher location, but couldn’t get enough room to raise her leg that far. His response was a low grunt before he backed up, limiting her movements by crowding her closer to the table.

  “Storm’s kicking up,” Uncle Luca said. “Agent Lassiter’s catching a flight for Chicago out of Amarillo. If he doesn’t leave now, we don’t think he’ll be able to get out-“

  “How are you getting to Amarillo?” John locked his hands against the table.

  “One of my nephews flies a crop duster. If they leave now, he can make the flight. Give me your car keys. We want to move the vehicles off the street.”

  His movement to fish the keys out of his pocket gave her the opening she needed to sidle away from her blocked position. Although she struggled with disappointment when John completely ignored her to ask his partner, “You good with this?” He tossed the keys to Luca who caught them in midair.

  Her eyes met her father’s, who ignored everyone in the room as he studied her. Satisfied with what he saw, he nodded and gestured code with his fingers.

  Bring him home? Was he crazy? She shook her head. Her father smiled in that way that Cezi knew it didn’t matter what was said next, he’d won.

  “The Elders want to meet him.”

  Not good. This was not good, at all.

  The black man took the opportunity to offer Stillwater an explanation. His voice was muted, but Cezi stood close enough to hone in on the conversation.

  “Dawg, no one’s called me Binky for thirty years, but if my mother was upset that’s the one name she’d use.”

  D’Sean glanced in her direction but turned back when John answered in a low whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  He shifted on the balls of his feet, a graceful athletic move that made Cezi envy his agility. Too bad he was a Fed. He’d make an excellent second story man.

  “My sister insisted it was nothing. Minor day surgery. Now I’m not so sure.” He looked in Cezi’s direction for the second time. This time his appraisal lingered, his eyes narrowed and he twisted his lips until they were non-existent.

  John clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck. Keep me posted. I’m calling for the team.”

  The black man tore his eyes from Cezi and grimaced. “I don’t know how you do it.” He reached into his pocket and whipped out two twenties and slapped them on the cold metal table.

  For the first time the men both looked in her direction. One annoyed, one smug. What was that all about?

  Chapter Nine

  Swallowtail Hollow

  A deep rumble, sounding distinctly like a growl caught Cezi’s attention. Rolf, her cousin, wasn’t above growling. He, like his five brothers, communicated in grunts, groans, and snarls that passed for verbal repartee. Fortunately they had, for the most part, given up accenting their opinions with farting and belching followed by crazed hyena laughter.

  “What?” Cezi asked, banging the metal measuring cup against the kitchen counter. The dark rye dough was oiled, placed in a bowl in the refrigerator to rise overnight. Baking usually calmed her. Tonight her mind had been elsewhere and flour covered the floor with a fine light gray dust. She jerked the broom out of the closet.

  Her cousin glowered at her, his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. She wasn’t wrong. His look confirmed he had definitely growled. Nobody was happy today. She might as well relax. She wouldn’t see Stillwater until tomorrow morning. Drinks and storytelling would follow dinner, or if he pissed them off, he’d be escorted off the property. Serve him right, but…

  “How long has the dark-haired man appeared in your cards?” Rolf interrupted her thoughts. His imperious tone proclaimed not only was he male, but he was older and by his own estimation wiser.

  Before she could peel off a sharp retort to remind him she did not dance to his tune, his words registered in her brain. She crossed the short distance that separated them. “What do the cards say?”

  Her favorite tarot deck, illustrated with elaborate ancient mythical figures, lay spread out across her kitchen table. In that annoyingly patient manner he’d perfected, he pointed toward the cards. “How long?”

  “Forever. I’m gypsy. All I know are dark-haired men. Nordic gods do not seek me out.” Pleased with her answer, she clasped her fists against her hips and schooled her face to a superior, if somewhat childish, sneer. Why was it that all her male cousins with their overprotective attitudes always made her behave like a nine-year-old?

  “Both the guy in the park and the Indian are dark-haired, but look at this.” He pointed with a long elegant finger that Cezi couldn’t help comparing to Stillwater’s thick, calloused hand.

  She griped the edge of the table to force herself to concentrate. “It looks like the cards are saying the men are two sides of the same coin.”

  “How can that be?” Cezi studied the cards. The men were connected? “What does this mean?” Could she be wrong?

  Rolf raised his eyebrows in the exact same way his father did when he was about to say something she wouldn’t like. “You’re discounting your mother’s dying words.”

  “I’m not. Rumblings do not make a prophesy.”

  He scoffed. “The Elders are taking it seriously. Rumor is they are going to invite the Indian to stay at the Hollow.”

  Now it was official. Her family had gone mad.

  “That’s impossible. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You’re supposed to be working.” She stormed toward the kitchen, grabbing her discarded broom on the way. “Isn’t some lovelorn lass requesting your words of wisdom?”

  She expected his smug look to reappear. Instead he answered her without looking up, his voice more distant and concentrated than she would have liked.

  “I am working. I borrowed your cards to do a reading on said lovelorn lass, because I needed inspiration, but your cards are so infused with your essence I’m sure this reading is about you.” All she could see was the top of his head, but she could hear the frown in his voice. “Trouble’s coming your way.”

  This couldn’t be happening. She flung the broom against the counter and stomped back across the room to the table where he sat. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and spread her fingers across the cards. Nothing. The cards emitted no emotion.

  “This isn’t about me. The cards are confused because you were asking questions about another girl.”

  Any other man in the Universe might have backed down, but not if his last name was Romney. Why did she even bother to argue?

  “Bull. This is about you and those two gajikané. And it’s about your mother’s words.” He rose out of his chair and leaned across the table to put his nose within touching distance of hers.

  Despite his attempt to intimidate her, she refused to believe the prediction. Granted her mother had been renown for her gift of sight, but seventeen years is a long time to accurately foresee.

  Rolf’s eyes gleamed as he watched her. Without looking at the cards, he gathered up the deck and thrust it at her. “Summer solstice is right around the corner. Are you dancing?”

  Cezi blinked. Rolf was punching all her buttons tonight. No matter how much she tried to ignore her situation, her family was like a dog with a bone. They jus
t couldn’t let it go.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love the solstice, but with the feasting and the festival came the claiming dance. Whoo hoo. All unmarried girls above the age of sixteen were expected to dance in the hopes some man would join her around the bonfire and take her for his bride. By the age of nineteen, most had been claimed. At twenty-six Cezi was the lone hold out.

  She’d been claimed once. Five years ago. Theron Davenport had jumped into the fray. No way would she have married Theron. He’d been raised with her cousins. It was too incestuous to consider. Plus she’d never been certain her cousins hadn’t put him up to it.

  “I refuse to dance anymore. None of the out-of-towners have indicated interest.” The compound had about twenty visiting families. All with sons supposedly looking for wives, but it was their mothers who were actively pursuing the right bride.

  “Nor are they likely to, after you stormed off leaving poor Theron alone.”

  Considering that her family had long memories and her aunts were notorious gossips that story was probably making the rounds. Still, she defended herself. “It wasn’t like he was brokenhearted, six months later he married that insipid girl whose name I can never remember.”

  “Ramona. And I’d be careful if I were you. Theron’s ambitious. There’s already talk about him joining the Counsel of Elders. You don’t need one more voice adding to the dissension about your unmarried state.”

  Cezi refused to think about the consequences if the Elders insisted against her wishes, she marry. She exhaled, blowing the air between her lips.

  No point in borrowing trouble, nothing had happened. Yet. She changed the subject. “Why are you struggling? Don’t you usually dispense some pithy answer with a nebulous meaning?” She lowered her voice and intoned. “You have eyes, yet you can not see. Love is close by. The gift-wrap is meaningless. Listen for the beat of his heart to determine the truth of his words.”

  “Hey, that’s pretty good. I can use that.” He sat down to type into his laptop. Cezi rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion in case he looked up.

  He didn’t.

  “I can’t believe how much these poor women pay you to respond with that drivel.”

  “Others believe in love even if you don’t,” he mocked.

  “Oh, yeah. Tell me about it, Mr. Twenty-eight and still a bachelor.”

  “We marry late in this family.” None of his five brothers, two of whom were older, were married.

  “Perfect, that’s what I’ll tell the Elders.” She wheezed. Her lungs tightened. Automatically she gripped the table as she reached for her inhaler, shook it, took a puff and held it in her lungs. The metallic rush of medicine entered her mouth and lungs.

  “Don’t get agitated,” Rolf warned in a low tone, rising from his chair and coming around to stand beside her.

  Her asthma was barely under control even with the illegal inhalers Rolf acquired through the Internet. It was the family secret. Cezi relied on outside medical help. Had the group healer, Vadoma, known she would have pitched a fit in such proportions as to bring Cezi before the Elders to answer for all her sins.

  She shook the inhaler again and inhaled a second puff. Rolf rubbed circles on her back with the flat of his hand.

  “Need another inhaler?”

  She shook her head. Her lungs eased. They stood in silence with her head resting on his shoulder while he stroked her back.

  “Let’s take a walk toward the lake. A little exercise will do you good.”

  Too weary to argue, she nodded in silent agreement.

  # # #

  John strode across the grassy compound after meeting with the Elders, headed toward the lake. He ran his thumb over his cell phone until he found speed dial. Twilight brought a smattering of stars and cooler temperatures. A brisk walk would clear his head from the too-sweet wine and fragrant cigar smoke of the dinner.

  The threat of a storm hadn’t abated. Everyone scurried, preparing for the worse.

  A woman, bent double, tugged at a faded plastic flamingo, the remaining flock lay beside her on the ground. She stilled until he’d passed. A word mumbled beneath her breath reached him. “Gajikané.”

  He had no idea if the woman was Catholic or not, but it wouldn’t have surprised him for her to have crossed herself for protection. One woman taking in her laundry, spit at the ground. Most were satisfied with only a hissing noise and a baring of teeth.

  D’Sean answered on the fourth ring.

  “Have you seen your mother?” Kanye West music blared in the background.

  The tranquil setting warred with the brightly colored homes. Shiny silver shapes, stars, circles, diamonds were nailed on the trim, giving the houses an eerie sparkle in the fading light. Fountains, gazing balls and statues decorated the lawns. Each house he passed appeared in competition with the next.

  “Yeah,” the music faded either because D’Sean had adjusted the volume or changed locations. “I got here about an hour ago.”

  John lowered his voice. He needed to know his answer to the question that troubled him. “Were the gypsies right?” Or had getting rid of D’Sean been a ruse?

  He turned from the congested community and gazed toward the lake. Graceful weeping willows arched before floating to the ground providing a shimmering curtain of privacy from the lake on the other side.

  The voice on the other end of the line was silent for a minute. “I’d barely stepped out of the cab when she sat up in bed and announced to my sister. ‘I knew if I wished hard enough, he’d come.’” John heard the catch in his friend’s throat.

  “Wow.”

  “She looks worse than I’d imagined. Gray and ashen. I’m pissed at my sister for not calling earlier, but the family didn’t want to worry me.”

  “She gonna be okay?” John kicked some pebbles in the road and watched them scatter, sensing his partner’s helpless struggle. Give D’Sean a gun, point out the enemy and he was the man you’d want at your back.

  But despite his steadfastness, women couldn’t hack his coldness. He emitted enough charm to seduce them into bed for a night or two, but girlfriend was a short-term status with him. Women, he claimed, wanted a warrior who could cry in their arms.

  He wasn’t that guy. Like John, he was neither sensitive nor did he give a moment’s thought to the emotional mechanisms that went on in women’s minds. Most women accepted it. Mothers fell into a different category.

  “Surgery’s been postponed. I’ll know more tomorrow when she meets with the doctor.”

  John grunted. For the first time he saw the sparkle of water glint through the trees and moved in that direction. The flat, yellow Texas prairie morphed into silky water, cascading hills and ribbons of blue and green.

  “How are you doing there?” D’Sean asked.

  John exhaled the frustration of his day through puckered lips. “I’d hate to put any one of these people on the witness stand. They don’t appear to be lying, but you can’t get a straight answer from any of them.”

  “What’ve you found?”

  “Get this. They believe I’m here to fulfill a prophecy to protect the girl. Not because of who I am, but because I’m Indian.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The board of directors, or in this case, the Council of Elders invited me to dinner. More like a command performance than an invitation, but I went hoping to get information.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “The head of the family, an old dude named Poppy wanted to check me out. It’s a world of their own out here.” He shook his head again thinking of the boy’s club dinner. Where did the women eat? Were they regarded as second-class citizens? “I was going to bring the rest of the team in. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Maybe the old man is planning to marry you to the girl.”

  “Not hardly. They’re unwavering on the gypsy-only theme. The doors haven’t been thrown open in welcome despite the fact they insisted I stay.”

  When D’Sean remained quiet, J
ohn exhaled, hoping his pent-up aggravation would leave him. “There was an incident at dinner.”

  D’Sean made a noise in his throat indicating he was listening.

  “The healer, an old gal with bulging eyes, burst through the doors, ranting and raving about my being here. Of course it was all in whatever language they’re using, so I didn’t get anything but the gist. A lot of the dispute was territorial. The real question was who’s in charge of approving the outsider – me.”

  “Who won?”

  “The Elders gave in to the witch, but when she approached me I refused to let her use me as the centerpiece for some sacred ritual.”

  D’Sean let out a gruff chuckle. “I thought you believed in that stuff.”

  “I do, that’s why I stood my ground insisting my ancestry would be offended.”

  D’Sean knew him well enough to prompt, “And….”

  “I included that I was protected by a Shaman’s magic and the bite of the tarantula.”

  The chuckle turned into a snort. “Did you show them the tattoo?”

  “Wasn’t necessary. The crone backed off.” The water from the lake had an eerie calmness that had him scanning the cloudy sky and listening for the sounds of warning from the animals.

  “How’d the men take it?”

  “What? Oh, I did the right thing. Once they got the healer out the door, I was not only more accepted, they brought out the good alcohol, some overly sweet, plumy liquor called Slivovitz.”