Navajo's Woman

by Beverly Barton

  A few minutes later, after the Navajo couple had driven out of town, Joe emerged from the trading post. At his side was a small, dark man with long gray hair hanging almost to his waist. When they approached the SUV, Joe motioned to Andi, and for just a second she didn't catch his meaning. But when she did, she huffed disgustedly. He was instructing her to get into the back seat. A typical macho maneuver.

  Don't lose your cool, she cautioned herself. Just get in the back and keep your mouth shut. You can always voice your opinion later, when you and Joe are alone.

  She opened the driver's door, hopped out, and then opened the back door. Before she had a chance to get in, Joe laid his hand on her shoulder. She tensed, then turned to greet Mr. Tuvi. Joe made the introductions hurriedly before the three of them got in the SUV. Then Joe drove out of town, following their guide's directions.

  "This old house is out by itself," Aaron said. "There was another house close by, but it burned down ten years ago. No one has lived in this house for more than three years."

  "We appreciate your contacting J.T.," Joe said. "We haven't gotten many leads."

  "Then I hope those who are staying in the house are your nephew and Miss Lapahie's brother." Aaron glanced over his shoulder at Andi.

  She didn't even consider correcting his error in calling her 'Miss Lapahie.' She might not bear her father's name, but she was as much a Lapahie as Russ was. She offered Mr. Tuvi a fragile smile. He nodded his head, acknowl­edging Andi in a friendly manner.

  "Turn here," Aaron said. "You can see the house. There, to your right."

  House? Andi thought. Shack was a more apt descrip­tion. A small structure probably containing no more than four rooms. The outer clapboard walls had once been painted a brick red, but had faded and peeled until the color was a reddish mud-brown. The roof had caved in on one side and the two front wooden steps had rotted.

  Joe parked the SUV in front of the crumpling building. When he got out, Andi quickly followed him. He didn't wait for her to catch up before he leapt to avoid the di­lapidated steps, bounding directly onto the porch. She reached his side just as he tried the doorknob. The rusty hinges creaked when the door swung open. With utmost caution, Joe entered the hot, shadowy interior. Andi's heartbeat drummed inside her head.

  "Call out to Russ," Joe whispered.

  "Russ? Are you in here? It's Andi. I'm here to help you."

  Utter silence.

  With Andi directly behind him, Joe strode from one room to the next and found the first three empty. Then, when he entered the fourth and last room, he stopped dead still. Instinctively Andi knew something was wrong.

  “What is it?'' she asked.

  He didn't reply.

  Andi sidestepped and went around him, then skidded to a stop when she saw the bloody rags lying in the middle of the floor. She moved forward and bent down, intending to pick them up, but Joe clasped her arm and pulled her away.

  "That's blood on those rags, isn't it?" She could tell from the odd expression on his face that he was hiding something from her. But what? What did he know that she didn't?

  "Yes, I suspect that it's blood."

  "If the boys were here, then one of them is hurt."

  "Yes."

  "Damn it, Joe, you'd better tell me what you know, and you'd better tell me right now!"

  He grasped her shoulders and met her furious gaze with his calm, concerned expression. “We believe that Charlie Kirk shot one of the boys, back at the uranium mine."

  Andi sucked in a deep breath as she tried to control her emotions. She wanted to strike out at something or some­one, and if she didn't stop herself that someone would be Joe Ornelas.

  "How do you know?" she asked through clenched teeth.

  "J.T. found drops of blood along the path the horses took when the boys left the mine," Joe explained. "The police sent a sample to Albuquerque, but they haven't gotten the results back yet."

  "You knew all this time and didn't tell me."

  "You would only have worried."

  "You had no right to keep this information from me."

  Joe nodded. "Probably not. But now isn't the time for another argument. We have to see if we can find any signs of where the boys might have gone from here."

  "If they stole another car—"

  "There hasn't been a car parked near this house any­time recently. If the boys were here—and I believe they were—then they're probably on foot."

  "What can I do to help?" she asked.

  "Go back to the Expedition and wait."

  She started to protest but thought better of it, and hes­itantly followed his orders. She waited in the SUV with Aaron Tuvi, a man of few words. When the afternoon sun beat down unmercifully, Andi moved into the driver's seat, cranked the motor and started the air-conditioning.

  Joe came around from the back of the shack and walked over to her side of the vehicle. She opened the door and started to get out, but he stopped her.

  "No sign of horses," he said.

  "Does that mean they're on foot?"

  "That's my guess. And if they are, they can't get very far, especially with one of them injured."

  "So what now?" she asked.

  “First, I call J.T. to give him an update. After that, we will start looking for the boys."

  Andi blew out an exasperated breath. “What do we do, just drive up and down every road near here? Or do we head out on foot, too?"

  Joe glanced around Andi and looked straight at Aaron Tuvi. Without saying a word, the old man nodded, then opened the passenger door and got out of the SUV.

  "What's going on?" Andi asked.

  "Aaron will help me try to pick up the boys' trail," Joe said. "In his day, Aaron was a well-known tracker."

  "And if y'all pick up any signs of which way they went, what then? Do the three of us head out together?''

  "Just wait here. And stop asking so many questions. One thing at a time," Joe mumbled as he withdrew his cellular phone from its belt sheath.

  Joe felt certain that unless Russ and Eddie had found someone to help them, they couldn't have gone far. The blood on the rags inside the old shack appeared to be fresh. He punched J.T.'s number and waited.

  "Blackwood, here."

  "J.T., we are pretty sure the boys were here in Black Rock. We found some bloody rags in one of the rooms, but no sign of either Eddie or Russ. Aaron is going to help me try to pick up their trail. We think they're on foot."

  "I was just going to call you," J.T. said, then paused briefly. "One of our sources, admittedly a less than rep­utable source, came through with some interesting infor­mation."

  "Information on what?" Joe glanced at Andi. With the SUV door open, she sat sideways in the driver's seat and watched him like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

  "The guy gave us a name," J.T. said. "LeCroy Lanza. He's a known drug dealer and has a reputation for elim­inating his competition and seeking revenge against any­one who crosses him. Word has it that Bobby Yazzi had dealings with Lanza."

  "So you think Lanza killed Bobby and then hired Char­lie Kirk to track down and kill Eddie and Russ?"

  "Bingo."

  "Then I hope we can get to the boys soon."

  "If Lanza's our man, then a call to the DEA might be in order. Sam Dundee has connections within that agency."

  "Why don't you give Sam a call and see what he can find out."

  "Will do," J.T. said. "I'll be in touch if I find out anything else, and you keep me posted on your search."

  Joe closed his phone, slipped it into the belt clip-on and turned to Andi, who waited impatiently. He relayed J.T.'s message to her. When she simply sat there, very still and quiet, he realized she was struggling with her emotions. His hand hovered over hers, but he waited, unsure whether to touch her. But his need to comfort her over­came his sense of uncertainty, and he clasped her hand in his.

  "We're going to find them," Joe assured her. "They're on foot. They can't have gone far."

  "I don't under
stand why they keep on running, espe­cially now that one of them is hurt."

  "They're more scared and confused than ever." Joe squeezed her hand tenderly. “Just sit here until Aaron and I check things out. We shouldn't be gone long. You've got a cell phone and a rifle." Reluctantly, he released her hand.

  "Joe, please. . .I want to go with you."

  "If we find their trail, I'll come back for you." Joe glanced at the stoic Aaron. "He can't make a long trek. I just need him to help me pick up any signs."

  "I cannot stay here and wait."

  "Damn," Joe muttered under his breath. "I shouldn't have wasted time trying to make you stay here. Come on. Let's go."

  Twenty minutes later, the trail that Aaron Tuvi had eas­ily picked up at the back of the old shack came to an end at a roadway intersection.

  "Here is where the signs end," Aaron said.

  "How is that possible?" Andi asked. "They couldn't have just disappeared."

  "Someone picked them up." Joe glanced in each di­rection, but saw no sign of a vehicle on the lonely roads. "It's the only explanation."

  Andi grabbed his arm, tugging on his shirt sleeve. "You don't think—"

  He shook his head. "Don't think the worst. They could have just hitched a ride with someone." Joe turned to Aaron. “Where do these roads lead?''

  "This road—" he pointed west "—will take you to a highway that goes to the Hopi Reservation. The north road circles around and takes you back to Black Rock. And to the south, the road will end at Interstate 40."

  "Well, what do we do, flip a coin?" Andi's shoulders slumped.

  Momentarily, Joe shared her feeling of hopelessness. "No, we call in some help." "Not the police."

  "No, not the police, although my guess is that they'll catch up with us sooner or later." Joe nodded west, the direction from which they'd come. "We'll take Aaron back to Black Rock, then I'll call J.T. and have him send us some help. Wolfe and Hunter, along with some of the ranch hands. You and I will make the circle from Black Rock back to this point, and then we'll head toward the Hopi Reservation. J.T.'s searchers and the Dundee agents can take the road to 1-40 and then the interstate itself."

  "Sounds like the only reasonable plan."

  "Then, for once we're in agreement."

  At two the following morning, Joe and Andi found themselves on a long, virtually deserted stretch of road. Endless searching had brought them to one dead end after another. Wherever they'd gone, they had questioned peo­ple and come up with nothing. Andi couldn't understand how two teenage boys, one of them injured and bleeding, could simply vanish. At last report, J.T.'s men had fared no better.

  Joe pulled the Expedition from the road onto a dirt lane, killed the motor and turned off the headlights.

  "What are you doing?" Andi asked.

  "I'm stopping so we can get a few hours of rest," he said.

  "But the boys will get away if we—"

  Joe put his hand on her shoulder. "Let's face it, Andi, the boys have already gotten away again."

  "I know you're right. I just didn't want to admit the truth to myself. We've searched everywhere and come up with nothing."

  "Maybe J.T.'s men will unearth something. And don't forget that Wolfe and Hunter are still out there search­ing." He squeezed her shoulder, then released his hold. "Don't give up hope. With so many people looking for the boys, somebody's bound to find them."

  She shook her head. "No, I won't give up hope."

  The full moon partially illuminated the interior of the SUV, at least enough so that she could see Joe's silhou­ette. She watched while he undid his safety belt and re­clined the seat. He removed his Stetson and tossed it in the back, then crossed his arms behind his head and re­laxed. Andi followed his lead, quickly releasing her belt and reclining the seat. But lying beside Joe, with only the console between them, Andi felt as if they were sharing some enormous canopied bed.

  She was bone weary and longed for a warm bath, her own bed and something to eat that hadn't come out of a vending machine. Each time Joe had stopped for gas, he'd picked up snacks. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten three candy bars in one day. Her mind im­mediately skipped from her concern over her own well-being to wondering how the boys were faring. Were they hungry? Cold? Sick? Whichever boy had been shot—if, indeed, Charlie Kirk had shot one of them—how was he able to keep running? Odd, she thought, that it didn't re­ally matter to her whether the injured boy was Russ or Eddie. She could no more bear the thought of Eddie Whitehorn dying than she could of losing her own brother.

  Did Joe feel the same way?

  She glanced at Joe's still form. That hard, masculine body within arm's reach. She had accused Joe of not car­ing about Russ, but in her heart she knew that wasn't true. There had been a time when Joe had been to Russ the Navajo equivalent of a godfather.

  And there'd been a time when Joe had loved Russell Lapahie like a father, she reminded herself. Unfortunately, that love hadn't stopped Joe from doing his duty.

  But her father had been the one to choose death over facing the dishonor his actions had brought on his family, his clan and his people. The pain of that admission clutched Andi's heart. She had allowed that thought to enter her mind on numerous occasions, but she had always pushed it aside, unwilling to fault her father for his own actions. It had been so much easier to lay all the blame on Joe's wide shoulders. After all, Joe had chosen to de­sert her, as her father had done. When she had just begun to love them, they had exited her life without any expla­nation—without proper goodbyes.

  She had hated them both. Joe. And her father.

  A lone tear trickled down her cheek. She pulled in a deep breath, then released it on a whimpering sigh.

  Joe stirred, inclining his body toward hers. "Are you all right?"

  "No, not really," she admitted.

  "Worried about Eddie and Russ?"

  "Yes, but. . ." Just say it, she told herself. Admit the truth to Joe. After all you 've put him through—five years ago and during the past few days—you owe him complete honesty. But what exactly would complete honesty entail? she wondered.

  "Is there something else?" Joe asked.

  She turned toward him, but in the semidarkness couldn't make out his features. It didn't matter. Her heart had, long ago, memorized the bold, arrogant structure of his handsome face.

  "You care about what happens to Russ, don't you. You came back to the reservation as much for Russ as for Eddie."

  She sensed Joe suddenly tense. Even in the darkness, their bodies not touching, she and Joe were connected. They always had been. Both of them had recognized that bond the first moment they met. And neither time nor distance had altered that mystical link.

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry that I doubted your motives," she said. "You and I want what is best for both Russ and Eddie."

  "Yes."

  "I've hated you for a long time. You broke my heart, you know."

  "Yes, I know."

  "And I broke yours, didn't I, when I turned against you and blamed you for my father's death?"

  "Yes."

  "Damn it, Joe, can't you say anything except 'yes'?" “What do you want me to say?''

  "Tell me how you feel."

  "I'd rather show you."

  He reached across the console, grabbed her into his arms, lifted her up, then over and into his lap. A startled gasp whooshed out of her as she landed against him, her bottom solidly pressed against his blatant arousal.

  Chapter 11

  With his face so close to hers, Andi could see the spar­kle in his black eyes. "Joe?" "Yes?"

  She understood what he was saying, what he was ask­ing. It's too soon, her mind told her, but she didn't listen to her mind. Instead she heard her heart's plea—you love this man—and obeyed her body's command not to wait, to take what she wanted, now.

  She said, "Yes."

  He pulled her closer, until they were soft breasts to hard chest. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around h
is neck. Breathlessly she waited for him to make the next move. For endless moments, Joe gazed into her eyes. Waiting. Giving her time to reconsider her decision.

  She brushed her lips against his, inviting him to further action. As if the touch of her mouth on his ignited some barely controlled fire inside him, Joe claimed her lips with possessive greed. His breathing grew harsh and ragged with desire as he plunged and pillaged. She clung to him, whimpering and squirming, her femininity clenching and unclenching in preparation. Hot moisture. Puckering nip­ples. Throbbing need. Intense longing to be taken hard and fast quickly overwhelmed common sense.

  Joe tore his mouth from hers and moved his lips down­ward, nipping, licking and kissing her throat. Then he stopped his exploration at the top of her bra. With his breath warm between her breasts, he hurriedly unbuttoned her shirt and jerked it free from her jeans. She drew in an expectant breath, yearning for the feel of his hands and mouth on her body. And wanting just as badly to touch him with equal intimacy.

  Following his lead, she undid his shirt and slid her hands inside to clutch his broad shoulders. He was big and muscular and devastatingly male. As she caressed him, leisurely, seductively, her hands moved over his chest. When her fingers encountered his bandaged side, she gasped, suddenly remembering that he was injured. Badly injured. And still recuperating.

  "Your wound," she said. "I forgot all about—"

  "It's okay. We'll be careful. You won't hurt me." He lifted her hands back to his shoulders. "Hold on."

  When he eased his hands between their bodies and cov­ered her breasts, pure pleasure spiraled through her. Her short nails bit into his shoulders, the action urging him to take her mouth once more. She needed little prompting. When he kissed her again, she gave as good as she got, devouring him with the same urgency.

  Joe released the front closure of her bra and spread the garment apart to reveal her high, round breasts. Her nip­ples tightened almost painfully. He took one begging nip­ple into his mouth. She keened with pleasure-pain as he sucked hard. When she pushed against his chest in a con­fused effort to end the glorious torment, he held her tighter, forcing her to accept him. He worked with the snap on her jeans, freeing it quickly, and then jerked down the zipper. When he delved with his hand inside her pant­ies, she threw back her head and rested her shoulders against the steering wheel. While the fingers of his right hand worked their way through the nest of dark curls be­tween her thighs, his left hand grabbed her wrist and laid her open palm over his crotch. His sex strained and pulsed against her hand. The combination of his mouth on her breast and their hands placed so intimately on each other's bodies heightened Andi's senses.