Navajo's Woman

by Beverly Barton

  "Oh. Then when Russ is caught, Eddie can't corrobo­rate Russ's statement, can he?"

  Andi leaned over, braced her elbows on her thighs and her face in her hands. "It's all so unfair. I know in my heart that Russ and Eddie are innocent. But they're paying such a terribly high price for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Think positive thoughts," Joanna said. "Now isn't the time to give up hope—"

  "I'm looking for the Whitehorn family," a female voice said.

  Andi jerked her head up and stared at the middle-aged nurse standing in the doorway. Joanna grasped Andi's arm, and Andi helped her pregnant friend to stand.

  "Yes, I am Mrs. Whitehorn," Kate identified herself, all the while holding on to Joe's hand.

  "Eddie is out of surgery," the nurse said. "He's in recovery. Dr. Shull will be out to see you shortly."

  "Please, can you tell us if. . ." Ed Whitehorn came for­ward, J.T. at his side. "Is my son going to live?"

  "Eddie came through surgery just fine," the nurse as­sured them. "And he didn't lose his arm. But that's all I can tell you. Dr. Shull can answer your questions."

  A collective sigh of relief filled the waiting room. Kate hugged Joe, then went to her husband and clasped his hands in hers. Kate and Ed smiled at each other. Tears trickled down Kate's cheeks. A fine mist covered Ed's eyes. J.T. wrapped his arm around Joanna's shoulder. Joe turned to Andi, who opened her arms and reached out to him. He accepted the comfort of her embrace, his big body relaxing as she laid her head against his chest and hugged him to her.

  By the time Dr. Shull entered the waiting room, every­one had released some of their emotional tension with tears and hugs and words of comfort and hope. Ed and Kate approached the doctor, hand in hand.

  "Eddie's recovering nicely. We were able to repair his shoulder, but we had to remove a section of the infected area. With medication, the rest of the infection should clear shortly. There's a slight chance that Eddie might lose some mobility in that arm, but only time will tell. We'll be moving him into the surgical ICU shortly."

  "When can we see him?" Kate asked.

  "In a couple of hours," the doctor replied. "Immediate family only, for the first twenty-four hours."

  Joe and J.T. followed the doctor out into the corridor. Andi excused herself, closed the door behind her and waited several feet away, but close enough to hear the entire conversation.

  "Doctor, how soon will Eddie be able to talk to the police?" J.T. asked. "Captain Cummings, with the Na­vajo Tribal Police, was by here earlier, and he has a man waiting to stand guard over Eddie." J.T. gestured with his head to the right side of the waiting area.

  Andi was surprised that this was the first time she had noticed the uniformed policeman.

  "I won't allow anyone to disturb or upset Eddie. I can assure you of that, Mr. Blackwood. In twenty-four hours, I'll assess Eddie's condition and let the police know when they can question him."

  Russ checked his pocket for change. He had four quar­ters. Enough for four phone calls. He had to get in touch with Jewel. Maybe this time she wouldn't hang up on him. And he wanted to call the hospital and get a report on Eddie. He figured they'd taken him to Rehoboth McKin-ley. But first, he had to get a cola and maybe some crack­ers. He studied the cola machine in front of the garage and sighed with relief when he saw that the machine took dollar bills. Thank goodness, he still had the two dollars Eddie had given him. His buddy had almost forgotten that he kept a couple of dollars stuck inside his shoe, for emer­gencies. Russ's stomach growled. Yeah, he was hungry. Hungrier than he'd ever been in his life.

  Before inserting a dollar into the cola machine, he glanced up and down the road. No one was in sight. Everyone had closed up shop and gone home. Even the trading post had closed for the evening. Maybe he'd been a fool to come back to Black Rock. But then, he figured nobody, least of all the police, would expect him to back­track.

  The machine took his dollar on the second try, spit out a quarter change and dumped a frosty can into the bottom slot. Russ retrieved his quarter, picked up the can and popped the lid. He gulped down the dark carbonated bev­erage as if it were water—cold, sweet, delicious. When he finished half the cola, he eyed the machine that held candy, crackers and cookies. He used another dollar to buy two packs of peanut butter crackers. Taking his food with him, he walked behind the garage, out of sight of any passing vehicles, and slumped down on the ground. He ripped open the cellophane paper covering the food and gobbled both packs of crackers. After washing the food down with the remainder of his drink, he crushed the can in his hand. He slipped around the building, checked out the surrounding area, and decided it was safe to make his way to the pay telephone outside the trading post. He tossed the empty can into a trash basket along­side the gas pumps, then made a mad dash across the desolate street. Ever mindful that someone could spot him at any time and notify the law, Russ kept one eye out for any sign of human fife.

  He picked up the telephone receiver, dropped in a quar­ter and sighed when he heard a dial tone. He contacted an operator who dialed the hospital for him, and Rehoboth McKinley's switchboard transferred him to Information. He enquired about Eddie.

  "Ed Whitehorn, Jr.'s condition is critical," the woman's voice said.

  “What does that mean? Has he had surgery? Is he go­ing to live?"

  "If you'd like the number for the SICU waiting room, I can give it to you and you can speak to someone in the Whitehorn family."

  "No, thanks." Russ hung up. He couldn't talk to any­one in Eddie's family. They probably all hated him and, just as Joe Ornelas did, blamed him for Eddie's condition.

  Scanning the area again, scared that his luck was going to run out any minute now, Russ lifted the receiver again. After dropping in another quarter, he dialed Jewel Begay's number. With each ring, his heart nearly pumped out of his chest. Jewel was his one hope.

  “Hello?'' The voice was male. Either her father or her older brother.

  "May I speak to Jewel?"

  "Just a minute." Definitely the brother. He hadn't asked Russ to identify himself.

  Russ waited. Please, let her talk to me. Please. "Hello."

  "Jewel, it's Russ. Please, don't hang up."

  "I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong Jewel. I don't know anyone named Jim Gate wood."

  The dial tone hummed ominously in Russ's ear.

  Chapter 13

  Andi flipped on the light switch as she entered her house, then dropped her keys on the table in the small entry hall. Her place was only a few miles from the hospital, which made it convenient for them to rush back to the hospital at a moment's notice. Staying here together was the only logical choice since Joe's home was a good hour or more away. Joe closed the door and locked the deadbolt, then took a look around, glancing from the living room on the left to the dining room on the right.

  "Come on in," Andi said, inviting him with a welcom­ing sweep of her hand. "Make yourself at home."

  He followed her into the living room. The walls were covered with a warm, honey-colored pine, as was the floor. A large handwoven Navajo rug spread out under the glass and black wrought-iron coffee table. At the far side of the room, two large windows flanked a massive rock fireplace. A huge green leather chair and ottoman sat be­fore the pine armoire entertainment center, and a wood-enframed sofa rested in front of the fireplace.

  "Nice place you have here," he said.

  "Thanks. It's probably bigger than I need, but I like the roominess."

  "Your arts and crafts store must be doing pretty well for you to afford a place like this, or did you use—''

  "I used money from my trust fund," she admitted. "After all, the money came from my mother's father, so it's not only legally mine, but mine via heredity, too."

  "I didn't mean to sound judgmental," Joe told her.

  "Yeah, I know." She shrugged. "I promise that from now on, I won't take everything you say the wrong way."

  The corners of his mouth lifted
into a relieved smile. "I'm hungry. How about you?"

  "Starved," she admitted. "I'm not sure what we'll find in my refrigerator, but I think there might be salad and sandwich fixings."

  "You don't happen to have any beer, do you?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry. I have some chardonnay and a bottle of tequila. But no beer."

  "Tequila, huh? You must still like margaritas."

  "Guilty as charged."

  Joe came up behind Andi and curved his hands over her shoulders. “Maybe decaf coffee or tea would be better for us at this time of night."

  "I'll fix us some coffee, and you can help me pull together some sandwiches and a couple of salads," Andi said. "But then I'm going to take a nice, long hot bath and clean off all this grime. I feel as if I haven't bathed in a week."

  “If you want to take a bath first, I can put on the coffee and fix us something to eat. I've become pretty handy in the kitchen since I've lived alone for so many years."

  "Oh, Joe, that would be great." She pointed toward the dining room across the hall. "Just go through there and you'll find the kitchen."

  "I'll find it okay. You take your bath, and I'll serve you dinner on a tray in your bedroom. How does that sound?''

  "Sounds like heaven."

  Playfully swatting her behind, Joe sent her down the hallway. Within minutes of going upstairs, Andi shed her dirty clothes, turned on the water faucets and submerged her body in the big garden tub beneath the four-foot square stained-glass window. She laid her head on the cushioned rest attached to the tub, then reached out for a bottle sitting on the ledge. After pouring several capfuls of the liquid into the running water, a bubbly foam began to appear, and grew thicker and higher with each passing moment.

  Andi's thoughts flashed from one concern to another. From worry about Eddie Whitehorn to fear for her brother. Where was Russ? He knew the police would con­tinue to look for him, that he would be hunted down like an escaped animal. If only she could have persuaded him to come back with her. She felt as if she had somehow failed him. And thus failed her father, too.

  But what more could she do? Even now, while the po­lice continued to search, J.T.'s ranch hands did, too, along with the two Dundee agents, Hunter and Wolfe. She prayed that someone—even the police—would find Russ before another hit man tracked him down and killed him.

  She had phoned Doli from the hospital and brought her up to date on everything that had happened. Her step­mother had become understandably distraught when she learned that Russ was still on the run. Andi had tactfully refrained from mentioning Russ's threat to kill himself. She wanted to believe that Russ wouldn't actually have taken his own life, but as desperate as he was, he might have acted out of irrational fear.

  Poor Doli had enough compassion for the White-horns to express her sympathy for what Joe's family was going through, although she still disapproved of Andi's alliance with Joe.

  "If you had not been with Joe Ornelas, Russ would have returned home with you," Doli had said.

  "I don't think he would have. Russ is too frightened to trust anyone. Even me."

  Andi grabbed a bottle of shampoo, poured a quarter-size amount into the palm of her hand and lathered her hair. She slid farther down into the tub until she was prac­tically covered with water, only her face visible above the froth of bubbles.

  She had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow. All she could do was hope and pray for the best. If it were within her power to save her brother from any and all harm, she would do it—in a heartbeat.

  And if she could perform a miracle and vanquish all the obstacles in the path that led to a future with Joe, she would do that, too.

  Joe had found the kitchen easily and, after scrubbing his hands with antibacterial soap, he'd gone right to work putting on a carafe of decaffeinated coffee and searching the contents of Andi's side-by-side refrigerator for sand­wich makings.

  He was impressed with the kitchen. Heck, he was duly impressed with Andi's house. But what had he expected—that she would be living in that tiny apart-ment she'd rented when she first arrived in Gallup five-and-a-half years ago? After all, why shouldn't Andi enjoy the wealth she had inherited from her maternal grandfather?

  You couldn't have given her anything this fancy. He thought about his modest four-room house and how proud he'd been to be able to afford a place of his own. Of course, his finances had improved a great deal since he'd left the Tribal Police force and joined the ranks of Dundee agents, whose yearly salaries were in the six-figure bracket.

  Now isn't the time to start enumerating all the differ­ences between you and Andi, he told himself. There had been enough differences to discourage him from pursuing a relationship with her years ago, but he had forged ahead then because he hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd fallen hard for Andrea Stephens. He had dated a lot of women before he met Andi and quite a few since, but no other woman had ever affected him the way she did.

  As the coffee brewed, Joe slapped slices of ham and turkey onto wheat bread and loaded the sandwiches down with tomatoes, lettuce and pickles. He liked dills; Andi liked bread-and-butter. After rummaging through her cup­boards, he found a large serving tray, which he filled with the contents of their midnight snack. Glancing at the wall clock, he revised the time—their eleven-fifteen snack. He eyed the wall phone. Kate and Ed had promised that if there was any change for the worse in Eddie's condition, they would call immediately. Joe had told his sister that he wanted to stay at the hospital, but she had insisted that he go home with Andi and get some much-needed rest.

  "You've done more than enough in bringing Eddie back to us," Kate had said. "You're still recovering from a gunshot wound. You go with Andi. Eat. Sleep. Come back in the morning."

  "I will call you if we need you," Ed had vowed. "We have your cellular phone number, and Andi's number, also."

  Andi's home was on the outskirts of Gallup, a fairly quick drive back to the hospital. He hoped that Eddie spent an uneventful night. The boy had been through so much these past few days. His whole life had been turned upside down. And once he woke up and the doctor gave the police permission to question him, Eddie would have to confront the authorities on his own, without Russ. Andi's little brother was still running scared, out there alone and vulnerable. If ever two boys needed some di­vine intervention in their lives, Eddie and Russ did.

  Joe tossed a couple of cloth napkins on the food tray, then searched the cabinets for dessert. He found an un­opened box of chocolate mint cookies—Andi's favorite. He dumped half a dozen onto a small plate and added it to the already crowded tray.

  Carefully balancing the tray, he made his way down the hallway and up the stairs, then started searching for Andi's room. There were four doors. Two were closed. One was a bathroom. The fourth door, the one closest to him, stood wide open, and light poured from within. As he approached, he heard the sound of splashing water. At the thought of Andi totally naked, Joe almost dropped the tray.

  Get hold of yourself, man! It wasn't as if he'd never seen a naked woman before—he just hadn't seen Andi completely nude.

  He entered her private domain. He had thought the room would be completely feminine, perhaps with a few ruffles and a bit of lace here and there. He'd been wrong. At least, partially wrong. Although the wooden rocker in the corner boasted flower-print cushions with matching narrow ruffles around the edges, the rest of the room pos­

  sessed a distinctively Southwestern flavor. From the black iron bed, with half-moon headboard and footboard, to the Navajo rug on the floor, the decor projected an aura of earthiness and tranquillity.

  Joe placed the food tray on a black metal table situated between an overstuffed plaid armchair and an antique set­tee piled high with pillows, each covered in a different Native American print. On the walls were paintings that he instantly recognized as the work of Joanna Blackwood. One exquisite bronze statue held a place of honor on the mantel; a proud Navajo astride a magnificent stallion. J.T.'s brother-in-law, Alex,
was no doubt the sculptor.

  The door to the adjoining bathroom was half open. Joe hesitated, his body urging him to take one good look at Andi and then dive into the tub with her. But his mind cautioned him that he would be wise to wait for an in­vitation. After all, he had no idea if he'd be welcome.

  While he stood near the bathroom door, aroused and undecided as to what action he should take, he heard movement in the bathroom and caught just a glimpse of Andi's backside as she emerged from the tub. Before he'd had time to fully appreciate her long, slender waist, the curve of her hips or the sleekness of her legs, a flash of white terry cloth suddenly whirled around her, obscuring her delicious body. He forced himself momentarily to glance away, but couldn't stop himself from taking an­other look. Suddenly the door opened all the way and Andi stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth open on a startled gasp.

  "I didn't hear you come in." She clutched the lapels of her robe together and tightened the belt around her waist.

  She was clean and fresh, her hair wet, her skin flushed from the warm bath water. The red silk robe barely reached her knees and hung open in front, revealing a length of tan flesh just above mid-thigh.

  After clearing his throat, Joe nodded to the tray he'd placed on the table. "I brought dinner for us."

  "Oh, Joe, thank you." She hurried toward the meal and quickly surveyed every item. "It looks delicious. Please, sit down and let's eat."

  Joe eyed the chair and the settee. "I'm still pretty dirty," he said. "I don't want to mess up anything."

  She whipped a handwoven blanket off the back of the settee and arranged it over the chair. "There. Now, sit."

  He obeyed her command. "This is a nice room."

  "I'm glad you like it. I decorated it and the entire house myself." She lifted the coffee mug from the tray. "I wanted this to be a place that felt like home. I wanted this house to make me feel as if it truly belonged to me. My parent's home. . .my mother's home always seemed so austere. It was perfect. Nothing ever out of place and every room filled with priceless antiques and things little girls weren't supposed to touch. I wanted my house to be child-friendly, so that when I have children someday. . . Well, you get the idea."