A Stolen Chance

by LaRoque, Linda

  After paying, he rushed to his vehicle and scanned the front page, flipped to page eight for the full story. Siesta Motel and Café in New Mexico. She might be long gone, but maybe someone would remember what she’d been driving. Hell, maybe she blabbed to one of the locals about her next destination. Not likely, but who knew? Susan would make a mistake, and he’d be there to show his love.

  His belly jumped when he blurted out a hearty laugh. For some reason his body’s response tickled him, and he roared with laughter. He chuckled all the way to his motel. Tomorrow he’d be on his way to Siesta. Might even take a room there and let folks become comfortable with his presence.

  ****

  Shannon sat on the sofa in Carson’s warm cabin, feet curled up beneath her, reading a book on Zuni fetishes. His cottage was slightly bigger than hers, but hers was more attractive, in her opinion. It might be due to the dark paneling that lined the walls, a decorating trend of the 1970s. Carson carried a box in and placed it on the coffee table, then sat down beside her.

  He threw an arm over her shoulders, cuddled her close, and leaned in to peer at the book. He tilted the book to see the cover. “I haven’t seen this in ages. Where’d you find it?”

  “On the bookshelf in your bedroom.” She tapped a page. “It says here that fetishes are usually not signed, as it violates their communal purpose. So how on earth do you know who carved them?” Many were so small it would be hard to etch a name on them without disturbing their artistic image.

  “Most artists believe their work is unique enough to be easily identifiable. Signing them is a modern trend initiated by tourism. Until tourism became a big part of the Zuni economy, there were very few fetish artists. Now there are close to three hundred or so.”

  She remembered from their earlier discussion that he’d said a carving had to be blessed before it was really a fetish. “How are they blessed?”

  “The Zuni are a very religious people. The pueblos come together during the winter solstice. There, during a Zuni medicine ceremony, the fetishes are sanctified. Then they are sacred.”

  “Do they has less value as just carvings?”

  “As pieces of art, they’re of importance to their owner, but if blessed, then they’re imbued with spiritual influence.” Yeah, she understood that, but the idea of a little object having power boggled her mind. It was hard for her to swallow.

  “I know it’s hard for individuals who didn’t grow up with Native American traditions to understand, but we believe fetishes aid us in a number of ways.”

  He flipped the pages of the book back to the beginning, where several examples of primitive carvings were displayed. “Tribal possession carvings handed down hundreds of years ago were believed to have been real animals that were petrified into stone beings.”

  “That’s hard for the average person to believe.” At least it was for her, anyway.

  “Of course, but not for the Zuni. Remember, I’m talking about the ancient fetishes, those that were rectangular pieces of stone shaped into animal forms, not the commercial ones you see so many of in shops today.” He tapped a picture of an early carving. If not for their names below the pictures, she wouldn’t be able to identify the animals. She fingered the bear at her breasts and lifted it to study. It was easy to recognize as a white bear.

  “Many blessed fetish owners have seen marvels occur in their lives—cures for cancer and other miracles that have been attributed to the spirit within the carving. And because the owner believed in the fetish’s ability.”

  Shannon touched the bear again. “Do you think this one has been blessed?”

  “Of course. Mr. Zeekya wouldn’t have given it to you otherwise.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  “But you must accept its power as true.”

  Could she believe? No doubt she’d felt a tingle when she clasped it in her hand. She’d give it more thought. She sat up and pulled the box closer. “Let’s see what’s in this. Maybe today we’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  Carson removed a pocket knife and carefully slit the packing tape. He lifted the contents—several shirt boxes, a photo album filled with newspaper clippings, and a cigar box. He tossed the empty box on the floor.

  Shannon rubbed her hands in glee. “I think we’ve hit pay dirt. There has to be something of interest here.”

  Thirty minutes later, they had a picture of Carson’s great-grandmother and great-grandfather on their wedding day, along with their marriage certificate. Odd, they’d not been married on one of the reservations but at a justice of the peace’s office in Gallup, New Mexico.

  Carson held the photo. “So, Lily’s maiden name was Luna.”

  ****

  Mr. Zeekya’s call the next day caught Carson by surprise as he stood at the grill flipping burgers. George handed him the phone and took the spatula from his hand. “Mr. Rhodes. I’ve discovered your great-grandmother’s name. The tribal elders would like to meet with you about your ancestor and the disappearance of a set of communal fetishes in 1930.”

  Shocked, Carson didn’t know what to say other than, “I’ll be there tomorrow.” Zeekya’s words echoed in Carson’s mind. The disappearance of a set of communal fetishes. Items Carson knew were highly valued property of the tribe. No. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t believe any ancestor of his would steal anything, much less something of such important tribal value. There had to be another explanation. He’d try not to jump to conclusions until he heard the facts.

  Shannon agreed to come with him to the Zuni reservation. For one thing, he didn’t want to leave her alone at the motel, in case Holt showed up. Plus, he enjoyed having her company. Due to lack of motels in the area, they would camp in her van at an RV park in Black Rock.

  Shannon reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know it sounds bad, Carson, but there could be a simple, innocent explanation. Their missing set may not be the one your great-grandfather had.”

  “Yeah, that’s true, but not likely. A set like they’re talking about is very rare. I doubt there would be two of them.”

  “I guess. But, you had nothing to do with it.”

  He knew that, but the knowledge didn’t ease his distress. And if the set disappeared in 1930, why were they just now hearing about it?

  Mr. Zeekya met them at his shop and rode with them, giving directions to an elder’s home. Inside, a small group of men and women waited. Mr. Zeekya motioned for them to sit down and then introduced people in the room. “This is Mr. Peña. He will conduct the meeting.”

  Carson nodded.

  The older gentleman’s dark eyebrows contrasted starkly with his silver hair and deeply lined face. “Mr. Rhodes, we appreciate you coming today.” He turned to Shannon. “And you, Miss Langley. We look forward to hearing about your meeting with Mr. Riley.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Now, let’s get right to the point. We believe the set of fetishes you are trying to find are the ancient holy ceremonial collection that disappeared from here in 1930.”

  He lifted the old pottery jug on the coffee table. “This is the container in which they were housed. You’re aware of why there is an opening here?” He pointed to the hole in the side of the jar.

  Carson leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He resisted the urge to pop his knuckles. “Yes. So they can eat when nourishment is provided.”

  “Ah, good. You are knowledgeable about our beliefs.”

  “I’ve done some studying on the subject. My grandfather introduced me to Zuni fetishes when I was a boy.” He studied the somber faces around him. “What makes you think your set and mine are one and the same?”

  The oldest woman in the room spoke up. “Because, Nephew, I saw my older sister, Lily Luna, take them before she ran away with your great-grandfather, John Riley.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carson snapped his gaping mouth shut. This woman was his great-aunt. “I am honored to meet you, Aunt…”

  Her ancient face crinkled, her dark eyes glistening with what C
arson feared might be moisture. “Nona.” She wiped a tear away from her face with the back of her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you at last.”

  “Why haven’t we met before? I never knew I had any relatives here at Zuni Pueblo.” Not that he’d asked, but his mother and Aunt Leona had never mentioned it. “Does Aunt Leona know about you? Did Gramps?”

  “Your grandfather may have known, but he never inquired, so I doubt your mother or aunt knew. You see, my parents didn’t approve of Lily’s marriage and forbade it.” She clasped her hands and leaned back against the sofa. An older man, possibly her son, put an arm around her and bent to whisper in her ear. She patted his leg and murmured, “I’m fine,” before turning back to Carson.

  “I was only six years old when Lily left, but I remember that day so well. My parents never believed their eldest daughter would defy their wishes. When she left, they were distraught. I didn’t tell them what I saw, and it was several days before the prayer fetishes were reported missing from the church. So you see, no one knew Lily had taken them until years later. I didn’t want to add to my parent’s distress, so I kept quiet until recently. Now it is time for the truth to come out.”

  “I’m sorry for the burden that knowledge must have been all these years. Did you never try to contact my great-grandfather or try to recover them? Did you even know of Lily’s death?”

  Face grim, she shook her head. “No, she was dead to us from the day she left here. Her name was never spoken again.”

  What a loss. Here his mother and aunt had relatives they knew nothing about. Years of valued relationships lost because of something that had happened over eighty years ago. And Carson was to believe his great-grandmother was a thief? That was hard to swallow. “Do you think if she’d lived Lily would have returned the fetishes?”

  “It’s possible. She was angry when she took them. She may have regretted her actions later, and then died before she had a chance to return them. The key question here is did John Riley know about them, and if so, why didn’t he return them? Was it spite or heartache that kept him silent?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll turn the motel upside down looking for answers and for the prayer set.” He nodded to all in the room. “And of course, when I find them, they’ll be returned to their rightful home.”

  ****

  Shannon placed two cups of water in the small microwave oven and set the timer for three minutes. When the bell sounded, she removed the mugs, added hot cocoa mix, and stirred. Carson, brow furrowed in thought, sat on the back bench seat, Hans at his feet. Since they left the reservation and driven the short distance to Black Rock, he’d said little. He’d acquired them a camping space and hooked up the utilities. They ate their sandwiches in silence, Carson deep in thought. Shannon, knowing he had a lot on his mind, let him think.

  Now, with a cup in each hand, she walked the short distance toward him, careful not to spill the hot liquid. Carson took one, and she sat down beside him.

  He put his free arm around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He nudged her closer and brushed his lips against her hair. His warm breath danced across her cheek. “Not just for the cocoa, but for letting me mull things over in my head.”

  She turned her face so her cheek would meet his lips. Hand on his leg, she squeezed. “You had a lot on your mind.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He nuzzled her jaw and kissed the corner of her mouth. She resisted the urge to turn and meet his lips with hers.

  “Drink your cocoa before it gets cold or you spill it.” She straightened and brought her cup up and took a sip. “It’s already cooling down. I don’t like it lukewarm.”

  His gaze pierced hers, his lips arched in a suggestive smile. “Neither do I.”

  The warmth in his look didn’t refer to the beverage. Heat rose in her face and blossomed elsewhere. No, he wouldn’t be a lukewarm lover. He’d expect full surrender in a relationship and give it in return. No doubt about it, this man and his sex appeal sizzled like cold water on a hot griddle. The van, which had seemed roomy enough when she’d been in it alone, grew smaller.

  Easing back, he tilted his cup, taking a healthy swallow. “Well, drink up, then.” He winked. “Relax, sweetheart. I can’t help admiring you, but I would never take advantage of this situation.”

  “I know.”

  He peered at her over the rim of his cup. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Or we wouldn’t be sharing this van tonight.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “You on the top bunk, mister.” She patted the seat. “Me down here.”

  “Spoil sport.”

  An hour later, Carson’s thumping and bumping on the wall in the small upper bunk woke her. At his muffled, “Dammit,” she made up her mind.

  She scooted as close to the back wall as she could. The bench seat folded down into a double bed, and though it would be close quarters, it’d be better than listening to him thrash around all night. They’d neither one get any sleep. “Come on down here and bring your sleeping bag.”

  In the filtered light, his feet and legs appeared one second before his torso slid into view. He spread his sleeping bag beside her and crawled inside. It didn’t take him but a second to settle. “Thank you. I promise to be a gentleman.”

  Hans chuffed at being disturbed, turned around in a circle, and lay back down on the carpeted floor.

  Hugging the wall, she lay with her back to him. His body radiated heat and was a temptation. Don’t go there, Susan. She feared if she gave in to her longing for the emotional as well as the physical closeness she’d be lost. If something happened to him, or if he later cast her aside, she’d not survive. Yes, she cared entirely too much for the man. He implied he cared about her, and she trusted him with her life but wasn’t sure about her heart.

  His breathing evened, and Shannon sighed with relief and allowed her body to relax. His soft snore lulled her to sleep.

  ****

  “Howdy, mister. What can I get you?” The thirtyish-something waitress averted her eyes when he looked up. Hate boiled inside. Women used to fawn over him. Now they couldn’t bear to look at his scarred face. His eyes, void of lashes and brows, made him resemble one of the aliens folks talked about spotting in and around Roswell. Well, hell, the sightings were miles away.

  Pasting on his nicest smile, he tried to appeal to her soft side. Most women had one. “I’ll have coffee and your biggest steak with all the trimmings. Make it rare.”

  Picturing a big tip, he supposed, she grinned. “Coming right up.” She turned in his order and returned with a mug of java. She tapped her name tag. “The name’s Gina. If you need anything, just give a holler. Your food will be out in a jiff, hon.”

  A minute ago she couldn’t stomach his ugly mug, and now she favored him with false endearments. Bitch! He watched her walk away, ass twitching with each step. He swallowed a disgusted snort. All women were devious.

  He glanced around the room. The man in the picture, Carson Rhodes, wasn’t around. It was late in the evening, past most people’s dinner time. From the sign on the door, the place would close in an hour. Acting nonchalant, he took the folded gossip rag from his inside coat pocket and smoothed it out on the table.

  The waitress leaned over his shoulder, purposely allowing her breast to rub against him as she refilled his cup. “My God, that’s Carson.” She set the carafe down, snatched up the paper, and waved it at the man in the kitchen. “George, come take a look at this.”

  “Do you mind?” Dewayne pretended aggravation. Inside he chortled.

  “Oh, sorry. Just got excited. That’s our boss.”

  “Really?” He bent to study the article. “Well, I’ll be.” He tapped the page. “Says Siesta Café right there. What a coincidence.” Yeah, right.

  George strode from the kitchen and put a plate in front of Dewayne. The meat covered the platter; blood ran from the beef where the pick labeled “rare” protruded from the flesh. His stomach ru
mbled in response to the delicious aroma. He cut a bite and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Mmm, perfect.”

  George nodded and turned to Gina. “Now, what are you yammering about?”

  She pointed. “Look, there, at that picture.”

  He bent down and studied the photograph. “Damn.” He straightened and shook his head. “That fool reporter. The man better hope Carson doesn’t come looking for him.”

  Gina giggled. “Shannon looks like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.”

  George stared, and muttered, “Shit.” He glared at Gina. “Don’t stand here yakking. Get back to work.” He stalked back to the kitchen.

  Gina started to follow.

  “Wait. Is this Shannon a regular here?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why are you asking?”

  “No reason in particular. She reminds me of my sister.” He pasted a sober expression on his face. “She died some years ago.”

  His sad story worked like a charm. “I’m so sorry.” She glanced back at George. “She lives in one of the cabins.” She winked and whispered, “I think she and Carson have the hots for each other,” before starting back to the kitchen.

  Dewayne struggled to keep his rage tamped down, to keep his face from reddening, his voice civil. “Is there a bar in Siesta?” He wiggled his non-existent eyebrows. “Want to grab a drink after work?”

  Her face lit in a smile. “I’d love to.”

  George yelled from the kitchen. “Quit your gossiping, Gina. You’ve got work to do.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Sorry, guess I better not. I have to help close, and we’ll be here awhile.”

  ****

  Dewayne shone his headlights into one of the garages on the back side of the abandoned motel. Three walls would keep some of the cold at bay. The debris inside was minimal, but he didn’t want to risk running over a nail and getting a flat tire. He got out and kicked boards and other trash to the corners. Back outside, he killed the lights on his car and gazed out across the field. A few lights twinkled in the distance, but they were far away. Satisfied that his car beams had gone unnoticed, he got in, backed into the small space, and killed the motor.