by Jenna Kernan
Morse code? wondered Ray.
Lisa stiffened and the hand holding the bracelet dropped to her lap.
“What?” asked her mother.
“I know what this is.” Lisa’s eyes twinkled as she looked from her mother to Ray and then back to her mother. “Pop-Pop made it for me! Don’t you remember? When I was really little. He was sick and he was in that place.”
“The clinic?”
“And he had to sit so long with the...” She tapped the junction of her elbow.
“The chemotherapy.”
“And his hair fell out and came back white. He couldn’t weave his baskets.”
“He said it was too tiring,” said Morgan, thinking back. Her daughter had been only four but she seemed to remember more than Morgan did.
“When he came home he started painting with those little brushes.”
Morgan thought back, remembering the card table and the paints and brushes.
“Ceramics. He took a class at the community center.”
Lisa set aside the bracelet and glasses and sprang to her feet. Then she ran to her room with Morgan and Ray in pursuit. From her bedside table, she lifted a six-inch ceramic statue of a gray-bearded prospector standing with an arm across the back of his mule. She passed the figurine to her mother.
In one of the prospector’s hands was a circular gold pan painted the same leaden color as his beard. In the pan were tiny flecks of gold paint to represent specks of precious metal. Also in the gray pan was a solid rectangular area painted yellow with some tiny characters painted within that.
Morgan stepped forward, her brows knit. “That wasn’t there before.”
“What?” Lisa leaned over as her mother pointed to the yellow rectangle. “Get the glasses.”
“I can read it,” said Lisa, peering at the gold pan. “It says 12311989.”
Morgan straightened and nearly dropped the statue.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a treasure hunt,” said Ray, studying her. “And your mama understands the first clue.”
* * *
RAY EASED THE statue back onto Lisa’s nightstand. “He knew you’d receive his bracelet with his effects. And, failing that, he knew that Lisa would eventually notice the addition to her statue.”
“But what does that mean,” said Lisa. “It’s just a bunch of numbers.”
“It’s my birthday,” said Morgan. “December thirty-first, 1989.”
“But that’s not a clue,” said Lisa.
Morgan’s eyes rounded. “Lisa, you can’t tell anyone at school about this.”
“Mom, there is no school tomorrow. It’s Saturday.”
“You can’t phone or text or chat. Nothing.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
Ray dropped to a knee and took hold of Lisa’s shoulders. “Lisa, there are a lot of people after your Pop-Pop’s money. If they have this clue, they might hurt your mom to get her to tell them what it means.”
Lisa’s eyes grew wide. Morgan tugged at his hand.
“You’re frightening her.”
“She should be frightened. She told Guy Heron about the money and he dug up the backyard. Then tonight, right after Lisa brought out this bracelet, he tried to sneak into your dad’s room.”
Morgan sank to the bed. “Everyone at the house saw the bracelet.”
“And heard her ask what the marks meant before you told her to put it away.”
“Oh, no.”
Lisa tucked in close to her mom. “Mama, did I do something wrong again?”
Morgan wrapped an arm about her daughter’s narrow shoulders. “You have to listen to Mr. Strong. He’s here to protect us.”
Lisa lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes seeming to judge his strength and his will.
“What do we do?”
* * *
“RIGHT NOW WE get some sleep,” said Morgan to Lisa. “Tomorrow can take care of itself.”
Lisa did not rise from her grandfather’s bed.
“What do I always tell you?” asked Morgan.
“We live in this moment. Everything else is illusion,” Lisa recited by rote, but Morgan could see her heart wasn’t in it.
Morgan rose and offered a hand, seeing Lisa out and to her bedroom to change for sleep. The cat followed Lisa like a duckling after its mother. Once Lisa was tucked in, Morgan did what she could to assure her daughter that everything would be fine, trying not to let Lisa see the real fear she had about their safety. She understood now why her shaman had sent Ray to them and she thanked God for it.
When she left Lisa’s room, she found Ray in the hall. He had changed into the snug white muscle shirt he preferred for sleeping and the gray sweatpants that hugged his magnificent backside. Morgan cleared her throat but her heart continued to accelerate. It was difficult to be faced with so much temptation. She knew that he was here on an assignment and that he would leave when the trouble did. But she also knew how good he smelled, with his hair wet from a shower and his skin damp.
Morgan looked up at Ray standing watchful as an eagle, his arms folded.
Here was the only person she had told about her daughter’s father and he had not been shocked or judgmental. But he had warned her off when, in a moment of weakness, she had really considered sleeping with him. She was considering it again and only her daughter sleeping in the room behind her kept her from offering herself. This was so bad. She wasn’t that kind of woman. But it had been so long and she was attracted to Ray, not just because of how he looked, but because they had both suffered losses, made mistakes. He wasn’t a bad man. He was all that stood between her and the bad men. She knew he was dangerous but not to her and not to Lisa.
It was only her need for his protection and her weeping heart that made her feel this desire to experience his hands on her body. She had just buried her father. It was normal for her emotions to be erratic.
“She asleep?” he asked.
“Nearly. It was a hard day.”
Morgan stepped toward her bedroom and paused. It had been so long since she had been with a man. Ray wasn’t perfect. But he was honest and he was a strange blend of vulnerability and toughness she found irresistible. But she needed to be wise, didn’t she? She knew he would not be staying. What she didn’t know was if that was a reason to resist her desires or one that meant she should act on them now before it was too late.
“I want Lisa to go to your uncle Agustin’s tomorrow. I’m sending Dylan Tehauno along to keep watch over her.”
Fear washed away the temptation as she met his serious expression with one of his own.
“We need to find that money and turn it over to the FBI.”
“Will that stop all this?”
“We could just give them the clues and let them figure it out,” she said.
“Yes, but they won’t mean anything to them. They wouldn’t have known what that symbol meant. And your birthday—that won’t help them find the money. But I have a feeling you know what that number signifies and where to look next.”
“I do.”
“Then tomorrow we get Lisa somewhere safe and then we try to find this money.”
She nodded. “Do you want some coffee?”
It was too late for coffee, but she wasn’t ready to face her empty bed just yet. It never felt so lonely before Ray moved in. Whether because of her father’s company or because she was busy raising Lisa and with work, Morgan had never really wanted a man in her life—until now. Now the nights were long and sleepless as she fought the urge to slip across the hall in the darkness.
“Water.” He followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
The living room was suddenly illuminated with red and blue lights that spun around the walls.
“What’s that?” she asked, moving to the living room to peer out the front door.
“Detective Bear Den set up a patrolman in front of your house.”
He moved to stand behind her. His breath brushed her neck, lifting the hairs. She wanted to drop her head back against his chest, close her eyes and feel his body against hers. Instead she leaned forward to watch a tribal police officer emerge from his patrol car, flashlight in hand as he approached a dark pickup he had pulled over before her house. This housing development was on a loop that led in a half circle back to the road. The only reason to be on it was to get to one of seven houses.
The officer spoke with the driver and then the truck pulled out. The officer returned toward his unit and Ray slipped past her and out the door. She heard him ask and the officer answer. They were not from the tribe, but were Anglos. There was no need to ask what they wanted.
Ray stepped back inside. Morgan had her arms about herself because she couldn’t seem to stop shivering. He took one look at her and drew her in, his arms rubbing up and down her back. She started crying of course. After today she was surprised she had any tears left to cry.
He ushered her to the sofa and they sat side by side.
“We have to find it. Make it stop,” she said, and she looked up at his handsome face, seeing an expression of yearning mirroring her own.
Her hand slipped around his neck and she pressed her lips to his. He kissed her with a sweetness that defied everything she knew of his reputation. This kiss was full of comfort and tenderness. His hands were gentle as they gathered her in and rocked slowly with her. He kissed her cheeks and her neck and then he whispered in her ear.
“I’ll keep you safe, Morgan. I swear on my life that nothing will happen to either you or Lisa.”
She believed him. And suddenly she knew why their shaman had chosen him. It wasn’t because he was a warrior or a former US Marine or a member of Tribal Thunder. It was because of Hatch Yeager, the friend he could not save. Kenshaw must have known that Ray would do anything to keep from losing another person he had sworn to protect. Morgan felt a terrible weight of responsibility pressing down on her. She needed to stay safe in order to protect Ray because she was certain he would dive on a grenade to protect her and her daughter. And she also knew that she could not live with that.
He stroked her hair and pressed her head against his chest so she could hear the steady thumping of his strong heart. She splayed a hand across his chest, trying to absorb just a little of that power, for she felt sure she would need it.
Ray took hold of her shoulders and eased her away.
“I have to ask you about your dad.”
“All right.”
“That day you took your father to Darabee, what do you remember?”
She thought back to that day in February and relayed what she recalled. The drive to the shopping area. Parking in the strip mall. Her dad telling her to meet him in forty-five minutes at a restaurant. Errands and her return to pick him up.
“Did he say who he was meeting?”
“No.”
“Why he was meeting this person?”
“He just said he’d arranged to meet an old friend. A vet from his unit.”
Ray made a face.
“That was a lie. Wasn’t it?”
“Probably.” He raked his long fingers through his thick hair. “Where did you go?”
“Grocery shopping. It’s right across the highway from that restaurant.”
“Was he waiting outside for you?”
“No, I came in and he was alone at a table near the windows.”
“See anyone you knew?”
She thought. “I don’t believe so.”
“Think, Morgan.”
She did. “Just some customers. Someone held the door for me.” His face had been familiar but she couldn’t place him. Where had she seen him before? “I saw the woman behind the counter and another filling the coffee carafes. It wasn’t very busy. After breakfast and before lunch. There was a young mother with two kids. I asked their ages. But I didn’t know her.”
Ray did not seem relieved. This was important, but she really could not come up with a single name.
“I didn’t know any of them.”
His mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.
“Okay. Fine,” he said. “What then?”
“He asked me to drive him to the bank. I ran to the drugstore for a few personal items. When I came back he was already waiting in the car.”
“Couldn’t you get those things at the grocery store?”
“They’re less expensive in the drugstore and I had a coupon.”
He nodded.
The bank, she thought. “That was the money wasn’t?”
“Did he have a bag or case?”
She shook her head.
“Two hundred thousand would take up some space, so I don’t think so. Unless he had it already hidden in your car.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“This is unreal.”
Ray kept going, not giving her a minute to think.
“Now what about at the hospital, when I left to get us some food. Did your dad wake up?”
She shook her head.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“He was unconscious until our shaman arrived and then, well, you heard. It was just babbling.”
Ray blew out a long breath. His shoulders relaxed. “All right. So the number, the one on the statue your dad gave Lisa.”
He was clever and she wondered for just an instant if Kenshaw had sent him to find the money, which would make him just like everyone else. A part of her wanted to believe it because it was preferable to the alternative. That she had feelings for her protector that went beyond longing and gratitude. Was it better to be taken advantage of or to harbor foolish thoughts of a future with a man who had told her bluntly that this was a job to him?
Ray cleared his throat. “Why paint your birthday on a yellow rectangle in the middle of that gold pan?”
“It’s not just a rectangle. Didn’t you see the black circle before the numbers?”
He nodded, clearly not making the connection. Perhaps he had been right when he told her that her father had intended the message only for her.
Morgan hesitated. She knew exactly what that symbol meant and she knew where they needed to go next. The only question was whether to tell Ray or try to get to follow her father’s clues alone.
She looked at the man who still held her in his arms. Could she trust him with what she knew?
Chapter Twelve
“Do you own cattle, Ray?” asked Morgan. She made her decision. For better or worse, she would trust the man her shaman had sent her.
Many of their tribe did. Some had been given land to ranch by the tribe, but most kept their cattle in the tribe’s communal herd overseen by the tribal livestock manager.
Ray massaged the muscles at his left shoulder with his left hand as if suddenly developing a crick in his neck.
“Not anymore.”
But he had. Most folks kept their cattle like money in the bank as insurance against a rainy day. She gave him a curious look.
He glanced away but answered her unspoken question. “They were sold when my parents died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We needed the money to settle their debts. And for the headstones.”
The stillness in the kitchen and the silence between them buzzed. She told herself not to ask but then she did. He laced his hands on the countertop, seemingly relaxed until she noticed his knuckles going white.
She thought back. She had been young. But she remembered the boy in school who had lost his parents. It had frightened her to kno
w that parents could be lost.
“It was an auto accident. Is that right?”
He nodded. “A trailer hitch failed. It was attached to a pickup truck coming in the opposite direction down Apache Trail, one of the steeper grades. They still don’t know why it let go. But it did.”
Morgan winced at the image her mind furnished.
“They were killed instantly. Both of them.”
“I remember something about it.” She’d been in second grade, so Ray had been in third. An eight-year-old, two years younger than Lisa and orphaned. This man knew exactly what Lisa would go through if anything happened to her. So did Morgan—they’d both lost parents in auto accidents. She marveled at Kenshaw Little Falcon’s selection for her protector. The man had every reason to fight for her.
“I remember hearing. You lived with the Hatch family afterward.” Yeager’s mother and father and their son, who had died in Iraq. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She placed a hand over his joined ones.
“It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t matter. I lost my mom almost four years ago and I still miss her every day. There are so many things I want to ask her, about Lisa and...” She stopped talking, met his gaze and they came to a silent understanding. Who among the living ever escaped this kind of loss?
“I don’t trust life anymore and live accordingly.”
“You mean you don’t take it for granted?”
“No. I mean that it’s unpredictable and vicious. I don’t plan for a future because I don’t expect to ever see one. I know people think of me as reckless and impulsive. Maybe I am.”
She had heard of his reputation but she also judged by what she saw. With her and with her daughter Ray had been nothing but stable and thoughtful. With her, Ray was a man to be trusted with precious things, like her life and the life of her daughter.
“That’s why Kenshaw chose me. Because he knows I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
“I believe that.”
He moved his hand to capture hers. His palm was warm, dry and callused. She imagined those rough hands skimming over her body and just managed to resist the shiver of longing.
“What does this have to do with the painted yellow rectangle with your birthday?” he asked.
