by Renee Simons
"Does this tell you what you need to know?"
Zan tried to answer but found herself without enough breath to speak. He was all fire and heat and power and she felt as if she would melt. Her skin gave her no protection. Her legs had turned liquid. Her gaze fell before the twin flames that had consumed the green of his eyes, leaving only a hot, golden light that blinded like the sun at noon.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. She had no choice but to clutch his shoulders and cling to him while he walked back to the campfire. With her body suspended along the length of his and his eyes locked on hers, she felt impaled and unable to break loose. She could feel the bones and muscles of his body move as he walked, and feel his heartbeat pound between them and his breath on her face.
Her own ragged breath filled the air as she struggled for control and failed. With a moan, she lowered her mouth to his and tasted him as he had tasted her moments before, exploring the firm, warm lips, the slick surface of his teeth, lightly touching the tip of his waiting tongue, losing herself in him and her body's reactions.
When they reached the fire he set her on the ground. Just as the emotional storm had subsided, so had the campfire, leaving only a few embers to give off a mild wave of heat. She kept her arms around his neck, felt the flame that joined them. He seemed to read her thoughts.
"This is where the fire is, here, where your body and mine meet," he whispered.
"Then let's feed the flame."
They spread out the blankets and helped each other undress with hands that trembled, not from cold, but from eagerness. He wanted to shield her from the hard ground and motioned her to lie on top of him, but she shook her head.
"I need to feel the weight of you."
She pressed him close and demanded against his cheek, "Please, Stormwalker, no more waiting. Please?"
"You can't be ready for me," he insisted.
But she was. Their joining was swift and shattering and left them hungry for more. They fell asleep just as dawn broke, when all their desires had been satisfied, when they'd convinced themselves that here, in each other’s arms, fear and mistrust had been banished.
Neither had mentioned the word love or made any promises that might be broken in the light of day. Each had reverently received what the other had to give and for the moment, it was enough.
*****
They smelled the fire even before they reached the house. They galloped into the village to see ragged columns of smoke rise to the sky from a blackened pile of rubble that had once been a home. Mike turned to them.
"I worried about you and Grandmother," Mike said, "until I saw the horses were gone and realized the house was empty. Looks like luck was with us last night."
"If you can call this luck," Stormwalker said.
Zan dismounted and stood quietly by his side. She shuddered and he held her against him.
"How did this happen?"
Mike shrugged. "No one knows. There was no explosion, just suddenly a fire. By the time the trucks got here from town, the blaze had progressed too far to contain. They could only hose down the barn to keep it from going up, too. Then the propane tanks exploded. The fire chief suspects arson."
"We'll need to see whatever evidence he gathers," Zan said. She looked at Stormwalker. "I'll have Kenny authorize release of the findings."
"Becker's waiting for you in my office," Mike said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right off."
Zan nodded. "He said he'd be here at ten. I'd better go."
"He wants both of you."
They walked toward the newspaper building. "I'm grateful your grandmother went home yesterday, but she'll have to be told," Mike said.
"I'll tell her."
"How are you going to break the news to your mother?"
Stormwalker shrugged. "I don't know, Uncle. This place meant so much to her."
"We could do it together, if you want."
He nodded. "Maybe. . . ."
In Mike's office, Stormwalker stood at the window, staring out but seeing nothing. Deep in thought, he barely registered the frustration that boiled inside him. When he'd agreed to play decoy for a second time he never expected a reaction of this magnitude, never figured that others could be hurt. Whoever had set the fire played by a set of rules that refused to protect the "non-combatants", the innocent bystanders. No one would be safe until Mac and his shadowy opponent got what they wanted. And only they knew what that was.
Stormwalker felt Zan touch his shoulder and placed a hand over hers as her warmth seeped into him.
"We need you to be part of this discussion," she said softly. "Stay with us, please." He turned from the window and forced himself to focus.
"I called Mac earlier," Kenny said. "I told him about the situation here. He thinks maybe this isn't a good idea."
"How come? He's always been perfectly willing to let me get myself killed."
Kenny raked thin fingers through his hair, increasing instead of taming the disorder. "Things have changed."
"They must have. Or the right hand wouldn't be consulting with the left."
"Compartmentalization is necessary for security. You know that much about Agency S.O.P., at least."
"Why are we violating agency security?"
"We've a somewhat unique situation here," Kenny replied, "which calls for 'adjustments' to normal procedures."
"Which means?"
"Mac wants to exercise tighter control. He wants us to work together from now on."
"But we have been," Zan interrupted.
"It's been a very loose association. Now he wants us to work as a unit, to share knowledge and keep each other, and him, fully informed."
"How?"
"We're about ready to tie you into the agency mainframe through your computer."
Although Mac had enlisted Kenny to act as liaison, he'd told her to exercise judgment about sharing information with the man. She decided to see how much Kenny knew.
"I hope I'll have full clearance and unlimited access, so I can really dig into the files."
"Why?"
"Because I believe Stormwalker was set up and the proof is there."
"According to Mac, there was a thorough search."
"They missed something," she said.
"What do you think you'll find what agency experts couldn't?"
"Kenny's right," Stormwalker said. "You'd be going over old ground."
"It isn't old ground for me."
"Do we have the time to backtrack, Red?"
"We do if I work smarter."
"Be as thorough as you need to, just so you keep me posted," Kenny said. "So I can do the same for Mac."
Had she imagined the nanosecond's worth of hesitation between thoughts? Was he seeking information he had no right to know? Zan took a cue from Stormwalker's earlier caution and vowed to be very careful in her dealings with Kenny.
Stormwalker left and Zan followed him out of the building. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"To tell my grandmother about the fire."
Zan placed a hand on his arm. "Let me go with you," she said. "You shouldn't be alone."
"I'll be careful."
He rode Midnight Lady bareback, without even a bridle. Twisting his fingers in her mane, he directed her with a slight tug of one hand or the other and the pressure of his thighs against her sides. Minutes passed before he could breathe without the odor of smoke in his nostrils.
He found his grandmother inside the cabin. After a hug she examined him for a moment. "You grow more like your father each time I see you." She pointed to his eyes. "They speak of dark thoughts. What troubles you?"
"There was a fire during the night. The house was destroyed."
"I'm grateful all of us were somewhere else." Despite the awful news, a light twinkled in her eyes. "You and your friend were somewhere else?"
He grinned. "We slept under the stars last night."
"I thought you might." She sighed and sadness replaced the
humor shining in her eyes. "Is anything left of the place?"
"Of the house, nothing. The barn and the corral survived."
"I can't believe it is gone. Your grandfather built that house for me when we married. Made it like the places back east where he went to school, said it was time we had a piece of the twentieth century here, to show the next generation there was another way to live."
Stormwalker placed a hand on his grandmother's arm. "I'm worried about your living out here by yourself."
"Your concern for my safety touches my heart," she said, "but I have seen the course of my last days and know them to be peaceful and without pain." Her eyes grew misty as she gazed at him. "It is you who must beware."
"Why do you say that?"
She closed her eyes and spoke in a soft, strong voice. "I had a strange dream, in a language I don't know. No one behaved in an understandable way, nothing was as it seems. Blue mists and gray shadows tumbled and swirled like clouds in a summer storm, and thunder and lightning broke the sky. A man in a uniform was there. He was up to no good, that I felt, though who he was and what he was about, I could not tell. And there was the double man," she said. "Beware of him. He has two faces, neither one to be trusted." She looked at him. "You will climb a rocky path to be free of danger, but shelter waits in the Black Hills and truth, and there you must go."
"Must I make this journey alone, Unci?"
"It might seem you are alone, Grandson, but a kindred spirit follows in your pathway, and waits for you at journey's end. At that place the storm will end and the man called Stormwalker will be no more, though he lives and breathes and watches the seasons come and go."
Her eyes revealed a serene light glowing in their depths, and although he tried to uncover the identity of the spirit, she put him off, saying, "I have told it all."
When he prepared to leave she motioned with her head. "Someone waits out there."
He saw the figure seated behind the wheel of a tan jeep that nearly, but not quite, faded into the surrounding yellow-brown field. "You've got good eyes. That's my nemesis."
"Maybe so, but he is not the double man. This one is as he seems, a blunt instrument wielded by others, and hasn't the wit or imagination to be anything else." She sighed. "The others are the ones to watch for. Strange men in strange uniforms. And the double man."
"You've given me a lot to think about."
"Good," she said. "My breath has not been wasted."
"Your breath is never wasted with me," he said and bent to kiss her cheek. "I always hear your words."
She gripped his wrist with fierce power. "Do more than hear my words," she demanded. "Take them into your heart, for I have not come this far to outlive you!"
"I'll remember," he said and left.
He thought about heading straight home without acknowledging the presence in the jeep; instead he rode toward it. Now, they faced each other.
"How do, Bill?" Stormwalker quietly greeted the deputy. "You got business out this way?"
"Just makin' rounds," Winter replied. "Part of the job."
"I didn't think you had jurisdiction on the reservation."
"Tribal Council asked us to patrol the perimeters 'cause they don't have the manpower to do it themselves."
Stormwalker listened to the tone of Winter's voice and tried to understand the departure from his usual belligerence.
"How often do you make the run out here?"
Winter shrugged. "Twice a week, maybe three times if nothin' pops elsewhere."
"How about keeping an eye on my grandmother?"
"What the hell. . . ?" Winter jerked off his sunglasses as if to better see the crazy man before him. "Why me?"
Stormwalker watched his eyes as a series of emotions flickered through them: surprise, confusion, suspicion.
Stormwalker kept his gaze locked on Winter's. The man had no opportunity to look away, to gain time to think and perhaps deny the request. Stormwalker knew he was forcing him to fall back on his instincts. He hoped they would be only the oldest and the best, those rooted in the traditional values of loyalty and honor and the enduring principle of the strong protecting the weak.
He was drawing on an old custom that permitted a warrior going off to battle to appoint another man to watch over his family, the old ones, his wife and children in case he didn't make it back. This was considered a great honor, one that was rarely refused. A man carried that responsibility until released, or until his own death.
"You say you're out this way on a regular basis," Stormwalker said. "Grandmother is old and I worry about her." He eyed the man. "She's a special person, Bill, and has no part in your beef with me. So if you say you'll watch out for her, I'll believe you."
"Your grandmother . . ." Winter said cautiously.
Stormwalker nodded. "And my mother, if you agree to extend your protection to her."
Amusement sparkled in Winter's eyes as if he recognized Stormwalker's purpose, but he kept his face solemn, as befitted the occasion. "Anyone else?"
Reluctant to press his luck with the man, Stormwalker hesitated briefly, then added, "Alexandra McLaren . . ."
Winter seemed to make an instant decision. He shook his head emphatically. "Nope, not your mother. And especially not McLaren. She's in the battle with you. Not no one 'cept your grandmother." He threw back his shoulders. "Whatever happens, I'll see no harm comes to her."
Although he'd wanted more, Stormwalker nodded and turned toward home. If Bill Winter honored the custom, no matter what else happened, at least Grandmother would be safe.
"Hey," Winter said.
Stormwalker shifted position to face him.
"Sorry about your mother's house."
Stormwalker could find no clue to the man's thoughts in his expression. "A lot of good memories went up in smoke."
"And a lot of bad ones, too," Bill added.
Tempted to probe the cryptic remark, Stormwalker decided against it. He turned away again and urged Lady into a walk. He patted the mare's graceful neck. "Wonder if I should take his words as an admission of guilt?"
Chapter 10
The debris from the fire was warm and damp and smelled of smoke as Stormwalker worked steadily to clear the ground. He loaded the remnants into the bed of a borrowed pickup and sifted through the soggy ashes to salvage any items still worth saving: a Zuni fetish in the form of a bear carved from obsidian, a battered gold ring and a comb of silver and turquoise blackened by the fire. When these few had been set aside for later examination, he went over the area with a rake to expose the clean brown earth.
He welcomed the crackle of knee and shoulder joints, the loosening of vertebrae, and the stretching of muscles that had forgotten the feel of physical labor. Tomorrow he might be stiff; he might ache. Today he was grateful for the activity that put to use a body held too long in check.
The sweat poured down his face and glistened on his bare skin. It cooled him as he worked, and he made no effort to wipe it away. He simply removed the bandanna from around his neck, coiled it tightly against his forehead and tied it at the back of his head.
He moved to the area that had been the front room of the house, picked up a sledge hammer and, with a mighty, strangely satisfying swing, landed the first of the blows destined to demolish the fireplace and chimney.
As the red brick crumbled to the ground, Zan's voice behind him asked sadly, "Couldn't you save what was left?"
"If we're gonna start over, we need to start clean."
He realized how much he'd missed her, though the choice to be alone had been his. When he turned, desire stirred at the sight of her in a yellow halter and frayed denim cutoffs.
A pair of work gloves showed from a hip pocket and a towel hung over one shoulder. She looked like a goddess as she unscrewed the top of a thermos jug and held it out to him. He drank thirstily of the cold, sweet liquid. She reached out and draped the towel around his neck, pressing the rough fabric against his chest to blot up the moisture.
He f
elt her gaze, dark and hot as he lowered the jug to the ground beside them. Her hands lay lightly against his chest and he covered them with his own.
"Stop looking at me that way."
"What way?"
"As if I were a present you can't wait to open." He examined eyes that seemed to reflect the late afternoon sun, lips that parted to show the tip of her tongue as it rested on the edge of her straight white teeth.
She threw back her head and laughed with delight at the reference to the old Elton John song, then looked him up and down before settling on his face. "You are," she said.
"I'm also dirty, smelly and unfit for human contact."
"I don't care," she whispered and came a step closer.
"I do." He backed away. "In the old days, a man would never have come to his woman without washing away the grime of the hunt or a battle."
She tilted her head. "Every once in a while you harken back to the old traditions. It always surprises me."
He shrugged. "Just because I don't flaunt my heritage doesn't mean I've forgotten." His eyes went dark. "Does that bother you?"
"No, it doesn't bother me." Zan passed a hand down his towel covered chest. "You don't show that side of yourself much, that's all."
Her touch distracted him from the conversation and he forced himself to focus. "Don't I?"
"You know you don't. You keep part of you private, like Dar used to."
"It isn't deliberate," he said. "It's just who I am and I've never found it necessary to make statements about that."
"I suppose trying to correct the damage caused by that Marine Lance Corporal, that other Lakota, wasn't making a statement?"
He grinned suddenly. "Yeah, and look where that got me."
"Indeed!" she said with an answering smile.
"I don't keep much from you, you know." He touched her cheek.
"I do know." She sighed. "I'll try to remember that when I start feeling insecure." She pulled on her gloves.
"What are you planning?"
