“Well, you were headed in the right direction,” Graywolf said encouragingly. He stoked the flames until they burned high, then sat back down. “Shadow Canyon is just beyond that ridge over there. Ruth’s husband is working in the canyon?”
“Yes,” Marissa said, nodding her head. “At the Anasazi ruins. There’s an archaeological dig up there, and he’s one of the workers. She was on her way up to surprise him when her truck broke down.” She paused, stroking Sarah’s long dark hair. “After the car got stuck and the floodwaters started rising, I thought we’d better get to high ground. But the climb was just too hard on Ruth and she started having pain. It was obvious she wouldn’t be able to go far on foot. I thought I could leave her in the cave while I went for help. We still had food left from the things Ruth had picked up for the weekend, but then I fell and Ruth went into labor.” She stopped and shook her head. “It just became a nightmare.”
Mallory reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand. “But it’s over now. Ruth’s okay, the baby’s okay, and, hopefully, we’re going to get out of here tomorrow.” She turned to Graywolf and gave him a questioning glance.
“I plan to head out at sunup,” he assured her. The smile she gave him caused his heart to lurch painfully in his chest.
He watched her with the child. Seeing the tiny baby fight his way into the world had been the most amazing thing he’d ever seen in his life. It had left him reeling—physically and emotionally—and momentarily he’d dropped his guard. Otherwise he never would have done what he had—sweeping Mallory into his arms and kissing her like that.
He’d cautioned himself after the episode on the cliff about touching her. Touching her was too dangerous, and caused him to forget too much—like the cultures that separated them, and the prejudices that would keep them apart. And yet, caught up in the moment of the miracle of birth, he’d swept her up in his arms and kissed her. It had been a stupid, reckless thing to do, and he would have to be careful not to let it ever happen again.
There was no room in his life for an attraction between them, and that was all he was feeling—an attraction, a longing, a desire for what he knew he couldn’t have. They were from two different worlds.
He listened to her soft voice as she sang a quiet lullaby to the sleeping infant. He remembered fantasizing about a child the two of them could create together, and was embarrassed. It was an absurd thought, foolish and impractical.
Half-breed. The words infiltrated his consciousness like a deadly virus, turning the blood in his veins to ice. There could be no life between them, no seed to grow or child to share. There would be no place for a child of theirs, no tribe to embrace, no clan to belong to. Besides, a child should be born out of love, and in the barren landscape where a savage was always a savage, and a white woman would forever be forbidden fruit, love had no place to grow.
He felt himself grow sleepy, the fire glowing warm and comfortable against his skin. He remembered hearing the baby crying, and the sounds of shuffling feet and hushed whispers beyond the glow of the fire. But he was too weary to respond, his eyelids too heavy to lift. A slow, peaceful darkness began to surround him, and he felt himself drifting further and further away.
“Thank you.”
He heard the sound of Mallory’s voice in his ear, felt the cool palm of her hand along his cheek, the delicate smoothness of her lips along his. He mumbled something—an old ancient chant he’d learned from Hosteen Johnny about women, and love, and desires of the heart. There was nothing after that, just a peace he’d never known, and a love he’d never felt, and a giant bird in the sky.
Chapter 11
The bird was so beautiful, and its song so very sweet. A giant egret, gleaming white as a cloud. Graywolf was captivated by its beauty, dazzled by the ease and symmetry of motion as it floated through the air. He watched it move across the sky—smooth, graceful movements that beckoned to him, made him want to take flight. It drew closer and closer, drifting on the currents, turning its tranquil face toward him, bringing with it peace, and calm, and security. But then, as it dipped toward the earth, a terrible transformation took place. The peaceful face became a cold mask of steel, and grace took a turn toward gruesome.
The flapping of the bird’s wings grew fierce, stirring the wind and sending dust flying. Graywolf struggled violently, desperate to get away, but the huge thing leaned its swollen, ugly face close and roared at the top of its lungs. It was a terrible sound, one that would surely awaken the sleeping chindi— the spirits of the dead.
“No,” Graywolf moaned. He reached for Mallory, he had to protect her. The giant bird threatened, it had come to fly her away, to grab her up in its monstrous talons and take her where he’d never be able to find her again. “No!”
The sound grew deafening, and the fear became sickening. He heard his name being called from some faraway place, over and over again. He could barely hear it over the grotesque caw of the bird, but the plea continued—calling to him, calling to him. He tried to call back, tried to summon help, but it was useless. All he could do was lie there, on his back, staring up into the hideous face of the bird.
Only...now the bird wasn’t a bird at all, and he could feel the wind and the sun on his face. He slowly sat up, squinting into the harshness of the light, shaking his head and grappling for conscious thought. There was no giant bird suspended in the sky above him, there was a helicopter. And leaning out of the cockpit, waving down at him, was the wide, weather-beaten face of Navajo tribal policeman Sam Begay.
“A helicopter.”
Graywolf jumped, shocked to find Mallory curled on the ground beside him. She scrambled to sit up, turning to him with wide, excited eyes.
“Graywolf, my God, it’s a helicopter,” she shrieked, jumping to her feet. She pulled at his arm, practically dragging him up to a standing position. She pointed up, recognizing the tribal policeman and waving frantically. “Graywolf, Graywolf, it’s him, it’s him. It’s Sergeant Begay. He’s found us.” Excitedly, she threw her arms around Graywolf’s neck and danced him wildly around. “He’s found us.”
Reality finally managed to settle in. Somehow, someway, Sam Begay had found them. By the end of this day, they would all be back in civilization again, back to their everyday lives.
Graywolf looked down into Mallory’s excited eyes. It was over now. No longer would he have to struggle with his feelings, deny the attraction, or take pains to avoid contact. In twenty-four hours, Mallory Wakefield would just be a memory—out of his life, out of sight and out of mind.
But she was in his arms now, and a feeling rose up from inside him that swept through his entire being. He caught her up in his arms, pulling her to his waiting lips. He ground his mouth down on hers with a force that bordered on brutal, and yet she willingly accepted his savage kiss.
His tongue plunged deep, tasting the rich, heady flavor of her. His hands grew restless, and moved over her with an urgent, ardent need, wanting to remember each soft curve, each delicate contour, and imprint them in his memory. For in a few short hours she would be gone, and memories would be all he’d have left.
Mallory pulled her lips away, breathless and a little surprised. She gazed up into his dark eyes, seeing an emotion in them, and feeling it in her heart. He was a curious and complicated man. He had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, hated where she came from and what she did, what she stood for and who she was. He didn’t trust her, didn’t believe in her, and didn’t even like her all that much. But the fact remained, he wanted her—he couldn’t ignore it, nor could he deny it. And as confused and uncertain as his feelings were for her, hers for him were crystal clear.
“I love you,” she murmured, even though the roar of the helicopter drowned out all sound. She hadn’t really meant to say it, the words had just sort of slipped out. Yet she had no regrets. They were true, she did love Benjamin Graywolf. It didn’t matter that they’d known each other only a short time, it didn’t matter that the forces of man and nature would conspire to ke
ep them apart. His spirit had touched her spirit and found communion, and so she said again what was in her heart. “I love you.”
Graywolf hadn’t needed to hear her voice, nor had he needed to see her lips mouth the words. He knew what she said, knew what she felt—maybe he always had.
He carefully slipped her out of his arms, setting her away from him. Slowly, he turned and walked away. He felt dispirited, and oddly shaken. In the world where skin color mattered and cultural taboos dictated what was right and what was wrong, it was an aberration, an abnormality—like two women with one face, and a singer with second sight.
He stopped and looked up at Begay in the helicopter above. Signaling the pilot to a clearing on the mesa just below, Graywolf started down the rocky slope to meet them.
It had been different in the desert, it had just been the two of them—alone and away from a culture and society that would keep them apart. But all that was over now. The giant bird had come, and even the strongest shaman’s magic could do nothing to change it.
* * *
Mallory secured the seat belt around her waist, trying as best she could to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could hear Begay talking to Graywolf, telling him the tip he’d gotten from someone called Charlie Black Hat, who’d seen a woman—”White Hair”—alongside the highway with a woman he thought was Ruth Endocheeny. And how later, when he’d learned Ruth’s husband, who worked up at the dig in Shadow Canyon, was worried that his wife and daughter were missing, how he had begun to put two and two together.
It was a remarkable story, and Mallory knew she should feel very lucky. They were being rescued, for God’s sake—saved. Ruth and the baby would get the medical attention they needed, Marissa would get her ankle set, and little Sarah would get the first decent meal she’d had in over a week. Mallory knew she should be feeling on top of the world—everyone was all right, she had her sister back, and they were returning to their lives again. She should be ecstatic, grateful, excited, happy. She should be...but she wasn’t.
The huge turbine on the top of the helicopter began to spin, its high-pitched whine waking the baby in Ruth’s arms. He started to cry, but his tiny wails were soon drowned out by the noise. Mallory looked out the open side door to Graywolf, who stood crouched beside the craft, his long black hair secured in a braid down his back. He was shaking hands with Sam Begay, the white man’s gesture looking spontaneous and genuine between the two Navajo. He wouldn’t be coming with them, but instead would hike back to the Jeep. Mallory had offered to stay with him, had very nearly begged to stay with him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was time they parted ways.
She glanced down at the strap that held her in her seat. She didn’t feel secured in the helicopter, but trapped. She knew he didn’t welcome the attraction he felt for her, knew there could never be a future for them, that he would never love her, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was in love with him, and nothing was going to change the way she felt—not time, not distance, and not even his absolute rejection.
Officer Sam Begay hopped inside the helicopter just as it started to lift off the ground, taking a seat beside the pilot. Mallory leaned toward the door, the seat belt cutting into the flesh at her sides. She stared out the open door at Graywolf, her eyes filling with tears. It was time to go, time to say goodbye, time to move on, but her heart was breaking.
I love you.
She wanted to scream the words at the top of her lungs, she wanted to stand in the open doorway of the helicopter and shout it across the desert. She wanted him to hear it over the wail of the baby, over the roar of the engines. But it wasn’t necessary.
She looked into his eyes as the aircraft slowly drew higher and higher.
I love you.
He knew. He understood. Yet still he let her go. There was no place in his life for her, no place in his heart for her love.
She watched him until the helicopter turned, and he disappeared among the rocks and brush of the foothills. Sinking back into her seat, she squeezed her eyes tight, feeling the sting of tears burn. But when she felt a hand on hers, she opened them again.
“It hurts,” Marissa murmured, leaning close and giving her hand a squeeze. “I know it hurts.”
“Oh, Marissa,” Mallory moaned, feeling tears spill down her cheek. Yes, her sister did know. Their special “twins” radar made it possible for them to feel each other’s pain, and Mallory remembered how she had felt Marissa’s when Josh’s father had walked out on her. “What am I going to do?”
Marissa patted her hand lovingly. “You’ll get by. Trust me, you’ll get by.”
“I’ll never forget him.”
“No, I don’t expect you will.”
“But the pain,” Mallory sobbed, the feeling of loss so tremendous she thought she wouldn’t survive. “Will it ever go away?”
Marissa slipped her arms around her sister, and pulled her close. “No,” she admitted, sighing deeply. “But somehow you learn to live with it.”
Live with it, Mallory thought, long after the tears had dried. She stared blindly out across the huge expanse that was the Big Res. Is that what Marissa has been doing all these years—living? Or had she simply been losing herself in the lives of others so she didn’t have to think about the huge, empty void in her own life?
Living. For her there would be no living without Graywolf. Oh, she’d go on all right. She’d go back to D.C. She’d get up every morning, brush her teeth and comb her hair. She’d put on her makeup, go to work and do her job, but there’d be no real “life” in any of it. She’d be simply going through the motions.
She turned and looked at Marissa, who was now lost in her own thoughts, and felt as though she were seeing her sister for the first time. She realized then this was what it had been like for Marissa all these years. For sixteen years she’d been going through the motions, living life without really living it at all.
Mallory turned and glanced down at the landscape passing quickly below them. She’d been alive down there, out in the desert, in the wilderness with a man as mystic and mysterious as the land itself.
Absently, she reached for the pendant around her neck, only to discover that it wasn’t there. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?” Marissa jumped, startled. “What’s wrong?”
“My necklace.” She turned to her sister, the feeling of loss almost overwhelming. “It’s...gone.”
Marissa tried to comfort her, but it did no good. Mallory was miserable. First Graywolf, and now this. She’d lost again. Another treasure gone.
Mallory closed her eyes, feeling a swell of emotion form in her throat. Benjamin Graywolf had given her more than the moon and the stars, he’d given her life—real life—and she would never forget.
* * *
I love you.
Graywolf heard the words in his head. They echoed through his brain, making the ache inside his chest feel suffocating and lethal. He had to stop thinking about it—had to stop thinking about her. Whether it felt like it or not, he’d done the right thing. Like the cavalry, Sam Begay had shown up just in the nick of time, sparing him a fate that would surely be worse than death. He hadn’t realized until he’d watched that helicopter fly away that he’d been in over his head. Another day, another hour with the woman, and he’d have been lost forever.
Graywolf shoved the bedroll into the back of the Jeep and slammed the hatch closed. He squinted up at the sun, its searing rays burning his skin and causing the perspiration to pour off his naked chest. It would be a long, hot drive back, and even pushing it, he wouldn’t reach his hogan before nightfall.
He thought of Mallory, of their drive through the desert together. Even though he’d tortured her with silence, he’d been aware of her presence every mile of the way. Then all he could think about was getting away from her, getting her out of his life. But now she was gone, and the empty feeling inside him was like a void that could never be filled.
He reached into his back pocket, into
his wallet, and pulled out the picture he’d taken from Marissa Wakefield’s bedroom. Smiling up at him were Mallory and Marissa Wakefield’s two impish faces, except they looked different to him now. They didn’t seem to be identical any longer, not quite so much the same.
When he’d looked at the picture before, he’d had trouble telling the two children apart—which was Mallory, and which was Marissa. But no longer. Now there was no confusion, no moment of doubt. He’d had time to study them, to know their differences. He’d looked into their eyes, had peeked into their souls. The picture hadn’t changed, but he had. He saw them now as the women they were, two completely separate and unique individuals.
He wanted the woman—as much as he’d tried to fight it, he wanted her. He wanted her on that shining white iron bed, with the pretty pink comforter and frilly pink pillows. He wanted her white body beneath his, her white hair spread out across the mattress. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and bury himself so deep inside her that he’d forget about red skins and white prejudices, until native intolerance and modern bigotry didn’t matter anymore.
I love you.
He heard the words in his head again, felt them stirring in his heart, and he closed his eyes to a wave of longing that rendered him momentarily helpless. He shouldn’t be thinking about this, shouldn’t think about her. It was over, and he’d escaped just in time. He would go back to his people, back to his hogan, and start the long journey to oblivion. He’d ask Hosteen Johnny to perform a sing—a curing ceremony, or an enemy way—to help purge the memories, to help make him forget.
He slipped the picture back into his wallet, then yanked open the door of the Jeep and slid behind the wheel. He twisted the key in the ignition, coaxing the engine with several impatient depressions on the gas pedal. The motor reluctantly roared to life, and he let it idle for a moment, coughing and sputtering.
They’d be in Flagstaff by now—back in the white man’s world. They’d be at a hospital somewhere, getting poked and prodded, scrubbed and cleaned. She’d get back to normal, back into routine, back to work. She was a reporter, and this would make one hell of a story. She had promised him it was all “off the record,” but he would prepare himself for the worst. He knew all too well that promises to a savage in the desert were easily forgotten in the white man’s world.
Tears of the Shaman Page 15
