by Aimée Thurlo
As a new business owner, her friendliness and upbeat nature were an even greater asset to her now. Even a casual wave that called attention to her became added publicity, a method of networking. Her company’s name, TechTalk Incorporated, along with the telephone number and website address, were painted on the driver’s-side door of her pickup. Since she had no extra funds to pay for advertising, this was an inexpensive way of getting attention and potential clients.
When Holly looked back down the road, searching for the coyotes, she found that they’d already disappeared—a survival skill that served them well. Switching on the ignition, she glanced back at the man. The professor or student was by his Jeep again, struggling to load the heavy green duffel bag into the back. For a second she wondered if she should offer to help, but as she reached for the ignition key to turn off the engine again, the man completed the task.
He was probably a geologist with a bag of rock samples. An archeologist would have wrapped up and handled his unearthed find more carefully.
Holly glanced at her watch. It was time for her to get going.
Ten minutes later, she arrived at the gate of the Navajo tribe’s New Horizon Energy’s secure facility. The natural gas processing plant piped in raw natural gas, cleaned it of con taminants, then sent it downline to be used as fuel by consumers. Three strands of barbed wire stood at the top of the mesh, which surrounded the several-acre facility. Security at energy facilities was always high, but she was getting used to it.
Holly handed her photo ID to the armed, uniformed, middle-aged Navajo man at the guardhouse and gave him a smile. Bruce was barrel-chested and about fifty pounds overweight, but she doubted anyone could knock him down without a lot of help.
“Good morning, young lady,” he said with a broad smile. “You all ready for Christmas?”
“If that’s a hint, I’ll be making those chocolate cake cookies you love in a day or two. You’ll be my first stop.”
“My wife would love that recipe—if you ever change your mind.”
“Sorry,” Holly said with a smile. “The pastry chef who came up with it made me swear to never tell a soul. She owns a catering business in Texas now.”
“I’m sure those cookies paved the way for her, too.”
Holly waited until Bruce scanned her ID’s bar code into his handheld device, and wrote her arrival time on his clipboard. Once he gave her a nod, she drove through and nosed her pickup into her designated employee parking space.
Holly walked to the next, unmanned checkpoint, used her access card and went inside the administration building. She could see people gathering in the conference room already, but it was mostly around the coffee and doughnut table, so she would have time to review her notes. She took an aisle seat in the front row and opened her briefcase.
Today she was scheduled to present an overview of the proposed new natural gas recovery process to area guests, industry people, and state and local government representatives. Afterward, she’d give the community leaders who had sufficient clearance a tour of the facility.
Holly saw Martin Roanhorse, the tribal department head, at the front of the room speaking with the facility manager. She was glad that Martin approved of her work, but she hated the way he’d often give her assignments at the last minute. He’d never understood how much preparation her presentations actually took, especially when the audience included both PhD-level engineers and local media who preferred information in sound bites.
Spotting her, Martin hurried over, arriving just as she opened her folder. As usual, he was well dressed. Today, his bolo tie complemented his brown wool Western suit and his snakeskin boots were shined to perfection.
“Here’s an update on our guest list, Holly,” he said. “We’ve made some last-minute additions. We’ve expanded this event to include several people from the public sector. I’ve listed the occupation of each participant, as well as their stated reason for attending,” Martin said, ignoring her scowl. “The tour of the facility, of course, will remain restricted to those who’ve already been cleared.”
“I’ve asked you before not to spring these things on me at the last minute, Martin. Half of what I’ve already prepared will probably go right over their heads. I’m supposed to communicate, not confuse.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that, but this request came from the tribal president. He’s been getting flak from some activists and wanted you to make sure everyone understood that there’s no danger to the aquifer.”
She took a deep breath and let it out again. “The new guests… Is that why I’m seeing extra security this morning?” Holly cocked her head toward the back of the room where two plant security guards were stationed just inside the exit.
“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry. Everyone was checked with the wands when they came through the security gates.”
“Who’s the tall Navajo man in the brown leather jacket with a pistol on his hip? A tribal cop? He looks ex-military.”
“You may have heard his name mentioned during tribal agency meetings. That’s Daniel Hawk,” he said, following her gaze. “Like you, he’s a private consultant. Hawk owns Level One Security and conducts our training exercises, not only here, but also at every critical tribal facility. Naturally he’s got the highest clearance level.”
Holly nodded, finally being able to place a face to the name. She’d heard Daniel Hawk described as a one-time bad boy who could attract women faster than free chocolate. Daniel had presence. That confidence and take-charge attitude, coupled with those wide shoulders and long legs, sure made him easy on the eyes.
She watched Daniel Hawk as he moved, his back straight, his steps measured and filled with purpose. He came to a stop and glanced around the room, his gaze missing nothing. Then, for a brief moment, his eyes met hers. That steady, penetrating look was a blend of curiosity and casual sensuality that made her body tingle all over.
Holly was used to being checked out by men wherever she was. Though she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, at five foot three she had generous curves in all the right places and men had a tendency to turn their heads to look when she stepped into a room. Yet it wasn’t admiration that was mirrored in the dark eyes that held hers—it was a subtle challenge.
Taking a deep breath, Holly forced herself to look away. He wasn’t checking her out in a man-woman sort of way. He was a professional, sizing her up as he would any stranger in his environment.
Hearing herself being introduced, her focus shifted instantly to the job at hand. Holly beamed a confident smile to everyone in the audience as she strode up to the podium. Prepared, she started her presentation without skipping a beat. Martin had already loaded her graphics into the projection system and the remote worked perfectly.
Even though nearly every seat in the room was occupied, she felt completely at ease. Her engaging voice kept everyone’s attention, even through the dry, technical segments of her presentation.
Everything went smoothly until she began to explain the specifics of the new extraction process—an improved technique for freeing up deposits of natural gas far below the surface. Out of the corner of her eye Holly saw a Navajo man wearing a denim jacket rise from his seat. He sidestepped past the seated guests and headed toward the center aisle.
Holly wondered if the man was having difficulty keeping up with the technical portion, but she was forced to block him from her mind and focus on her presentation.
As soon as he reached the aisle and turned toward the podium instead of the exit, Holly recognized him instantly. Clyde Keeswood was a community activist who’d opposed the tribe’s energy resource operations from day one. He’d shouted out his opposition in every press conference and lecture she’d held the past few months. Now what?
Almost as the thought formed, she saw Daniel Hawk on the move.
“This is the same PR bull we hear every day,” Keeswood shouted, walking toward her. “Why don’t you give us the whole story?” He came to a stop next to her empty chair and g
lared at her.
“I promise to answer your questions after I finish explaining the details of the extraction process,” Holly said, refusing to raise her voice. “I’ll keep it brief, Mr. Keeswood, then we’ll address whatever concerns you have. If you can take a seat….”
He remained standing. “Nothing will be brief, except our way of life after the wells run dry. Sure, the tribe and their big business partners will make gobs of money selling natural gas to— I don’t know, big developers, factories? But the water table will be contaminated with chemicals—that’s if the wells don’t go dry first. You think this is a desert now? Just wait.”
“No chemicals except water itself will be used to free up the gas formations. Let me show you how it works,” she said. She stepped to the left and pressed a remote. A projector on the far side of the room produced an image on the screen behind her on the wall.
The man spat out a curse and picked up her chair. As he raised it over his head, Daniel Hawk was suddenly there. In a split second he yanked the chair away from Keeswood.
The force threw the activist off balance. He fell backward and toppled onto the tile floor. Daniel set the chair aside, and straddled the troublemaker, ready to roll him over and cuff him.
Keeswood punched upward but Daniel blocked the jab, grabbed his hand, then twisted it around, forcing the man facedown on the floor. By then, two uniformed security guards arrived. They hauled Keeswood to his feet and quickly led him away.
Barely ten seconds had passed, but the room had grown completely silent. Holly glanced at Daniel, and he nodded, giving her a thumbs-up.
“Harmony has been restored. I think we can continue now,” she said, and the room exploded in applause. Holly glanced back, looking for Daniel, but all she saw was his back as he left the room.
Disappointed, she focused on what she had to do. Later, when she could get away, she’d catch up to him and thank him personally for what he’d done.
Chapter Two
Once her presentation came to a close, Holly smiled at her largely enthusiastic audience and thanked the group for their patience. “Now I’d like to answer all your questions. Please ask me whatever you’d like.”
The question-and-answer session took another thirty minutes. Afterward, they broke for a well-deserved lunch.
Holly followed the attendees to the small cafeteria at the other end of the building. Going down the buffet line, she opted for a large bowl of fresh mutton stew, warm fry bread and hot coffee in a big white mug with the tribal emblem on the side. With her tray full, she headed to a table by the windows. As she approached the spot, a tingle of awareness spread through her.
Female intuition… She knew even before she could confirm it that Daniel Hawk was looking at her.
As Holly set her tray down, Daniel came up and introduced himself, but according to Navajo customs, didn’t offer to shake hands.
“No introduction is necessary, Mr. Hawk,” she said, noting how low and masculine the timbre of his voice was and how it seemed to fit him perfectly. “I know who you are and I’m glad you came over.” She sat down and invited him to join her. “I owe you a big thank-you.”
“No thanks are needed, but I thought you could use some pointers on how to spot trouble before it happens,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “We can talk now while you have lunch.”
For a moment she wondered if he was somehow blaming her for what had happened. “I’d like to hear what you’ve got to say,” she said, “but my job is to give presentations. If there’s a problem, security has to handle it.”
“They will. I just thought a few tips might give you an edge. If nothing else, it could give you time to duck.”
She smiled, but before she could answer, two more session attendees came up with their trays to join them at the table. They’d only been there a minute or so when Daniel’s pager went off and he was forced to leave.
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Jennifer Long, a representative from a local utility cooperative, whispered.
Holly watched Daniel until he left the cafeteria. “He’s observant, too. I get the feeling very little gets past him.”
“Do you suppose he knows he’s total eye candy?” Mary Randall, an attorney for the tribe, said with a mischievous smile.
They laughed, and as Holly ate lunch, two more people joined them. It wasn’t until later that afternoon, during a pause in the schedule, that Holly saw Daniel again. He met her by the coffee urn as she stepped out of a meeting room during a short break.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Holly said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and I would like to get some of those tips you mentioned. If I remember things right, you were on the move today before the trouble with Keeswood began. How did you know what would happen?”
“I watched him from the moment he came into the room. His shoulders were rigid and he looked like a man looking for trouble. I went with my gut and stayed close.”
“So it was reading his body language that did it,” she said with a nod.
“There was more,” he answered. “I noticed that he kept checking out the location of security with his eyes, but not moving his head to stare directly. This is all part of what I wanted to talk to you about. If you’re willing to set aside some time, I’d be happy to teach you a few things.”
“I’ll be through here at four-thirty. Would you like to meet then?” she said.
He checked his watch, then shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve still got two more meetings to attend today. One of them will probably run over, too, since we’ll be working out the details of our next security training exercise. How about if we meet for dinner tonight? You name the place?”
She hesitated. She didn’t date people associated with her work. That hard-and-fast rule had helped her company run smoothly.
“Please don’t think of it as a date. It’s business,” he said, almost as if he’d read her mind.
She nodded, relieved. “How about we meet at the Simple Pleasures Café in Hartley, off Twentieth Street? Do you know it?”
“I’ve never been there, but I’ve passed by. I can meet you at, say, seven?”
As she looked at Daniel, in his weathered brown leather jacket and jeans, she wondered if his tastes ran closer to the Bucking Bronco, just outside of Hartley and a world away from Simple Pleasures.
The Bucking Bronco was a bar and grill well-known for the good ol’ boys it attracted. It wasn’t a rough place, at least not if you judged solely on the number of police visits per month. The bar, in county jurisdiction, had its own way of handling trouble. She’d heard that disputes there were settled inside a cage until one of the parties went down.
“Seven it is, then,” she said, realizing that her thoughts had wandered.
“For what it’s worth, I admire how you kept your cool when Keeswood confronted you. It showed courage and character.” He flashed her a heart-stopping half smile, then his gaze shifted. “Martin needs me,” he said, giving their boss a nod. “I better get back to work.”
“Me, too. Break time’s over,” she said, looking down at the foam coffee cup she’d never filled.
The rest of the day went by in slow motion. She’d always prided herself on her ability to stay focused, but Daniel Hawk was proving to be a very persistent distraction. She was curious about the man she’d heard women whispering about around the coffee machine. No matter what else, it promised to be an interesting dinner tonight.
HOLLY ARRIVED HOME in Hartley shortly after six. She stepped inside her small, World War II era casita, a two-bedroom home in an established middle-class neighborhood, and felt the tranquility of the house welcome her. She’d worked hard to make the fixer-upper place she’d bought two years ago into the home it was today.
She smiled as she looked at the light apricot-colored walls, her favorite color, and the old hardwood floors, worn in the center and slightly concave in places from decades of foot traffic. She’d lovingly refinished the th
irties era armoire and the solid oak bookcase to match the honey glow of the tongue and groove floors.
All her furniture had a past and its own history. She’d bought most of the pieces at auctions or estate sales. Each had called to her in a special way, maybe because of an intricate carving in the wood, or the construction itself.
Most important, all her belongings spoke of endurance and stability. Growing up, change had been the only constant in her life. Her father, a gambler usually on the run from creditors, the law, or on the lookout for fresh pigeons, had kept them on the move.
Her own home was a reminder that those days were finally behind her. It was a symbol of permanence and security, the very things that had always eluded her and what she valued most. To the observant, her home’s whispers revealed much about her, things she wanted to keep private. Maybe that was why she usually only invited close friends over.
Holly stopped by the big cardboard egg crate that held all her Christmas ornaments. She’d set it against the wall, ready to open up as soon as she brought her Christmas tree home. It would be a six-foot blue spruce this year, with lots of branches. She already had an image of what it would look like in her mind.
Reaching down, she picked up the hand-carved angel she’d placed on top of all the other ornaments. It was a lovely piece signed by a turn-of-the-century Spanish carver in Santa Fe. The other ornaments were also antiques, salvaged here and there from unlikely places. Even the metal stand, though simple in design, dated back to the nineteen-fifties.
As her cherrywood grandfather clock chimed the half hour, Holly hurried into the bedroom. She needed to shower and change before meeting Daniel.
Twenty-five minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom wearing a simple emerald-green turtleneck sweater and dark, comfortable wool pants. Grabbing her coat from the rack as she left, she set out.
It was a perfect evening, so she’d decided to walk to Simple Pleasures. The night temperature was unseasonably warm, and tonight there was going to be a meteor shower. The chance of seeing a shooting star was too good to pass up.
