Dana realized his eyes had the power to lift her spirits or crush her. When he was pleased with her efforts, they shone more gold than brown. If he was displeased, his eyes would darken and remind her of a coming thunderstorm. Chase never smiled, at least not completely. Dana ached to see his harsh mouth draw upward—just once. It would change his entire face, she suspected. But his serious expression remained constant.
Dana felt sad for Chase. He didn’t joke or laugh. Had his life been so awful, so depressing?
After tying off her braids with red rubber bands, Dana went to the washbasin and quickly brushed her teeth. As she rubbed her damp hands down her thighs afterward, she turned, just in time to see Chase studying her.
Dana froze momentarily. Blinking, she couldn’t believe what she saw in his probing eyes. Was that yearning? She nervously licked her lower lip and went toward the drain board to rescue the recently washed mugs for coffee. Her heart wouldn’t steady its beat. When she glanced back at Chase, he was once again focusing darkly on the contents in the skillet. Dana wondered if she’d imagined it. She thought she’d seen the look a man gave a woman he wanted in every way, including sexually.
A shiver of anticipation wove through Dana’s body and settled deep in her abdomen. Heat gathered and pulsed between her legs. Hands shaking, she grabbed two mugs. Was Chase reading her mind? Had he entered her sensual dreams, where she often felt him kiss her like sunshine kissed the warm earth? No, she had to be making this up.
Dana hurried to the small wooden table that sat in the southern part of the hogan. After placing the mugs on the scarred surface, she retrieved flatware and paper napkins. The salt and pepper shakers were already on the table.
Chase set down two plates heaping with food. He saw Dana grab the loaf of whole-grain bread, along with a jar of strawberry jam. Without preamble, he sat down and silently said a prayer of thanks for the meal before them to the spirits who had provided it.
Happiness threaded through Chase. As he shook salt and pepper onto the fragrant breakfast, he felt Dana’s knee brush his. Whether he liked it or not, he looked forward to this half hour every day with her. In one month’s time, Dana had become an addiction for him. It was nice to wake up and see her, note the sparkle of life in her eyes and the huskiness of her just-waking voice. He couldn’t ignore her natural beauty. Her smooth, high cheekbones usually were flushed with a hint of pink beneath the gold tones. Chase found himself mesmerized by her long, graceful hands, the way she held a fork, stirred cream and sugar into her coffee. Everything about Dana appealed to him, he realized.
As he ate in silence, wildly aware of their knees inches apart beneath the small table, Chase noted his mistake. He’d touched Dana this morning. He’d been fighting a daily urge to caress her glorious body. He wanted to ease the stiffness and tension in her muscles from the harsh training. She’d tried hard to please him, to meet his high demands, and she had a commendable work ethic.
He couldn’t deny why his heart was hammering away: he was drawn to her as a woman. Why now? Why her? Chase understood the danger of the mission against Rogan. He wasn’t sure that Dana could single-handedly carry it off. She was trying with all her heart to learn, and learn quickly, but she wasn’t ready. At least, not yet. Was he sending her to her death?
His chest contracted violently at that last thought. The eggs turned tasteless in his mouth. Drawing in a ragged breath, Chase forced himself to eat. Dammit, anyway. Why couldn’t Dana have been unattractive?
Groaning inwardly, he stabbed savagely at the food on his plate. Things weren’t going right. He’d start the psychic training, send Dana on her ten-mile run and then report her progress to Grandmother Agnes.
“GRANDMOTHER,” Chase began wearily as he sat opposite her in her hogan, “I’m worried.”
Agnes nodded and passed him a mug of hot sage tea. Her hand shook badly and he quickly clasped his around it, then took the mug.
“Thank you. Age makes one shaky.” She smiled, then tilted her head as if to listen.
Chase cautiously sipped the tea. “I think you know what I’m going to say,” he stated.
“I do, but let me hear what lies in your heart, Chase.”
He forced himself to hold her watery eyes. “I have concerns about Dana, about her ability to succeed in getting the Storm Pipe back to you. She is trying very hard to do everything I’ve taught her. It isn’t that she doesn’t have heart—she does. But frankly, four or five weeks just isn’t long enough to get her trained to the level needed in order to take on Rogan and his band, Grandmother.”
Nodding, Agnes sipped her own tea, both hands wrapped around the warm pottery mug. After setting it down in front of her, she wiped the corners of her mouth with her ever present cotton handkerchief. “The Storm Pipe gathers power again, Chase. We will be lucky if it isn’t ready to be used again before five weeks are up.”
“That’s not good news,” Chase growled. Rubbing his hands together, he stared down at the calluses, his brows knitting.
“No, it’s not. If Rogan gets a second chance to kill someone, well, it may turn the world into chaos. And that’s what Rogan wants—white men at white men’s throats, to destroy their world. Only he’s too blind to realize that as the white man’s world goes, so go the rest of us.”
“We’re all related, whether we like it or not,” Chase grimly agreed, his voice deep with worry.
“And,” Agnes said gently, “I feel that you have made a personal connection with Dana. One that goes beyond being just a teacher to her.”
A pang of guilt edged with terror lanced through Chase. He didn’t think anything in his life could compare to the fear from his six months of torture in South America. But it had—unexpectedly. Rubbing his brow, he evaded Grandmother Agnes’s stare.
“I know this is upsetting to you, Chase. I can sense it.”
Lifting his head, he forced himself to hold the old woman’s warm, understanding gaze. “I just never expected to like Dana on a personal level, Grandmother. I—well…it just sort of sneaked up on me. Not that she did anything to invite it. She hasn’t flirted with me or done anything to make me think she feels similarly.”
“But…?”
Glancing around the hogan, he noticed the morning light filtering through the windows and giving the inside a look of muted radiance. Nevertheless, Chase grimaced and finally muttered, “I worry for her. I just don’t think Dana’s anywhere near ready to take on Rogan. Oh, I’m sure she could climb that cliff without a problem. She’s excelled at mountain climbing. And she’s doing fine on her daily runs. But when I engage her in hand-to-hand combat, she falls short.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Flatly, Chase said, “Because it isn’t in her heart to kill. That’s why. She’s afraid to hurt me. She’s a softy, Grandmother, through and through. She pulls her punches and kicks when I train her. She cries when she finds a butterfly with a broken, shredded wing. She can’t stand to see anything hurt or wounded.” Frustration rang through his tone. “Dana simply is not motivated to get tough and learn to fight back as hard as she can.”
Sighing, Agnes blotted her mouth and gripped the handkerchief. “I was afraid of this. Dana is softhearted. But so was her mother. You know yourself that high-level pipe carriers usually are very heart centered. They know not to hurt anything. It’s just a part of their heritage, their knowing and their spiritual advancement.”
“I understand that,” Chase replied heavily. “Ceremonial pipe carriers are spiritually more whole and balanced than the rest of us miserable two-leggeds. They’ve advanced beyond where most of us are still struggling.”
“Well, then, we must give Dana reason to get more grit, to be prepared to fight and defend herself even if it harms someone else. Perhaps this is a lesson she needs to learn—that even though one hates violence and harming others, sometimes it must be undertaken for a higher cause.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“SIT DOWN,” Chase told Dana. “We have some
things to discuss.” He handed her an old pink towel to wipe her perspiring features after her morning run.
She nodded and sat down on a huge round chunk of wood that was used as a chopping block. Blotting her face, she felt the soft breeze cooling her heated body. “I had a good run. Look.” She showed him the time on the round dials of her stopwatch. “Seven-minute miles aren’t bad for someone like me.”
He nodded. “That’s real good,” Chase agreed. Her hair was plaited, with tendrils around her face loosened from the run. Chase tried to ignore the fact she wore a sleeveless, red spandex T-shirt that outlined her breasts and torso. The gray sweatpants that encased her long legs only emphasized the fact that Dana was shapely and desirable. Tucking away that heated reaction, Chase waited patiently while she took a good, healthy swig from her water bottle and wiped her face once more. Dana wrapped the pink towel around her neck and shoulders, hitched one foot up on a piece of split wood, and rested her arm on her thigh.
“What do you want to talk about?” Her breathing was slowing down to a more normal cadence. Dana had noticed that running daily for a month had deepened her lung capacity. She felt good, and in the best shape she’d ever been. Seeing the darkness in Chase’s eyes, she worried that somehow she was not meeting his demands. What now? As she tried to steel herself against his criticism, she nervously waited for him to speak.
“You’ve done well in four weeks, Dana. Considering you were a grade school teacher whose only exercise was walking to work and horseback riding, you’ve come a long way,” Chase began. He saw surprise and then pleasure dancing in her eyes. How he wished that look had been reserved for him—a woman welcoming her man. But it wasn’t. Rubbing his stubbled jaw, he said, “I just talked with Grandmother Agnes. She said that she feels the Storm Pipe is nearing the time when it can be used again.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. Not good news,” Chase agreed grimly.
Rubbing more sweat from her brow with one end of the towel, Dana said, “Does this mean I have to go to Rogan’s compound sooner?” Her heart skipped a beat in terror. Dana fought fear every time she thought about what she had to do. She wasn’t about to admit it to anyone. Above all, she didn’t want to disappoint her grandmother, who was counting on her.
“Yes, it may mean that.” Chase continued, “You’re strong and ready in your climbing and rappelling abilities. Plus, you’ve built up your wind and stamina. You’ve got better endurance now.”
“That’s good to hear.” Dana managed a cautious grin. “Praise, finally, from the slave driver.”
The warmth in her husky voice blanketed Chase. Dana’s smile was rare. Her teasing him was new. She felt comfortable enough with him, trusted him enough now, Chase supposed. That was good. Because trust was something that couldn’t be bought or sold. “Yes, you can bank on it,” he told her softly.
His heart was heavy, and he tried to steel himself for what he was about to say. “Dana, you’re weak in your combat skills. You don’t have the heart to hurt someone if it becomes necessary. When I teach you the karate moves, you learn them, but you allow your emotions to blunt your drive. You need head and heart in hand-to-hand combat, or Rogan is going to kill you.” Chase clasped his hands together and stared down at them.
“Look,” Dana said, her voice tight, “I’ve told you time and again, Chase, that I don’t like to hurt anything. Not even a fly. I was raised to know that everything, whether it crawled, flew or swam, was my brother or sister.” Shrugging, she gave him a look of helplessness. “I’m just not the fighter or warrior you are. I’m trying, though.”
She saw disappointment in the hard planes of his coppery face. Dana didn’t like making Chase feel like that. From the beginning, something had driven her to try and meet his expectations. Now, she felt as if she’d failed. That hurt, and Dana pressed her hand against her heart. She didn’t want to disappoint Chase.
“You are trying,” he acknowledged, struggling to take the hard edge from his voice. Looking deeply into her soft cinnamon eyes, he said, “You don’t have a reason to put your heart and soul into this. Oh, I know you’re doing it because Grandmother Agnes asked you to. And you are the next one chosen to carry the Storm Pipe. But that’s not driving you, Dana. You’re doing this out of respect and tradition. And you need drive.”
Frustrated, Dana said, “I don’t know what else I can do, Chase. I’m willing to give my life to get that pipe back. Isn’t that enough?”
Taking a deep, ragged breath, Chase said, “No, it isn’t. Listen to me, Dana. Do you know who murdered your mother and husband?”
“Of course I don’t know. I wish to hell I did. I’ve wanted to know for two damn long years.” Her patience thinned. Her nerves were taut, and Dana felt the hurt eating her up inside. Confused, she whispered tautly, “What’s this conversation all about? What’s going on? Do you know who killed them?”
“Yes, I do.” Chase straightened up and held her eyes, noting the surprise and shock in their depths. “Rogan Fast Horse stole the Storm Pipe from your mother. He has a partner, a woman named Blue Wolf. Rogan knew that he didn’t dare touch the pipe himself or he’d die. So he had this woman come with him to pick up the pipe and steal it.”
Gulping, Dana whispered, “Rogan murdered them?” Her heart galloped. She felt shaky. In shock. Dizzy.
Nodding, Chase continued in a low, pain-filled voice. “Grandmother Agnes has known this for some time, and she told me about it this morning. She felt you should know the truth now. The whole truth.”
Chase saw tears flood Dana’s eyes. His heart contracted with pain—her pain. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you, Dana, but I know I’m going to. Grandmother said her guides showed her that Blue Wolf knocked on the door to your mother’s house. Your husband answered it and let her in. Blue Wolf pretended to want to speak to your mother. As your husband turned away, Rogan sneaked in through the open door and stabbed him in the back of the neck. He was killed instantly. Then Rogan moved quietly through the living room and found your mother cooking in the kitchen.”
Dana shakily touched her brow. “Oh, no.”
Reaching out, Chase gripped her other hand and held it firmly. “Your mother knew of Rogan and distrusted him. The moment he came in, and she saw the bloody knife in his hand, she ran toward her bedroom. He followed her. Your mother saw your husband lying in a pool of blood near the front door. She tried to get to a dresser drawer where she kept a gun, but it was too late. Rogan stabbed her from behind.” Chase’s voice fell as he watched Dana sob, her hand pressed against her contorted lips.
“If it’s any consolation,” he told her wearily, squeezing her hand gently, “your mother, too, died immediately. Grandmother Agnes said they did not suffer.”
Pulling free from Chase’s grasp, Dana buried her face in her hands, sobs tearing from deep within. Agony and shock spun through her, churning up grief, questions, a sheering sense of utter helplessness and anger.
To hell with it. Chase rose swiftly and moved behind Dana as she sat hunched over and weeping uncontrollably. Crouching down, he settled his hands on her shaking shoulders and held her gently. “I’m sorry, Dana, so sorry you had to find this out.” Damn, how he wanted to protect her, and yet he hadn’t. Instead, he’d taken the invisible knife of truth and stuck it into her unsuspecting heart as surely as Rogan had struck and killed the people she loved. Swallowing against the bitter taste in his mouth, he moved his hands up and down her arms, trying to somehow soothe away her pain.
Chase enjoyed the contact far too much. His body responded, his heart opened. Somehow, he wanted to stop the brutal pain he’d just handed her. It had been a tactic to force her to connect more powerfully with her mission. To give her drive—a real reason to do this. Chase understood the need for it, but didn’t like being the person who delivered the news. Right now, he didn’t like himself at all.
“It’s all right, Dana,” he rasped, his mouth near her ear. Strands of her black hair slid across his lips as he s
poke to her in a low, coaxing tone. He gripped her shoulders and absorbed her distress. “It’s going to be all right. I’m here. Let me take away some of your hurt.”
In that instant, Chase felt her slip from his grip and turn around. Dana’s face glistened with tears. Her eyes were so filled with tortured agony that Chase automatically reached out to her. The moment his fingers touched her wet cheek, Dana moaned, closed her eyes and collapsed into his awaiting arms.
Heat mixed with shock and surprise as she pressed herself against him, her head buried against his neck, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso.
A ragged gasp escaped Chase’s lips as he automatically swept her into a protective embrace. Dana was warm, soft and curvy against his own hard body. He inhaled the sweet sage scent of her hair. Her harsh weeping spread his heart wide open, and he had no protection against the pain he was feeling on her behalf. Nor did he want any. Feeling the wetness of her tears, he rocked her gently back and forth. What Dana needed—what he needed—was a safe harbor against the many storms that life threw at them. Eyes closed, Chase hungrily stole the moment like the emotional thief that he’d become. Everything about Dana appealed to him. Her kindness. Her inability to hurt others. Her sensitivity and awareness of everyone outside herself. In the greed-filled world they were forced to live in, he found her unselfishness an incredible breath of fresh air.
Without meaning to, Chase pressed his mouth against the side of Dana’s face, and tasted her salty tears. Murmuring words of comfort, he felt her respond. In that silken moment, Dana turned her head. When his mouth unexpectedly met hers, a white-hot explosion occurred in his heart, then tunneled deep into his body. Groaning, he savored the sweetness of her lips.
A soft moan rose in Dana’s throat as Chase returned her searching, tentative kiss. His mouth capturing hers in a sweeping motion, he held her in a firm embrace, her body crushed against his. He tasted her tears of pain and release, the sweetness of the honey she’d had in her coffee earlier. Even more heady was the taste of her. She was like no other woman Chase had ever kissed. His senses gloried in her full lips, the shy touch of her tongue to his, the taste of her as a woman.
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