Seeing Is Believing

by Lindsay McKenna

  “I didn’t say I didn’t,” Wes muttered, desperately wanting to hold the object.

  “That rattle has no markings, no symbols on it.”

  “So?”

  “Usually the very powerful rattles have no markings.”

  “It has feathers.”

  “They look like buzzard feathers to me,” Diana muttered, craning her neck. “It’s a rattle of transformation.”

  “Meaning?”

  She wiped her damp hands on the sides of her skirt. “That rattle was made to transform something.”

  “Give me an example.”

  Nervously, Diana backed away from the closet. She was grateful Wes came with her. Above all, she didn’t want him picking up the rattle without a knowledge of what he was doing. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Healers usually possess a transformation rattle. If the rattle is shaken near a sick person, the vibration of the stones striking the gourd can help break or dissolve invisible blocks in the patient’s aura and make them well.”

  “That’s not evil,” Wes said, sitting down beside her, folding his hands between his long thighs.

  “No,” Diana agreed, “it’s not. But I’ve seen my mother come up against both male and female sorcerers from time to time, and they always use a gourd of transformation to try and get her.”

  “Get her?”

  “Kill her.”

  Wes stared at her, dumbfounded.

  Diana pointed to the gourd. “If that is a sorcerer’s gourd and the wrong person picks it up, it could be fatal.”

  His eyes grew round.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Bitterly, Diana rose.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It shows in your eyes, Wes.” Frustrated, she whispered, “That rattle is dangerous! I don’t want you picking it up! Do you understand?”

  “If it’s that dangerous, what is it doing here? Besides, it might have fingerprints on it that can give us a lead.”

  “I don’t know. And it may or may not have fingerprints on it.”

  “Did Horner buy it? Was it placed here and she picked it up? What if she did pick up a gourd of that power? What would it do to her?”

  Confused, Diana shook her head and opened her hands. “Wes, I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. The feeling around that rattle is evil, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “I find it odd the police didn’t find it,” he muttered, rising to his full height and going over to the closet to stare at the red gourd. “Of course, knowing they’re local cops, I’m not surprised. One of them probably opened the closet doors and looked in but didn’t turn on the light. You’d never see that gourd unless the light was on.”

  Rubbing her brow, Diana felt a terrible sense of dread. “I’m going to have to hold it, whether I want to or not.”

  Wes glanced at her sharply.

  “You just told me it was dangerous.”

  “It is—to you.” And maybe to her, but Diana didn’t say that. She saw the aggravation, the question and disbelief in Wes’s eyes. A part of her was angry, because she knew what she sensed wasn’t wrong. Diana couldn’t give Wes the full answers he was seeking. Watching him place his hands defiantly on his hips, as if to dispute her right to touch the gourd, she said testily, “I’m in a position to know how to protect myself before I touch it.”

  “And I’m not?” Wes didn’t quite not believe Diana about the gourd. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d felt unsettled ever since they’d opened the closet to reveal the damn thing. There was no explanation for his feelings, but his gut was clenching, and that was all the red-flag warning he needed.

  “No, you don’t,” she flung back heatedly, moving forward. Before he could step into her path to stop her, she stretched upward and grabbed the rattle. She couldn’t risk his death, or his insanity, if he touched a sorcerer’s gourd without proper training or protection. But did she have enough protection? Diana wasn’t sure, but she said a swift prayer to the Great Spirit and wrapped her fingers around the object before Wes could stop her.

  Wes cried out her name, but it was too late. He watched as Diana picked up the gourd. Almost instantly, he saw her go ashen. When she staggered backward, as if her hands had melted onto the rattle, he reached out for her.

  “NO!” Diana gasped. “Don’t touch me!” Oh, no! She was off balance. The power of the gourd was overwhelming. Shocking. She felt a violent, burning heat sting the palm of her hand and race up her arm. Breathing violently, she gasped again and again. The gourd was trying to shut off her ability to breathe! Invisible strands wound around her throat, and she gagged. Somehow, she had to get rid of the thing, but it clung to her like glue.

  Falling to her knees, Diana rasped harshly. Her throat was closing. Her breath was failing. No! She didn’t want to die this way! She heard Wes shout her name. Grayness replaced her vision, and she knew she was dying. At the last moment, as the heat raced for her throat, she called upon all her reserve strength. With a cry, she flung the gourd away from her. She felt herself falling, falling, in a downward spiral, a deadly whirlpool of energy. Shutting her eyes tightly, she became locked in an inner battle on an invisible dimension with the red gourd. It was a spider gourd, the most dangerous of all rattles a sorcerer could make.

  Choking, her hands gripping her throat, Diana felt the invisible heat, like spider webs, that encircled her neck with lethal intent. Blackness closed in on her. She heard Wes’s strident, off-key voice, felt his hands gripping her shoulders. She was floating. Floating. Little by little, the invisible cords wrapped around her neck began to ease. Slowly, her breathing became less harsh. Moments melded into one another, and all Diana was aware of was her heart thundering in her breast—and Wes holding her hard against him.

  Gradually, the darkness began to ease and she saw grayness again. Her fingers loosened from around her throat, and she felt terribly weak. She sagged, her head lolling against the warmth of Wes’s chest. She realized she must have fallen to the carpeted floor. He’d knelt over her, scooping her into his arms. Diana honed in on his ragged breath, his voice calling her, his hand touching her here and there to make sure she was going to be all right. The intensity of his care for her dissolved whatever terror remained.

  “Diana! Talk to me!” He was wild with fear. He divided his attention between her and the deadly gourd that now lay on the floor no more than six feet away from them. Anxiously, he held her in his arms, her body still limp against his, although her skin was slowly beginning to regain its color. Touching her cheek, he felt warmth flowing back into her. Moments before, she’d been chilled, her flesh icy to his touch. Breathing hard, Wes caressed her hair, her cheek.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded.

  Weakly, Diana lifted her lashes. She saw the burning light in his eyes, the grim set of his mouth as his hand fluttered nervously across her. Trying to smile and not succeeding, she whispered, “I’ll be okay…just give me a moment, please?” Her voice was off-key, faint.

  Wes was torn between getting up, racing out to the police cruiser and ordering the officer to get an ambulance for Diana, and staying here at her side. But what the hell would he tell the man? Indeed, what could he say to a doctor at a local hospital emergency room? That Diana had touched a red gourd and had gone into an anaphylactic reaction where she’d stopped breathing and turned blue-gray? They’d look at him as if he were certifiably insane. No, he’d best stay with her. The color was coming back to her face and her eyes no longer looked as traumatized. He loosened his iron grip on her and held her more gently.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” he rasped against her ear. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? I care too much for you, Diana. Too much….”

  SHAD11005SEEING IS BELIEVING

  Chapter Five

  Diana stared up at Wes, not quite believing what he’d said. The feelings coursing through her confirmed what she’d heard. To be in his arms, to feel his natural strength and be the reci
pient of his care overwhelmed her confused senses. Other pictures kept impinging upon her consciousness, and she struggled to sit up on her own.

  “Wes…get a paper and pencil.” She pressed the palms of her hands against her closed eyes and leaned forward, resting them against her drawn-up knees. “Hurry. I’m getting all kinds of impressions….”

  Muttering beneath his breath, Wes heaved to his feet and raced into the living room of the casita to retrieve his briefcase. Throwing it on the bed, he glanced anxiously at Diana, who remained motionless on the carpeted floor. His heart was pounding with fear as he found a legal pad and pen. Sitting down next to her, his back against the bed, he said, “Go ahead.”

  “I see her. I see Ruth. She’s a small woman, built like a bird, very skinny. She looks so gaunt. So unhappy.” Her voice broke with tears. “The gourd. She held the gourd. It stunned her. She threw it up into the closet.” Diana tried to take the urgency out of her voice, but she felt so many serrated emotions. “I hear angry voices. She’s arguing with someone…a man. It’s a man.” The pictures faded and she waited. Perhaps more would come.

  Wes waited tensely, pen poised above the pad. He was holding it in a death grip. Glancing over at the dangerous gourd, he wondered how he possibly could have questioned Diana’s knowledge. Angry at himself because she had deliberately put herself on the line for him, to protect him from his own ignorance, he compressed his lips.

  “Wait…” Diana tried to relax. She knew that only if she was calm and serene within herself would the pictures come. Trying to settle her racing heart and concentrate fully on the sensations she retained from touching the gourd, she whispered, “I see something….”

  A canyon materialized, a red-sandstone canyon. Diana began to describe it. “I see the entrance to this canyon, and what I see most prominently is a profile of a man’s face on this huge rock. It looks Mayan, or Aztec, and he had his mouth open, as if he’s singing….” The picture dissolved, and moments later Diana saw another scene. “I see a dusty, rocky path, and I’m walking along it. It’s very steep and veers off to the right. Oh…I see, there’s a cave up there. A huge cave carved out of red sandstone. There’s an ancient Indian dwelling in it. I see a small tree at the back of the cave. It shouldn’t be living there, but there’s a small pool of water around it. Enough water seeps through the sandstone walls to keep the tree from dying, and sunlight reflects in off the walls.”

  The picture dissolved and Diana waited. Nothing more came. Shakily, she removed her hands from her eyes and looked at Wes. Nothing could have prepared her for the tortured expression on his face and the care burning in his eyes—for her alone. Her mouth suddenly dry, she reached out, her fingertips grazing his hard, tense forearm.

  “I’m okay. Really.”

  Wes nodded. “Let me decide that,” he said gruffly.

  Her mouth lifted at the corners just enough to let him know that she honored his statement. “Those are all the impressions, Wes. I wish there were more, but there aren’t.”

  “Who was she arguing with? Did you see him?”

  “No…unfortunately. I heard a man’s voice. It was a deep and angry voice.”

  “Did you hear what they said?”

  She held out her hands, palms up. “I never hear exactly what is said, I only receive impressions.”

  “Could the man have been the sorcerer? The one who gave her that gourd?”

  She shrugged. “It’s possible. But I saw her pick up the gourd and I feel strongly Ruth knew the consequences of her action. I saw her throw it up into that closet.”

  “Damn….”

  “There’s more, Wes.” Taking a deep breath, feeling better, Diana said, “I think I know where Ruth is.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Where?”

  “In that canyon where the cave is located. She’s close.” Diana looked slowly around the room. “I can feel her presence still in the Sedona area.”

  “I wonder how many canyons have caves in them?” he asked, disgruntled.

  “I have no idea. We can ask Officer Thomas to assist us. Besides, the canyon entrance had this Aztec-looking singer.” She gestured with her hands. “The face of the rock profile was at least a thousand feet tall, Wes. How many canyon entrances have that?”

  He brightened. “Not many. It should cut a lot of time off the search.”

  “Right.”

  He put the pad and pen aside. Getting to his feet, he took the large wastebasket and nudged the rattle into it with his foot.

  “Stay put,” he ordered. “I’m going to have that officer put the rattle away for safekeeping.”

  “Make sure no one touches it.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  Wes reappeared minutes later. He came and knelt down beside her. “You look tired.”

  “I feel it.” She grimaced and looked at the red gourd. “It’s a powerful and deadly rattle, Wes.”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. “You shouldn’t have done it, Diana. You shouldn’t have picked it up.”

  She felt the warmth of his strong, dry hands on her and wanted more. The urge to reach out and kiss him was too much to resist. Diana knew he cared for her—deeply and without question. Guided by her knowing, she slowly rose from her position and knelt beside him. With her hands she framed his rugged, harsh face and with her eye held his dark, tortured gaze.

  Without a word, she leaned over and placed her lips against the hard line of his mouth. She wasn’t disappointed. Closing her eyes, she melted against his opening mouth, felt him groan, felt his arms wrapping around her, bringing her even closer. His mouth was strong, cherishing. Their ragged breathing mingled. The strength of his kiss, the barely controlled power behind it, washed across Diana. His hands ranged roughly across her shoulders, down her torso to her waist. He wanted her. All of her. Suddenly, nothing had ever seemed so right to Diana. She might have died from the power of the gourd, and she would never have known the tender, gentle side of Wes McDonald.

  Breathing unevenly, she eased back from his hungry, searching mouth. If she continued to deepen the kiss, deepen their exploration, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop. With a hesitant smile, she stroked his thick, short hair.

  “Can we go somewhere? Be alone?”

  Wes nodded, internally shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. He ached to take Diana, here and now. To hell with the police. To hell with the mission. Gazing at her, the flushed quality of her cheeks, the vulnerability of her parted lips, he realized with a sureness that stunned him that he loved her. All of her. All of who she was.

  “Yes, we can,” he said, his voice rough with desire. Unwinding, he stood up and offered Diana his hand. She took it. As she came to his side, her arms sliding around his waist, her head resting on his chest, something old and hurting dissolved deep within his heart. An avalanche of euphoria swept through Wes, and he experienced a joy he’d never known existed.

  *

  The Oak Creek Hotel, situated five miles into a forested canyon above Sedona, had a wide, clear creek running alongside it. Wes liked the rustic atmosphere and privacy the place afforded. The cabin, built from pine, sat no more than fifty feet from the rushing, pristine water.

  The fragrance of the pines was perfume to Diana. But she was distracted from the beauty by Wes, who had just finished telling Officer Thomas to pick them up tomorrow morning.

  Coming up behind her, Wes placed his hands on her shoulders. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked near her ear, wanting her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  She nodded and rested against his tall, hard frame, content. “Yes…”

  “What I’m looking at, what I’m holding, is even more beautiful,” he rasped, and gently turned her around so he could see her reaction to his admission. Diana’s face was glowing with such loveliness that Wes leaned down and picked her up in his arms. He saw the surprise and then the happiness in her eyes as he carried her to the bedroom, to the old brass bed.

  The sun was filte
ring through windows laced with old-fashioned curtains, creating light-and-dark patterns across the quilt on the bed. As Diana lay down, with Wes at her side, she recalled times when darkness had ruled her life. As he ran his hand down her arm, gently cupping her breast beneath the fabric of her blouse, she closed her eyes, absorbing his touch, filling herself with the essence of him as a man whose heart was open and receptive to renewed life. Wes symbolized sunlight to her, overtaking the darkness of her past. No longer was he a hard warrior without a heart, without a soul. No, he was a man in touch with his heart now, and she savored the fact deeply as he began slowly, one by one, to undo the buttons of her blouse.

  Diana opened her eyes and smiled softly up at Wes. His eyes burned with hunger, like a wolf who has gone too long without a mate. His search for a mate was over as far as she was concerned, and she reached up and unbuttoned his shirt. She felt him tremble as she slid her hand across his darkly haired chest, his muscles tensing beneath her inspection.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered raggedly, pushing her blouse aside. He captured her lips with his as he removed the rest of her clothes, lost in the heat, the sweetness of her full, blossoming mouth. Wes had never believed there was much happiness in store for him; he’d seen very little of it in his lifetime. As he and Diana undressed each other and lay on the colorful quilt, he knew he had it now. Urgency thrummed through him, and he didn’t want to wait, but he controlled himself. Loving was about giving and taking, not just taking. And Diana’s body was so warm, so alive as she pressed against him, begging him to be one with her. He groaned. It was a groan of pleasure, the fire wreaking its special magic from the core of his body outward.

  Sunlight and shadows fell across them, and as he moved above her—their eyes locked on each other, his hands capturing hers above her head—he knew. Wes knew without a doubt that this was the woman he’d waited for all his life. And as her eyelids drooped slightly, those gold-and-brown eyes alive with desire for him alone, he slid into her heated, welcoming depths. Tensing, frozen with pleasure, with reward, he gripped her long, unbound hair. And then she began to move, gently at first, rocking, cajoling, and his lips drew away from his clenched teeth as he tried to control himself for her sake. It was impossible, and he plunged deeply, repeatedly into her, taking her, giving to her, smothering her mouth with his own and tasting her—absorbing her into himself, into his pounding, thudding heart.