Night of the Panther

by Suzanne Forster

  Sighing with relief, he buried a hand in her hair and held her tightly to his chest. The emotions storming through him were chaotic and confused, but the dream had been terrifyingly real. He’d seen every detail with a clarity that had frightened the hell out of him. He’d even seen the color of the woman’s eyes, blue-gray like river mist. Honor’s eyes.

  He pulled her dress around her to protect her from the cold. She slept on undisturbed in his arms, and Johnny envied her tranquility. He had no such peace of mind. As he lay there, holding her in the darkness, sheltered only by the remains of the lean-to, he had the eeriest feeling that he was still caught in a surreal dreamscape.

  It seemed as if he had never come out of the nightmare, as if everything that had happened on the mountain the last few days was a part of it, including the sex they’d had before falling asleep tonight. Had his grandfather cast some kind of spell over them? Had that crazy old man invoked the powers of godistso?

  He could hardly believe he was considering the possibility, but he didn’t know how else to explain the insanity his life had become. He’d spent half his life trying to forget her and bring his emotions under control. But the instant she reappeared, he’d been twisted inside out. Even now he was so torn with conflicting emotion, he hardly knew how he felt.

  Beyond that he’d broken every promise he’d made to himself. Years ago, he’d sworn he would never return to the reservation. Then, just days ago, he’d sworn that the woman who’d betrayed him would hurt the way he had hurt. All that was inconceivable to him now that he was on the reservation, seeking the ways of his Apache ancestors, and the very woman he’d vowed to get even with was curled up naked in his arms.

  Had the whole world gone crazy?

  He held Honor tight to his chest, his hands tangled in the golden magic of her hair. It would all be so simple if he could blame everything on the bewitching creature in his arms, but he couldn’t do that. He’d made the choice to be with her again, however recklessly.

  All he’d wanted when he returned to this place was to free himself. Instead, he’d added more chains, he realized. Loving her promised to be infinitely more dangerous than hating her. Even the vengeance he thought would cleanse him had turned into something complicated, tainted by guilt and remorse. To hurt her now would make him a monster. He would never be able to live with himself. But to love her?

  When Honor woke up the next morning, Johnny had already dismantled their primitive camp and was ready to make the trip back to the reservation.

  “Hungry?” he asked, settling down next to her with a bark bowl of wild strawberries and artichoke roots.

  “Maybe I’d better get dressed first,” said Honor, aware that she was naked under the blouse and skirt that covered her. Despite their intimacy of the night before, she felt oddly vulnerable with him sitting right next to her. Maybe it was because of their intimacy, she realized, blushing as she remembered what they’d done. His animal passions had awakened and aroused her in ways she wouldn’t have believed possible. She was already throbbing just thinking about it.

  She sneaked a glance at his naked thighs and felt herself going weak all over. Heaven help her, she wanted him again! Now, deep and tender, hot inside her. Her stomach muscles clutched in anticipation of the forbidden pleasure, but she couldn’t let him know how much she had loved what he’d done to her. She couldn’t embarrass herself that way!

  She hurriedly dressed, and the activity calmed her a little, though her panties and bra were nowhere to be found. Then she shared breakfast with him, nibbling at the roots he offered, absently aware that they reminded her of jicama. Her mind wasn’t on food, however.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” she said.

  “I was hoping we wouldn’t,” he told her softly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes glinted darkly, beautifully, simmering with inner turmoil as he looked at her. “It’s too soon. I’m not up to a whole lot of soul-searching this morning. I’m still trying to deal with what happened last night.”

  “Soul-searching?” Honor blurted out the offending word, unable to hide her hurt. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.” She stopped herself with a sigh and looked away from him. Soul-searching was exactly what she had in mind. “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe it is too soon.”

  Silence stretched between them until Johnny finally broke it. “I’m sorry, baby. I really am.” He knew he’d hurt her. He could see it in her proud, unsteady chin. But how did he tell her what was going on when he couldn’t find the words to explain it to himself? He’d been ripped wide open last night. He was too exposed, too raw, for any more contact. He wanted like hell to drag her into his arms and make love to her again. He could lose himself in her, but talking would only stir up all the pain and confusion. Talking was dangerous.

  “Maybe we ought to get going,” she said finally. “It’s a long trip back.”

  Honor’s prediction was too modest. It was a torturous trip back. Neither she nor Johnny spoke except when necessary, but Honor couldn’t stop herself from trying to analyze his every mood, every glance and murmur. She tried to tell herself that she was only imagining the distance seeping back into his eyes, the walls going up. She prayed she was imagining it, but she couldn’t talk herself out of the gnawing fear that he was retreating to somewhere beyond her reach.

  If she had any sense, she’d be the one retreating.

  She wiped the moisture from her neck and forehead as they continued down the mountain, but she couldn’t pry her thoughts away from the man walking next to her. His silence fed into her anxieties. It was more painful than his anger. At least then he was involved with her, passionately involved.

  She knew he could hurt her. He could crush her emotionally simply by his indifference. She was too vulnerable to him now, too needy for any scraps of attention or tenderness he might throw her way. And he had too many reasons to want to crush her. He’d threatened revenge, and the shaman had warned her she would be hurt. Was this what the old man meant?

  By the time the town of Whiteriver came into view, Honor had withdrawn into herself emotionally. She was afraid of Johnny’s moody silences, of his seemingly fated need to wound her. The shaman had told her she would learn something on the mountain, but nothing could have been further from the truth. She was hopelessly mired in confusion. Why had she and Johnny been brought together at all if it was only to cause each other more pain?

  The first person Honor saw as she and Johnny walked into the tribal headquarters in Whiteriver was the blond-haired ruffian. The man who had spied on her at the river was actually standing across the room, talking to Johnny’s grandfather! “You?” she said, halting midstride. “What are you doing here?”

  The ruffian’s gaze swept over her, and he smiled roguishly. “Ask your friend,” he said, indicating Johnny.

  Johnny’s malevolent expression made Honor think the men must be dire enemies. “You said you didn’t know him,” she whispered to Johnny.

  “I wish I didn’t,” Johnny muttered, swinging an arm toward the man. “Honor, meet Geoff Dias, my partner in another life. You may remember calling him to do some investigating for us.”

  “Your partner?” Honor gazed at Geoff in surprise, letting herself get caught for an instant in the man’s rich green eyes and sensual smile. He virtually lit up the room with his potent male energy, and even Honor, with all her other preoccupations, was not immune.

  The awareness left Honor worried as she caught the homicidal glint in Johnny’s eyes. He was measuring his former partner’s jaw for a fist, she realized, and the last thing she wanted was two bad-tempered brutes going at each other in the tribal headquarters. Still, Johnny’s jealousy was flattering, she admitted. It reassured her that he hadn’t been able to turn himself off totally. If she hadn’t been afraid of provoking a fight, she might have rattled his cage a little harder.

  “We have important business at hand,” Chy Starhawk said, interrupting in the nick of time.


  The urgency in his tone drew Honor’s attention to the small crowd of tribal leaders gathered in the room. Their grave expressions startled her into remembering that there was something more at stake here than her own personal concerns. These people were fighting to protect their tribe’s livelihood and a young boy’s freedom.

  Standing beside the shaman was the accused Apache teenager whose bail Honor had helped arrange. Her heart went out to the boy. His long black hair and look of defiance reminded her of another teenager who’d gone up against the system once and lost.

  “Mr. Dias has uncovered some important evidence regarding the Bartholomew Mines,” the shaman said, nodding to Geoff.

  The room went still as Geoff described the discrepancies he’d found in the chemical analyses of the seepage from the holding ponds. “Not only were the reports falsified,” he told them as he finished his disclosures, “they were signed off on by a government inspector, which could mean any number of things—bribery, graft, collusion.”

  The crowd broke out in applause.

  “But that’s perfect!” Honor chimed in. “You have everything we need. We can have the operation shut down, at least until they rectify the situation. How did you ever get past my father’s security?”

  Geoff pulled a card from the pocket of his vest. “Anyone need a computer repaired? I work cheap. Once I was able to access their locked electronic files, I hit pay dirt.”

  “Brilliant,” said Honor, laughing along with everyone else. But her smile vanished as Johnny interrupted.

  “There’s a problem,” he said, addressing the tribal leaders. He gave Honor the benefit of his quick, hot glare as he indicated Geoff. “Mr. Dias’s ‘brilliant’ evidence was illegally obtained. Technically he gained access to the computer files by fraudulent means, which makes the evidence virtually worthless in court. And leaves us with damn few options.”

  The crowd began to murmur among themselves.

  “What are those options?” Chy Starhawk asked immediately.

  Johnny’s shrug wasn’t encouraging. “We either find someone within the company to testify that the analyses were falsified, which is an unlikely prospect . . . or we bluff.”

  “Bluff?”

  It was Honor who’d asked the question, but Johnny addressed his answer to the men, pointedly ignoring her. “Hale Bartholomew doesn’t have to know how we got the evidence,” he told them. “We could bluff him into thinking we can win a court fight.”

  Chy Starhawk looked skeptical. “There is too much at stake,” he said. “Do we want the boy’s future and our tribe’s livelihood hanging on so thin a thread?”

  “I think we could do it,” Honor said softly, more to herself than anyone else. Her thoughts began to race as she considered the possibilities. She didn’t question that what Johnny proposed was a huge risk, but she’d seen the flame leap in his eyes when he said her father’s name. Johnny Starhawk and Hale Bartholomew? A confrontation after so many years between the half-Apache kid and the man who had him banished? It was poetic justice, she realized.

  She came out of her thoughts to the realization that everyone was looking at her, including Johnny. “I . . . I think we could do it,” she repeated. “I know my father. He’s been railing for years about the environmentalists and how they value trees over people. His motives aren’t always as pure as he pretends, but he does put great store in the family name and his own integrity. If we threatened public exposure—”

  “What if it came to a court fight?” Johnny asked. “Would you testify against him? A character witness?”

  “Testify?” Honor whispered the word. “Against my own father?” She stared at Johnny in disbelief. Did he know what he was asking? Her relationship with her father wasn’t a good one, but to publically take the stand against him? She could never do it. There was a bond. There would always be a bond.

  She searched Johnny’s features, trying to understand what he was doing, why he was doing it. Her father had used her as a pawn all those years ago. He’d forced her to choose between him and Johnny. It horrified her to think that Johnny might be doing the same thing now. That would be carrying poetic justice to its cruelest extreme.

  Her throat was dry and sore as she tried to speak. “Maybe it won’t come to a court fight.”

  “If it did?” Johnny persisted.

  Don’t do this, she thought, her anguish evident as she held his gaze. Please, don’t do this.

  The silence stretched interminably, and finally Johnny exhaled heavily, his head lifting. He turned to his grandfather. “I’m ready to take Bartholomew on, with or without her. You decide.”

  As Johnny turned and headed for the door, the assembled group made way for him. Honor felt as if she were drowning, going down for the third time, and Johnny had turned his back on her struggle. The door banged shut behind him, and she walked to the window of the headquarters, watching him stride to his Jeep.

  “He’ll be back,” a man’s voice said reassuringly.

  She turned to find Geoff Dias standing next to her.

  “Johnny’s a moody S.O.B.,” Geoff said, his expression conveying sympathy for her plight. “But he’ll work through whatever’s eating him. Give him some time.”

  Honor shook her head. Geoff obviously had no idea how serious the situation was. “It’s more than a mood,” she said despairingly. “Johnny can’t let go of the past, and he’s determined to punish me for it, one way or the other.”

  Geoff moved around her and settled himself on the ledge of the window, looking up at her, studying her sadness. The light caught his sunswept hair and made a fiery halo out of it. He looked like one of Satan’s angels. Honor thought.

  His voice was husky when he spoke. “I’ll tell you a little secret,” he said. “I’ve seen Johnny around lots of women, but I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t think punishing you is his problem. I think it’s loving you.”

  Honor saw the bonfire as she was walking toward the river the town was named for. Blazing against the summer evening’s darkness, it seemed to be somewhere in the fairgrounds. She hurried in that direction, thinking that the fire might be another ceremonial ritual, perhaps in preparation for the confrontation with her father. If she was lucky, the person she needed to see would be there.

  She approached the fairgrounds expecting the same crowds she’d seen at the gaan dance. Instead the area was deserted. There was only one man sitting cross-legged before the fire. Johnny’s grandfather rocked in a trancelike state, staring into the soul of the flames, chanting softly.

  Honor hesitated a few feet away, not wanting to disturb him, but the shaman seemed to sense her presence and looked up. His eyes reflected the flames. They warmed and chilled her at the same time.

  “You’re troubled,” he said.

  “Very troubled,” she admitted.

  “Do you know why?” he asked, beckoning her to sit down.

  “Yes,” she said, speaking with conviction as she settled herself next to him on the ground. “It’s your grandson. I don’t understand him.”

  “You aren’t alone. He doesn’t understand himself.”

  “But why is he doing this?” she persisted. “Why is he asking me to testify against my own father?”

  “Perhaps because he wants to win the case, and he knows you would be an important witness.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “If I could believe that was all there was to it—”

  The fire snapped loudly, showering sparks. Several of them hit Honor’s sweatshirt, and as she hastened to pat them out, she noticed the shaman’s bare arm. It was covered with red-hot cinders, which he made no move to extinguish. The cinders turned to ash, and as she met the old man’s eyes, she saw herself there, reflected in the fire’s flames. The vision transfixed her for a moment, as though there were some secret truth hidden in his gaze.

  “You mistrust Johnny’s motives?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “I think it’s a test. If I pass it, maybe he’ll forgive
me. Or maybe there’ll be another test.”

  The shaman smiled. “You are becoming a wise woman.”

  Her pleasure at the compliment flared and was gone, like the sparks. “Then you think it’s a test too?”

  “Does it matter? If it is, you couldn’t pass it. You already know that, so you might as well search your heart and look for guidance there.”

  Search her heart? Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been doing? “You told me I would learn something on the trip to White Mountain, and yet I came back feeling more confused than ever.”

  “And now? You’re still confused? You feel helpless, a leaf in the wind?”

  “Yes . . .” How did he know?

  “And perhaps you feel Johnny is that wind? A stormy gust, battering at you?” As she nodded, he asked, “Do you know the wind’s purpose?”

  “To rip the leaf from the tree, to destroy it.”

  “Ah, but is the leaf destroyed when it’s ripped from the tree? Or is it taken on a great ride, a great adventure? Some leaves might see the wind as an opportunity to travel.”

  He laughed softly at that thought and regarded her with curiosity. “What do you want from the wind, little leaf?”

  Honor smiled despite herself. “I’d like a trip with less turbulence, thank you.”

  “So you want a gentle wind, a loving wind?”

  She nodded, stirred by bittersweet feelings. Gentleness, love—she longed for those things. She longed for Johnny’s love.

  “Have you told him how you feel?” the shaman asked.

  Honor glanced up, startled. The fire turned to liquid gold through the haze of her tears. “No, I’d be afraid to tell him,” she admitted softly. “Everything I do seems to hurt and enrage him. He can’t let himself forget, or forgive, what I did.”

  “Yes, I see that,” the shaman said gently. “But perhaps it isn’t Johnny’s pain you need to be concerned with. And perhaps it isn’t Johnny’s forgiveness you need.”