Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  Minutes had turned into hours and hours into days as Joanna and J.T. fell into a flexible routine. They went horseback riding every day, exploring the land nearby and becoming acquainted with the neighbors, all members of Mary’s Bitter Water clan. And every day, Eddie gave J.T. a Saad lesson.

  Joanna’s portrait of J.T. had begun taking shape, but she had refused to let him look at it. She had no idea how he would react when he saw the way she had depicted him. All primitive naked male, as rugged and wild as the landscape surrounding him.

  And they made love. In the mornings when they first awoke. In the middle of the day when they couldn’t go another minute without touching each other. And at night after Joanna covered J.T.’s portrait and the ghosts of their great-grandparents hovered in the darkness.

  Each night Joanna read to J.T. from Annabelle Beaumont’s diary, and the more they shared their ancestors’ love story, the more they became a part of Annabelle and Benjamin’s doomed affair.

  Tonight they sat on the threadbare sofa, as they did every night, Joanna nestled between J.T.’s legs, while she read to him. He wore nothing except his jeans, and she her striped caftan. The side of his face rested against hers, and from time to time, he kissed her temple.

  “Benjamin’s son is ill—not seriously, thank the dear Lord—but being a good father, he has traveled to his mother-in-law’s home to visit the child. I find it strange that these people have such a matriarchal society, where although children are said to be born for their father’s clan, they are born in their mother’s clan. And in a case like Benjamin’s, when a man loses his wife, he must give his child over to be raised by his mother-in-law.

  “I have not seen Benjamin in four days and I am dying from the agony of being apart from him. How will I be able to endure living when the time comes for us to part forever? He has become as essential to me as the air I breathe. Had I known the extent of anguish true love could bring, I would have done all in my power to have escaped its cruel clutches. No. No, I lie. Knowing all I know now—the pain as well as the ecstasy—I would change nothing. To have lived and died and never to have known this pure joy would have been a tragedy indeed.

  “He has promised, if his son’s health has improved, that we will meet tomorrow in our special place. I have a gift for him—a book of my favorite poems by Christina Rossetti. And I plan to ask him to allow me to cut a lock of his long black hair. I will braid it with a lock of mine and give it to him as a keepsake. Something to remember me by when I am gone.”

  Joanna’s shoulders quivered. J.T. reached around her, closed Annabelle’s diary and lifted it out of her hands.

  He couldn’t bear to see her cry and yet her tender, romantic heart was part of what made her so special. He would change nothing about her. She was as close to perfect as he would ever want a woman to be.

  He laid the diary on the end table and turned off the table lamp, leaving only the dim light from their bedroom casting a shadowy glow into the living room. Cradling her in his arms, he hugged her fiercely and kissed her neck.

  “Why do you do this to yourself, honey? You’ve already read that diary from beginning to end more than once. I don’t see why you want to read aloud from it every night.”

  Resting her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and sighed. “If I didn’t read it to you, you’d never read all of it, and I want you to know Benjamin and Annabelle’s story. I want you to feel about them the way I do.”

  “Honey, I’ve already admitted that I was wrong about them.” J.T. lifted her clasped hands to his lips. “What happened to them was tragic, but nothing we say or do can change the past. Annabelle and Benjamin are dead and buried, and their great love with them.”

  How could she ever make J.T. understand the way she felt and what she believed? Yes, Annabelle and Benjamin were dead, but not their love. Didn’t he realize that love never dies, especially the kind of love their great-grandparents had shared? Annabelle’s and Benjamin’s spirits were together, forever; their love was still alive. It was a part of J.T. A part of Joanna. And a part of what they felt for each other.

  In her heart of hearts, Joanna believed that Annabelle had sent her to New Mexico, that her great-grandmother had opened her heart to the hope and dream of love at a time when she had thought there was nothing left worth living for. She had been destined to meet J.T., to love him and to heal his troubled soul. He belonged here in New Mexico, where both his mother’s people and his father’s had fought and died to claim this land. His birthright was here, and if he could ever embrace his mixed heritage, he could find peace in his soul. He could be both Navajo and Scotsman, both cowboy and Indian. Why couldn’t he accept the fact that he did not have to choose, that indeed he couldn’t choose between the two? He was a unique man, and she loved him as she would never love another. He was, as Benjamin had been to Annabelle, the other half of her.

  “I wish we could go back to their special place,” Joanna said. “Tonight…right this minute…and share the magic of what we feel with them.”

  “We don’t need to go to Annabelle and Benjamin’s special place,” J.T. told her. “And just as their magic existed only between the two of them, ours exists only between the two of us. It can’t be shared.”

  “It’s going to end for us, just as it ended for them.” Joanna pulled out of J.T.’s arms and jumped up from the sofa.

  “Jo? Honey?” He reached for her, but she moved too quickly for him to grab her arm. He stood and watched her. She ran to the door, unlocked it and grasped the knob.

  “When this is over and Lenny Plott is either dead or behind bars, you’ll go back to Atlanta, back to your job and your life there. And I’ll stay here in New Mexico, except when you come home to visit Elena. Then I’ll have to go away because—” she swallowed the tears trapped in her throat “—it will be unbearable for me.”

  She flung open the door and ran outside into the cool, starry night. A full moon spread a soft creamy blush across the land. J.T. raced after Joanna, calling her name as she fled from him. Following her, he cursed himself for hurting her this way. He understood only too well the desperation she felt, knowing that what they shared couldn’t last forever. She was right. It had to end. She wanted eternity, a love that lived beyond death, and all he could give her was the moment—because that’s all he believed in.

  “Jo, stop running,” he called after her. “Please, honey. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  But she kept running until he chased her down and pulled her into his arms. She struggled to free herself, but he tumbled her onto the ground and pinned her arms over her head as he straddled her.

  “I can’t stand to see you hurting this way.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away. “Accept what there is between us. It’s real. It’s magical. It’s passionate. Maybe it isn’t what you want, but it’s all I can give you.”

  Turning to face him, she stared up at him, the moonlight illuminating her features in gold-tinted shadows. “You could give me everything I want and need if you’d only let yourself,” she said. “But you’re afraid. So afraid to let yourself love me the way you really want to.”

  He pressed his arousal against her feminine mound. “Why can’t this be enough for you? It’s never been like this with anyone else. Never been this good…this right.”

  “Oh, J.T., I love you. I love you so.” She arched her body up and into his.

  He groaned, then took her mouth with savage hunger. Squirming beneath him, she thrust her tongue into his mouth, engaging it in a duel with his. Releasing his hold on her wrists, he caught the caftan zipper between his thumb and forefinger and whipped the garment apart. Shoving the caftan off her shoulders and down her arms, J.T. lifted her, removed the caftan and laid her naked body down on the flowing robe’s silky softness.

  She touched his chest with one hand and lifted the other to his head, threading her fingers through his hair. Rising up just enough to grab hold of his zipper, he opened his jeans, jerked them down his
legs and kicked them into the dirt.

  “This is the magic, Jo.” He lifted her hips and plunged into her. “This is the ecstasy. It might not last forever, but it’s more than some people ever know.”

  “Yes. Yes.” This was the ecstasy, but what J.T. could not admit to himself was that the love they shared was what made it magical for them.

  He rolled over, placing his body against the hard, dusty earth as he lifted her into the dominant position. They mated, there on the ground, beneath the stars; primitive man and woman, joined in nature’s most basic, instinctive ritual. Each of them giving and taking in equal measure, sharing the earth-shattering pleasure when their climaxes claimed them.

  Leaving their clothes lying on the ground, J.T. lifted Joanna in his arms and carried her back to the house and to the bed they shared in his mother’s house. Neither of them said a word as he cradled her in his arms. They lay together in silence, listening to each other’s heartbeats until they fell asleep.

  Hours later, J.T woke, eased her from his arms and slipped out of bed. Quietly striding into the living room, he stood in the darkness for several minutes, then turned on a table lamp and walked over to the easel Joanna had placed in the corner. He lifted the cover slowly. Groaning, he closed his eyes, but he could not erase the portrait from his mind. In that one brief glance, he had seen himself as Joanna saw him, and if he had ever doubted that she loved him, he no longer did.

  Opening his eyes, he stared at the beautiful, noble man Joanna had painted. Straight blue-black hair hanging to his shoulders. Glistening bronze skin stretched over taut, well-developed muscles. An ageless man. A man of yesterday and today and tomorrow. A perfect man, seen through the eyes of love.

  He did not deserve Joanna’s love. He was unworthy of such pure sweet devotion. How was it possible that she loved him so deeply and completely and saw in him the man he longed to be? Did he have the courage to accept what she was offering, and the strength to become the man she wanted and needed?

  He knew that if he didn’t find that strength and that courage, he would doom them to a fate as tragic as the one that had befallen their great-grandparents.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RITA GONZALES GRUMBLED to herself when she heard the door chimes. “No company. We are not at home. Go away.”

  Leaning the mop against the kitchen counter, she wiped her pudgy, damp hands on her apron and waddled into the hallway. The chimes rang again.

  “Who would be bothering people so early in the morning?” She peered through the peephole in the solid wooden door. A tall, dark-haired man with a thick mustache stood on the front porch. She didn’t recognize the man, but then she didn’t know all of Elena and Alex’s friends and business acquaintances. Rita unlocked and opened the door enough to take a better look at the stranger.

  When he saw Rita, he smiled and nodded. She liked his smile, and although she was unaccustomed to seeing men in suits and ties, she liked his neat appearance.

  “Morning, ma’am. Sorry to bother you so early, but I’m here on official business. I’d like to see Mr. and Mrs. Gregory.” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out his identification to show Rita. “I’m Eugene Willis, one of the FBI agents working with Dane Carmichael in Trinidad.”

  “Agent Carmichael has been here on the ranch several times,” Rita said, then shook her head. “I’m sorry but Elena and Alex are not here. They went to Santa Fe on business yesterday.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I have some news for them and needed their help in contacting Joanna Beaumont.”

  “Your Mr. Carmichael knows how to reach Joanna and J.T.” Rita eyed the man suspiciously.

  “Yes, we’ve been trying to call them, but can’t get through. We thought perhaps the Gregorys would have another number where they could be reached.”

  “Something must be wrong with J.T.’s little phone—”

  “His cellular phone? Yes, that’s what we think.”

  “If Mr. Carmichael can’t reach J.T., why hasn’t he called the tribal police? Since J.T.’s cousin, Joseph Ornelas, is a policeman, he would gladly take the message to them himself.”

  “I’m sure Dane will have thought of calling the tribal police by the time I check in with him,” Eugene said. “It’s just that we’re all so pleased about the good news we have for Ms. Beaumont that we wanted to reach her as quickly as possible.”

  “What good news?” Rita opened the door fully and stepped out onto the front porch.

  “We’ve apprehended Lenny Plott. Caught him in Trinidad before daylight this morning.”

  “Oh, my, this is good news.” Rita stuck her fat finger in Eugene’s face. “You make sure that man is put back in a thick cell with many locks so he can never escape again.”

  Eugene grinned. “Yes, ma’am, that’s just what we intend to do.”

  “You tell Mr. Carmichael to keep trying to call J.T. on his little telephone and if there is no answer, call the tribal police and ask for Joseph Ornelas.” Rita snapped her fingers. “Perhaps Elena’s cousin, Kate Whitehorn, would know how to contact J.T. and Joanna. Joanna has visited the Whitehorns many times when she goes to the reservation to paint.”

  “Kate Whitehorn. Yes, ma’am. Thank you. And please, give Mr. and Mrs. Gregory the good news when they return from Santa Fe.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.” Rita stood on the porch and watched Eugene Willis get in his gray sedan and drive away.

  Moments later, Cliff Lansdell drove in from the opposite direction, slowed his four-wheel drive in front of the ranch house and stopped.

  “Who was that, Rita?” he asked, watching the car drive away.

  “An FBI agent named Willis,” Rita said. “He came here to talk to Elena and Alex. They’ve caught that man, that Lenny Plott, who wanted to kill Joanna. But they can’t get J.T. to answer his little telephone to give them the good news. I told him I didn’t understand why they didn’t just call the tribal police.”

  Cliff flung open the door, jumped out and ran up onto the porch. “Rita, did you see that man’s identification?”

  “What?”

  “Did he show you proof that he was an FBI agent?”

  “Do you think I’m a stupid old woman?”

  “No, I do not think you’re old or stupid.”

  “He showed me his badge, showed me his picture. It was him. Big black mustache and all. And his name was Willis. Eugene Willis.”

  Cliff let out a deep breath. “Good. Good.”

  “I wouldn’t talk to nobody who wasn’t the police.” Rita placed her hands on her wide hips. “Anyway, I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. The FBI knows that Joanna is on the Navajo reservation.”

  “But no one off the reservation, except Elena and Alex, knows exactly where J.T. took Joanna,” Cliff said. “Not even the FBI.”

  “I’m glad this whole thing is over and that awful man will be put back in prison,” Rita said. “Now, Joanna can come home and not have to be afraid anymore.”

  JOANNA SLIPPED HER sketch pad and pens into the saddlebag and closed it. “I’m glad it isn’t hot today. Maybe we can stay out longer than we did yesterday and I can finish these sketches.”

  “Too bad you need sunlight to sketch,” J.T. said. “If you could learn to draw in the dark, we could go out at night when it’s cool.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” Joanna adjusted her hat, tightening the drawstring under her chin.

  J.T. dropped his Glock into his saddlebag, then slid his Remington into its sheath attached to his saddle. Patting his shirt pocket, he double-checked to make sure he had his cellular phone, then he mounted Washington.

  “Kate’s planning that get-together this weekend,” Joanna said. “We really need to give her an answer today. It’s important to her that we be there. She wants you to meet other members of your mother’s family.”

  “I’ve met more relatives than I can count already.” J.T. motioned Washington into a slow trot. “Half the Bitter Water clan seem to live in thi
s area and I think we count relatives down to tenth cousins.”

  Joanna laughed. “Hey, we Southerners do the same thing.” She wondered if J.T. realized that he had said “we” when he had spoken of the Navajo. Probably not. But Joanna had noticed that he was beginning to relate to his mother’s people and seemed to enjoy not only the Saad lessons Eddie gave him, but the history lessons, too.

  She urged Playtime into a trot alongside Washington. “We need to let Kate know something by tonight.”

  “Hey, we didn’t come to the reservation so I could socialize with my relatives,” J.T. said. “I brought you here to keep you out of harm’s way until the FBI catch up with Plott.”

  “There’s no reason that while we’re here we can’t socialize. No one is going to talk to a stranger and give away our hiding place. Joseph told you that he’s spoken to everyone in this area, cautioning them to contact him if anyone they don’t know comes around asking questions.”

  “You’re as determined as Elena that I accept my Navajo heritage, aren’t you?”

  “I want you to be happy, and I don’t think you can be until you resolve all the hang-ups you have about being part Native American and part Scotch-Irish.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a psychiatrist.”

  “I suppose it comes from having gone through months of therapy after the rape,” Joanna said. “I’m not sure how long it would have taken me to break away from Mother’s domination if I hadn’t reached a point in my therapy where I admitted that she had always run my life, that I had never made one decision on my own.”

  The afternoon sun warmed them as they traveled several miles from Mary’s house. The land was dotted with yuccas, creosote bushes and mesquite. And the colors were sharp and pure; the earth itself was alive with vibrant hues.

  When they reached Painted Canyon, J.T. searched for the spot Joanna had chosen several days ago when they’d first ridden out this way. He saw the huge rock where she liked to sit and look down over the plateau. He recognized the area because a scattering of cottonwood trees grew nearby.