by Nina Bruhns
"Pretty amazing," he said with admiration. Then turned his focus to the site and cabin. "And strategic. We can see the whole setup, including the road leading up the mountain. Good choice."
He watched a pair of headlights crest the hill, but the car didn't turn onto the path to the cabin, instead proceeding higher up into the sierra. "Where's that guy going?"
"There's a logging camp at the end of the road, about five miles up."
"Seems late for traffic."
"I hear cars all the time, morning to night. I guess the guys go down to the restaurants and bars."
He frowned. "They ever bother you?"
"Nope. Only Toby." She searched the road below. "Do you think he and the gang will show up?"
"Who knows. I'm not too worried, though."
"No?" She looked surprised. "But the Chairman said—"
"Toby and his cohorts aren't out to destroy anything."
"And you know this how?"
"If that's what they'd wanted, they'd have done so this morning. They took the artifacts, but turned them in to the authorities—the ones they respect. No, if they come, it'll just be to scare you."
"Scare me?" she said incredulously. "Need I remind you last time they tied me up and left me helpless, at the mercy of a man who looked like an ax murderer?"
"A man who was clearly coming to your rescue," he corrected. "The kids knew you'd be safe with me."
Behind them, a faint echo of thunder rolled across the distant peaks of the High Sierra.
"Yeah, right," she muttered, but he could tell she saw his point. She relaxed visibly.
Until he unfurled the blanket and draped it over his back, sat down on the rock, and held out his arms to her. "Sit with me like we used to."
The air turned chilly. She shivered and slipped on her down jacket. "I don't think so, Roman."
Pushing out a sigh, he dropped his arms and lay back on the boulder, still warm from the heat of the day. The sun had already set and darkness was racing over the blue sky. It never failed to impress him how quickly dusk fell on the mountain.
Silhouetted against the sapphire horizon, RaeAnne stood, back to him, hands in the deep, snug pockets of her jacket, her collar turned up. Wisps of blond hair fluttered around her head in the breeze; long, denim-clad legs braced in a wide, confident stance. He felt his body stir. How could she turn him on just standing there?
"Tell me about your father," she said.
He lifted his gaze to the splash of stars that were beginning to twinkle overhead. "He was a traitor," he said before he realized he'd spoken.
She turned to face him. "I don't understand. Everyone thought he was a hero."
"He killed two men, Rae."
"Yes, but in self-defense." She ignored his snort and exclaimed, "Those FBI agents were about to gun down innocent people over some meaningless protest about feathers!"
"Eagle feathers are not meaningless. You know that. You also know the protest wasn't just about feathers."
"So you're saying the FBI was right to shoot people, regardless of the reason?"
"No. I'm saying that's not what really happened."
She was silent a moment, then said, "What really did happen?"
It took him a good long while to put what his father had done into words. As if not saying it aloud would somehow make the things they spoke of not real.
But in the end, be wanted her to know. To know the kind of man who had fathered him. To be properly horrified, so she wouldn't mind so much that he had left her those years ago. So she would understand why he couldn't stay, even now.
"About ten years ago, my mom got real sick. When I was finally called, she'd been in the hospital for weeks."
Roman remembered the frantic feeling of not being able to do anything to make her better. It had been far worse than when he'd thought he was dying of AIDS himself. And after she'd whispered her confession, he'd wished he had.
"She was convinced she wouldn't make it and didn't want to die with her secrets, so she told me everything. How my father had been involved in a drug ring somewhere around here. He was a supplier, a distributor for the ring. Had been ever since he'd come back from Vietnam. The FBI finally caught up with the ring, and was about to arrest them all. So he killed the agents during an AIM protest and then disappeared, making it look like he'd been wounded escaping. The Native Rights hero."
"Oh, Roman." Shock and sympathy radiated from her.
He wanted none of it. "Hector Santangelo was not a Red Road
warrior who died in the mountains evading the mock justice of the dominant society. He was a drug dealer and a murderer who's still alive and out there somewhere. And I mean to find him and bring him in."
* * *
RaeAnne was speechless. She knew how much the memory of his father had meant to Roman growing up. As had the knowledge that even though he was dead, he'd died honorably, defending his people and the things he'd believed in. The respect in every Native American's eyes when they learned Roman was Hector Santangelo's son had given him a strength and confidence rare in a young boy. And somewhat made up for losing his father at a fragile age.
"I don't know what to say," she said, aching to lie down beside him and gather him in her arms, hold him until the hurt went away. "It's a hell of a thing to find out. Are you sure it's true?"
"You think my mom would lie about something like that?"
"No, of course not. It's just so … so unlike everything I've ever heard about him."
But it would explain why Roman had felt compelled to join the very organization that had been accused of killing his dad. Roman's sense of honor had always been his defining trait.
A sad sigh whispered from deep in his chest. "I know. It took me a long time to believe it. But there were too many little things that added up."
She sat down on the boulder next to him. "Like what?"
"Like how we'd always been short of money while he was in Nam, but just a few months after he got back suddenly we seemed to be rolling in it."
"Maybe he got a good job."
He shook his head. "He worked for the Tribal Council for next to nothing. And he was always traveling. He said on tribal business, but nobody else on the Council ever did. I remember him and my mom fighting about it. They fought a lot toward the end."
She reached out a finger and toyed with the fringe of the blanket where it lay on his arm. "What else?"
"Visits from strangers at all hours, phone calls, secret meetings. Sometimes he'd see a car drive by and get all paranoid. Like he was afraid."
"How did he explain these things?"
He lifted a shoulder. "It was the seventies. The American Indian Movement was gaining momentum, and he was right in the thick of it. I just assumed it all had to do with that. I was young. Never questioned."
Stroking the soft wool strands between her fingers, she said, "But if the FBI knew all that about him, why would they hire his son?"
She looked down into his eyes, and the breath stalled in her lungs at the desolation reflected in them.
"Because I'm the one who told them about his crimes." Stunned horror shot through her. But before she could squeeze a word through her constricted throat, his head tipped up and his eyes snapped to the valley below.
"Looks like we've got company."
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
RaeAnne leaped to her feet and spun to see what Roman had spotted. Sure enough, a pair of headlights blazed a bumpy path along the road leading to her cabin.
"Toby!" she exclaimed. "Let's go!"
She turned to head for the Jeep, but Roman's hand gripped her arm before she realized he'd also risen.
"Wait. First let's see what they do."
"Are you nuts? They could wreck the site! The cabin!"
"As I said, I doubt they want to. And if you're not around, their plan to scare you won't have nearly the desired impact."
"What if they get to the artifacts?"
"L
et's just see what happens."
There was that confidence again. She couldn't help but succumb to it, skeptical as she was. "If they so much as break a window—"
"I'll arrest them myself. This is National Forest land, federal jurisdiction."
She pushed out a breath, already annoyed with herself for caving in. Reluctantly she turned to watch the shadowy shapes of the kids as they piled out of Toby's truck into a patch of moonlight in front of the cabin. Youthful voices rang through the valley.
"I can make out three of them. Not a very big raiding party."
"Hmm," she said, reserving judgment. Yells and whoops echoed off the hillsides. "Doesn't have to be big to be destructive. And there might be others coming—just slower drivers."
"Don't worry," his voice murmured in her ear, right before his arms closed around her middle. "Trust me."
The words ricocheted through her mind as her body sparked in acute awareness of his frame pressing into her back. Trust me. She'd made that mistake once, and she'd be a fool to repeat it.
"We wanna talk to you, Miz Archaeologist! Come on out of there!"
Mutely she watched the kids hoot and holler and bang their fists on the cabin door, daring her to show her face.
"We know you're in there! No use hidin'!"
When she didn't appear, they shone flashlights into the two windows, rapping on the glass so hard she thought surely it would shatter. Roman's arms tightened around her waist, as if he could sense she was about to bolt.
"Easy."
When the youths finally realized she wasn't there, they held a conference in the glow of the headlights, heads together, animatedly discussing the situation. Roman handed her his silver flask and she took an experimental sip. The slivovitz burned all the way down her throat.
"Jeez Louise," she gasped, wiping her eyes.
"Better?" he asked, and she could practically hear his grin.
"Are you kidding?" she choked out, but nevertheless took another sip before passing him back the flask.
This time it just felt hot as it glided into her stomach. Almost as hot as his lower body against her backside. She caught herself leaning into him when he shifted his legs apart to take a swig from the flask—automatically adjusting herself to his contours, fitting their bodies together as seamlessly as she knew they would. It was agony to pull herself away, but she tried, only to find his arm an iron band around her waist, preventing her from moving.
"What are they doing?" she asked, to distract herself from acknowledging the thrill that hummed through her.
"Getting back in the truck, it seems."
She forced herself to focus and, sure enough, the boys were opening the truck's doors. But instead of climbing in, Toby reappeared carrying a box of some kind. It looked about the same size and shape as her artifact boxes.
"What the heck…?"
Roman took another slow swig, and they both watched as the boys deposited the box on the top step of the cabin porch. Then, after more discussion, they mustered into the truck and drove off.
Astonished, RaeAnne followed the red of their taillights disappear over the hill.
"Well. I guess you were right," she finally ventured. "What do you suppose is in the box?"
"Dead rat. Coyote droppings. Something clever like that." She made a face and turned to him. "Oh, gross. Are you serious?"
"That would be the usual pattern." His fingers brushed along her jaw and slid into her hair. Her heart stalled. "I'll open it for you when we get back."
"Roman," she whispered, uncertain whether she was warning him or encouraging him in his folly.
"You feel like a marshmallow."
She blinked up at him. "Huh?" His arm adjusted around her, sinking into the soft down of her jacket. Pulling her close. "Oh."
"You know how I love marshmallows."
"I—"
"Toasted. All hot and sweet and melty."
She was beginning to feel a bit toasted herself. "Roman…"
He lowered his face to hers. She expected him to kiss her. But he didn't. He just held it there, nose to cheek, cheek to nose, barely touching. Brushing his skin over hers, up and down, light as a fairy wing.
"Were you really glad I kissed you?" he quietly asked.
Her pulse zinged. She knew she shouldn't. But she couldn't help herself. "Yes."
She could smell his scent, dark, musky, perfumed with a drop of some exotic oil. She could smell the soap he'd used this afternoon, and the leather of his black jacket, warm from his heat. She could smell her own arousal, unexpected, potent, unbidden.
But she couldn't pull away. It was as though some giant, invisible magnet kept her from stepping back, reestablishing the distance between them.
His fingers held her head, gently guiding it to tip and turn, to accommodate his tortuous journey of touch around her face. Yet, not once did his lips leave their print upon her skin. No, this was far worse.
She stifled a moan when he brushed down her throat and buried his face between her neck and her hair, pausing to breathe deeply. She did moan when his tongue painted over the sensitive spot at the base of her ear.
"Cara," he murmured, and suddenly his mouth was on hers.
Somehow her arms had wound themselves around his neck. He tasted sweet, and burning hot like the slivovitz. His tongue was rough as the years that had separated them, and exciting as no man had been since him.
A yearning, needy sound tumbled from her throat, answered by a low growl from his. He crushed her to his body, covering her mouth completely, thrusting deep with demand. Her limbs turned to liquid and she grabbed his hair for balance. Their lips parted, panting, their eyes met, desperate.
"We can't do this," she said, gasping for breath.
"No," he agreed, and claimed her again.
Being in his arms was like coming home to a family she hadn't seen in eighteen long years. She missed him so, missed him to the roots of her hair and the soles of her feet. Missed him so much she let herself melt beneath his tongue as it dissolved her resistance like so much cotton candy. She missed him to the very core of her soul.
"We should stop."
"Yes."
His mouth was like velvet steel. Soft, sensual, immovable, overpowering. Helplessly she surrendered to his urging, joined in his feverish resurrection of the passion between them.
His hands pulled her tight, center to center, kneading her bottom, grinding her into the long, hard column of his arousal. She shivered uncontrollably.
"Woman, I want you," he breathed.
Coils of desire tightened through her whole body. She groaned. Somehow, she had to summon the will to stop. Knowing if this happened it would be the end of her. She wouldn't survive his leaving again.
"It can't work. This can't work," she said, and put her hands on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, usually so steady and strong, pounding like an out of control freight train. And her own, just as wild.
"I know," he said, low, tormented. "But I want you." He wrapped her in his arms. "Lord, how I want you. Be my woman, Rae."
And suddenly she wasn't sure what he was really saying. Was it only now he was talking about? Was he just asking for a hot and frenzied roll in the blanket to celebrate old times? Or was there something more he wanted?
All at once she was scared witless. Scared witless that she would accept his offer—whatever it was.
This was exactly why she'd gone on the run and hidden from him for so many years. The fear that he would return and hold out his hand, and she would take it. Forgive him his sins and set herself up for an even greater heartbreak.
"It's not possible."
"It is. You still love me. I can feel it."
One last time, she savored the feel of his arms around her, the touch of his rough cheek against her skin, the tickle of his hair drifting across her face. And her heart broke with longing for what could never be.
Then she whispered the words she knew would keep them apart forever.
"I was
pregnant when you left me."
* * *
It took several seconds for RaeAnne's softly spoken bombshell to penetrate the haze of Roman's confused mind, and even longer before he could unfreeze his body and react.
"What?" He grasped her arms and held her away from him, chaos exploding through his whole being. "What?"
He couldn't see her eyes clearly. It was too dark. The moon had disappeared behind the jumble of peaks crowding above them like a pack of prying relatives. He wanted to lash out at them, tell them to step back and give him room to breathe. For suddenly he couldn't seem to get any air.
"You were pregnant?" Bayonets of agony slashed through him. "With a baby? My baby?"
He was completely paralyzed. He felt his fingers digging into her flesh, but couldn't loosen them.
She nodded and his world fell apart.
"Oh, God. Oh, God."
His friend Cole had just had a baby a few months ago. He hadn't seen it, or even the mother, but at Christmas Cole had told him about it. He still remembered the incredible look of reverence and awe that had come over his friend's face as he'd spoken of becoming a father. Roman had been jealous. He'd thought of RaeAnne then, and how much he wished—
"Is it…? Did you…?" He couldn't choke out the rest.
Her head wobbled, then she stood very still. "I lost the baby. A few weeks after you left."
She didn't say it, probably didn't even intend it, but the implication was clear enough. "After your mom died?" he asked, desperately hoping for a shred of absolution.
"No."
No. So there it was. It was all his fault she'd lost the baby. His baby. By leaving her, he'd killed his own child.
Guilt descended, crushing him within its jaws. "I'm sorry. Oh, God, Rae, I'm so sorry. If I'd known—"
She looked up at him.
What then? Would anything on earth have been able to drag him from her side? Or would the mortal fear of infecting not only her with AIDS, but his own baby as well, have forced him away even more surely?
"Would you have stayed?"
Damned if he left, double damned if he stayed.
