by Jeanne Rose
“What’s in it? Powdered turquoise?”
“Among other things.”
Fine. She slipped the bag in her purse, figuring she could use all the help she could get. Not that she wasn’t too tired and strung out to be scared.
She felt far worse about her patient, the man she might have saved, than she feared some creep who wanted to throw hide dolls or set coyotes on her.
Or create fires. Though she didn’t want to believe Luke guilty of such an act, unconscious or not. Actually, she realized she’d never ever wanted to think him capable of more than annoying behavior and a rude mouth.
He was quiet now, tapping a restless finger on the steering wheel. “You can get out of the truck. I need to be on the road.”
Speaking of rude. In spite of herself, she felt his lack of warmth like a slap in the face.
“Don’t you think goodnight would be more polite?”
“I didn’t go to charm school.”
Swallowing her irritation, she grasped the door handle and opened it. “Sweet dreams to you, too.”
Hopefully, he caught the irony.
She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way down the walk, then put her key in the building’s outer door. As she went upstairs, she listened for the sound of the truck pulling out, curious when she didn’t hear anything.
Half-expecting, longing to see him sitting down below, she was disappointed when she went to the sliding glass doors, only to view an empty street.
Feeling nearly as empty inside, she tossed her coat on the couch and headed for the bedroom. Then, remembering the medicine bag, she returned for her purse.
Not that she intended to let anything or anyone stop her from sleeping tonight.
Even Luke. Even if he turned up on her doorstep in an uncharacteristically charming mood.
RAYS OF LIGHT STREAMED DOWN from the opening above her. A narrow ladder stretched upward, casting shadow lines on the mud walls.
She worked the heavy stone back and forth, the earthen floor beneath her cool. Grinding corn was comforting, familiar work.
And it kept her from thinking about her dilemma . . .
She glanced up when she heard voices in the adjoining room. Pale moccasins appeared outside the low door, then a graying head as an elder stooped to come inside.
The woman wore the usual traditional attire, black dress with a green and red woven belt, a necklace of turquoise. “We know what you have been doing.”
She added more kernels of corn, continued the grinding rhythm, kept her eyes respectfully lowered.
“It is not seemly,” the woman went on. “And in this time, it is very dangerous. You must stop. All of us agree. You are risking the lives of your people.”
Stop? To do so would be giving up her own life . . .
. . . which is what she was still thinking when she stood high above on the cliff some time later. Dusk stole over the red land and her heart beat with anticipation.
She had seen him approaching, knew he was climbing the secret path even now. A tiny star winked far above as she moved toward an outcropping of rock, a copse of junipers.
Longing filled her, driving away most of her guilt. She nearly cried out when she heard his footfalls. But she must be quiet. She must be careful.
Finally, the lean figure of a warrior appeared. She knew those arrogant shoulders, those muscled arms, those lean hips.
“You,” he said. He didn’t smile but she could feel the heat from his eyes.
His chest was bare, his hair long and loose. He wore an eagle feather, the proof of his courage.
“Come here,” he ordered gruffly. “It’s been too long.”
“There’s been danger.” But she forgot about that, about hiding from enemies as he embraced her. “You need have no concern for my devotion. You fill my every thought.”
“Then leave with me this day.”
But torn as she was, she could not make promises. Instead, she led him past the junipers and threw a blanket onto the ground. With a growl, he lifted her dress over her shoulders and threw it aside. His eyes lit with fire at the sight of her lush body. He settled her against him, her breasts flattening against the hard wall of his chest.
She moaned as he angled his head to take her mouth. She opened her lips for him, just as she would open her body, just as she had opened her heart.
He slid hands calloused by hunting and fighting over her smooth skin. She’d washed herself with sweet-smelling yucca, even her hair, in preparation.
He pulled her down on the blanket, loosened her leggings, cast them away with her moccasins.
Slipping a hand inside his breechcloth, she touched the strength and heat of his desire. Warmth coiled within her belly.
But he swore and tore her hand away, muttering something about a vixen. Then he cupped her breasts, teasing the sensitive tips with his fingers and his mouth. At the same time, he spread her legs to pleasure her.
She writhed, biting her lips to keep from making noise. When she couldn’t stand any more, she reached for him again.
“Now,” she whispered.
He’d unfastened his breechcloth, and rolled over on his back. Then he lifted her above him, sliding her down his hard length.
She groaned, the earth spinning.
He arched, plunging, rocking her. She threw her head back, her spirit flying high on the wind.
She said his name, opened her eyes to see his face suffused with passion. The rugged lines were as beloved and familiar as the land that had given birth to both of them.
He lifted her hips, thrust harder and faster. Soon she was lost, climbing to the heights, shattering, drifting down again. They lay together for some time afterward, two warm bodies wrapped in a blanket.
She stroked the hard planes of his face. “Luke.”
Luke?
Lucas Naha.
“Mara,” he murmured, cradling her.
He knew her, just as she knew him.
They were together body and soul, as they’d always been meant to be, no matter who said it was wrong.
Wrong.
Once again, the landscape changed . . . wavering like a vision . . . slowly becoming the broad, barren floor of a canyon.
She was hot, exhausted, thirsty. Every part of her body hurt. Her tongue was swollen, her lips cracked. Her feet burned.
Her heart had left her.
Head bowed, she could barely move her heavy legs, even when she heard the pounding sound.
Thud, thud, thud. Thud, thud, thud.
Something terrible was sweeping down upon her.
Yet she tried to run.
The earth shook. Her pursuer was relentless, drawing loud, fiery breaths. A shadow loomed over her, cutting off the sun.
She was going to die.
She deserved to die, she thought, falling as slowly as if in a dream.
A dream?
This is a dream.
A dream. The words sang through her mind, whipped across the mesa with the wind, bounced off the sides of the surrounding mountains like a triumphant drumbeat.
With great difficulty, Mara Fitzgerald struggled to her feet and finally turned to face her enemy. “This is not over!” she screamed at him.
Not any more than it was over between her and Luke.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUKE CERTAINLY HAD invaded her dreams, Mara thought, unable to get him off her mind as she finished the paperwork on Saturday.
And what a dream. A scenario realistic enough to eclipse any virtual reality game that existed. Starting with something involving Indians, the dream had progressed to an all-out, erotic love scene. Emotions – longing, passion, bittersweet sadness – had swept her away, until she was reveling in sensation, reaching an explosive physical fulfillment.
Even her decades-old chase nightmare had been affected. Mara couldn’t remember exactly how the lovemaking scene had concluded, changed, how she’d ended up running across burning land yet again. But this time had been different. She’d t
urned and defied her pursuer. Afterward, she’d slept deeply, soundly, then had awakened filled with hope.
Though hope for what she wasn’t exactly certain.
No more than she knew whether Luke had taken part in any of this. Perhaps she’d only conjured his image, not dreamwalked. The setting hadn’t been the same mesa where they’d met before. And he certainly hadn’t acted interested in her last night after dinner, having left her with a medicine bag instead of a more personal gesture.
Pondering that, she stopped at a bookstore before going home. She purchased several new texts on lucid dreaming and Southwestern Indian religion, then headed back for the gallery, where she’d left her car. After the coyote incident, she’d decided it was safer to drive.
Taking a shortcut across Santa Fe’s central square, she suddenly felt an odd sensation and remembered Luke’s warning about trusting her instincts. Uneasy, she glanced about, sighting nothing more threatening than two tourists buying some silver jewelry from an Indian woman who had a blanket stretched across a bench. Beyond this transaction, several cars were parked on the other side of the square. One of the vehicles was a dusty black Jeep Commanche.
Luke.
Her pulse sped up.
He sat with the window down, staring. Had he been spying on her? For what reason? And if so, he obviously didn’t know how or couldn’t care less about keeping a low profile.
Adrenaline surging, emotions mixed, Mara approached him with determination. She might as well take the offensive. She was tired of Luke Naha sneaking up on her, playing games with her, making her feel uncomfortable. She headed for his side of the street, stopping near the Jeep. His black gaze was relentless but she forced herself to ignore the flutters in her stomach, to smile.
“You told me to watch out for Indians hanging around. Were you referring to dreams, too?” Before he could answer, something made her add, “Was it as good for you as it was for me last night?”
A real look of surprise crossed his features. But he recovered quickly. “Yeah, it was damned good.”
So they had shared a dream.
And she was going to blush, damn it. Warmth creeping out from her center, Mara managed to keep her own gaze steady and to steer the subject in a slightly different direction. “Do you remember the part about the other Indians? The cliff-dwelling?” Images she couldn’t quite focus on.
“All I remember is that I climbed some hellishly steep path. You were waiting at the top with a blanket and we . . .”
”Made love,” she said quickly.
There’d been true feelings involved, though she certainly hoped that she wasn’t falling in love with Luke in real life. What a disaster that would be.
“So what do you want now?” he asked, his strong brown hand sliding over the steering wheel. One eyebrow twitched and his voice went all low and husky. “A repeat performance?”
She should have known he’d make light of the situation. She swallowed disappointment, refusing to acknowledge it as hurt. “Don’t try to cheapen things, Luke. We shared a beautiful experience.” She couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Probably because I thought you were someone else.”
Then she turned her back and started to walk off.
The creak of the door told her he had gotten out to follow. He caught up in a couple of long strides. “What do you mean, I was someone else?”
Luke had been someone else, at least at first. “My dream lover wore a breechcloth and an eagle feather. He was some kind of warrior.”
He caught hold of her, the warmth of his fingers sending tingles running up and down her spine. “I don’t care what you thought I was wearing. You knew it was me.”
“Not until the end.” After she’d reached an explosive fulfillment. Just remembering made her thighs quiver. “By then it was too late.”
He stared down at her. “What are you trying to do, make me jealous?”
It pleased her to knock some of the cockiness from him. “Why should you be jealous? We’ve never so much as been on a real date.” Unless she counted the hours they shared the night before. “Or is that why you’re in town again, to rectify the situation?”
She said it lightly as though she didn’t care, but the truth was that she did care. After that dream, even thinking about spending another evening in Luke’s company sent her senses reeling.
“You think I’m in town because I want a date?”
“What other reason could you have for being here?” Mara asked sweetly. “Something nefarious?” Then she suddenly remembered she had reason to be suspicious of him.
But he looked blank.
“Nefarious,” she repeated. “It means–”
He cut in, “I know the word. I’m not stupid.” He looked around. “And I’m not in town alone. I brought Rebecca and Grandmother.”
“Oh.” Chagrin added to disappointment, though she would try her best not to show it.
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” Luke said. “Our running around together.”
Now she was insulted. “Okay, I see how it is.” She turned on her heel. “I’m sure I can dig up somebody else to spend time with.”
He caught her arm again but she shook him off. “You need to be careful, Mara.”
“Careful. Right.”
Though he himself certainly hadn’t offered any more protection than a medicine bag.
Stalking back up the sidewalk, she sighted Rebecca helping Isabel into the Jeep. The woman smiled and nodded, acting as if nothing were wrong.
Perhaps nothing was. Except that Mara’s world was full of sorcery, danger, dreamwalking and a man who refused to get any closer than her dreams.
LUKE DROVE BACK to the reservation in a foul mood, thinking about Mara having dinner with another man. Even more obsessed with the woman after their latest dream, he’d felt heart-pounding excitement when he’d seen her walking toward him today. Not that he’d let on.
Unfortunately, the thrill had only escalated when she’d proceeded to tease him, then goad him. It had taken all his strength not to forbid her to see another man . . . and to get the hell out of there.
He could still taste her lips, savor her smooth skin. Furthermore, he could still hear the little quiver in her voice when she’d thought he was rejecting her. He’d hated himself for doing that, but had known it was necessary.
Wasn’t it?
Brooding about the situation, he paid little attention to his grandmother and Rebecca until they were almost home. Then he realized the women had remained silent for quite a few miles.
He glanced at Isabel.
“We made a corn pattern yesterday,” she told him, as usual, knowing when he was looking at her. She referred to a method of reading the future and gaining insight into the present by executing a design with multicolored corn kernels. Isabel intoned, “This pattern spoke of an ancient one.”
“Uh, huh,” he muttered as he turned onto pueblo land and drove toward their house.
“Rebecca and I believe that we must talk to every person in the pueblo, even the smallest child. Great change is coming. And great danger.”
Danger? Apprehensive, Luke thought of the shadow in his nightmare, a lurking presence he’d never experienced before.
“Charlie Mahooty won’t like it if we speak to everyone in the pueblo,” said Rebecca. “He thinks we’re causing problems already.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Isabel. “We must do our duty.”
Luke brought the Jeep to a halt beneath the cottonwood tree and got out to help the elder ladies. The leaves whispered in the breeze above them, casting fluttering shadows across the cool earth.
Isabel waited patiently while he unloaded some packages of yarn they’d purchased at Woolworth’s in downtown Santa Fe. “We saw a white woman in the pattern, with eyes the color of the sky.”
That got his full attention. Blue eyes?
“I haven’t said anything until now, Luke, but I can feel the strength of the connection between you and Mara Fitz
gerald. I could hear it in your voices when you spoke to each other.”
Rebecca added, “And I could see it in the way you two were acting together today.”
He didn’t know whether to be spooked or annoyed. Perhaps he couldn’t hide from scrutiny, but he objected anyway, “We only shared some dreams.”
“Dreams? More than one?” asked Isabel.
He couldn’t lie. “Two.” Two humdingers.
“A definite connection.” His grandmother nodded. “And Mara has power, undeveloped though it may be. I have never heard of such before in the case of a white woman, but I believe she is also connected to the Kisi.”
He knew about the power and Mara’s connection with him, but he was stunned that his grandmother might think she had something to do with the entire pueblo. “You’ve been thinking on this?”
Isabel raised her chin, her blind eyes focused within. “I’ve used every skill that I have to seek true vision. I saw the serpent.”
“Palolokon.” Rebecca spoke the sacred name softly, with great reverence. “The spirit of wisdom.”
“A blue snake.” A feeling nudging him deep down, Luke recalled what he’d seen during their dreams. “Mara Fitzgerald has a tattoo of a serpent on her shoulder.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened.
“Does she know what the symbol means?” asked Isabel.
Thankful once again that he wasn’t being asked exactly how he’d happened to see it, he said, “I don’t think Mara knows what anything means.” At least not yet.
“Power that is not fully developed,” said Isabel. “And possibly a sign. Perhaps she is an ancient one.”
Suddenly appearing shocked, Rebecca protested, “You never mentioned this before. The woman isn’t even an Indian.”
Luke was left speechless.
“God . . . the saints, the spirits act in ways we do not always understand,” continued Isabel. “I have come to believe that many things are possible.”
“But ancestors have always been reborn as Kisi,” Rebecca said, remaining upset. “We need a council of elders, many dreamseekers to consider something so important. At the very least, we need both male and female power.” She looked at Luke. “You were born to be a stormbringer. You’re young and strong. Why aren’t you assuming your responsibilities?”