“Listen to me, Carmichael. I’ll make it all up to you. I know there’s gold here. We found nuggets in the stream. I’ll write out a claim to you for half. I’ll—”
“And Elise? Would you give her back to me, too?”
“If you want that bitch, take her.”
“And your son, Brodie? Would you give him up as well so that you could live?”
“Yes. Christ! Yes. Anything. Anything you want.”
“Will you get on your knees and beg me for your life?”
Brodie didn’t wait for him to finish. He went down on his knees. “I’ll beg you,” he whispered but found no mercy in Delaney’s eyes.
“It’s not enough,” Delaney answered very softly. “Not even your life is enough payment for what you’ve taken from me. But it is the only thing you have that I want.”
A furious red flush colored Brodie’s face. Awkwardly he came to his feet, his gaze pinned to the gun.
Delaney caressed the double triggers. Six shots. He wouldn’t have to touch Brodie at all. But all within him that was Apache taught and bred cried out for a slower death. He looked up and found Brodie staring at the gun.
“Go on, make a try for it,” Delaney goaded, knowing how much of a coward the man was, knowing, too, that he was a dirty fighter. Delaney made his decision; he placed the gun down and stepped away from it.
But Brodie didn’t make a try for the gun, he ran for Delaney, lunging at him, his fist sliding harmlessly off the shoulder Delaney turned to him. His bootheel slipped, and he went down on one knee, crying out.
Delaney yanked Brodie’s hands off his body. One kick and he knew that he could send Brodie to his death. He backed away, unable to let this man die that quickly, that cleanly.
Brodie crouched, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, spitting off to the side.
Watching Brodie’s frantic, darting eyes, Delaney knew he was searching for another way down. Since he stood near where Brodie had climbed up, he knew Brodie wouldn’t try to come at him again.
“You could try for the gun,” Delaney taunted.
Brodie shot a look over his shoulder. There was no easy path. He feinted to his left, then made a flying leap for the gun, but Delaney kicked it out of his reach. Brodie rolled, his foot shot out, catching Delaney mid-thigh. He came to his feet and made another dive for the gun.
Delaney landed on top of him, gripping his wrist just as Brodie clutched the gun handle. Brodie’s heavier build had him at a disadvantage. Delaney couldn’t hold him down. They rolled over. Then over once again. Brodie’s arms were extended over the edge of the rock as Delaney straddled him and made a grab for his wrists. The gun went off.
Brodie slammed his forearm against the side of Delaney’s head, but he couldn’t shake him off. He landed another blow, breaking open the skin on Delaney’s cheek and, with a forceful shove, rolled them over again. This time Brodie was on top. His powerful legs pinned Delaney’s. He tore at Delaney’s hold on his wrist, ripping the sleeve of his shirt, but the leather gloves were slippery from the sweat and blood, and he couldn’t get control of the gun.
Jabbing his left fist into Brodie’s side, Delaney heard his grunt of pain, but he couldn’t dislodge him. His knuckles were scraped raw as he tried to keep a grip on Brodie’s wrist so he couldn’t point the gun at his head.
Delaney twisted, his moves hampered, his blows lacking power since both his arm and Brodie’s were outstretched from their bodies as they fought for possession of the weapon. His face was on fire from the punches Brodie landed, and his back was sliced by the rock beneath him. The gun went off again. Brodie ripped at his fingers, and another shot was fired.
Using the heel of his hand, Delaney pushed against the man’s jaw, shoving his head back. With his elbow braced for some leverage, Delaney managed to lift Brodie’s hand holding the gun into the air. Delaney felt as if the muscles of his arm were being torn as he stretched until his finger closed over Brodie’s on the triggers. The last three shots went off one after the other until the gun was empty.
Bracing his heels, Delaney shoved Brodie off him. He barely avoided the gun that Brodie flung at his head.
With quick, easy grace Delaney was up in a crouch when Brodie charged him. Brodie slammed his fist into Delaney’s midsection, knocking the breath from him. An uppercut rocked Delaney’s head. Grabbing hold of Delaney’s shirt and twisting it tight for seconds, Brodie landed another solid blow to his belly.
Delaney hooked his left foot around Brodie’s leg and shoved him off-balance. Ignoring the pain in his hands, he rained blows on Brodie’s head and gut, taking, in turn, the man’s heavier punches on his body.
The moccasins allowed Delaney better purchase on the rock’s surface. The hearing in his left ear was gone from the repeated blows he had taken. Breath was nearly impossible to draw.
Backing away, breathing in gulping heaves, Brodie came at him again, lowering his head. Delaney was dangerously close to the edge of the rim. He caught Brodie’s broad shoulders, bringing his knee up at the same time, and had the satisfaction of seeing the stunned surprise in his eyes.
With blood running from his mouth, Brodie bellowed a cry of sheer rage. Delaney braced himself for another attack. But Brodie spun around and leapt to the boulders below. He had found the way that Delaney and the Netdahee had come up. And left Delaney no choice but to go after him.
The first jump down forced Delaney to clutch his side. From the sharp, searing pain he knew one of his ribs was broken. Drawing short, shallow breaths, knowing how fast Brodie could get down, Delaney drew on inner strength and made another four-foot leap to a flat-topped boulder just as Brodie appeared above him.
There was no time to dodge Brodie’s booted foot. It caught Delaney’s shoulder, throwing him off-balance. He slipped and slid down the side of the rock, pain ripping through him just as his skin was torn and abraded. Again, Brodie did not follow up his attack but continued his climb down.
Delaney had to drag himself to stand. No force was going to stop him from going after Brodie.
Brodie spied the glint of the knife blade in a rock crevice. He shot a look behind him. Delaney was still coming, but he was holding his side. Brodie grabbed at the blade. The handle was wedged tight. His gloved hand was sliced, yet he made another try, knowing that unless he killed Delaney, he would never leave the mountain alive.
Sweat dripped and stung his eyes. He rocked the blade back and forth, feeling it give. Come on. Come on, he repeated silently, desperate to have the weapon. He heard the raspy labor of Delaney’s breathing.
Swearing and then cursing, he disregarded the sharpness of the blade and closed his fingers over it to yank it free.
With a yell he turned, taking Delaney’s punch to his battered jaw.
“Bastard!” Brodie cried, spitting blood.
A vicious swipe with the knife sliced across Delaney’s stomach, only the quick flex of his body saving him from a deeper wound. One eye was closing, and he saw Brodie through a blurred haze. Delaney’s body was screaming in protest as he forced it to move. He knew he had to end the fight now.
He lunged at Brodie, using both his hands to force the arm and weapon back against the rock. Delaney hung on, lifting and slamming Brodie’s arm against the stone, taking blows to his body that he no longer felt. He heard the bone snap and the knife fell from lifeless fingers, but Brodie still had enough strength left to pound Delaney to his knees.
Delaney saw his raised leg. Saw the black leather of his boots and knew that kick was coming toward his head. He wanted to move. Had to. But his body and mind seemed pulled in opposite directions. The kick never came.
Delaney managed to stand, weaving back and forth, not understanding the look of frozen terror on Brodie’s face. He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to hear, and finally turned.
Nine feet of growling, spitting jaguar was poised above them.
Delaney wiped the sweat from his eyes. From
behind, Brodie’s kick hit the small of his back, sending him to his knees. Delaney tensed. He couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the cat’s claws ripping his skin. He looked up, but the cat leapt over him. A tawny stretch of spotted grace and sheer power met his vision as he staggered to his feet and watched the animal bound from boulder to boulder, cutting off Brodie’s escape.
Half-crawling, Delaney made his way down. Brodie had trapped himself against a smooth rock wall that led out to a ledge barely inches in width. The big cat prowled back and forth, its tail whipping with agitation, a series of deep, raspy, coughing grunts coming from its throat.
Hanging on to a rock for support, Delaney lost his breath when the cat stilled and turned to look at him.
And Delaney saw the torn ear.
He kept going.
Brodie screamed his name.
Delaney didn’t look back.
Halfway down the mountain Delaney heard the cry. It was high and shrill. A death cry. Within his mind a voice called: See me. Unable to disobey, Delaney looked back.
High on the rim, with the sun glowing like fire behind it, the cat appeared black. Except for the eyes. Even with the distance between them, Delaney felt the power of those golden eyes.
He touched his skystone and through swollen lips whispered, “I see. Your place is safe, for another will watch. It is forbidden that I speak your name. But I have kept your secret safe as I once promised. I give to you my thanks for letting me go with hands untouched by his death.”
Go to your iszáń. For I, too, have kept my promise.
Chapter 23
Faith woke long before sunrise. Lying still in the dark, she was filled with a special serenity. Nestled within the warmth of her husband’s arms, she listened to the slow, deep beat of Delaney’s heart. Four months had brought her more love and happiness than she had ever known.
The shadows cast by the days until Delaney had healed and she could bear to be apart from him were being chased by the unfolding love they had for each other, a love that grew stronger with every new day.
And there were the new, brighter memories they gifted to the other to replace the dark corners of the past.
Soon, she knew, she would add a different richness to their lives. Just as she knew that Delaney was awake.
He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, the beat of his heart remained the same, but with the bonding that love alone gave, she sensed him gazing down at her.
With a sleepy murmur she lifted her face, waiting for his morning kiss. As with each of the mornings that had passed since the day they had been married by a minister to please her father, by their own simple, soul-sworn vows beneath the sun, Delaney’s kiss came to her in tender promise.
The gentle touch and whispered accolades from her lover’s lips brought the scent of sleep-warm bodies to a heated intensity. Radiance spread through Faith as she silently returned the praise with kisses and hands that paid equal loving homage.
A light rain began to fall in the gray hours as the sounds of their loving woke the day. He gave to her the gift of life, and she believed they both stole a small piece of heaven.
Smoothing back the damp hair from Faith’s face, Delaney knew again the deep abiding peace that only she could bring to him. Always, there was a need inside him to share all that was beauty with her.
“Woman of my heart, come see the beginning of the day with me,” he whispered.
“Yes, a beginning,” she murmured in return, thinking of what she would tell him.
In the shadowed light she watched him dress, drawn to the lean, hard power of his body. Faith thought again of the man she had first seen who had the look of the land, hard, unpredictable, and dangerous. She remembered the barren air about him much as the desert had appeared barren until a closer look had showed her its life.
She knew there were those who said Delaney Carmichael had not changed. Faith smiled. She knew different. It was there in the softened look of his eyes, in the teasing grin that kicked up the corner of his lips, in every touch, every kiss, every moment he was with her. Delaney was no longer lonely; the darkness could not remain where love shed its light.
Faith raised her arms to her love, and her smile deepened as he wrapped her in the quilt before he lifted her and held her close to his warmth.
The single large room of their cabin held the chill of morning air at bay, but as Delaney carried her outside, she freed one hand to catch the warm gentle rain.
A well-worn path led up the grassy slope, and at its top spreading a canopy of branches were a pair of peach trees. Here Delaney set her down, cradling her back against his chest.
“Watch the sun rise from here, love,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek and taking her scent inside him.
The first pale light seeped over the horizon. The star of morning faded. Everything was still around them. Faith gazed at the desert spread before them, the shadows lifting so slowly as the first sound of life came to them.
A cactus wren sent the rapid-fire beat of its song from its perch on a saguaro. The doves cooed. Quail chattered and the woodpecker swooped noisily. The coyotes and foxes made their last prowl before seeking their dens, and the deer came to water at the seep below where they stood.
High over the distant peaks the sun began its break. Pale gold light deepened, tinting the sky with its rainbow colors, painting all life with a special beauty. Faith watched a mother raccoon lead her young to water, and beneath the quilt her hand moved to cover her belly.
Life. Its gift had no measure. Her gaze roved the spread of green, the night-blooming flowers already closing their petals as others opened theirs to the sun.
The rain ceased, leaving behind a jeweled dew. Gifts and life. An endless cycle.
“There was one time,” Delaney whispered to her, “that you asked me to someday tell you of the promise I was given with my skystone.” He cupped her cheek, turning her face so that he could look into the stunning color of her eyes. But it was not the color he saw; it was her love.
“You are the promise I was given. A woman without lies. A woman who gives joy with her smile, love with an open heart, and whose inner strength is the power that feeds mine.” His thumb shaped her lips with a light caress. “All that I am is yours, Faith.”
The brilliant sparkle of her tears clung to the tips of her lashes and rivaled any dew that graced a flower. Delaney leaned down so his lips could drink the joy of them.
Faith wanted to speak then, needed to tell him what she believed, but his kiss sighed and breathed over her lips. He lifted her into his arms once again and carried her down the slope, down to the home they had made for each other.
Seanilzay was waiting there.
For a long moment the Apache studied the two of them. “It is good that you have told her, Del-a-ney.”
Delaney set Faith to stand, his arm around her shoulders. “The time had come for the words to be said. She is the woman of my heart. And you have stayed away for many weeks, Seanilzay.”
“There was much I was called to do. I bring you news that will spread the joy of your hearts.” From his cloth belt Seanilzay withdrew a folded paper and handed it to Faith.
She opened it and saw her father’s cramped writing. After glancing at the opening words she began to read aloud.
“ ‘Joey’s sight is improving, sometimes lasting all day. He and Pris miss you. I have made an offer of marriage to the widow I wrote you about. Now it is time for us to make peace, Faith. I hope you will give us your blessing. Keith is willing to wait until we are married before he leaves to try his luck at mining.’ “ Faith gazed up at Delaney. “Two weeks from now they plan to be married. Will you go with me?”
“Will it make you happy, Faith?”
“Yes. And I want to—”
“Wait,” Seanilzay said, placing his hand on hers.
Sensing there was more to his reason for visiting them than bringing her this letter, Faith waited.
“There is no time for me. The end is nearing. I am of a glad heart to see that you have shared the beginning of the day and rejoiced in the rain. The people rejoice, too, when the land is filled with life. I could not wait longer to bring you my gift.”
“Del?” Faith asked, gazing at her husband. “What does he mean, the end is near?” But Delaney’s attention was all for Seanilzay, and she watched the Apache, too. Seanilzay untied the canvas that shrouded a bulky pack on his horse. Why hadn’t she noticed how thin and frail he had become?
Carrying his bundle, Seanilzay once again stood in front of them. “My gift. I have waited long to give this to you. Your woman’s tears have ended the barren drought of your life with the spirit of the new life she carries. May your son live to be strong.”
“But, Seanilzay, I just…” Faith couldn’t say more. How could he know what she had only realized herself this morning? And beyond that, telling her there would be a son?
Delaney knelt and unwrapped the gift. The cradleboard was finely made, decorated with bags of sacred pollen, lightning-riven wood and skystones. There was reverence in the gaze that he bestowed on his wife.
“There’s to be a child?”
Faith could barely nod. How could love grow and expand in seconds, paling all that came before? She did not know. But looking down into the eyes of the man who knelt before her, she was blessed with sharing his joy. Touching the skystone that hung from the cradleboard, she placed her fingertips on his lips. “A son like you. This is my promise.”
Seanilzay rode away, out into the desert sunrise. A new day. A new life. The beginning, even as it was the end of the life-way of his people.
Author Note
Several years ago the New York jewelers Tiffany & Company purchased land around the Gleeson area in southeastern Arizona to mine turquoise.
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