by Beverly Bird
“You’re the strongest woman I know.”
Liv jolted a little. “Me? Get off it.”
“I just don’t tell you very often because I hate being overshadowed by you.”
Liv could only laugh at that, though her voice was hoarse. Kiki was beautiful—tiny, barely five foot tall—with classic Native American looks. She was a dynamo. Liv generally felt pale, clumsy and befuddled beside her. They’d been friends since even before Hunter had entered the picture, from the first moment Liv had set foot on the Navajo reservation.
Kiki got up to move. Like Hunter, she was always moving.
“You made your decision when you cut him loose,” she said. “You never looked back—at least not that any of us could tell. You married Johnny and when that didn’t work out, we left Flag and came here to Jerome. We established the inn from a ram-shackle building that nobody else wanted but that you saw the potential in. You’ve built a life for your daughter. She’s happy, healthy, smart.”
“She lives with a bunch of strangers trooping through her home several times a week.”
“That’s your phobia, not hers. Don’t foist it off on her, Liv.”
Liv winced.
“You’re the one who was always hung up on the traditional nuclear-home thing. You were the one intent on grabbing back everything you lost when your family’s car went over that cliff and you were sent to the Res. So what if Vicky has a mother, a doting aunt and a lot of guests from all over the country instead of a mother, a father and a sibling or two? What does it matter if she’s thriving?”
Liv found that she couldn’t answer.
“My point is, you’ve got a lot to be proud of. So be proud of it. Don’t let Hunter Hawk-Cole rock your foundations again just because you made one mistake.”
“Which mistake are we speaking of here?” Liv asked dryly.
“Dover.”
“Ah, that one. And it was Millsboro.”
Kiki waved her hand, telling her what she thought of that particular split hair. “Don’t let him drag you down the way you were in those days after he left.”
“You just said I never looked back.”
“But your eyes didn’t see what they were looking at straight ahead, either.” Kiki put her snifter back on the tray and picked the tray up. “On that note, I’m going back to the kitchen. If you want to keep wallowing in angst, you’re going to have to do it on your own.”
Liv nodded absently, her gaze swerving to the television again. They were showing highlights of Hunter’s career on the screen now, while crews cleaned up the track from his crash. Liv watched and tunneled back in time, helplessly and without much resistance.
It was so blasted hot and she had one lamb to go. Without a sheep pen, it was almost impossible to catch the little critter. But her grandmother—the old woman she’d called Ama in the respectful Navajo tradition of “mother”—had stubbornly refused to touch any of the life insurance money her parents had left to make improvements to her land.
Ama had died in her sleep eleven months ago. By hook or by crook, Liv had managed to keep the authorities at the school from finding out. Ama’s clanswomen had signed her report cards and they had showed up at mandatory events in Dinny’s stead. Liv would graduate in six more days. It was over. Her exile here was done, and there was nothing to leave behind. Even Kiki would be moving to Flagstaff with her to begin college there late in August.
When she turned eighteen next month, she could collect the life insurance money. Everything would be fine.
It scared her spitless.
Why was she suddenly frightened now that the time had come? She’d planned her escape from the first moment her heels had touched down on this arid, forsaken soil. It had taken Social Services and attorneys several days to sort out that she had only one living relative, her mother’s mother, an old Navajo woman on a high-country reservation. From the time she’d been delivered into Ama’s care, Liv had dreamed of the time when she could go again, back to the city where she belonged.
But she’d been on the reservation for almost six years now, and she worried that she had forgotten how to act in real, conventional society. If she ate in a restaurant, would she even remember which fork to use? She heard Hunter’s truck at the same moment the terrifying thought slid through her mind again, taunting her.
He was back. Something in her heart leaped, but she was too stubborn to let it show. He always left her as casually as though she were one of the lambs she was about to sell off. But that didn’t stop her from going giddy with pleasure whenever he returned.
Liv finally got the animal inoculated and she laughed with relief. The last one. She already had a buyer for the herd, so that was that. She finally sat up to look for Hunter.
“My money was on you,” he said, sauntering toward her, wearing that grin.
He was so handsome. Liv drank in the look of him. He still wore his black hair long. He revered his Navajo ancestors, the warriors who had once fearlessly taken on Kit Carson at Canyon de Chelly, though he’d always hated being shoved from his home and onto this reservation against his will. Now his hair shifted against his shoulders, more from his movement than the windless air. His cheekbones were arrogant slashes, and his eyes were an incredible blue.
She never got tired of looking at him, and she never stopped wanting to touch him. Sometimes she squeezed it in, a quick, friendly hug or a touch of her hand to his knee. But he always got so skittish whenever she did that. Kiki said it was because he wanted her, too, but neither of them could quite figure out why he never did anything about it.
She was nearly eighteen now, hardly a child any longer—especially after living on her own this past year since Ama had died.
“You don’t have any money,” she said, standing to brush the dust off her bare legs. She was going to fix this problem between them, too, before she went to Flagstaff. “Anyway, that’s it for the herd. You’re next. It’s time to fish or cut bait, Hunter. I’m cleaning up my past here.”
That fierce heat came to his eyes, the look she loved so much. Liv tingled inside. Now that they might finally be together, she found that she was also a little terrified.
She fought against the fear with bravado and started to move toward him. “I love you. I want to be with you. I want to take something away from this place when I go. And I want it to be you. You’re the very best memory of the Res that I have.”
She reached for the hem of her T-shirt. She was shaking, wondering if she dared to do it, to just yank it over her head and bare herself to him to find out what he would do about it. She looked up into those midnight-blue eyes, as sharp as glass now. “Are you going to stop me, Hunter? Don’t. I have a good head of steam up here.”
He made a choking sound but said nothing. There was only promise in his eyes.
She tugged the shirt over her head. The hot, arid air licked her skin. Maybe it was that, the kiss of the sun, or maybe it was the fact that she was being so incredibly brazen. Maybe it was everything tied into one, but she felt her nipples tighten, almost hurting. If he turned away from her now, Liv knew she would die.
She held her breath, waiting for an interminable time. Then he brought his hands up almost reverently and closed them over her breasts. She cried out, a sound of relief and release, then she flung herself at him. She jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist and found his mouth with hers.
Finally, finally. It was all she could think. Oh, how she loved him! She’d loved him since she was twelve years old.
They fell together into the dirt, ripping at each other’s clothing, and suddenly Liv was no longer shy or frightened at all. She was exhilarated, almost weeping with the joy of it. When he finally found his way inside her, she whimpered his name and rode with him, with every thrust, every glorious beat of his body connecting with hers. Then they lay together in the dust, spent and naked, their hearts rioting.
When she found her air again, Liv just came out and asked him. “How long are you staying this
time?”
He hesitated for the barest beat. “I have to be in New Mexico tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Why?”
“I’m joining the Army.”
Her stomach dove. “Write me as soon as you get there. Give me your address so I know where you are. Send it general delivery to Flag. I’ll pick it up there.”
“I will.” He wrapped his arms a little more tightly around her. “Livie.”
She rubbed her cheek against his chest, sensing what was coming, trying to savor all the good she could manage before the bad crept in again.
“I love you,” he said. “And you’re the only person who’s ever loved me back.”
She wanted to argue that it wasn’t true, but she was afraid it was. “We’re soul mates,” she murmured. It was a game they had played before. “Two of a kind. Peas in a pod.”
“I’ll always be there for you.”
“I might not always need you to be.” She couldn’t resist the barb. He was leaving again—so soon.
“So when that happens, I’ll go and leave you alone.”
The possibility hurt too deep for words. Liv hugged him fiercely, suddenly. “Are you sorry we did this?”
“I should be.” He kissed her hair. “But no.”
“I’m old enough now to make my own choices.”
“Well, you sure started out with a bang.”
She laughed, her mouth against his skin again. “One more time before you have to go.”
“I’m not going until tomorrow.”
“Then love me all night.”
She rolled on top of him. They didn’t make it inside until dark fell over the desert and small, nocturnal animals began rustling through the tufted rabbitbrush. Then they went into the hogan, their arms still wrapped around each other.
When Liv woke the next morning, he was gone again. But he left a note this time, promising that he would find her in Flagstaff the first time he was on leave.
Liv crushed it in her fist and dropped it into her morning fire.
Chapter 2
H is doctor was a small man with a nervous Adam’s apple. Watching the thing bob up and down was beginning to irritate Hunter in a big way.
“Just say whatever it is you’re trying to say,” he warned the man. His voice was still vaguely raspy from the effects of yesterday’s anesthesia. He was in pain.
“I simply can’t clear you to get behind the wheel of a race car in four hours.” The doctor stepped back quickly at the change in Hunter’s eyes, something that could only be likened to a sudden, solar flare.
“Explain to me why I need your permission.”
“I’m your doctor—”
“Do better than that.”
“You had surgery for a ruptured spleen twelve hours ago!”
Hunter made a sound of disgust. “I’m driving.”
“Actually,” said Pritchard Spikes, his longtime friend and team owner, “you’re not.”
“It’s our season! Are you going to throw it away over some stitches?”
“The stitches don’t bother me too much.” Pritch poured a cup of water from the jug on the nightstand in Hunter’s hospital room. “But throw in the fact that you’re now spleenless—and it’s going to take even you some time to adjust to that—I’m not going to let you drive my car.”
“Don’t overlook the seriousness of four broken ribs and a concussion,” the doctor warned hastily.
Hunter glared at him again, then back at Pritch. “Ricky Stall is only sixty-two points behind me in the Cup race.” There was a calm to his voice now, as though he was confident that he could win this by pointing out the obvious. “If I don’t drive today, he’ll gain the lead.”
“Has anyone told you that you’re insane?” Pritch asked. “Stall might well take home the Winston Cup this year. You’re not getting in a car again for at least another month.”
The idea was so absurd that Hunter didn’t even hear it. “I’ll hang back in the pack today. I don’t have to win. Anywhere from fifteenth to twentieth place will do me. I just have to finish so I can keep the points close going into next week.”
“I talked to Alan Carver this morning about running your car. Damn it, Hawk, you’re going to need four weeks to recover from all this—six before your body could tolerate another crash.”
“I heal fast.”
Exasperated, Pritch put down his paper cup. “People won’t forget you if you come in second for the Cup. Is that what you’re afraid of?”
It wasn’t fear, Hunter told himself. It was loathing. Free time was the antithesis of everything he was made of. He hated being still.
Especially now.
Free time meant not losing himself in the pressures of the race as he had done for more than a week now. Free time meant that there would be nothing to quench the fire of fury that burned in his gut whenever he thought about Liv and that little girl.
People wouldn’t forget him because of a few weeks off—and if they did, he could remind them again in a hurry. But he was afraid of what he would find when—if—he had time on his hands to corner Liv Slade for a few answers.
Damn you, Livie, what did you do?
“Find Chillie for me,” he said to Pritch, his throat more raw than ever.
“Your business manager? Why?”
“If I’ve got to take a month off—”
“Six weeks would be my recommendation,” the doctor interjected.
“Stay out of this,” Hunter growled. Then he turned back to Pritch. “I need Chillie to find me a place to stay in Arizona for a little while.”
He’d checked into it once, years ago. She was still living there. She’d left Flag and had opened up a bed-and-breakfast in Jerome with a partner.
It was time to pay Livie a visit.
Liv let her mare choose her own footing down the trail off Cleopatra Hill. Daisy was a champion climber, and all she needed from her rider was to leave her alone and let her do her thing. Liv gave her her head and kept her own attention on the sixteen people riding single file in front of her.
Six of them were guests of the inn. The others were tourists visiting town for the day or staying at one of the more modern hotels. The tours were a side business she’d begun two years ago after being peppered by questions about the area at the tea they served each afternoon at the Copper Rose. Liv knew a lot about Jerome, about Arizona in general. Her knowledge came free with a stay at the inn, but then she started wondering, why not charge the other tourists? Why not combine local lore with a little Western riding?
Riding had never been her strong suit, but she was better at it than most, thanks to Hunter’s relentless tutoring. Her horseback tours of the area had become a thriving success.
Don’t think about him, she warned herself. But her mind had worried over him ever since he had disappeared from the Michigan hospital two days ago. News reports said he was “recovering” at an undisclosed location.
Hunter wasn’t the type to lie about and heal. Liv had the nagging, unsettling feeling that he was up to something.
The walkie-talkie at her waist suddenly crackled and spat noise. Bourne was riding at the head of the pack and his voice came through. He thought that an overweight woman wearing a voluminous pink blouse was starting to seem short of breath. Her poor horse was doing all the work, Liv thought, but she also suspected that the woman’s nerves were screwed up just about as tightly as they could go. She decided it was time for a scenic break.
She told Bourne to stop the group at the next clearing. A few minutes later the riders gathered in a rocky enclave with a spectacular view of the Verde Valley beneath them. In the opposite direction, the homes and buildings of Jerome climbed up the hill like diligent ants.
Liv dismounted. “A hundred and twenty-five years ago, this area was nothing more than a settlement of tents,” she began conversationally. She’d learned never to sound as though she was lecturing. “Our Native Americans were the first miners on these hills, then the Spanish came along,
looking for gold but finding copper instead. Along about 1876, Anglos staked the first legitimate claims and Jerome sprang to life. It called itself the wickedest town in the West.”
“Why?” someone asked as Bourne began handing out juice packs.
“The men who came here were—for the most part—young and single and rowdy. They were drawn from all over the world—Mexico and Croatia, Ireland and Italy and China—by the prospect of finding their fortunes here. Jerome became the darling of investors, and there was always some corporation willing to buy these guys out. Then, of course, the men needed something to spend their money on, so more people moved in to provide that. At one point Jerome boasted twenty-one bars and eight houses of…well, ill repute.” She grinned. “And where there are liquor and loose women and men of different cultures, there are bound to be a few fights and a handful of murders.”
“Especially if one of those women played her man like a fiddle.”
The voice was smoky, an idle notch above dangerous. Recognition jolted through Liv. She turned quickly.
Hunter.
Liv had the bizarre thought that at least she knew where he was now. He sat on a black horse just at the mouth of the path. Already his hair seemed vaguely longer than it had on television a week ago. But everything else about him was treacherously familiar.
How many times had he ridden up to her hogan looking just like this? With that careless, masculine slouch on a gelding with no saddle…his movements making his hair shift and catch the light. But this time he didn’t grin at her. She had the half-hearted hope that he was in pain—it hadn’t been that many weeks since his accident—and maybe that glare didn’t mean that he had every intention of destroying her for what she had done.
Liv flipped her own hair behind her shoulder. “If she got what she wanted, then I’d say she was a wise woman.”
“Or the man was a fool. I’m no fool, Livie.”
“Don’t call me that.” No one but Hunter had ever called her that.
“Folks are ready to move on here, Liv,” said Bourne.
Liv glanced at him helplessly. It occurred to her that he had no idea who Hunter was. She planned to keep it that way. “Start out again without me.”