Navajo's Woman

by Beverly Barton

  "I see." Joe held out his hand. "Give me the keys, and I'll go get your bag for you."

  "No, thank you. I can get my own bag." She headed toward the door.

  "Fine." He slashed his hand across the air as if to say, I give up. "You get your bag, and I'll get myself a blanket and a pillow for the sofa."

  Andi halted halfway across the room. "I'm sleeping on the sofa, not you."

  "You'd be more comfortable in my bed."

  "I'll be just fine on the sofa."

  "Okay by me." He shrugged. "I was just trying to do the gentlemanly thing."

  "I don't want you to put yourself out for me. After all, I am an uninvited and unwelcome guest."

  Before he could reply, she flung open the door and disappeared outside. Joe grumbled to himself as he went into his bedroom and rummaged around in the closet, searching for a blanket and an extra pillow. How was he going to endure days—maybe weeks—with Andi, when the tension between them sizzled? Anger mixed with de­sire was a deadly combination.

  Andi took her own sweet time retrieving her bag from the back of the Expedition. She needed a few extra minutes outside in the cool night air to clear her head, calm her nerves and let the smoldering emotions raging inside her die down a bit. Being around Joe aroused too many memories, too many old feelings that she'd thought long dead. A part of her despised him, and yet another part of her ached for him, wishing that he could erase the past and make things right again.

  If Russ's future—perhaps his very life—didn't depend on her acting as his protector, then she wouldn't put her­self through the torment of spending endless days with Joe Ornelas.

  She wanted to be able to look at Joe, have a conver­sation with him, spend time with him—and not be con­sumed with emotions she could barely control. She wa­vered between wanting to pummel him with her fists and longing for him to take her into his arms. If only she could vent her frustration and demand an explanation for his actions five years ago. Why did you leave me? Why didn't you stay and fight for our relationship? Why didn't you try harder to make me understand why you betrayed my father's friendship?

  Don't do this to yourself! an inner voice advised. She was not here to reconcile with Joe, to forgive him or to ask his forgiveness. She was here to help her brother. She must never forget that she couldn't trust Joe. Not when it came to her family.

  Andi lifted the vinyl bag out of her SUV, closed the hatch and locked it. Squaring her shoulders, she marched to Joe's front door, turned the knob and reentered his house. The overhead light had been turned off and only the glow from the fireplace illuminated the room. She skidded to a stop when she saw him bent over in front of the fireplace, replenishing the logs. She had always loved Joe's back—wide shoulders, thickly muscled and tapering into a narrow waist. His hair hung long and straight to just below the neck of his sweater. Cut blunt and straight, it glistened a shiny blue-black in the firelight.

  Without saying a word, she tossed her bag over and onto the sofa. It landed with a resounding thump. Joe glanced back at her, then rose to his feet and replaced the iron poker in the rack alongside the other rustic fireplace utensils.

  "Found you a pillow and a couple of blankets," he said. "You should be cosy enough by the fire. You re­member where the bathroom is, don't you?"

  "Yes." Why did he have to look so good? Every fea­ture of his face was chiseled perfection, from high cheek­bones to a strong, square chin. And he had the most in­credible eyes. Deep, dark brown ovals, slightly slanted and extremely expressive. There had been a time when she'd known what Joe was thinking by just looking into his eyes.

  "If you happen to wake before I do in the morning, how about putting on a pot of coffee?''

  "Sure thing," she said.

  "If you need—"

  "I won't. I'll be fine."

  "Good night, then."

  "Good night."

  She waited until he disappeared into his bedroom be­fore she rifled through her bag, searching for her pajamas. She quickly found the set—yellow cotton shorts and an oversize matching top. With the pajamas thrown over her arm, she took her small cosmetics case with her to the bathroom. It was then, just when she started to remove her blouse, that she realized she was still wearing the bracelet. She'd had every intention of returning it to him.

  You can do that in the morning, she told herself. No! Do it now. Don't put it off any longer, her conscience insisted. Joe must have seen the bracelet on her wrist. He had to be wondering what it meant. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

  Leaving her pajamas and her cosmetics case on the back of the commode in the tiny bathroom, she scurried into the living room and over to the closed door of Joe's bedroom. She lifted her hand and knocked.

  "Yeah, come on in," Joe said.

  She opened the door. Moonlight shining through the window blended with the muted light from the lamp on the bedside table and outlined Joe's big, hard body. He turned around and looked at her. Bare-chested, wearing nothing but a pair of unsnapped jeans, he stood before her, gloriously, magnificently male.

  Andi swallowed hard.

  "Something wrong?" he asked.

  "No. Nothing's wrong." She took a couple of hesitant steps in his direction. Her other hand hovering over the bracelet, she said, "I meant to give you this at Kate and Ed's today."

  He glanced down at her hand covering her wrist. She eased the antique piece of handcrafted jewelry from her arm and held it out to him. He stared at the gleaming silver object lying in the palm of her hand. "It's the bracelet you gave me for my—"

  "I know what it is," he said. "Why give it back to me, now?"

  "I had intended to give it back to you years ago, but you left town before I had a chance."

  "You could have given it to Kate at any time."

  "Yes, I suppose I could have," she admitted. "But I felt I should return it personally."

  "Okay."

  She hurried over to him, grabbed his hand, turned it over and deposited the bracelet in the middle of his palm.

  "You could keep it," he said, but didn't make eye contact with her.

  "No, I can't." She didn't move away from him for several seconds, but stood there waiting. Waiting for what? she wondered. "You'll want to give this bracelet to someone else one day."

  "Yeah. Sure."

  He looked at her then, and she thought her heart would break. What had she expected? Had she honestly believed that he would say or do something that would miracu­lously make everything all right between them? He was no more a magician than she was. Neither of them were capable of turning back the clock to a time when they'd had a chance at spending a lifetime together.

  Joe lifted his big, dark hand and caressed her cheek. Softly. A featherlight touch. She gasped quietly as every nerve ending in her body cried out with pleasure.

  As quickly as he had lifted his hand, he let it drop to his side.

  Andi stared at him, praying that the longing she felt didn't show. Then, while she still had the strength to move, she turned around and walked away from tempta­tion.

  Chapter 5

  Andi thought she heard a telephone ringing. She roused herself from sleep slowly, groggily, stretching her arms over her head when she sat up on the sofa. She groaned as she rubbed the back of her neck. Realizing she was at Joe's house, she wondered if Kate could have gotten his phone line reconnected so quickly. As she shoved back the blankets to the end of the couch, she heard murmuring coming from another room. Joe was definitely talking to someone. Padding across the wooden floor in her bare feet, Andi made her way to the kitchen.

  Seated at a small, square table, Joe clutched a cup of coffee in one hand and used the other to hold his cellular phone to his ear.

  "Yeah, she's here," Joe said. "Yes, she stayed the night. Slept on my sofa."

  Andi wondered who had called Joe at the crack of dawn. It was definitely too early for casual chitchat.

  "Sure thing. I'll pass on the message," Joe said. "And I will let yo
u know what we decide to do."

  Joe closed his phone and laid it on the table, then put the mug to his lips and drank. Andi cleared her throat.

  Joe glanced over his shoulder. "Morning."

  "Who was that on the phone?" she asked.

  "J.T."

  "Why did he want to know if I was here? And what message are you supposed to pass along?"

  Joe surveyed her from head to toe, taking in every inch of her long, lean body. Within Andrea Stevens ran the blood of two races that had combined to create perfection. Her hair was a shade lighter than his—not a true black, more a deep, smoky brown. And her soft, smooth skin was shades fairer than his and yet still a rich olive. But it was in her eyes that Andi was unique. He'd never seen eyes quite the color of hers. Golden eyes. Like mixing the brown of the earth with the yellow of the sun.

  Andi frowned. "Didn't you hear what I asked?"

  "Yeah, sure. J.T. called. Doli is looking for you. She phoned your house and when you didn't answer, she con­tacted Joanna."

  "Is something wrong? Is Doli all right?"

  "She's all right, as far as I know. She told Joanna it was urgent that she talk to you."

  "May I use your phone?"

  He picked up the cell phone and held it out to her. "Maybe she's heard from Russ."

  "Dear God, I hope so."

  Andi grasped the phone and quickly dialed Doli's num­ber. Joe got up, refilled his cup with hot coffee and poured a second cup. He remembered that she liked her coffee black, just as he did. He set the cup down in front of Andi. She nodded and mouthed the words Thank you.

  Andi took a sip of the strong brew as she listened to the phone ringing. Ah, Joe made great coffee and he'd served it to her without cream or sugar. He'd remembered. She cast a quick glance in his direction and saw that he was watching her. Their gazes met and held, then Lucille Chalon, Doli's sister, answered the phone.

  "Hello."

  "Lucille, this is Andi Stephens."

  "Yes, Doli needs to speak with you."

  "Is something wrong? Has she heard from Russ?"

  "No, she has heard nothing from her son," Lucille said. "But she has thought of a place where Russ might go.

  "Where?"

  "She must speak with you herself. Wait. I will get her."

  Holding the phone against her cheekbone, Andi tapped the back of the small black telephone with her fingertips as she waited.

  "What's going on?" Joe asked.

  She put her finger to her lips. "Shh. Doli might not tell me anything if she thinks I'm with you."

  "What is it—"

  Andi glowered at him and repeated, "Shh."

  "Andi, is that you?" Doli asked, her voice pitifully weak.

  "Yes, Doli. Your sister told me that you've thought of a place where Russ might have gone."

  Joe's eyes widened as he stared directly at Andi. She shook her head, warning him to keep quiet.

  "Yes, I believe Russ might have gone to my uncle Jefferson Nastas, who lives in a secluded area of the res­ervation. Over in Arizona. Russ has been there many times and he has great respect for my uncle."

  "Doli, why don't you call your uncle and find out if Russ is there?"

  "You do not understand," Doli said. "My uncle has no telephone, no television, no electricity. Neither he nor the families of his three daughters who live close by have telephones."

  "Give me directions to his home, and I'll find out if Russ has gone to your uncle for help."

  Joe scrambled around in a kitchen drawer until he found a pad and pencil. He plopped them down on the table and shoved them over to Andi. She nodded to him, grabbed the pad and pencil, and wrote hurriedly as Doli gave her the directions.

  "You must not trust Joe Ornelas," Doli said. "If you do, you will regret it."

  "Believe me, I know that better than anyone." Andi glanced over at Joe, who stood propped against the wall, his unbuttoned shirt hanging open to reveal the sleek, dark flesh of his muscular chest. "I'll get in touch after I've seen your uncle. Thank you. And Doli, please take care."

  The minute Andi ended her conversation and laid the phone down on the table, she took another sip of her cof­fee and faced Joe.

  “Want to make a trip to Arizona?''

  "Sure thing. I'd say Doli's hunch that Russ might have gone to a relative is our best lead yet. Actually, our only lead. Let me tell J.T. where we're going, and then we can , head out within the hour."

  Andi grabbed Joe's arm and gazed into his eyes. "If the boys are there at Doli's uncle's home, Russ is going to balk when he sees you. He still blames you for what happened to our father."

  "Just as you do."

  "It's different for Russ. He's only a boy and he doesn't deal with his emotions rationally sometimes."

  "Are you saying Russ might shoot me on sight?"

  "No, damn it, that's not what I'm saying." Andi gritted her teeth. "I'm asking that when we get to Jefferson Nastas's home, you stay in the SUV and let me go in and check things out. Okay?"

  "Sure. You know your brother better than I do. The last thing I want is to scare him off."

  "Why don't you pack us a couple of sandwiches, and we'll pick up some bottled water at a store somewhere. I need to get dressed so we can leave as soon as possible."

  "Go." Joe waved his hand, shooing her from the kitchen. "I'll fix the sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, after I call J.T."

  Charlie Kirk had tailed people before, so he knew what he was doing. His main objective was to not let the boys catch on that they were being followed. He'd been damn lucky that a friend of a friend had spotted the stolen truck early this morning and had called Mr. Lanza instead of getting in touch with the police. But then, Mr. Lanza paid better for information than the police did.

  His orders were to kill the boys. And to do it incon­spicuously. Hit them when they were alone, if possible, or when they were around the fewest number of people. Eliminate all witnesses. And make sure nothing pointed a finger at Mr. Lanza.

  If he'd found Russ Lapahie and Eddie Whitehorn last night, he could have done the job quickly and easily. But now they were on the move, going northwest and still within the reservation boundaries. Where the hell were they headed? Charlie wondered. He'd just have to wait and see, and then, when the time was right, he would strike.

  Jefferson Nastas lived in the foothills of the sparse Na­vajo land and was the proud owner of a small cattle herd. His sons-in-law and grandsons now worked the cattle for him. A widower for three years, he was all but retired and had moved into a small house that had been built for him by his family. His days were filled with peace and con­tentment. Occasionally he would ride his horse the three miles that separated him from his grandchildren and visit them for an afternoon. From time to time, a relative or a friend would come by to pass the time with him, and he would always make them welcome. But for the most part, he preferred his solitude.

  Today, he sat outside in an old rocking chair, the mid­day sun warm on his face, as he finished his daily medi­tation. Although his eyesight was not what it used to be, his hearing had not diminished. He heard the vehicle long before it reached his home. A truck, he surmised, going at top speed around the winding dirt road. Within minutes he noted a cloud of dust rising into the air, coming toward him like a whirlwind. He didn't move from his chair as he awaited his visitors' arrival.

  He did not recognize the truck or the two Navajo youths who emerged from it. But they were several yards away, and he did not wear his glasses when he meditated.

  "Uncle Jefferson," the taller boy called to him.

  He recognized that voice, and when the boys drew nearer he saw that one of them possessed a familiar face.

  "Russell Lapahie, Jr.," Jefferson said. "The son of my sister's daughter. You are welcome here."

  "Thank you," the boy replied.

  A look of fear showed plainly in the eyes of both young braves. The fear of those being chased by evil.

  "You will introduce me to your friend?" Jef
ferson's gaze traveled over the skinny, silent boy.

  "Oh, yeah, sorry. Uncle Jefferson, this is my friend, Eddie Whitehorn."

  Jefferson nodded. “You are thirsty? Or hungry?''

  "Yes, but food and water can wait," Russ said. "Eddie and I need your help. We have gotten ourselves into some trouble, and I didn't know where else to go."

  Jefferson rose slowly, lifting the cane propped against the side of his rocker. Using the cane to aid his unsteady steps, he showed the boys into his humble home.

  “We will eat and drink first, and then you will tell me what trouble has sent you to me."

  Reluctantly the two boys joined him in his noonday meal, the three of them gathered about the small wooden table. Jefferson saw that the boys were hungry, but too nervous to eat much.

  "Does your mother know that you have come to see me?'' Jefferson looked directly at Russ.

  "No, sir."

  “You have run away from home?''

  "No, sir. Not exactly. You see Eddie and I. . .well, we were someplace we shouldn't have been and I saw some­thing. . . I saw a man kill another man. And now the police think Eddie and I were involved."

  “Why did you not go to the police and tell them what happened?''

  "Look, maybe I'd better start at the beginning and tell you everything. That way, you'll know why we can't go back. It's not just the police who are after us, but the man who shot this other man—he's after us, too."

  "Yes, it is good that you begin at the beginning and tell me everything."

  Andi wasn't sure she would ever get used to the odd combination of desolation and colorful beauty that com­prised a great section of the Navajo land. As they ap­proached the turnoff to the cattle ranch owed by Jefferson Nastas and his family, several windmills sprang up along­side the road. Towering metal sentinels. Wind-driven pumps used to gather drinking water in tanks for the herds.

  "Look," Andi said. "There's a truck parked there be­side the house. And it has New Mexico license plates. Do you think it might be Russ and Eddie?"

  "I can't believe we'll be lucky enough to find the boys still here," Joe replied. "Seems too easy. Besides, where would they get a truck?''