by Beverly Bird
Dallas thought Ricky would probably throw up, but he made no move to take the plate from him, easily his third by Dallas’s count. He felt a good kind of weariness, he realized. He felt oddly replete. Ellen hadn’t left, and he watched her move around, collecting trash, helping Madeline stuff it into big green garbage bags and pile it all at one corner of the camp. Each time she bent, the silver chain at her neck swung forward. Each time she straightened, it snuggled back against her breasts again...full breasts, about the size of a good handful, high and no doubt firm.
She was really something else, he thought, dragging his gaze away from them reluctantly.
She was thorny and not entirely altruistic, although she had been nothing but warm and kind with Ricky. And when she laughed, her whole face changed. Somehow he knew that she didn’t laugh any more often than he did, and that this day had been something of a high-water mark for her, too.
He got up to help her with the trash, considering too late all the reasons why he probably shouldn’t. She was struggling with a large, heavy bag. He crossed to her and took it from her.
Her black eyes flashed to him warily.
“Oh, knock it off,” he said quietly. “I just hate to see a woman struggling with something that weighs half as much as she does. Can’t you accept a favor when someone hands it to you?”
“No.” Ellen was as startled by her own bald response as he seemed to be. Not because it wasn’t true, but because admitting it to him was not a good way to keep him at arm’s length.
He was standing close to her again, and she could smell his cologne. It seemed to mingle so well with the earth smells, she thought, and with the clean air. As the sun left, a chill came, but there was a distinct heat about him—at least she could feel it.
She took a shaky breath and watched him heft the trash bag, carrying it to deposit it with the others. Then he pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and returned to her.
“Why?” he asked.
She blinked. “Why what?”
“Why can’t you accept favors?”
“Because a bill always comes due afterward. What’s yours?”
“My bill?” He thought about it. “You could teach me to do that.”
He nodded in the direction of the Begay camp in the center of the gathering. Someone had built up the fire there. It was huge now, leaping. Couples were dancing around it.
Ellen followed his gaze and stiffened.
“Well, you asked,” he pointed out. “And you obviously expected me to demand something. I really hadn’t intended to until you brought it up.”
“Fine,” she bit out and started toward the bonfire.
“Always pay your debts, do you?” He fell into step beside her.
“Usually payment is extracted, whether it’s given freely or not.”
He scowled and looked across at her. Her cynicism seemed very much at odds with her classic sort of beauty, but then he decided it was very much a part of her thorniness. She stopped at the edge of the dancing.
“Normally, this is part of an Enemy Way,” she began rigidly, as though she was reciting from text. “That’s a rite to heal someone’s soul when he’s been witched by a wolfman. Wolfmen masquerade as ordinary people during the day, so it’s difficult to fight them directly. The Enemy Way casts magic upon them instead. With the help of the Holy People, it can turn their own evil back upon them.
“This part of it is more for fun than anything else. It’s called a squaw dance. Because it also opens the door for a great deal of flirting under the auspices of ritual and because Enemy Ways don’t happen all that often any more, it seems that every time a lot of us get together someone organizes a squaw dance whether it’s appropriate to the rite or not.” Something about her face softened. “Usually, it’s a teenager who prompts it,” she finished.
“An easy way to find out if the girl or guy you’re interested in is interested back?”
“That’s right.”
“And if he or she is, then you get in a little acceptable touchy-feely?”
She felt heat starting to inch its way up her neck. But that was ridiculous. They weren’t teenagers and he wasn’t interested in her in any respect other than this Tsosie-McNally thing she had embroiled them in.
At least she hoped not. God help her, she thought. What would she do if he was?
She looked across at him. He had that vaguely arrogant grin on his face again.
She brought her chin up a notch. “Exactly,” she answered.
“So what do we do?”
Her heart whaled against her ribs so suddenly it hurt. “We’re not going to do anything. Go find yourself someone who looks good to you and pay her something for the dance. In old times it used to be something big, like a child stolen from our enemies or a horse, but nowadays you can probably get away with a quarter or a favor—any token. I’m not sure what the going rate is. I haven’t done one in a while.”
“You look good to me, and I already did you a favor.”
The heat spread up to her cheeks. Ellen fought the urge to run a finger inside the tight collar of her turtleneck. Something warm began to swim low and deep inside of her.
She looked like a deer trapped in headlights, Dallas thought. And then he felt it, as if something physical had collided with him. Awareness. It made his heart thump suddenly and something expectant started to gather itself at his groin. She did look good to him, and he had been aware of her almost from the first moment he had laid eyes on her. But this was the first time he actually felt it coming back at him. This was the first time he knew beyond a doubt that it was mutual. He appealed to her, too.
That scared the living hell out of him.
Let it go, he thought. But he didn’t want to because somewhere along the line he felt as if he had stepped out of a cave and the sunlight felt good. So he went with it recklessly, for better or worse, because he just didn’t want to quit now.
“Oh, come on,” he said softly. “I’m not going to go out there and stumble around on the feet of a stranger. At least I know you.”
Her eyes widened. “So it’s all right to mash my toes?”
“Yeah, I think it is. Anyway, I won’t mash anything. I’m not a bad dancer—at least I never used to be. I just don’t know how to do that.” He nodded toward the heel-toe rhythm that was making the dancers sway provocatively together, back and forth, back and forth. “Show me,” he prompted.
Ellen thought wildly that if she refused she would only be making a bigger deal of this than it was. If she ran now, it would be like letting him intimidate her, like admitting that he had an effect on her, that her heart was thrumming and that heat was starting to pool heavy and insistent at the deepest parts of her just at the thought of touching him.... And that scared the hell out of her.
She grabbed his arm. “Fine,” she snapped. And that was the last moment she had any control over the situation.
She dragged him into the circle and planted each of his hands on her hips. She did a quick demonstration, heel-toe, heel-toe. And he wasn’t watching her feet, wasn’t standing a little bit apart from her as he was supposed to. He was gazing down into her eyes with an odd expression on his face, as if something was happening to him that he didn’t quite understand. Then his right hand slid up from her hip, around to the small of her back, pulling her close. They were touching again, as they had in the arroyo, only this time it was thigh to thigh, belly to belly, and her breasts were being flattened against his chest. Her nipples tightened and her breath fell short.
“I guess I just like the good, old-fashioned Anglo way of dancing better,” he murmured.
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. Because in that moment, in spite of everything, so did she.
Chapter 6
The only music was a steady, urgent drumbeat. Ellen’s heart seemed to pick up its tempo. Despite Dallas’s closeness, or maybe because of it, Ellen didn’t quite relinquish the Navajo heel-toe rhythm of the dance. After a moment Dallas
began moving with it as well, although he didn’t step back from her.
Still, she relaxed a little. It’s just a dance, she thought. Just a squaw dance, and it was really only a demonstration. It wasn’t even for real.
She lowered her cheek carefully to rest against his shoulder in the Anglo way and Dallas felt something jump inside him in response. It was like an unleashed animal frenzied with its own freedom, and it rattled him. What was he doing? He didn’t want this. He had told Ricky no more than a week ago that he had no interest in starting anything with any woman. It wasn’t fair to him and it wasn’t fair to her, because he knew full well that no matter how good she felt he wasn’t going to let this go anywhere. Besides, there were people all over the place. It couldn’t go anywhere...and he couldn’t get it out of his head that he and Ricky were spending the night.
She moved like hot water spilling through his hands.
He turned his face slowly into her hair, into that deep, rich scent again, and it filled his nostrils. Impossibly he felt himself harden and he knew he had to push her away, had to put some space between them before she felt it as well. But what he did was run his hands up her back, his fingers spread wide, exploring the firm muscles there beneath her softness. He found her neck beneath her hair and traced a finger up the center of her nape and he felt a tremor go through her.
“So what happens next?” he asked huskily.
His question made it difficult for her to breathe. She tried to draw air into her lungs but all that filled her was the warmth of him and that clean, sharp scent. She managed to get her hands up to his chest and she splayed them there, intending to push him back...and then she felt it, the unmistakable hardness of him pressed against her, swelling, ready.
She gave a startled cry. She stumbled and her feet went still.
“What...do you mean?” she gasped.
“The others are leaving,” he pointed out.
“What others?”
He gave a hoarse, quiet laugh. “The other dancers.”
“Oh.”
He began moving against her again, a totally Anglo kind of dance now, shifting his weight from hip to hip, taking her with him. And somehow she found her hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, her arms settling around his neck. As soon as it happened, his hold on her seemed to spasm and he pulled her tight and hard against him. Her nipples hurt now with an exquisite kind of tingling pain and the heat inside her turned liquid, pooling at central points of her, between her legs, in the pit of her stomach.
I have to stop this. But it was so good to feel this way, as rare and delicious as it was dangerous. It was this kind of feeling that had once destroyed her entire world. Once she had given in to it and had damned the consequences. And the consequences had been the cruelest price she had ever had to pay.
She wouldn’t let it happen again— couldn’t let her body overrule everything her head knew to be right and sane. But it hadn’t been this strong before. This was worse and better and hotter, and she just wanted to float with it.
“Where are they going?” Dallas asked again, and Ellen’s heart started thundering.
“They...the men...paid the women.”
“I know that. We’ve already figured that out.”
“If they want to...” She wondered if she was going to choke on the words but somehow they came out, low and throaty. “If he pays her something big and she accepts, then it’s more than just a dance.”
“You mean like the whole enchilada?” He was so hard now it was close to pain, a demanding ache that stole his sanity. He felt her let out a strangled laugh.
“That’s one way of putting it,” she answered.
“Hell. And all I did was empty some trash.”
“Too late now.”
“Is it? Can’t I revise my offer?” What the hell am I doing?
“No.” Yes, please, yes.
She was crazy. She was out of her mind. She pulled back a little to look up at him, then a child’s voice rang out in a scream.
She didn’t immediately know it was Ricky— she had never known the sweetness of intimately learning his particular cry. But Dallas’s face changed, his eyes going from smoky with intent to something frightened and cold. His arms dropped away from her and he began running. Then she knew it was Ricky who had screamed.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, taking off after him. What had happened?
Dallas was hurrying back toward the Bedonie fire. “No!” she shouted. “This way!” The cry had come from the arroyo.
He caught up with her in a few long strides. “What the hell is he doing in there again, anyway?”
“The horses,” she gasped. “He liked the horses.” Had he forgotten what she had taught him? Had one of them kicked him after all?
She hit the slope and slid down, Dallas right behind her. Ricky was pressed back against the wall, still looking shaken but a little sheepish, too. She skidded to a stop beside him and fought the urge to take him into her arms, to clutch him to her breasts until her own heart stopped tripping.
“What is it?” she gasped as Dallas landed beside her.
“What happened?” Dallas demanded.
Ricky looked down and dragged the toe of his sneaker through the sand. “I guess...I thought I saw something weird.”
Dallas looked lost. “Weird?”
“Well, yeah. Mrs. Bedonie said I could bring the horses some sugar to say good-night. And I thought there was one over here by himself, next to the wall. So I saved him a piece, but when I came over here, he...he...”
Ellen was starting to feel very cold. “He what?” she prompted. Dallas looked at her sharply for her tone.
“Well, he sort of jumped up. It was like he flew back up to the top. And then he disappeared. So I guess it couldn’t have been a horse.”
Dallas breathed again. “I’d say not. Scared you, did it?”
“Right out of my pants. But then I thought about it and I guess it must have been...must have been...geez, Dad, I don’t know what it was.”
“Maybe you imagined it,” Dallas suggested.
“No. It was really there.”
“You’ve had a big day,” Dallas pointed out.
Ricky looked up at him, frustrated. “I’m still not going to go seeing things. I’m not crazy.”
Other people were beginning to gather at the top of the arroyo. “Everything okay down there?” someone shouted down.
“Fine,” Dallas called back. He looked at Ellen again and was startled to see that her face had blanched in the moonlight. Instinctively his own heart skipped a beat.
“Do you know what it was?” he demanded.
She shook her head, but she was lying. She could think of only one thing that could be there then disappear, only one thing that was as big as a large animal but could run as fast as a car. That could fly. She felt sick. Her knees felt as if they were going to bend beneath her.
“No.” She shook her head again. She had to find Uncle Ernie. Now.
“Maybe we should go home tonight after all, Sport,” Dallas suggested.
“No!” Ricky protested.
“That’s...that’s probably a good idea,” Ellen heard her own voice agree. Dallas looked at her again.
“It is?”
Oh, yes, it was. And not only because she needed to get Ricky safely away from here until she could talk to Ernie and figure out what was going on. She looked at Dallas, at his chiseled face and his questioning eyes, and she remembered the feel of him against her, his arms holding her so close, the tracing feel of his finger down her nape. What had she been thinking back there?
Yes, it was best if they left. It was best if she never laid eyes on him again.
“He’s...probably had a case of emotional overload,” she managed. So have I.
“Yeah, I guess he has.”
“Dad...” Ricky whined, but some of the force had gone out of his protest. Despite his bravado, the experience had obviously shaken him.
“We’ll ju
st go up to that motel in Shiprock,” Dallas said. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep, then we’ll swing by here again on our way home tomorrow. How does that sound, Sport?”
Ricky sighed. “Okay, I guess.”
They started clawing their way back up the arroyo slope, Ricky between them. Most of the crowd had dispersed. When they reached the top, Dallas took Ricky’s hand, but his eyes were on Ellen.
“Walk us to the car,” he said in a voice that wasn’t a suggestion.
Ellen missed a step. “You can hardly have forgotten where you put it.”
“I want to talk to you.”
Run. Go. She shrugged stiffly and followed them.
They moved halfway back up the arroyo rim, then they all froze in unison. Even in the moonlight, it was immediately apparent that something was very wrong with Dallas’s car.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
“Geez, what happened to it, Dad?”
Ellen only stared, dumbfounded and scared.
The sleek black car looked like a giant bumblebee. Someone had spilled yellow paint over the roof, the hood, the trunk. It ran down the sides in long scalloped lines. She gasped. Dallas dropped Ricky’s hand to move closer to it.
He circled it, his jaw gaping. “I don’t believe this.” He sounded more amazed than angry, but Ellen winced. She knew his temper was probably coming. Not that she could blame him. His beautiful car.
She went slowly, dazedly, to stand beside him. Large letters were traced through the paint across the trunk.
GET OFF THE RES.
Ellen felt faint. She started to put a hand out to steady herself against the car, then she snatched it back. Dallas caught her elbow and propelled her toward her own.
“Come on.”
“Where?” she breathed.
“You’re taking us to Shiprock.”
“I am?”
“Well, we’re sure as hell not going to be able to get there in my car.”
She craned her neck back and noticed for the first time that his tires had been slashed, too. “I don’t have my keys,” she said inanely.
“Then go get them.”
She nodded and hurried back to the Bedonie fire. Uncle Ernie wasn’t there. She looked wildly at Madeline.