by D'Ann Lindun
She’d known. All along, she’d known Martin wasn’t coming back. But she hadn’t wanted to believe it. Holding onto hope, praying it wouldn’t let her down. No matter how much distance there had been between them, Martin was her brother, her only living relative. Now he was gone. There was no way to make it right, or to bring him back to say she was sorry for the misunderstandings that had plagued their whole life. Another whimper slid out of her.
She couldn’t be mad at Martin anymore. Another wave of grief shook her.
Without warning, Jake scooped her up and carried her back into the sunshine. Gently, he placed her on the ground and knelt beside her. He smoothed a stand of hair off her cheek. “Hold on, honey. I’ll be right back.”
With her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to control her shakes, she watched him go to Gato and take one of the flairs out of the saddlebags. Walking a safe distance from the horses, he aimed the flare gun into the air and fired it. With a whoosh, it blasted into the sky, trailing a stream of red behind it. In a few minutes, he sent another. Eagle and Patty would come soon. Castaña wondered if they would call for help first. They would know the flares meant no good news.
A tiny sob caught in her throat.
She swallowed it with force.
No time for grief now. All-encompassing, drowning sorrow would come later. When she could let go, feel all the pain. Right now she had to figure out why this had happened and who had done it. She bent her head into her knees and clenched her fists. Control, retain control. Breathe. Focus on drawing in a breath, then releasing it. Again. And again.
There, she could take a breath without concentrating.
Jake walked back to her and squatted beside her. “You hanging in there?”
With her head still buried in her knees she nodded, not sure she could trust her voice quite yet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
She looked up into his sage green eyes. “You have to find out who did this to him.”
“I will.” He cupped her cheek and smoothed his thumb over her jaw. “You can count on it.”
She grasped his wrist with both hands as though he were a lifeline. “Who would kill my brother? Nothing makes sense. I can’t think straight.”
“Just rest right now. You don’t have to try and figure it out right this minute.” His soothing tone irritated her.
“I can’t rest until I find out who did this. I can see you still believe Martin—” her voice caught on his name “—murdered those BLM men. But, Jake, if he did it why would someone kill him?” She read the answer in Jake’s eyes and shook her head. “No. No way. There’s no possible way Martin would commit suicide.”
“Maybe he didn’t see any other way out,” Jake suggested gently.
Castaña dropped his arm and hugged her knees. “He’s not a coward. If Martin did it, he’d face the consequences. There has to be someone else who had a motive. For instance, what is he doing here in Briar Rose’s sisters’ camp?” She swallowed hard, controlling her emotions. “That makes no sense whatsoever. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Briar Rose had something to do with this whole mess.”
“Like what?” Jake didn’t sound like he was challenging, only asking.
“That’s just it. I don’t know.”
“Will you be okay for a minute?” When she nodded, he stood and walked back toward the scene. Castaña didn’t watch. She fell to her back and watched clouds drift across the sky. The glorious Arizona sky her brother would never see again. He’d never save another horse; he’d never ride or walk here again. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye or that she understood. A tear trickled down her cheek and she made no move to brush it away. Nor the ones that followed. Her chest felt like it would explode if she didn’t let some of the anguish out. She rolled to her side and let her salty tears pour into the sweet-smelling meadow grass.
Out of Castaña’s sight, Jake took a small vial of Vicks and a clean, folded bandana out of his back pocket and shook it out. After he rubbed a bit of the strong scented medicine in each nostril, he wrapped the blue hankie around the lower half of his face. Careful not to tread anywhere he thought there might be evidence, he retraced his steps back to Martin’s body.
Crouching down a few feet from the body, Jake examined the scene. Martin lay face-down, a dark stain spreading out from under his head. The back of his head had a bullet wound in it, several inches up from the spine. Looked like whomever did this used a high-powered rifle. His hands were flat, palms up. Jake would wait for CSI to examine the body closer, and didn’t touch it, but he spotted the outline of a wallet in the back pocket of well-worn jeans. Martin’s legs were spread out in a position that suggested he’d been running when he fell. He wore cowboy boots, which surprised Jake. He would have expected work boots.
Jake stood and looked around. It seemed unlikely anyone could run through here. Somewhat thick underbrush and downed timber would make it next to impossible to flee. But it would be a good place to drag and stash a body. An idea began to form in his mind, but he needed to interview Briar Rose.
After a careful search of the area he didn’t find any evidence of a weapon. He now doubted Martin had shot himself, but he’d wait for forensics to be positive. There were smudges in the earth that could’ve been shoe prints, but none were clear enough to get a good idea of how many. The best thing he could do now was move out of the area and wait for the specialized guys to do their thing.
As he turned toward Castaña, he saw her curled in a fetal position, obviously crying. He yanked the bandana off his face and jogged toward her. He fell to his knees and scooped her up in his arms once more. Her body shook as she sobbed into his chest. Rocking her, holding her as tightly as possible, he tried to comfort her as best he could. “Shhh. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
His heart broke as she cried.
He realized he would do anything to take her pain away.
He loved her.
He couldn’t say exactly when it happened, or how, but he’d fallen in love with Castaña Castillo. Her strength, her undying loyalty, her kindness, her beauty. All traits he found wonderful and amazing and endearing. Somehow, she’d captured his heart, and he didn’t want it back. The question remained, would she even accept it if he offered? He brushed a kiss over her forehead. Time would tell.
~*~
Castaña stared blankly at the wall in her living room. Eagle came in with a cup of coffee and handed it to her. The old woman was the closest thing to a relative she and Martin had left. Grief had etched deeper lines across her face like years of wind over sandstone. “How you holding up, honey?”
Castaña took the proffered cup. “All right.”
She was numb, really. A crowd of people had descended upon the campsite like a flock of buzzards. Eagle and Patty had seen the flares and sent word to Ron Sparks, who had alerted the police. They had let Staton know. He arrived in a helicopter, along with a forensics team. Jake had been swept up in a flurry of questions and dragged away from her.
When she had been cleared to leave, Patty and Eagle escorted her down the trail. Jake had to stay. She hated being separated from him. When had she become so dependent on him? When had her feelings turned to love? She couldn’t think about it now.
Everything had been a blur—the ride down the mountain, at Eagle’s ranch when Patty and Eagle had turned the horses loose in one of Eagle’s corrals, and the trip home. The three of them sat in numb silence not really sure what to do. None of them could believe things had ended this way.
Castaña sipped her coffee without tasting it. Her mind spun in a hundred different directions and nothing seemed to make sense. The phone rang and she moved to answer it, but Patty waved her back and picked up the cordless. “Castillo Residence.” She listened for a moment then said, “I can’t comment on that.” And hung up with a little force
“Who was it?” Castaña asked.
Patty frowned. “The press. The word about Martin has leaked out
and they want the story. Can’t even mourn in peace—”
“Shit.” Castaña jumped up. “There’s at least one person who needs to hear about Martin before the press gets hold of it. She looked around for her keys. “She’s got to hear it from me.”
Eagle was already moving toward the door. “Nascha.”
“Yes.”
Patty held up her keys. “I’ll drive.”
“I don’t know where to find Nascha.” Castaña looked at Eagle. “Do you?”
“Yes. I’ll give directions on the way.”
~*~
Nascha lived in a small house on the south side of a cul-de-sac near the university. Eagle pointed to the third blue one in a row. “There.”
Patty parked, and the three women stepped out of the pickup. They walked to the door in silence. Eagle knocked. In a minute, the door opened and Nascha stood there with a puzzled look on her face. “Hi.”
“Can we come in?” Eagle asked.
After a brief pause Nascha nodded and moved aside. She made a motion toward her couch. “Please, sit. Can I get you herbal tea?”
“Yes, please,” Castaña said. Anything to put off her terrible news for a few more minutes.
Eagle and Patty nodded.
Nascha left the room, leaving them on a brown corduroy sofa that had matching armchairs. End tables made from tiles framed the couch. There were no pictures of any kind on the walls. Clay pots with dried lavender sat on the tables, and the faint scent of the herb dusted the air.
Nascha returned in a few minutes carrying a tray with a clay teapot and matching cups. She handed each of them a cup, poured steaming water into it, then offered tea bags of various flavors. Castaña chose ginger apple and stirred a bit of sugar into it.
“Is this about Martin?” Nascha asked softly.
With a sudden lump in her throat that made it impossible to speak Castaña nodded. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Nascha set her cup aside with a shaking hand. “Did you find him?”
“Yes.” Castaña, too, placed her mug on the coffee table. “Today. Not alive.”
“Oh, no.” Nascha’s voice was barely discernible. She put her knuckles to her mouth. “No.”
“I’m afraid so,” Castaña said. “He was shot. I can’t believe it.”
“I told him—” Nascha’s voice broke. She shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
Eagle moved beside her and put her arm around the girl’s heaving shoulders. Only the sound of her sobs filled the silence. Tears trickled down Eagle’s leathery cheeks and Castaña felt her own damp face.
“What did you tell him, honey?” Eagle smoothed the girl’s long dark hair away from her face.
Nascha choked out the words. “That he would get himself killed one of these days. I warned him to give up when he was outbid at the auction—” She glared at Patty who looked at her feet “—but he said he had to try.”
“Try what?” Castaña asked.
“To save the horses.” Nascha wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “He wouldn’t quit even when he was beat. I was so angry with him . . . I tried to help . . . both of them . . .” Another gush of tears poured down her face. “All my fault.”
“Honey, slow down. We’re not following you,” Eagle said. “Start at the beginning and tell us what you did. Why is this your fault? You didn’t shoot Martin.”
With a deep, shuddering breath Nascha said, “I think I loved Martin from the first time I saw him.”
Eagle shot Castaña an ‘I told you so’ look. “I know. We all know.”
“But I was so angry with him.” Nascha gave Eagle a pleading look. “So, so angry.”
“What did my brother do to make you so upset with him?” Castaña grabbed her knees and held them so tight her knuckles turned white. “Please, just tell me.”
“He was with that worthless woman, who was nothing more than a sleep around.” Nascha’s voice dripped venom. “He was like all the rest, couldn’t resist her in the end.”
“Who do you mean?” Eagle asked.
“You mean Briar Rose, don’t you?” Castaña’s fingers hurt she had gripped so hard.
“Yes,” Nascha spat. “Her.”
“I’m not following you,” Castaña said. “Can you tell me what happened from the start? What did Martin have to do with Briar Rose? And what did you have to do with his disappearance?” A terrible fear gripped her. “My God, you didn’t kill him—”
“Of course not,” Nascha cried. “I loved him no matter how angry I was with him.” She took a gulp of air. “I helped Martin with his wild horses because I believed in it, too. I did some things that I shouldn’t have, trying to help him.”
“You were involved in illegal activities?” Castaña asked.
Nascha jerked her head. “Yes. But after the auction, I knew it was over. There wasn’t any more we could do. The government had won. She—” Nascha indicated Patty again with a tilt of her chin “—won. I tried to reason with Martin, to tell him it was over, but he was wild with grief and rage.” She shook her head as if she was trying to shake away the memory.
Eagle patted her back. “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t what I did,” she said angrily. “It’s what he did.” Her black eyes filled with the memory of betrayal. “Martin, the man I had loved from the moment I met him, the man I compromised my principles for, told me I was a traitor to him. He said he never wanted to see me again.”
“How does Briar Rose play into all of this?” Castaña felt ill. Her brother had always put the wild horse issues ahead of her, but she’d hoped he’d changed. Apparently not.
“Martin picked her up that night.” Nascha couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “I saw them leave the auction together. I left after Martin’s tirade, but came back to talk to him and to try and reason with him. I saw them together. He had his arm around her and she was leaning into him and smiling and joking. In less than an hour he forgot all we had together. All we had meant to each other.”
“And you were furious,” Castaña said. “I don’t blame you. I would’ve been, too. Is that the first time Martin was with Briar Rose then? She didn’t know him a year ago? That’s not his baby?”
Nascha shook his head. “No. We were together all the time. I thought we were in love.”
“You said it was your fault that he died,” Castaña said. “Why?”
“If we hadn’t argued . . .” Nascha paused. “He’s not the only one, either.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I got an old friend killed, too.” Nascha’s eyes were filled with guilt. She looked to Eagle who gave her a small nod.
“Tell us.”
“That night, after I saw Martin with that woman, I went to an old friend who’s a painter, a famous one, actually—”
“Axell Tsosie,” Castaña interrupted.
Nascha’s teary eyes widened. “You know him?”
“No, go on. Please.” Castaña motioned for her to continue.
“Axell and I go way back and I told him what was going on. He agreed to help me try to get Martin back. We thought if he took pictures of a pretend roundup and sent them to a national horse magazine it would create sympathy. Martin would see I was still on his side.”
“But Axell was run over by the stampede and killed.” A small shudder ran down Castaña’s back as she recalled the dead man in the canyon. His hadn’t been an easy death.
“Yes.” Nascha’s eyes were haunted. “He died.”
Eagle patted her back again. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was. Axell never would have been in that canyon if it weren’t for me,” Nascha cried. “He went there to help me and I repaid him by getting him killed.”
“Were you with him?” Castaña turned accusing eyes on the girl. “You were the one who took down the fence, weren’t you?”
She didn’t deny it. “Yes. I thought you might mess up the stampede. Axell was waiting in the canyon for me to chase the horses
to him. When I saw your horses in the corral, I thought you might try to stop the wild horses, or chase them. So, I removed the top two poles in the fence. I later caught the sorrel and tied him to a tree.”
Castaña replayed the story so far in her head. Another piece fell in place. “And you were the one who led Jake on the wild goose chase through the forest. But why?” Before Nascha could answer Castaña said, “And it was you who had to move Axell’s body. Why?”
Nascha’s words came slowly. “I led the man away because I wanted to move Axell’s body. I thought I would be in big trouble from the BLM if they found out I had interfered with the wild horses. I was scared.”
“But you have done illegal things before.” Castaña couldn’t keep the censure from her voice. A lifetime of breaking the law had brought her brother to a bad end. She couldn’t respect his methods. There had to be another way to help the wild horses. She’d try to find one, to honor Martin’s memory.
“Yes.” Nascha hung her head and a teardrop slipped off her nose. “But no one ever died.”
“Do you know what happened to Martin?” Castaña asked. “Do you know who murdered him?”
Nascha swiped at her cheeks with shaking hands. “No.”
“Do you think he killed the BLM men?”
“No.” Through her tears, Nascha’s gaze was steady. “He didn’t.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Before Nascha could elaborate, Castaña’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the number. “Hello.”
“It’s Jake. Where are you?”
Her heartbeat sped up at the sound of his voice. “Nascha Nizhoni’s house. Why? Where are you?”
“At the police station. I need to see you. Can you meet me at your house?” He paused. “We talked to a few people today. Briar Rose, for one.”
“You found her? Is she okay? Is the baby okay?” The thought of that innocent little baby being dragged around made Castaña’s stomach clench. She had a million questions.