The Cowboy & The Belly Dancer (Heartbeat)

by Charlotte Maclay

  “This way, effendi.”

  “What?”

  The old man shoved open a door that had been nearly invisible in the darkness. “For your kindness, my family and I would be happy to share our simple home with you. Until the sheikh’s men no longer have interest in your whereabouts.”

  Nesrin grinned up at Parker with an unspoken “I told you so.”

  He didn’t need any more persuading.

  Bending, Nesrin slipped into the safety of the beggar’s hovel. A piece of her skirt caught on a jagged splinter of the doorjamb. She tugged it loose, ripping the material.

  Three surprised faces looked up at the new arrivals, the beggar’s aging wife and two youngsters who looked to be their grandchildren. They were all sitting around a small cook fire. Nesrin returned their hesitant smiles.

  As grateful as she was to be safe in these cramped quarters that reeked of cooking oil, and as weary as she was from running pell-mell through back alleys and dark passageways, she felt discouraged about Parker. He had come to rescue her—for which she was overjoyed—yet he could not believe she was a genie. It was almost as demoralizing as her father’s embarrassment over her lack of skills. Granted, her powers still had a tendency to go awry. She had only intended a curtain of smoke to blind Rasheyd’s men, not a fountain of shimmering sparks. Though the fireworks had been quite impressive, she conceded proudly.

  The beggar gestured for them to be seated on a pile of rags, which Nesrin took to be the communal bed.

  “I am Abdel,” he said. “My family and I welcome you, effendi. What little we have, we will happily share with you.”

  “We appreciate you letting us hide out here,” Parker said. “I confess, I’m a little surprised that you, ah, speak English so well.”

  Abdel smiled indulgently. “When I was a young man I worked in an English-speaking household but that was many years ago.” He raised his shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. “Would you care for tea? It is not of the highest quality, but my wife would be honored if you would accept this small token of our hospitality.”

  The old woman bobbed her head and quickly set a pot of water over the fire.

  “What we really need, Abdel, is some help getting to the airport. I need to get Nesrin out of the country as quickly as possible. A phony passport would help, too. It’s going to be tough getting past Immigration.”

  “But we do not have the jewels yet,” she objected.

  Abdel’s eyebrows rose in inquiry.

  “We aren’t going to hang around here any longer than we have to, Nesrin. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But, Parker, you do not understand. As long as Rasheyd believes I know where the jewels are, he will come after me again and again. Anywhere in the world. I will never be safe until I have found the emeralds and rubies, or he is convinced I have no more knowledge about them than he.”

  “You really think you can find them?”

  “I cannot be sure, of course. I have only my memory, and the few words of this inscription as clues.” She rubbed her fingertips over the raised marks on the lamp. “In some ways this is a map.”

  “Where, might I inquire,” Abdel asked, “would you expect to discover these jewels you speak of?”

  In her mind’s eye, Nesrin saw the winding maze of streets of her village, lined with the low huts of mud and stone, that led to the tribal chief’s palace. And buried deep beneath that building lay the wizard’s evil conjuring room. Fear shivered through her.

  “In the village of my birth,” she said. “A place in the desert sands of the interior.”

  Abdel nodded.

  Parker looked skeptical. “We can’t go running around on our own in a strange country. We don’t have any transportation. No backup in case we get in trouble. I won’t put you at that kind of risk, Nesrin.”

  “The risk is greater if we do nothing,” she reminded him. Though returning to that buried room filled her with trepidation. What if the wizard—or his evil soul—still existed in that place.

  “If I may make a suggestion...” Abdel handed them each a cup of aromatic tea liberally laced with sugar. “It is possible, shall we say, to borrow a vehicle suitable for desert travel. Assuming you have sufficient cash available, of course. With such transport you could easily reach your destination without the sheikh or his men being aware of your departure.”

  “I don’t think Nesrin is exactly dressed for travel.” Parker eyed her dancing costume. “In the daylight, they’ll spot her in a minute. It’s going to be tough enough just getting her to the airport.”

  “Among our people, the women go out in public fully covered. One woman looks much like the other when veiled and dressed in black. Except for their feet, of course.” His amused smile revealed two missing teeth. “It was my wife’s delicate feet that first attracted me to her.”

  The old woman giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Please, Parker, we must try,” Nesrin urged. “It is a good plan. Rasheyd will expect us to try to make our escape immediately. His men will be watching the airport. They will not expect us to flee to the interior.”

  Sipping the heavily sweetened tea, Parker realized Nesrin was right about Rasheyd having the airport watched. It might actually be easier to make their escape in a day or two, when his guards had grown careless, rather than try to leave the country immediately.

  Staying within the confines of the city, however, posed additional risks. People talked, particularly if there was a chance for a reward. Word of their whereabouts would very likely get back to Rasheyd.

  A trip across the desert might indeed be their best shot at escape. Not that Parker expected to find any missing jewels.

  Those emeralds and rubies were as much fantasy as Nesrin’s obsession with magic.

  “Abdel, could you arrange for suitable clothing for Nesrin, and make arrangements for the vehicle you’re talking about?” From under his robe, he pulled out his wallet.

  Accepting the money Parker offered, the old man dipped his head. “It shall be done.”

  Chapter Ten

  This fell into the category of a wild-goose chase.

  Last night it had seemed perfectly logical to go racing off across the desert in search of a supposed treasure that had been buried for nine hundred years in a village that no longer existed. At least, as an excuse to get out of town long enough for Rasheyd’s men to lose interest, it had seemed reasonable enough.

  In the blistering heat of midday, Parker was having second thoughts. The old four-wheel-drive truck Abdel had borrowed, with a transmission that whined threateningly and brakes that were erratic at best, wasn’t exactly a confidence builder, either. This was not a place Parker wanted to get stuck.

  “Is it not beautiful?” Nesrin said.

  She’d lowered the veil that had covered her face while they drove through town, but she was still garbed in a solid black shapeless robe. There was nothing feminine about the dress. Except Parker could imagine every one of her delectable curves. The pert shape of her small breasts. Her narrow waist. The curve of her thigh he’d slowly stroked as she lay in his arms that one night an eternity ago.

  Wheeling to avoid a particularly deep rut in the almost nonexistent road, he forced himself to set aside provocative thoughts.

  “You must be looking out a different windshield than I am,” he responded. For him, only a bleak, monochrome desert stretched out to the shimmering horizon—much like his future lengthened into meaningless time when he thought of not having Nesrin in his arms. Yet how could he hope to hold her? His background, his limitations, condemned him to a lifetime as colorless as the bleak landscape he saw.

  “Perhaps I am seeing my homeland through my memories,” she conceded. “I once caravanned with my father and brothers through this area. It was a magnificent sight, camels walking four or five abreast, roaring and ruckling and spitting.” She laughed with the lightness of fine crystal. “In spite of all that, they move with great dignity, you know.”

  �
��I guess I’ve never thought much about camels.”

  “It was springtime, I remember. We had had good rains that year and grass was plentiful. Everywhere there were baby chicks cheeping and chirping in their nests. The sky was filled with their parents snapping up insects to feed many hungry mouths. And there were so many wildflowers their scent filled the air.”

  “Sounds terrific.” But it had to be a figment of Nesrin’s imagination. Or something that happened when she was a kid—in this century. He simply couldn’t accept she was nine hundred years old.

  Whether she was or not didn’t matter, he told himself sternly. He wasn’t going to touch her again. He’d made that promise back in Colorado, and he’d meant it. Whatever her age, she was too damn trusting to be hooked up with a guy who wasn’t capable of love. He’d seen his mother turn into a bitter woman because of that fatal mistake. His ex-wife hadn’t fared much better, though Parker wasn’t sure it was entirely his fault. He suspected both he and his wife had confused lust, and a similar history of being raised as military brats, with love. It definitely hadn’t worked.

  Parker wasn’t about to put Nesrin at that kind of risk.

  The old truck labored up a slow incline. Almost imperceptibly the character of the landscape changed. Monotonous beige sand gave way to rose-tinted rocks, and low-growing vegetation appeared. A buzzard feeding on carrion was startled into awkward flight. Even the dry heat seemed to ease a degree or two, making drawing a breath a little easier.

  “We should be almost there.” Nesrin nervously fingered the inscription on the lamp. She was coming home. Her chest was tight with anticipation. Over the next rise, or perhaps the one after that, would be the village where she had grown up.

  In her mind, she heard the children of the village playing in the streets, watched as the shepherds gathered their flocks, felt a spring breeze caress her cheeks with fragrant warmth. She remembered the taste of cool well water freshly drawn. In some halfhearted way she tried to prepare herself for the changes that must have taken place. But in her soul, she simply wanted to go home.

  The truck drew to a halt.

  “What is wrong?” she asked. “Why did you stop?”

  “According to the map Abdel gave us, and your instructions, we’re here.”

  She shook her head. “That is not possible. There is nothing....”

  Her gaze slid past the windshield. She strained to see what her memory told her had once been there. The village was little more than a wind-picked carcass, a few lumps of dried mud and stone standing no higher than a man’s waist. The knot of joyful anticipation turned rock hard and filled her throat.

  Still clutching the lamp, she got out of the truck at Parker’s urging.

  Slowly she walked where there used to be streets. At each step, the lonely sound of her sandals mocked her memories. She had never been given a chance to say goodbye, not to friends or family. Her right to grow old in the village of her birth had been cruelly taken from her. With trembling fingers, she touched a low, weatherworn wall reverently, as if by doing so she could make the occupants come alive again—that the mud and stones heated by the sun would change to living flesh.

  “This is where the blacksmith, Mishal, lived.” Words of farewell formed thickly in her throat. “You can still see the stain of the coals where he worked iron into lances so our men could defend the village.”

  She turned and looked across the street. “Nadya, the village midwife lived there. She was the one who helped my mother bring me into the world. They said the labor was long and hard....”

  Nesrin’s chin puckered. She lifted her eyes to Parker, knowing they were filled with the tears she had refused to shed years ago. “I tried so hard to be a good daughter. I knew my father blamed me for my mother’s death. There was nothing I would not have done for him. Why did he...” A single tear spilled down her cheek.

  “Look, Nesrin...” Warring instincts held Parker immobile. He wanted to hold her, to ease the memories that seemed so painful. But if he held her, he’d kiss her, sure as a thirsty man would drink, given a chance. And that would lead to indulging in other things that he had no business doing. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe we can get this old truck as far as the border. Rasheyd won’t be looking for us—”

  “No, we must find the jewels.”

  “There isn’t anything here. If there were any jewels around, don’t you think the nomads would have found them by now?”

  “They would not know where to look.” She glanced at the lamp, her fingers skimming across the inscription as if she were reading braille.

  Adding impatience to his high level of frustration, Parker speared his fingers though his hair. “Why are those damn emeralds so important to you? Is this about money?” He supposed it wouldn’t be the first time a woman had traveled halfway around the globe because of greed. His ex was certainly capable of that.

  Anger flashed in her dark eyes. “It is about freedom, Parker. My freedom. The jewels mean nothing to me.”

  She whirled with the grace of a dancer, her black robe billowing, and marched away. She held her head high, her delicate shoulders thrown back. Parker had little choice but to follow her down what appeared to have once been a street.

  The stillness was so intense, Parker detected minute sounds in the deserted village. The scurrying of a lizard heading for cover across the mounds of sand. The wind pressing on his eardrums. The sibilant sound of Nesrin’s skirt, seductive and alluring as the hem flipped from side to side.

  She stopped by a wall slightly higher than the rest of the ruins, and ran her fingertips across the rough stones. Her hand trembled.

  “Here is where Rasheyd lived.”

  “Not recently,” Parker said under his breath. The Rasheyd that Parker knew would have preferred somewhat more comfortable accommodations.

  Ignoring Parker’s comment, Nesrin glided through an opening in the low wall. She walked a few paces then turned to the left. The dry desert air fairly crackled, she was concentrating so hard.

  Memories. A servant lazily swinging a pendulous fan through the air. Lounging couches covered in satin and decorated with brightly colored fringe. Flies humming around a half-eaten fig. The feel of cold tile beneath her bare feet. The desperate fear that had dried her throat and made her knees weak. The secret door that led down into the netherworld.

  She saw it all, felt it all with the same stark terror that she had experienced when she had begged Rasheyd for mercy.

  “We need a shovel.” She spoke softly so as to not disturb the shimmering ghost images of the past.

  “We can’t dig up the whole desert,” Parker warned.

  “Beneath this rubble are the jewels.” And the fears that had plagued Nesrin for nine hundred years. Today she would face them.

  Parker produced a shovel from the back of the truck. When he returned to the ruins he found Nesrin had set the lamp aside. She was on her hands and knees scraping away the debris with an old piece of tile. If she wasn’t so damn stubborn, she’d see there wasn’t anything of value in this forsaken place.

  “Let me do that,” he ordered gruffly.

  She stood and moved out of his way. “The secret door is near this spot.”

  “Try not to be too disappointed if we can’t find it.”

  “This is the tile that decorated Rasheyd’s floor. I remember it well.”

  Resigned to a long afternoon of hard work if he was going to satisfy Nesrin’s whim, Parker slid the shovel into the debris. The sun beat down with fiery intensity on the back of his neck. Almost immediately a trickle of sweat edged along his spine. If he was going to avoid a sunstroke, he’d have to put the turban back on his head.

  The third time he planted the shovel, it struck with a solid thud. Not rock or tile, he realized, but wood.

  Frowning, he shoveled more of the dirt and stones out of the way. He told himself even old structures had wooden floors. But a rectangular shape was appearing. Big enough for a trapdoor.

  He grunted.
Sweat dripped down his face.

  Remnants of color emerged, a swirl of gold on a background of white, paint worn by time and shifting sands.

  “Yes,” Nesrin whispered. “This is the place.”

  Her large, dark eyes seemed to focus on what lay beyond the heavy planks, and her face had gone pale. The tips of her black headdress fluttered on a dry breeze.

  Possibilities Parker had never accepted threatened to dislodge reason.

  He uncovered an iron handle embedded in the wood. He knelt. Gripping the handle, he tugged. The door didn’t budge. Applying more effort, he pulled harder and felt his muscles strain. The darn thing weighed a ton.

  Breathing hard, he sat back on his haunches. “We’re going to need a crane. Or dynamite.”

  In a daze, Nesrin stepped back.

  “He stood here,” she said. Slowly, with her eyes closed, she raised her arms and held them out wide in supplication. “And commanded the door to open.”

  Parker heard the latch click. He grabbed the handle. This time the trapdoor lifted easily. A blast of cold, musty air escaped from the depths. “I’ll be damned. A secret catch.” Nesrin had known how to release it, he realized with a combination of shock and surprise.

  Looking down into the shaft, he saw marble stairs leading into the darkness.

  “I feel like we just opened King Tut’s tomb,” he said.

  “No. It is Rasheyd’s conjuring room. A place of evil.”

  “Yeah, well...I’ll take a look.” He unhooked a flashlight from his belt. “You stay here.”

  “I must go with you.”

  She looked too scared and unsteady on her feet to go anywhere, and the stairs were steep. But her chin was jutted out at that stubborn angle he’d grown to recognize.

  “Okay. I’ll go first. Stay close.”

  Dread gripped Nesrin, nearly paralyzing her. She placed her trembling hand on Parker’s shoulder as they descended into the darkness. What if Rasheyd, the most powerful wizard of all time, waited for them in his conjuring room? Waited to condemn her back into the lamp.