Was she becoming paranoid as a result of dehydration? Well, any normal person would agree that she had reason. Her guide on this impossible trek was… was weird. Really, really weird. Suddenly, just as she thought she would collapse from heat, thirst, and exhaustion, she heard it. To her, at that moment, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
Water. Running water…
Smiling, she looked up to say something but saw that her quasi-Indian hermit had disappeared. For a split second she thought he had deserted her, but she realized, as she clawed at the striated red stone before her, he had just gone on ahead. When she came over the top of the boulder, she saw him running toward the stream. He stood for only a few seconds before falling backward into it.
That was all she needed. Hobbling the remaining distance, she dropped her cane and knelt before the clear mountain stream in deep homage. It was the most wonderful sight she had ever beheld. Water. Beautiful, life-saving water.
Her hands were shaking as she reached down to scoop it to her mouth. She didn't think about bacteria, diseases, or the man downstream. She felt almost crazed by the desire to taste water and, frustrated by her flimsy efforts, she stretched out until she was lying on the ground and her head was inches above it. She kept splashing her face and gulping in the delicious, precious liquid, feeling she would never be sated. From the corner of her eye, she saw that the man rose from the water and was walking upstream. He didn't say a word as he passed her, and Mairie stopped drinking as a strange thought entered her mind. Here she had called him feral, and she was doing a pretty good imitation of an animal herself. Funny how when technology disappeared, instincts kicked in. She continued to watch him through the long, damp strands of her hair. He moved toward the small waterfall and began unbuttoning his pants.
Oh, shit! Now he's going to make a move, she thought, as terror raced once more through her system. She should have known she couldn't trust him! Her fear kept her paralyzed at the bank of the stream as she watched him. He stepped out of the water and pulled off his boots, then, with his back to her, he removed his trousers. Her breath seemed caught in her throat, as though if she didn't breathe he would forget she was there and leave her alone. Fighting panic, she continued to watch him as he reentered the water and began unbuttoning those longjohns. She felt frozen in fear. A part of her brain was saying that she should get up, find a weapon, do something… yet he walked away from her toward the outjutting of rocks, and even though her rational mind was telling her that this could not be happening… it seemed within moments she was watching a nude man bathing under a waterfall. He used the silt from the bottom of the stream to wash off the paint. His back was turned toward her, so she couldn't actually see him wash off the paint, but she remembered what it had looked like on his chest. Come to think of it, his chest had looked rather strong… like living out here had given him a definition that most men would spend a fortune in a gym to achieve. Don't think of it, she told herself, and raised her head from the water. Better to sit up and turn her back on the embarrassing scene.
Mairie found that she was breathing heavily and made herself concentrate on her predicament. Now that she was here and they could rest for a while in shade, she decided it was safe to remove her jumpsuit. Besides, she needed to soak her ankle in the cool water. She unzipped the sleeves and pant legs and pulled her arms out of it, wincing at her sore muscles. Throwing it to the side, she couldn't help but again glance in the direction of the waterfall. It wasn't like she really wanted to, really—it was just that her gaze seemed to wander there of its own accord. Dear God…
His hair was hanging straight past his shoulders. The muscles in the back of his body were clearly defined. He wasn't really big, not like those men with no necks. He was built like a runner… lean, with every muscle chiseled in marbled movement as he continued to wash himself as though it were the most natural thing in the world to stand out in nature and bathe. He really was feral, like some wild creature. Ashamed at spying on him, Mairie concentrated on removing her Nikes. Really… she'd been on the brink of responding to him like some sex-starved woman beholding a buff male body. She wasn't starved, at least, not for sex… and especially not for some weird mountain man who painted himself up like an Indian. She had some standards. Traveling with her older brother for seven months hadn't exactly provided her with opportunities, and she'd found that in those months of celibacy she'd lost all desire. It was like any other appetite. It could be controlled. It could… yet as she struggled with removing her sneaker, she was keenly aware of the man behind her. He'd better not even think of trying anything. Eight years ago she'd taken a self defense class, so he wasn't dealing with some helpless female here.
She sucked in her breath through clenched teeth as she finally got the Nike off and the pain seemed to expand, along with the size of her ankle. She carefully removed her sock and pulled up the hem of her Spandex legging before plunging her foot into the stream. She couldn't help crying out as the cold water enveloped the bruise and pain shot up her leg. How was she supposed to walk away from this mountain if one leg was out of commission? Maybe it wasn't sprained. Maybe it was only badly bruised. It still hurt like hell. She thought of the naked man behind her and then her self defense class. Since kicking was the main defensive action, with only one working leg, she was at a distinct disadvantage. Damn… what was that old cliché? If it weren't for bad luck, she wouldn't have any luck at all?
Well, it didn't matter how clearly defined his pecs were, he was still unstable and she didn't trust him for an instant. She would be polite, distantly polite, and figure some way out of this mess. Closing her eyes, Mairie focused her mind on more practical matters. She was going to find her brother and normalcy. It was her only plan.
"How's the foot?"
Startled at the sound of his voice, she opened her eyes and looked up through the dappled sunlight to the man standing at her side. He had put those long-johns back on and rested his hands on his hips. She squinted, held her palm up to shelter her vision, and when her pupils dilated sufficiently to allow the light in, Mairie Callahan found that for the first time in her thirty-seven years of being on this planet… her voice had deserted her.
His dark, wet hair was slicked back off his face and hanging behind his shoulders. Contrasting against a deep tan, his blue eyes looked wide and … and almost normal without paint surrounding them, as if the water had infused them with intelligence. His lashes were damp and spiked, defining file clarity of deep blue irises. And his mouth held a knowing hint of amusement, as if he knew that she had been spying on him. But what robbed her of the ability to speak was a simple plain fact that she couldn't ignore.
He cleaned up well, real well.
In fact, the man was gorgeous, like some rugged hero out of a romance novel.
Yup… she was in trouble, she thought, hating the fact that her gaze was drawn to a jagged scar on his chest beneath the dark hair that seemed to form a vee and disappear below the two open buttons of his underwear. She smelled it. Felt it. Even tasted it at the back of her tongue.
Trouble. Only this time she didn't know from which one of them it was coming…
Jack Delaney continued to stare at the odd woman who sat, in her underwear, speechless before him. He had never seen anything quite like it before. Tight black material clung to her legs and a white cropped sleeveless vest of the same fabric covered her breasts, yet revealed her stomach. She seemed to have no shame in displaying herself, so he couldn't figure out her condition.
"Your foot," he repeated. "How is it?"
She seemed to swallow and search for her voice. "It's killing me. And it's my ankle, actually," she added and looked to it, dangling in the stream. "I think it's sprained, or severely bruised."
She lifted her leg slightly and he saw she had painted her toenails red. He had never seen such a thing. Looking at her swollen ankle and the deep purple color of the skin surrounding it, he sighed. How was she supposed to walk to the encampment? If he did not
return at first light, his brothers would begin searching for him. He had no idea how he was going to explain her to the Paiutes. He himself was desperate to find any reasonable explanation for her. If he'd not seen with his own eyes that she'd fallen from the sky, he would think she had wandered off some wagon train and was afflicted with prairie fever. But he could find no explanation for her strange equipment and there was no denying that she was different from any other woman he had known, or even read about. She was… otherworldly, eerie, and he couldn't shake the uncanny feeling that somehow, in some preposterous way, she really was his gift. Though how such a perverse creature could be called a gift was beyond his comprehension. One thing Jack had learned in his adopted family was the unwise path of taking everything at face value, that Spirit might use anything to get his attention. At the exact moment of calling out to the Great Spirit in total faith, he had opened his eyes and beheld a sight that robbed him of breath and set his heart racing … this incredibly rude and confused being slowly falling from heaven. As much as he wanted to leave behind what felt like a major problem and get back to the camp, how could he desert her?
"What are you staring at?" she demanded, grabbing the strange suit she had discarded and holding it in front of her chest, as though for protection.
He immediately picked up what her actions were implying, and his back stiffened. "I don't know yet what I'm looking at. What kind of woman are you? Where are you from? How did you fall with that material out of the sky? Why were you dressed in men's clothes? What is that hard hat you were wearing when I found you?" He took a deep breath and exhaled his exasperation. "Who the hell are you?"
She pushed the long black hair off her face and he could tell she was angry as a deep flush of resentment spread beneath the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Her chin tilted, as if she were descended from a royal lineage and merely suffering his presence. And her eyes, those remarkably light eyes, seemed to ignite the blue into a darker shade of outrage. She was near bristling with indignation, and even though she was far from young, she looked like a warrior maiden. In fact, under any other circumstances, he would have found himself mighty attracted to her. But until he got some answers, he didn't even want to remain in the same stream. Not for the first time since he'd encountered her on the desert mountain slope, near the sacred gathering place of red rocks, Jack wondered if the woman were insane. It was for that reason that he wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. He'd seen men lose their minds in the war. He'd come close himself. A woman, especially this impossible woman, made him want to run.
Yet he stood his ground.
"Well? I believe I deserve some answers now. You cannot complain of heat or lack of water, and your foot is receiving the only treatment available. I have done as much as I can, and for this, all I ask is clarification. Who are you? What are you?"
She glared up at him, her eyes blazing for battle. Yes… definitely a warrior, perhaps not a maiden after all.
"I've already told you my name, and where I'm from. Now, let's turn the tables, shall we? Hmm… obviously, once you took your little shower, you ended your Indian game, and now you're supposed to be the big bad cowboy? C'mon, how many more roles do you have to play before we can find the real you? Oh, and speaking of the real thing, try really, really hard and see if you can answer my questions for a change. Who the hell are you, and what the hell is your name?"
His hands dropped to his sides as he stared and fought the urge to dump the rest of her into the water. "My name, madam, is John Fitzhugh Delaney. If you wish, you may address me as Jack."
She seemed triumphant to have gotten that out of him and he didn't know why her reaction annoyed him so much. But it did. Highly.
"Well, how do you do, Mr. Delaney," she said, in a proper voice that barely hid her annoyance. "I appreciate your assisting me and leading me to water, but now I've had enough and I need to get back to civilization. If you'd just point me in the direction where I can find a phone or a fax, I'd be grateful. I need to contact my hotel in Las Vegas. I'm sure I've been reported missing, and pretty soon there will be helicopters out searching for me. I'm actually surprised I haven't seen any yet."
She was looking up to the sky, as if believing something was going to magically come out of it and rescue her from the mountain. She was crazy.
A phone? A … a fax? Heli… something? Surely now there could be no doubt about it. He was obviously stranded on a mountain with someone who belonged in an asylum.
He wondered how to return this gift, and imagined the Great Spirit of his brothers laughing. This god was a Trickster. A Coyote.
And in that moment, staring into the angry eyes of the woman, Jack Delaney realized his quest must be complete.
He got his answer. He was cursed.
Chapter 2
"Well…? Cat got your tongue, Delaney? Where's the nearest phone?"
He was just staring at her, as though she were a Martian, and Mairie felt whatever shreds of patience she had left dissolving. "C'mon… no more games, okay? I have to find my brother."
"And where is this brother of yours?"
Thankful that he was at least speaking again, she answered, "Probably still at the landing zone, or back at the school, or maybe he's even gone into Las Vegas and is talking to the police. I know he won't rest until he finds me." There. That should put some fear into him if he still entertained any ideas about kidnaping her. Although from the look in his eyes, he didn't seem to want to be anywhere near her. Really… what had she done, except try to reason with him? It wasn't her fault that he seemed to be living in the past.
"Are you speaking of the Las Vegas ranch?"
"The ranch? You mean that… that whorehouse?"
Mairie threw back her head and laughed. "I doubt my brother would find anything of interest there. I'm talking about the city—you know, hotels, gambling, shows. I'm staying at the Luxor. I'm sure you've seen the light coming out of the top of the pyramid, even out here. What…? Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You are claiming that you saw a pyramid out here?"
She tried not to giggle. "A pyramid….yes. Haven't you ever gone into Vegas and seen it? It's a hotel. A fabulous hotel."
"Out here?" he asked again, as if trying to make sure he'd heard right.
"Well not here in the mountains, but out there in the valley. A huge pyramid, with the face of a painted pharaoh before it. Come on… you have to have seen it, or heard about it."
"I have heard that Napoleon discovered pyramids in Egypt. When I was back east I even saw drawings of them."
She look at him, realized that he was serious, and warning bells went off inside her head. "Delaney… how long have you been out here?"
"I told you. Six days. I was on a vision quest."
"Were you on drugs, or something?"
"Drugs? What are drugs?"
She lifted her numbed foot from the water and wished he really had something on him. Morphine would do for this kind of pain, she thought, as she placed her heel gingerly on the ground. "Did you smoke anything? Eat anything to make you… well, forget things?"
"I followed the ritual and chewed the sacred button, that is all. And that wore off yesterday. Exactly what are you attempting to say?"
"Peyote?" She tried to hide her shock. "Well, that explains it. You're still hallucinating, Delaney. You've forgotten everything modern and think you're living in the past." Somehow the explanation made her feel much better. So he experimented with drugs on his vision quest. Who was she to judge? She didn't understand anything about Indian ritual, but she had read enough about peyote to know that it was a hallucinogen. All she had to do was be patient and see if she could reason with him until the effects wore off.
"I know exactly where I am living, madam. Do not use that excuse to explain your appearance. I know what I saw, and you have carried the evidence of it up this mountain because of a veesa number. You are the one who is speaking in riddles."
She looked ou
t to the water and sighed. "Okay. Then tell me what year it is." She held her breath, waiting… when he spoke, his words had a chilling effect.
"It's 1877. You don't know that? What year do you think it is?"
Her empty stomach clenched in fear and a frightening heat spread over her chest. This guy was really out of it. How was she supposed to reason with him? Stay calm, the voice inside of her advised. Don't excite him. Just answer truthfully and maybe it will connect with reality for him. "Mr. Delaney… please believe me… it's 1999. You're a hundred and twenty-two years behind in your mind."
He merely stared at her for a few moments before cursing under his breath and abruptly walking away toward his boots.
"What?" she demanded. "I'm telling you the truth. You can't keep going around believing you're living in the past. If you've been out here for six days, then surely you've seen planes at night coming in and going out of McCarran Airport. You have to be able to see the lights from Las Vegas from this high up in the mountains. How can you deny all that?"
He picked up his boots and emptied the water from them, ignoring her question.
Mairie figured she might as well try again to break through. If she didn't, she'd be out here all night waiting for him to come down off his trip… and she needed direction to the nearest town. A real town that existed now, not buried in the past of the Old West and this man's confused mind. "Can you just try and think of a town with a phone? That's really all I need."
He spun around so quickly that his damp hair whipped around his face. "Woman, what the hell is a phone?"
The last word was shouted so loud that Mairie swore it reverberated against the nearby boulders and slammed into her solar plexus. Stay calm, she told herself. He's… tripping, or something. "A telephone. You know…" She held up her hand in a poor imitation of holding a receiver to her ear. "You speak into it and someone answers. Your voice is carried over wires, or sometimes shot up to a satellite in the sky. I know you must have used one. Try to remember."
Anywhere You Are Page 3