“It’s Clay. Any chance Manny is around?”
“Afraid not, Clay. He’s at the hospital getting patched up.”
“Horse accident?”
“Fists.”
Clay was already on his way.
By the time he got to the correctional center, Manny was in a hospital bed for the night. Just for observation to make certain he didn’t have a concussion, the doctor said, quickly granting Clay permission for a short visit.
Clay’s gut tightened with guilt when he saw Manny in that bed. He really did look like a kid all bruised and bandaged, and Clay was sure he’d put him there.
“This is because of me, because of what I asked you to do, isn’t it?” Clay asked, keeping his voice low.
Manny shook his head. “It’s because I was stupid. I let Dudley catch me listening to his conversation.”
“He was talking to Vargas?”
Manny shook his head. “Not on the phone. One of the other guys—Pete Smith.”
“So were they talking about Galvan?”
“No, but they were talking about finding uranium.”
Clay’s pulse jagged and he thought of the conversation he’d just had with John Whitehorse. Uranium again. “Where?”
“On Double JA land. That’s your lady friend’s place, right?”
“Right. Did they say they were looking for it? Or did they already find it?”
“I don’t know, Clay, sorry. They were just getting into it when Dudley caught me spying on him.”
So he was to blame. “I’m sorry this happened, Manny. I never should have involved you in this. I’ll make it up to you if I can. What can I do?”
“The only way you can make it up to me is when you’re done helping your friend…come back here and teach us what you know. We need you.”
His feelings about the situation split in two directions, Clay said, “Looks likely.”
Manny’s response was a happy grin sorely at odds with his bruised and bandaged face.
Before he came back, Clay had work to do.
Could what Manny overheard be right? Was there uranium on Siobhan’s spread? Maybe that was why Galvan was so interested in Jacy. And why Buck had said to ask Jacy, because she had some idea of what Galvan was up to. As for his seeing Galvan and Vargas together, maybe Vargas was doing the politician’s rather than Buck’s dirty work.
They needed to take a closer look at Senator Raul Galvan. The only question was how?
Chapter Twelve
“We can learn more about Raul Galvan in Santa Fe,” Siobhan told Clay the next morning after breakfast. As soon as they were alone, he’d brought her up to speed about what he’d learned from his contacts, and she figured going to Santa Fe was a no-brainer. “Galvan lives there, and it just so happens there’s an invitation-only gallery opening tonight. I checked to see if he was invited, and he was.”
“How can you be sure Galvan will show? And how do you know he was invited?”
“Teyo Ayala is a famous Southwest artist,” she said. “An invitation to the private opening of such a prestigious show is something that anyone who wants to be seen—like a politician—can’t pass up. I know Galvan was invited because my cousin Aislinn McKenna runs the gallery—he sent his RSVP and said he was bringing a guest, whom I assume is Jacy.”
Siobhan was still unsettled that Buck had indicated her sister-in-law knew more than she was saying about the horses being poisoned. She simply couldn’t figure out how to bring it up without insulting Jacy. What if Buck was just blabbing to put the spotlight on someone else? After all, what would Buck know about Jacy’s business? As far as Siobhan remembered, they’d never even been friendly.
Clay asked, “I don’t need a penguin suit, do I?”
Siobhan tried to imagine Clay in a tux rather than in jeans and a T-shirt. “In Santa Fe? Glitzy casual is as fancy as people get for these things.”
“Just checking.”
Glad that Clay didn’t fight her on this, Siobhan spent her morning going over bills. After lunch, she made one last check on the horses before getting ready for the opening. She was relieved to see Warrior eating as though he hadn’t been close to death such a short time ago.
She ruffled his mane. “Hey, that’s my boy.”
Snorting, Warrior shoved his head into her chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his. She wanted in the worst way to share an image of the carrot and apple feed in hopes that she could discern whether he saw anyone tamper with it. But fearing she’d set back his recovery, she settled for an image they would both like: Clay.
Warrior nickered softly and Siobhan linked to a memory…
Clay talking to a belligerent kid…coaxing him toward the horse…
…the kid finally allowing the horse to sniff his hand…his mouth softening into a reluctant smile…
Siobhan’s eyes filled and she blinked so quickly the image dissipated, but not before she realized Clay had a real talent for what he did. He obviously loved his work.
He’d been that kid once, but something or someone had turned him around. She’d seen the change in Clay for herself. Now he was changing other lives, and she felt selfish for taking him away from that.
It was only temporary, she reminded herself. Clay would be returning to the life he loved soon.
Why did that knowledge make her feel worse?
SIOBHAN DRESSED UP HER long purple skirts, teal top and sandals with a modern tourmaline and silver squash-blossom necklace and matching bracelet and earrings. Her red-brown hair hung loose, blanketing her bared shoulders and back. She hadn’t gotten this dressed up in what felt like years. She’d even spent some time putting on makeup.
When she left her bedroom for the living area, Clay was already waiting for her. His eyebrows shot up and he gave her a low whistle.
“Don’t you look spectacular!”
Siobhan felt heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. It was nice for once to feel like a woman rather than a ranch hand.
“You’re not bad yourself. This looks a whole lot better on you than a penguin suit would.”
Clay wore brown trousers and a light brown suede sports jacket with a Native American design burned into the back yoke. He was wearing a T-shirt, which seemed to be his signature, though this one was a tan silk that set off his sun-warmed features.
He took away her breath, and from the look he was still giving her, she knew he was feeling the same way.
They drove halfway to Santa Fe with the radio blasting. Siobhan put up with it for a while then finally turned it down to conversation level.
“So, what if we suspect Galvan’s guilty?” she asked Clay.
“We need some kind of proof.”
“I can’t imagine how we’re going to get that.”
“If we can find it, we can steal it.”
“Clay! That isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking. Someone not only tried to kill your horses, Siobhan, he succeeded in killing your husband. He tried to kill me. And he’s trying to drive the Double JA into dust. We can’t let someone like that just walk. We do whatever we have to.”
“I don’t want to let him walk. I also don’t want to cost you your job.” Siobhan imagined he would lose it if they got caught and charges were brought against him.
“Let me worry about that.”
“I’m already worried. I know how much you love your work, how much it means to you.”
He gave her a swift look. “Now how would you know that?”
“You have to ask?”
“Warrior? That horse doesn’t know when to keep his thoughts to himself.”
“He loves you, Clay. I’m sure all the horses you gentle do. I love that and don’t want to see it destroyed.”
The closest she’d come to admitting how she felt about him. She couldn’t be direct. She had to keep something—even if it was only a horse—between them.
“So what do you want me to do?” he asked.
; “Be careful.”
“I’m not the hothead I once was.”
“I know that. But I still think you would do anything for something you cared about.”
“Or someone,” he added. “Is that wrong?”
“No, I just don’t want to take advantage. And I can’t help wondering why…I mean after what happened…the way I treated you…”
“I’ve come to understand fear, Siobhan. It comes in many guises.”
She knew he was thinking about the past, about her ending their relationship when they were madly in love. “I wasn’t afraid to love you…not the way you mean it.”
“No, you had to use a family curse as an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse. The prophecy is real.”
“I’m sure you believe that.”
She hadn’t wanted to believe it. She’d heard the stories all her life, of course. But it wasn’t until that fateful day that she’d spoken to her mother that she had been convinced beyond any doubt that a future with Clay was hopeless.
“I thought I ought to warn you that Mom will be at the opening,” she said. “And she doesn’t know I’ll be there with you, so if she says anything…”
“Right. I remember she never liked me.”
“That’s not true.” Realizing they were on the outskirts of Santa Fe, Siobhan said, “Aislinn will be delighted to see you again.”
“Does she know I’m coming?”
“Not yet.”
Her cousin had always hoped Siobhan and Clay would work out despite Mom’s dire predictions. That would have meant Aislinn would have had a chance for happiness, too. She’d seemed shocked when Siobhan had pushed Clay out of her life, but she hadn’t offered an opinion. To this day, Aislinn refused to talk about love or about the prophecy. Sadly, to this day, she’d never professed love for any man.
At least Siobhan had known what love was like.
Spending one’s life alone or with someone he or she didn’t love seemed to be the fate the McKennas in her branch of the family all had inherited.
Siobhan feared she was no exception.
TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY DRIVING through the plaza area, as Clay had known it would be. Though most shops were already closed, it was Friday, the night galleries had openings and weekends were big business at restaurants and bars. He zigzagged through town to the entry to Canyon Road, home to more than one hundred art galleries and studios housed in the historic adobe buildings that made Santa Fe legend.
Desert Dreams, Aislinn’s gallery, was located halfway along Canyon Road. Parking in a shared lot down the street from the gallery gave Clay a little time to pull himself together. Not only was he going to have to face Siobhan’s cousin but her mother, as well. He shouldn’t let that bother him—he wasn’t here for them—but he couldn’t help remembering the way Siobhan’s mother had always looked at him.
“There’s a good crowd,” Siobhan said as they got to the gallery entrance.
“Good for Aislinn, bad for us. It’ll be a trick to get Galvan alone.”
Siobhan handed her invitation to the man at the door. He checked his list then let them into the gallery. Teyo Ayala’s work covered every wall in the front room. The artist himself was there, dressed in Santa Fe chic, arms and neck loaded with silver jewelry. He was glad-handing potential buyers who seemed fascinated by the man.
When Clay didn’t see Galvan, he urged Siobhan to the next room with more paintings by Southwestern artists, which seemed to be the gallery’s specialty.
A waitress swept by. “Champagne?”
“I’ll pass,” Clay said, and Siobhan waved her off, as well.
They were making their way through the crowd when a woman who looked enough like Siobhan that they had to be related—green eyes, masses of burnished dark hair—stopped in front of them. She was taller than Siobhan and sleeker of build, and her angular face had matured into a sophisticated version of the girl she’d been. Clay thought that if the art-scene gig dried up, Aislinn could make a living as a model.
“There you are!” Aislinn said, her smile slipping a bit as she got a direct look at Clay. “And look who you’re with.”
“Aislinn,” Clay murmured.
Aislinn gave her cousin a hug…and then a questioning look.
“Clay has been helping me with the spread and other things for the past few days,” Siobhan said.
“What other things?”
“The kind that have been putting me in danger of losing the ranch.” Siobhan then whispered more directly into her cousin’s ear, and Aislinn’s eyes widened.
“Is that why you wanted to know about the guest list?” she asked, discreet enough to avoid using Galvan’s name.
“Exactly.”
“You will tell me everything.”
“Later.”
“Of course. This isn’t the place.” Aislinn nodded toward the back door. “You might be interested in checking out the sculpture garden.”
“Okay, good, separated from the crowd,” Siobhan said, then asked, “Mom isn’t out there, is she?”
“No, Aunt Sorcha hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Good.”
Clay silently agreed. Maybe they’d be able to get out of there without having to face the woman who’d always disapproved of him.
“Stay out of trouble, would you?” Aislinn pleaded softly.
“Too late for that,” Siobhan said. “But we are trying to make things better, not worse.”
Clay could feel Aislinn’s worried gaze on them as they made it out to the small sculpture garden with large works placed around a koi pond. Indeed, the crowd was sparse out here, for the evening had turned chilly. It wasn’t difficult to spot Galvan at the center of a small knot of people, Jacy right next to him. A bulky man stood to one side, his hands crossed in front of him. Galvan’s bodyguard?
“Jacy looks bored,” Siobhan said. “They must be talking politics.”
“Well, then, let’s join them.”
Moving toward Galvan, Clay placed an arm against Siobhan’s back then had to steel himself against old feelings that threatened to surface.
“I think you should run for national office next election, Raul,” a woman wearing a black dress that set off some incredible gold jewelry inlaid with semiprecious stones was saying. “I would be happy to back you.”
“Thank you, Eleanor.” Galvan gave her a warm smile. “I could use your support.”
“Then you are thinking of stepping up your game?” Clay asked as he made room in the circle around Galvan and pulled Siobhan in next to him.
Galvan turned to him, an annoyed expression flickering across his face and then quickly disappearing. “Thinking about it, yes.” He aimed a white-toothed smile at Clay.
“And your platform?”
“Helping New Mexico out of the economic mire, of course.”
“By supporting uranium mining,” Clay said.
Galvan’s smile slipped a bit. “My constituents need work, and uranium will bring much-needed jobs and money to the state.”
“It’ll also bring problems as it has in the past, especially on Navajo land.” Clay had seen the result for himself after leaving Soledad. “The increase in cancer was no coincidence. And it wasn’t just the miners.”
“Mining standards are much different than in the past.”
“Maybe that will make things less dangerous,”
Siobhan said, “but shouldn’t we wait to make certain of that before expanding mining operations?”
Galvan’s smile froze on his face. “Nothing is set in stone.”
“But it will be, won’t it?” Clay asked. “Isn’t that why you’ve been buying property in the northeastern part of the state? Land unsuitable for cattle because of too much rock. But it has the potential for uranium.”
“My investments are a personal matter, not public.”
Jacy captured one of Galvan’s arms and said, “Maybe we should leave, Raul.”
But Clay wasn’t through. “And isn’t that why you�
�re after Jacy here? Because you think through her you can get your hands on the Double JA?”
“Raul, that’s not true, is it?” Jacy looked uncertain.
Galvan’s face had darkened, and he signaled to the man who stood at attention nearby. “Escort this man out of here!”
“Wait a minute!” Siobhan protested. “This is my cousin’s gallery. You can’t kick anyone out!”
“Watch me.”
Clay felt meaty hands hook around his upper arm, and he had to stop himself from fighting back. He would never forget the last time he’d gone off on someone.
“I’ll leave,” he said. “You can have your guard dog let go.”
Galvan hesitated and then nodded to the man. “Walk him to the door.”
“I’ll talk to Aislinn,” Siobhan said as Clay swept her toward the doorway. “She’ll have her own security guards take care of this.”
“No need,” Clay said, reminding her, “we have some errands to run while we’re here in Santa Fe. You have the exact address, right?”
Her eyes widened but she nodded as they reentered the gallery. Galvan’s guard stopped and parked himself in the doorway. Clay kept going until Aislinn found them again.
“How did it go?”
“Pretty much as expected,” Clay said.
“Now we’re off to look for proof,” Siobhan said, glancing back toward the sculpture garden. “Keep him here as long as you can.” She picked up a gallery card and scribbled on the back. “This is Clay’s cell number. Call when he leaves.”
“Siobhan, I don’t like this.”
“That makes two of us. But if Galvan is behind Jeff’s death—”
“What?”
Siobhan gave her cousin a hug that muffled her questions, then she headed for the front door. They were outside when they came face-to-face with Sorcha McKenna, a shorter and more mature version of her daughter.
“Siobhan, you’re leaving already?” Sorcha glanced from Siobhan to Clay. Recognition hardened her expression. “Honey, what are you thinking?”
“No time now, Mom. Gotta run.”
“Wait a minute!”
To Clay’s relief, Siobhan grabbed his hand and dragged him down the street, ignoring her mother calling after them.
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