Storming Whitehorn

by Christine Scott

  “Years of experience,” Jasmine said with a self-deprecating smile. Then she explained. “I grew up with a mother who places a lot of stock in the power of the spiritual here after. Communicating with restless souls from the past is an everyday occurrence in my house hold.”

  “Your mother communicates with the dead?” Storm frowned, not sure whether to believe her.

  “Seances, meditation…you name it, she does it.”

  “I see.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. I know it sounds crazy,” she said, her tone defensive. “But I’ve witnessed too many things to know that not everything my mother believes in can be attributed to what people call ‘a high-strung woman’s over active imagination.’”

  “I never said I didn’t believe you,” he said, meeting her fiery gaze. “Respecting your mother’s faith in the spiritual world isn’t crazy. It only proves that you’re wise for someone so young.”

  “Here we go again with my age.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You know, it’s funny, but my mother used to tell me that I was old beyond my years. She called me an ‘old soul’ and insisted that a part of me lived before in another life.”

  Storm didn’t laugh at her mother’s home grown explanation. Instead he said, “The Cheyenne hold similar beliefs and explanations for the unknown. Your mother has good instincts despite…” He stopped, letting the words drift.

  “Despite the way she’s behaved since you’ve arrived in town?” Jasmine finished for him. Sighing, she said, “Believe it or not, my mother is one of the most open-minded people I’ve ever known. Her reaction to you has been unusual. Never before has she allowed the color of a man’s skin or his family heritage to influence her judgment of him.”

  “I believe you, Jasmine,” he said, surprising himself that he really meant the soothing words. “This investigation into my brother’s death has been difficult for all of us. I know it’s placed a strain on your mother. I, of all people, should know what stress can do to a person.”

  She looked at him, her gaze questioning.

  Knowing he’d said too much, but unable to stop, he purged himself of memories that had been bottled up inside him for too many years. “When I left Laughing Horse I was only thirteen years old.”

  “You were just a boy.”

  Storm shook his head. “I hadn’t been a boy for many years. I was old enough to fend for myself. For a long time, I wandered until I found a place in New Mexico to settle. I worked during the day on a ranch. At night, I studied to earn my high school degree. From there, I went on to Albuquerque and attended college, then law school.”

  “You’ve accomplished a lot in your lifetime,” she said, her voice tentative.

  “If you mean by accumulating material wealth, yes, I have. Over the years I’ve worked hard to succeed in the white man’s world.” He looked out at the beautiful landscape of the Laughing Horse Reservation. “But in the eyes of the Cheyenne, material items aren’t what’s important. The richest man on the reservation is the man who gives of himself to everyone else. Despite the pro bono work and the civil liberty cases that I’ve taken on to defend my people, I’ve traveled among the white man for so long, I’ve forgotten my own roots. The years have made my heart hard.”

  “I’m sorry, Storm. I had no idea—”

  “I’m not looking for sympathy, Jasmine,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “I only meant to tell you that I understand how your mother must feel. That I know of the burden of responsibility that we place upon ourselves.”

  Emotion shimmered in her eyes. Jasmine looked as though she wanted to say something more to ease his turmoil. But she hesitated, looking uncertain. Instead she let the silence lengthen between them and focused her attention on the rugged road.

  Soon a homestead came into view. The paint on the white clap board house was peeling. Chickens roamed the grounds, scratching in the dirt. To one side of the yard, a car was raised on cement blocks, its wheels missing.

  Storm replaced his sun glasses and he pressed his lips into a grim line as he fought to control the anxiety mounting inside him. They passed more houses, each in various states of disrepair. As they neared the heart of the reservation, Storm held himself stiffly in his seat. Unable to help himself, he searched the streets for a familiar landmark.

  Then suddenly it was there.

  “Stop,” he said, startling Jasmine. He pointed to a small, ram shackle house. “Pull over there.”

  Braking, Jasmine did as he’d asked. She slid the Jeep to a stop at the side of the road, parking next to a thick tangle of weeds and over grown grass. Turning off the engine, she swiveled around to face him, watching him as he stared at the house.

  It looked abandoned, in even worse shape than the others they’d passed. Rusting junk filled the untended yard. The small shack leaned unsteadily on its foundation. The paint was completely worn from its clap board siding. The collapsed remains of a front porch lay on the ground, as though no one had bothered to pick it up from where it had fallen. Sadly, the neglected house looked beyond repair.

  Sliding his sun glasses from the bridge of his nose, Storm studied the abandoned house, his eyes stinging with unwanted emotion. He slung himself out of the Jeep. Unmindful of the brambly weeds that snagged his jeans, he took a step toward the house. Then stopped. Standing frozen in the yard, he stared in silence.

  Climbing down from the Jeep, swishing her way through the tall weeds, Jasmine joined him. She stood quietly beside him, waiting for him to speak.

  “This was my parents’ house,” he said, finally finding his voice, though the words sounded flat, hollow of emotion. “This is where I spent the first thirteen years of my life.”

  Jasmine didn’t say a word. Not pushing him, she let him decide how much to reveal.

  “My parents were alcoholics,” he said, unable to stop the words, needing to share his past with her. “For as long as I remember, my father went from one job to another, never finding anything that would satisfy him. My mother grew tired of complaining. She gave up on changing his ways. Instead of trying to improve their lives, they both turned to alcohol to escape their fate.”

  He swallowed hard as the bitter taste of self-pity rose in his throat. “My brother, Raven, was older than me. He was more of a father to me than my own father ever was. As long as Raven was here, life was bearable. But when he left…” He shook his head, closing his eyes against the painful memory. “I couldn’t stand to live here any longer. When Raven left, I ran away, and I didn’t look back.”

  Her voice gentle, she asked, “You never heard from your parents?”

  Opening his eyes, he forced himself to look at the house that still haunted his dreams. His throat tightening, he said, “No, no one ever tried to find me. If they even noticed that I was gone, they were probably relieved that I’d left. It was one less mouth for them to feed.”

  “Oh, Storm,” she murmured, her voice catching with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

  Giving a mirthless laugh, he said, “So am I.”

  Until that moment Jasmine had kept her distance, letting him spill out all of his anger and bitterness. Now she did the one thing he needed the most—she reached out and took him into her arms. With her warm, reassuring body pressed against his, she held him close until the tremors shaking his body were stilled.

  Chapter Eight

  The bond between them was growing stronger.

  In front of the deserted home of his youth, Jasmine held Storm in her arms, not afraid to give him the comfort she instinctively knew he needed. He clung to her, his large hands gripping her waist, holding her tight. His strong body trembled, over whelmed by emotions to which only he was privy. With a sigh, he pressed his smooth cheek against hers. Their bodies melded and she felt his heart pounding in his chest, matching her own erratic pulse beat for beat. Their stolen moment of closeness brought a quivering of awareness deep in the pit of her belly.

  She wasn’t sure how long they stood that way, entwined in ea
ch other’s arms. Time seemed to have stopped. It had no meaning, no consequences. All that mattered was holding him, touching him, easing his pain.

  His chest rose and fell as he took in a deep breath. Still holding her close, he lifted his head, just far enough to look at her. With her face inches from his, their lips almost touching, the air crackled between them with a sensual spark of awareness. Heat flushed her skin. Her breath caught in her throat. In his dark eyes, she saw the reflection of her own desire.

  Slowly, Storm lowered his head, closing the distance between them. He came closer…and closer…until the shadow of a large, dark bird passed overhead, blocking the sun. Swooping low, it landed in a nearby tree, disturbing a squirrel from its branch. The rodent’s chattering protest echoed across the yard, spoiling the quiet hush that had surrounded them.

  Distracted, Storm glanced up at the tree and frowned.

  Jasmine felt a twinge of disappointment at the interruption. Her lips longed for his touch. Her body throbbed with a need only Storm could fulfill. She had never felt this way before, this restless ache deep inside her. It seemed incomprehensible that the world around her had remained unchanged while her life had been turned upside down. In her heart she knew nothing would ever be the same.

  But it was more than just lust. Whether Storm wanted to admit it or not, they were connecting on a level that went beyond a mere physical attraction. Though they’d met each other only a short time ago, it seemed as though she’d known him all her life. She shivered, struck once again by a feeling of déjà vu. The ease they felt when they were together, the undeniable attraction that raged just below the surface, it was as though they’d been lovers once before.

  That they were meant to be together again.

  Curling her fingers into the thick strands of hair at the back of his neck, she forced his attention back to her. Her resolve melted beneath the sudden intensity of his troubled gaze. Gathering her strength, she said, “Storm, I—”

  Before she could put into words what she felt in her heart, a truck slowly drove past, its driver staring at them. Jasmine recognized the driver. He was the reservation’s new tribal chief, Jackson Hawk.

  She wasn’t the only one to notice the unexpected attention.

  Storm’s muscles tensing, he looked across the yard to meet the other man’s curious gaze.

  Though it was obvious the two men knew each other, instead of stopping, Jackson Hawk continued down the gravel road. Storm’s reaction was quick and brutal. He pushed himself from her embrace. With a look of chagrin, he put an unforgivable distance between them.

  Jasmine felt a chill that had nothing to do with the warm weather. The coldness came from within, from the icy fear that had enveloped her heart.

  “It’s getting late,” Storm said, his voice as distant as the look now in his eyes. “If we’re going to the Kincaid ranch to visit Garrett, we’d better get moving.”

  Numbly, Jasmine nodded. Her vision blurred with unwanted tears as she waded through the tall weeds. Blinking hard, she refused to let her own disappointment show. She would not allow Storm to see just how much she’d been hurt by his rejection. Obviously she’d been wrong. She’d read more into the embrace than Storm had meant.

  The heavier sound of his foot steps followed her to the Jeep. Jasmine’s heart thumped so hard against her chest, she thought it might break in two. Never before had she felt such pain.

  Over and over again in her mind’s eye, she saw the stony expression cross Storm’s face when Jackson Hawk had driven by, the quickness with which he’d pushed her away. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Storm was embarrassed at being caught in an intimate embrace with her because she wasn’t a Native American, if in his own way, he held a prejudice against the color of her skin.

  Unsettled by the thought, Jasmine climbed into the Jeep and waited for him to join her. She refused to look at him, keeping her gaze focused on her trembling hands that she held fisted in her lap.

  Storm approached. He hesitated, standing with one hand braced against the rollover bar, watching her. With a prickling of awareness, she felt the heavy measure of his gaze. He didn’t move, or speak, until she raised her eyes to look at him. “Jasmine, I…” He stopped, averted his gaze and swore softly beneath his breath. Then facing her once again, he said, “I just wanted to thank you. Coming here today…it wasn’t easy for me. I appreciate not having to be alone.”

  She nodded, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. The icy lock thawed from around her heart. He’d neither apologized nor explained his behavior. But his gratitude was a step in the right direction. For now it would have to do.

  “You’re welcome, Storm,” she said, hiding her relief behind a crisp, business-like tone. “Now, I’d like to get to the Kincaid ranch before it gets too late.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a half grin, softening the hard angles of his face. With a mock salute, he climbed aboard, settling his tall frame into the seat next to hers.

  Jasmine turned the ignition and revved the motor to life. Pulling away from the grassy roadside, she drove from the house that held so many bitter-sweet memories for Storm, thankful to be leaving it behind.

  The rest of their journey through the Laughing Horse Reservation was accomplished in uneasy silence. Though they received a handful of stares from curious passersby, no one stopped to wave or to make them feel welcome. Glad to escape the unwanted scrutiny, Jasmine turned onto the main road and headed for the Kincaid ranch.

  The sun lit the grounds of the ranch house. A cool breeze swept the manicured yard of the stately surroundings. But there wasn’t a single soul in sight. Jasmine wondered if they should have called before stopping by. She hoped they hadn’t wasted their time, making the long trip.

  Parking in front of the house, Jasmine smoothed a hand through her wind-tousled hair and stepped out of the Jeep. She waited for Storm to join her on the front steps. Standing in front of the house, she felt goose bumps race across her skin as an omen of dread traveled through her.

  If she was this nervous at the thought of entering the ranch house, she wondered what Storm must be feeling. After all, this was the house where Storm’s brother, Raven, and her aunt, Blanche, had met and had fallen in love. Tragically, it was also the last place Raven had been seen alive.

  Despite the dark history the house held for both of their families, Storm seemed amazingly at ease. He walked with confidence, his head held high and his wide shoulders straight. It was as though he were trying to prove a point to anyone who might be watching. That no one would take away his pride.

  Giving Storm a quick smile of encouragement, Jasmine rang the doorbell.

  Garrett Kincaid answered the door himself, much to her surprise. Tall and rawboned, in his early seventies, Garrett had a thick head of silvery hair. Standing in the doorway of the sprawling ranch house, his resemblance to Jeremiah Kincaid was uncanny. It was as though the family photos of Jeremiah had come to life. So taken aback by this unexpected image of her late uncle, Jasmine found herself speechless.

  The similarity ended when, instead of receiving her uncle’s usual scowl, Garrett smiled in greeting. Jeremiah would never have been quite so civil to an unexpected guest. “Jasmine, this is a surprise. And you’ve brought a visitor. Please come in, both of you.”

  Stepping back, he let them enter the large foyer.

  The spacious rooms were cool and dark. The furnishings in the house looked well-worn and dated, but still comfortable.

  Remembering her manners, Jasmine turned to Garrett, making the proper introductions. “Garrett, I’d like you to meet Storm Hunter. Storm, Garrett Kincaid.”

  The two men shook hands. Of similar height and build, they stood eye-to-eye, sizing each other up. Unlike her mother, or the towns people of Whitehorn, Garrett didn’t question her being in Storm’s company. His instant acceptance shouldn’t have surprised her, since he shared Storm’s heritage. Cheyenne blood also ran through Garrett’s veins.

&nb
sp; “Hunter?” Garrett frowned, his gaze thoughtful. “The name sounds familiar. You wouldn’t be related to—”

  “Raven Hunter,” Storm finished for him. “He was my brother.”

  Garrett nodded, the news bringing a flicker of concern to his eyes. “I see.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Jasmine said, hurrying to explain. “The investigation into Raven’s death is going nowhere. We’re trying to find any new information that might help us figure out what happened on the night he died.”

  Garrett lifted one silvery brow. “I’ve already talked to the police when they came to check Jeremiah’s old gun collection. I’m not sure what else I can add.”

  “This ranch, it’s where—” Storm stopped, looking frustrated.

  “It’s where Raven was last seen alive,” Jasmine finished for him. “And the construction site for the casino and resort, it’s where Raven’s remains were found. We know your connection to Raven’s death is second hand, but there’s still a connection.”

  “I guess I see your point.” Garrett sighed. “Well, let’s not stand here in the foyer. Let’s go to the study, where it’s more comfortable, and talk about this.”

  The study was large and roomy, the furniture masculine. Book cases and faded wallpaper lined the walls. The deep hues of an Oriental rug covered the polished wooden floor. A large desk stood in the center of the room, with a worn leather chair behind it, and a pair of matching wing chairs in front. Garrett stepped behind the desk, taking his place in the leather swivel chair. Jasmine and Storm claimed the wing chairs for themselves.

  “Now,” Garrett said, the leather creaking as he turned his chair toward them, “how can I help you?”

  Jasmine glanced at Storm, looking to him for guidance. Instead of meeting her gaze, he gripped the arms of his chair and stared straight ahead. Since Garrett was her relative, she assumed that he wanted her to do the questioning. Turning to Garrett, she said, “We just came from the construction site for the casino and resort, the place where Raven’s remains were found.”