A Rare Breed (26 page)

For some unexplainable reason, none of them was in good spirits. Jake was unusually quiet. Yolanda and Rudi snapped at each other for the first time in days. Brit felt like a time bomb, ready to explode, on the verge of collapsing in tears.

She had given her all to solving their problem and could think of nothing else left. She, too, was quiet on the journey and couldn't even admire the spectacular views they encountered from the backs of the plodding mules. Nothing could be grander than what they had experienced at the camp and Indian ruins on the canyon floor. Nothing could be more beautiful than the white beach where she and Jake had made love.

None of them expected the confusion and cacophony at the rim when they arrived, least of all, Brit. Tourists, fans, and the generally curious lined the rails. Hundreds of them. They cheered and yelled as the small wretched caravan rode their mules into sight. But the most amazing, and most aggressive, were the aggressive photographers.

Dozens of them flashed cameras and stuck microphones into the riders' faces shouting urgent questions. "What was it like? Were you scared? Did you get hurt? What did you eat?" And then a familiar face stepped, or hobbled, out from the bank of reporters. Their pilot, Frank came forward, and he was on crutches. In spite of the former ill feelings, they all hugged him and listened to his tales of spraining his ankle and practically dragging himself to a clearing and waiting until he was spotted by a touring plane. He was rescued and flown immediately to the rim.

They left the mules and mingled with Yolanda's eager fans and the reporters. Someone led them to a circle of microphones where they were all questioned. "Are you hurt? Do you need to see a doctor? Where have you been? Are you ready to go home?"

Somehow in the melee, Brit and Jake managed to slip away, leaving Yolanda and Rudi surrounded by flashing bulbs and screaming journalists.

"Brit, I will never forget you . . ."

She blinked. They were alone, against a wall, hiding between two buildings. The clamoring world was a thousand miles away. She and Jake were alone in the world, just the two of them. What was he saying? . . . never forget you . . . That wasn't what she wanted to hear. She wanted—"Jake, now is not the time—"

He kissed her roughly, quickly. "We'll stay in touch. This is for luck." He pressed something into her hand and was gone.

She wandered out to the front of El Tovar Hotel and was again surrounded. Police officers, an official of the park service, someone from the company that owned the downed helicopter were all talking at once, then ushering her into a waiting limousine.

Brit leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The seat was unbelievably comfortable. The air conditioner blew cool, refreshing air over her. The radio played low, relaxing music in the far distant background. She was lulled into a half-sleep.

Finally, a voice broke into her conscious. "Brit, are you all right? Do you need anything? A drink?"

Brit opened her eyes. She looked around. She was alone with a strange woman and man who spoke in cool, soothing tones. They were very nice, very concerned about her welfare, and obviously wanted to meet her every need. Airline reps, no doubt. She wanted to assure them that she had no intention of suing, but lacked the energy.

Brit was disappointed beyond belief. Jake was gone. She had expected—hoped—that he would regain his senses at the last minute and go with her. But he had not.

She looked down at her hands. One had been clinched in a sweaty fist since they left. Painfully, she opened her hand. In the grimy palm lay Jake's black bear fetish, a small jet figure with a single turquoise eye. "For luck," he had said.

For months there had been significant pressure for Knife Wing to marry a Hopi girl. It was an arrangement that would be good for both families and both tribes. He had resisted until he was asked by the tribal leaders to consider her. So, he went to the Intertribal Ceremonial at Gallup, New Mexico, to meet her and her family. I was quite upset at the prospect and informed him that if he should marry her, or anyone, that he could forget about me. I would not tolerate the Zuni custom of having more than one wife.

Knife Wing was very stubborn, and declared that he would do what he thought was best. He visited me the day before he left for Gallup and gave me a Zuni bear fetish for good luck. The black bear was made of jet with an inlay of turquoise leading to its heart. So, he went on his way, and I was sick for three days. I kept the fetish under my pillow for luck, and felt there was no luck in it.

But I was wrong. He returned, after eight days, without a Hopi wife
.

Chapter Twelve

Los Angeles was a cultural shock to Brit. The problem was that she had discovered another world, a serene world which held beauty at every turn and allowed the individual time and space. It was a world in which she found a place for herself and felt peace. But there was no peace here. This place was too big, too busy, too noisy, and Jake was gone from it. Brit felt all alone. But she wasn't. Michael was there.

He had called her immediately on hearing of her rescue and driven to Los Angeles from San Diego the very next day. She had been less than happy to see him, and it was obvious that every-thing was wrong between them. Brit wanted to give herself time to be sure, but the more they were together, she knew she had to do something about it. When they had parted in Las Vegas, before she laid eyes on Jake Landry, she realized she didn't love Michael. And now, after Jake, she couldn't love anyone else, not the way she loved him. She had hoped to salvage something of their relationship, perhaps friendship, and wondered if that were possible.

Brit stood at the window of her apartment, staring at her view. Oh, it wasn't a bad apartment. It was rather nice. Comfortable furniture. Heart of the city. Ten minutes from the movie studio. What more could she want?

Jake. Only Jake.

The towering red cliffs, glistening turquoise pool, and crystal waterfall of her imagination melted into her actual view ... a half-acre parking lot rimmed with palm trees. The dark lean figure with black straight hair to his collar and piercing jet eyes of her memory faded to the reality of . . . Michael.

Blond, good-looking with muscular arms from lifting weights, Michael followed her around the room. "So where were you, Brit? Where did you sleep? You actually expect me to believe you were camping outside all this time?" He hooted with laughter. "You? Who has to have her nails perfect and every hair in place?"

"It's true. Slept under a canopy of stars." She grinned with the admission. It did sound preposterous for her, and Michael still didn't believe her, she could tell.

"What were you doing down there every day?"

She shrugged and brushed at her immaculate, sharply-creased jeans. Michael wouldn't believe that she'd worn a man's sloppy clothes and bathed in a stream. "We did nothing much. Relaxed mostly, once we realized that we couldn't get out right away. It was absolutely beautiful and so peaceful, Michael." She sat cross-legged on a flower cushioned window seat and watched two cars rush to beat a yellow light at the intersection. A jet thundered overhead, low, coming in for a landing. The sound vibrated the room for a couple of seconds.

Michael paced before her. He was so accustomed to noises, he hadn't even heard the jet. "How did you live? What did you eat? Nuts and berries?"

Brit smiled tolerantly. "Canned stuff, mostly. We cooked over an open fire and a one-burner stove. Did you know the bottom of the Grand Canyon is a desert?"

"I do now because you've told me enough. How did you manage in that heat? And I can't imagine Yolanda being content to stay there, too."

"Well, Michael, no one was content to stay. We had no alternative. We all went down together. We all came out together. Except Frank, the pilot. He left early to get help, but got lost. And injured his ankle. Finally he was rescued and met us at the rim. He was lucky twice." She laced and unlaced her fingers. God, she was jittery, and she hated this feeling.

"Then, the three of you—no, there were four, right?"

Brit slammed her hand down on the cushion beside her. "Dammit, Michael, is this a quiz?"

"I'm just curious. Don't you know that I was worried sick about you all that time? I thought you were-" He halted and walked across the room to her. "I didn't know how you were or if you were injured, and I was scared. Now, I just want to know exactly what happened, that's all."

"I'm sorry, Michael. I know it must have been bad for you, just waiting to hear something. And not knowing." She felt terrible for him. Of course, he'd been worried. But she just wanted to be left alone now. To figure out what’s next. She wasn't handling his grilling very well. She should just come to the point and tell him how she felt. But the timing was bad.

He came closer. "Actually, honey, you don't look worse for the wear, all things considered." He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his finger and thumb. "Better, in fact. Your hair's lovely, maybe even a little softer."

"It's that clear, pure water I had to wash it in. No chemicals." Inadvertently, she shook her head free of Michael's touch, remembering the time Jake had shampooed her hair. His hands worked magic . . .

"Your skin's always been gorgeous, but now it has a little glow. I guess it's from being free of air pollutants."

"Yep. All that fresh air and sunshine." Brit looked away as he brushed her cheek with his forefinger.

"Well, you definitely are slimmer. More fit."

"It's all that walking and climbing on rocks. But riding those mules out yesterday nearly killed us." She laughed and rubbed her rear. "We were all complaining by the time we reached the top."

"I’ll bet." His finger slid beneath her chin and lifted it slightly. "How about a kiss?"

Brit hesitated just long enough to take in a quick breath. "Sure."

He touched her lips with his. When she gave no response, no further encouragement, he backed away. "Okay, obviously you need to acclimate, get used to everything again ... to me."

She hopped up and walked around the strange room, stuffing her hands into her back pockets, the way Jake used to do. "You know, I probably need a brisk five-mile hike to make me feel better." She laughed nervously. "Yeah, it would help me stretch, loosen up."

Michael stood across the room where she had left him. "You hiked five miles every day? What about Yolanda? Did she walk like that?"

"Well, she and Rudi certainly hiked out of the canyon. And that's more than five miles."

"I can’t imagine her doing any of this."

"Hiking out was her idea," Brit explained. "We probably could have gotten out sooner, but Yolanda refused to fly after the crash. Dreamed of crashing again and simply would not fly out of the canyon."

"So you all stayed with her? Because she wanted you to?"

Brit nodded. Michael wouldn't understand, so she gave up trying to explain. "That's right. We all stayed together."

"Strange. This whole thing is so strange, Brit. And, I must admit, you seem . . . different. Almost like you're sorry to be here."

"I know it's kind of hard to believe. You can't understand what it was like there. I think you just had to be there, Michael. I suppose I do need some time to adjust. Everything has happened so fast."

"Um-hum. I guess." He waited a moment, then asked, "So, who was the man?"

Brit frowned at him. "What?"

"Don't play coy, Brit. It isn't like you at all. You know exactly who I'm talking about. The man who came out with the three of you. The tall one. Dark hair. Had a Native American look."

"Oh, you mean Jake Landry." She tried to say his name casually, tried not to show the deep emotion she felt in merely uttering his name. "He’s the man who saved our lives," she finished succinctly.

"So tell me about him. About the two of you."

She folded her arms. "What do you want to know?" What could she say to Michael about Jake? That he was the smartest, most interesting man she'd ever known? That he was the best lover she had ever had? That he had completely captured her heart, then sent her away?

"What was he doing down there right where you crashed? Quite a coincidence, wasn't it?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly where we crashed. We had to hike to his camp." She paused, remembering. It seemed like eons ago that they'd first followed Jake to his encampment and begun their odyssey.

"Why was he there?"

Brit propped her fists on her hips and took a deep breath. "Look, Michael, I'm sure we've hit twenty questions by now, and I'm tired of it. The man's an archeologist and professor from Northern Arizona University. He was working on a special project to chart and document ancient Indian ruins in the canyon. Did you know that there were people living in that area when Columbus discovered America? We had to wait until Jake finished his project so he could lead us out. Now, enough about him."

Michael eyed her suspiciously, then gave a shrugging motion with his hands out. "Okay, okay. Don't come unglued. I was just making conversation. It’s good to talk about your ordeal."

Brit turned away from him and stared again out the window at her limited view. Yes, she was touchy about Jake. She couldn't talk about him casually, that much was obvious.