Forbidden Spirits
Authors: Patricia Watters
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Western, #Teen & Young Adult, #Westerns
FORBIDDEN SPIRITS
B
OOK 10: DANCING MOON RANCH SERIES
Patricia Watters
DANCING MOON RANCH SERIES
Prequel: Justified Deception
LIVING WITH LIES TRILOGY
Book 1: Righteous Lies
Book 2: Pandora's Box
Book 3: False Pretenses
THE LIES UNCOVERED TRILOGY
Book 4: Uncertain Loyalties
Book 5: Becoming Jesse's Father
Book 6: Bittersweet Return
CUTTING THE TIES TRILOGY
Book 7: Cross Purposes
Book 8:
Dancing With Danger
Book 9:
Bucking the Odds
BOUND BY LOVE TRILOGY
Book 10: Forbidden Spirits
Book 1
1: Imperfect Magic
(late 2014)
Book 12:
Sheer Combustion
(early 2015)
Sequel: Finding Justice
(mid 2015)
DESCRIPTION:
Tyler Hansen has two passions: Roman riding his horses as a rodeo special event and learning the source of the voices in Whispering Springs. All his life he's had a curiosity about the humanlike sounds in the mountain, and he's determined to learn the source. Rose Starbright, a tribal member who works at the living museum on the ranch, also has two passions: weaving baskets, which she sells in galleries, and documenting and preserving sacred sites, Whispering Springs being one of them. As legend goes, when a person sits immersed in the pool and listens to the voices, that person is cleansed of evil spirits. Tyler has his own theory about the voices and it has to do with trapped geysers, not spirits, so when he starts opening fissures Rose warns him to stop, that silencing the voices could have dire consequences. But Tyler doesn't believe in spirits, only science, so he continues his crusade to find the source. And then one day, the mountain is silent. And that's when Tyler's troubles truly begin.
.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or were used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
Copyrigh
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2014 by Patricia Watters
Created by Patricia Watters
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part, or transmitted in any form or by any means by any electronic or mechanical or other means, not known of hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Title of Work: Forbidden Spirits / by Patricia Watters
Domiciled in: United States of America
Nation of 1st Publication: United States of America
Oregon Coast
, North of Cape Meares
Rose Starbright knew she was drifting between sleep and wakefulness, not quite in either reality. The dampness of the fog that had wrapped around her like a blanket during the early hours before daybreak seemed more real than dream, but the relentless ebb and flow of the ocean kept her in a dream state. Shadowy figures move around her, like things reaching out, but below the rise where she lay was an open beach washed with silvery foam from waves advancing and receding in the ethereal light of dawn. In her dream she stood because something caught her attention. It was moving toward her from a distance, but she couldn't make it out because of the fog that enclosed it, only that it was moving fast. Then it began to take form. Horses, several of them running in pairs, silvery-white horses they appeared to be as they came closer.
T
he horses emerged from out of the mist and became clearly visible in the pearly-gray light of dawn. Three pairs of horses in a column galloped through the surf, moving in perfect unison while running in the water where it washed up onto the sand then receded, leaving a glassy surface that reflected the undersides of the horses. But what made Rose know this was a lucid dream, one in which she was aware that she was dreaming even though she was still asleep, was because a man stood on the backs of the pair of horses at the rear, one foot on each, the man's long hair streaming out behind him, like something out of a mythical legend.
The horses turned then, making an elongated figure eight in the surf. The man seemed
perfectly balanced on the horses' backs as the team moved at a breathtaking speed, the dazzling brilliance of the scene bringing Rose back to a time when she had a childlike fascination with magicians, and one had just conjured up a beautiful mythical god, a centaur, half horse, half man, because no mortal man could stand on the backs of horses while they galloped full out through the surf. The power of the horses and their mysterious beauty, with their flowing manes and tails, and the intimacy of the connection between the man and the animals at his command belonged in another world, like something straight from a fairy tale or a heroic epic. Watching the man and horses moving freely was something that a thousand over-used adjectives could not begin to touch because the scene was deep in her core, deep in her dream state.
The horses turned in unison
again, the relentless rhythmic motion of the waves lapping the shore and the silvery-white reflections in the surf making the man and animals appear like a phantom from the sea. They made one last sweeping turn and headed away, disappearing into the billow of low clouds that seemed to swallow them. And then they were gone.
R
ose found herself standing and looking at the vacant seashore. She was tempted to walk down to the beach and see if there were hoof prints in the sand, but she knew it was pointless because it had been a lucid dream, or maybe a hallucination as she emerged from a dream state. She held her hand out in front of her. She was fully awake now because she saw her fingers clearly and felt the morning mist against her skin.
A
nd then it came to her, what her grandmother told her so many years ago, that if she led a pure life her one true love would come to her in a dream. He'd have long flowing hair and would be riding on the backs of white horses. Of course the long hair meant he'd be an Indian, her grandmother's way of solidifying her wish that Rose marry within their culture, and the lucid dream had no doubt been triggered by her grandmother's prognostication. In the end, though, the man did not come to her. He simply disappeared into the fog.
Dancing
Moon Ranch, Sheridan, Oregon
Rock hammer and chisel in his hand, Tyler Hansen headed for Whispering Springs, determined to test his theory while Marc was away. Marc and Kit and little Lizzy were staying with Ryan and Annie at the Kincaid Ranch while Marc did a site study of the petroglyphs in the box canyon near the ranch, and they'd be there for several weeks.
Tyler had
waited intentionally until Marc was gone because Marc guarded Whispering Springs like it was sacred, when in fact it was nothing more than a hot spring pool fed by what he suspected was an underground geyser that cycled at regular intervals, and the
voices
emanating from inside the mountain were the result of hot air seeping through cracks and fissures. The family and ranch guests and tribal members from the nearby reservation credited the voices to spirits and legends and idealistic imaginings, which was fine for its purpose of romanticizing something that was in reality nothing more than a glorified hot tub.
He
'd set out for the hot spring at daybreak when the surroundings were still a colorless gray so no one would be there. Dawn was his favorite time of day and always had been, that and at night when the moon was out. Midday became too congested with people and activity, something he avoided, which wasn't easy to do on a guest ranch that included a winery and a living museum comprised of a plankhouse, several pit houses, and a few other structures representing a village that once stood where the Indian mound rose, something that attracted numerous visitors during the summer months.
As he approached the entrance to the cavern,
Tyler wasn't sure, but it looked as if light was coming from inside, and as he moved closer, he got a whiff of smoke, like cedar or fir burning. He walked beneath the arched rock opening and went far enough into the cavern to see that he was right on both counts.
The light
inside was dim, no more than what came from a wind-up lantern, which sat on the rock floor off to the side of the hot spring pool, but from that glow he made out a tiny vessel with a curved handle and smoke curling from its mouth, and in the pool was a woman. He could tell from the golden light on her bare back, small waist and tapered hips that she was naked. She wouldn't know he was there because her back was to him and the area where he stood was in shadow. Still, not wanting to embarrass her, he backed out of the cavern and moved a short way down the trail so when she would come out, it would appear as if he were just arriving.
It was
some time before the woman emerged from the entrance. She wore jeans and a snug damp T-shirt that clung to her slender figure, and she had a towel tucked in a roll under her arm. In one hand she was holding the incense vessel, and in the other, the lantern. It was light enough now to see that she was Native American, probably from the reservation down the road. She was clearly startled to see him though, and maybe a little alarmed. It was an isolated place for any woman to be approached by an unfamiliar man.
"Relax," he said. "I'm harmless."
She smiled vaguely, but it was a feigned smile because he could tell from the way her eyes moved in an arc around his head that she was sizing up his long hair, which fell halfway down his back and which he usually gathered into a horsetail, but hadn't bothered at this early hour.
T
he woman focused on his face again, and said, "I was just meditating and listening to the voices, but I didn't expect to find anyone at the spring so early. Do you come often at this time?"
"
When I come it's always at dawn so I can avoid people," Tyler replied.
The woman glanced down
at the tools in his hand then looked at him with curiosity. He raised his hand holding the hammer and chisel and answered her unasked question. "I'm doing a little research here."
"Research with a hammer and chisel?" the woman asked.
"Something like that," Tyler replied. "I take it you're from the reservation."
The woman shrugged. "I could say the same of you
from your facial characteristics. You have high cheekbones and a prominent nose, and with your dark eyes and long dark hair, you're obviously Indian."
Tyler
was surprised she was so open with her assessment. Most people studied him in curiosity but said nothing. "There's Nez Perce on my father's side," he replied, "but I'm the only one of us who got the gene."
"There are more of you around here?" the woman asked.
Tyler nodded. "I have five brothers and a sister."
"
Then you're… Marc Hansen's brother?" she asked, looking surprised.
Tyler laughed. "He and I are the oddballs in the family. I started out looking like every other brother except Marc, then over the years broke the Jack Hansen mold and turned Indian."
"Are you okay with that?" the woman asked.
Tyler shrugged. "It makes no difference to me one way or another." He turned
and looked down the trail, and wondering how she got there from the reservation, asked, "Did you walk here from wherever you live, or are you a guest at the ranch?" When he turned back she said nothing, just stared at him in sustained silence, her eyes again moving in an arc around his head, and he knew she was contemplating his hair again.
To partially answer her
unspoken query, he said, "Long hair isn't to reaffirm my Indian blood. I have other reasons. But you didn't answer my question about how you got here, not that you have to. I'm just curious."
She
blinked several times, like she'd just come out of a deep thought, and said, "I'm staying at Marc and Kit's house while they're gone so I can run the living museum. I started working for them last week." She again glanced down at the hammer and chisel in his hand. "What kind of research are you doing with those?" she asked. There were distinct negative undertones.
"Proving a point," Tyler replied. "Everyone around here can do what they want with the information when I'm done."
"I hope you don't plan to use those tools inside the cavern," the woman said, "because the place is a sacred site and can't be tampered with."
"That hasn't been established," Tyler
replied. "The petroglyphs on the wall indicate that it was a place where couples came to increase fertility by soaking up the minerals in the water, but it's never been designated a sacred site. Besides, I don't plan to chop holes in it, only open up a few fissures and see what happens. By the way, I'm Tyler Hansen, and you are…?"
"Rose Starbright," the woman
replied. "Does Marc know what you're about to do?"
Tyler
had hoped to direct the conversation away from his objective because Marc and Kit, and everyone else, would be against it, even though he had no intention of tampering with anything inside the cavern where the images were, only the rock floor in an area that extended back into the mountain, the section where he was fairly certain the sounds emerged. "Marc doesn't want anyone damaging or altering the petroglyphs and I'll respect that," he said.
"Which means he doesn't know what you're about to do," Rose reaffirmed.
Tyler sucked in a long breath to stem his annoyance with this glitch in his plan. "Look, this place belongs to my family so this is between them and me."
Rose eyed him with a
direct gaze that let him know she wasn't backing down, and said, "Actually, I'm involved with a group that's in the process of identifying and preserving sacred places, and Whispering Springs is on our list. If it's established that it is a sacred site you could be prevented from entering it at all, even if it is on your family's property."
Tyler stared at the woman. Dawn had broken and the surroundings had taken on the colors of daylight and i
t bothered him that he was attracted to Rose Starbright, her big brown eyes and fine-bone features framed by dark cascading hair having the effect of revving his heart up some and making him want to reach for her, a reaction he hadn't expected and didn't want.
She was also making a hollow threat
because Marc had designated Whispering Springs a gathering place, not a sacred one, which made it exempt from regulation. But the woman had a very determined look on her face, like a site exempt from regulation was only a temporary condition that could be changed. It didn't matter though. He'd be finished testing his theory long before she could begin a crusade to declare the place sacred, so her threat was irrelevant.
"I tell you what," he said. "I'll tinker around inside
the cave and you can get on with your job at the living museum and we'll both be gainfully occupied for the day."
Saying nothing,
but shooting him a look that pretty much said it all, the woman made her way around him and started down the trail. But partway down, she stopped and turned. She held a puzzled expression on her face, and her lips were parted as if prepared to speak, stirring his curiosity as to what she was about to say.
***
Rose hadn't planned to stop and look back but couldn't help it. She'd gone to the spring specifically to try and get some answers as to why the dream at the beach had come to her when it had. She'd even brought along a pot of cedar bark to burn. The day before, she'd asked her grandmother about incenses to use when meditating, and her grandmother gave her a little packet of cedar, claiming that the smoke from cedar, when burned as part of a ritual, carried prayers to the Great Spirit. But her grandmother also warned that cedar was associated with sexuality and love and to guard against impure thoughts that could become associated with the wrong man.
And t
hen she walked out of the cavern to find a long-haired man, like the one in her dream, standing just down the trail, looking at her as if he'd been expecting her. Even now, the way he was standing with a breeze blowing his hair brought back the image of the man on the white horses, just as the incense had done not more than twenty minutes before, when the dream in its clarity replayed in her mind.
She
was familiar with lucid dreaming because her grandmother had practiced it all her life and relied on it for her vision quests, considering such dreams to be the foundation of all spiritual matters. But the morning on the beach was the first time Rose had experienced one herself, though afterward she decided it had been a hallucination brought on by a combination of coming out of a deep sleep and the hypnotic effect of the ocean below the rise where she'd slept out that particular night.
And yet, here stood a long-haired man about the same proportions as the one in her dream,
and he arrived at the spring shortly after she'd heard the voices in the mountain and quieted her mind for answers, and she couldn't help but puzzle at the coincidence. But she did know, without question, that Tyler Hansen was
not
her one true love, nor was he aligned with Marc when it came to the living museum and appreciating the ways of different ethnicities. Marc was dedicated to preserving cultures and passing on the information, but with Tyler, she sensed that he possessed a spiritual void, which both baffled and disturbed her.
How could he not feel something
deeply spiritual when sitting in the pool? She felt such strong vibes with something beyond her grasp that she didn't question a higher power with which she connected and communicated, whether a person chose to call it God or the Great Spirit...
"You stopped for a reason?" Tyler asked.
Her mind still focused on the magic of the spring, Rose replied, somewhat distractedly, "Do you ever sit in the pool?"
He looked at her curiously, like her question caught him off guard, then he shrugged and replied, "Sure.
It's a great place to be alone and connect with your subconscious and unclutter your mind."
"It's the voices," Rose said. "Without them you'd feel no
connection. It would be like taking a bath, nothing more, but when the voices come, things happen."
Tyler laughed in a way that irritated Rose because
it was the laugh of a skeptic. "Being immersed in warn water while surrounded by semi darkness gives your mind a chance to focus on issues that matter to you," he said, "and what comes to you comes through the working of your logical mind, not from some fantasy beings inside the mountain."
"Then you don't believe in any kind of spirits, or angels
, or even a higher being who directs the things we earthlings do?" Rose asked.
"I believe
in facts when they're presented in a logical, reasonable way," Tyler replied.
"And you think you have the answer to the
voices in the mountain," Rose said.
Tyler shrugged.
"I have several theories, none of which include spirits or angels."
Rose folded her arms
. "Go ahead then. I'm curious as to what your theories are."
Tyler smiled in what Rose construed as amusement, which had the odd effect of sending a little ripple of awareness through her, awareness that she could be attracted to this man who looked, from her lowered viewpoint, like an Indian from out of a Hollywood movie
—tall and muscular and unusually good-looking.
His
eyes sharpened, like he'd just picked up on her musings, which bothered her and made her determined to suppress such thoughts. "Well?" she asked. "You claim you have theories so go ahead, convince me."
