Love's Dream Song (2 page)

“I’ll be there. I want to make sure the reporters get in and out okay. They aren’t used to roughing it like you are.”

“We have everything prepared for them.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Autumn inwardly flinched at the sarcastic tone.

Real Tall Man nodded. “I’ll be down after I talk to Autumn.”

Her glance swung toward her grandfather. Had he come to tell her he finally believed he was her kin? Not likely, but she could hope.

Jess’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Arlo is unloading the supplies. I’ll see if he needs a hand.”

The news that her uncle was here crushed her hope. Arlo would see that Real Tall Man didn’t make any overtures of welcome.

Real Tall Man said something to Jess in Navajo. She forced her glance to remain on her grandfather. She didn’t want to see the coldness in Jess’s silver eyes—eyes that once had danced with laughter. She didn’t want to see the half smile that creased one cheek. Nor could she bear the sight of his body, which had held her close.

Why, Jess?
What had happened? Had Arlo Ross managed to convince the rancher that she was evil?

Her glance lowered to the fists in her lap. Evidently, a simple explanation was too much to ask of the rugged men of this dry and desolate country.

Jess noticed the clenched fists with a small measure of satisfaction. At least he wasn’t the only one who suffered when they met. He kicked the sides of his horse and headed down the path that led to Coyote Springs in the canyon below.

He braced himself against the gravity of the horse’s steep descent and shook his head at the absurdity of Autumn’s claim to be Indian. True, the
máii deeshghizhnii
were a noble clan and Real Tall Man was a famous
hataali
, respected among the Anglos, as well. If a person had to claim Indian blood, Real Tall Man’s clan would be an honored family to tie into. But for the twenty-eight-year-old woman to insist she was a relative didn’t wash—not with Jess.

Many who left the reservation never came back. If they did, they often rejected their Native American heritage. That’s what he’d done. Images formed of his return from his stint in the army. Seeing his father drink himself to death had been Jess’s final disillusionment.

There were plenty of reasons to reject the way of
Dineh
, The People, which made it more unbelievable for a stranger to arrive on the scene and start pretending to be Indian.

Autumn played the part well, like women he’d met in Phoenix, who used their trace of Indian blood to appear exotic. The difference was, those women wore feathers and turquoise, but stayed in plush apartments. Autumn had the mystique, yet she dug around in the dirt.

The stallion stumbled and Jess pulled on the reins, his attention momentarily trained on the task at hand. Rocks slipped over the edge, each one loosening the shale on its way, until a small landslide tumbled to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below. He tightened his knees against the horse and nudged him toward the wall side of the narrow trail. When the horse regained his balance, Jess’s thoughts returned to Autumn.

The woman was clever, he’d give her that. He’d gathered evidence that possibly connected her to the growing cocaine market suspected of coming from the nearby reservation. The ring had begun operations one month after her arrival. Her family, which owned and ran one of the largest import-export companies in the country, had connections throughout the world. Whenever she turned up on the reservation, drug activity increased. She had to be involved.

He tilted his hat forward and then straightened. Maybe the old professor’s discovery was a boon after all. With all the hoopla on his property, Jess would have to stay on hand. He’d be able to watch Autumn without creating undue suspicion.

The stallion took a final leap and landed on the bottom of the canyon floor. Jess eased his mount across the sandy wash and headed toward the springs. Just as he rounded the bend he glanced up, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Autumn and Real Tall Man. The rim of the canyon stood silhouetted against the blue sky. Jagged spires of red rock lined the steep walls. There was no sign of Autumn, but a movement caught his attention.

The eagle.

In spite of the heat, a chill traced down his spine. Jess shook it off as he watched the majestic bird. It was coincidence—the flight of the eagle at that moment in time—but Daya would not think so. She would tell him that it was a sign—the time of her prophecy had come.

Jess muttered under his breath as he spurred his horse into a gallop. Daya always told tales—myths, legends. They’d been no more than that. Even though he’d loved his grandmother, he’d never believed her prophecy.

As the thought formed, so did the image of Autumn’s hair flowing past her waist.
“You’ll meet her at Coyote Springs—the woman of your dreams, my son.”
Daya’s words echoed in his memories.
“She’ll have long, straight hair and eyes like Apache tears. But beware. There will be many people. Some of them won’t be who they seem.”
Jess shook his head clear. If any of Daya’s prophecy was true, it was the part about people not being what they seemed.

Cottonwood trees loomed ahead as he rounded another bend in the wash. Coyote Springs sat amid the trees, clear water gurgling from the red rock and collecting in large pools of fresh water. Jess headed for the desert oasis, but not before he caught another glimpse of the eagle. He pulled in the reins and paused at the edge of the greenery, watching its flight.

Ridiculous
. Here he was, a man with a master’s degree in range management, and he was sitting on his horse considering Daya’s stories.

The fact that he’d first met Autumn O’Neill at Coyote Springs held no significance to Daya’s prediction. He no longer believed in the ways of the
Dineh
. Daya’s claim that Jess would meet the woman of his heart at Coyote Springs was just a wild and superstitious tale, designed to entertain a small boy.

The eagle swooped into the canyon, caught an air current, and soared upward. Jess waited until the bird disappeared from sight and then nudged his horse toward the spring and Dr. Davidson’s camp.

* * *

Autumn watched the eagle circle overhead. Suddenly it swooped toward her and then rose to soar above the red rock canyon on a current of dry air. Its shriek carried across the desert terrain.

“You see? Even our brother,
astá
the eagle, agrees with me.”

Autumn shifted her gaze from the eagle to Real Tall Man. He sat cross-legged on the sandstone, proud and regal. Streaks of silver in his long hair matched the silver belts he wore over the blue tunic shirt. He was the only member of the clan who treated her kindly. Perhaps his position of leadership would influence the others. Someday, with patience and persistence, she’d know what happened to Dora Ross and the clan would recognize her as kin.

As always, she looked for the visual clues that showed she was related to the man. There were few. Autumn had her grandfather’s height, but his flattened cheekbones and broad features were in contrast to the Celtic characteristics she must have inherited from her father. The only signs of her Navajo ancestry were the exotic tilt to her dark eyes and the thick strands of black hair.

Real Tall Man waved his arm toward the base of the cliff below. “You must not bring these scientists and archaeologists to the home of the ancient ones.”

“The Anasazi tablets Dr. Davidson discovered are what we’re interested in. The ruins here are just a few dwellings.”

“They house a secret—a dangerous secret.” Real Tall Man leaned forward to emphasize his point. “They are filled with bad
chindi
.”

Autumn shifted with impatience. She tried to understand the way of The People, but sometimes the beliefs seemed so illogical. “Are you sure?”

The old man took a deep breath. Worry lines edged the corners of the weathered skin around his dark eyes—eyes she knew better than to look into. “You must tell the doctor.”

Her shoulders slumped in dismay. Just what she needed—opposition from her grandfather. She had no control over the proceedings of the dig, yet he expected her to put a stop to it. His demand would only put another rift in their precarious relationship.

She started to protest, but before she could, he held up his gnarled fingers of his hand in a gesture for her to be silent.

“Last night I dreamed.
Chindi
live in the ruins—one who will destroy. The eagle came, but it was too late. The evil one disappeared in the earth in a pile of stone.”

In spite of the early morning sun, already hot on the back of her camp shirt, Autumn shivered. Hasteen Nez’s serious expression belied any doubts. Her instincts told her to listen. She had only met her grandfather and her Navajo relatives a few short months ago. She didn’t yet understand all their ways, but she knew about vision quests and the importance of dreams to The People.

Real Tall Man spoke again. “You must tell the others to go home—before it is too late.”

“You know I can’t do that.” She could just imagine what Dr. Davidson would say if she asked him to cancel the press conference on the basis of an old man’s dream—not to mention the uproar from the crowd in the canyon below. “Dr. Davidson has worked long years on this research for the university. It’s his moment for acclaim.”

“What about our people—
your
people?”

Autumn’s heart constricted. “Are they
my
people? I was not born to the
máii deeshghizhnii.
My mother—”

Real Tall Man interrupted. “Your mother was born
of
it. She was my daughter.”

“You believe that I’m Dora Ross’s daughter?” Hope soared, but was soon flattened when she saw his closed expression.

Autumn let the pain of the old hurt come and go. Now was not the time to think of how her mother had denounced her Navajo blood and left the reservation.

“But if you are with these people who dig through the ruins, you will anger the clan. It may make the path of acceptance more difficult to travel.”

“This is a major discovery. It will change our perception of southwestern history.”

“They should not disturb the ancient ones.”

“They’re scientists. They only want to study the evidence and record the history of the Anasazi. Surely there is no harm in that.” If only she could make him understand.

Real Tall Man stood and gestured for Autumn to rise with him. “I can see you have a stubborn streak.”

“It’s not stubbornness, but dedication to my work.”

Hasteen Nez’s expression let her know he thought otherwise. Autumn sighed. She wasn’t the only stubborn one.

“I want to give you this.” He pulled a silver chain from around his neck and let it dangle from his fingers. A nugget of uncut turquoise swung at its end. “Wear this at all times. It will protect you from the evil in the canyon.”

Autumn started to protest, but Real Tall Man stilled her words as he draped the chain over her head. Gently, he lifted the long strands of her hair from under the silver and let them settle around the nugget.

His warmth touched her skin, while the aged woodsy scent she associated with him surrounded her. It was the closest she’d ever been to the old
hataali.

“Grandfather,” she whispered. For how many months had she wanted him to show her some sign of affection? It seemed like forever.

As if the longing in her voice had warned him, Real Tall Man stepped back. The sadness and pain in his expression mirrored her own. It wasn’t to be—not yet.

“I have called on the spirits to be with you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. The gift of protection was the closest he’d come to saying he cared. He would never have given it to her otherwise. The cultural gap had narrowed another inch.

“Jess Barron is a good man. If you have trouble, go to him.”

Autumn couldn’t mask her surprise. She trusted Real Tall Man’s uncanny instincts about people, but the owner of the Eagle Heights Ranch had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Surely, the old man had sensed the curt hostility between them.

“I doubt he’d want to help me. Besides, I won’t need it. There are close to fifty people down there.”

Real Tall Man smoothed his fingers around the silver band on his wrist. “I saw him in my dream.” A strange note sounded in the old man’s voice. “Trust him.”

Rather than argue, Autumn lowered her gaze and nodded her head.

“Do not trust Riker. He is like the skunk who tricked the coyote.” Real Tall Man’s expression lightened for a moment, but turned serious again.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been around enough to know about men like him. I’ll be careful.”

Frank Riker would be a royal pain, but Autumn was prepared for that. The Bureau of Land Management ranger had already caused her enough problems. He took advantage of every opportunity to put the make on her. She wasn’t immune to male attention, and she enjoyed flattery, but Frank was rude. Many of the incidents had been unpleasant, and Real Tall Man surely sensed the friction between them.