has a purpose in the lives of those who hold it, and equally strongly that I must convey the purpose to you. I would be pleased to think you and Emma worked together to discover its significance. May your effort bring you what you most desire.
Until we meet again, I remain your friend,
Aubrey Garrett
Without a word, Jimmy passed the note across the desk to Emma. She read silently, then sat for a minute with her fingertips against the letters, as if she could connect with the writer. Her lips trembled slightly, and her blue eyes were bright with tears.
His own throat tightened. “I know you miss him.”
“Oh, yes.” She pressed her lips together. “That’s why I felt compelled to deliver the gift as he asked.”
“Did you know about—” he pointed to the medallion “—this?”
Emma shook her head. “Dad didn’t mention it to me. I was studying in France during his last trip to the reservation, about six years ago. And I never noticed it when I visited. His house was always such a jumble of books and papers and artifacts…” She took a deep breath. “It’s taken me this long to get the place orderly enough to sell.”
Jimmy refolded the note and put it back in the top of the box, which he closed and latched. Then he covered Emma’s hand with his own. “I’m grateful your dad thought about me. And I’m really glad for the chance to see you again. Can we spend some time together? How long will you be in Denver?”
“I…don’t have any definite plans for the next few weeks. I’d be glad to stay for a bit and help you with the research.”
A warning bell sounded in his brain, just as a knock shook the door. “Food, boss.”
He welcomed the interruption. “Come in.”
Darren set a paper plate on the small table beside Emma’s drink. “Hope you’re not vegetarian. It’s ham and cheese.”
Her smile was a gift. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
Backing out into the hall, Darren looked a little star-struck, the way he did when he met one of the jazz players he idolized. “Any time.” He left the room without a single smart remark.
Emma returned to the recliner and picked up half of the sandwich. “I don’t have to be back in England until just before the Michaelmas term starts. October,” she explained at his puzzled look. “And this is August. We should be able to check out a number of reliable sources and references in that length of time.” She bit into the sandwich and began to chew. Hard.
Jimmy took hold of his drink, then leaned back in his chair. “That’s not how I define seeing each other. We’ve got twenty years to catch up on. We’ll need quite a few dinners together, lunches, maybe a trip into the mountains…”
After a silent minute Emma put down her sandwich. “You do intend to discover the history of the medallion, don’t you?”
He shrugged, trying for detachment. Staying cool had always been hard with Emma around. “I don’t need to know any more than that it came from your dad.”
Despite his attempt to be gentle, her eyes flashed with indignation. “But he wanted us to find out the rest!”
“He was dying, Emma, and probably in a good deal of pain. Did you never think he might not have been…rational?”
“He was completely rational until the very end.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Certainly he was sound of mind when he wrote that letter.”
She’d backed him up against the wall, with words if not in fact. But Jimmy fought on. “If it didn’t matter enough for him to have done something in six years, why does it matter now?”
“What reason could there possibly be to avoid learning everything we can?” On her feet again, she came to the desk and leaned forward, her graceful, long-fingered hands pressed flat against the oak-paneled top.
“Because—” Jimmy took a couple of seconds to get his voice and his feelings under control “—researching that piece won’t involve just reading books and museum catalogs.”
“I’ve been involved in historic research professionally for fifteen years. I know what kind of investigating is required. We’ll need to talk to people, perhaps visit the reservation.”
“Exactly.” He pulled in a deep breath. “And I’m not going back. Ever.”
Of all the reactions Emma had anticipated from Jimmy Falcon, this was not one. She stared at him in confusion, until the words began to make sense in her brain. “You won’t go back to the reservation?”
“No.” He sipped his drink, avoiding her eyes.
“When were you there last?”
Under the rich golden tone of his skin, his cheeks flushed a dull red. “The day after high-school graduation.”
She needed another moment to fully understand. “You haven’t seen your family since then?”
“There wasn’t all that much family to begin with. My aunt died just a couple of years later and my cousins left the rez for I don’t know where.”
The flaw in his argument was obvious. “If no one is there that you know, then where’s the threat in going back?”
“I didn’t say there was a threat.” Now he looked directly into her face. His gaze, so warm and welcoming only a few minutes before, had cooled. “I said I won’t go back. I don’t want to go back. I left that part of my life behind when I left the rez, and that’s where I want it to stay.”
She straightened and surveyed the man across the desk. From his well-cut black hair to his gray shirt and midnight-blue tie, he was the picture of success. There seemed to be nothing left of the wild Indian youth she’d known. The picture she’d retained in her mind all these years showed him balanced barefoot on the edge of a cliff, his hair long and straight and gleaming black under the midday sun, his brown chest bare and his muscular arms widespread like the wings of a hawk. Newly emerged into manhood, his energy and courage and mystery had enthralled her completely. They’d had one summer together, the kind of romantic interlude every teenage girl dreams of.
But that summer belonged to the past, and perhaps the Jimmy Falcon she’d loved did, too. After all, twenty years apart would make strangers out of anyone. This Jimmy certainly seemed like someone she didn’t know.
And Emma was suddenly too tired to push the issue further. However they spent their time together, she might find a way to change his mind about the medallion. Or perhaps she would pursue the research by herself. If that was all she could do for her dad now, then she would.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” she told Jimmy. “Let me call a cab to take me to the hotel and you can get back to work.”
He locked the box and medallion in a desk drawer, then got to his feet with a kind of controlled jerk. “I’ll drive you.”
Their trip to his office through the crowd in the club had been erratic and distracting. She hadn’t noticed his gait then, but
