seeing his chance, ducked out through the wooden rails of the corral. Once outside and in the clear, he waited for Gene to join him.
“If you say one word about patience, I’m going to deck you,” Paul growled.
“Something set him off like that. You gonna tell me what really happened?”
Paul gave him a slow, sheepish grin. “My cell phone went off with that new Native American tribal drum ring tone.”
“That’s going to cost you big-time, bro,” Gene said, shaking his head. “He won’t forget it. You lost ground today.”
“Yeah, I know.” Paul expelled his breath through his teeth. “Grit’s worse than ever, at least with me. These days he won’t even let me get close.”
“I think, in his own way, he misses Hosteen Silver. If it makes you feel any better, when he first came here, Grit had me running in circles—” Gene abruptly stopped speaking.
“What?”
“In the letter Hosteen Silver left for Dan and me, there was a special message at the bottom intended for me only. He said I’d see my future evolve from endless circles in the sand, and as the unlikely happened, the lost one would show me the way.”
“Any idea what that means?”
“None, but maybe Grit will play a part,” Gene said.
As they stepped out of the corral, a gentle breeze swept by, cooling Gene’s sweat-soaked chest. “Wind’s a messenger. Something’s coming, a change maybe.”
“Good or bad?” Paul asked.
“Things are good right now, so that narrows the options.” Placing his hand over the medicine pouch on his belt, Gene looked at the storm clouds overhead and heard their ominous rumbling. “Time to start watching our backs.”
Chapter Two
It was early evening in the town of Hartley and, after having supper at a local bar and grill, Gene was back on the road, looking forward to calling it a day. As executor of Hosteen’s trust, he’d agreed to take care of the paperwork that needed to be filed.
What he’d never realized until recently was just how time-consuming that would be. Although Hosteen had lived a simple life and had few possessions, the red tape had proved endless. Today he’d spent hours at the Department of Motor Vehicles transferring the title of Hosteen’s truck over to the Anglo who’d purchased it.
Knowing that Navajos, particularly Traditionalists and New Traditionalists, would want nothing to do with the possessions of the dead, he’d placed the ad in the Hartley paper, a town outside reservation borders. Though the truck was old, it was in remarkable shape, so it hadn’t taken long to find a buyer after the first test drive.
Gene felt the weight of one less detail lift from his shoulders. Although they all missed their foster father, the heavy mantle of responsibility he’d accepted had prevented him from moving forward more than the others.
Yet he knew change was coming. He could feel it, like a stirring in his blood. He glanced down at the medicine pouch fastened onto his belt, then back to the road.
As Gene slowed to take a corner, a woman suddenly darted out into the street. Gene slammed on the brakes hard, skidding and burning rubber.
Cursing loudly, he came to a full stop. At least he’d managed to avoid hitting her. His heart was still racing when she ran up to the passenger door and opened it.
Thinking carjacking, Gene automatically reached for the rifle on the rack behind him. An instant later, he recognized the woman’s face. He’d dealt with the clerk just a few hours ago at the motor vehicle department.
“Please, my name’s Lori and I need your help. I stopped at Ofelia’s Corner Diner to pick up some dinner, and when I came out I spotted a guy following me. Can you circle the block, then drop me off by my car? It isn’t far.”
“Jump in. Did you call the cops?”
“Several times, including earlier today when I noticed him following me to work,” she said, climbing in and placing her big purse on the floor between her feet. “It took forever for an officer to respond this morning because of the current work slowdown—the blue flu. I stayed in my car like I was told, but by the time the officer got there, the guy had taken off. I think he figured I’d called for help and didn’t want to get caught. Once he sees me drive off with you, he’ll probably make himself real scarce again.”
She shut the door and fastened the shoulder belt automatically. “My car’s just down the block, so it’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
“What’s he look like? Can you still see him?” Gene checked the sidewalk up and down the street, using the side mirror.
She looked out the window. “He must have ducked out of sight. He was wearing a black jacket with a hood, sunglasses and a ball cap, same as this morning. He’s close to six feet, average build, not overweight or skinny.”
Gene studied her, taking in the soft hazel eyes and shoulder- length honey-brown hair, a subtle shade that would have been hard to get from a bottle. Her forest-green pullover sweater accentuated her beautiful breasts and hourglass figure.
No man with breath left in his lungs would ever forget meeting her. After dealing with her at the DMV, he’d expected her to haunt his dreams for some time. Now, here she was.
As the light changed to green, the vehicle behind him honked.
Moving forward again, Gene smiled. “Where to?” he asked. If things went sour, he still had his rifle and he could defend himself better than anyone he knew, including his brothers in law enforcement.
She pointed ahead. “It’s not far. Just beyond that cottonwood. Once we’re there, would you mind sticking around long enough for me to get in my car and drive off?”
“No problem.”
She shifted in her seat and looked directly at him. “You look very familiar to me.” She smiled slowly. “We met at the DMV earlier today, right?” Woven through her tentative smile was also a spark of interest.
He noted it, pleased. Gorgeous women like Lori didn’t cross his path often, and after weeks of dealing with paperwork, a little excitement would do him a world of good.
“Yeah, I was there and you helped me with a title transfer,” he said. He glanced in his rearview mirror but no one suspicious was following. “Do you happen to know the guy stalking you?” He’d been around his brothers in law enforcement long enough to have heard the stories. Old boyfriends and ex-husbands could turn a woman’s life upside down.
“I can’t be completely sure because I haven’t been able to get a clear look at his face, but I suspect it’s Bud Harrington, a man who keeps coming to my window at work. He wants to go out with me and won’t take no for an answer.”
“Have you told all that to the police?”
“Yeah, and to my boss, too.” Lori pointed to an old cream-colored sedan up ahead. “That’s my car. Thanks
