him, Elena. We have to be careful.”
“I’m very seldom wrong about people, hijita, you know that.”
Laura shook her head. “Yes, I do, but there’s something about him that makes me uneasy.”
“That’s only because he reminds you of things you’re missing from your life. Back in the days when you believed in love and were open to the possibilities, a man like Burke would have sparked your imagination, and your heart would have beat a little faster every time you saw him. But now…”
“I’ve had relationships before, but they didn’t work out. Once we mature, our hearts toughen up. We learn the hard way to avoid pain.”
“Life comes with joy and pain. You can’t avoid either, even if you try.” Elena paused, gathering her thoughts. “But these days, your work has become enough to make you happy, and that just shouldn’t be.”
“I’m very lucky to be able to make my living doing something that I love. If I don’t socialize much it’s because writing is very time-consuming. People think you get an idea for a book, then just sit down and type it out. But the truth is that the idea is just the beginning. The real work comes when you do draft after draft, until you practically know the book by heart.”
“You create fantasies and cater to illusions woman have held dear since they first heard of Prince Charming. But you’re not willing to take the same risks your heroines take. These days you want safety and guarantees before you give any man the time of day.”
“You make it sound as if I’m turning away truckloads of eligible men. But let’s face it, in my work, I seldom meet people at all. Creativity and solitude are companions. And when I do meet a new guy, they turn out to be like Ken.” She shuddered. “I’d rather be alone than with him.”
Elena smiled. “I don’t blame you there, but there’ve been others. Now this wonderful man steps into your life and you’re already busy finding fault—anything to keep from getting too close.”
“I’m not finding fault, Elena. I’m just pointing out that he could be a serial killer, for all we know.”
“He’s not.”
“And just how do you know that?”
“Because I keep my eyes and ears open. First, I’ve heard talk about him. He’s in some kind of law enforcement work. Mrs. Patrick told me that her son worked with him once.”
“The attorney?”
Elena nodded. “She wouldn’t give me the details. She said it was all confidential, but she spoke of our new neighbor with respect.”
Laura looked across the room pensively. Something still didn’t add up, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“And look at what this house tells us about him. He’s a man who cares about the place he calls home and his heritage. Did you see the fetish in the nicho in the wall in the living room?”
Laura remembered seeing the recessed niche in the wall, but she hadn’t taken a closer look at what it contained. “No, I didn’t. What animal does the fetish depict?”
“The mountain lion. It’s on a special earthenware dish sprinkled with cornmeal, which is supposed to keep the fetish’s powers strong. The mountain lion is his animal medicine and that tells you about the man he is.”
“What’s it represent? Do you know?”
“Yes, I learned about animal fetishes and their medicine years ago because they fascinated me. The mountain lion is the hunter god. Think of the spiritual attributes of the animal—courage, faithful to his purpose and committed. That’s the animal medicine he draws upon.”
“Okay, Sherlock,” Laura teased. She took off Burke’s jacket, feeling warm now in a properly heated home. “But, for my sake, don’t be so quick to think the best of him. People in law enforcement, no matter what their background, aren’t always nice and stable.”
Elena shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry so much about you if you were at least curious about him and trying to learn more, but as it is…”
Wolf came up beside Laura and pressed his muzzle into her hand, asking to be petted. She scratched his head, enjoying the soft feel of his thick fur.
“You’ve never had a love that lasted,” Elena continued, “but now when you look at Burke, I see it flickering to life. Hold on to that. If your fears and doubts win over every time the opportunity comes, you’ll end up letting life slip right through your fingers.”
Laura started to make excuses, but decided to be honest instead. “I like my life the way it is. I don’t depend on anyone for my happiness, and that gives me a sense of security and accomplishment.”
“But there’s so much more to life. You’ve got to go out and meet new people and give yourself a chance.”
“There’s more to Burke than meets the eye, Elena. There’s a hard edge to that guy that doesn’t quite fit in with the charming man who graciously offered us his home.”
Elena sighed. “I’m going to bed. I can see that you’re determined to find a reason to back away. Will you at least think about what I’ve told you?”
Laura kissed her good-night. “I always do.”
After Elena had gone to bed, Laura wandered around the house, with Wolf padding along beside her. She stopped by the nicho in the wall where the animal fetish was kept, and studied the mountain lion. The four-inch figure, hand carved out of petrified wood, was exquisitely made. She started to touch it, but drew her hand back. It seemed too personal to disturb.
Laura continued to the den. The leather furniture looked comfortable and held that touch of masculinity that so defined Burke. This was a man’s room through and through. There was a no-nonsense, no-frills style of decor here that fitted in with what she’d learned about him so far, but nothing here really cast a light on his personal life.
In her own den there were photos of her mother, and a rare one of her father. He’d died when she was three. There were shots of picnics with Elena and Christmases with friends and family, a chronicle of good times past. But there was nothing of that sort here.
She looked at his bookcase, wondering what she’d be able to learn about him from his choice of reading material. She recognized several titles from her college days, such as The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli. If memory served her right, the author’s philosophy was simply that theological and moral arguments had no place in the political game. It was a gruesome, practical book that modern day military people were required to study. There was The Art of War by Tzu Sun, which ran along the same vein, A Book of Five Rings, which had been written by a famous samurai master. Then on a lighter vein—if one could call them that—were books by Ludlum, Clancy and Trevanian.
Missing were the kind of books she treasured—ones by Tolkien, or David Eddings, or Danielle Steele—books that mingled fantasy with romantic adventure. Of course, generally speaking, she didn’t share the reading tastes of most men, something she attributed to yet another instance of the left brain–right brain dichotomy.
Wondering which of the books on the shelf was his favorite, she leafed through several. It was clear
