catch the sunlight, sparkle and then drift to the smooth rock ledge he was sitting on. Of course, Agnes could read minds, so he figured the elder already knew. Maybe it wasn’t important. But it was to him. Women had been a thorn in his side, not a pleasure. Oh, he’d had plenty of one-night stands, had found sexual gratification with a number of partners. But he’d never met a woman who made his world stand still.
Snorting softly, Chase decided that his parents must have had something very special that he would never experience himself. They’d been so much in love. As a child, he’d thought all husbands and wives had devoted relationships like that.
He’d been wrong to think true love was the norm. Going to West Point at age eighteen, Chase very rapidly got ensnared in the dating scene. Everyone wanted to stake a claim on the handsome red man who had broken through the white-males-only barrier. Women danced around him like butterflies, there for the taking if he wanted them. He’d been like a beggar in a candy store, grabbing every beauty who wanted to bed him. And for a while, he’d thought he was in a sexual heaven of sorts. But by his sophomore year, the one-night stands were becoming the same; the faces were a blur and the act meaningless beyond selfish gratification and release. Chase broke off the relationships because they were emotionally empty meetings of body only. He wanted more. Much more and never had found it yet.
The wind gusted sharply, making Chase lift his head. The sky was a blue vault with white horse’s mane clouds stretching across it.
She was here. He sensed it. Dana Thunder Eagle had arrived.
Grandmother Agnes lived at the mouth of this deep, rectangular canyon. The winter hogan was invisible from her summer home. Chase knew that Dana would spend at least an hour talking with her adopted grandmother, to receive her marching orders on how to rescue the Storm Pipe. The elder would then send Dana up here, around the bend of the canyon, to stay for the next five weeks. With him.
The winter hogan was a lot smaller than the summer one, making it much easier to heat during the biting cold and heavy snows. The small potbellied stove was also used for cooking. Navajos were practical about the extreme change of seasons on their large reservation. Still, even though Chase and Dana would sleep on opposite sides of the eight-sided structure, it was a very scant space.
A red-tailed hawk shrieked as it circled the tabletop mesa above the canyon. Chase followed the bird’s lazy spiral and enjoyed seeing its rust-colored tail. Only an adult redtail, five years old or more, had that eye-catching hue on its tail feathers. Chase’s mind—and focus—went back to Dana. What was she like? Did she have the right stuff to undertake this deadly mission? Already, he was worried. Five weeks was an impossibly short time to get Dana ready for such a serious undertaking.
Immersed in his thoughts, Chase felt time disappear. He understood that the magic of focus created this out-of-time sense of being. It felt good to Chase, and familiar. And before he knew it, he saw a tall, lithe woman in blue jeans and a white blouse, her hair in long, thick braids, walking up the canyon toward the winter hogan. She carried a red canvas bag in each hand. On her back was a dark-green knapsack. Even burdened as she was, she walked with pride.
Instantly alert, Chase studied her minutely. Knowing he was hidden, he felt the euphoria of a stalker and hunter as he watched the woman draw closer. His heart began to beat more strongly in his chest. Reddish highlights danced in her hair as the sunlight caught and reflected it. There was a deerskin pouch tied on the left side of her black-and-silver concha belt. Chase knew it would contain a mixture of sacred herbs that she would gift to the spirits of this place. One always bade the neighbors hello, like a person inviting another over for a congenial cup of coffee.
As much as Chase wanted to stay distant from this woman who was supposed to save the Storm Pipe, he couldn’t. As she lifted her head to scan the area, behind the hogan and up on the sandstone skirt, where he hid in the shadows, Chase saw a fearless quality in her wide, cinnamon-colored eyes. There was a stubborn angle to her chin, even though her face was smooth and oval. Her Indian heritage showed in her high cheekbones. Her nose was straight, with fine, thin nostrils, reminding him of a well-bred horse.
The horse image suited her, Chase decided, watching her approach the hogan and set her luggage down. Dana was perhaps five foot nine or ten inches in height, with a slender figure. As she pushed open the wooden door, which faced east, Chase noted that every one of her movements was graceful, like those of a mustang.
Taking in a ragged breath, he remained still and watched Dana disappear with her luggage inside the hogan. When she returned minutes later, she stood outside the door and took some of the sacred herbs from the pouch she carried. Facing east, she raised her hand above her head and slowly turned, stopping at each of the major directions until she’d completed her clockwise circle. Chase saw her throw the herbs into the air, the breeze catching and scattering them.
Good. At least she knew protocol. But then, if she was a personal pipe carrier being trained to carry an old and powerful ceremonial pipe, Dana would automatically contact the local spirits of a place. One never came to a strange area without offering a gift and requesting permission to stay. Omitting this critical step was considered rude and wrong.
Chase knew Agnes had directed Dana to climb to meet him, her trainer and teacher. As his eyes narrowed upon her uplifted face, he felt her energy. Indeed, Dana was beautiful. Just as lovely as she’d been in his vision. A part of him groaned in protest, because he was drawn to beauty like a honeybee to a flower in full bloom.
He watched patiently as Dana made her way up onto a ledge of sandstone, and then to another. The walls of the box canyon rose upward like a multilayered cake. Squatting on the third level, Chase saw that Dana had rolled up her sleeves, and her well-worn jeans couldn’t hide her femininity. Her long legs seemed to go on forever. A slow grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Any man would be proud to have her as his woman.
Just as quickly as the thought seeped into his mind, Chase brutally pushed it out. This was business. All business. Besides, Dana was a recent widow. There was no room in her life for an emotional relationship. Maybe he could remold her grief into a driving strength, and a motivation for success in this mission. Perhaps…but that would mean wounding her all over again, and Chase had no desire to do that.
The afternoon air was filled with the scents of the desert—the medicinal tang of the sagebrush, the sharp wine scent of juniper in bloom and the warm, woody fragrance of the nearby cedar. The blouse Dana wore stuck to her form, outlining her full breasts and long torso. Her braids swung rhythmically as she moved. Sweat made her skin glisten. Her full mouth was set with determination.
Chase watched her come ever closer. Calling on his cougar ally from the other dimension, he ordered him to guide her to within a few feet of the juniper he crouched behind.
Like a lamb being led to slaughter, Dana intuitively picked up on his spirit guardian’s cajoling request. Trained medicine people, via clairvoyance or clairsentience, could usually detect a spirit guide, their own or another’s. That was how they communicated with the invisible realms. And sure enough, Dana turned and headed straight toward Chase without knowing he was hiding there. She had a lot to learn, he realized.
Dana blew out a breath of air, realizing how quickly she was tiring from the climb up the rear wall of the box canyon. Clairvoyantly, she’d seen a yellow cougar come out and meet her. He’d greeted her warmly and asked her to follow him. Sensing no negativity around the guardian, Dana complied. It wasn’t an unusual request; all places had spirit guardians, so she thought little about its greeting or request.
Having lived not far above sea level for the last two years, she felt the six-thousand-foot elevation of the desert plateau taking a toll on her. Her breath rasped as she climbed ever closer to a stand of juniper on the next tier of the sandstone formation.
