could you think I’d ever forget? You saved my life—then, as well as now,” she declared, her heart lodged at the back of her throat.
“Get inside, quickly,” he urged, collapsing the metal baton and jamming it into his jacket pocket. “I want to take one last look around and make sure nothing here can catch fire. Then you and I need to talk. You’re still in danger.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, Jonas Slowman sat on a small bench—what was really a storage bin in the trailer—as Emily prepared them something hot to drink. Though it was mid-March and nearly spring, the temperature at night was still in the low forties.
Jonas gazed at her appreciatively. Emily was as beautiful as ever. He pushed back the thought quickly and forced himself to focus. As a member of the Navajo tribe’s elite Brotherhood of Warriors, he’d worked many missions, but this promised to be the toughest yet.
Seeing Emily again was more difficult than he’d originally thought. She’d been a part of his dreams since that night on the mountain years ago. He’d stayed away from her for that very reason. But his orders were clear—protect her at all costs—and there was no room for emotions on a mission.
“It’s decaf coffee. It’s all I’ve got,” she said, turning her head in his direction.
He saw her gaze drift down to his hands, and wondered if seeing his bruised knuckles bothered her. Then, noting the faraway look on her face and the ghost of a shiver that rippled through her, he knew she was remembering the pleasures of his touch. The knowledge bit into him hard.
Finished assembling the four-cup percolator, she came to join him. “Those men…” she began, then took a shaky breath and looked away.
“Are gone and can’t hurt you,” he said flatly.
“Nothing in my life makes sense anymore—even the fact that we’re sitting here face-to-face,” she whispered, taking a seat on the folding chair across from him. “I never thought I’d see you again. Over the years, I almost convinced myself that you were a dream.”
“I’m not a dream. What we had was real.”
He held her gaze, though it cost him. Everything about Emily was made to tempt a man. Dark brown hair spilled over her shoulders, and those soft hazel eyes spoke of gentleness—a quality sadly lacking in his life. But there was more to her than the sum of her parts. The stubborn set of her chin spoke of pride and an independent spirit. And that was the woman he remembered—the one who’d haunted his dreams.
“When the snowstorm ended and you took me back to the lodge, everyone was so excited I’d turned up alive they just closed in around me. I tried to push people back so I could find you again, but you were gone. And I didn’t even know your full name. I described you to everyone there, but no one remembered seeing you.”
He nodded. Disappearing into the shadows was his specialty. It was a skill he’d learned in the Rangers and had perfected after becoming a member of the Brotherhood of Warriors.
“Once I had a chance to think things through, I understood why you didn’t stick around,” she continued. “Navajos aren’t supposed to show pride, and you didn’t seem the kind of man who’d be comfortable getting a million thank-yous. But you never got in touch afterward, not even to say a quick hello.”
He heard the trace of disappointment in her voice and, as he met her eyes, felt the tug on his senses. He could still remember every detail of their first meeting—the tiny nylon tent, a woman close to death, one sleeping bag and the heat that brought life.
Yet looking at Emily now, he saw more than the lost girl he’d rescued back then. There was maturity and new strength in her. Clearly, she could handle herself. He’d seen it in the way she’d fought those men, though she’d been armed only with a stick and a flashlight. That had taken guts. To win the fight ahead, all Emily needed was an edge—and that’s exactly why he was here.
Seeing the long, thoughtful look she was giving him, he sat back and waited for her to speak.
“After all this time, here you are again, out of nowhere, and right when I need you,” she said. She pressed her palm to his heart, and felt it beat against her palm. “You’re real.”
He placed his hand over hers. “I’m flesh and blood just like you.” He heard the small catch in her breath and gave her a thoroughly masculine grin.
She took a step back. “How…why?” she stammered, confused.
“I was sent by the tribe to help you out, and make sure you stay safe. Your father was our friend, and we take care of our own.”
“You’re a tribal police officer?”
“No, not exactly. But even if I were, this would be out of my jurisdiction. Right now what you need to do is report this incident to the sheriff’s department. When you do, give them my Anglo name—Jonas Slowman.”
This was the first time she’d heard his full name. He watched her whisper it as if getting a feel for it, and savoring the knowledge. Navajos didn’t readily give out their names, which were said to have power an enemy could use against a person. But on her lips, Jonas’s name became a caress, a promise.
“I’ll be back in a minute. My phone is on the…bed.”
As Emily walked down the short passage to pick up the cell phone, he watched her hips sway gently. His body tightened as memories of the past collided with their inescapable present.
Cursing himself, he looked away. The past was gone. This was now and he had a job to do.
EMILY ENDED THE CALL a few minutes later, then returned to sit across the table from him. “They know you at the sheriff’s office,” she said.
“Some do, some don’t. Who did you speak to?”
“A sergeant named Charlie Nez.”
Jonas nodded. “He’s Navajo. We went to Shiprock High together…back in the stagecoach and wagon train days.”
She laughed. He was trying to get her to relax and it was working. “They said they’d send out a deputy later to take our statements—long distances, and not so many officers, I guess.”
Emily sipped her coffee. Her pulse had slowed to a normal rate, and now that she could think clearly, she knew there was more to Jonas’s visit than he’d told her. He hadn’t just shown up—he’d been watching her property. But for how long?
Minutes of silence stretched out between them as questions circled in her mind. Tired of waiting for him to fill in the gaps, she decided to probe for answers. “My father had many clients, and he never discussed their business with me, but I get the impression that the work he did for the tribe had many layers.”
She allowed what she hadn’t said to linger between them. Working as an innkeeper at a mountain resort east of Albuquerque had taught her that people often talked to hear the sound of their own voices, or to make sure their opinions still mattered. All you had to do was be willing to wait, and listen.
Yet rules didn’t seem to apply to Jonas Slowman. When her patience finally stretched to the limit, she continued. “Was it me you were watching, or the men who attacked me? Just exactly what kind of work do you do for the tribe?”
Jonas
