Love's Dream Song

  LOVE’S DREAM SONG

  Sandra Leesmith

  Copyright © 2015 Sandra Leesmith

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you want to share it. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please return to the bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction, a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Cover photos courtesy of Shutterstock.com and Bigstock.com

  Formating and cover design by Debora Lewis arenapublishing.org

  Note: To provide the reader with a sample of more of the actual story, most of the traditional front matter and the Table of Contents appear at the end.

  Acknowledgements:

  For their technical advice and insights into the ways of Dineh,

  Thanks to Charla Weeks, Tommy Yazzie, Linda Yazzie, and Lillie Yazzie Pete of Ganado, Arizona.

  Loretta Thompson of Fort Wingate, New Mexico

  Dr. Charles Jenkins, for sharing his insights from his work with the White Mountain Apache.

  Karen Smith, for giving me the opportunity to work on the Navajo Reservation and for extensive use of her library.

  To my husband Ed, a man who knows and is comfortable with who he is.

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  Love’s Dream Song

  CHAPTER 1

  “Professor. Watch out!”

  Autumn grabbed Dr. Davidson’s arm and yanked the elderly man away from the crumbling wall. The archaeologist stumbled into her. A loud roar, and a cloud of dust surrounded them as ancient adobe rolled to their feet.

  Dr. Davidson bent to push away a brick that had landed on top of his boot. “Whew, that was close, girl.”

  Autumn choked and gasped for oxygen in the dusty air. “Too close. Are you all right?”

  “Aye, but I’m more worried about the tablets.”

  Autumn straightened and tried to peer through the red cloud of dust to the far side of the walled-in cave. She could barely see the professor as he knelt to inspect the priceless stone slabs.

  “Are they all right?” She crawled beside him and brushed away the silt that had already settled from the cave-in.

  “Appears so.” She heard relief in his voice. “We’ll have to clean this up before the crowd arrives tomorrow morning.”

  “What caused the cave-in?” she asked.

  “Who knows? These walls were built almost seven centuries ago. They don’t last forever.”

  “Real Tall Man would say chindi caused it. After all, we’re digging around in their homes.”

  The professor glared. “Don’t be giving me any more of that nonsense about these ruins being haunted by ghosts.”

  “I only told you what Real Tall Man explained about the Navajo beliefs.” She brushed back ebony strands of hair that had loosened in the dash to avoid the crumbling adobe.

  “Your grandfather and his people can believe what they want about the ghosts getting upset when their belongings are disturbed, but dead is dead. There’s no way they can cause us any trouble.”

  Autumn eyed the tablets and shook her head. She knew the professor was right, but if the streak of bad luck they’d had lately was anything to judge by, it would seem the curses of the chindi—the spirits of the dead—were indeed the cause. “They say you and I are cursed, as well.”

  Exploring the Anasazi ruins wasn’t the only reason her Navajo relatives thought she was cursed. To the communal Navajos, accumulated wealth was a sign that one dealt in their version of witchcraft. Only a witched person would amass personal property and money, as the Anglos did.

  The O’Neills, Autumn’s adoptive family, were wealthy. The worldwide export-import business they owned was a sign of success in their culture. It was bad enough that Autumn had been raised by outsiders, but the fact that she was three-quarters Anglo herself only reinforced the belief that she was under the spell of chindi.

  The professor continued to brush off the ancient tablets they’d discovered the month before. “When are you going to stop worrying about what those clan people think of you? What difference does it make?”

  “They are my family—the only real relatives I know about.” She pushed away from the crumbled rock and straightened upright.

  “Some family,” Dr. Davidson stood also. He took off his Tilley hat and slapped it against his khakis. “They don’t act like they care.”

  “That’s because they can’t. They think I’m under the influence of evil spirits.”

  The Coyote Pass Clan, máii deeshghizhnii, could welcome her if Real Tall Man—her grandfather and the clan’s medicine man—performed Nda, the Enemy Way ceremony. The three-to nine-day sing would cleanse Autumn and protect the Clan from her contact with outsiders. The fact that they hadn’t offered was a source of heartache for Autumn.

  She’d thought applying for the graduate assistant grant to work with Dr. Davidson at Northern Arizona University would give her an opportunity to become acquainted with her natural relatives, who lived on the nearby reservation. But the professor’s and Autumn’s exploration of the Anasazi ruins had only created misunderstanding.

  The professor dusted off the last tablet and straightened. “Once the scientists and press arrive and record my discovery, we’ll be done with this project. If I were you, I’d go back to your adoptive family. They raised you, and they’re the ones who care for you.”

  Her brothers, Donny and Mike, had told her the same thing, but they were natural sons of the O’Neills. They had no idea what it was like to be adopted and wonder why your mother had given you away.

  Autumn hadn’t been able to find out, either. She now knew that Dora Ross, Real Tall Man’s deceased daughter, had been her mother, but the clan would not speak of her or give any clue as to why Autumn had been given up for adoption. In fact, she had the distinct impression that the Coyote Pass Clan had not even known of Autumn’s existence before her arrival in northern Arizona.

  “It’s crazy foolishness to poke around where you’re not wanted. You have a bright future ahead of you. You’re better off without them.”

  Autumn forced back the sharp reply that sprang to the tip of her tongue. The professor’s prejudices never ceased to surprise her.

  To change the subject from what she knew could become a heated debate, she asked about the arrival of the scientists. “How many will be coming in?”

  “Close to fifty. Jess said he’d arrive with them around midmorning.”

  The change of subject had brightened the professor’s mood, but the mention of Jess Barron dampened hers. “I thought Jess was too occupied with ranch business to participate.”

  “Come on. Don’t let your bitterness toward the man ruin your moment of glory. This is big news. We’ve made the discovery of the century—and on Barron’s ranch. Of course he’s going to be here to keep tabs on the action.”

  Jess Barron III was the owner of Eagle Heights Ranch and the man she had thought she loved. She wasn’t at all thrilled that he was arriving tomorrow—at least, she told herself that. The fact that her heart rate had increased and the palms of her hands had suddenly become sweaty had nothing to do with the prospect of seeing him.

  “Don’t you go letting your personal differences get in the way of our big moment. I want the reporters’ full attention on the discovery.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Autumn turned away from the pr
ofessor and looked across the Northern Arizona desert. “The last thing Jess will want is a public scene.” He believed in maintaining a low profile, and heaven help anyone who didn’t agree.

  Autumn wasn’t worried about the press but she was concerned about seeing Jess, especially in front of other people. Her feelings were too raw where he was concerned.

  The best course of action would be to disappear. The professor wouldn’t need her right away. In the morning, she could hike to the top of the butte overlooking Coyote Springs and watch the party of scientists arrive from there. The high rocky ledge afforded the best view of the canyon. Maybe Jess would have to return immediately to the demands of his large ranch.

  For a moment, she debated about whether she really wanted him to leave without seeing her. Images of his face, framed by chestnut-brown hair, danced in her mind’s eye as she continued to clear away the fallen debris. She remembered how the light sparked in his silver eyes, and the crease of his smile. No, she didn’t want to be near Jess Barron—he might see the longing and hurt in her expression.

  Autumn tossed aside another crumbled brick and closed her eyes. “Jess,” she whispered. “Where did our love go wrong?”

  Jess reined in his horse beside Autumn O’Neill and waited astride the stallion while the medicine man, who’d ridden with him to the top of the red-rock butte, dismounted. Jess paid no attention to Real Tall Man, but studied Autumn. Her khaki slacks and coral camp shirt were practical enough for her archaeological work, but he knew they sported designer labels. He supposed the Rolex watch was a necessity, but he knew what it cost. With her wealth and sophisticated upbringing, she should look out of place on top of this butte in the Arizona desert, but she didn’t, and that annoyed him.

  “Hasteen Nez asked me to find you. He came from the reservation to talk.” Jess easily pronounced Real Tall Man’s name in Navajo, but he couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. Why did her nearness still affect him?

  She straightened and tilted her head in that haughty manner that he hated. “You don’t need to explain your presence to me. This is your property.” He could tell she minded the invasion of her privacy. She’d probably climbed the butte to avoid him.

  He searched for the bracelet he’d given her. It didn’t surprise him to see it wasn’t there. He remembered it, though—the design as it rested against her skin. The silver was heavy, and when he’d take it off her arm, it would retain the heat of her body.

  She turned to Real Tall Man. “Yaá át ééh.”

  Her heavily accented greeting called up memories of other times she’d spoken the language of The People. He could still hear the whispered words when they had made love; her throaty laughter when she couldn’t pronounce the difficult expressions.

  Real Tall Man stepped in front of her and blocked his view. It didn’t matter. He knew every inch of her body—the long legs, slender curves. He even remembered the velvet texture of her skin.

  The Coyote Pass Clan said she was bewitched, and maybe they were right. In spite of his suspicions that she was involved in a drug ring, he found himself still attracted to her. Muscles in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth.

  Fighting drug smuggling was a passion of his. As an undercover federal agent on the president’s international task force, he spent all of his spare time pursuing the criminals who landed their small aircraft in this isolated region of the country as an entry point into the United States. He resented Autumn O’Neill’s presence, but he still wanted her.

  Leather creaked as his black stallion rapped the red sandstone with his hoof. Jess recognized the gesture and shifted in the saddle. Impatience gnawed at him, also. His eyes narrowed against the shimmering waves of hot desert air. Real Tall Man moved and Jess focused on him to stop his thoughts of Autumn.

  In a way, Jess envied Hasteen Nez. The hataali knew who he was and suffered no regrets. That seemed an impossible dream to Jess. He tried to live and think as an Anglo rancher, but traces of his Apache heritage plagued his peace of mind.

  From experience, Jess knew it was impossible for a man of mixed blood to determine who he was. Arlo Ross hadn’t been able to resolve the question. Nor had his sister Dora, Autumn’s mother. Jess wondered how Real Tall Man felt about the bitterness of one child and the self-destruction of the other—all because Real Tall Man had fallen in love with a white schoolteacher.

  In fairness, he had to consider Thomas and Lee, Real Tall Man’s two oldest sons. Tradition required them to be known by their mother’s name—a white man’s name. Both were successful lawyers, serving in the state legislature. Jess wondered how they had resolved splitting their allegiance to two worlds that were completely opposite in values and culture. Maybe he’d go to Phoenix and visit them, but it would have to wait until he’d put a stop to the smuggling operation. That was top priority.

  Real Tall Man moved and Jess could see Autumn again.

  She stood motionless, her black hair tied in a traditional Navajo knot. She had no right to imitate the ways of The People. She was probably a phony.

  Autumn and Real Tall Man walked away from the edge of the cliff and sat down, facing each other on the flat butte. Jess straightened in his saddle, wishing he could hear the conversation.

  More than likely Hasteen Nez was warning her about the crowd of people in the canyon below. Dr. Davidson had announced his archaeological discovery and the Navajo nation was not pleased with the disturbance of the ancient ones.

  The professor’s discovery would create difficulties. The crowd of scientists and reporters might provide an effective cover-up for Autumn’s suspected activities, but he was hoping the confusion would make her nervous. If she made a mistake, he would be around to catch it.

  For several moments, he contemplated the problem until her movement distracted him. She pulled on the band holding her hair in place. A cascade of ebony flowed between her fingers. Jess stared as the straight tresses tumbled around her waist.

  He remembered how her hair had wrapped around their bodies, trapping them in a silken web when he kissed her. The thick strands had framed her face and contrasted sharply with the white leather of his couch.

  Sweat trickled down his clenched jaw. He lifted his hand and wiped his forehead with the once-white sleeve of his western shirt. After settling the black Stetson back on his head, he nudged his horse and moved close to the pair. “I’m going back down.” He gestured to the canyon.

  Her glance locked with his. Defiance and challenge glittered in her black eyes. His conscience twinged. He remembered all too clearly how those very same eyes had clouded with passion.

  Autumn struggled to maintain her aloof expression. It barely covered the pain and confusion she felt whenever Jess Barron came near. She had tried to avoid him, but she hadn’t planned on Real Tall Man showing up. She was glad now that Jess had spotted her on top of the butte.

  “Are you staying for the press conference?” In a way she hoped he was, but she knew she’d be better off if he was far from Coyote Springs.

  “I’ll be there. I want to make sure the reporters get in and out okay. They aren’t used to roughing it like you are.”

  “We have everything prepared for them.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Autumn inwardly flinched at the sarcastic tone.

  Real Tall Man nodded. “I’ll be down after I talk to Autumn.”

  Her glance swung toward her grandfather. Had he come to tell her he finally believed he was her kin? Not likely, but she could hope.

  Jess’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Arlo is unloading the supplies. I’ll see if he needs a hand.”

  The news that her uncle was here crushed her hope. Arlo would see that Real Tall Man didn’t make any overtures of welcome.

  Real Tall Man said something to Jess in Navajo. She forced her glance to remain on her grandfather. She didn’t want to see the coldness in Jess’s silver eyes—eyes that once had danced with laughter. She didn’t want to see the half smile that creased one
cheek. Nor could she bear the sight of his body, which had held her close.

  Why, Jess? What had happened? Had Arlo Ross managed to convince the rancher that she was evil?

  Her glance lowered to the fists in her lap. Evidently, a simple explanation was too much to ask of the rugged men of this dry and desolate country.

  Jess noticed the clenched fists with a small measure of satisfaction. At least he wasn’t the only one who suffered when they met. He kicked the sides of his horse and headed down the path that led to Coyote Springs in the canyon below.

  He braced himself against the gravity of the horse’s steep descent and shook his head at the absurdity of Autumn’s claim to be Indian. True, the máii deeshghizhnii were a noble clan and Real Tall Man was a famous hataali, respected among the Anglos, as well. If a person had to claim Indian blood, Real Tall Man’s clan would be an honored family to tie into. But for the twenty-eight-year-old woman to insist she was a relative didn’t wash—not with Jess.

  Many who left the reservation never came back. If they did, they often rejected their Native American heritage. That’s what he’d done. Images formed of his return from his stint in the army. Seeing his father drink himself to death had been Jess’s final disillusionment.

  There were plenty of reasons to reject the way of Dineh, The People, which made it more unbelievable for a stranger to arrive on the scene and start pretending to be Indian.

  Autumn played the part well, like women he’d met in Phoenix, who used their trace of Indian blood to appear exotic. The difference was, those women wore feathers and turquoise, but stayed in plush apartments. Autumn had the mystique, yet she dug around in the dirt.

  The stallion stumbled and Jess pulled on the reins, his attention momentarily trained on the task at hand. Rocks slipped over the edge, each one loosening the shale on its way, until a small landslide tumbled to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below. He tightened his knees against the horse and nudged him toward the wall side of the narrow trail. When the horse regained his balance, Jess’s thoughts returned to Autumn.