Love's Dream Song Page 3

  The confusion would soon be resolved. Tomorrow the professor would unveil evidence that proved the Mexican Connection, an obscure theory that claimed the Anasazi were, in fact, traders from Mexico.

  Dr. Davidson’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Until now, we didn’t know why the Anasazi abandoned their cliff dwellings and road system. Archaeologists never found any records.”

  “And you claim to have found written documents?” someone asked. The question rang with doubt.

  “Yes, and they state that the Anasazi were an outlying branch of traders and settlers from the Toltec culture in Mexico. They established posts and communities that were centers for trade. From Chaco Canyon and other large ruins you can see the ruts of ancient roads. I’d compare it to a larger scale of what the Hudson Bay Company established from England.”

  “But that doesn’t prove the Anasazi were called back to Mexico. Relics have been found among several present-day tribes. The pieces could easily have come here through trade.”

  If Autumn remembered correctly, the man who had spoken was from the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City. It was the curator’s job to question Dr. Davidson’s discovery. Because of the impact of new evidence to history, the facts had to be checked out.

  Dr. Davidson was too experienced to be daunted by attack. “Yes, there is proof that trade routes existed between the Southwest and Tula, the Toltec capital. The Anasazi brought feathers, live macaw birds, and copper bells from Mexico and exchanged them for turquoise. This headdress we found in the kiva is part of the proof. The macaw feathers are from Central America.”

  He held up the delicate article for the group to see. Bright orange feathers trailed from his fingers and down his sunburned arm. “We’ve never had proof before that the Anasazi came from the south or returned there. With the tablets, we now have evidence.”

  “You’re saying the reason the Anasazi abandoned their homes was to return to their mother country?” asked the cartographer sent to map the ruins.

  “It’s written on the stone tablets.” Dr. Davidson patted the tablet nearest to him. “It seems they were called back for political reasons. A few remained to intermingle with native Indian tribes, a few settled along the Rio Grande, but most of the population returned to Mexico.”

  As the scientists digested this news a young woman stepped forward to catch Dr. Davidson’s eye. The Phoenix television reporter stood out among the crowd with her yellow shirt and fashionable slacks. She looked out of place in the rugged terrain, but Connie Turner was ready to broadcast live.

  “Why must we wait until tomorrow to see the tablets, Dr. Davidson? Most of us are already here.”

  The blonde reporter obviously wanted to return to the ranch, where the plush motorhome belonging to KSTR, channel four television, waited with all the modern comforts. It would be tough going at the Coyote Springs site, but Connie Turner would stay if she had to. Autumn had sensed her drive. It would be interesting to see how she held up.

  In a way, Autumn envied her. She hadn’t realized she missed the feminine silks and bright colors she used to wear until she saw them on the reporter. She’d been in the desert so long she’d grown accustomed to wearing cotton camp shirts and shorts. The large pockets came in handy while hiking around to carry equipment or a snack. At least Autumn still wore lacy silk underwear to remind herself she was a woman.

  Smiling at her turn of thought, Autumn scanned the area for Wayne Carson. There was work to be done. She caught sight of Wayne threading his way through the crowd. She stepped off the table rock and moved behind the professor.

  “Does he want us to repack those relics when he’s done talking?” she asked when Wayne finally made it to her side.

  “Yeah.” He brushed back his sandy-blonde hair.

  “It’s in place, Romeo,” Autumn teased.

  Wayne was vain about his appearance. He and Connie Turner would make a great pair.

  He sent her a mock frown and Autumn forced a serious expression. The kid was okay. He had oversized pipe dreams to be a famous archaeologist, probably because he was used to being in the limelight with his father, Senator Dirk Carson. Wayne worked hard, though. That’s what mattered to Autumn.

  Wayne relayed Dr. Davidson’s instructions. “He wants to leave the pieces out for a while and let the experts have a closer look.”

  “Does he think it’ll appease their impatience?”

  He grinned. “I think he hopes it will.”

  “Fat chance. The reporters aren’t the only ones who want to see the proof. Those scientists are practically chomping at the bit.”

  “How come he’s so worried about security, anyway?” Wayne asked. “Seems odd to be so paranoid when we’re this far away from other people. Who’d dare take anything?”

  The same question had puzzled Autumn. She’d even asked the professor, who’d said only that his find was too monumental to take risks. “You don’t know how much jealousy there is among my colleagues. They’d give anything to make a discovery such as this.” He’d waved his hands and shouted.

  Autumn shrugged. “The professor has had lots of experience with important digs. He evidently has his reasons. Besides, ours in not to question why…”

  “…ours is but to do or die,” Wayne finished.

  Autumn smiled. “You’ve been working hard all morning. I’ll take over now if you want.”

  “No.” Wayne shook his head. “I’m okay. I like meeting all these honchos.”

  “Ahhh, and here I was beginning to think it was pure dedication.”

  A crooked smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Right. And don’t tell me you mind the publicity. You like your name associated with the famous professor as much as I do.”

  Autumn shook her head. “Not everybody thinks like you, Wayne.”

  Her association with Dr. Davidson and the discovery would certainly benefit her career as a historian, but Autumn hadn’t given the future much thought. There were too many unknowns to deal with in the present to waste time worrying about tomorrow.

  Wayne, on the other hand, was obviously bent on milking the situation for every bit of publicity he could get. Autumn didn’t blame him. The field of archaeology was extremely limited. Many studied the subject, but there were few career opportunities that existed in the field. It often came down to what contacts you had.

  He smiled, a combination of cockiness and sincerity that Autumn got a kick out of. “I know what you’re going to say.” She lifted her hand to ward off his well-worn line. “Your daddy always tells you it’s not what you know…”

  “…but who you know,” Wayne finished for her.

  “Get on with you.” Autumn gestured him back to the group. “I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

  Wayne disappeared in the crowd. Shaking her head, Autumn headed toward the corral. It wouldn’t hurt to see about the supplies that had been delivered that morning.

  She’d barely cleared the edge of the crowd when Connie Turner called, “Wait up a minute. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Autumn halted. “I’ll help all I can.”

  Connie positioned her pen on her tablet and didn’t waste time with chit chat. “All the reporters are going to have the doc’s story. Yours sounds like it might be a bonus.”

  Amused, Autumn smiled. “I doubt there’d be anything your readers would care about.”

  “Are you Navajo?”

  Autumn nodded.

  “Weren’t you adopted?”

  Again she nodded.

  “My understanding is that the O’Neills of Registry Imports are your adoptive parents.”

  “That’s right.” No way was she going to elaborate for the reporter. Growing up in foreign countries and being involved in the import-export business afforded the family the status of the privileged. They’d learned early that one’s private life must be kept private.

  “Do they know you’re of Indian descent?” Connie asked.

  It wasn’t what sh
e asked but the way she’d said it that annoyed Autumn. She tilted her head and forced a smile.

  “Of course they’re aware of who I am.” Autumn’s tone dared Connie to think otherwise. In fact, the O’Neills hadn’t known and had been as surprised as she was when she’d discovered the records of Dora Ross.

  “Registry Imports is a posh establishment. What does your family think of you living alone in the desert in such primitive conditions?”

  “My family’s always been supportive of what I do. I’m sure the professor’s story will be of more interest to your readers.”

  Connie remained undaunted by Autumn’s dismissal. “I hear the Navajo don’t believe you’re related. Someone told me that they think you’re a witch.”

  If the reporter knew that much, it would be best to explain. They didn’t need the dig tainted with stories of witchcraft. Autumn straightened her shoulders and shook back her hair. “They think anyone who comes from the outside world could be exposed to evil. It is simply a protection for them.”

  “Really?” The reporter edged closer to Autumn, ignoring her defensive stance and gearing up for further questions. “Surely they won’t continue to reject you on that basis.”

  “First off, they haven’t rejected me.” It was much more complicated than that. Autumn held her ground. “When people leave the reservation to go into the outside world, they must have a ceremony to cleanse them when they return. It’s called the Nda or Enemy Way. For example, young men who go off to serve in the army must have this ceremony when they return.”

  “Have they offered to do this for you?”

  Autumn shook her head. “It’s very expensive, as it goes on for three or more days and involves hundreds of people.”

  She didn’t tell Connie that Hasteen Nez, who was a hataali, could perform the ceremony. Nor did she mention that she was very hurt that he hadn’t offered.

  Connie scribbled some notes on her pad before asking the next question. “Does your interest in their history help you earn acceptance?”

  “On the contrary, it has made the situation worse.”

  Waiting for further explanation, Connie quirked a brow. Resigned, Autumn gave it. “When I applied to work with Dr. Davidson, I’d hoped the proximity would be a positive factor. But I’ve since learned that my digging around in the ruins gives them further evidence that I’m a witch. They believe that the dead do not want their belongings disturbed and they will cause evil to happen to those who touch the artifacts.”

  Autumn put off the questions she could see forming in Connie’s head. “I have some work I need to finish.”

  Connie snapped shut her tablet. “I’d also like to know about Jess Barron.”

  Connie’s feline smile annoyed Autumn, but she didn’t let her feelings show. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

  Connie tilted her head and studied Autumn. “Why do I get the feeling you could tell me a lot? Surely close proximity to that hunk has led to some interesting situations?”

  “Afraid not. I’ve really got to tend to business.” Determined to end the conversation, she swung away and resumed her walk to the corral.

  * * *

  Jess saw Autumn’s frown as she turned away from Connie Turner. He checked to make sure his stallion was still tethered to the cottonwood before he started in the direction Autumn had taken. Before he reached her, Enrique Valdez came up beside him.

  Surprised, Jess turned and asked, “What are you doing, man?” His friend and associate would not be here unless he had uncovered some new information. He pulled the Mexican aside. “What’s up?”

  “More info on Autumn. Her brother’s in my country—on business in Mexico City. Our unit there discovered some ties in the drug trade to Hong Kong.”

  Jess rubbed his jaw. “Her parents are in Hong Kong. This could be bigger than we thought. We’ll have to continue to keep a close eye on her. With all of this activity with the professor it is going to be easy for her to slip past us.”

  “That’ll be my job,” Jess reminded him.

  Enrique laughed. “One you don’t mind, no?”

  Yes, he minded. It was torture to see her and be reminded of what they had had together. “We’ll get the evidence this time.”

  “I understand.” Enrique dropped the teasing and became serious. “She may be innocent, my friend. Then you can settle the unfinished business between you.”

  If only it were true. “If she’s even remotely connected with that ring, I don’t want any part of her personally.”

  His hostile tone stopped Enrique and he swung around. “It’s been years since my sister died, Barron. You can’t live with hate forever.”

  Enrique’s words struck like a blow. He’d loved Enrique’s sister, Maria Valdez. They’d been engaged to marry. But the violence of drug smugglers had put an end to their dreams.

  He’d been at war ever since.

  “It’s more than that. Her phony attitude toward Hasteen Nez and…”

  Enrique laughed. “Excuses, my friend. You think you’re fooling me?”

  Jess eyed the dark features of the man beside him. They’d known each other since childhood. Their fathers had been business associates, trading stock across the border. Valdez would transport cattle to the feed lots, where they’d be fattened for market. With the railroad crossing through Eagle Heights Ranch, it made for a profitable exchange. In return, Valdez would take the prize stock horses that were a Barron specialty with him to Mexico.

  Their family business relationship still flourished, but it was also a cover for their collaboration on cracking dangerous drug rings that plagued both of their countries.

  Jess clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Watching O’Neill won’t be as hard on me as that blonde you tailed last spring.”

  “Aaiii!” Don’t remind me. She was one mean barracuda.”

  Enrique had almost lost his life in their last assignment. The blonde’s ex-boyfriend hadn’t been pleased that she was feeding information to Valdez. Especially when he observed how the blonde flirted with the lean and handsome agent.

  “Almost convinced me to turn in my resignation.” Enrique slicked back the dark hair dropping across his forehead.

  Surprised, Jess eyed his friend. It never occurred to him that Valdez might quit. “There has to be more to it.”

  “Has it occurred to you how much time we spend traveling, how little we know people—other than those in our government files? I’m getting old, compadre. I want a wife and kids.”

  “We’re only in our early thirties. You sound like we’re over the hill.” Jess kicked at the gravel underfoot and shifted his weight. He didn’t want to explore this sudden wave of edginess because it had taken seed when he’d met Autumn.

  He understood what the man was saying, but he didn’t want to hear it. Enrique was a good friend. Without him, the international task force wouldn’t be the same.

  Enrique must have sensed Jess’s discomfiture because he changed the subject back to their present case. “Have there been any more shipments?”

  “A big load hit Phoenix yesterday and they found connections to the reservation.”

  Enrique let out a long whistle as Jess rattled off the figures. “Someone’s making good use of this dig as a cover-up. Most of the law in the area is here. They could be landing planes anywhere in this expanse of country.”

  “Which gives our man—or woman—a big break.”

  “You still think O’Neill’s the likeliest candidate?”

  “So far. She’s got connections with the outside. And it seems strange that she never had contact with her Navajo relatives until a year ago. She arrives on the scene and the drugs begin to appear.”

  “Makes sense, but how about the ranger, Riker? He could be in on this.”

  “He doesn’t have the brains for it.”

  “I like that about you, Barron.” Enrique slapped Jess on the shoulder. “You never mince words. Always to the point.”

  “Come on, amigo.�
� Jess ignored the compliment, if indeed it was one. “We have work to do.” He cast a mock grin. “I, for one, am going to dedicate myself to my job.”

  “Such bull.” Enrique howled.

  “You going to stay the night?” Jess shrugged.

  Enrique shook his head. “I’m flying home this evening.”

  Jess waved Enrique off and set out to find Autumn O’Neill.

  * * *

  What a morning, Autumn thought, as she hiked down the wash toward the saltbush where Arlo Ross and his team were unloading the mules. First Real Tall Man and now Arlo. It was unusual to see either relative, let alone talk to both on the same day.

  Grandfather had ridden in with Arlo. She wished Real Tall Man had stayed until Arlo and his cousins returned home later that afternoon. It would have given her more time to visit with him. She understood. But Real Tall Man rarely rode with his son anymore. Autumn knew he’d made the trip especially for her.

  Her feet sunk into the sandy wash as she dodged the assortment of ocher and yellow rock littering the creek bed. Near the saltbush, the mules nickered. The sun’s rays heated up the animals lending an earthy smell to the air.

  As she approached the three men beside the mules, she studied Arlo Ross. In attire, he reminded her of her grandfather. He wore a silver belt over his red flannel shirt and a battered Stetson. But similarities ended with a closer look at his features. The brown tints in his dark hair, the straight nose, high cheekbones, and thin lips reminded Autumn of the one photo she’d seen of her mother. They affirmed his Anglo heritage from Autumn’s grandmother, Emma Ross, the white schoolteacher Real Tall Man had married.

  Gravel crunched beneath Autumn’s shoes and Arlo looked up. With a wave of his hand he signaled the other two. They stared with stoic hardness. None stepped forward to extend a welcome or even to ask why she had come.