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  “Yaá át ééh, Uncle,” she greeted the tall man in the Navajo manner.

  He didn’t speak, but continued to glare.

  Bracing herself, she spoke again. “What do you have left to unpack?”

  He ignored her question and spoke with bitterness. “It is typical that the bilagáana digs up our sacred lands—again.”

  Autumn inwardly flinched at the hate in his voice when he said the word for white man. She refused to let him see that his tone had upset her.

  “The relics are priceless, Arlo Ross. They need to be recorded. That’s what the scientists are doing—nothing more.”

  She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t respond. Arlo was like Autumn’s mother in that he had renounced one of the cultures that was his heritage. The difference was that Dora had left The People and claimed her Anglo blood. Arlo hated anyone connected with the Anglo world.

  She wished Dr. Davidson had hired another outfit to pack in the equipment. “We’re doing everything we can to protect the site, Arlo.”

  “It proves you are not Dineh when you dig in the graves of the ancient ones,” he said.

  “And what about your part in this? I’m sure you’re enjoying the profits of this contract.” She gestured to the mules and gear.

  Instead of reacting defensively, her uncle grinned. There was nothing amiable about it. Cold glints of humorless mockery radiated from his eyes.

  “We do what must be done. The spirits will protect the home of the ancient ones, and they will haunt you and these people.”

  “That’s right. No harm will come to the ruins,” Autumn readily agreed. She ignored the threat.

  Grandfather’s words came to mind and she clasped the turquoise between her fingers. Arlo’s stare followed her gesture and hardened when he saw the nugget.

  “Go home, bilagáana. Go back to your family life in the city.”

  “Never. I’m as much máii deeshghizhnii, Arlo Ross, as you are. You can deny it all you want, but the fact remains. I’m here in the desert to stay.”

  “We shall see.” He effectively dismissed her when he motioned to the others and they turned their backs. The only sounds in the silent heat were the faint grunts as they hoisted heavy packs, and the muffled stamp of hooves as the mules struck at the sand to shake off the flies.

  For several seconds Autumn remained, willing the frustration to subside. She longed to lash out at their stubbornness and hatred, but her temper would only serve to prove them right. Their way was to accept the situation in silence. Her patient determination alone would win their respect.

  Just as she was about to leave, Frank Riker strode down from the plateau where they’d set up the tents. “Well, well—Miss High and Mighty. Don’t tell me you’re going to help us unpack the gear.”

  “Looks like you’re doing fine.” Autumn refused to let him goad her. If it had been anyone else, she would offer to help. The ranger didn’t need her assistance; he only wanted the opportunity to harass her.

  Riker strode to where she stood and stopped inches away. Autumn wanted to back up, but doing so would acknowledge his insult by invading her space. Taller than Riker by an inch, she stared unmoving into his eyes.

  Without breaking visual contact, he reached for the turquoise nugget, his knuckles brushing her breasts. The touch made her skin crawl, but she stood her ground.

  “Still kissing up to the clan?” he yanked on the necklace.

  Autumn gripped his wrist and pressed hard on the nerve, forcing his fingers to loosed their hold. When she felt the nugget swing free she tossed his hand away, resisting the urge to dig in her nails. “Mind your own business, Riker.”

  His laugh was more like a grunt as he reached for her face.

  Autumn did back up this time. “Don’t touch me.”

  Frank’s expression turned ugly. “What’s the matter? Think you’re too good for me?”

  Autumn stilled, ready for his verbal attack.

  His lip curled. “Or maybe you prefer some red meat. Does Injun blood turn you on?”

  To her surprise, her uncle stepped forward. Riker backed away as darts of hatred flew from Arlo’s stare.

  “Get back to work, government man.” Arlo’s accent thickened as he spoke. “She is not worth the insults.”

  So much for familial togetherness. Riker’s outspoken prejudice had caused Arlo’s reaction, not any latent feelings of protection.

  “You’re right about that,” Riker sneered. “Who’d want a breed, anyway?”

  Autumn shot a glance at Arlo. He stood immobile. No emotion showed, but Autumn felt it. Like a snake, hatred slithered around them.

  Frank ignored the danger, or maybe he was too dense to take heed. “Can’t figure you out, Ross. You don’t look Injun. Why ask for trouble you don’t need when you can pass for white?”

  “You’re showing your ignorance,” Autumn spoke, each word clipped as she strained to remain in control of her temper.

  “Don’t speak for me.” Arlo glared at Autumn. “You couldn’t begin to understand.”

  “Sure she could, Ross. She’s a breed, like you—or so she claims. In fact, she wants to be an Injun so bad you could probably do her a favor by taking her into the bush and…”

  Her slap snapped Frank’s head around and echoed in the silence. She gripped her fingers and ignored the sting. Slowly, he swiveled to face her. Already, red welts streaked across his cheek. The angry part of her rejoiced at the sight.

  He took a step toward her. “You won’t get away with that, you…”

  “Riker!”

  The shout halted him midstride. His head jerked up. Autumn didn’t turn at the sound of approaching footsteps, but kept Frank in her line of vision. Jess Barron moved in beside her.

  “Don’t you have something else to do besides badger women and…”

  “You’re right, Barron. Scum like them…” He gestured toward Arlo and the others. “…make good slave labor. That is—when they’re sober.”

  The three Navajo men started to come forward. Jess blocked Riker and spoke in the low tones of rapid-fire Navajo. Autumn strained to understand, but could only pick up a few basic words. Too much emotion clouded the discourse.

  When Jess finished speaking to Arlo, he swung around and fixed Riker with a cold stare. “This is my land, Riker. I won’t tolerate the abuse you sling around. Pack up your gear. I’m calling your supervisor.”

  “What’s the matter, Barron? The truth hit too close to home?”

  “The only thing that is going to be hit is you, unless you get out of here.”

  Frank’s expression hardened.

  “Go ahead. Go for it.” Jess spoke low, his voice sounding like velvet over a steel blade.

  Autumn held her breath, praying Frank would turn around and leave. The air fairly crackled. Even the mules had stilled, sensing the tension.

  For endless seconds, silence reigned. Muscles bunched beneath Jess’s skin as he clenched his fists. Arlo didn’t move. A foul curse echoed as Frank spun and stomped up the trail, and Jess shrugged out of sight.

  .

  CHAPTER 3

  The minute Frank Riker disappeared, everyone’s attention reverted back to Autumn. She stared at her uncle and distant cousins, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Riker hated Arlo, Arlo hated her. Who did she hate? The circle had to break somewhere.

  Suddenly the heat and tension hit her. Her stomach churned into a small wave of nausea. Autumn headed toward the ruins. She had to get away.

  Arlo and Jess didn’t try to stop her. Not that she expected them to. The men spoke in low guttural tones of Navajo as she walked away.

  Just as she was about to cross the wash, Jess caught up with her. Inwardly, she groaned. Surely he wasn’t going to add insult to injury.

  “I’m sorry about that.” He fell in step beside her.

  Surprised, Autumn looked up, unable to stop the automatic curl of attraction forming.

  “Don’t pay attention to Riker. Not everyone
thinks like he does.” Jess lifted his hat and brushed back his hair.

  “Arlo is filled with as much hate as Riker.”

  “I was reminding Arlo of an old Navajo saying. It’s comparable to ‘You reap what you sow.’”

  She thought about that for a minute. “Arlo grew up here and is tied to the reservation, where he can practice old ways.” She shrugged and tried not to notice how his shirt stretched across taught muscle. “What I don’t understand is what Riker is doing working in northern Arizona with an attitude like that.”

  “Because Davidson’s project is federally funded, we’re stuck with Riker, even though we’re on private property.”

  “I know,” Autumn sighed and shifted her glance away from the handsome rancher. “The Environmental Protection Act. Still, Riker should transfer.”

  “And go where? He’s a racist. There isn’t anywhere in the country where there aren’t groups of people for him to hate.”

  “You’re right. And it isn’t just a problem in the U.S. You’d be surprised how many men and women with attitudes like that are out there in this world,” Autumn said as she stepped between several red boulders.

  Jess had to drop behind her, but it didn’t stop him from keeping up. “I know his supervisor. Sam’s been trying to get rid of Riker for years, so don’t think he represents the view of the Bureau of Land Management.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve seen enough of it to know it’s a universal cancer that hits every group of people.”

  It was on escapades among the people of the foreign countries she’d lived in that she learned there were often those who judged her by her nationality, rather than by who she was. She’d learned at a young age that many people hated her merely because she was American. It had been a difficult lesson to accept.

  Her family had been there to protect and shield her. A smile crept across Autumn’s features as she remembered the times she’d crawled into her father’s lap and been comforted. He would tell her stories to make her laugh. Most of all, she remembered the warmth and safe feeling when his strong arms wrapped around her.

  There were no words of comfort now. Perhaps what she missed the most was simply a touch. If Donny or Michael were here, she could easily handle the prejudice. Her brothers, natural sons born after the O’Neills had adopted her, had often been protective, especially of her adoptive status. She could use their company now, she thought, as Jess grasped her arm and lightly tugged her to a stop. She turned around to face him.

  “You sound like you’ve run into it more than once. Is that why you hang around the reservation? Is claiming to be part Indian too much to take elsewhere?” Concern showed in his dark eyes.

  “I told you before that most of my life I didn’t even know I was part Indian. The specifics of blood are not important.” Autumn shook her arm free of his sturdy grasp. “No matter where you go, there’s always someone who will set you apart as being different.”

  Age-old hurts arose—hurts she didn’t want to think about or acknowledge. She clenched her fists and tamped them down. Dismayed at her own reaction more than Riker’s attack, she continued her retreat to the ruins. Jess grasped her shoulders, preventing her from doing so.

  “Are you all right?”

  Did he really care? Her defenses rose until she looked into his eyes. Something in the silver-gray depths urged her to relax. Hints of friendship and caring that she’d seen before—months ago—flickered across his face. Slowly he released his grip, his fingers trailing down her arms as he did so. The light brush almost made her stiffen, but she saw sincerity in his expression.

  “My brothers and I spent our childhood in several different countries. People in every country hated us because we were Americans.” The irony of it made her smile. “Many hated me because I was white. I wonder what Riker would say to that?”

  His slight smile invited her to relax her guard. It was the first time in months she’d seen it directed at her. She straightened her shoulders, determined not weaken in front of him.

  “I got so tired of the prejudice I wanted to stop being Autumn, the American, and just be Autumn who’s here in the world.”

  Memories surfaced, and for a moment, she stared past him at the towering canyon walls. When she glanced back, his hand was poised, hesitating near her hair, before he let it fall to his side.

  “Funny, isn’t it?” she murmured.

  “What’s that?” His voice was oddly low.

  “I say something profound like that, yet here I am fighting to win a place in the hearts of the clan. Strange that I need that identity.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “Why do you need them? You have a family who cares for you. It’s not like you were deprived. In fact, you were much better off where you were. You probably wouldn’t have even lived here. The infant mortality rate is high on the reservation.”

  “I think every child who is adopted wants to know his or her real family—why she was given away.”

  “It isn’t always because you weren’t wanted.”

  “Isn’t it?” She searched his expression, trying to determine if he really cared or was just caught by pity.

  “There are many reasons people do what they do.”

  Several thoughts came to mind, but now was not the time to reflect on them. Some required digging in musty corners that she wasn’t prepared to touch, and she wasn’t about to expose them to the ridicule of a man who could hurt her. She shrugged. “Who knows? I’m sure you don’t care.”

  “Try me.”

  Sincerity sounded in the gravelly tones, but she had the feeling he was as surprised by it as she. For a moment she was tempted to ask him why. That answer would lead to more questions, such as, why did he treat her with such disdain when they’d had a beautiful relationship growing between them?

  She wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. Nor was it the time or place.

  “Look, I need to check on a few things for Dr. Davidson,” she stepped away from him. “I have to get back to work.”

  He searched her expression. For clues to her feelings, she supposed. She kept her features wooden. He stepped back, the action freeing her to proceed down the trail.

  “Mind if I go with you?” he asked.

  She paused and tilted her head to reach for her hair. She placed the heavy strands behind her shoulder as she considered his question. Did she mind?

  He continued, “It’s cool in the shade. It’ll be a relief to get out of the sun for a while.”

  For a moment Jess thought she was going to refuse to let him accompany her. He waited and watched; intrigued by the cascade of silky black hair she splayed through her fingers.

  She twisted the mass and wrapped it up into the knot she’d worn earlier. He tried not to notice the way her breasts pressed against her shirt with her arms lifted. How many times had he watched her groom her hair?

  After securing the band that held most of it in place, she swung around and started down the trail. “I suppose. You can help me make sure the tablets are ready for tomorrow.”

  Jess followed, not really paying much attention to what she said. He was distracted by the view. Her long legs moved easily, giving her curving waist a rhythmic flow. He remembered too clearly how they moved when they were twined around him. He cursed himself for still wanting her.

  They worked their way down the trail. Cactus and shrubs competed for space between the rocks. Birds flitted in and out of hiding. The hum of insects could be heard if he focused on the subtle sound.

  An eagle shrieked overhead. Autumn paused in the middle of the trail. Jess stopped behind and followed her gaze skyward. Golden-brown feathers fanned the wind before the bird flattened its wings and dove out of sight.

  Autumn’s low murmur barely reached him. “Just what I need to see—an eagle. It’s probably the spirits sending me a warning, too.”

  “Too?” He stopped midstride and stared. “Who’s been warning you, and what about?”

  She gave a guilty start and spun around. He
r gaze locked with his. “Real Tall Man. He’s anxious about my welfare.” Her laugh was forced.

  The tension in him eased a fraction. He knew the hataali was not involved in the drug ring. Real Tall Man was too steeped in religion to be a part of something that damaged balance and harmony. But maybe he suspected Autumn was and wanted to warn her. Two of The People had already been murdered this past year, and Arlo figured the deaths were related to the smugglers the drug task force was tailing.

  “What’s he worried about?” Jess tried to sound casual.

  “He doesn’t want scientists poking around the ruins. He’s afraid we’ll call up evil spirits.”

  Jess sighed. Daya used to say the same thing. It was why his father and grandfather before him had never opened the land for archaeological studies.

  “He said I should come to you if I had any problems. What kind of problems he thinks I’m going to come up against, I don’t know. Odd thing to say, don’t you think?”

  The determined set of her chin showed her strength, but her feminine softness couldn’t be disguised.

  “Maybe he meant Riker.” Jess threw out the bait and paused before adding more. “Or maybe he thinks there’s more going on here than what appears on the surface.”

  Her actions gave nothing away until her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Don’t tell me you’re as paranoid as he is. All this talk about visions and evil spirits.”

  “I’m sure his concern about spirits sounds superstitious and absurd to you, but don’t ever underestimate their meaning to The People. Hasteen Nez is serious about their threat.”

  Jess didn’t believe that anymore than she did. In spite of his rejection of their ways, it still made his hackles rise when someone made light of The People.

  “You know I don’t put them down.”

  “So, what is bothering him?” He slapped dust off his thigh. “Maybe he doesn’t like what else is happening that could hurt his people.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She was either innocent or too clever to give any clues.

  “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”