Heart of the Storm

“The two of you will work as a team here in the box canyon. There is a small hogan farther up where you’ll stay. The winter sheep hogan has everything you’ll require. Dana will need your brawn and your cleverness as a warrior, Chase. You will pass your experience on to her so that she can confront Rogan and take the pipe back.”

Even though Chase had never met Dana, his protective nature was already at work within him. Oh, he knew that women could be warriors; he’d seen his share on the res, growing up, as well as while he was serving in the U.S. Army. Still, that didn’t erase the age-old conviction that was alive and well within him: that women and children were to be cherished, loved, protected and defended. Chase knew he’d have to readjust this mindset to work Dana into a tough, well-trained warrior. In five weeks. That seemed an impossible time frame.

But when Chase saw the hope burning in Grandmother’s eyes, he kept his worries to himself.

He did not want to disappoint his extended family, especially this most sacred of women elders. He’d already disappointed the U.S. Army, and humiliation still ran hot through him. Clearly, the Great Spirit was setting him up for another test. Perhaps by training this unknown woman, he might salvage his pride, his manhood, and learn to live with what he’d done while imprisoned in South America.

When Agnes passed some homemade fry bread to Chase, and a bowl of fragrant lamb stew, he thanked her. Fasting for four days had left him feeling like a hungry cougar. Dipping the dark, whole-grain bread into the bowl filled with thick chunks of lamb, onions, brown gravy and potatoes, he said a prayer thanking all those who had given their lives so that he might eat.

The moment he took a bite, Chase savored the flavors. Yes, he was home. Finally. It had been a circuitous route, he thought, as he swiftly ate to stop the gnawing in his stomach. Restless, he’d left the res because he was curious about the white man’s world. And he’d tasted it—at West Point and for eight years after graduating. Now, because he’d failed as a warrior, because he’d broken under torture and interrogation, he’d crawled to Agnes, his pride stopping him from going back to Grandmother Doris on his home reservation. Instead, he’d come here to Agnes on the Navajo reservation to reclaim his shattered spirit. He hoped he would lead a productive, honorable life once more.

As he ate the succulent lamb stew, Chase savored the flavors of rosemary and marjoram. Each bite was more than just a physical gift to his body, it was nourishment for his wounded soul. Already, Chase could feel his battered spirits beginning to lift.

A ray of hope threaded through him. He stopped eating for a moment and felt the tenuous emotion touch his war-ravaged spirit. Healing was taking place. Humbled as never before, Chase finished his stew. Agnes was a powerful medicine woman, and he knew she’d said healing prayers over the food. And he was on the receiving end of her loving hands and heart.

“This meal is wonderful, Grandmother. Thank you….”

Smiling, Agnes murmured, “I’ll get you another bowl from the kettle. You’re hungry and too thin. You need to regain the weight you lost, Chase.”

Watching the elderly woman slowly rise, with the elegance of a great blue heron lifting her wings, Chase admired her lean, graceful form. Agnes Spider Woman was a bright beacon of hope in his life right now, and he was grateful to have such a positive role model. He didn’t know how he felt about Dana, and that would be a challenge to him. Women weren’t his strong suit and never had been. Tomorrow, he’d have to start dealing with one.

Ordinarily, Chase would have said he couldn’t do it, but with the support and help of a powerful elder who believed in him, he would try.

CHAPTER SIX

CHASE SQUATTED on the smooth red sandstone ledge above the winter hogan. A nearby juniper hid his presence. The sun was hot, beating down on his bare shoulders, and he soaked it in like a man starving for life. He’d been six months in a green hell where there was no direct sunlight. Only rain, cold, and high humidity, all conspiring to break his spirit.

His gaze swept down the escarpment toward the hogan near the wall of the canyon. Restlessly, he sifted the fine red sand through his scarred fingers. The grit felt good. He liked having physical contact with Mother Earth. It was comforting to him. A breeze stirred, moving along the thousand-foot-high rock wall behind him, rustling the cypress and piñon trees.

What was Dana Thunder Eagle like? He’d seen her face in the vision, but he knew dream and reality could be very different. He frowned pensively. He hadn’t told Agnes how powerfully drawn he’d been to the woman in his vision. Hadn’t been able to tell her. It would be his secret. He watched the red grains of sand 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.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dana recalled dreaming of this place. As a child, she’d come often to visit Grandma Agnes, and had played hour after hour upon these smooth red rock skirts. She’d been like a wild mustang filly, and the elevation hadn’t bothered her at all. Now it did.

But the warmth of the sun, the fragrance of the trees and brush, all conspired to relax her after the three-day drive from Ohio. Oh! How Dana had missed all of this—the wildness, the freedom, the silence of Mother Earth surrounding her. What had made her think she could ever be happy in the Midwest? Dana frowned as she recalled again how she’d run away like a coward after the deaths of the two people she loved most in the world. Her adopted grandmother was right: she needed to come home. To be here. To live here once again.

This canyon had always been a place of joy and healing for Dana. She used to play hide-and-seek with her friends up here where the trees grew. Fond memories flowed back, sweet as honey. The wide blue sky, the thin wisps of cirrus that reminded her of threads on a weaving loom, and the faraway song of a cardinal all conspired to dazzle her with the intense beauty of the moment. She should never have left. It seemed like such a stupid, knee-jerk reaction now.

Dana halted near the first juniper and slowly turned east, toward the winter hogan. Gasping for breath, she pressed her hand against her pounding heart. Perspiration on her temples dampened strands of her hair. Home. She was finally home. Back where she belonged. As she stood there, embraced by a cooling breeze, and hearing the cry of a red-tailed hawk, Dana felt much old grief sinking out of her, flowing from her body and into Mother Earth.

Yes, the grief that had encased her was finally shedding, like an old, worn snake skin. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, cleansing breath into her lungs, and felt so much of what she’d carried since their deaths miraculously dissolve. Perhaps the biggest mistake she’d made was not staying with Agnes. Her grandmother had pleaded with her to come home, to live with her after the tragedy. Dana regretted not having listened to the wise elder who loved her so fiercely.

As she opened her eyes, Dana inhaled a new scent, one unfamiliar to her. What was it? She lifted her chin, her nostrils flaring as the wind brought a whiff to her once again. It wasn’t unpleasant, and something about it stirred Dana’s womanly senses, long dormant.

Chase rose in one smooth, unbroken motion. Like the cougar at his side, he took three steps toward the woman, who had her back to him. As he threw his arm around Dana’s shoulders, his other hand gripping her left arm, he laughed to himself. She was such easy prey!

The instant the steel arm clamped around Dana, she gave a cry of surprise. That same musky scent filled her nostrils. Her eyes bulged as she was jerked back against the hard, unyielding plane of a man’s body, his powerful fingers digging into her left arm.

Without thinking, Dana jabbed her right elbow into his midsection. It felt as if her elbow had smashed into an unforgiving metal wall.

Letting out a cry of surprise, Chase nearly lost his hold on the woman. He’d expected her to be a rabbit, to stand helplessly, squeal and surrender without a fight. Instead, she’d fought back! Anger flared in him. It wasn’t anger aimed at Dana, but rather himself. A grudging respect was born in Chase as he expertly kicked her legs out from under her. Not wanting to hurt Dana, he monitored the force with which she fell to the smooth sandstone ledge, landing on her belly.

Bringing her left arm up between her shoulder blades, Chase carefully pressed a knee into the small of her back while he held her head down with his other hand. He tempered the amount of pressure he brought to bear on her, and was surprised once more by her fighting spirit. Dana struggled to escape. She didn’t scream, but tried to twist free, lashing out with both her feet.

Sweat trickled down Chase’s temples as he leaned over, his breath coming in gasps. “You made three mistakes, woman.”

Dana froze. The man’s husky voice was so close to her left ear it shocked her. The rock bit into her right cheek as he held her head down on the sandstone. His voice was dark, deeply masculine, and sent new alarms racing through her. Dana was receiving mixed signals from her intuition now. Confused, she finally stilled and stopped fighting. Who was this man? Was he going to kill her? The thought momentarily paralyzed her.