Desert Sons Read online

  “Please, take it easy,” she whispered, her voice high and thin. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  He didn’t seem to be listening. When she reached a hand toward him, he raised the gun. “Stay back!” he warned.

  Her only defense was to stand stock-still—fighting the impulse to throw her hands protectively in front of her body.

  Her friend might have shot her. Instead some small measure of sanity flickered in his eyes.

  “No,” he said again, this time sounding as though his meaning might have changed. She was about to plead with him to put the gun down when he turned and whirled away.

  As he rushed down the hall, Ashley let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She knew the house. The hall led to the kitchen and family room combination, then to the bedrooms and the art studio. She had to go after him, find out what was wrong.

  Hearing a squeaking sound, she pictured the sliding-glass door in the family room moving in its track. The door led to the patio. Was he going out—into the desert night?

  She was on her way down the hall when footsteps sounded behind her, and she started to turn.

  When hard fingers clamped around her arm, holding her in place, she gasped.

  She tried to wrench away, but the hand held her fast, turned her—and she found herself staring into the dark, questioning eyes of Luke Cordova.

  He seemed to tower over her, dark and lean and angry. “What the hell is going on here, chiquita?” he asked. “Why are all the lights on? What are you doing here?”

  As usual, Luke Cordova had arrived with an attitude.

  LUKE WATCHED Ashley steady herself, dragging in a breath and letting it out before answering his urgent questions. “Honestly, I’m not sure what’s going on. We need to check the back door.”

  He was still holding her arm. Deliberately he loosened his grasp and let her lead him along the hall.

  When they reached the family room, he saw that the sliding-glass door was wide open.

  She pointed. “I think Joe ran out there.”

  “And you let him go out into the desert—at night?” he asked, hearing the accusing tone of his own voice.

  She raised her chin. “I didn’t have much choice. He had a gun. He pointed it at me and warned me to stay where I was.”

  A strangled exclamation rose in his throat. “He threatened you?”

  “Yes.”

  Abandoning her, Luke charged onto the wide patio, filled with heavy wooden furniture and huge ceramic pots of bougainvillea and other flowering plants. When she followed, he half turned and growled, “Get back inside!”

  To his annoyance, she stayed where she was. When he turned again, he felt as if she were staring at the back of his neck where his dark hair was pulled back into a short ponytail.

  He’d been startled to find her here. He didn’t know how to deal with her presence—or with what she’d said had happened.

  Trying to ignore her, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Joe? Are you out here, Joe?”

  Only the mournful sound of the wind answered.

  He stepped into the darkness.

  “Be careful,” Ashley called, her voice high and strained—like she cared about what happened to him.

  “Yeah.”

  In the light shining from the window, he searched the exterior of the house, trying to calm the pounding of his heart.

  He’d had a bad feeling tonight—even before he’d talked to Rico. It wasn’t getting any better. Joe was out here with a gun. And if Ashley was right, his uncle had lost his marbles.

  He gave up after twenty minutes, knowing that if Joe wanted to avoid being found, he could damn well do it. He knew the desert as well as he knew the inside of his own house.

  When he returned to the family room and closed the door, he found Ashley huddled on the worn leather sofa that Joe had owned since Luke was a boy. He could feel Joe’s presence in the room. In the artwork—his own and other artists’—hanging on the rough walls. In the priceless woven rugs on the wooden floor. In the kiva-style fireplace dominating a corner of the room.

  But Ashley dominated the room just by her presence. She looked fragile in the pretty white dress she must have worn to the art gallery. That was an illusion, he told himself. Really, she was tough and determined, or she wouldn’t be working at the pueblo helping residents with everything from food stamp applications to legal problems.

  “What are you doing at Joe’s house, chiquita?” he asked, hating the gruffness of his voice.

  “Don’t call me ‘chiquita,’” she snapped. “At least, not in that tone of voice.”

  She had never protested the teasing name before. Having made her point, she went on. “I was at the art show opening, waiting for Joe. When he didn’t arrive, I got worried, so I came to look for him. I found him in the house…” She stopped and swallowed. “He looked…terrified. He had a gun. He pointed it at me. I got the feeling he didn’t even know who I was. Then he turned and ran down the hall. I heard the sliding-glass door open. The next thing I knew, you had a hand clamped around my arm.”

  He nodded, standing with his shoulder propped against the wall, keeping his distance from her.

  ASHLEY CLAMBERED OFF the sofa, trying to put herself on an equal footing with Luke, even as she silently ad mitted that nothing would ever make her feel equal to Luke Cordova. He wasn’t tall. Only a few inches taller than her own five-six height. But his shoulders were broad. His body was lean and muscular. And his deep-set dark eyes always gave her the impression that he was seeing more than she wanted.

  She’d never figured out if he thought she was interfering in Joe’s life, if he was jealous of her relationship or if he was treating her with his normal hostility.

  He was wearing his usual outfit—a dark T-shirt, jeans and boots, and she wondered if he’d been planning to attend the opening looking as though he was dressed for work.

  “How did you end up out here?” she asked.

  “I called Rico, and he told me Joe hadn’t arrived. As soon as I finished with tonight’s plumbing emergency, I came over.”

  She nodded, knowing that he often put his clients’ needs before his own. That was one of the reasons he’d become so successful. He also had a reputation for hiring men from the pueblo who might not be able to get jobs with anyone else. Men who came from backgrounds similar to his own.

  “You can go back to the festivities,” he said.

  She blinked, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “Don’t you think I’m worried about Joe?”

  “Maybe. But you don’t have to hang around. I can handle things out here.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “The show is probably over by now. And I have no intention of leaving—until I find out what’s wrong with Joe.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  When he started turning off lights, she did the same, darkening most of the rooms in the front of the house, while he took the back. They met in the family room again. Ignoring her, he strode to the coffee machine in the kitchen and poured himself a mug.

  “You drink coffee this late at night?” she asked.

  “When I plan to stay up.” He took a sip of the brew.

  Until that moment she hadn’t thought about the implication, that the two of them would be spending the night alone in a deserted house—unless the owner reappeared. And maybe he’d come charging through the door with his gun drawn. Which meant that going to sleep wouldn’t be such a great idea.

  She joined Luke in the kitchen, poured herself half a mug of Joe’s strong coffee, then added almost as much milk and a spoonful of sugar before carrying the mug back to the sofa and taking a cautious sip.

  Luke took the matching leather easy chair, fixing her again with that unnerving stare of his.

  Trying not to shift in her seat, she asked, “How has Joe seemed to you lately?”

  “Preoccupied. How has he seemed to you?”

  “Worried. Does he confide in you?”

  “Not about his problems,” Luke allowed.

  She nodded, thinking that Joe had been such a good friend to her, but he hadn’t asked for anything in return. He’d just seemed glad that she’d come back to the home she’d never really known.

  Luke cleared his throat. “Go on and get some sleep. I’ll stay up.”

  “I will, too,” she murmured. Not because she wanted to keep him company.

  Feeling overdressed in the white Mexican-style party frock she’d worn to the gallery, she thought about changing into something more comfortable. Luckily, she had some clothing in the spare bedroom, since she sometimes spent the weekend out here.

  Excusing herself, she went to change into jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and running shoes.

  She was just buttoning the shirt when the sound of an animal howling in the darkness made the hair on the back of her neck bristle.

  Hurrying back to the family room, she found that Luke had turned off the remaining lights and was standing at the window, staring out.

  THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS behind him made Luke whirl.

  “What was that?” Ashley asked.

  “A coyote,” he answered, even when he didn’t know if he was speaking the truth.

  Before he could say more, the frantic beating of wings outside the window sent goose bumps dancing over his skin. It sounded like a large bird of prey circling the house, getting ready to attack.

  Then, from one eye blink to the next, the bird was no longer on the other side of the glass. It was right in the room, flapping and swooping and calling out in anger.

  He wanted to believe it had somehow flown down the chimney. But he couldn’t make himself buy it.

  All he could think was that he must protect Ashley. Leaping toward her, he pulled her into his arms,
bending over her body as he sought to merge her form against his own.

  In the darkened room he could see nothing. But he could hear the beating of wings, feel currents of air move as an unearthly screech filled the space around him.

  He had never felt comfortable with Ashley Donaldson. She was so far beyond his experience that he’d never known what to say to her—how to treat her. Tonight he gathered her close, comforting and shielding her.

  As quickly as the assault had started, it stopped.

  For long moments neither of them spoke or moved. He could hear her gasping for breath.

  Finally she brought her hands up and pressed against his shoulders. When he realized he was still clasping her as though they had suddenly become lovers, he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  This time when he answered he tried to be as honest as he could. “A ghost. Or a witch.”

  “You’re serious?” she breathed.

  “What else could it be?”

  She stared up at him. “You believe in…in witches?”

  “My people believe in witches…transforming themselves into animals to do evil. An owl. A coyote.”

  “My people, too,” she murmured. “It isn’t my fault that I wasn’t raised here.”

  “But it’s hard to believe in…superstitions…if you haven’t lived here on the pueblo all your life.”

  Ignoring the observation she said, “A bird came down the chimney.”

  “Yeah, it would be convenient to think that, too. But where did it go?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  “You should leave,” he heard himself say again.

  “No.”

  “Someone is after Joe. If you stay at his house, you could get hurt.”

  “You, too,” she noted.

  “I’m willing to take my chances,” he said evenly.

  She gave him a defiant look. “So am I.”

  He made a rough sound. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  “Unlike you?” she challenged.

  “I don’t know, either!”

  “But you’re big and strong and can cope with witchcraft!”

  He glared at her. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “I appreciate that,” she answered, sounding like she was lying.

  After several charged seconds she returned to the sofa. He went back to the chair, frowning hard.

  Maybe because he wanted her to leave, he said, “Did you ever hear the story of how the witch caught his enemy on his way home from a hunting trip in the desert?”

  “No. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “He took the shape of a coyote and nipped at his heels. The man dropped the meat he was carrying. But that wasn’t enough for the witch. He drove the man farther and farther into the desert. And they found his body days later.”

  “So that’s a witch story they tell little kids around here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re telling it to me to get me to go home?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted again.

  “How do they know it was a witch—if it happened out in the desert?”

  “From the look of terror in the man’s dead eyes.”

  She made a snorting sound. “That’s a great story. But I’m not leaving unless you are.”

  “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

  “Why would a witch come after Joe?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t know!” He wanted to pace back and forth across the room. But there were no drapes on the sliding-glass doors facing the desert. If he moved around in here, even with the lights off, he would make them both a target for anyone outside with a gun or a witch’s spell.

  So they sat facing each other in tense silence.

  As the night dragged on, he watched Ashley slip lower in her seat. Watched her get more comfortable. And finally he watched her sleep, listening to the even sound of her breathing. He wanted to cross the room and move so that his shoulder was pressed to hers. He wanted do more, if he were honest, but he sat in the leather chair, his hands clutching the arms.

  He was angry with himself. He was worried about Joe. The only person who had believed in him—when he hadn’t even believed in himself. But he couldn’t keep his mind off the woman sleeping across the room from him. A woman who couldn’t possibly be interested in a guy like Luke Cordova.

  To distract himself, he tiptoed down the hall to the studio. Joe’s oil paintings were hung and stacked against the walls. Switching on a light, he looked at each of them—shuffling their positions, thinking they were as familiar as his uncle’s face.

  Many were of two recurring desert scenes. One was a narrow canyon below soaring towers of brown basalt.

  The other showed a major rockfall, a jumble of house-size boulders that had crashed down from the cliffs above. And beyond, an old lava flow, streaking the cliff orange. A stream trickled through the rocks. Sometimes it was in the background, sometimes it was the focus of the painting.

  He spent a long time admiring Joe’s artistry. When he looked up, the gray light of dawn glimmered through the window.

  Finally he abandoned the studio and walked up the hall to the front of the house, thinking that he might as well get a change of clothing out of his SUV.

  The mundane thought fled his mind as he stared at the parking area. Then he let loose with an angry curse.

  Chapter Three

  Behind him, Luke heard Ashley scurry down the hall.

  “What? Did you find Joe?” she asked, her voice soft with sleep.

  “Not hardly.” He grimaced. “The situation just got worse. He must have rolled his SUV down the hill so we wouldn’t hear him, then started the engine. He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  He considered the question before saying, “I might have an idea.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he’d kept silent.

  “Where?” she demanded.

  He sighed. “Have you ever taken a good look at his paintings?”

  “Of course!”

  Luke walked back down the hall. Ashley followed. In the studio, he pointed to the canvases and asked, “What do you see?”

  She studied the works. “Magnificent landscapes that make the desert come alive.”

  “Do you recognize the location?” he prompted.

  She gestured toward the two groupings he’d made. “No. But I see two different places.”

  “Right. They’re both in Black Canyon.”

  “You’re thinking he could be there?”

  “Since I don’t have any better ideas, it’s a starting place.”

  Before he could say more, the sound of an engine had them both running eagerly back to the parking area. But the pickup that had pulled to a stop didn’t belong to Joe.

  Containing his disappointment, Luke waited tensely as Raul Estevez climbed out and came toward them.

  “Is everything okay out here?”

  Luke wedged his hands on his hips. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because the old buzzard didn’t show up last night and word got around that you were worried about him,” he said, addressing himself to Ashley. “It’s not like him to skip a gallery show. Is he sick or something?”

  “He’s missing,” Luke clipped out.

  “And we’re still worried about him,” Ashley added.

  Luke noted that she had sense enough not to mention the gun.

  The potter gave them a sympathetic look. “Yeah, Joe has been acting kind of addled lately.”

  “What have you noticed?” Ashley asked.

  “Nothing I could testify to in a court of law,” the other man allowed. “But something is eating at him.”

  “You’ve been friends for a long time. You have any idea what might be troubling him?” Luke pressed.

  Raul shrugged, but Luke got the feeling that Estevez was holding something back, something he might not want to share in front of Ashley.

  “We were going out to look for him.”

  “Do you want me to help?” Estevez asked.

  “We’d appreciate it,” Ashley answered. “Luke says—”

  When Luke grabbed her arm, she stopped speaking—and shot him a questioning look.