The Warrior's Way. Jenna Kernan

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СКАЧАТЬ because of the waning moon, now in its quarter. The silvery light reflected back on the placid surface of the Hakathi River.

      “You forgot your lantern,” he said and offered her the handle.

      She made a sniffing sound. “I don’t like them.”

      “Lanterns?”

      “Yes, lanterns—they smell,” she said.

      “I like it—it smells like—”

      “Poverty,” she said, finishing his sentence.

      He cocked his head at the odd association. Did she mean that people used kerosene when they had no electricity? For him the association of the lantern brought back memories of camping along the river as a boy, but perhaps she did not have electricity in her home on Black Mountain. His tribe had some homes on propane up in Turquoise Ridge, but most everyone had electricity and septic tanks. Hadn’t she?

      “Well, we don’t need it. It’s bright enough.”

      She just kept walking until she reached the front porch facing the river. All the cabins faced the river so he understood why she had picked the wrong one. Close, just one off, but this was his cabin for as long as she stayed with them.

      “Um,” he said. Should he tell her or let her figure it out on her own?

      She rounded on him. “You had no right to take an offhanded comment and present it to everyone as if I had suggested blowing up your reservation as a viable option.”

      “Seemed like a plan.”

      “It’s a disaster. It will ruin the canyon and it will boomerang back to me. Your little stunt in there could cost me my job.”

      She worried about protecting her career while he worried about safeguarding the lives of everyone here.

      “It wasn’t a stunt, Sophia. I’m trying to save my people.”

      “That’s our job—the FBI’s. And we can do our work more efficiently without a bunch of lunatics performing a ghost dance and then blowing themselves to smithereens.”

      The ghost dances had been used in a vain attempt to remove the scourge of white men from the west by the Sioux people, who followed the great spiritual leader the Anglos called Crazy Horse. His real name was which literally meant “His Horse is Crazy.” But Jack understood the reference. Their shaman called for all the people to come and pray and dance tonight. Like Crazy Horse, Kenshaw Little Falcon believed in the old ways. But he also honored the new. In other words, pray but also act. Her comparing his tribe’s gathering to the ghost dance was both insult and honor.

      “How about you wait until tomorrow to see what you think of the job the authorities are doing?”

      She stiffened and placed a hand on the latch.

      Behind them the string of headlights marked the arrival of the tribe, as they wound along the river road like a great, brilliant snake.

      On the great open area between the main lodge and the cabins, the central fire was being lit.

      “Are you sure you won’t come?” Jack motioned to the gathering place. “I’d love to watch you dance.”

      “I haven’t danced for a long time.” She sounded wistful.

      Dancing was a form of prayer for their people, a way to communicate to the great divine while still connecting to the earth.

      “You could just sit on your porch and watch. Then come join us if you like,” he said.

      “Maybe.” She pulled the latch and the door cracked open. She regarded him now, really looking up at him.

      He went still under her inspection, hoping that she liked what she saw. His nostrils flared as he tried to bring enough air to sustain him, but each breath brought her delicate floral scent to him. He breathed it in, making it a part of him. He swallowed but his throat was still dry. He was looking at her mouth now, thinking what it might be like to kiss her slowly at first and then...

      “I’d better go,” she said.

      “Sophia?”

      She stepped closer. Oh, boy. He was about to tell her that she was at the wrong door, but maybe it was no mistake. Maybe she knew exactly which cabin this was. That thought made his wiring short-circuit. His blood rushed and his breathing quickened as the desire drowned the rational part of his mind.

      “Yes?” She brushed the tips of her fingers down the center of his chest.

      “This isn’t your cabin.”

      She stepped back. Damn, he should have kissed her first and then told her. But then he might not have wanted to tell her. Not when his bed was only a few short steps away.

      He wanted her in that bed more than he had wanted anything in a long time.

      Car doors slammed and headlights swung into the field they used for parking. Voices reached them as the people began to gather.

      Sophia looked around her. “Which one is mine?”

      Jack pointed and watched her go. He didn’t follow. Not just because he was needed in the drum circle, but because they needed Sophia’s help. Kissing her, sleeping with her, might make it easier to convince her. But it also would lead to the bloody same questions women always asked.

      Why don’t you look like your brothers? Why are you so big? Have you ever thought about speaking to your parents?

      Jack let his hand trail over his wallet. Inside were the answers. But he just couldn’t bear confirmation that his mother had deceived his father and he was the visible sign of that infidelity. Everyone suspected. No one spoke about it. Except the women he dated. That seemed to make them feel they had some right to turn him inside out. It didn’t. Never had. Never would.

       Chapter Five

      Sophia stood on the porch of the little cabin and listened. The men sat in a circle around a huge drum, each with a leather-tipped drumstick, collectively beating the rhythm for the dance. She could see them all by firelight and recognized many; Ray sat next to Dylan, who was beside Kurt Bear Den. Then came three men she could not see because their backs were toward her. Adjacent to them, Jack Bear Den sat in profile. He was a full head taller than any of the others and that was while he was sitting down. His appearance raised all sorts of obvious questions. The investigator in her wanted answers. But the part of her that kept her own secrets did not.

      Much of her childhood had been horrific and blocking it out just made sense. No different than blocking someone on social media. Except those drums. They brought back something she hadn’t remembered, the good part. Belonging to something bigger than herself. Walling herself off, avoiding going home, it was logical but now she felt a longing that made her weep.

      So here she stood, leaning against the porch rail and watching the Turquoise Canyon tribe dance in unison around the central fire. Her head СКАЧАТЬ