Winter Hawk's Legend. Aimee Thurlo

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      “Go past me. I’m too close, and I don’t like the way that bird’s eyeing me,” Daniel said.

      “She’s just trying to figure out what we’re up to, that’s all,” Gene said softly, reaching into his jacket pocket and moving along the shelf as Daniel hugged the rock wall.

      Daniel watched his brother as he held out the medicine bag with the fetish, and moving ever so slowly, placed it inside the nest.

      The hawk hopped back a step, but didn’t fly away.

      Daniel smiled. “Had it been me, I’d have pulled back a bloodied stump.”

      “It’s your approach. First you have to show respect.”

      “I respect what Hawk is—a raptor, a bird of prey,” Daniel said.

      “No, not just a bird. Hawk is connected spiritually to our family. By honoring that, we walk in beauty.”

      Daniel watched the bird peck and probe the bag for a few seconds, then settle back down, reassured.

      “Winter Hawk accepts the tribute,” Gene said.

      “We’re done, then,” Daniel said, turning to search for the foothold below his current position.

      “No, it’s not over,” Gene said, resting his face against the cold sandstone, then looking down at Daniel. “Trouble is coming. Hosteen Silver was never wrong about things like that.”

      Daniel knew Gene was right. He could feel it in his bones. “We’ll face it when it comes, bro, and when the dust settles, we’ll still be standing. Count on it.”

       Chapter One

      Holly Gates was running ahead of schedule this morning so, on impulse, she decided to turn off the highway and take the old dirt road that ran through the backcountry. This route circled an area of rolling hills filled with fragrant piñon trees, then connected with the natural gas plant’s access road—her destination.

      The brilliant blue sky and the unseasonably warm December weather here in northwestern New Mexico made it a perfect morning. Mountains dotted with gray-green forests rose to the north and west. The long, table mesa to the east was lined with cliffs colored in deep reds, orange and even layers of violet, like a sandstone sunrise.

      Smiling, Holly looked around the brush and low trees for cottontails, quail and whatever else might be out and about. A solitary red-tailed hawk circled above, watchful for an inattentive rodent or bird.

      There were few perfect moments in life, but out here in nature she felt completely at ease. Some people chased happiness as if it were a destination. Yet over the years, she’d learned that happiness could also be found in a well-planned journey. Everyday decisions could become building blocks for an even better tomorrow for those with the foresight to work with an eye on the future.

      The courage to nurture her hopes and dreams, along with a lot of hard work, had brought her to where she was today. Just as she knew precisely where she was heading this morning, she also knew where her goals would eventually take her.

      At twenty-seven, she owned her own business here in New Mexico. TechTalk Incorporated offered consulting and public relations services to its clients. Currently, she was working almost exclusively on a project with the largest tribe in the U.S., the Navajo Nation. What made her services invaluable was her ability to explain highly technical scientific data in everyday English.

      Movement off to the left of the graveled road caught her eye. At a glance she could see several grayish-tan coyotes moving at a fast trot, perpendicular to her route. It was a family group probably—three of the five were clearly smaller than the two mature adults at the front and rear of the pack.

      Holly slowed to a crawl for a closer look. She rarely got a chance to study coyotes up close. Navajos, she knew, avoided these creatures, considering them bad luck. Coyote, in the Navajo creation stories, was known as The Trickster and, at best, was an undependable ally.

      Holly stopped just before the top of a small rise. If she ventured too close, the human-wise coyotes would alter course and disappear into the brush. As she turned off the engine and set the brake, a flash of color and movement to her left caught her eye.

      In a small patch of open ground, a bearded man wearing a baseball cap was unloading a pick from the back of a black, newer-model hardtop Jeep. On the ground beside him was a large, green, military-style canvas duffel bag. Not far beyond, she could see a big hole with a mound of freshly dug earth beside it.

      Perhaps responding to the sudden lack of engine noise and crunch of tires on gravel, he turned around and gave her the once-over. Holly waved, greeting him with a smile.

      Frowning, the man set the pick down on the ground, propped the handle against the tailgate, then walked away.

      Either he wasn’t the friendly type, or he was just plain tired from digging and in no mood to socialize. Of course if he’d needed a pick to break the crust of the hard-packed ground, he probably had his hands full. Judging from the college parking sticker with its big red F on its rear window and his neatly groomed beard, she figured that he was either an archeology or geology professor from the local college.

      Though he hadn’t been friendly, Holly scarcely gave it a thought. She always waved at people and greeted them like old friends. She’d learned a long time ago that a smile and a wave could open doors, or at the very least, disarm a potential enemy.

      As a new business owner, her friendliness and upbeat nature were an even greater asset to her now. Even a casual wave that called attention to her became added publicity, a method of networking. Her company’s name, TechTalk Incorporated, along with the telephone number and website address, were painted on the driver’s-side door of her pickup. Since she had no extra funds to pay for advertising, this was an inexpensive way of getting attention and potential clients.

      When Holly looked back down the road, searching for the coyotes, she found that they’d already disappeared—a survival skill that served them well. Switching on the ignition, she glanced back at the man. The professor or student was by his Jeep again, struggling to load the heavy green duffel bag into the back. For a second she wondered if she should offer to help, but as she reached for the ignition key to turn off the engine again, the man completed the task.

      He was probably a geologist with a bag of rock samples. An archeologist would have wrapped up and handled his unearthed find more carefully.

      Holly glanced at her watch. It was time for her to get going.

      Ten minutes later, she arrived at the gate of the Navajo tribe’s New Horizon Energy’s secure facility. The natural gas processing plant piped in raw natural gas, cleaned it of contaminants, then sent it downline to be used as fuel by consumers. Three strands of barbed wire stood at the top of the mesh, which surrounded the several-acre facility. Security at energy facilities was always high, but she was getting used to it.

      Holly handed her photo ID to the armed, uniformed, middle-aged Navajo man at the guardhouse and gave him a smile. Bruce was barrel-chested and about fifty pounds overweight, but she doubted anyone could knock him down without a lot of help.

      “Good morning, young lady,” he said with a broad smile. “You all ready for Christmas?”

      “If СКАЧАТЬ