Naked Edge (41 page)

"Let's get you back inside. You're freezing." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her back inside. "Get back in bed."

Shivering, she did as he asked, watching as he lit one of the lamps, then filled the coffeepot with cold water and set it on the woodstove to boil.

"I wish I could do something so you wouldn't feel afraid," he said at last. "You've been dreaming about coyotes almost every night, did you know that?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"I don't give a damn about that. What does the coyote mean to you? You said something about not crossing its path when we saw that one at Mesa Butte. Does crossing its path bring bad luck?"

"Not exactly. When a coyote crosses your path, you have to show respect. If you don't, your life can be thrown out of balance, and that can bring bad things. But sometimes a coyote can be sent by the spirits to warn you." She shivered, the plaintive howl echoing in her mind.

Gabe slid in bed beside her, drew the covers closer around her, kissed her hair.

She wanted to explain, to make him understand. "I crossed a coyote's path the day I fell. I wasn't able to stop and make an offering. And then the day we found Grandpa Red Crow, just as I was leaving home to meet you, I saw a coyote was standing at the end of my driveway, watching me. I made an offering, said the sacred words but ... Then at the butte, we both crossed the coyote's path. I didn't have my corn pollen, and we were almost shot. I know it probably sounds silly and superstitious to you, but I can't get past the feeling that something terrible is going to happen."

He stroked her hair. "It doesn't sound silly and superstitious. It sounds like post-traumatic stress. You've been through hell. But just in case, the door is bolted, and I've got a loaded rifle and a forty-five semiauto right here where I can grab them on a moment's notice. Anyone who tries to hurt you is going to have to get through me first."

But that might have been what terrified Kat the most.

WHILE GABE CHOPPED wood outside, Kat peeled and sliced potatoes to add to the beef stew she had bubbling on the stove. She was used to making mutton stew, so she wasn't sure about the flavoring. She needed to make dough for frybread, too, because no one ate stew without frybread. But dough could wait a little while.

She sat down at the table and opened the Mesa Butte file, feeling a sense of urgency that wouldn't leave her alone. The coyote's visit both in her dream and outside the cabin had left her feeling shaken. She needed to find the answers so this ordeal could end, and that meant focusing on her investigation. There had to be something in this file that explained what was happening at Mesa Butte. Clearly, the raid on the
inipi,
Grandpa Red Crow's death, and the looting were all related, but how?

She'd already met today's news deadline and was hoping to get a jump on tomorrow's article. The story she'd turned in today had been more a feature story than hard news, offering the reader an overview of how the international black market for American Indian artifacts worked and attempting to explain how looting hurt the Native community. She'd made the most of her interview with the Interpol agent and had taken time to interview several Indian leaders, including Uncle Allen.

It had given her an excuse to check in and hear how everyone was doing--Uncle Allen with his new responsibilities as leader of their
tiyospaye,
or spiritual family, Glenna with her chemotherapy, Pauline with studying for her GED. They were all very worried about her, of course. Uncle Allen had asked if he could come see her. When she'd told him that she was in protective custody and couldn't even tell him where she was, much less welcome him for a visit, he'd seemed to understand.

"We've been holding sweats up in Conifer every weekend, and we've been praying for you and your ranger, Kimimila. I hope he's keeping you safe and happy."

"He is, Uncle Allen. He is."

And he was. If it hadn't been for the sense of foreboding she couldn't seem to shake and the circumstances that had brought them here, these past three days would have been the happiest of her life.

Oh, how she loved Gabe! She loved that he was at home in the wild, that he knew how to survive and thrive. She loved that he was strong and courageous, every inch the warrior. She loved that he was passionate in bed and that he brought out the passionate side of her. Now that she knew what she'd been missing where sex was concerned, it was hard to imagine living without it. But it wasn't just sex--it was sex with Gabe.

Yes, she loved him, and she was pretty sure he loved her, too, even if he hadn't told her so. There was simply no way a man could fake the kind of caring he'd shown her each and every day--the way he protected her, the way he'd held her last night when she'd been afraid, the way he made love to her.

And yet he'd made her no promises. He'd been careful to let her know that he couldn't make promises. Even so, she refused to worry about it. She didn't want to undermine the connection they'd made these past few days with negative thoughts. She'd given herself to him knowing that he might pull away. She still believed she'd done the right thing. It had been the only way to reach him, the only way she could think of to help him restore harmony in his heart.

And if you're pregnant?

If she was pregnant, she'd have a baby for Gabe. And she would love that baby forever, whether Gabe was in her life or not.

Clearing her mind, she sorted through the remaining documents, pulled out a surface-water survey, and began to read.

THAT'S HOW GABE found her, highlighter in hand, gaze on some official-looking piece of paper, a thoughtful frown on her face. He'd worried about her all day and had known without asking that she was still thinking about last night's visit from the coyote. To be truthful, he'd found the whole thing to be damned eerie, particularly given what she'd told him. Though he was a man of science and wanted to believe this was all freakish coincidence--coyote crossings, coyote nightmares, late-night coyote visitors--he couldn't help but wonder whether there wasn't something to this coyote business.

He dropped an armful of wood on the dwindling woodpile. "Find anything?"

Whatever she was cooking, it smelled like heaven.

She looked up, shook her head, dark circles beneath her eyes. "No. And that's what bothers me. There's nothing in this file to explain what's happened at the butte--no history, no mention of artifacts, no indication that the city even knew Indian people used the land."

That
was
strange.

"Those things should definitely be there. The file must be incomplete." He walked back outside for another armload, shutting the door behind him, his gaze shifting to the western horizon.

The temp was dropping fast, and dark storm clouds were moving in from the northwest. Within the hour, they'd be in the midst of a blizzard. That's why Gabe had shifted priorities from worrying about Kat--and ogling her discreetly while she'd worked--to chopping firewood. He'd wanted to bring in as much wood as possible before the storm hit. As long as they were warm, he and Kat could ride out whatever the mountains could throw at them. And he had all kinds of ideas about how to pass the time while the storm raged. He filled his arms with firewood, walked around to the front door, and nudged it open with his boot.

She was standing by the stove, stirring what could only be beef stew. "You say those documents should be in the file. Do you know that for sure?"

He dropped the load of wood, glanced into the pot, his mouth watering. "Are you making frybread? 'Cuz you know I love your frybread, honey."

She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Yes, I am making frybread. Only crazy people eat stew without frybread."

He grinned, ducked down, and kissed her nose. "Got to check in with Darcangelo and get more wood. Snow is about to fly."

By the time he'd made the call and gotten the last load in, the storm had begun and they'd lost electricity for the night. Kat had already lit a few lanterns and was kneading dough, a skillet of oil heating on the stove.

"It's coming down pretty hard already. I'd say we're in for a genuine Rocky Mountain blizzard." He stripped off his gloves, parka, and boots, then walked over to the sink and washed his hands. "I'm betting we'll get at least a foot."

She took her lump of kneaded dough and began to divide it into little balls. "Is that what you would call 'sick powder'?"

He knew she wanted to talk about the Mesa Butte file, but she wasn't pestering him. She'd asked the question, and unlike most women he knew, she trusted him to answer it. That was just another thing he'd discovered that he loved about her. "I see you're getting the lingo down."

She smiled, took up one of the little balls, and began to stretch it into a tortilla shape. "I have no choice but to learn it being around you. Otherwise I might never know what you're talking about."

"I'm glad you've accepted that." He laughed, drew out a chair, and sat, watching the delicate motions of her hands as she worked the dough. He could get used to having her cook for him, to sharing all of his meals with her. He could get used to a lot of things where Kat was concerned--if he let himself.

You haven't told her you love her.

No, he hadn't, but that's only because he was a damned coward. He'd get to it eventually. It's not like either one of them was going anywhere. There'd be plenty of time to talk about all that stuff whenever he found the cojones to do it.

He reached for the Mesa Butte folder, which she'd set aside on a chair, and began to look through it. Groundwater studies. Property-line surveys. Noxious weed surveys. Four prairie-dog population counts. Raptor studies. But nothing having to do with the cultural history of Mesa Butte. When he finished, he dropped it on the table. "This file is definitely incomplete."

The sound of sizzling filled the room as Kat put the first piece of bread on to fry. "How can you be certain?"

"When the city buys a piece of property, one of the first things it does is conduct a survey of cultural resources. A historian researches its recorded history, while an archaeologist does a survey on the land looking for artifacts. Depending on what they find, the city is required to make sure those cultural resources are preserved. In the case of Mesa Butte, that job falls to Mountain Parks."

She turned the sizzling, bubbling bread over, glancing back at him. "So, if there's no archaeological survey or historical study in the file--"

"Then someone in the city government removed them."

"If this is true, then whoever removed them has broken state law. The newspaper will sue. Are you absolutely certain?"

"Absolutely one hundred percent certain."

KAT HAD JUST lost her third straight game of checkers when Gabe leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You're not into this game, are you?"

Outside the wind howled, the sound reminding her of the coyote's call.

"I'm sorry." Kat handed Gabe back the few black pieces she'd managed to steal from him. "I guess I'm a bit preoccupied."

He handed her the red. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Mesa Butte, would it?"

His tone of voice made her laugh. "I know we can't do anything about it tonight, and I know we've already talked it out. I just feel bad that I didn't realize the file was incomplete sooner. I remember wondering about it last Thursday, but I forgot--"

"Is that the same Thursday where your workday was cut short by near cardiac arrest? Because if it is, I think you're being way too hard on yourself."

It was, of course, that same Thursday. Kat had stopped reading the file because she'd been sick, though she hadn't known it at the time. She hadn't gotten back to it till today. "I see your point. But this isn't just about getting a story, and it isn't just about me or my safety. It's about finding the person who killed Grandpa Red Crow and who plundered Mesa Butte. It's about protecting my people's right to pray in peace. I'm an investigative journalist. If I don't do my job right ..."

He reached across the table and took her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. "You're doing everything you can. Tomorrow morning, I'll call Mountain Parks and get the name of the archaeologist. Then we'll track him down and see if we can get the information straight from him."