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  As he had done the last time, Hawk slipped silently away when the first streaks of dawn were lacing the night sky. The sun was high before Lanna awakened to discover she was alone in the bed. Her disappointment was tempered by the knowledge that it had to be that way.

  Strolling under the shade trees, Lanna was heading for the stables. The birds were singing among the spreading limbs. Their cheerful melodies matched her own spirits, so she dawdled to listen. Her gaze roamed the branches overhead, but only rarely did she catch a flash of color as a bird flitted through the leaves to another perch.

  In addition to being dressed in designer jeans, new boots, and a cream-colored silk blouse, she wore a flat-crowned hat, more Argentine in style than Wild West. The throat string dangled loosely below her chin. As she emerged from the trees into the ranch yard proper, Lanna heard voices. She glanced in their direction, hoping that Hawk might be among them. But the trio consisted of Chad, his mother, and Tom Rawlins, all walking in the general direction of the main house.

  Abruptly, she angled away from them, taking a more direct line to the stables. She hadn’t seen Chad or his mother yet this morning. Even though Carol had noticed nothing amiss when they had shared coffee, Lanna wanted to be by herself a while longer. The three had seemed very engrossed in their conversation; she hoped they wouldn’t notice her.

  “Lanna?!”

  When Chad called to her, she turned and waved. “Good morning!” Then she continued on her way.

  “Wait.” He wasn’t satisfied with only a greeting and came after her in a jogging run. Lanna stopped when she heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel and waited for him to catch up with her. In her good mood, it was easy to smile, even if she didn’t welcome his interruption. Chad looked fresh and vigorously handsome when he finally reached her, a puzzled smile splitting his expression. “Where are you going?”

  “To the stables. I thought I might go for a ride.” With luck she might see Hawk. “I mentioned to Carol that I was considering it,” she added to stave off any lecture from him.

  “But it’s nearly lunchtime,” he protested.

  “I overslept again this morning. I just had a big breakfast, so I decided to skip lunch.” Actually, she had been positively ravenous when she had sat down at the table in the morning room.

  “You don’t look nearly as tired this morning,” Chad observed as his gaze wandered over her in open admiration. “There’s more color in your cheeks. All this rest is agreeing with you. I’m glad.”

  “Something definitely is.” She nodded and smiled broadly.

  “Is there any reason you have to go riding now? If you wait until after lunch, I’ll come with you. By the way, how are the muscles this morning?” His glance slid suggestively downward to the rounded curves of her hips, outlined by the snuggly fitted denims.

  “Just a little stiff,” Lanna admitted. “I thought if I rode today, they would loosen up. Thanks for the offer to come with me, but I don’t expect you to hold my hand all the time. I can manage on my own.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you riding alone. It’s easy to get lost in this country,” Chad explained with a wry grimace. “This is the busy time of year on the ranch, too. I’d hate to have to pull the boys off the range to organize a search party for you.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” She nibbled at her lip, recognizing the logic of what he said. “I guess I could wait.”

  “Come up to the house. You can have some coffee or iced tea while I eat lunch.” His hand reached out to take her arm, expecting her acceptance as a matter of course.

  “I’d rather just wander around outside.” She eluded the suggestion without making it a rejection of him. “It’s too nice to be indoors.” As she turned her head in an encompassing gesture to indicate the pleasures offered by the sunny day, Lanna noticed the solitary figure walking up the ranch driveway. “Who is that?”

  Chad followed her gaze. “Looks like an Indian,” he said on a note of contempt. “Probably coming for a handout. The fool should know better than to come here. Rawlins will send him on his way fast enough.”

  As the figure grew more distinct, Lanna felt a tug of recognition. “I think I know him,” she murmured.

  “You know him?” Chad repeated in surprise. “Why should you know an Indian?”

  She stared at the torn and dirty pink blanket wrapped around the stooped shoulders. It wasn’t possible that it could belong to any other Indian. There was even a bedraggled red feather stuck in straight, gray-black hair. The major difference from the last time she’d seen him was that the Indian wasn’t weaving in a drunken stagger. He was tiredly marching in a straight line.

  “I don’t actually know him,” Lanna admitted. “But I met him once when I was with your father.”

  “Where did you meet him?” The sharpness of Chad’s demand surprised Lanna.

  “Outside a museum. Does it matter?” She frowned at the grimness he was trying to conceal. Katheryn and Tom Rawlins had come up behind Chad. Their attention, too, was focused on the Indian.

  “No. Of course not,” Chad assured her.

  Lanna turned back. The Indian had seen them standing there and proudly squared his shoulders as he approached, striving for an air of dignity. He was dirty; there was a sallowness to his brown skin; but this time he was sober. Plodding wearily, he didn’t stop until he reached them. His eyes were black and bright as he searched their faces.

  “Hello, Bobby Crow Dog,” Lanna greeted him by name and smiled.

  He stared at her with a puzzled look. “Do I know you?” His speech no longer followed the idiomatic pattern of an uneducated Indian.

  “I don’t think you would remember me,” she told him. “But I met you about a month ago. You had a necklace of cedar beads that you wanted John—John Faulkner—to buy for me.”

  “It is possible,” he conceded, then pulled himself up to his full height. “I have come to see J. B. Faulkner.”

  “He’s dead,” Chad announced with almost brutal frankness.

  Hope faded from the black eyes, leaving them flat. Lanna watched his posture slump under the weight of the news, his height decreasing by several inches. He looked vaguely lost and bewildered.

  “I’m sorry, Bobby Crow Dog,” Lanna offered in sympathy.

  “White Sage was there, as he remembered her, to take his hand and guide Laughing Eyes on the long journey to the afterworld. I know this,” he stated dully. His words drew a stifled gasp from Katheryn. Lanna glanced behind her, but Katheryn was already walking rigidly away from the group. “He said I should go home.” Bobby Crow Dog was talking again and Lanna turned back. He lifted his tired and wrinkled face to Chad. “I have come a long way to see my old friend.”

  “You didn’t walk all the way from Phoenix, did you?” Lanna was amazed that he would have the strength to make such a trek.

  His expression changed as he adopted the look of a buffoon. “I ride my thumb.” Then he was aping the action described by his words—hopping around with his hand between his legs. Lanna shuddered at the spectacle he made of himself. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Bobby Crow Dog laughed, revealing a fine row of teeth that had grown yellow with neglect. “It is funny to ride your thumb.”

  “Yes, it’s very funny.” She smiled weakly and realized he had probably often made himself the butt of a joke to gain acceptance or a handout.

  His face became sad, a little pleading. “I have a hunger that is killing me. Is there food for an old friend of his? Maybe a warm place to sleep? The ground is hard and cold, and my blanket has holes.”

  The humble questions were directed at Chad. Lanna turned to him, too, her hazel eyes adding her own plea to Bobby Crow Dog’s. There was a reassuring warmth in Chad’s expression.

  “I remember that my father knew you, Bobby Crow Dog,” Chad said. “Rawlins will take you to the bunkhouse. You’ll find there’s plenty of food and a good bed to sleep in. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  The bro
ken red feather dipped as the Indian bowed his head in grateful acknowledgment of the invitation. “Thank you. You are a good son. He would be proud of you for remembering an old friend.”

  “Tom.” Chad motioned the ranch manager to come forward. “Take him and see that he gets something to eat.”

  Rawlins didn’t seem too pleased with the order, but he obeyed. He waved to the Indian to come with him. As they walked away, Lanna saw Bobby Crow Dog bend toward the wiry, thin foreman.

  “Maybe there is whiskey,” he suggested eagerly. “I have cedar beads, a genuine Navaho-made necklace. My cousin strung it. Or I could give you a magic eyescope with a naked lady inside.”

  Lanna’s gaze made a downward sweep, away from the two men walking toward the bunkhouse. “I’m glad you asked him to stay, Chad.”

  “Yes. Isn’t he the one who used to make movies in Hollywood?” His head tipped toward her. “I vaguely remember J. B. mentioning that name.”

  “Yes, he’s the one.” Lanna nodded.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go see if Tom and I can find some clean clothes for him, and arrange for a bath. He could use it. I could smell him from where I was standing.” Chad smiled faintly before he moved to follow the foreman and the old Indian.

  His thoughtfulness warmed her. It was so typical of Chad. Lanna had started to turn away when she saw Hawk crossing the yard toward her. His gaze briefly followed the departing Chad and lingered for several seconds on the blanket-clad figure walking with Rawlins. It struck Lanna how intensely the two brothers disliked one another—and she was attracted to both of them. It was an uncomfortable situation. What would she do if she was ever forced to choose? And how much trouble would it cause?

  Hawk’s look was sharply questioning when he reached Lanna. “Was that Bobby Crow Dog?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?” She was faintly surprised that he would recognize him when Chad had only vaguely remembered him.

  “I met him a few times.” A frown narrowed Hawk’s gaze as he looked again in the direction of the trio. “Where are they taking him?”

  “To get something to eat,” Lanna explained. “Chad told him he could stay as long as he liked.”

  “He did?” An eyebrow was lifted in open skepticism.

  “Bobby Crow Dog was a friend of your father’s. He came here looking for him. When he found out John was dead, he looked a little lost. It was sad,” she murmured.

  “He doesn’t have anyplace to go. The hogans of his relatives aren’t open to him anymore, because he shames them with his stealing to buy liquor,” Hawk admitted. His mouth twisted in a slanting line. “I find it a little hard to believe that Chad actually invited him to stay here.”

  “Chad is very kind and generous,” Lanna retorted, defending Chad in his absence. “He’s been very helpful to me.”

  “Only because he could gain from it,” Hawk stated, then flashed a quick smile. “I think we’d better find a subject we can agree on. How do you feel this morning?”

  “Fine.” The sparkle returned to her eyes. “You?” Hawk studied her look with lazy satisfaction. “Fine.”

  “Not sore?” she asked with a faintly provocative smile.

  “Nope. Where are you going?”

  “Originally, I was going riding, but”—Lanna hesitated, glancing toward the house beyond the trees—“I thought I’d go to the house to check on Katheryn. She appeared upset by something Bobby Crow Dog said.”

  Turning, Hawk stared at the house, his features expressing a quizzical concern. “Maybe you should check,” he agreed. “I’ll see how Bobby Crow Dog is making out with your kind and generous Chad.”

  His smiling taunt sent a flash of irritation through Lanna. She glared at his retreating shoulders, her loyalties divided between the two brothers, and conscious that this wouldn’t be the last time. Pivoting sharply on her heel, she retraced her steps back to the house.

  When she opened the front door, she heard the shrill anger of Katheryn’s voice coming from the living room. Its sound didn’t match the image Katheryn had always presented publicly to Lanna—that of a refined and composed lady. Her curiosity was aroused. She closed the door quietly, careful not to make a sound.

  “I could kill him! I swear I could kill him!” she raged. “It was bad enough at the hospital! Carol, when J. B. reached out with his hand, I thought it was for me! God, I thought finally—finally—he was turning to me! Then he whispered her name—her name! Now, that filthy Indian shows up here!”

  “Katheryn, it’s over,” Carol soothed.

  “No, it isn’t over!”

  “You are letting yourself get all worked up over something that isn’t even important anymore.” There was an angry edge to Carol’s voice now.

  “Isn’t important?”

  “Ssh!”

  Realizing that they suspected their conversation was being overheard, Lanna took a tiptoeing step back to the door, opened it noisily, then closed it. She had heard enough to know that Katheryn was still jealous of John’s association with Hawk’s mother, a jealousy that had gone beyond the grave.

  As Lanna walked toward the living room archway, she hooked her thumb through the throat string and slipped her hat off her head. She was wearing a bright look of interest when she entered the room.

  “I thought you were going riding, Lanna.” Carol eyed her with equal brightness.

  “I decided to wait until after lunch. Chad said he would go with me then.” She sank into a chair, stretching out and letting the hat dangle from the armrest. “Is anything wrong?” She glanced from Carol to Katheryn.

  The older woman pivoted away. “I have a bit of a headache. Too much sun, I expect.” Her voice was as still as her posture. “Foolishly, I didn’t wear a hat outside this morning.”

  Lanna wished she hadn’t asked the question and forced the woman into a lie. Rising from the chair she had just taken, she excused herself. “I think I’ll see if there’s any coffee left.”

  The conversation she had interrupted wasn’t resumed after she left. But her thoughts kept turning back to what she had heard as she sat alone in the morning room. She felt sorry for Katheryn. Her life had been consumed by bitter jealousy that fed on itself. It must have tainted her every waking minute—and still did, evidently. Lanna sighed.

  Chapter XVI

  Hawk let his gaze stray from the poker game to the corner of the room where a couple of the older hands were sitting with Bobby Crow Dog. The old Indian was regaling them with tales of his Hollywood days—the movies he’d made and the stars he’d known. He’d tried to sell just about everything he owned for a drink of whiskey, but so far he was still sober.

  “Did you really make all those movies with John Wayne, like you said you did?” Bill Short was eyeing Bobby Crow Dog skeptically.

  “He always asked for me.” Bobby nodded. The dirty pink blanket was gone; so was the feather. In place of the ragged shirt and pants, he had on a bright plaid shirt and Levi’s. The new clothes emphasized the gauntness of his frame. “I called him Duke and he called me Crowbait.”

  “Were you really in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon? I saw that movie four times and I don’t remember you in it.” The other cowboy exchanged a glance with Bill Short, half-grinning. “The only Indians I saw in that were dead.”

  “That was me!” Bobby explained with a toothy smile. “That’s why I was such a good Indian—I was always dead. That’s why Duke called me Crowbait, because I was always sprawled in the dust.” He laughed and his audience joined him.

  “What are you going to do, Hawk?” The Mexican, Sanchez, directed his attention to the poker game. “Dan just raised. It’s three bits to you if you’re staying in.”

  Hawk glanced at his cards showing on the table. A pair of fours was all he had, nothing in the hole, and the seventh card had been dealt. Dan already had him beat with a pair of ladies on the table. There was maybe three dollars in the pot. Chances were he could bluff Dan out. He’d done it often enough in the past. But there wa
s a stronger impulse running through him—powerful and impatient. It was wearing down his restraint, making him feel reckless and uncaring about the possible consequences—the same way he’d felt last night.

  Throwing in his hand, Hawk rose abruptly from his chair. “I’m out.”

  There was a desire for haste in him, but he made himself wander slowly across the room to the door. Outside, Hawk paused beneath the overhang to let his eyes adjust to the night’s darkness. His gaze was drawn immediately to the lights glittering through the trees from the windows of the main house. A quick heat rushed through his veins. He took a step toward the lights and stopped in cold shock when a voice came out of the darkness near him.

  “All that smoke get to you?” Luther Wilcox inquired with too much nonchalance. “I had to come out for some fresh air, too. It was cloggin’ my lungs.” There was a dull thump as the front legs of his chair came down.

  Irritation ran wild through Hawk’s nerves. Why hadn’t he known Luther was there? The answer didn’t put him at ease because Hawk knew he had allowed himself to be distracted by the image of Lanna’s face, the steadiness of her hazel eyes, and the quiet beauty of her features.

  Hawk turned, with apparent casualness, to face the man in the chair. Age had widened Luther and grizzled his hair. For all the easy talk they exchanged over the years, there was always a brittleness between them. Luther and Bill Short had been the ones who had held Hawk for the beating Rawlins had given him. Hawk had never forgotten it. Both men knew it and were wary around him, despite what might appear on the surface.

  “Yeah, I needed some air.” He accepted the excuse Luther had provided and walked past the man to lean a shoulder against a windowframe.

  The position gave Hawk a view of what was going on inside the bunkhouse as well as with the door, the old cowboy, and the distant house. Luther shifted in his chair with an effort, angling himself toward Hawk. It was age that stiffened the man after a hard day’s work.