Nightway Read online

  “You should retire, Luther. You’re getting too old for this work.” It was a statement of fact, rather than interest in the old man’s well-being.

  “Retire? Hell! I’m going to cowboy until I’m dead or crippled!” Luther snorted. “And if I get crippled, well, you can just tie me in a saddle. I ain’t gonna retire. I’d just as soon be dead.”

  Impatience gnawed at Hawk, although it didn’t show in his expression. A burst of laughter came from inside. “You should be in there, Luther, listening to Bobby Crow Dog. He made all those films in your heyday, didn’t he?”

  The Indian’s presence was another thing that didn’t rest easy in Hawk’s mind. Chad had a reason for it. Lanna might believe it was merely a gesture of goodwill, but he didn’t—not for a minute.

  “Never went to movies much. Couldn’t afford it.” Luther coughed up some phelgm and turned to spit. “After supper tonight, that Indian was trying to sell me this telescope he’s got. It ain’t a telescope. It’s one of them girlie-peep things. You look in it and there’s a picture of a naked woman. It was something. Stirred this old man’s pulse.” He chuckled, then turned his bright gaze on Hawk. “Chad’s new friend has a face and figure that can give a man ideas, don’t she?”

  “I haven’t seen much of her.” Not as much as he wanted to. “Chad doesn’t seem inclined to introduce her around.” The mere mention of Lanna turned Hawk’s hungry gaze toward the main house.

  “She ain’t playin’ the piano tonight,” Luther remarked. “Katheryn does have a way of playin’ it that fills a man’s soul.”

  “She is a very accomplished pianist,” Hawk agreed.

  “She really must have worked her spell on you last night. Why, it was practically mornin’ before you came back.”

  “Were you checking on me, Luther?” Hawk coolly drawled the challenge, but his eyes were coldly sharp and piercing.

  The cowboy hesitated, pursing his lips. “No.” He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t checkin’ on you.” His sun-weathered face looked sad. “I know you aren’t goin’ to listen to any advice from me. But, boy, you are headin’ for a pack of trouble. You’ve already known more than your share. Back off, boy, while you can.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hawk didn’t change his relaxed pose.

  “Have it your way.” The cowboy shrugged.

  “You’re tired, Luther. It must be past your bedtime. Why don’t you turn in for the night?” Hawk suggested.

  “No, I’m goin’ to sit out here for a spell. I don’t sleep too good anymore. When you get old, the body doesn’t seem to need as much sleep as it used to.”

  Hawk swore silently. Throwing a last glance at the beckoning lights of the main house, he straightened.

  “I’m going to turn in,” he announced. “Good night, Luther.”

  “Night.”

  It was nearly sundown when Hawk rode into the ranch yard the next day. Hot, tired, and dirty, he hadn’t slept worth a damn, lying awake in his bunk most of the night and remembering the pleasures he had enjoyed in another bed. It angered him that he couldn’t forget. He’d pushed himself hard today in self-punishment. Damn, but he wanted a shower and something clean against his skin—like Lanna. Hawk clenched his jaw savagely.

  With a check of the rein, he halted his horse’s shuffling walk in front of the barn. He swung out of the stirrups and started to lead the horse inside to unsaddle it. From the near side of the building, he heard a wavering voice monotonously chanting and paused. Curiosity moved him to investigate.

  Looping the reins around a corral rail and securing them in a half-hitch, Hawk left the horse and ducked between the boards. When he rounded the corner of the building, he saw Bobby Crow Dog facing the setting sun and swaying as he sang. Hawk stopped to listen, his brows drawing together in a puzzled frown as he tried to catch a word or a phrase that would help him identify the chant. But the guttural sounds were garbled and indistinct.

  “What is this song?” Hawk interrupted the singer. “I don’t recognize it. Where is it from?”

  Bobby Crow Dog regarded this display of ignorance with contempt. “It is from Flaming Arrows, 1949.”

  The information prompted a wry shake of his head. But Hawk’s amusement vanished when he saw the fifth of whiskey in the Indian’s hand.

  “Where did you get the whiskey?” Hawk thought it had been strictly understood that no one was to give him liquor. “Who gave it to you?”

  “I trade,” he insisted, offended by Hawk’s implication that he had accepted charity. “Give big magic for bottle.”

  The corners of Hawk’s mouth were pulled grimly down. The “big magic” was probably that picture of the nude woman the Indian had tried to peddle to all the cowboys last night. Somebody had finally given in.

  “Who traded the whiskey for the magic?” Hawk demanded.

  The Indian frowned as he tried to remember. “The Two-Faced One.”

  “That description fits a lot of people on this ranch,” Hawk muttered to himself. Louder, he said, “Do you know his American name?”

  “She give me good whiskey.” He took a swig and made a sound of satisfaction. “Want some?”

  She? On second thought, Hawk doubted if that meant anything. Bobby Crow Dog had reverted his speech pattern to the old way. The Navaho language didn’t have pronouns that distinguished between the male and female gender. The Navahos tended to use the American ones interchangeably.

  Hawk asked, “Was it a man or a woman?”

  The liquor Bobby Crow Dog consumed deafened him to the question. He was staring again at the golden ball of the sun and chanting his unintelligible lyrics.

  Shaking his head, Hawk turned away. With a certain fatalism, he decided that it didn’t matter who had given Bobby Crow Dog the whiskey. One way or another, he probably would have gotten hold of a bottle, anyway. It was the only way the old man could recapture his lost days of glory.

  “Did I tell you Johnny received a perfect score on his math test, Katheryn?” Carol glanced up from the petit point design she was stitching, holding the needle in mid-air. “It was in the letter that came today. He was so proud.”

  “No, you didn’t mention that. I’ll have to remember to send him a little something as a reward for doing so well,” Katheryn declared with the typical generosity of a grandmother.

  “Johnny does so well in school, just like his father.” Carol directed the remark at Lanna by way of explanation. They were sharing the sofa, Carol busy with her needlework and Lanna leafing through the pages of a magazine.

  “Chad had to study hard for his grades,” Katheryn inserted. “They weren’t given to him simply because he was a Faulkner.”

  “Of course not,” Carol agreed. “But Chad is very intelligent. Everyone knows that.”

  Lanna made a halfhearted attempt to appear interested in the conversation. But it didn’t hold her attention any more than the magazine in her lap did. She cupped a hand over her mouth to hide a tired yawn.

  “Am I boring you with all this talk about Johnny?” Carol apologized.

  “No, not at all,” Lanna insisted. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  She had tossed and turned all night long, waking up at the slightest sound, thinking it might be Hawk. It had been unsettling to realize how much she had counted on seeing him last night. She had felt very tired and rundown all day, which indicated she didn’t have much reserve strength after her recovery from the flu.

  “Maybe you should have an early night,” Katheryn suggested.

  “I think you are right,” Lanna sighed. Tossing the magazine aside, she rose from the sofa. “Good night. Tell Chad good night for me. I don’t want to disturb him while he’s busy.”

  “We will,” Carol promised. “If he doesn’t come out of that study fairly soon, I’m going in there and drag him out. He works much too hard.”

  “Would you like some hot milk? Or perhaps some cocoa?” Katheryn offered.

  �
��No, thank you,” Lanna refused, then hesitated when she turned to leave. Looking back at her hostess, she asked, “Do you have any sassafras tea? That’s my remedy for everything.”

  There was the smallest hesitation before Katheryn nodded. “I believe we do. I’ll ask Roseanne to bring a cup to your room.”

  “Thank you. Good night.”

  She followed the corridor to her bedroom. As she entered, her gaze was automatically drawn to the glass-paned doors leading to the veranda. She paused, then crossed the room to close the drapes. Her hand hesitated on the drape cord as she gazed out into the blackness of night. A few lights glimmered through the trees. Lanna turned the small knob that locked the doors and pulled the heavy drapes shut.

  Fifteen minutes later, she had creamed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into her silk pajamas. Lanna walked to the bed to turn down the covers. There was a light rap on her door. Then Carol called brightly, “Room service.”

  Lanna smiled. “Come in.” She finished pulling the covers down as the door opened and reached for the rolled pillow to plump it. “You shouldn’t be waiting on me. I don’t expect that.”

  “I know you don’t.” Carol set the china cup and saucer on the table beside Lanna’s bed.

  “Thanks for bringing it.” Lanna took the cup from its saucer and inhaled the enticing aroma rising from the hot liquid.

  “It was no trouble.” Carol shrugged. “Are you feeling okay? It would be terrible if you had a relapse when you’re here to rest.”

  “I’m just tired,” Lanna insisted and sipped the tea. “This is a different brand,” she noticed and took another sip. “I like it. Do you know what it is?”

  “No. Katheryn fixed it. Roseanne had already gone to bed. That’s why I volunteered to bring it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She took another sip before setting the cup back in its saucer.

  “You’re tired. I won’t keep you up.” Carol started toward the door. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” In a naturally graceful half-turn, Lanna sat on the edge of her bed. She switched on the small lamp on the bed stand. “Would you mind turning out the light?”

  “Sure.” Carol opened the door and paused to reach back inside to switch off the bright overhead light. She smiled and closed the door.

  Picking up the cup again, Lanna made a silent wish that the soothing tea would help her sleep. She didn’t want to spend another night like the last one. Yawning, Lanna reached for the cup of tea and finished it, then slipped under the covers, reaching over to turn out the lamp.

  Within minutes after snuggling onto the pillow, she felt a little nauseous, but it soon passed and she fell asleep. She began to dream almost immediately. Hawk was there, in the bed with her. His eyes were so vividly blue, intensified and electric, every pinpoint of color sharply defined. His hair was even blacker, its sheen throwing off so much light that Lanna had to close her eyes against the glare, even in the dream.

  There was an explosion of color behind her eyelids. Her heart was pounding so loudly that Lanna was certain it was outside her body. When she looked, Hawk was holding it in his hand. She begged him to give it back, but he just smiled in that careless way of his and walked away. Then Chad was there, promising to get her a new heart, reassuring her the way he always did. She could hear his voice so clearly, yet his face kept becoming distorted, waves running through it like in those mirrors at a carnival.

  Carol came to tell her about the letter from her son, Johnny. Lanna tried to explain about Hawk stealing her heart, but Carol laughed and insisted Hawk would never do that. He was her brother; hadn’t she been raised with him like a sister?

  The dream became a parade of characters—first Hawk, then Chad, Carol, followed by Katheryn railing in jealousy against John. John came to see her, thousand-dollar bills sticking out of his pockets. He kept forcing the money into her hands, insisting she take it. The old Navaho came swooping into her dream, flapping his dirty pink blanket and cawing like a crow. His gnarled fingers were talons that kept grabbing at her arm, a cedar bead necklace dangling around his neck.

  Her breathing was hard. She could hear the air whooshing in and out of her lungs. Her heart was back. She could hear it beating. Had Hawk returned it? Was it the new heart Chad had promised? If there were fingerprints on it, she would know. Fingerprints? How could she find fingerprints on her heart when it was inside her? What if it wasn’t her heart, but someone else’s?

  Lanna tried to run from the dream, but her legs wouldn’t work. There was color … so much color. Dazzling. It was the Fourth of July. She relaxed to watch the brightly beautiful red, blue, green, and yellow stars cascading in the sky. Whirling and twisting. She was inside a kaleidoscope. Stunning patterns and combinations created especially for her. Amethyst, orange, fuschia, ruby, emerald. She was surrounded by jewels. Enormous, hundred-carat stones. Someone kept heaping them on top of her until her hands were weighted down with rings.

  All night long, she hovered between beautiful dreams and nightmares. It was never totally one or the other. When she awakened, it was with a twinge of regret. She didn’t want to leave all that beauty behind her. The exhilaration of it had left a fading trail in her veins. She felt rested, yet faintly listless.

  When she entered the morning room, Katheryn was seated alone at the table. She smiled pleasantly. “You are up a little earlier this morning. How do you feel today?”

  “Better.” Lanna smiled back.

  “Would you like orange or grapefruit juice this morning? We have both.” Katheryn slid her wovenrattan chair away from the table and stood up to walk to the sideboard, laid out with the morning’s breakfast array.

  “It doesn’t matter. I can get it,” Lanna offered.

  “Sit down,” Katheryn insisted. “I was going to pour myself some more coffee, anyway.”

  Lanna took a drink of her orange juice. “Where’s Carol? Is she still sleeping?”

  “No. I believe she is busy packing for Chad.” Katheryn added a lump of sugar to her coffee.

  “Is Chad leaving?”

  “Yes. He has to fly back to Phoenix this morning. He doesn’t feel he should stay away from the office any longer.” There was a musical clink of the spoon against the side of the china cup as Katheryn stirred her coffee. “He’s in the study, collecting all the papers he needs, if you want to speak to him before he leaves.”

  “Yes. Maybe I should,” Lanna murmured with a trace of a frown in her expression. “I should ask him about my new heart.” The instant she said the words aloud, she realized that had been part of the dream she’d had last night, and she laughed. “That’s crazy.”

  “What is, dear?” Katheryn glanced up curiously.

  “Nothing.” Lanna shook her head and pushed her chair away from the table. “I just had the wildest dreams last night. Excuse me.”

  “Certainly.”

  Leaving the morning room, Lanna hurried along the corridor into the foyer and took the second archway leading to a set of carved mahogany doors. It was the only room, other than the bedrooms, that had doors to ensure privacy. She rapped twice on the polished wood.

  “Come in.” Chad called.

  With a turn of the ornate brass knob, Lanna pushed the door open and walked in. The study was a very masculine room, stamped with John’s personality. Lanna noticed it immediately in the heavy Indian influence of a decorative Navaho blanket on a wall and kachina dolls on the fireplace mantle. They were balanced with several trophy antlers, as well as solid oak furniture and a leather sofa and chair. It was all countered by a draftsman’s table, its pigeonholes filled with rolled-up blueprints. It was definitely John, the outdoorsman, the contractor, and the student of the Navaho culture.

  Chad was standing beside the massive, antique oak desk, sorting through the papers on its top, where his briefcase was laid open. A smile spread across his handsome features when she entered.

  “Good morning. Katheryn just told me you are leaving this morning.” Lanna cross
ed the room to stand in front of the desk. “You didn’t mention anything about it yesterday.”

  “I had planned to leave later on this afternoon. Then Carol asked if I would stop at my old alma mater to see Johnny. She has some books for him, and Roseanne baked his favorite cookies, so I’m being sent with a ’care’ package.” He added some papers to the folder in his hand and slipped it into the briefcase among some others. “It’s Carol’s way of making up for not seeing him this last weekend.”

  “I hope I wasn’t the cause of that.” Lanna frowned.

  “You weren’t. There were several activities going on at the school this weekend. Johnny didn’t want to miss out on them. He’s on the football team, first string.”

  Lanna felt reassured by Chad’s explanation. “I imagine Carol is very proud of him, then.”

  “Proud? That’s almost an understatement,” Chad declared. “She practically lives for that boy. I know it’s because she can’t have any more children, but it worries me sometimes the way she makes him the center of her existence. She writes to him four or five times a week. Sometimes I think she cares more about our son than she does about—” He stopped, a look of chagrin spreading across his face. “I’m sorry, Lanna.”

  “For what?” She tipped her head to the side, shiny brown hair swinging across her shoulder.

  “It’s an old story. Husbands are always complaining about the way their wives neglect them.” He snapped his briefcase shut with an air of finality. “I never intended to use that line on you. Carol isn’t perfect, but neither am I.”

  “You are just closer to being perfect than she is,” Lanna teased in an effort to ease the sudden tension.

  Chad moved around the corner of the desk to stand in front of her and take hold of her shoulders. He studied her with an intent look that seemed to transmit his utter sincerity. Yet Hawk didn’t trust him—the unbidden thought crossed her mind.

  “Carol is a good wife—and a good mother,” Chad stated emphatically. “I want you to understand that so you will know it isn’t because I lack something that I—” He stopped again without finishing the sentence. “I almost wish you hadn’t come here to tell me goodbye,” Chad murmured in a half-groan. “If Mother or Carol were here, it might be easier. Lanna.”