A Stolen Chance (21 page)
Mr. Peña must have noticed the stunned expression on Carson’s face. He smiled. “Yes, Carson, I am your uncle.”
“Do I have other relatives here at Zuni?”
The older man laughed, his dark eyes lit with humor, deepening the already-deep wrinkles of his brown skin, a stark contrast to his white hair. “At least fifty, Nephew. We will introduce you one day soon. Perhaps you and Miss Lawton will return in December for the winter solstice celebration ceremonies.”
Carson clasped Susan’s shoulder. “How about it?”
“I’d love to.” She turned to Mr. Peña. “Is this when the fetishes will be blessed?”
“Yes. We don’t usually allow outsiders to attend, but I think we can make an exception for you.” He waved at the two vacant chairs. “Sit. We are anxious to hear of your latest adventure with Mr. Riley’s ghost.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was after dark when they arrived at the Inn at Halona, a bed and breakfast one block from Zuni Pueblo, the only lodgings at Zuni. They’d settled into their room earlier. Susan loved the roughhewn furniture and woven Aztec rugs. She glanced at the queen-sized bed. Though she’d shared Carson’s bed the past two nights, he’d done nothing more than hold her to ease her shakes. Her gut told her tonight would be different. It was time. Carson had been more than patient with her, accepting her reasons for waiting. Few men would have, another indication of his strong character.
Carson placed two grocery sacks on the small table. From one he lifted two bowls and a sack of dog food. With a glance at Hans lying on his bed at the foot of theirs, he asked, “You ready to eat, boy?” The dog pushed to his feet and walked to his bowl. Carson spooned out some wet canned food and mixed it with the dry food. “Now, don’t get used to this nasty canned stuff, boy. This is only until you get well.” Hans snuffled and munched away.
Susan emptied the other bag, laying out a cheese/meat/fruit tray and opening a box of crackers. They’d purchased the items in the store next door to the inn. The beer and wine they’d brought from home. “I thought there would be glasses in the room, but I can’t find any.”
“I’ll run over to the main building and see if they have a couple.”
He returned with two wine goblets. “You want wine or beer?”
“Wine.”
He poured two glasses of the red and handed her one. She took a sip. It eased smoothly down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “Mmm, nice.”
“Very! I’ll have to remember this brand.”
****
Susan sat in bed reading a brochure on the Zuni area when Carson emerged from the bathroom. Previously he’d worn a T-shirt with his pajama bottoms, but tonight he was shirtless and the pants rode low on his hips. Her breath hitched in her chest.
Oh, my, he’s a beautiful man.
His muscled chest, arms, and abdomen rippled as he padded barefoot across the room. She dared not look lower to see the state of anything else. Her mouth watered in anticipation of touching his bronzed skin, feeling its texture under her hands. She’d touched it before, but tonight was different.
“What’re you reading?” He turned out the overhead light and crawled into bed beside her. Propped on one elbow, he faced her.
“A pamphlet about the area. There’s a lot to see.”
He took the paper and gave it a cursory glance. “One day we’ll come back and take in the sights.” He reached across her and shut off the lamp. His breath whispered across her cheek and he pulled her closer. “Right now, I want to love you.”
“I want that too.” She tilted her face to his. Their lips met. His tasted and teased. Heat bloomed in her belly, and her heart swelled with love for this man. She shivered and melted against his hard length, aching to get closer. As his hands stroked her body, she learned the texture and strength of his. Their breaths and sighs mingled in the dark. When he entered her, she reveled in the fulfillment, her joy burst around her, and she wept against Carson’s neck.
****
Carson cradled Susan close. Her breath whispered across his cheek. They lay facing, legs twined, bodies sated from their lovemaking. Contrary to Susan’s fear, he wasn’t disappointed in her response. She’d blushed afterward and said, “I don’t know what came over me.”
He was unable to resist laughing outrageously. She swatted him on the belly, but he captured her hand and pulled her close again. “Maybe it’s because I know how to love you.”
She’d smiled. “Maybe.”
He sighed, content to have this woman beside him. Hans yawned on his bed on the floor and uttered a snort. “I know, fella, I’m one happy, boring man.”
****
Susan had met and conquered her demons. Now she insisted he do the same.
Inside New Mexico Women’s Correctional Facility in Grants, Carson was searched before being admitted to the visitation room. His stomach knotted with tension. It had been two years since he’d last seen Trina Washington. That day in court she’d been distraught, her health fragile from years of drug use. Her hate-filled eyes had speared him as the officers pulled her from the room. She’d screamed, “Murderer! You killed my baby...my baby...Oh, God...” Would her screams haunt him forever?
He shivered and sat down. Trina blamed him, and it was time to meet her face-to-face and ask her forgiveness. The sound of large keys in a heavy metal door and the buzz of its alarm interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up to see a guard escort an attractive dark-skinned woman through the door. Clean and neat, her orange jumpsuit enhanced her coffee-colored skin. She smiled at Carson and started his way.
“Trina?”
“I know. You didn’t recognize me, did you?”
“To be honest, no.” This woman’s skin was clear, her hair shiny, her teeth fixed. No doubt the citizens of New Mexico had paid for that, but if this woman left prison with a new attitude and purpose in life, it was worth it, in his opinion.
She settled in a chair. “I barely recognize myself sometimes.”
He sat across from her and folded his hands on the table, struggling for the right words. She reached for his hand and gripped it tightly.
“You don’t have to say it, Detective.”
Voice choked, he said, “Yes, I do...to eradicate the ghosts and clear my conscience. Not that mere words will be enough, but I truly am sorry I fired the shot that killed your daughter.” He coughed to clear his throat. “She was a precious child, and her death will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
Tears flowed down Trina’s cheeks, and she wiped at them with her free hand. “Yes, she was.” Her chin wobbled, and she bit her bottom lip to steady the trembling. “Her death is my fault, not yours. If I hadn’t been involved with drugs, you wouldn’t have had to bust into my home.” Her eyes, dark with sorrow, pleaded with him to understand. “I killed my child, not you. I deal with it every day, and hopefully one day I’ll be able to forgive myself.”
As Carson walked back to the van, his heart lightened, but he grieved for Trina Washington. He couldn’t imagine what she suffered. She’d offered him forgiveness and solace. He wished he could do the same for her. Hopefully in time she’d accept society’s forgiveness, and God’s, and be able to forgive herself. Then she might be able to start anew.
Hans thumped his tail in greeting when he entered the camper van. Susan lay curled up on the bed. He kicked off his shoes and slipped in beside her.
She turned and snuggled against him. “How did it go?”
“Good. Really well.” He breathed in her subtle perfume.
Her arms tightened, drawing him closer. She stroked his back. “I’m so glad.” Her touch soothed him further. He longed to close his eyes and drift to sleep. Better yet, strip her and make love to her.
“She blames herself for her daughter’s death, not me.” He hurt for the woman.
“Poor thing. Drugs destroyed her life, just as they put Dewayne on the road to destruction.”
He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Let’s not dwell on the past. We have an entire future to think about.”
She yawned and stretched, then cast him a sexy smile.
He sat up and bent to pick up a shoe. “Hey, woman, don’t look at me like that. We need to travel at least a hundred miles, two if possible, before stopping for the night. Your folks will be disappointed if we’re late arriving in Chicago.”
“Yeah, I know.” She rolled to her knees and laid her head against his back. “I can’t wait to see them.” Arms around his chest, she squeezed. “And on the way back, driving Route 66 will be so much fun.”
“Don’t forget, we need at least a week to settle into our house in Albuquerque before I go back to work.”
He turned and lifted her onto his lap. “Are you sure you don’t mind me going back to detective work?”
“You’ve told me every horror story you could think of, Carson, but it’s your life, and I won’t keep you from doing what makes you happy.” She stroked his cheek. “We’ll be fine.”
God, he hoped so.
Dewayne was dead. Hopefully Carson had buried his demons. He’d know soon enough.
“All right, wife. Let’s hit the road.”
She giggled. “Yes, dear.”
References
Books
Cushing, Frank Hamilton.
Zuni Fetishes.
Las Vegas, Nevada: KC Publications, 1994.
Kelly, Susan Croce.
Route 66, The Highway and Its People.
Norman and London, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991.
McManis, Kent.
Zuni Fetishes & Carvings One Volume, Expanded Edition.
Tucson, Arizona: Rio Nuevo Publishers, 2004.
Snyder, Tom.
Route 66 Travelers Guide and Roadside Companion Collector’s Edition.
New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2000.
Websites
“About Fetishes—Zuni Fetish Meanings.” Zuni Fetishes Direct, Gallup, New Mexico.
http://www.zunifetishesdirect.com/about.htm
“Zuni Fetishes and Carvings Old and New.” Horsekeeping LLC, USA.
http://www.horsekeeping.com/jewelry/Fetish-about-page1.htm
“Zuni Fetishes. A little history about Zuni Fetishes you may find interesting.” Indian Summer Native American Art, Salt Lake City, Utah.
http://www.indiansummer.com/fetishes.htm.
“Information On The Zuni Indian Tribe.” Essortment, Your Source for Knowledge.
http://www.essortment.com/information-zuni-indian-tribe-63766.html
“Zuni Fetishes.” Wikipedia.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zuni_fetishes
A word about the author...
Linda LaRoque is a Texas girl, but the first time she got on a horse, it tossed her in the road, dislocating her right shoulder. Forty years passed before she got on another, but it was older, slower, and she was wiser. Plus, her students looked on, and it was important to save face.
A retired teacher who loves West Texas, its flora and fauna, and its people, Linda’s stories paint pictures of life, love, and learning set against the raw landscape of ranches and rural communities in Texas and the Midwest. She is a member of RWA, her local chapter of HOTRWA, NTRWA, and Texas Mountain Trail Writers.
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