Gray, Ginna (11 page)

"Well, for starters, tell me about your mother. What's her
name? What's she like."

"Her name was Mary Morning Star Zah. She was tiny and
delicately built." He glanced at her again, a look of mild surprise
flickering across his face. "Sorta like you."

"You said
was.
Do you mean...?"

"Yeah. She died when I was seventeen. Anyway, she was small,
soft-spoken and shy. I guess it was a case of opposites attracting, because my
dad is a big, rawboned man. Tough as old shoe leather and as hard and unbending
as they come."

Ah, that explains a lot, Lauren thought. Like father, like son.
However, intuition told her she'd best keep that observation to herself.

"How did they meet?"

"Back then, my grandfather was running the ranch. They'd had
a poor hay crop that summer due to a drought around Monticello, but farther
south they'd had plenty of rain, so my grandfather sent Dad there to buy hay
from a Navajo rancher named John Zah. He was my mother's uncle, and she
happened to be visiting him at the time."

"Was it love at first sight?"

"I wouldn't know. I wasn't there."

"Very funny." She shot him a reproving look, but she
refused to let his sarcasm discourage her. "Well, I happen to think the
whole thing is very romantic," she insisted. "It's not every day a
man marries a Native American princess and carries her away to his ranch to
live happily ever after."

Sam snorted. "Guess again."

"What do you mean?" A troubling thought occurred to her,
and she frowned. "How did their families react to the marriage? Surely
there weren't any objections?"

"Plenty. On both sides."

"But that's awful."

"Maybe, but both my grandfather Rawlins and my mother's
people worried that Mary wouldn't be happy living totally in the white man's
world." Sam shrugged. "As it turned out, they were right."

"Oh, no. You mean the marriage didn't last?"

"Nope. She stuck it out as long as she could, but she missed
her family and reservation life. I was four when they split."

"Oh, dear. So I guess after that you grew up on the
reservation with your mother."

"You'd think so, especially since the Navajos are a
matriarchal society that believe the children belong to the mother. But my old
man wasn't about to let her take me away from him. Or I should say, from the
ranch. I was a Rawlins and his only child, and Rawlins men had worked the
Double R for over a hundred years."

Sam's fork clattered against the empty metal plate. He rolled to
his feet in one fluid motion and dumped the dishes into the pot of water, then
squatted down on his haunches to scrub them.

"I'll wash up later. Please, finish your story," Lauren
urged.

He kept on scrubbing, and when he was done with his plate he
reached for hers. "There's not much else to tell," he said finally.
"Both my parents sought custody, but since the decision was made in the
white man's court by a white judge, my father won."

Though he spoke in his usual controlled way there was a harder
edge than usual to his voice, revealing his anger and resentment.

"You weren't happy with your father?" she probed.

"I wasn't unhappy." He glanced up at her and his mouth
took on a wry twist. "God, don't ever play poker. Not with that face. You
might as well have your thoughts printed across your forehead. There's no
reason to look so troubled. My dad didn't abuse me or neglect me. We just
didn't get along. We still don't." Sam shrugged. "It happens. It's no
big deal."

"You quarreled a lot?"

"Locked horns on a daily basis like two bulls."

"Over what?"

"You name it. We couldn't agree on a single thing, and
nothing I did pleased him. After a while, I stopped trying." His mouth
twisted. "Actually, to tell the truth, I went out of my way to annoy him.

"He hated it when I visited my mother, so I spent a lot of
time on the reservation, even after she died. In my teens I started wearing
moccasins and let my hair grow long and wore it in a braid just to infuriate
him."

"And did it?" Lauren asked quietly.

"Oh, yeah. He ordered me to cut it, but I wouldn't, even
though I actually preferred to wear it short. I guess you could say we're both
strong-willed."

More like stubborn, Lauren thought, fighting back a smile. Except
for taking the skillet outside to rinse it in the snow, Sam finished washing up
and sat cross-legged before the fire and picked up the snowshoe again. Tipping
her head to one side, Lauren studied him while he worked, her woman's intuitive
radar tingling. "You think your father resents your Indian blood, don't
you?"

She hadn't meant to voice the thought aloud— somehow it had just
popped out before she could stop it—but she knew instantly by the look he
flashed her that she was right.

Those dark eyes stabbed into her like icicles and his face seemed
to turn to granite. He stared at her in silence for an uncomfortably long time,
but finally he went back to weaving fill-line.

Lauren knew she should let the matter drop, or at the very least,
change the subject. Sam obviously was not going to answer her question. But for
some reason, she just couldn't. "You indicated that your father expected
you to take over the ranch someday, but obviously you didn't. Don't you like
ranching? Was that the main problem?"

"Damn, you're a nosy little thing, aren't you? Persistent,
too."

"I guess I am." Lauren waited, then gently prodded,
"Well?"

"Actually, I love ranching. Taking over the Double R was what
I always wanted to do, what I assumed I
would
do someday. Just not on my
dad's terms."

"So what happened?"

"After our last big argument, right after I graduated from
college, I decided I'd had enough and walked out. Within a week I had applied
to the Bureau. That was sixteen years ago. I've never looked back."

"But surely you eventually made up with your father? Please
tell me you two are okay now."

"We're not at each other's throats, if that's what you mean.
Probably because we don't communicate that often."

"You don't talk to your father?" Lauren stared at him,
stunned.

"I didn't say that. I give him a call two or three times a
year—usually on his birthday and the holidays."

"When was the last time you visited him?"

"Look, I told you, we don't get along, so what's the point?
Every time we're together we just end up in an argument."

"But...he must be an old man by now. How could you—"

"Let it go. It doesn't concern you." Though his voice
was soft, its deep timbre carried a warning. So did the steel in his eyes. When
he was satisfied that he'd silenced her he went back to work.

"I'm sorry. You're absolutely right, of course. But truly, I
wasn't passing judgment. It's just that my father and I were close and I miss
him so much and...well...I can't imagine being estranged from him."

"Not all families are the same."

"Yes, of course. You're right. Please forgive me. I shouldn't
have stack my nose in."

Clearly he had not expected an apology. He stared at her again,
trying to decide if it was genuine and whether or not to accept. Finally he
nodded and lowered his gaze once again to his work. "It'll soon be time to
turn in. I suggest you take a last trip outside," he said without looking
up.

"All right," Lauren agreed in a subdued voice. She rose
and fastened the cord around her waist and tied on the snowshoes. She felt
terrible about stirring up such a bitter issue. No matter how much Sam tried to
brush the matter aside as unimportant, it was obvious that the rift between him
and his father was painful.

Feeling strangely depressed, she slipped out the door and headed
for the stand of trees. Odd, how quickly you could become accustomed to
something, she mused as she trudged, head-down, through the icy darkness. Only
twenty-four hours earlier she had been terrified to trek out here alone, with
visions of all manner of wild beasts waiting to pounce on her flickering
through her mind. Now it seemed routine. Or maybe she was just too down to
care.

Lauren took care of her business in as short a time as possible
and hurried back to the cabin. The instant she stepped back inside Sam tossed
the bottle of vitamins to her and ordered her to take one.

When she took off the snowshoes, he put aside his project and
strapped them on and, without another word, disappeared outside himself, taking
the pan of dishwater with him.

Shaking her head, Lauren watched him go. She took the pill then
brushed her teeth and slathered lotion over her face and hands. After she
brushed her hair, she pulled off her boots and scrambled into the sleeping bag.

Settling onto her side, she stared at the fire, a painful knot of
emotion lodged in her chest. Sam was right; his relationship with his father
was none of her business. They were not friends, after all. She was merely a
witness he'd been assigned to protect. She should just butt out.

Still...she couldn't stop thinking about what he had told her, or
help but be sad and horrified that he was estranged from his father.

Like her, Sam had grown up with only a father for most of his
life. If anything, that should have drawn the two men closer. It certainly had
worked that way with her and her father. No matter how hard Lauren tried, she
couldn't conceive of a disagreement so rancorous that you would voluntarily cut
yourself off from a parent.

Her own father had been a stickler for perfection and a bit of a
slave driver, but she had loved him dearly, and he her. Her chest ached at the
thought of the emotional void between Sam and his sole remaining parent. It
just wasn't right, she thought, as a huge yawn overtook her.

Lauren settled her cheek into a more comfortable position atop her
stacked hands, her eyelids drooping as the day's activities began to catch up
with her. She was drifting off when a gust of freezing wind announced Sam's
return. Only then did she give a thought to their sleeping arrangement.

The night before she had been too exhausted to worry about that
aspect of their situation. Now, however, as she lay with her eyes closed,
pretending to be asleep and listening to him moving around the cabin, her
nerves began to jump.

She was being foolish, she knew. There was nothing sexual about
their sleeping together. It was necessity, pure and simple, just as he had
informed her the night before.

The man was an FBI agent doing his job, and that job was to keep
her alive, whatever it took. As long as they were stranded in these mountains,
that included keeping her from freezing to death.

Besides, he certainly wasn't lusting after her. He couldn't have
made it any plainer than he already had that he didn't even like her. She was
just a job to him, an assignment. She had nothing at all to worry about.

Despite the pep talk, Lauren lay awake, every muscle in her body
tense, waiting for him to slip into the sleeping bag beside her. She heard him
shake out a vitamin from the bottle, and a few moments later brush his teeth.
After that there was only the crackle of the fire and the moaning of the winds,
and a steady, whispery sound. Frowning, she tried to identify the source.

Curious, Lauren opened her eyes a slit, but all she saw was the
fire. She raised her head an inch or so and turned it, and discovered Sam,
sitting mere inches away, once again fashioning a snowshoe.

"I thought you said it was time to turn in?"

"I want to finish this first. With any luck this storm will
pass and we'll need these shoes tomorrow." He glanced up and scowled.
"Go to sleep."

Sam saw the offended look that flickered over her face. Then came
that proud lift of her chin. "Yessir. Of course. Whatever you say,
sir," she snapped. Her head dropped back down and she flounced over onto
her other side.

Sam gritted his teeth. Damn. He hadn't meant to snap at her. He
was angry with himself. He stared at the top of her head, his mouth grim.
Dammit, he couldn't believe he'd actually told her those things. He never
talked about his personal life to anyone.

Well, almost never, he silently amended, remembering a tedious,
nightlong stakeout he and Todd had been on together years ago. The combination
of boredom and sleep deprivation must have numbed his brain. Eventually their
desultory talk had turned personal and he had revealed that he and his father
had never been on the best of terms. He'd regretted the slip at once, and being
one of his few close friends, Todd had known that. Tactfully he'd never mentioned
the matter again.

When Lauren had urged him to talk he had gone along with her for a
couple of valid reasons. First of all, because she was right. If he got them
off of this mountain alive and to a safe place they were going to be together
constantly for possibly the next couple of months. It made sense, and it would
certainly make their situation more bearable, to establish some sort of casual
rapport.