Prologue

New Mexico, November 1875

     The sun cast a strip of light across the dirt floor of Spirit Warrior’s hogan as it drifted behind the mountains he loved so well. The red cliffs were as important to him as each breath he took, a part of his soul. Winter was here, the cold air making his bones ache with each step he took. He dropped the deer hide over the opening of his dwelling and added more sticks to his fire. With a sigh, he dropped into the only chair in his small home. He had waited too many moons to pass on to his son the responsibility his family had been charged with over 800 years ago. Now it might be too late.

     Lone Wolf would be here in less than a week’s time, but would he live that long? The pains in Spirit Warrior’s chest grew worse with each day. His only solace was Lone Wolf would know what to do with the box on the table before him, but his greatest fear was his neighbors would find him before Lone Wolf arrived, and as custom dictated, burn everything in his hogan.
     With shaking fingers, he pressed one square on the intricate wooden box and it opened. He pushed the sand aside, lifted the clay bottle to insure it wasn’t cracked, and to confirm that the seal was intact. Ah, Nukpana, evil one, you are still securely bound for all eternity. May the gods protect your guardians so that you remain cut off from mother earth’s people forever.
     Assured that the package was secure, he carefully placed it back into the bed of sand, covered it, and closed the lid. The box in his hand, he stood, shuffled to his cot, and lay down. With his charge clutched to his chest, he pulled his blanket over his thin frame and closed his eyes. Come my son, I need you. A clawing pain racked his body. He cried out, the sound dying in a rasping gurgle. May the ancient people forgive me if I have failed at my duty.

Chapter One

     Madison ran through the darkness, her legs churning as she flew across the packed earth, searching for anything familiar. The shrieks of her pursuers filled her with terror, making her press on. Her side hurt, she gasped for air, her lungs burned. How much longer could she stay erect, run on the uneven canyon floor? Worn beyond her physical capabilities, her legs collapsed, arms wind-milling around her to slow her descent to the ground. As she hit the red clay and rolled, they were on her, poking, jabbing with spears. She screamed, covered her head while drawing her knees to her chest.

     A loud shout echoed over her tormentors’ whoops of victory. They stepped back allowing a large man through. Long black hair, twisted into a bun at the back of his head, held colorful parrot feathers. As he stood, feet spread looking down at her, she saw a crudely made club tucked in the waistband of his loin cloth. His bare chest, broad and well-muscled, bore numerous scars. One traveled across his abdomen up to his ear. He reached for her. She scurried back like a crab. The watchers laughed as they stepped in to stop her movement. Face grim, he shouted an order she didn’t understand. When she didn’t respond, he growled and with one swoop of his large arm, grabbed her by the hair jerking her to her feet.

     She screamed in pain and terror.

     He shook her like a rag doll. She closed her mouth, tried to swallow her sobs. It must have been what he wanted because he grunted. Hand fisted in her hair, he thrust her forward, back to the pueblo from where she’d just fled.

     Their dwelling resembled the Big House at Mesa Verde, except here, rather than being hidden underneath a rock cliff, their building backed up against rocky mesas surrounded by level land. Her legs trembled, she struggled to stay on her feet. This had to be a nightmare. She had no memory of leaving her apartment. Please, God, let me wake up now. Panic choked her, stealing what little air she managed to inhale. Shaking, desperate, she struggled to break free. Her captor stopped, and struck her up the side of her head with his fist. She sank into blessed darkness.

     Madison woke to the smell of food, a naked child squatted by beside her, patting her face. Her head hurt, her mouth was dry. When the little girl moved, light from the sun pierced her brain. She cried out from the pain. She lay on the ground, her hands and feet tied. Her arms ached from being bound behind her. Jabbering softly, the child ran to a woman stirring something over the fire and pointed toward her. The Indian woman looked up from her chore. Madison could only gape. Why, the woman's buttocks were bare. Something like an apron, made of what looked like human hair, gave her some privacy in the front but the effect was spoiled by her naked breasts. She snapped her mouth shut and tried to look nonchalant as the woman turned toward a curtained doorway and called out.

     Her heart lurched and raced. She was crazy, had lost her mind. Tears choked her as she lay in the dirt sobbing.

     The warrior from last night appeared in the curtained doorway. His angular face was rigid, jaw clenched. As he drew near, he drew a wicked looking knife from his waist band and bent toward her. She shrank back in fear, but instead of stabbing her, he cut the binding on her feet. Amber eyes never leaving hers, he cut the bonds on her hands. She groaned in agony as needles pricked her limbs from lack of circulation. Gasping for breath, she rolled her shoulders and worked to bring her hands around to her lap. She watched the man cautiously as she said, “Thank you.”

     He said something in his language, then lifted her from the ground by her upper arms. She screamed in pain, but at his growl of anger, she tried to soften her whimpers. People, all dressed in loin clothes or aprons, gathered around to stare at her, chatting quietly as they pointed.

     A shriek rent the air. Everyone froze. The group parted to allow an old woman to approach, even the warrior backed away to give her space. If he was frightening, the hag was terrifying. A crone, a witch from Halloween, a zombie...she limped toward Madison shaking rattles, chanting, as she brandished a stick.

     She stopped directly in front of her, reached out, and touched her hair in wonder. Her breath smelled like something dead. Madison heaved, yet managed to quiet her offended stomach. Cackling, the old crone laughed like a loon, showing off a mouth of rotten teeth, as she pointed from her red hair to the fire. A murmur went up from the crowd. Small pendulous breasts hung from her skinny body, black hair streaked with gray stood out on end in places falling to her waist in the back. It was filled with knots and things Madison shuddered to think about. She turned back toward Madison, started jabbering and dancing. Then Madison saw the large blue stone hanging around the witch’s neck. It was a beautiful piece of turquoise, not like anything she’d ever seen before. On impulse, she reached to touch the turquoise locket lying against her breast.

     The old woman saw the gesture, and mumbling, shuffled back to stand in front of her. A wrinkled, dirty hand reached toward her neck. Madison shrank away trying to avoid her touch. But, it was too late. Chanting, moving from foot to foot, crone yanked her shirt aside and saw the locket. In a fury, she jerked the locket from around her neck. Madison yelled, “No! It’s mine...”

     Gasping for breath, crying, Madison kicked and fought until her legs were free. She sat up to find her tangled sheets half off her bed. Moonlight cast the room in shadow. Furniture resembled phantoms of the night. She shivered as her eyes flicked around the room in fear not knowing where she was. The minute the thought registered in her brain, she snapped awake and recognized her bedroom in her small apartment in Houston, Texas. Sweat covered her body. Filled with relief, she fell back against the pillows. She’d been dreaming – again.

The necklace! Hand shaking, she reached for the nightstand. When her fingers touched metal, she sighed in relief. The alarm clock read 2:00 a.m. She got out of bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom. The light blinded her for a minute, but her eyes adjusted as she turned on the faucet to splash water on her face.

     Back beneath the covers, she couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of the vision, the ancient civilization of the people, haunted her. The face of the handsome warrior filled her mind, intruding on her thoughts at odd times. His amber eyes glowed like those of a wild animal.

Since the day her mother died, and she’d inherited the necklace, she’d had nightmares. Each successive one became sharper, more real, and took her deeper into the other world. The first time she’d put the heirloom on, she felt connected, as if her soul had been looking for the necklace her entire life.

It had been six months now. Neither she nor her sister had known about the necklace or the papers and pictures documenting the jewelry’s history or the lives of their ancestors. The records dated back to 1880. Their mother’s lawyer explained as much as he knew when he read the will.

The dreams grew worse – they started the same, but went farther and were more frightening. She shuddered to think what would happen if she had to live the nightmare out fully.

     It was time she went to Mesa Verde. Maybe if she could determine where the turquoise originated, the hallucinations would stop. It was summer break. She’d just finished her PhD in Shakespearean literature. Her bachelor’s degree was in music. It’d been hard to choose between her two loves, but she’d gone with literature. She had her violin, and could play when she chose.

     Unable to sleep, she got up and started packing. By 8:00 a.m., her car was loaded, including her violin and the family papers. She sat out for Albuquerque. At the edge of town, she called her sister Rosalie to let her know where she’d be.

Rosalie’s voice vibrated against her ear. She’d never been known for having a soft voice. “Have you lost your ever lovin’ mind, girl? You’ve never done anything unpredictable in your life.” Maybe it was about time.

                                                       *   *   *  

     For the thousandth time since Rita had found the box in 1975, she picked it up to study it from every angle. It had been in a pile of rubble of what appeared to be a burned out hogan. Though still blackened in some places, she’d done her best to remove the black stains. Where the true color of the wood shone through, it glowed with a patina obtained only by the touch of loving human hands.

She’d yet to find a way to open the thing. At times, she’d been tempted to crack it open with a hammer, discover what was inside. Something always held her back – she didn’t know what, couldn’t describe it, but it was a force that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Perhaps that hesitancy had to do with the odd occurrences of the day she’d found the container – a little more than thirty years ago. That afternoon, she’d been a young woman, carefree, and beautiful. Her black hair glowed with health, her body strong from the hikes she and Luis took in the hills near the small town where they lived north of Albuquerque.

 That day, she’d wrapped the box in a cloth and placed it in her apron pocket. As she and her son walked back to the car, she felt the thumps as it bounced against her leg reminding her of its presence. The wind picked up and a dust devil whirled around her, choking her with sand. She’d shivered at the strangeness of nature – dust devils developed when warm air on the earth’s surface rose to meet the cooler air above. Instead of being warm, this air was icy cold.

     Shaking off the memory, the unease it produced, she sat the wooden container back on the corner of her desk, hung her purse strap over her shoulder, and keys in her hand, picked up a large stack of magazines she planned to take to a near-by nursing home. Her grip slipped, her keys fell onto the clay tile floor. Drat! It was 9:30, past time for her to leave for the museum. That’s what she got for trying to do too much at one time. Her purse dangled to the front of her body. To be able to bend forward, she swung it back behind her hip. It hit the box sending it crashing to the floor. Sand flew everywhere.

     “Ah-ya-ya, what next?” She placed the magazines and purse back on the desk and went to her knees to examine, at long last, what the undersized crate contained. A small clay pot, a little smaller than her fist, lay broken amid the sand. Dark dirt, no, maybe it was ashes flowed from the bottle. A nasty, rotten odor rose, clogging her nostrils and throat. Gasping, choking, she jerked back as she struggled to fill her lungs with clean air. Her head hit the hard tile floor. Everything went black.

*   *   *  

     “Criminey,” she gasped. The stone is breath-taking. It’s magnificent and just like the one worn around the crone’s neck in her dreams. Madison’s nose almost touched the glass as she peered closely at the robin’s egg blue piece of turquoise in the exhibit case. About the size of her fist, a piece of knotted rawhide cradled it to wear around the neck. It sat on a piece of rustic copper sheeting with bright colored parrot feathers for accent, just like those the warrior had worn in her dream. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She shivered. Thrusting her nightmare to the back of her mind, she returned her attention to the wall behind the display. A mural of hills and canyons set against a New Mexico sky called to her, further tweaking her interest in the gemstone’s heritage. The showing was titled “Skystone.”

     Her heart lodged in her throat as she clutched the locket she wore around her neck and rubbed the smooth stone embedded in the gold’s surface. Her piece of turquoise was the same color as the one shown behind the glass. Could this be where it came from? She snorted. Don’t be ridiculous, Madison.

     Upon closer inspection, she noticed the hairline crack down the center of the large stone. Where the break ended was a gap about three eights an inch wide and an inch and a half tall that diminished to a point. She was unable to tell the width or depth of the fissure from her vantage point. The space resembled a tiny pie wedge, the edges rough rather than neatly sliced.

     She jumped as the man behind her loudly cleared his throat. She glanced over his shoulder to see she held up the line. Reluctantly, she moved on.

Before leaving the museum, she stopped in the gift shop, bought a book titled The Legend of the Skystone, and several tourist maps. Tomorrow she would drive up the Turquoise Trail to visit some of the old turquoise mines.

As she signed her credit card receipt, her locket fell forward. The clerk, an older woman, gasped. “Oh my, your necklace is lovely, dear. May I take a closer look?”

Madison held the gold and turquoise piece out so the gray-haired lady could study it more closely. Her blue eyes, trimmed by the red frames of her glasses, were sharp, inquisitive. In her mid-fifties, she was attractive, and though slightly wrinkled, bore her age well. In her youth, she must have been a beauty.

“The locket has been in my family for over a century. We’ve treasured it all these years.”

“I can see why. The color is most unusual — rare in its purity.”

Madison peered down at the locket. She thought it was unusual, as well as beautiful, but to have others think so, reinforced her mind-set. “Do you really think so?”

“Oh, yes, I know so.”

When she glanced up, the woman’s hand grasped the necklace and pulled. Madison stumbled back breaking her hold. “Ouch!” The heavy chain cut into the tender skin of her neck. She rubbed the area.

The clerk’s skin reddened. “I’m so sorry dear, I didn’t mean to tug, but my curiosity to see it more closely outweighed my good sense. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Her explanation made sense to Madison. She’d often been over zealous about an old book, or other item of interest, and found herself in an embarrassing situation. “Of course. No offense taken.”

To ease the tension she said. “This summer I intend to discover where the turquoise came from.”

Face still flushed, the lady straightened. “Is that so? Have you checked with a gemologist? A good one might be able to help you.” She opened a drawer, removed a card to hand to Madison. “This man is excellent. If he can’t help, he’ll know who can.”

“Why thank you. I’d intended to visit one, but your recommendation will save me time.”

“Happy to help, young woman. Good luck.”

*   *   *   

She stepped out into the bright afternoon heat, grateful for New Mexico’s lack of humidity. At home, the moisture would have tendrils curling around her face. Keeping the unruly red strands of hair tied at the base of her neck was a chore. A gust of wind lifted a loose wisp brushing it across her mouth, but as she turned, the tendril moved right back to join the riotous lot.

The gemologist’s shop was in the next block, so she stuffed her purchases in her large shoulder bag. It wasn’t the Dooney Burke she’d wanted, but she couldn’t justify spending that much on a purse. So, she’d opted for a cheaper look-alike. She set off down the street, the heels of her practical pumps clicking on the sidewalk.

She wore a new outfit, a set she’d bought after her mother’s funeral. The top was soft and clingy silk, tangerine in color. It blended well with the lined sheer swingy print skirt. She liked the way it moved when she walked, made her feel feminine, a characteristic foreign to her.

For years, while in college, she’d dressed in jeans and tennis shoes — grubbies. Now that she’d graduated, her wardrobe had improved somewhat. She wasn’t used to the clothes and new look. As she walked, she caught herself stealing glimpses of herself in the plate glass shop windows and thinking, who is that person?

Downtown was filled with a variety of beautiful outdoor sculptures. In places, trees lined the sidewalk. Benches provided rest for the weary shopper or art lovers. Jewelry, pottery, and other artwork filled the shop windows. Madison wanted to visit each one but forced herself to keep walking.

Unable to resist, she stopped in front of a window filled with jewelry, mostly in silver, with stones of turquoise, amethyst, amber, topaz, the list went on. Stepping back, she squinted up at the sign — Rico Santiago, certified licensed gemologist. A bell tinkled above the door as she went inside. Glass cases in a U-shape pattern filled the room, another row ran down the middle. Jewelry and gemstones gleamed under the spotlights.

As she made her way to the back of the store, Madison scanned the displays. She’d never owned expensive jewelry. Her only nice pieces were the locket and her great-grandmother Evans’ amber earrings. She’d worn them today because they matched the tangerine blouse she’d worn with her floral skirt.

A young man approached. Dressed in a dark expensive suit, white shirt, and gray tie, he smiled graciously hoping to make a sale. “Hello, may I show you something?”

Madison straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’d like to see Mr. Santiago.”

He frowned. “May I tell him what your visit is in reference to?”

“Yes, I’d like for him to analyze a piece of turquoise for me.” She pulled the locket from the neck of her blouse and dangled it in front of him.

He gaped. “Yes, yes, of course. Come right this way.”

She followed him to a back room where an older version of the young man sat with a monocle over his eye studying a white stone.

“Father, this young lady...” He turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Madison Evans.”

“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Luis Santiago.”

He turned his attention back to the man behind the desk. “Miss Evans would like your opinion on a piece of turquoise.” He wrung his hands while his father continued with what he was doing. He cleared his throat. “It looks to be a very old piece, Father.”

Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, it is, over 100 years.”

Finally the old man raised his head. “Miss Evans, this is my father, Rico Santiago.”

She extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Santiago.”

He ignored her gesture. “Sit down, young woman and show me what you’ve got. I don’t have all day.” He waved at his son. “Get back out front in case any customers come in.” Face pinched at being dismissed so rudely, Luis turned and left the room.

Madison was embarrassed for the younger man.

“Well, I’m waiting.”

Madison removed the locket and held the piece in front of him. “This is a family heirloom. I’m trying to find the source of this turquoise.”

Now she had his full attention. He took it and peered at the stone closely through the lens. Several minutes later, his eyes pierced hers. “Where’d your family get the turquoise?”

“My ancestor, Royce Dyson, inherited the stone from his father. Though he wasn’t the oldest son, he was chosen to be responsible for its safe keeping. They lived in Waco, Texas. From what I understand, the stone had been in their family for many generations.”

“And how do you know this?”

“From his wife’s journal written in 1880. He had the locket with the stone made for her in 1873. It’s been passed down to the oldest daughter in the family ever since.” Odd how after being made into a piece of jewelry, it had passed on to the women of the family.

He rubbed it with his thumb as he glanced between her and the locket. “Hmmm. I’d say this piece most likely came from the Chaco Canyon area.”

“Not one of the mines along the Turquoise Trail?”

“Well, actually, yes, it probably did come from one of the mines in the Cerrillos Hills north of Albuquerque, but the turquoise is too old and fine to be from the nineteenth century.” He put the monocle back to his eye and studied it again. “My guess is that the stone was part of the earlier turquoise mined by the Chacoan Anasazi, probably around 1000 AD.”

Her jaw dropped. Realizing her mouth hung open, she shut it. She was stunned. “You think it might be that old?”

“It’s possible. I’ll need to run some tests to be sure.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a plastic zip lock bag, and dropped the locket inside.

Alarmed, she asked. “What are you doing?”

“I need to do some research and analysis before I can say definitely where this came from. I’ll be through in a week or two.” He zipped the bag closed then began writing on the label with a felt tip pen.

“No,” she said. “I can’t leave the locket.” An emotion inside, one she couldn’t define, told her not to let the locket out of her sight. It was probably ridiculous, but she couldn’t ignore the sensation

He frowned, his white eyebrows drawing closer together. “I promise I’ll take good care of your family heirloom.”

She held her hand out, waiting. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d need to keep the necklace to do an analysis. I’m leaving Albuquerque tomorrow. I’m sure you understand.” He put it in her palm. She opened her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“Well, nothing, but won’t you reconsider? I’d like to get some accurate data for you.”

“Thank you, but no.” She turned and exited the room. She could feel Luis’s eyes on her as she passed through the showroom, his customer apparently forgotten. When she crossed the street, she glanced back. Both men were at the door looking at her. Odd, very odd.

*   *   *

     Up at the crack of dawn, Madison dressed in another of her new multicolor skirts and a turquoise blouse. Today she wore comfortable beige pumps instead of the high heel sandals she’d worn yesterday. She ate breakfast in the Denny’s next door to the motel, and with a cup of coffee to go, got in her tan Saturn heading north. The sedan was comfortable. Knowing her penchant for spilling drinks, she’d spent the extra money to get leather upholstery. She wanted a sports car, but her practical nature wouldn’t allow her to be frivolous. Tan was a color easy to keep clean, and research had shown the Saturn got good marks in safety and dependability.

By two o’clock she’d visited the mine ruins along the Turquoise Trail, and seen Sadia Crest. She stopped in the quaint artsy community of Madrid, if you could call the line of buildings a town, to eat a late lunch. In one of the shops, she purchased a gold and turquoise bangle bracelet. The wristlet would go well with her locket. Since money was tight, it would be her only souvenir on this trip.

Madison studied the bracelet on her arm. Mama would be pleased she’d bought something to match the locket, and that she was using part of her inheritance for this trip. Not for the first time, she wondered why her mother had kept the diary and pictures from her and Rosalie.

It was almost four o’clock when she reached the motel in the small town of Sotol just outside the national park. With a little attached carport, the building resembled one of the old tourist courts common in the 1950’s along Route 66. Not that she was alive back then, but she’d seen the documentaries on television. Inside, the decor was rustic, decorated with a southwest theme, comfortable. She’d be staying several days, so she unpacked, put her suitcases and violin case in the closet.

Since she’d had a late lunch, it was too early to go to dinner. Shoes kicked off, curled up in the stuffed chair by the window, she returned to the pamphlet she’d been reading the night before. She opened the booklet to the picture of the Skystone and the legend surrounding it. Supposedly, around 1000 AD, while worshiping at sunrise, the stone, a piece of the sky, fell and landed at a young Anasazi man’s feet.

With the stone, he performed amazing acts. He healed a variety of illness, became a powerful Shaman, and was respected, legendary in the country. The turquoise passed on to his son who misused the stones power angering the Gods. To exact revenge, they threw a lightening bolt from the sky. It struck him in the chest, killing him, cracking the Skystone. Two shards fell from the bottom. An eagle took them in his mouth and carried them far away. The rumor is that if ever united, the power of the stone would no longer heal, but destroy.

The story was intriguing, but in Madison’s opinion, that’s all it was — a fable. Not that she didn’t like a good fairy tale on occasion. Since she was right here where the scenario supposedly all took place, her interest was definitely tweaked. But, then, she couldn’t discount her dreams. The images were so vivid, they couldn’t be a figment of her imagination. Plus, the stone around the woman’s neck greatly resembled the Skystone.

She closed the booklet and placed it on the nightstand. At the window, she fixed her gaze on the rugged desert bathed in a colorful sunset, the San Juan Mountains appearing blue in the distance. She wasn’t very hungry, but knew she’d regret not eating something and be hitting the candy machine outside the office. Thin, her metabolism was the type that burned calories fast. Her friends were jealous of her ability to put the food away and not gain weight.

The night clerk recommended a restaurant a few miles down the road. She could smell the spicy cuisine before she got out of the car. Used to Tex-Mex food, her mouth was on fire before she realized New Mexico fare was hotter than to what she was accustomed. To cool the heat, she washed the food down with beer. She left the restaurant feeling fine, not too fine to drive, but definitely relaxed.

When she flipped on the light in her motel room, she gaped in horror at the room’s condition. Her hanging clothes were ripped off the hangers, drawers turned upside down, her luggage opened, the lining slashed. Even the mattress had been thrown off the bed. Shaking, she backed out and ran to the front office. Her heels caught on the gravel and she tripped. As she hit the ground, her knees skidded across the sharp pebbles. She tried to soften her fall with her hands, but scraped them more as she scrambled to her feet and ran to the front desk.

The clerk called the police. Within fifteen minutes, a SUV drove up, followed by a patrol car. Madison watched as a park ranger climbed from the vehicle. She couldn’t see his face under the Smoky the Bear hat, but as he approached the office, she noticed his long-limbed stride and how he moved effortlessly. Once inside the lobby, he removed the hat and she got a good look at him. He was above average in height, with short black hair and a strong jaw. When he turned toward her, she recognized his face. He was the warrior from her dream.

When the Ocotillo Bloom 

One
Lynn paused in packing her toiletries and stared at the jar of face cream with unseeing eyes. “Abby, are you sure I’m doing the right thing traipsing off to God knows where this summer?” She’d been haunted by that question since receiving the letter from Seth Williams a week ago. I’m pleased to inform you the job of...is
yours...please be in Mesa Flats by...my son Brian will meet you...to Ocotillo Ranch. This was a big step for her, leaving her home for the summer, her safe comfortable environment. It was only natural for her to have doubts.

She glanced at her reflection in the full-length bathroom mirror and shuddered at the lackluster face staring
back at her. Her complexion was no longer peaches and cream but sallow and washed out. She focused her gaze on the jar of expensive brand face cream she’d been using for years. The label read; renew your skin’s youthful appearance. Yeah, right, it had sure done that. Shaking her head in disgust, she tossed it into the trash. She’d save money and buy her cosmetics at Wal-Mart from now on.
 
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that sunshine and fresh air would return her skin’s glow. Auburn hair that used to bounce and shine with vitality still looked pretty good. Probably due to the salon bought conditioner she used faithfully. She let her gaze travel the length of her body and snorted in disgust at the size of her butt. Okay, so she looked awful, but plans for change were in the forecast. Surely, her posterior would shrink if she didn’t sit on it all summer in front of the television working cross-stitch patterns.

For the past fifteen years, when school let out, Lynn Devry spent her summers relaxing, doing as she pleased.
No, that wasn’t quite true. Of all those summers, the last several had been spent floundering, wallowing in inactivity and isolation. Because of lack of exercise and outdoor activities, her health had suffered. She’d neglected friendships and her social life was the pits.

That was no way to live. If so, she might as well give up and jump in the wastebasket with that jar of face cream
and the rest of the trash.

This summer she’d taken a job, and on a ranch to boot, a place that had dirt and smelly cow poop. She’d never
been on a ranch in her life, and she knew nothing about cows and horses. Fear squeezed her heart. What had
possessed her? She shrugged at her image in the mirror. Her reflection didn’t know anymore than she did. God, I pray this isn’t a mistake. Oh, well, it’s a done deal now. She would be indoors and far away from the animals. Lynn tossed the last of her toiletries in her cosmetic bag balanced on the edge of the lavatory. She zipped it closed and carried it down the short hall to the living room foyer where her other bags were parked by the front door.

Abby bent over in front of the entertainment center stacking CD’s in a small box. She straightened up and with
one hand fisted on her hip, flipped her long blonde braid over her shoulder. “Mother, you know where you’re going. It’s West Texas, not Mars. Relax for once in your life. You’ll probably enjoy the fresh country air if you’ll just give it a fair chance.”

Relax, huh? Lynn sat her cosmetic bag down with the others. She hadn’t been able to do that in a long while. Oh, she put on a good front. But, that’s all it was, a facade. And, it didn’t fool anyone close to her.

Lynn couldn’t resist teasing her daughter about West Texas. She suspected Abby thought the ranch would be a
cure all for her mother’s problems. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
 
“Well, it sounds like the middle of nowhere to me. Anytime you have to drive 250 miles to reach a shopping  mall, you’re in the boondocks.” She joined Abby at the entertainment center, unplugged her portable CD player, and carried it over to sit with her luggage.

Abby’s face twisted with concern. “Mother, you—”

Lynn patted Abby’s cheek. “Hey, relax, sugar. I’m teasing. You know how I like to talk and complain. I promise to give this experience a fair chance.” She took the box from her daughter’s hand and walked to the door with Abby on her tail.

“Okay, but remember, I heard that. You said, ‘I promise.’”

Trust her daughter to remember her words and hold her to them.

Lynn opened the front door to find Art Wayne, her trusted friend and family doctor, standing under the
overhang of her small stoop, his finger aimed at the doorbell. Of her pre-divorce social circle of friends, he and Loretta were the only two who stuck by her. They still saw Dan on occasion, but not often.

As a single, she just didn’t fit in with the couples she and Dan had socialized with, but he and his new young wife
did. The country club set welcomed his bride with open arms. Well, the socialites were welcome to the pair. She shuddered. Lynn was glad to be out of that pretentious circle, and out of Dan’s controlling clutches.

Lynn’s parents died when she and Dan newly wed. With no siblings for emotional support, she’d have drowned
without the shoulders of Art and Loretta to lean on. She grinned as Art started and jerked his hand back.

“Hey, Art, I didn’t know you were coming by this morning.

You’re just in time to help load the car.”

Art looked at the stack of bags behind her on the oriental runner atop the waxed wood floor and sighed. “Darn!
I should’ve waited another ten minutes.”

Lynn peeked around his large frame to see his car parked behind hers in the single drive. “Loretta not with
you?”

“No, she’s packing for our trip to Europe, but sends her love.” The two were leaving next week and would be
gone for a month. Lynn was surprised Loretta had been able to talk him into leaving his practice that long. Having a new partner probably helped. They would rent a car and tour every castle Loretta could locate, would even stay in a few that were now country inns.

He stepped through the arched doorway into the foyer and kissed Lynn on the cheek. “You know I couldn’t let you leave town for the summer and not say bye.”

Yeah, he’d pushed this summer job as hard as Abby. He probably wanted to make sure she didn’t change her
mind, and see to it that she got out of town on time. She watched for clues of his intentions, but his eyes were on
Abby. Shame on you for being suspicious, Lynn. It’s only natural that he’d want to say goodbye personally since she’d be gone all summer.

Art hugged Abby. “How’s my girl this morning?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Art.” She smiled and melted into his embrace, swallowed in the folds of his suit coat and large
body. He patted her back.

Since Art and Loretta were unable to have children, when the two couples became friends, two-year-old Abby
adopted them and tagged them aunt and uncle. They’d been delighted and took their honorary title seriously. To Lynn and Abby, they were family and a Godsend.

Lynn picked up her cosmetic and carry-on bags and stepped outside onto the porch. Art followed with her two
larger suitcases. He loaded them in the trunk and turned to take the smaller ones from her hands. Concern niggled at her mind. “I’m not too sure about that, Art. She’s been acting strange this morning and won’t tell me what’s wrong. Keep an eye on her for me, will you?” Art looked startled and turned to Abby.

Abby rolled her blue eyes and shook her head, setting her long blonde braid in motion. She handed him the box of CD’s and the portable stereo and glared at her mother. Hands on her hips, she sputtered. “I’ve been telling her all morning, I’m fine.”

Art put his arms around Abby’s shoulders and squeezed. “Quit your worrying, Mom. Your little girl will be all right. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, so get in that car and hit the road.” Abby raised her chin a notch.

Lynn threw her hands up. “Okay, okay, I’ll let it go.” Lynn hugged Art and walked with him to his car.

“Oh, damn, I almost forgot.” Art pulled some papers out of his breast pocket and handed them to her. “You need to sign these before you leave, so I can fax them to Seth at the ranch this morning.” Lynn sighed. It was just like Art to wait until the last minute. He spread the papers on the hood of his Mercedes
and handed her a pen.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Why did you get these and not me?”

“Because you don’t have a fax machine and put down my fax number on your application.”

Well, he was right about that. She looked down at the documents. “Art, you know I can’t sign these without reading them first.” Though just two pages, they were covered with print. It would take awhile to plow through them, and she just didn’t want to take the time. If she did, she’d be late arriving at her destination tonight. The thought of driving through the desert in the dark sent a shiver up her spine.

He drew back as if offended, then muttered, “I’ve read them. Trust me. They’re just emergency release forms in
case you fall off a horse or something.”

She snorted. “Trust me, Art. It’s not going to happen. I won’t be anywhere near the creatures.” Her on a horse?
The idea was ridiculous. She’d never been on one and didn’t plan to change history. Though the idea was intriguing—her riding across the desert at sunset. She dislodged the picture from her mind. She was afraid of the animals.

In a hurry to get on the road, she grabbed Art’s pen, signed a copy, returned to her car, and stuffed hers in the
side pocket of the carry-on bag in the trunk of her car. She’d read them that evening at the hotel in Marathon.
Slamming the trunk closed, she turned back to say goodbye, but Art was already in his car backing out of the
driveway. He tooted his horn and with his arm out the open window, waved. “Have a good time.”

Lynn returned his wave, wondering why the rush. Abby followed her around the car. They stood for a
minute, studying each other. Her baby had grown into a beautiful young woman. She was so proud of her. Tears
stung her eyes, and she coughed to clear the knot of emotion forming in her throat.

“Come here and give your mama a hug. I’m going to miss you.” When they pulled back, Lynn cupped Abby’s face and searched her eyes. No, she hadn’t imagined it. Something was on Abby’s mind, but she was determined to keep it to herself. Well, Abby was a woman. Lynn couldn’t keep interfering in her affairs. But it was damn hard to keep her mouth shut and not try to finagle it out of her.

She tucked a wayward strand of Abby’s hair behind her ear. Abby looked so much like her father; tall, blonde,
and blue eyed. Even the expression on her face mirrored the one Dan used to wear when worried. She smiled ruefully. Thinking about her ex-husband no longer hurt as it once had. Thank God, that part of her life was over. Their divorce had been bitter, but Dan had been fair, and she’d come away with enough money to buy her small house in an older, but desirable, neighborhood in Fort Worth. The houses were stone or brick with manicured lawns and big old trees. Now if she could only restore her outlook on life and move on without looking back, she’d be happy.
 
“You know how much I love you, don’t you?”

Abby nodded. She looked ready to cry and fell into her mother’s embrace, arms locked around Lynn’s neck. The girl was several inches taller than her five feet, four-inch stature, making her feel short. Lynn reached down and playfully swatted her on the butt. “Don’t you cry now, or you’ll get me started.” Abby giggled, and Lynn held her baby close, rubbed her back, and released her.

Abby sniffed. “I love you too, Mother. Be careful, now.” She tried to grin, but her face twisted as she choked
out, “You know, watch out for the other guy like you always tell me.”
~ * ~
When Lynn left Fort Worth that morning, she chose the scenic, two-lane state highway over the interstate. It was nice not to have to compete with the truckers for the passing lane. The wind they created blew her mid-size Ford Taurus all over the road. Native wildflowers lined both sides of the road. Red and yellow Indian paintbrush and Mexican hat dotted unplowed pastures, while violet snapdragons, purple phlox, and white angel trumpets grew among the rocks and along the fences.

Shortly after noon, with her stomach grumbling loudly, Lynn pulled off Texas State Highway 67 at a small town
between San Angelo and Fort Stockton. She turned into the parking lot of Terry’s Steak House. The sign boasted “Best Food in Town,” and the crowded lot was encouraging. Entering the dining room, she looked around before locating a vacant booth. Unfortunately, it was in the smoking section. She slid across the red vinyl seat, adjusted her skirt, and pulled a menu from between the sugar container and napkin holder.
 
She tapped her nails on the Formica tabletop as she studied the single sheet laminated menu. Gee, now why am I not surprised? Let’s see, I’ve got a choice of pan-fried, deep fat fried, or chicken fried. She stuffed the menu back in place.

A gum-popping waitress in tee shirt and tight jeans took her drink order then returned with a quart Mason jar of
iced tea. Pulling a pencil from her topknot of hair, the rail thin woman cocked her hip and poised the pencil over her order pad. “What can I get ya, hon?”
 
Lynn smiled. Well, what the heck, why not? When in the country, do as the natives do. “I’ll have the chicken fried steak with fries.” She shuddered at a mental picture of fat clinging to her arteries. Don’t think about it. Lynn added artificial sweetener and lemon from a plastic package to her tea, and as her tall spoon swirled the mixture around in the jar, she let her eyes slide around the room and take in the kaleidoscope of people.

Patrons of varying ages entered the restaurant and most seemed to know one another, creating a loud family
atmosphere. They stopped at booths and tables to chat and slap each other on the back on their way in and out. Some smiled at her in greeting as they passed. The place reminded of her a diner where she and her folks ate when she was just a girl.

The middle-aged waitress returned and plunked the overcrowded plate down before her. The size of a hubcap,
the steak was enough meat for two and hung over the edge of the plate. “Here you go, hon. Can I get ya anything else?”

Lynn smiled up at the woman and shook her head in awe of the meal before her. “No thank you.” Good grief, how could anyone eat this much food? She glanced at some of the male customers in their work jeans and cowboy boots. They probably did manual labor, and putting away a meal like this was easy for them. She snorted. Bet they didn’t worry about the calories either.

The waitress sucked a small pink bubble back into her mouth, popping it, and gave Lynn a big smile. She laid her check in the center of the table. “Well, you just holler if you do now, ya hear?”

“Thank you. I will.”

Lynn was pleased to note the steak was sirloin and home cooked, not one of those that come frozen, two dozen
to a box. Tenderized, the meat battered with milk, egg, and flour, and fried until crisp and golden brown. The cream gravy was heavily peppered and looked and smelled delicious. The fries were real, the kind made from a fresh potato that had been peeled and sliced. Ah, home style Texas cooking at its best, just like the sign read out front.

Breathing in the luscious aroma, Lynn sighed before popping a fry in her mouth. She felt a stab of guilt at the calories she’d be consuming. The skirt she wore pinched her waist, reminding her of the weight she’d put on last summer. With a shrug, she pushed the guilt aside and tucked into her meal. The food was here. What would another pound or two matter at this point?

The dining room hummed with the low rumble of voices as cigarette smoke collected in a cloud near the
ceiling. Obviously, the no smoking ban hadn’t reached this small community. Voices and laughter echoed around the room making it hard not to hear individual conversations. Major topics of debate were the price of beef, how gas prices were hurting farmers, and warnings about some kind of infestation that was causing problems with this spring’s tomato plants. All around the room clear plastic bags filled with water hung from the ceiling. She didn’t have a clue what they were for.

Stuffed, with half her meal still on her plate, she paid her bill, visited the ladies room, and headed for her vehicle.
She smelled like a dirty ashtray. Too bad, she didn’t carry  cologne in her purse. All she had was evergreen air freshener for the car. Deciding she’d take stale smoke odor over that of a Christmas tree, she got in her car and drove next door for gas. Soon she was back on the road.

With Central Texas far behind her, the abundance of flora diminished as she drove deeper into West Texas. A
sprinkling of wildflowers and prickly pear cactus with their yellow blooms dotted the landscape. But nature no longer dominated. Beyond the ditches, oil pump jacks and gas compressors stood reign over land ruined by drilling. The ugly equipment was a stark contrast to the beauty of the cactus, the prairie, and Chihuahua flax growing in the reddish brown dirt. The pungent smell of raw gas filled the
air. Her lips formed into a silent, “yuck.” How could people live with that smell all the time? Maybe it grew on them. As quickly as she’d driven into the offensive odor, she drove out, leaving the marred landscape behind.

Lynn rolled down the windows and let her auburn hair fly in the breeze. The weather was mild for late May, the
temperature just below ninety degrees. The fresh air felt good on her face. Hiking her skirt above her knees, she
turned on the floor vent to cool her legs. Unable to hear the radio over the road noise rushing in the open windows, she turned up the volume. Enjoying the scenery and humming, hair bouncing as she kept time with the music on the car stereo, she tapped out the rhythm with her left foot. Relaxed and carefree for
the first time in a good while, she decided maybe this trip was just what she needed. Unruffled by her off key voice, she joined Linda Rondstat in song, belting out the lyrics of “Shattered”. The outside wind blew into her face giving her voice a vibration effect. She laughed with abandon—she hadn’t done this in years. Dan never liked her singing along with the radio. “Well, pooh on you, Danny boy!”

The landscape roughened with each mile, but the beauty was still breathtaking. Flat buttes spanned across the
terrain. Atop the highest ones, wind turbines twirled generating electricity. They looked like something from outer space. Her thoughts turned to her destination—Ocotillo Ranch. She looked forward to a long-needed vacation. Hopefully the ranch would live up to its name and be surrounded by the colorful plants she’d read about in Texas Highways Magazine. She’d been intrigued and couldn’t wait to see them. The name made the ranch sound serene and romantic, not that she cared about romance. Serenity sounded good though, especially after ten months with her hormone-driven students. Five hours a day she’d work for her room and board and the remainder of the time would be hers. If she finished early, she left early. With any luck, she’d enjoy her job as bread cook. Nothing was more relaxing than working bread dough in her hands and forming it into different shapes. After work, she’d enjoy the facilities at the ranch, walking, swimming, and the exercise room. She’d like to rid herself of a few pounds.

At the thought of pounds, she felt a tug of guilt over her indulgence at lunch. Her skirt was cutting her waist. She
loosened the top button and pushed her discomfort to the back of her mind. Maybe she’d develop a new interest, even work out of the rut she’d been in for so long.

What would ranch owner Seth Williams be like? Probably old and bow-legged, a jolly sort of guy. Would he
be one of those cowboys who chewed tobacco or dipped snuff? She shuddered at the thought. Spit cups were nasty, and men who felt the need to spit at every opportunity were disgusting. Almost like a dog marking its territory.

The Taurus rattled, and her body felt every bump in the road. She missed the quietness and smooth ride of the
Volvo she’d driven before the divorce. No matter, she was grateful to have the dented, four-year-old, tan Ford. It was reliable, and it was hers, free and clear. She’d given up a lot of material things with the
divorce. They didn’t matter. But in those years of marriage she’d lost part of herself—the spontaneous child inside her, the happy, carefree individual who loved to have fun. She was grateful Abby had been able to see her that way before Dan’s climb up the corporate ladder. He hadn’t always been
stiff and controlling. The money and prestige made him that way. And with each rung of the ladder, she’d changed as she’d tried to fit into the mold of the perfect wife that Dan expected.

Lynn’s enjoyment in the drive dwindled bit by bit, then died like a snuffed out candle. She tensed and looked around trying to find a source for her changed mood. The scenery was beautiful and vast. She could see forever. It wasn’t her environment that bothered her—it was the past. Her anticipation turned into concern.

My, God. What am I doing out here miles from nowhere? What the heck was she doing driving to the far
ends of the earth for a summer job? “I don’t know. That’s the problem,” she muttered to
herself. Yes you do, Lynn. You’re here to try to make a change in your boring life. She was a grown woman, had faced this type of anxiety before, and could do so again. She forced her eyes back to the beauty beyond the roadside and tried to ignore the knot in her gut and the tightness moving up her chest.

Sharp tingling, as if being stuck with a million pins, starting at her toes and traveling to her scalp as adrenaline
pumped through her body. “Breathe deeply and slowly,” she repeated. The exercise the psychiatrist taught her several years ago usually worked. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In, out...”

Grasping for something to distract her, she turned the stereo up and tried to sing with the music. It failed to
distance her from the emotional war in her body. Moisture filled her eyes and blurred her vision. Her heart beating like a thrashing machine, she eased the car to the shoulder, shifted to park, and dropped her head back against the headrest. Tears squeezed through her closed lids and trickled down her face. Grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on the passenger seat, she wiped them away. The pressure inside her was near the bursting point. She beat on the steering wheel and screamed at the top of her lungs,
releasing some of the tension. The sound flew from her car window and dispersed in the vastness of the bare desert terrain. A couple of cactus wrens, startled by the odd noise, burst into flight from the yucca plant where they perched.

As Lynn watched them fly away and cautiously return to the plant, she resumed her breathing exercises. Gradually, the fear eased, and her breathing slowed. Anxiety attacks and depression had plagued her for several years after her divorce. They’d strike, she’d ride the wave of despair then they were gone. She didn’t have a clue what caused them, other than the psychiatrist said they were related to her depression. Medication helped for a while, but the coping techniques she learned were invaluable, and eventually she was able to get off the medicine. It had been over a year since she’d had one.

What had triggered this one? She shrugged and shook her head. Probably the excitement of leaving home for her working vacation, making a change, or fear she wouldn’t enjoy her stay. If she didn’t like it at the ranch, she could always go home. So, what was there to be afraid of? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

She relaxed as the knot in her stomach gradually dissolved. Her tension eased, and she straightened in the
seat. Breathing and pulse under control, she turned on her blinker, looked in her side mirror, and waited for a car to pass. A state trooper going the opposite direction slowed as he drove by then made a quick U-turn.

Oh, shit! She was ready to pull onto the pavement when the trooper flashed his lights and pulled in behind her.
Heat flushed her body. In a stupor, she braked, turned off the ignition, and sat frozen, hands fisted in her lap. What now, Lord?

Lynn’s chin began to quiver before the trooper unfolded his lanky frame from his cruiser. She watched from
her side mirror as he closed the door. Tall, wearing a Stetson and reflective sunglasses, he took his time approaching her battered Ford. When he reached her window, she was snuffling like a baby.

“Ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “You having car trouble?” His eyes took inventory of her, her car, and the
surrounding desert landscape. She supposed she did look suspicious parked to the side of the deserted two lane
highway between Fort Stockton and Alpine.

She shook her head, setting her auburn hair in motion and tried to answer, but tears erupted. She gulped; her
mouth opening and closing like a fish, then reached down to the passenger floorboard to grab more tissues. She froze at his sharp command.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” 

Shocked at his terse order, and at his hand on the gun at his waist, she brought her hands up slowly, a wad of
tissue in each. The young Hispanic man’s lips twitched as he nodded. She grinned stupidly, Lord she must look like an idiot, and emitted a tiny, nervous giggle before mopping at her face. Her eyes flicked to his nametag, reading Espinoza.

“Ma’am, I need to see your license and proof of insurance.”

Flustered, her fingers fumbled, and she had difficulty removing her license from the plastic window in her wallet.
Taking them both, he walked back to his cruiser.

You haven’t done anything wrong, Lynn, so quit worrying. The thought did little to ease her mind as she
watched the trooper through her rear-view mirror. He got in the vehicle, and she supposed he was looking at a computer screen, looking her up to see if she was a criminal.

When he returned, he removed his sunglasses, propped an arm on the roof of her car, and leaned down to
her eye level. She looked into his eyes, noting the shade. Their brilliant blue surrounded by dark lashes softened his rugged appearance. How’d he get those with a name like Espinoza?

“Now, ma’am, what seems to be the problem? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

His kindness made her want to start blubbering again. She blew her nose, mortified at the honking sound,
and wadded the tissues into a ball. “Really officer, nothing’s wrong. I didn’t feel well and pulled over. I was about to get back on the road when you flashed your lights.”

He lowered his chin. His eyes narrowed slightly. “You were mighty upset.”

“It’s not everyday I get stopped by the law. I’m too sensitive, I know, but I was embarrassed.” Lord, she wished her voice would stop trembling. At least her lips had.

He returned her license and insurance papers. “Well, everything seems to be in order. What’s your destination?”

“I’m stopping in Marathon for the night and heading for Mesa Flats in the morning.”

He studied her a while longer. Lynn wanted to fidget but sat still as his eyes probed hers. “Well,” he rapped his
knuckles on the roof of her car and straightened. “You be  careful now.”

Before she could thank him, he was striding back to his vehicle. He followed her for a couple miles before making a U-turn and heading in the opposite direction. She sighed with relief, and the tension diminished. Her
hands eased their hold on the steering wheel. She stretched her muscles and rolled her head to loosen the tightness in her neck, shoulders, and back. Oh God, how humiliating.

Then she started laughing—so hard her belly ached, and she was wiping tears off her cheeks. Voice deep, she muttered. “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em, ma’am.” She was grinning and cackling like a loon and thought for a minute she’d have to pull off the road again but finally got her giggles under control.

“That’s an experience I hope never to repeat,” she sputtered. No way could she have told him she’d had an
anxiety attack. Most people didn’t understand, and he might be like her ex-husband. Oh, yeah. She’d be lucky enough to be escorted to the county hospital in Alpine for observation. Emotional problems and anxiety attacks didn’t mean a person was crazy.

Chapter One