Rainsinger (13 page)

She turned, her chin at a mutinous angle. He saw the fury and hurt in her eyes, and in his imagination saw himself jerking away from her, as if he were ashamed.

“What?” she asked.

His tongue felt like a sun-dried boulder in his mouth. Unwieldy and dead. He pressed his lips together, trying to think of something that might ease that terrible moment of rejection, but it had already fled into the past where he couldn’t change it.

Before he could speak, she said, “Let’s go meet your friends. Isn’t that your lost love?”

He grabbed her arm angrily. “How did you know that?”

Pointedly she looked at his hand. He dropped it. “I didn’t,” she said quietly. “It was only a guess.”

Ashamed, Daniel turned away from that bright, honest gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, but didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. For playing false with her, maybe?

She didn’t answer, only moved toward the truck and its occupants as if she owned the place. Which, he guessed, she sort of did. Why hadn’t he told them about Winona? What would they make of her? Of the situation?

Luke was the first out of the truck, and he called out a greeting to Daniel in Navajo.

Daniel waved.

Suddenly, from the back end of the truck came three moving shapes, hurtling toward him at a dead run. Two were dogs, Tasha and a new one he didn’t recognize. The other was a girl. Giselle. She whooped and flung herself into Daniel’s arms, her slim arms making a steely grip around his neck.

“Uncle!” she cried.

He bear-hugged her back, a rush of sweet, uncomplicated joy rising in his chest. With Giselle, he had no conflicts. He loved her as a daughter, with a plain, sharp, simpleness he’d not known for another person in his life. “I missed you a lot, Gazelle.”

She giggled at his use of her pet name. “I’m going to stay for two whole weeks!”

“I know. I’m glad.”

Luke, amused, spoke in Navajo. “Daniel, you dog—you didn’t tell me a goddess fell on your land.”

Daniel gingerly set Giselle on her feet and glanced at Winona, who stood to one side with what appeared to be a genuine smile on her face. He looked at Luke.

“I forgot,” Daniel said in the same language.

“Forgot?” Luke returned with a laugh.

“Winona,” Daniel said in English, “these are my friends, Luke and Giselle here.” Finally he allowed himself to look at Jessie, who came around the truck with a toddler in her arms. It was the first time he’d seen her in almost a year.

To his great amazement and relief, there was no frisson of his nerves, no sharp ache that Jessie had married Luke, not him. There was only a genuine, deep pleasure in him, to see that she was so well, that a baby was making a small mound of her belly and a toddler with Luke’s face hung on her hip. Happiness, bright as morning, lay in her complexion, in the glow of her eyes.

Daniel hugged her. “Hey, Irish. You look terrific!” Even at the once-yearned-for touch of her body against his, he felt only the same simple love he had for Giselle.

“So do you.”

He took the baby and turned toward Winona, who watched with a guarded expression in her eyes. “That’s Jessie,” he said, “and this—” he lifted the hand of the big-eyed boy “—is Daniel.”

Winona stared at Daniel for a moment, consideration in her eyes. He saw her mind working, saw the conclusions she drew, and hated that the whole situation was so easily read.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “My little sister is around here somewhere.”

“Here I am.”

Joleen shyly moved to stand beside Winona, who easily looped an arm around the girl.

“That’s Little Owl, Gazelle,” Daniel said, chucking the younger girl’s arm. “You two can share the room downstairs.”

Giselle and Joleen measured each other frankly. To his surprise, Daniel saw Giselle’s face go utterly blank, a sure sign she was hiding what she thought were negative emotions.

“Okay,” she said.

Jessie, likely recognizing a kindred spirit, smiled at Joleen. “I love your hat,” she said.

Joleen touched the soft emerald beret, obviously pleased. “Thanks.”

Winona said, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got supper waiting, but I need to take a quick shower.” She grinned mischievously. “I just killed Mr. Basketball in a game of one on one.”

“Killed me?” Daniel protested good-naturedly. To the others he said, “Two points is not a killing.”

“Call it what you like,” Winona returned. “I won.” “She beat you?” Giselle said with wonder. Luke laughed. “I wish I’d seen that.”

“Winona can beat anyone,” Joleen bragged. With a wink at Joleen, Winona went inside. “Did she really beat you?” Giselle asked. Daniel nodded. “‘Fraid so. And it wasn’t the first time.”

* * *

The shower washed away the lingering traces of arousal Daniel’s tantalizing touch had left upon Winona, and she donned her mirrored skirt with a simple blue shirt before she went into the kitchen to put supper on the table. Jessie was already there, making a pot of coffee.

As Winona came into the room, Jessie said with a smile, “Hope you don’t mind. I’m dying for a good cup of coffee.”

“Not at all.” Winona inclined her head, admiring the woman. A very long tumble of hair, golden brown and wavy, was caught back in a barrette, and her eyes were enormous, an extraordinary pale brown that was almost topaz. “Your pictures don’t do you justice,” she said.

Jessie smiled. “Thank you.” Pushing up her sleeves, she asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Most of it is done. I just have to heat up these rolls and everything is ready.” She shook out the red batik tablecloth she so loved. “We can set the table.”

As Jessie arranged plates, she asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, are you living here?”

“Daniel didn’t tell you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. It’s none of our business, and he’s a very private man, as I’m sure you’ve seen.”

Winona considered that. Private? Yes, she supposed he was—unless he was in one of his moods. Belatedly she realized that Jessie would think they were lovers—it was the usual explanation for a man and a woman sharing a house.

Feeling heat crawl in her cheeks, she carefully placed a fork next to a plate. “We aren’t—that is, I’m not—” She clamped her mouth shut to halt the stuttering explanation and took a deep breath.

“The land belonged to my uncle, who left it to me. I was out of the country and wasn’t aware he’d died. Daniel paid the back taxes, but I paid the current ones before I knew he was here. We’re co-owners at the moment.”

Jessie picked a celery stock from the plate of fresh veggies. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m glad to see you here, actually. He was turning into a hermit. We haven’t seen him in almost a year.”

Luke and Daniel walked in, Luke carrying the toddler, who had tear streaks on his face. With them came Percival, who made a whining rush for Winona and collapsed on her feet. His body shivered on her toes, and Winona squatted to rub him. “Poor baby,” she cooed, and laughed. “What scared you?”

“Sorry about that,” Luke said. “Tasha, my big dog, was overjoyed to see a little one to play with and scared him half to death.”

Winona chuckled, lifting the pup into her arms. “Poor Percy. It’s a big old dangerous world out there, isn’t it?” She nuzzled him and his shivering slowed. He made a soft, terrified noise in his throat, then licked her neck. “I think you’ll live.”

She laughed again and glanced up. Daniel stood at the edge of the room, looking at her. Nothing showed in his face, but there was softness in his eyes. Mouth hard, she turned away. He’d embarrassed her twice now. What was that old expression?
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Daniel Lynch had no idea what he wanted, except to have sex with her. And she wasn’t going to give in to that. She’d hate herself later.

Better they should be friends, work the orchard and figure out how to split things at the end of the summer. Then, when they went their separate ways, there would be no pain. No regrets.

She put down the dog. “Everything is ready,” she said briskly, turning toward the stove and the big pot of soup. “Call the girls and we can eat.”

A
fter supper, Daniel stood up and started to clear the table. It was only fair—Winona had cooked for the whole crew, and they were his friends.

She took the plates out of his hands. “I’ll take care of it,” she said without looking at him.

He caught a waft of fragrance from her hair as she turned away, and the scent tied a tight little knot in the center of his chest. For a moment, he didn’t do anything—just stood there, waiting for Winona to look around, to somehow acknowledge his presence. She put the dishes in the sink, the tiny mirrors on her skirt flashing with her sure movements. Her feet were bare.

She ignored him.

Luke put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Come outside with me so I can smoke,” he said. “Show me this old tree you found.”

Daniel nodded. “If you need anything, you know where the orchard is,” he said to Winona. The remark was inane as hell, but he hoped she might at least look around.

She didn’t. “That’s fine.”

Giselle followed them outside. “Can I go, too?”

“Not this time, midget,” Luke said. “Why don’t you and Joleen play some ball?”

Giselle sighed. “I hate basketball,” she said. “You do?” Joleen asked, breaking into a broad grin. “Me, too! Do you want to see my rabbits, instead?”

“You have rabbits? What kind?”

Joleen gave Daniel an uncertain frown. “Lops?” He nodded, and Giselle squealed. “I love lops. They have such pretty ears!”

Daniel smiled at Luke, and they headed for the copse of trees in the thickening dusk. “Sure you won’t stay the night?” Daniel asked.

“I’d rather be in Colorado Springs in the morning.” Luke paused below the first trees to roll a cigarette. “My sister is dying to see Danny.”

Watching the flare of a kitchen match, Daniel said, “Be careful, man. It’s as dry as a bone out here.”

Luke frowned, exhaled and bent to stub the cigarette out in a safe patch of dirt. “I forgot about that. Maybe not the best thing to do.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s been bad on the reservation. No rain for more than two months. Is it any better here?”

Daniel shook his head. “A trace last month. Enough to set the blossoms, I guess.”

“You have water rights?” Luke pointed to the narrow irrigation ditches.

“No. They’re caught in probate court at the moment.” He touched a leaf, and it felt smooth enough against his thumb, but if the drought continued, they’d start to wither. Already some of the trees had a parched look about them, a green less vital in the leaves, a droop.

“You need a rainsinger,” Luke said.

Daniel eyed him. “Maybe so.”

Luke didn’t press. Since his return to the land two years ago, Luke had become more and more traditional, which didn’t surprise Daniel. It happened often to Indians who’d been taken from the land early. They got out in the world and didn’t know what that small, crying hole in them was until they returned.

Daniel had never gone from it. But he’d never had much to claim, either. By the time he grew up and left, his mother and family were gone or dead. It didn’t matter whether he stayed or left. He stayed, coming back after his stint in the army, stubbornly aligning himself with some of his clan, like Mary Yazzie, the head of the weavers’ project.

“How’s business?” he asked.

Luke nodded. “Never better. This is one of the best projects of its kind. Mary is getting calls every day from tribal councils all over the country.” He looked at Daniel. “You must get some, too.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not so many now. It was never my aim to run the whole thing. Just wanted to help get it off the ground.”

“It wouldn’t have happened without you, Daniel.” Daniel nodded without conceit. He’d seen something that needed doing, and did it. “It worked out.”

They reached the ancient tree and stopped. “Here she is,” Daniel said, touching the bark as tenderly as if it were skin. “Winona says she probably is one of the original trees.”

Luke knelt. He put his hand at the open center, from which the several branches of the trunk grew. “It’s amazing to think of it.”

“Yeah.” Daniel lifted his head, feeling a brush of the same living reverence that had touched him the other morning under the pink dawn. Now the sky was a musky purple-gray, into which the ancient branches lifted gnarled fingers. The shapes were black and precise, the leaves moving slightly, even though he could feel no breeze. He wondered if his great-great-grandmother had put the roots of this tree into the earth. He wondered where she had died. How she had prevented the soldiers from burning this tree, this orchard, as all the others had been.

“Will you have a crop this year?”

“I don’t know. Winona says there are good fruits, but a lot of things can ruin a whole crop.”

Luke lifted his head. “Tell me about Winona.”

Daniel took a breath and moved his hand on the tree. It was the subject he wanted to speak of, but now it was hard to find the right words for it, words that wouldn’t make him feel too exposed or give too much away. “Old man Jericho, the old owner, was her uncle. He left the orchard to her.”

“So who owns it?”

“We both do.”

“Who’s going to end up with it?”

Daniel lifted his hand. “She probably will. She has the more recent claim. I don’t have the funds to pay her what it’s worth. Not even a fraction of it.”

Luke took a moment to think about that, and Daniel waited. That was how it was with Luke. He took his time. When they were children, it had driven Daniel nuts. Now he’d grown to understand that people were born with some character traits, and it was futile to try to change them. Luke considered; Daniel rushed ahead. Luke was calm, Daniel impatient.

It made good balance in friendship.

“Does she know the story of the orchard?” Luke asked.

“I told her.” Daniel remembered the conversation with a residue of anger, but that’s all it was, residue. “It’s complicated, because she grew up here. She’s a botanist because of these trees, so her need for the orchard is deep, too. Not like a farmer just wanting it for the money.”