His devotion to his family and his people had been the driving factor in his life, but all of that had ended the day Russell committed suicide. His friends, acquaintances and fellow officers seemed to forget that Russell had been the one who had betrayed his trusted position on the police force. That Russell had been the one who had committed a crime. During the worst of the maelstrom that infected their lives from the moment he arrested his captain until after Russell’s funeral, Joe had begun to doubt himself. Had he been wrong to reveal the crime and arrest the culprit because that man had been his friend and a superior officer? A lot of people seemed to think so. Including Andi, Russell’s daughter. She had turned on Joe with a vengeance.
If she had stood by him, supported him, believed in him, would he have stayed in Castle Springs? Maybe. After all these years, he wasn’t sure anymore. Not about himself. And certainly not about his feelings for Andi. All he knew was that at some time during the past five years, his guilt and remorse over Russell’s death had turned to anger. How could a man he had hero-worshiped have acted so dishonorably? Russell’s actions had not only destroyed his own life, but altered the course of other lives. Joe’s. Andi’s. Russ, Jr.’s. Doli’s. Everyone who had loved and trusted Russell.
Joe could not help thinking how odd it was that he, a Navajo born on the reservation, who spoke Saad and had tried to follow the traditional ways, who had once worn a medicine pouch inside his trousers and kept a feather attached to the rearview mirror of his truck to ward off evil spirits, who had attended the Navajo Community College in Tsaile, had been forced to leave all that he cherished. And Andi, born and reared as a bilagaana, had stayed on in New Mexico and embraced the heritage of a father she had barely known, of a people who had been strangers to her.
Whenever J.T. happened to mention Andi, Joe always managed to change the subject. He hadn’t wanted to hear anything about her, hadn’t wanted to know if she had married, if she’d had children. She was nothing to him. Less than nothing. But today he would have to see her again, come face-to-face with the woman who, if she had truly loved him, might now be his wife.
There was a stark, majestic beauty to his homeland. Mesas and canyons, wide valleys and narrow mountain ranges. On this drive from the police station to Kate’s ranch outside Castle Springs, he felt more homesick than he had when he’d been far away in Georgia. In five years, he had almost forgotten what it meant to be a Navajo, even though by his appearance alone he proclaimed his Native American ancestry. In Atlanta, he had grown accustomed to living a white man’s life, which in many ways he enjoyed. He had once thought he could never survive in the outside world, the world to which Andi had belonged. Strange that he now felt like an outsider in his own land. When they had been dating, Andi had told him that she wasn’t sure she could live on the reservation and adapt to Navajo life. Back then, he had thought their lifestyles might be the only factor that could keep them apart.
The road leading from the highway to Kate and Ed’s ranch lay just ahead on the right. They had lived in a trailer when he’d left the reservation, but three years ago they’d built a house in the middle of their land. He and Kate shared acres of land that comprised the sheep ranch, and his own small house still stood several miles from his sister’s.
Kate had offered to meet him at the airport, but he’d told her that he would just rent a car and drive out to their place. His first stop after landing in Gallup had been the police station in Castle Springs. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, since most of the people working there had been his fellow officers five years ago. The reunion had been surprisingly friendly. The new captain and an old friend, Bill Cummings, had shared all the information they had on the Bobby Yazzi murder case.
“Do you really think that Russ and Eddie might have killed Bobby?” Joe had asked.
“I would like to believe that the boys only witnessed the murder,” Bill had said. “Sometimes the innocent run, but… They are not helping themselves by trying to elude us. If they didn’t kill Bobby, they should not have run.”
Joe eased the rental car off onto the long, narrow road winding through the ranch land. He dreaded facing Kate, seeing the fear and agony in her eyes. Her first born was in danger, and she was powerless to help him. She was counting on her brother to save her son. Joe only hoped he could.
When Joe drew near the house—a clapboard painted the color of golden sand—his sister and brother-in-law came out onto the porch. Kate lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun when she walked into the yard. She was a lovely woman. Short, slightly plump and exotically dark. A pair of faded jeans clung to her womanly curves.
The moment he parked, Kate ran toward him. He had no more than slammed the door shut when she stopped directly in front of him. Tears clouded her black eyes. He grasped her shoulders.
“You must find Eddie,” she said.
The trembling in her body vibrated through his hands. “I will find him. I promise.” Let me be able to keep that vow, he prayed silently.
In his peripheral vision, Joe saw his brother-in-law’s short, barrel-chested, stocky frame shadowed by the edge of the porch roof. At his side stood six-year-old Joey, Joe’s namesake. And there, hiding halfway behind her brother, was ten-year-old Summer.
Kate grabbed Joe’s hand. “Come. You must be tired and hungry after your long flight. I have stew ready for lunch.”
Kate was so much like their mother had been, a gracious hostess to family and friends. Always enough food to share. Always a warm smile and a generous heart.
His dark-eyed niece and nephew stared at Joe, as Kate twined her arm through his and led him toward the house. Smiling at Joey, he ruffled the boy’s hair.
Joey smiled back at him and said, “Ya’at’eeh.”
“Welcome, Joseph.” Ed Whitehorn nodded his head in greeting.
“Thank you.” Joe liked Ed, a quiet, soft-spoken man, a hard worker and a devoted husband and father. Joe turned his attention to his shy little niece, a carbon copy of her mother. “Aren’t you going to say hello to me, Summer?”
Leaning her head to one side and smiling timidly, she fluttered her long black eyelashes and spoke softly. “Hello, Uncle Joe.”
“You’ve certainly grown since the last time I saw you. And you’re as pretty as your mother.”
Summer awarded Joe with a broad smile. “‘Ahehee’,” she said, thanking him for the compliment.
Joe lifted Joey to his shoulders, much to the boy’s delight, then grasped Summer’s hand and tugged her closer to him. “Your mother has promised me lunch. Is anyone else hungry?”
The children giggled as they entered the house with their uncle. Side by side, touching only in spirit, their parents followed.
Just an inch shy of six feet, Joe had to duck down to enter through the front door, in order to make sure Joey’s head didn’t strike the door frame. Once inside the house, Joe came to an abrupt halt before he had taken more than two steps into the cosy, colorful family room.
Standing there in the archway between the family room and the dining area was a woman. Long, flowing, dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. Pale golden eyes gazed at him. Andrea Stephens was tall, slender and somehow elegant in her jeans, boots and bold red-and-blue plaid shirt. Tiny diamonds sparkled in her earlobes, a remnant of her wealthy South Carolina upbringing. And a wide band of turquoise-laden silver circled her right wrist. Joe’s stomach knotted painfully. He had given her the bracelet, created by his silversmith great-grandfather and passed down to him by his mother. Why did she still wear the bracelet? Or had she simply put it on today, to taunt him?
Joe eased Joey from his shoulders and placed the boy on his feet. Both children stayed at his side as he stood frozen to the spot. He said nothing, only stared at Andi. Kate and Ed came inside, and within minutes Kate