Beverly Barton - Navajo's Woman

“It happened while I was in New Mexico with friends, shortly before I married your…before I married Randall,” Rosemary had explained. “He was a handsome young Navajo man, and we were instantly attracted to each other. The affair lasted for one glorious week. He was so smitten that he asked me to marry him. But, of course, that was out of the question. He was poor. I was rich. He was an Indian and I was—”

“You were a bigot,” Andi had all but screamed at her mother. “He was good enough to have sex with, but not good enough to marry.”

“I didn’t love Russell,” Rosemary had admitted. “It was hot sex and nothing more. I’m sorry, Andrea, but that’s the truth.”

“Russell? His name is Russell…what?”

“Lapahie. Russell Lapahie. He lived on the reservation. His dream was to be a Tribal police officer.”

“Is he still alive?” Andi had asked.

“I have no idea.” Rosemary had gasped when she realized her daughter’s intentions. “You aren’t thinking of trying to find him, are you? Darling, he has no idea you even exist.”

Two weeks after that revealing conversation with her mother, Andi had headed west. In search of a father who didn’t know his brief affair with a vacationing Southern belle had resulted in a child. In search of a heritage that had been denied her, a birthright she had every intention of claiming. That had been five-and-a-half years ago.

As Andi drove her white Ford Expedition up to the open gates at the end of the long stretch of road leading from the main highway, the Blackwood’s house came into view. A sprawling, Spanish stucco built only seven years ago, the home of her dear friend Joanna seemed as welcoming as ever. But just how welcome would she be, now that Joe was back and J.T. was joining forces with him to find their young kinsman, Joe’s nephew and J.T.’s cousin?

The moment she pulled up beside the vehicle she recognized as Joe’s rental car, Andi’s stomach knotted painfully. He’d said his goodbyes to her at his sister’s house and had assured her that he’d contact her when he had any news of Russ and Eddie. Despite her protests, Joe Ornelas had dismissed her and left for the Blackwood ranch shortly after lunch. If he’d thought she wouldn’t follow him, then he didn’t know her very well. Of course, he doesn’t know you! an inner voice taunted. He never did.

Before Andi’s foot even hit the ground, Joanna Blackwood, round and rosy in her eighth month of pregnancy, came waddling out of the house. Her long red hair hung down her back in a cascading ponytail. Turquoise-and-silver earrings dangled in her ears, and a flowing white-and-aqua striped tent dress hit her mid-calf. Andi had always thought that Joanna was a lovely woman, and the bloom of pregnancy only added to her beauty.

“You were expecting me, weren’t you?” Andi smiled as she approached her friend, who waited on the wide, expansive veranda.

Grinning, Joanna nodded. “Joe arrived about an hour ago, so I assumed you wouldn’t be far behind.”

“Where is he?” Andi hugged Joanna, then pulled back, looked at her swollen tummy and gave it a gentle pat. “You’re bigger than you were last week.”

“If the ultrasound hadn’t shown us differently, I’d swear I was having twins again.” Joanna placed both hands atop her stomach. “Joe’s in the den with J.T. They’re talking strategy. Want to join them?”

Andi laughed as she laced her arm through Joanna’s. “You know that Joe all but forbid me to interfere. He told me that he’d keep in touch through you or Kate, and inform me when he had any news about the boys.”

“Typical macho man.” Joanna led Andi inside, into the large, terra-cotta tiled foyer. “But my guess is that neither Joe nor J.T. will be surprised to see you. Especially not my J.T. He’s gotten to know you pretty well these past five years and he’s acquainted with your mile-wide stubborn streak.”

“I’m not going to let Joe bully me. I have every right to be involved in the search. I may not have his qualifications, but—”

“Save your arguments for Joe. I’m on your side, remember? We women have to stick together against our ultra-masculine Navajo males.”

“Joe isn’t my Navajo male,” Andi reminded her friend.

Joanna eyed the silver-and-turquoise bracelet that adorned Andi’s wrist. “Then why are you wearing his brand?”

Why, indeed! Andi fingered the magnificent piece of jewelry, handcrafted by Joe and J.T.’s great-grandfather, Benjamin Greymountain. The sentimentally priceless bracelet had been a gift from Joe on her twenty-fifth birthday, shortly before her father’s death.

“It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry I own, but I wore it today for a reason. I’m going to give it back to Joe. I would have given it to him five years ago, if he hadn’t left in such a hurry. He didn’t stick around long enough even to say goodbye.”

“And you still resent his speedy departure,” Joanna commented. “Admit it to yourself, even if you won’t admit it to me—you still care about Joe. Otherwise, you’d already have found someone else.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? But I’ll tell you again—I don’t care about Joe. He means nothing to me. And as you well know, I’ve had several interesting men in my life during the past few years, so that should prove I haven’t been pining away for some lost love.”

“Just how many of those interesting men lasted longer than a couple of months?” Joanna asked. “Not one of those relationships got beyond the kissing—”

Much to Andi’s relief, Joanna’s assessment of her love life, or lack thereof, was cut short by the interruption of two redheaded twin toddlers. Annabelle grabbed her mother’s right leg as her brother Benjamin manacled the left. They gazed up at Andi with their father’s dark eyes. Then a tall, lanky boy of six entered the foyer, halting abruptly when he saw his young siblings attached to Joanna.

“Hi, Andi,” the black-haired, green-eyed boy said. “Sorry, Mama, but they got away from me before I knew what was happening.” John Thomas Blackwood acted if he were a grown-up, though he was nothing more than a child himself. J.T. and Joanna’s eldest had been born an old soul, a protector and a caretaker. Every time Andi was around the boy she sensed his ancient spirit.

“It’s all right, honey. No one can keep up with these two.” Joanna pried the twins away from her legs and grasped each one by a hand, keeping them separated by her body. Then she turned to Andi. “It’s almost supper-time, so I need to get my brood cleaned up and ready to eat. You know where J.T.’s den is. Feel free to interrupt, and tell Joe and him that Rita will be serving dinner in about thirty minutes.”

“I intend to tell them more than that.” Andi’s voice was edged with tension.

“What’s wrong, Andi?” John Thomas asked. “Are you angry with my daddy?”

“Good heavens, no,” Andi said. “I’m angry with—”

Joanna cleared her throat.

“I’m a little annoyed with your cousin Joe,” Andi amended.

“I like Joe,” John Thomas told her. “He brought me an Atlanta Braves cap and a baseball signed by Chipper Jones.”

Andi forced a smile. Joanna chuckled under her breath, then shooed her brood down the hall, leaving Andi alone in the foyer. Okay, get this over with, she told herself. Walk right into J.T.’s den and tell those infuriating, old-fashioned, domineering men that in order to represent the Lapahie family, you insist on having a personal involvement in the search for Russ and Eddie.

J.T. handed Joe a bottle of beer, then sat across from him in a huge wing chair upholstered in a striking Navajo blanket-style fabric, a mate to Joe’s chair. Joe liked the masculine look of the room, which he thought reflected his cousin’s mixed heritage and his own unique personality quite well. It was obvious that the woman who had decorated this room not only knew J.T. well, but cared deeply for him. His cousin was a lucky man to have found someone like Joanna.