Wolf Dance Read online

  WOLF DANCE

  by

  Lorraine Kennedy

  © copyright by Lorraine Kennedy, October 2004

  Cover Art by Amber Moon, © copyright October 2004

  ISBN 1-58608-252-3

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Earth, darkness and the scent of blood surrounded her--driving her into a mad frenzy as it ripped at her shell of sanity. Her nails tore at her flesh in a desperate attempt to free herself of her prison of flesh.

  The beast was close ... she could feel his hunger, his lust. Instinct coursed through her, screaming at her to run but a dark part of her soul kept her rooted in the midst of the inky darkness.

  He was closer now. She could feel a need so powerful it seemed to seep through her skin, penetrating into the core of her very being.

  Large, powerful hands clasped her legs--spreading them against her will. Her struggles were fruitless against the brute strength that assaulted her. Sharp teeth nipped at the tender skin of her inner thighs--sweet, erotic pain burned within her. She gasped at the sensation of a tongue soothingly licking at her wounded flesh.

  A woman’s harsh voice came at her the darkness. "Puta! Run you stupid girl!" the voice hissed.

  Close to her ear, she heard a different voice, this one soft and pleading.

  "Stay with me." A low, underlying growl emanated from the male voice.

  Encircling her was a thick fog and it reached inside her throat, pulling at her life force. In desperation she clutched at her throat and labored to breathe. A hand grasped her shoulder and gently shook her.

  Gradually the fog cleared and she forced her eyes open. The purple hues of dawn were creeping into the small dingy windows of her grandfather’s trailer.

  "Laura, you are being haunted in your dreams." Grandpa Busby’s hoarse voice pulled her further into the waking world. "You should not go on this trip."

  Laura sat up, rubbing her sleep-swollen eyes. Getting to her feet, she walked the few steps to the small kitchen of the cramped trailer.

  The coffee was fresh, as she knew it would be. Laura poured herself a large cup. Sipping the soothing liquid, she studied her grandfather through the dim light. He still sat on the edge of the couch where she had slept.

  Once again worry gnawed at her. He was old and so frail. The right side of his body no longer worked as well as it once had. This was the result of a stroke that had cut him down only a few years ago. Since that time he used a cane to help him get around.

  Each and every day since his illness had struck, Laura had thanked God that he had been spared to walk the path of life with her for just a little while longer.

  Long, thin wisps of gray hair framed the old man’s deeply lined face. At times his eyes gave the impression of staring off into space, as they were at this very moment. Laura thought it possible that he might be losing his sight, but Grandpa would never admit it. She had tried on many occasions to convince him to move to Santa Fe where he would be near her, but she had received the same answer each time.

  "I am Busby, born to the Bitter River People for the Deer Clan. I am Dineh and will die in my own country."

  She understood him of course. He had raised her in the tradition of the Navajo and she knew that his homeland was very important to him. Nevertheless, the thought of him out here ... all alone ... troubled her. If something was to happen and she lost her grandfather ... the thought was devastating. He was her only living relative, if she didn't count the distant relation of her clansmen.

  Laura quietly sipped her coffee, letting the hot liquid soothe her dry throat. Her grandfather’s dark eyes seemed to be analyzing her, dissecting her from the inside out.

  "Grandpa, you know I have to go to Wyoming. I stopped here to let you know where I’d be." She tried to soothe him.

  His old bones burned with age and he grunted with the effort of getting to his feet. "Don’t know why you’d have a hand in that kind of work," he muttered.

  Laura attempted once again to explain her motives. "It’s my life, Grandpa, and I cannot live my life in poverty on this reservation."

  "I warned your mother of the consequences of getting mixed up with a Belagana and now your father’s ways are bleeding into your spirit." Busby painfully lowered himself to the hard kitchen chair.

  "I don’t cut the trees, I just work for them." Laura pleaded with him to understand.

  "That is enough." Busby’s voice contained the stern quality she knew meant he was deeply concerned about something. "If you destroy the earth, bad things will come of it. Already the darkness enters your dreams."

  The sun had finally made its majestic appearance and Laura opened the aluminum door to bring some light into the trailer. She breathed in the dry desert air. The tangy scent never failed to bring back childhood memories. Most of her memories were good, but the constant lack of food and water caused shadows to push away some of those good memories.

  "I don’t agree with what they do Grandpa, but I just can’t stay here and marry one of my mother’s people. Life is too hard here and when I have children of my own I do not want them to live through the ugliness of poverty. Not if I can prevent it." She tried to explain her reasons, like she had many times before.

  The old man got to his feet and walked to the doorway where she stood. "You mean you want to hide your children from the truth of what remains of the Dineh." He brushed past her and slowly descended the steps of the trailer. A few moments later he disappeared into the junipers of the nearby hills where each morning he went to pray.

  Maybe her grandfather was right? Laura was not ashamed of her Navajo blood--she was just not sure that she wanted to share in their destiny. The stark realities of life on the reservations were harsh.

  Her strange dream crept back into her thoughts. For two nights now, she had been plagued with the same dream. She always found herself waking from this dream with the vague feeling of being torn in two different directions. In the brightness of day the dreams seemed too ridiculous to even worry about, but she had been brought up in a superstitious world and doubt nagged at her.

  The woman in the dream called her a whore ... why? Why would she dream something like that?

  Possibly she was feeling guilty? Her grandfather had been needling her since she had begun working for Duccini and maybe it was finally starting to get to her.

  Laura shook the dark dream from her thoughts and went to the small bathroom. She hurriedly changed into a T-shirt and blue jeans; she then ran a brush through her long, golden brown hair. As a result of inheriting her father’s coloring and amber eyes, Laura appeared to be more white than Indian.

  Returning to the kitchen, Laura prepared the breakfast food that she’d brought with her on the small, propane stove. Once she’d finished, Laura waited on the steps for her grandfather to return. It was not long before he emerged from the brush. She watched his slow progress across the desert floor.

  Laura felt her throat constrict with emotion and unwelcome tears stung her eyes. The old man had made many sacrifices for her over the years and no matter how she might disagree with him on many things, her heart would never forget that. Laura recalled the many times he had pretended not to be hungry so that she would have enough to fill her aching stomach.

  Laura set the food on the small wooden table and they settled themselves down to eat. There were no further words between them.

  Her eyes scanned the table top, taking note of the deep gouges and scars in the wood. Laura’s eyes came to
rest on the small carved letters, L.E & K.B.

  Remembering the day that she had carved them into the wood with her little pocket knife brought back fond memories of her childhood sweetheart. The days of innocence, childish laughter, and Kenny Begay seemed worlds away from her life now.

  Finished with breakfast, Busby sat at the table and nursed his coffee while Laura tidied up the kitchen. When the kitchen was clean, Laura knelt beside her grandfather.

  "I’ll have to be leaving now. I’m due at the field office the day after tomorrow. I’ll be back soon, a couple of weeks ... maybe." She made a feeble attempt to put some cheer into her voice.

  "The Indians up there, they have given your boss the rights to cut?" His voice betrayed his doubt.

  "Yes, we received the release just a few days ago. It clearly states they have signed off cutting rights to the land surrounding Beaver Creek."

  "I find it a hard thing to believe that the Shoshone would hand over their land to butchers of the earth." He was clearly skeptical.

  "It isn’t the Shoshone." Laura paused, trying to remember the name of the tribe which had laid claim to the area. "I believe they call themselves Sungmanitu. From what I have been able to gather, they broke off from their main band years ago and settled a small part of the land in the area--forming their own community."

  Laura was busy packing and failed to notice the way her grandfather’s face had drained of color or the way his features distorted with fear.

  "It’s better if you do not go there--there is something wrong about this. Why do they need you there?"

  Snapping her suitcase shut, Laura took deep breath and patiently tried to explain the situation. "The people there are not real happy about the situation and they need a P.R. specialist to try and smooth the way for a while."

  She felt it would be better not to add the fact that Dan Mitchell had disappeared shortly after forwarding the release documents. In addition to her other duties, she had been instructed to find out what she could about Dan too.

  Franklin Duccini was a shrewd businessman and smart enough to know that without Dan, there could be a problem. The Sungmanitu could contest the legality of the release documents, and without Dan as a witness, things could get messy.

  "Grandpa, I have to go now." She stood next to him, holding her bags.

  Busby took hold of her arm. "Be careful," he whispered in a raspy voice.

  Laura’s eyes widened in shock--a sudden rush of fear caught in her throat. "Grandpa, are you feeling well?"

  Laura put her bags down and kneeled beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. Never before had he been so adamantly against her work.

  He gazed at her with a wisdom that one can only obtain with the passing of many years. "You must promise me something, Laura."

  "If I can, Grandpa."

  "Stay far away from the Sungmanitu ... they are dangerous."

  "What do you know of them?" Laura’s curiosity was peaked.

  The old man shook his head. "Stay away from them, Laura."

  * * * *

  The summer sun was climbing high in the turquoise sky and the surrounding desert shimmered with the rising heat. Laura drove west toward Arizona--she felt a slight sense of dread as she left New Mexico behind her.

  Laura took her eyes from the road for only a split second to fiddle with the knobs on the stereo. When she looked back up her heart jumped into her throat. In the middle of the road stood an old woman--her bulkiness covered with a thin cotton blouse and blue skirt. Streaks of gray ran through the black hair that was neatly bound in a tight bun at the back of her head.

  Laura’s panicked consciousness took all this in as she was instinctively slamming on the breaks. The tires squealed and her red Bronco slid off the road, missing the woman by mere inches.

  Still dazed, Laura scrambled out of the vehicle. The woman stood in the same spot, as if the near miss had not affected her in the least. The old lady just stood there--staring with piercing black eyes that seemed to cut through Laura’s soul.

  The woman raised her hand and pointed in the direction from which Laura had come. "Go back, Puta! The way you go leads only to darkness. Go back before it’s too late."

  Laura felt faint. It was the same voice she heard in her dreams. Shards of light burst forth in her head and Laura squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to block out the sudden ball of pain. When the throbbing finally subsided and she was able to pry her eyes open the woman was gone. Laura quickly scanned the area but the specter was nowhere to be seen.

  With her stomach twisting into knots, a wave of nausea overtook her. Laura leaned against the Bronco until the feeling began to pass.

  Reaching inside, Laura grabbed a canteen of water. Taking the cap off, she brought the water up to her dry, parched lips. She took several swallows before capping the canteen and putting it back in its place on the floorboard.

  Circling the car, Laura checked for damage. Fortunately everything seemed to be in order. Still too shaken to drive, Laura sat in the driver’s seat and rested while trying to gather her wits. It must be heat sickness, she concluded. The woman could not have vanished into thin air.

  Chapter Two

  The single-wide mobile home was Duccini’s makeshift field office. Judging from the trailer’s appearance, its better days were far in the past.

  The white dust-covered structure stood at the bottom of an isolated hillside just south of Brantic City. It had taken Laura an hour of roaming the dirt roads to find it.

  Before leaving her automobile, Laura used the rearview mirror to brush her wind-tangled hair into place. Carefully, she made her way up the rickety stairs leading to the front door. What was once a living room had been neatly converted into office space.

  An array of paperwork littered the top of an old steel desk and the floor looked as if it had not been cleaned in weeks. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged black man, his short cropped hair speckled with gray.

  The man, leaning back in his chair with his long legs propped up on the desk, looked to be in the middle of a heated conversation with someone on the phone.

  "No more excuses!" he barked. "That truck had better be here tomorrow morning to pick up that load, or we give the contract to someone else." Scowling, he slammed the phone down.

  He eyed Laura speculatively and gradually the hard lines of his mouth widened into a smile.

  Offering her hand, Laura returned his smile. "Mr. Jessup, I suppose."

  "That would be me." He shook her hand firmly.

  "I’m Laura Ellison."

  "Oh," he laughed. "For a minute there I thought you might be one of those ecology people. It’s not just the locals giving us hassles--we have been butting heads with those ecology people, too." Pausing, he searched through a stack of manila folders for her file. Laura noticed that he spoke with a slow, southern drawl.

  After several moments of searching, he finally located it. He opened the folder and laid it on his desk.

  "Where you been? The fax I received said you were supposed to be here yesterday."

  "Had some car problems on the way up here--it keeps wanting to die," she apologized.

  "Hmm, you’ll be wanting to get that taken care of."

  "It sounds as if this job might be more difficult than we anticipated."

  "Don’t you know it." Clyde Jessup went to the kitchen and pulled two cans of soda from the refrigerator. He offered one to Laura.

  "Thank you." She accepted it gratefully, hoping it would cool her burning throat.

  "The locals in Brantic are not real happy about us messing around up there, but that isn’t the worst of it."

  He popped open his can and took several swallows before continuing. "Those Beaver Creek people are downright hostile. They keep insisting that their Chief didn't sign that contract."

  "What about the Chief?" Laura found a chair and sat down.

  "Their Chief is gone. At least that is what they are telling us," Jessup smiled. "The truth of the matter is, I think the
old man took a pay off to sign it and then split." Jessup sat back and rested his legs on his desk.

  "You will be doing more than P.R. work while you are here, though I expect you’ll have your hands full enough with that."

  "Oh?" Laura was not thrilled with the news, but she had expected as much.

  "I’m not an office man as you can see." His hand made a sweeping motion, bringing her attention to the stacks of paperwork.

  Jessup gave her a wry smile. "In addition to everything else, we are having trouble getting laborers. The temporary service in Acton does not seem to be able to recruit any men. Most of our employees had to be brought in from Rock Springs."

  "Why so much trouble?"

  "People around here don’t seem to care too much for those Indians up there. Hell ... we can’t even get any of the Shoshone or Arapaho to take a job."

  Jessup became quiet. Laura guessed he was contemplating their problems. Clearing his throat he continued. "To a point, that can be written off as opposition to the clear-cutting, but still it seems odd. Usually one or two will join up. They would just as soon stay away from the Beaver Creek Indians, even if it means passing up a good paying job." He shook his head, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he could imagine.

  "So what’s the story on Mitchell?" Finished with her soda, Laura tried to stuff it in the already overflowing waste basket, but it fell out and rolled across the floor.

  She got to her feet to retrieve it but Jessup waved her back. "I’ll get it later."

  Laura’s smile was tolerant. She knew what the first thing on her agenda for tomorrow would be, and that was to get this place cleaned up and in some kind of order.

  "Can’t tell you a lot about Mitchell, except that I didn’t like him a whole lot. He tended to remind me of a big rat with sly, beady eyes," Jessup explained with a laugh.

  Laura laughed with him. Though she had only met Mitchell once, she had gotten the same impression. Dan Mitchell was too big to be called large and more than just a little feminine.