A Lasting Love (20 page)

Eventually even the towering self-control Reid
exhibit
ed crumbled and his lips caught hers in a clasp
of emotion
al fervor. The kiss was long and spoke
candidly of his
desire for her. His tongue edged her
lips, then sought the
recesses of her sweet mouth
until the combination of love
and longing cast a spell
of absorbing unity between them.

Somewhere, sometime, Loren was drawn and lifted
to
Reid, this man she loved . . . had loved for years.
Their
spirits combined in that one kiss so infinitely
that they
both knew its full implications.

"Oh, God, Loren—" he rasped when he finally
lifted his
head.

"What . . . what do you want from me?"

"Your love is all I ask." His voice was low and
hoarse.
"I don't give a damn what you think of Arizona
or the desert or the mountains. The only thing I care about
is
what you feel for me. And I think that was answered
just
now, Loren. You can't hide your feelings from
me,
mi
amor.
Don't deny your love again."

He broke the electric trance and strode across
the room,
leaving Loren to stare after him, dazed and
confused.

Then he turned to her and ordered in a
surprisingly
tame tone, "Be ready to go to Bisbee in
an hour. I'll be
back from the hospital then." He
closed the large wooden door behind him while Loren sat wrapped in
the brightly
colored Mexican blanket. She sipped her
champagne and
wrestled with her emotions
alone.

When she had awakened, Loren thought that she
hated everything about this strange de
sert land,
including Reid Mecina. Mostly she hated him
for what
happened yesterday. They had been in physical
danger
and it was his fault. The ride into the mountains
had
been his idea. The day and direction had been his. She
had gone along in innocence. It had sounded like fun.
Good, safe fun.

Never mind that she had looked forward to the
activity
with enthusiasm.
He
was at fault here.
Reid.
Or was
she
blaming him because she wanted an excuse, a reason
to find fault with the man she
loved . . . and
therefore something to end their relationship?

Oh, dear God!
She buried her hands
in her face. It had been like this when she had been pregnant, then
miscar
ried. In her numbed mind Reid was responsible
for all that
grief and unhappiness. She had overlooked
her own role
in the pregnancy, simply because she
wanted to have a reason to blame him. To hate him. But could she?
Could
she hate him now? He claimed not. Could he tell
from one
kiss? One breathtaking, all-encompassing
kiss?

Loren walked to the window. What did she want?
Did
she want to love him
...
or hate him? Did she actually
have that
choice?

Before they left for Bisbee, Loren called the
family of
Emmaline Walker to announce their impending
visit.
They made the trip in relative silence, with
Reid pointing
out an occasional landmark. Loren was
familiar enough
with the
Catalina
Mountains to the north and
the Tuc
sons, which framed the evening sunsets. The
Rincons
formed an eastern gateway leading to flat,
uninteresting
desert land bounded by towering, bare
mountains in the distance.
Gerónimo
country, Reid called it. With a
little imagination
Loren could visualize
Gerónimo
on
horseback, beckoning
to his followers outlined against
the gray sky. She almost expected to see an ominous half-naked
figure rising behind every hill, decorated with war paint, and
feathers fanned by the breeze.

"What are you thinking?" Reid broke the silence.

"You wouldn't believe it." She laughed spontaneously.
"I was wondering if we would be ambushed by Indians over that next
rise."

"It’s not like in the old westerns, although most of
those old movies were filmed right out here in Old Tucson. They
still use the set occasionally."

She shook her head. "Filming in this heat is surely a
test of your mettle as an actor." It sounded above and beyond the
calling to her.

"Can you imagine living out here before the days of
air-conditioning and deodorant?"

"I can't imagine living here at all."

"My great-grandparents loved it. They came out for my
great-grandfather's health. They fell in love with the wide-open
spaces and strange desert creatures. His health improved so much
that he could enjoy living again, and I suppose that had a lot to
do with their love of the place."

"I suppose if you had a special reason ..." Loren
reflected on the idea that some people lived here and loved it. It
was a remote notion to her.

"Did you say you talked to Emmaline's family?" Reid
asked.

"Yes. Her daughter. She was thrilled and said it
would cheer her mother up to have us visit."

"Good. I imagine she'll be even more cheered when she
finds out what you have to say about her long-delayed
benefits."

"Um-hum," Loren answered absently, observing the
change of scenery as, having gained several thousand feet in
altitude, they entered the picturesque mining town of Bisbee. Loren
was first struck by the awesome sight of a gaping hole in the
middle of town. They drove past the closed copper mine, located
conveniently in the heart of the small city and the charming
Victorian houses, complete with elaborate gingerbread eaves.

Reid stopped on the far outskirts of town
before a roughhewn adobe brick house, which had long ago been
bleached to a pale ecru by the Arizona sun. Loren took a deep
breath, sad to see that her Navajo friend, the mother of a war
hero, lived in such poverty. If she had only known, Loren would
have fought for more than the son's minimal benefits. Loren had
taken the easy route and accepted what was offered. Next time she
would make other demands.
Next time. . . oh,
yes.
She decided as she entered the modest abode,
there will be a next time.
And I will go informed and
demanding.

"I'm so glad you came. Mother will be out in a few
minutes." The dark-haired woman who opened the door greeted them.
"I'm Silvie Tanner, Emmaline's daughter. This is my daughter,
Tracy, and her new baby." She motioned proudly at the infant, who
was sleeping peacefully in the arms of his mother.

"Please call me Loren," she said, then turned to
introduce Reid.

As Silvia shook his hand, she repeated his name
slowly. "Mecina . . . don't I know you?"

Reid nudged her memory. "You probably remember my
father. He was a senator from Arizona a few years ago. Nice to meet
you both."

"Oh, yes, I remember now. He spoke in Bisbee once.
Please come in and have a seat."

The room was sparce but contained no lack of Indian
art on the walls and stacked in corners. Weavings of all types,
rugs, and pottery were abundant. There were even two looms pushed
against the far wall, both containing half-finished rugs. Loren and
Reid sat together on the hard, narrow couch.

Loren smiled at the young mother, a modern version of
dark-skinned Navajo beauty. "May I see your baby?" she asked
fondly.

"Certainly." Tracy eagerly shoved the warm bundle
into Loren's arms. From that vantage point, both she and Reid
hovered over the dark-haired infant.

"This is the first boy in our family in forty years,"
Silvia offered proudly. "We're very lucky to have this little
one."

"You certainly are." Loren smiled when the baby
stirred in his sleep. "He's a beautiful child. What's his
name?"

"Ben," Tracy responded. "Benjamin Walker Lewis."

Loren's curious gaze met Silvie's dark eyes.
"Benjamin Walker? After—"

Silvie nodded. "After my brother who died in the war.
We convinced Mother it was the modern thing to do."

Reid looked uncomfortably at the baby and tentatively
touched the tiny hand. "How old is he? He's so little."

"He's six weeks old now. That's why I couldn't
accompany Mother to Washington. Tracy needed me."

Reid nodded, then tried to move his hand. But tiny
Ben had grasped his finger and held on firmly while he slept
contentedly. The women laughed softly at the expression on the
captured Reid's face.

"I think he likes you, Reid. Here, would you like to
hold him?" Loren suggested.

Reid's quick decline was congenial. "Not now, thanks.
I . . . er, haven't washed my hands." His expression was one of
desperation as he tugged his finger away from the baby's tight
grasp.

Emmaline Walker chose that moment to enter the room.
"I see you have met my great-grandson. What do you think of him?"
The pride of her ancestors glowed in Emmaline's dark eyes.

"Oh, Emmaline, he's just wonderful." Loren handed the
baby to his grandmother and rose to greet Emmaline. "I know you are
proud of this baby."

Emmaline smiled up at Loren. "The child has a good
name. We have placed much hope on this little one because he is
male. Perhaps too much for such a tiny person. But that is the way.
The men have the heavy burden these days. For forty years the women
in this family have had it."

"I'm so glad you now have a boy." Loren smiled. "He
will liven things up around here in a few years. You know, I have
good news for you. I've talked with some people in Washington. You
will be getting a check in the mail in a few weeks." Now, after
seeing the conditions in which these women lived, Loren felt the
sum a paltry amount. She was determined to fight for more.

"Oh, thank you, Loren," Silvie exclaimed, suddenly
overcome with tears of joy.

Emmaline's wrinkled countenance spread into a
placid
smile. "Oh, yes. I knew you would do it, Loren.
You
listened when no one else would."

"Actually it's what is rightfully yours,
Emmaline. For the great loss you suffered,
" Loren said
modestly.

The old woman took a shaky breath. "See, my
Benja
min is still taking care of us! Ah, that is too
great a burden!
Why can't we just leave him in
peace?"

Silvie's voice was gentle. "We can, Mother. Now
we will
move back to Window Rock where we belong.
There we
can watch our baby Ben grow up in the land of
his peo
ple."

"Yes." The old woman nodded slowly. "It is good."

Tracy broke the tight emotional spell. "How
would
everyone like some iced tea?"

"Yes, that sounds great," Reid eagerly agreed.

"I'll help you," Loren offered, and followed
Tracy into
the small kitchen. The windowpanes were of
old, wavy glass and the refrigerator was almost of antique
quality.
"Are you anxious to move, Tracy?"

"Oh, yes," responded the young woman. "My
husband,
Paul, is working in Window Rock
.
And I want to take our baby there to live. Now, with this money, my
mother and grandmother can move
too. I can't tell you
how much this means to us."

"You don't have to. I think I understand. Your
family
should be together." Loren ambled toward the
crude shelf
along the end wall holding rows of clay
pots in various
stages of completion. "Tell me about
these, Tracy."

She shrugged. "That's Mother's pottery. She
sells it
whenever she has a chance. Aren't they
nice?"

"Why, they're beautiful." Loren began to
examine some
of the finished pottery. "Can Silvie
continue to make her
pottery and sell it in Window
Rock?"

"Oh, yes.
Through the
Navajo
Arts and Crafts Enterprise. They
promote all things that
Navajos
make and
provide a
market. Here's your tea, Loren."

"Thank you. You know, I like this pottery so
much, I
want to take some back to Washington with me.
Are these
for sale?"

Tracy picked up the small plastic tray that
held the tea
glasses. "Sure."

They joined the others in the midst of Silvie's
animated explanation of the huge wooden loom in the corner of
the
room.

"Mother weaves the old Navajo way. Her rugs are
very
valuable, but it takes a long time to make them.
Sometimes
I help her when her eyes get tired. Here is
a sample." She spread a smaller version of a Navajo rug weaving
across
her knees.

"Why, Mrs. Walker, your work is excellent. I
think I
could sell some of these rugs for you in
Tucson," Reid
proposed.

Emmaline rose slowly. "I have some rugs you can
take
with you today, Mr. Mecina."