In Love by Christmas: A Paranormal Romance
Read In Love by Christmas: A Paranormal Romance Online
Authors: Sandy Nathan
In Love By Christmas
THE BLOODSONG SERIES 3
SANDY NATHAN
SANTA YNEZ, CA
Copyright © 2015 by Sandy Nathan
Vilasa Press
A Division of Vilasa Properties LLC
Santa Ynez, CA 93460
www.sandynathan.com
First Edition
ISBN 13: 978-1-937927-16-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, governmental agencies, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN-13: 978-1-937927-17-2 (Trade paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-1-937927-16-5 (eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014907433
Editor: Melanie Rigney
Interior Design of Print & eBook Editions: Damonza.com
Book & eBook Cover Design: Book Cover Art, Clarissa Yeo
May the love of Christmas blossom in our hearts,
today and every day.
“Leroy was always a good boy, destined for greatness.
He simply needed to discover it in himself,
and release it.
I suspect that Coyote, the Trickster,
loves him as much as I do.”
Grandfather
Table of Contents
27: Making It through the Night
28: OK. So He Didn’t Make It Through the Night
38: Different than Anyone Imagined
42: The On-going Task of Destroying Cass Duane
50: It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas
Epilogue: ‘Twas the Night After Christmas
About The Book And Bloodsong Series From Author Sandy Nathan
Coming Next In The Bloodsong Series
Also by Sandy Nathan
Numenon: A Tale of Mysticism & Money
(Bloodsong 1)
Mogollon: A Tale of Mysticism & Mayhem
(Bloodsong 2)
Leroy Watches Jr. & the Badass Bull
(A Bloodsong Novella)
Tecolote: The Little Horse That Could
The Angel & the Brown-Eyed Boy
(Earth’s End 1)
Lady Grace & the War for a New World
(Earth’s End 2)
(Earth’s End 3)
(Earth’s End 1 to 3 in a single eBook)
1
The Magnificent Man
O
ne
-two-three,
one
-two-three,
one
-two-three.
Everyone in the amphitheater turned in the direction of the pounding noise. It came from outside the shallow crater where Will Duane sat—the Pit—to the northwest. Will craned his neck, but there were too many people between him and whatever it was to see.
A man’s head appeared over the crater’s edge, followed by a naked torso, and then a horse. The
one
-two-three was the sound of galloping hooves. As the animal grew closer, he could see the horse must have been running hard for a long time. Sweat covered it and dried foam collected around its neck and front legs. He could see the red interior of the animal’s nostrils flamed as it gasped for breath.
Will jerked at the sight, eyes widening. The pair hurtled toward the front of the Pit where the shaman sat. The crowd stood as he approached. To protect the old man? Will could see that the newcomer was broad-chested; his height was obvious even mounted on a horse. His face and body were painted in black stripes. His face was contorted, agonized. He had a rawhide quirt on his right wrist. Lashes scored his back and sides. The horse was as flamboyant as the man, its coat wildly patterned in brown and white.
“Who is it?” Will whispered.
Someone in the row behind him bent over and said, “That’s Leroy Watches, Grandfather’s grandson. I guess he’s upset on account of bein’ late.” The man chuckled. “He should be. If he was any later, he’d miss the whole Meeting.” Will heard the snicker spreading throughout the crowd. The guy kept talking, “It’s 1997. The retreat’s been happening for eleven years. He’s been late to every single one. Leroy beat his own record this year.”
The horse slid to a stop in front of the stage. The rider swung off, leapt to the stage and ran at the old man on the platform as though he intended to kill him. Just before running into the shaman, he threw himself down, laying his head on the man’s feet. Grandfather pulled him up and patted his forehead. “Leroy, Leroy, what is it, my grandson? What has happened?” Grandfather said with the weary air of one who’d heard it all before.
Leroy’s life force was so powerful that it slapped Will like a hand. He and everyone else in the Pit could see what had happened to Leroy in images playing above the stage.
Will didn’t get all of it; the man communicated his story in a Native language and pictures in the sky. His father had been hurt in a rodeo and Leroy was late because he’d saved him. The images showed blue beams coming from his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.
When Leroy’s communication centered upon him being pursued by the FBI, domestic Antiterrorism Force, cops and a bunch of cattlemen’s associations, Will came to attention. He hadn’t kept up with the news that week, being at the retreat in a bizarre geomagnetic site where nothing worked normally. Even his beyond-state-of-the-art satellite Internet connection didn’t always work.
“They chased you
here
?” he said, leaping toward the shaman from the front row seats he and his corporate people occupied. “Where are they now?”
“Well …” Leroy looked at Grandfather before replying to the stranger. The old man nodded. “They’re an hour behind me.”
“Oh, shit.” No matter what Will did in his business life—and it was an extensive life; he was the richest man in the world—he never messed with the feds. Any feds. All feds. They could take everything you had and demand change.
“This is reservation land. It’s a sovereign nation. That should stop them.”
“It never has before,” the fellow who’d told him who Leroy was said wryly.
“That’s true.” Will ran his hand through his short white hair. “We have to develop a plan that will explain why we’re here.” He was in trouble. He and his people could not be found on an Indian reservation in the middle of a presumed plot against the United States Government.
Before he left for the retreat, Will had been informed by the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court that, because of his actions concerning a woman highly regarded by almost everyone at the higher levels of the government, the Attorney General’s office was likely to indict him for thirty years of business behavior that he didn’t think was so bad, but they might. They did, actually. Things were going to be bad enough once he got back to civilization without the FBI arresting him here.
He looked around the Pit, the shallow crater that had been their seminar room for almost a week. At the beginning of the retreat, more than four thousand people had jammed themselves into the amphitheater. Now only a third was there. All that remained looked like they’d gone through hell.
“OK. OK. I got it. I’m leading a Numenon management training seminar, a joint venture with Grandfather and the Nation.” The crowd had been attacked by demons on Wednesday. It was Friday night. Even those who remained at the retreat showed they’d survived a battle. Will surveyed their pinched faces and hollow eyes. People at Numenon management trainings often looked the same way.
“We’re having an employment fair. Gil,” he shouted at one of his executives, “get those applications out. The rest of you,” Will waved at his remaining staff, “get to work helping them fill them out. Make it real.”
“Always have a plan B, and C, and D,” Will had taught thousands of people at NumoFairs all over the globe. He implemented Plan B, dashing up the hill to their camp. He darted into the
Cass
, his multi-million dollar motor home. So many technological devices were incorporated into the vehicle that he could run his enterprises from it indefinitely. All he needed right now was a phone.
“Will Duane,” he told the operator. He was patched through instantly and began his spiel. “Bill, it was a crazy man’s delusion. No one can blow up a bull. That insane FBI agent Zemsky hallucinated the whole thing.”
“What are you talking about? Wait a second. Let me get out of the pool.”
“You’re in the pool?”
“Yes, the White House has a pool under it.” A slight pause. “Can you give us some privacy?” The down-home voice was directed at him again. “Had to get rid of the Secret Service. What are you talking about?”
Will convinced him that a crazy FBI agent hallucinated the whole story about an Indian blowing up a bull at a Las Vegas rodeo. “I’m here with the Indian now, on his reservation. These people are
militant,
Bill. If the FBI broke into a
sovereign
Indian nation, it could trigger the second Indian wars.
“Plus, I’m here with my staff. You remember Doug and Gil? And Melissa? A bunch of us are here on a spiritual retreat.
We
could get hurt. Who knows what our legal department would do …”
“
You’re
on a spiritual retreat? An Indian blew up a bull …” Bill sounded befuddled. “What do you want me to do, Will?”
“I’d like you to call off the FBI and ATF right away. A whacko agent caused the rumor.”
“Well, if you’re sure, I’ll see the problem is put to bed immediately.”
“That’s great, Bill. I’m glad you understand.
“Oh, say hi to Hillary and Chelsea for me …”
“Don’t worry, everyone. We’re fine. Bill called off the feds,” he called to the crowd.
“Who’s Bill?” echoed around.
The farewell dinner party was that night. So many things had happened at the retreat that Will found himself feeling exalted and pole-axed at the same time. Tomorrow, they’d pack up and go back to Palo Alto and the corporate headquarters. He would never be the same, and neither would Numenon, Inc.
As dusk deepened to night, he strolled around the camp watching Jon Walker, his chef; the three surviving drivers; and a few Indians prettying up the place. Will smiled at the transformation of their vehicles and encampment.
When they got there, the Numenon caravan had consisted of four matched motor homes and his rolling masterpiece, the
Cass
. They sported the corporate colors: pristine ivory, burgundy and gold. Their impact was tasteful and elegant. Jon had parked them in a circle like a wagon train, turning the central court into an outdoor living room.
Everything was different now. Two nights ago, demons had come screaming out of the earth and roared over the retreat site. They tore up everything, killing everyone they could. They painted pornographic graffiti on the Numenon RVs. The images were disgusting and insulting to his staff and him. And they couldn’t get them off.
Indian kids had appeared out of nowhere and painted over the demons’ porn with graffiti. Stampeding Day-Glo buffalo thundered across one side of the
Cass
. One of the RVs had the classic Japanese print of the wave by Hiroshige wrapped around the whole thing, with a crazy surfer using a Numenon Ranger laptop under the wave’s rip curl. Every vehicle had a wild, hip, and very amusing motif.
In hours, the kids created the
new
Numenon Inc., giving the corporation an image update the best advertising agency couldn’t pull off. The retreat remade Will’s soul and updated his corporation, all at once. He might be able to save things back in Palo Alto. Maybe.
He heard music behind the camp in the Pit, which was directly behind the Numenon camp, and went over to listen. Over the week, a crazy half-Indian, half-hippie music had evolved. The Indians had their own instruments: drums, rattles, and shakers. Some of them played guitars and wooden flutes. And used their voices: they yodeled and yelped like mad. His drivers surprised him by bringing a small, international ensemble: guitar, mandolin, and every kind of drum you can think of. Turned out Mark Kenna had a band in Santa Cruz. He’d worked for him all these years, and Will didn’t know.
The spectacular Leroy Watches was on the stage, straddling some kind of enormous wooden drum. Even seated, he looked tall. Broad back and shoulders, massive neck. Slim hips. Feathers bristled from the back of his neck. He looked like a throwback to a primitive age. When his huge hands hit the rawhide drumhead, the whole place seemed to shake. It wasn’t that loud; it was just Leroy’s playing. He played and all the other instruments seemed to fill in the cracks. Get vibrant. Come alive. Hold a beat.
He turned his head to his friends, smiling and laughing. Will could see his white teeth flash. Energy surged around him. The man was vividly alive. He was Grandfather’s blood grandson and it showed.
Will began to feel that the answer Grandfather had suggested would work. His worry—the biggest worry—let up. Maybe he was just dreaming. Maybe the crazy vibe of this place had him fantasizing that things could turn out right.
The evening was as enchanting as his sweetest dreams. The Numenon crew had set the tables with embroidered cloths and the Numenon china and crystal. Every table had a candelabra. He sat at the most prominent table, having a pre-banquet meeting with Grandfather, Elizabeth Bright Eagle, and Leroy. They commandeered the courtyard before the guests arrived for the meal. Leroy had to drag himself way from his drum, amid the protestations of the other musicians and the crowd.
Across the table from Will, Elizabeth Bright Eagle sat, erect and powerful as a mountain in a black silk blouse with matching fringes. A Native American squash blossom necklace ringed her neck and silver bracelets adorned her wrists.
Elizabeth was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman: a beautiful professional who was at least as smart as him and had more advanced degrees. Dr. Bright Eagle was an internationally renowned physician and philanthropist. She’d been
People’s
Woman of the Year.
Will would have married her in a heartbeat. She didn’t want him. His running around most of his life repulsed her. But maybe it was possible. Maybe all sorts of things were possible.
He had a sweat lodge ceremony with Grandfather the day before and the old man had spent a great deal of time with him afterward. What the purification ceremony didn’t drag out of him, being with the shaman did. Having shared the truth at long last liberated him.
Will told him of the things that hurt him most. His former wife had divorced him. Will deserved to be divorced; he’d stepped out on Kathryn from the first week they were married. He still loved her. He’d always loved her, but he couldn’t be faithful. And she couldn’t stay sober.
Enzo Donatore got her. The devil on Earth. Boy, did everyone at the retreat know who he was. Donatore was the cause of the monsters that overran the retreat, killing so many. He got Kathryn and that was the end of the woman he had known. Donatore ruined his daughter too. Kathryn had taken Ashley on her “summer vacations” with the devil.
Kathryn had somehow escaped with Ashley. He didn’t know where either of them was. Kathryn seemed to have disappeared from the world. And Ashley was a nodded out junkie somewhere. A nodded out junkie who called herself Cass—from Cassandra, her middle name. Even she knew the sweet Ashley didn’t fit the person she’d become.
The shaman had said he’d help him find his daughter and restore her to health. He said his grandson could help. Leroy was single and his father could handle their ranch alone. He could leave immediately.