Speak to the Wind (2 page)

The cabin remained as a tri
bute of Alan's love for his fam
ily. Over the past four years since his untimely death they had all enjoyed it. Now, though, only Maria came to the
mountains. Their mother, Fran
c
ine, was too busy with a new ca
reer in real estate and a social life that included a suitor. Rob's wife got carsick traveling the winding mountain roads, so they seldom came.

Maria was grateful for this gift from her father, especially now. It gave her a quiet thinking place. On many of her long walks by the lake she was thr
illed by the wildlife—deer, rab
bits, elk. Red-tailed hawks frequen
tly circled above the pine tops
.
She knew that black bear also thrived in these mountains, and sometimes one would come lumbering around, looking for
any
food left outside.
Late at night Maria could hear the yip-yip of roaming coyotes or the plaintive cry of a prowling cougar.
But above it all, the wildlife in the ponderosa forests and the people who settled there, soared
the
majestic
bald eagles
. T
hat
’s what took her breath away, every time. So it was only natural for her to take the eagle as her business symbol.

Usually it took her about twenty-four hours t
o unwind af
ter arriving.
She would take long, meditative walks and relish the great silence. Eventually
Maria would start thinking about work, just a little. Tonight she rekindled the fire and took her supper into the living room to eat in front of the huge stone fireplace that covered one wall.
Between bites of
C
hicken Colorado wrapped in a tortilla
, she studied th
e layout for a new business bro
chure. Occasionally she'd stop to stoke the fire or fix another cup of spiced cider.

She heard the
coyotes, then another noise—
the
slam
ming of a car door—drew her attention. Maria sat very still, listening. The coyotes hushed. She heard footsteps in the
gravel driveway, then boots clattered on the wooden front porch.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Nearly ten. Who would be in this area at this hour? When she heard a knock, Maria rose and put her ear to the solid oak door. With a forced calmness she called, "Who's there?"

A man answered, but his voice was muffled. She heard, "... car
trouble...
no cell
connection
...
need to
make a call..."

Although she couldn't hear it clearly, something about the voice was familiar, something compelling and reassuring. Maria
flipped on the porch light and
opened the door a small crack. The stranger on her porch loomed dark and bold and massive shouldered. An Indian, she quickly decided. A closer look revealed deep brown eyes that she'd seen before, intense eyes that could almost see inside your soul. He was the man who had held the Apaches' interest in
Mounting Spirit
s Post
today
.

She opened the door wider, and a gust of cold air rushed inside. Even though it wa
s only September, night tempera
tures approached fr
eezing. "What's your name again?
"

His intense eyes
flickered recognition as she be
came visible. Their slightly almond shape hinted of
some
distant Oriental ancestry as he squinted at the light in her room. His angular face was shadowed and intriguing; his lips were open but not quite smiling.
His e
xot
ic coppery skin took on a mahog
any glow from the firelight. "Joseph Quintero."

Quintero, she thought. The name sounded familiar, but she'd never met this man, just seen him in the store.

"Sorry to bother you at this hour," he said in a low, pleasant tone. "But my car's stalled by the lake. Actually, it's my cousin's car. Maybe yo
u know him. John Yates?" He ges
tured toward the dirt road that edged High Meadow Lake.

"Yates?" Maria shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Look, I know it's late and this is inconvenient, but if you'd just make a call for me, I'd appreciate it.
No cell phone connection out here, which you probably know.
" His warm breath vaporized in the cold air and dark eyes darted past her shoulder to the blazing fireplace.

Maria evaluated the situation and decided she could trust him. "Why don't you co
me on in and use
my
phone your
self? It's freezing cold out there."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

She stepped back to admit him. "Come on."

They both knew the Indian community was on the other side of the lake, a good three miles away. This side, where Maria lived, was inhabited mostly by non-Indian families, people like her who came up for vacations. Part of its appeal was that the area was basi
cally crime free. Anyway, in re
mote areas like this, people helped each other out of jams.
Trust was understood.

He eased into the warm living room, taking up a fair amount of space with his bulk. "You were the one in
Mounting Spirits
Post today, weren't you?"

"Yes." She felt surprised but pleased that he remembered her from that fleeting glance. "And you were there holding court."

He shrugged and his large shoulders moved inside his gray brushed twill jacket. "Not really. Just talking." The meeting had been much more than that, though, and Joe was still considering the problems discussed by the concerned group.

His compelling gaze again captured hers until she broke the contact by moving to shut the door. Maria tried to remain calm in this man's presence. But she felt his power and his masculine attraction. She hadn't been so affected by a man in years.

He rubbed his ung
loved hands together briskly. 'I
would shake hands, but these mitts are like ice."

"I'm Maria Eden. Nice to meet you, Joseph." She extended her hand. "And I'm used to
cold hands." Her business train
ing stressed the importance
of shaking hands, of establish
ing equality
and openness
. The gesture sometimes bridged gaps between strangers.

The big man reached out, his large hand engulfing hers. "Joe. Call me Joe; everybody does. I'm glad you're home. Yours is the only house with a light on in this whole stretch of road, so I had quite a walk ahead."

For a man with cold hands, Joe Quintero emitted
certain
warmth that radiated from his palm to hers, then rushed throughout her body. His hand was large, his grip strong. The man also possessed a hefty
natural dose of charisma. Some
thing special.

When he released her hand, Maria felt a jolt of emptiness. She told herself it was relief. "Your name sounds familiar, Joe. Any relation to W
ill Quintero?
" She knew Will Quintero as a member of the Apache Tribal Council who had been in charge of collecting rent on the cabin's land lease for many years.

Joe smiled and his eyes crinkled warmly at the corners. "Will's my uncle. I hoped you'd recog
nize my last name
. F
ig
ured if you had spent any time around here
,
you would."

“
I’
ve been coming here since I was a child." She pushed her blond hair behind one ear, then pointed to the kitchen. "The phone's in there."

With a grace surprising in a man so large he moved into the kitchen and picked up the phone receiver.

Maria stood by the fireplace sipping her cider and trying not to eavesdrop on his conversation. But she couldn't help listening. It was simple and to the point. He had a nice masculine resonance to his tone; she liked listening to him. She noted that he didn't have the usual accent of most of the
Indians in the area. It was part of her business to notice those things.

He walked back into the living room, rubbing his hands together. "Thanks. My rescue party is on the way."

"Do they live far?"

"
Naw, only a
few miles away." He took her measure in the flickering firelight. She looked thin in
worn
Levi's and a baggy purple sweater. He liked th
e way she wore
her blond
hair, casually parted on one side
and barely reaching her shoulders
.
Her brown eyes were bold, revealing an innate self-confidence.

Instinctively his eyes went to her hands, which were wrapped around a heavy pottery mug. A simple gold band circled the ring finger on her right hand. It looked like a wedding band, but it was on the wrong hand. He could only assume she wasn't married, for there was no ring on her left.

She reminded him of a delicate, fragile crystal goblet of champagne. He couldn't take his eyes off her and felt slightly intoxicated with her beauty. She carried herself well, with confidence. But there was something about her expression, her darkly serious
eyes that
issued vulnerability, perhaps even pain. And Joe was immediately curious about her.

Her down-to-earth bea
uty appealed to him. She was re
freshing and lively, not entirely innocent. Her hair framed her oval face like strands of silk. The firelight seemed to turn it golden, and he flexed his large hands to quell the urge to touch it.

Joe stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorframe, trying to appear casual. "You say you've been coming to the mountains since you were a child? Are you
here vacationing with your fam
ily?"

"No, I..." Maria hesitat
ed to tell this stranger that she was alone. “
I’m
taking a few days off from work."

"Then you must be from Phoenix or Tucson."

"Phoenix." Maria lifted the mug to her lips, then lowered it before taking a drink. "Excuse me for not asking sooner. Would you like something hot to drink? I'm having
warm c
ider, but I could fix you coffee."

He gave her a grateful smile. "Cider sounds fine."

She edged past him on her way into the kitchen, and he caught a whiff of her delicate floral perfume. In that split second Joe thought of wild
flowers on a hillside, of sprin
kling them over her, over her bare skin. And he wanted to bury his face in her hair, to inhale her sweetness. Struggling with his willpower, Joe tinned in the doorway so that they could continue to talk. "Where do you work, Maria?"

"I travel quite a bit making presentations, but my home base is Phoenix."

"What kind of presentations?"

"I'm a business communi
cations consultant, and the pre
sentations usually contain an overall view of my firm."

"Okay,
I’ll bite,
" he conceded, fo
lding his arms across his expan
sive chest. "What do communications consultants do?"

"Among other things, we teach people how to speak in public."

He looked at her curiously. "How to make speeches, huh?"

With a little smile she g
ave him her
rehearsed busi
ness spiel. "At Speechcraft we instruct our clients in all phases of verbal and nonverbal communicat
ion techniques, in
cluding body language, w
ritten memos and reports and me
dia events. We specialize in public speaking with ease and confidence.
Like right now, I can tell you’re skeptical.
"

He shifted and moved his arms to a neutral position and followed her into the kitchen.
"Sounds
interesting
. You mean you can teach someone how to conduct a news conference?"

"Of course. There are learnable skills to that, just as in any other craft." She reached
into the cabinet
for another clay mug. "Politicians, or political candidates, frequently take our courses, especially now with so much news media emphasis."

"Oh?" His eyebrows shot up at the word "politicians." But she couldn't possibly know about his intentions. It was still a carefully guarded secret.

She poured steaming cider into the mug and handed it to him. "Here you go.
Let’s
wait
for your ride
by the fireplace."

"Thanks. This smells great.
" He followed her in
to the liv
ing room and took a seat in the chair opposite her. "I haven't had cider in ages."

"
To be honest,
I only drink it when I come up here.
Too warm in Phoenix.
Maybe it's the chilly air or the atmosphere that invites curling up by the fire with a cup of something hot in your hands."