©Copyright 2007 by

Romance at Heart Publications E-Novels

ISBN#: 0-9754589-4-9

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

NAVAJO DREAMS

THE STORY OF JIM AND DINAH

By Kate Hofman

PROLOGUE

As the Seattle plane landed in Phoenix, Dinah Greene released the seatbelt with a sigh of anticipation. She found the carousel where her luggage would turn up, and leaned against a nearby wall to wait. For the first time in her life, she was doing exactly what she wanted. She had put all her money in a savings account with ATM access, added to it her dead husband’s life insurance, and the proceeds from the sale of her furnished house. She looked down at her thin, ringless hand, which was also exactly what she wanted.

She had told her family they could reach her care of the post office in Phoenix, which was as close as she wanted them to get.

She intended to go to Sedona, the city of the red rocks, of which she had heard so much.

Now she was nearly there.

Chapter 1.

Arizona, May.

Dinah gathered her luggage and found the rental car counter. She was pleased with the small, dark green car she was assigned. She asked directions to I-17, and started the drive toward Sedona. She became aware that she was incredibly thirsty, when she got to the turnoff for Rock Springs, she decided to stop for a drink. She realized she should have listened more carefully to the travel agent, who had urged her never to drive without a bottle of water within easy reach. It was a necessary precaution in the dry desert air.

She stopped at a Western-style restaurant, with friendly, overworked waitresses, who called her ‘hon.’ One of them immediately poured her a large glass of water, and gave her a menu. She realized she would have to order something, as this was their busy lunchtime. She had coffee and toast, and asked for another glass of water.

“Not used to our desert air, are ya?” the waitress said. Dinah smiled and shook her head.

Next to the restaurant was a convenience store with the somewhat daunting sign: Leroy’s Beer and Guns. She bought a bottle of water with one of those spouts that made it possible to drink with one hand while driving. Now, she felt well equipped for the rest of her journey.

She clicked the car doors open and settled behind the wheel with the map the car rental people had given her. Um— about another sixty miles to the turnoff for Sedona. I’ll have to watch for that—route 179. Then another thirty miles or so. Right.

She started the car and drove back to the Interstate.

* * * *

The drive went quickly, the first view of Sedona’s red rocks held her in awe. The motel her travel agent had found for her was easy to locate. Dinah checked in and went to her room. The bed looked comfortable, and she decided to lie down for a nap. Almost instantly she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Several hours later, Dinah awoke, and found it was five o’clock. She decided to go for a walk, get a feeling for the area, and maybe grab a bite to eat. All around her, rock formations of varying shades of red, rose, burnt sienna, orange, pinkish-beige, were shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

Tomorrow, I’ll try to find one of the vortices I’ve heard so much about. Perhaps that’ll help me find solace and peace. Dinah did not need to find solace over the death of her husband, she was certain of that. Once she realized he had systematically cheated on her by living in Portland with another woman, she only felt disgust for him and impatience with herself for not having realized he was betraying her. The truth was, she had married him at her mother’s urging.

‘Such a solid, reliable guy. He’ll make you a good husband.’ Her mother had sneered at Dinah’s protest that she did not love him. ‘All that love stuff is for the birds. You’re a sentimental fool if you want to wait for a man you can fall in love with,’ her mother grumbled. ‘You’re twenty-five now, and you better grab this chance of marriage.’

Ah, how she had cursed herself for allowing her mother to sway her.

But at least in one respect she had defied her mother and her bridegroom. She refused to become Mrs. Robert McAlister, and remained simply Dinah Greene.

Tomorrow I’ll try for peace. That booklet said Bell Rock has a very strong vortex — I didn’t know that vortices are places where the earth’s magnetism is particularly strong... Tomorrow…

* * * *

The following morning, Dinah was surprised to have slept so late, nine o’clock. She remembered she was now on Mountain Time, so it really was only eight o’clock in Seattle. Even so, that was late for her. She was usually up at dawn, loving the early morning. She showered and put on a simple sage green cotton dress, decided to take a light cardigan. The desert morning, although beautiful, seemed a little cool. Picking up her car keys, she decided to find a small restaurant for her usual breakfast of fruit and yogurt.

Dinah found a diner, deserted but for a handful of coffee-drinking men in a booth gesticulating busily over some papers. She settled at the counter, feeling that her light breakfast didn’t warrant her cluttering up one of the booths. The waitress, a matronly woman who could have been a sister of the waitress at Rock Springs, poured her a coffee and took her order. To her delight, the fruit was fresh and the yogurt cool and smooth. She was glad to have found this nice place to eat.

* * * *

After her breakfast, Dinah got back into the car, and went in search of Bell Rock.

She passed a small chapel built right into the rocks. A big sign proclaimed it to be the Chapel of the Holy Cross. She decided to investigate, turning her car into the narrow road leading to the chapel. The parking area was at the bottom of a longish hill, but she climbed it with ease. Once she had entered the small, exquisite chapel, she was glad she had made the effort.

It appeared to be non-denominational. A number of people were seated on the benches, others were lighting votive candles. She decided to light a votive for herself. When she lit the small flame, she silently asked for peace. Dinah sat on one of the benches for a while, half-thinking, half-meditating. When she rose, she felt unusually contented, and went back to her search for Bell Rock with a lighter heart.

Immediately after getting back to the main road, she saw to her left the rock that had to be Bell Rock. It was an awesome, unmistakably bell shaped rock of an incredible dark red, and she was more impressed than she would have believed possible.

She parked near a tourist-information booth, grabbed her water bottle, and began her climb of Bell Rock. The ascent was not difficult, because one could only climb to the rim of the bell. The rim was wide, she noticed people scattered around it, alone or in groups, meditating, chanting, or just sitting in lotus position, quietly conversing with each other. Some did not even notice her, being totally concentrated within themselves, others, not yet meditating or praying, hailed her, offering her a place with them.

“Thanks, maybe some other time,” Dinah smiled. “I appreciate the offer, thank you.” After all, she had to find her own peace. No one else could do this for her.

The walk all the way around the rim was quite long, and when she had completed it, she was glad to sit down in her car, gulping more water from her bottle.

* * * *

Dinah decided to investigate Sedona itself, perhaps have a cool drink somewhere. Driving north, she found a very busy and cheerful part of Sedona, quite different from the quiet area where her small motel was situated. She parked and got out of the car, determined to relax, enjoying the quaint atmosphere. Slowly, she began looking at the shops.

She wanted to buy some turquoise jewelry, but decided she would wait until she reached the Navajo Nation, because she wanted the stones to be genuine, and also the craftsmanship to be Native. All the same, the shops were attractive, the arts and crafts reasonably priced. She found a pretty café with tables outside, and asked for a tall Perrier with a wedge of lime. Still unused to the dry desert air, she drank thirstily. This revived her, and she decided to do some more window shopping.

The day had taken its toll on Dinah, and she went back to her car, driving to her motel for a much-needed nap.

When Dinah woke up, it was nearly six o’clock, and she decided to return to that lively part of Sedona to have supper somewhere. She soon found an interesting looking restaurant, and decided to go in. As she entered, she saw a big poster for bus tours to the Grand Canyon, with a local telephone number. She made a note of this, deciding to call them the next morning. She was soon shown to a table and chose a seafood salad for dinner, accompanied by a Perrier and lime.

* * * *

The next morning, Dinah telephoned the Grand Canyon bus tour operators, and booked herself on the tour for the following day. The rest of her day was spent looking at apartment rentals. She loved Sedona so much; she thought she’d like to settle here. If all went as she hoped, she could always buy a small condo later.

Dinah was bright and early at the bus for the Grand Canyon tour. She found the other passengers were mostly older tourist couples, and an occasional single. There were four people of her age on the bus, they seemed to be traveling in a pack.

When they reached the parking by the main building at the Grand Canyon, she spoke to the tour guide, a cheerful, middle-aged man. “I really don’t feel up to all the sightseeing that your tour offers. I’d rather do just a little, on my own. Could you please tell me at what time I should be here for the trip back to Sedona?” Dinah asked hesitantly, uncertain how such a request would be received.

“But you’ll miss a lot of the sights. The tour really isn’t strenuous,” the tour guide, clearly unhappy with her display of independence, protested. When he realized she was determined, however, he conceded.

“As long as you’re back here by three o’clock. If you aren’t here, we’ll have no choice but to depart without you. I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

She nodded, “Thank you, I understand. See you later, then.”

* * * *

She walked slowly past the people crowding the various lookout points proliferating along the path laid out for tourists. There was a sturdy railing between the path and the nearly seven-thousand-foot deep chasm that was the Grand Canyon. After a while, she came to a much quieter stretch of the path and approached the railing.

When she looked down to a thin, silvery ribbon that was the mighty Colorado from this great height, she abruptly felt dizzy, and swayed. She fought her vertigo, trying to clutch the railing, her hand slid off it, and she staggered.

Suddenly, a strong arm grasped Dinah around the waist, gently tugging her away. It barely registered through the dizziness when a deep, concerned voice asked, “Are you all right?”

“Thank you—oh yes, I think so…” she replied, her voice shaking and almost inaudible.

“You don’t look all right to me,” the deep voice continued. At last, she managed to open her eyes, and gazed into the face of her rescuer. Native American, she guessed, tall and lean, with broad shoulders, against one of which she seemed to be resting. Her eyes drifted over his beautiful coppery-bronze skin, the exotic shape of his long-lashed black eyes, which showed a spark of concern for her. His handsome, finely sculpted face looked troubled, because her legs did not seem to want to hold her up. She wondered if he thought she might faint. She wondered if she might faint…

His arm firmly around her, her head still leaning on his shoulder, he slowly led her to an outcropping of rocks. He gently sat her down on the flattest stone, making her lean back against the taller rock behind. He no longer held her, but his hands were ready to support her, if she should need him.

He stood gazing down at her, mentally rebuking himself for being unable to walk away from this woman, who even now still swayed a little, although she did her best to regain her composure and balance.

* * * *

“I’m s-sorry to be… such a bother… It must be the… enormous depth of the… canyon that m-made me suddenly… so dizzy, I…” Dinah’s voice, no more than a thready whisper, trailed off.

“Perhaps this will revive you.” He tugged his water bottle out of his camera bag, holding it to her lips. She took a sip of the water, swallowing with difficulty, whispering, “Thank you…”

He noticed the effort she made to sit up straight, preparing to get to her feet. When she finally did stand, she swayed, blindly stretching out her hand to him. He hastened to support her and sat her down again.

“I don’t think you’ve recovered enough yet to get up and walk back to your car,” he said.

“My car? I didn’t drive here, I came on the bus tour from Sedona…” Dinah looked stricken, attempted to sit up straighter again. She tried to concentrate on her watch, but couldn’t. “What time is it?”

“Ten to three,” he replied, as she struggled unsuccessfully to get to her feet.

“I’ve got to rush; the bus’ll leave without me. Then how will I get back to Sedona?” she gasped, visibly distressed.

“You are in no state to walk, much less rush, all the way back to where the buses are,” the man said, observing her still shaken appearance. “But don’t worry, I live in Sedona, and I can drive you back, once you feel well enough to walk to my car. Let me introduce myself, I’m Jim Blackhawk. Navajo, on my mother’s side.”

“I’m Dinah Greene,” she said slowly. “You say ’Navajo’ as if it were in quotation marks. Is that because your people don’t refer to themselves in that way?”

Jim smiled and nodded, surprised at her intuitive understanding of something many whites could never grasp.

“In our own language, our people are called the Diné, with an acute accent on the ‘e.’ That is the syllable that gets the stress, or in our language, a slightly higher tone.”

“Dinn-èh?”

Although the name was obviously foreign to her, he was pleased with her attempt. He said, “If they even know our name, most people pronounce it as Deenay, but you got it right the first time. Well, Dinah, will you let me give you a lift?”

When she looked hesitant, he thought that perhaps she was afraid to get into the car of a man she had just met.

“You’ll be quite safe with me, I promise,” Jim assured her. Of course that’s what I’d say if I were a rapist, he thought, wondering how he could convince her she really would be safe with him.

To his surprise, Dinah said, “Oh, I know that. You’ve been so kind to me, a total stranger. I was only afraid I’d be a bother, a nuisance to you.” She lifted her lashes, gazing at him.

“No, you aren’t.” he said, and to his great surprise, he meant it. How strange, he mused. As a rule I don’t much care for white women, often too aggressive, their voices too loud. Why do I feel so — is it protective — about her? He shrugged imperceptibly.

This woman seemed to have no need to fill any silence with idle chatter. In fact, she was almost too quiet, and she actually seemed self-effacing — a far cry from aggressive.

He wondered if she was ill. Although, now the dizziness had left her, there was some color in her face again. She looked healthy enough, if perhaps a little on the thin side. Her hair was blonde and silky, as he knew from when her head had fallen back against his shoulder, and strands had wafted into his face. It looked to be her natural color, not from a bottle, like most blondes he had met.

Jim observed her quietly, unobtrusively. A small oval face, with big blue eyes, long, dark lashes, a straight nose and full lips that looked soft, lush, and kissable. Now where on earth did that thought come from?

Her body was willowy and very slender, as he remembered from when he had supported her with his arm. She wore a simple cotton dress, in a soft blue color, so different from the ubiquitous jeans, khaki pants, or shorts worn by most of the other tourists at the Canyon.

He absently noticed her long, elegant legs and the pretty feet in the strappy sandals. Yes, Dinah was an attractive woman, although, of course, she wasn’t his type at all.

He waited patiently until she seemed to have regained enough control of her legs to stand, suggesting, “If you’re sure you feel well enough, perhaps we should walk to my car.”

“Thank you, I’m sure I can walk,” she replied quietly, and they headed in the direction of the parking lots. He carefully adjusted his stride to hers.

Once at the edge of the parking area, Jim gestured to some benches, asking, “Would you like to sit down over there, while I go fetch my car?”

“No, thank you,” Dinah shook her head. “I’ll walk with you.”

He had made the suggestion to give her a chance to change her mind about letting him drive her back to Sedona. To his surprise, that did not seem to have occurred to her.

“I’ll drive through the Oak Creek Canyon,” he said, once they were in the car and on their way. “It’s a pretty drive that you might enjoy.”

“Thank you — are you sure it isn’t too much trouble?”

He shook his head, smiling.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, and she gave him the name of her motel. As they were driving, he noticed her shyly looking at him. Jim shrugged. He had looked at her when she sat swaying on the rock, her eyes closed.

He surely is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, Dinah thought, as she noticed his long lashes, the glossy blue-black hair, the sculpted profile, the generous but disciplined mouth, around which a little smile played. Yet he seems unaware of his beauty — yes, that’s the only word for him. Maybe he’s indifferent to his looks.

She wondered anew why he was so kind to a total stranger, and was surprised she felt so safe with him.

“Would you like to come to my house on the Boynton Canyon Road, and have a reviving cup of tea before I drive you back to your motel?” he suddenly heard himself ask her. “You’ll arrive back there earlier, in any case, than if you had gone with the bus, so your husband won’t be worried about your being late.” Now, why did I go to this silly subterfuge to find out whether she’s involved in any way? What does it matter to me?

“No one is waiting for me, I’m a widow,” she replied slowly, her voice uninflected.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. After a few moments, he added, “Please forgive me for saying this, but you seem awfully young to be a widow.”

“I’m thirty-one. My husband was killed in a terrible pile-up crash in thick fog on I-5.”

He thought: I-5 runs all the way from the Canadian border to L.A. Where on I-5?

“I’m from Seattle,” Dinah added, as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

Jim glanced at her, reflecting that she looked younger, mid-twenties, tops. He was surprised at her giving her age as thirty-one. Most women would shave a few years off, say they were twenty-nine — But not this woman.

“I’m thirty-seven,” he said, feeling that he should reciprocate. She nodded in quiet acknowledgement.

They soon reached his house on Boynton Canyon Road. It sat well back from the road, on land that seemed untouched.

“Oh, what a beautiful house, and all the land around it is so natural and unspoiled,” Dinah exclaimed, admiringly.

“I inherited it from my father, who was white on his father’s side,” Jim explained. Again, she nodded quietly.

They entered from the carport, through his studio, a big room with a huge, north-facing window.

“You’re a painter,” she said in delighted surprise, when she saw canvases in various stages of completion leaning against the walls, a big painting of a rocky landscape on an easel.

He smiled at her.

“Yes, I am. I’m glad you didn’t call me an artist, it always sounds so pretentious to me.”

“I’m by no means an expert, but your paintings seem to have a glow of vitality. Perhaps you would permit me to look at them carefully some time?” Then she bit her lip. How could I be so pushy? Now he’ll think I expect him to want to see me again.

Before she could say another word, she saw he was smiling.

“Yes, I’d like that. I’d be glad to show you my work any time you want.” Jim was unprepared for the sudden, radiant smile of delight that lit up Dinah’s small, beautiful face.

She followed him into the kitchen, which was roomy and well equipped. At one end was a round table with three chairs around it. He had put the kettle on to boil, and rinsed the teapot with hot water from the tap. He went to one of the cupboards and showed her a box of Earl Grey tea with a questioning look.

“Thank you — Earl Grey is one of my favorites.” He nodded and continued to prepare the tea tray.

“If there’s anything I can do to help?” she asked softly.

Jim shook his head. “No, you just sit there and rest.” He finished his preparations and took the tray over to the table.

“Milk? Lemon?” he asked. Dinah shook her head.

“Not with Earl Grey.” He nodded his agreement.

They had been sipping their tea for a while when he asked her, “Are you comfortable at your motel?”

“It’s all right.” Dinah shrugged lightly. “Actually, I’ve been trying to find a small apartment, because I’d like to live in Sedona… So far no luck.”

Jim nodded. “Any particular reason for wanting to live here, instead of, say, Phoenix, where there are lots of apartment rentals?”

“I’ve always longed to experience the desert.” Her voice was the barest whisper. He’ll probably think it a very silly reason, but it’s the truth. To her surprise, he nodded his understanding.

“I hope you’re not planning on driving to the end of the Canyon Road, where the desert begins, and start walking. Once you’ve lost sight of familiar landmarks, the desert is deceiving — and unforgiving. When you lose your bearings, you could die there. Promise me you won’t do anything like that?”

Dinah bit her lip, nodding. “I hadn’t thought about that. I must seem very silly to you — coming here ‘to experience the desert’ — but that’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I know it’s strange for someone who’s spent her life in the mists of Seattle, but…”

* * * *

Jim looked at her quietly for a few moments, offering more tea. Dinah nodded, smiling, and he poured them both a second cup.

“Tell you what,” he said. “One of these days, when I’m all painted out for the moment — which sometimes happens — I’ll call you and we’ll go for a walk in the desert. That way you can’t possibly come to any harm.”

He was unprepared for the radiant smile, which lit up her small face at his words. “Would you really? Oh! Thank you.”

He smiled back. “Yes, really,” he said.

When they had finished their tea, Jim thought he should offer to drive her back. To his surprise, he found himself reluctant to say goodbye to her.

Well, of course, there was something almost helpless about Dinah. He raised a slim, black brow, shrugging imperceptibly. So he felt a bit protective about her. So what. He was free to spend time with an attractive woman if he wanted to, even if she wasn’t his type. She did need someone to befriend her, look after her a bit. She was so vulnerable.

“Would you like me to drive you back? I can’t help thinking you may still feel a bit fragile from that attack of dizziness at the Canyon, and you could probably do with a nap.”

“I’m fine, really,” she said calmly. “But I’m taking up your valuable painting time. I can take a taxi.”

Jim shook his head. Dinah was enchanted to see sapphire flecks where the light hit the blue-black hair. Oh, my — he’s so handsome.

“No way,” he said. “True, it isn’t far to one of the main streets from here, but your small motel is way south of here. Don’t worry about my painting time, I took this day to find some landscape I want to paint, sketch some references.”

“Well, if you’re sure?” she asked.

“I’m sure.”

* * * *

They went back to his car and he settled her in the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. He quickly drove through one of Sedona’s shopping areas, turning off to drive south to the small side street where her motel was.

Jim was surprised to realize he wanted to see her again. He thought for a moment.

“You said you’d like to look at my paintings some time. Tomorrow I’ll be painting most of the day, but in the late afternoon, if you’d like?”

Dinah turned to him, delighted excitement clear to read in the blue eyes. Her mouth suddenly felt dry, and she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’d like that very much, Jim. I can drive to you, I’ve got this little rental. Then you could paint to the last minute.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “No. The moment I reach a place where I want to stop painting, I’ll call you. It’ll be after four, probably. We could have a cup of tea again, then I’ll show you my work.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind picking me up?” she questioned, anxious not to be a bother to him.

“I don’t mind,” he said. He saw her motel at the end of the street and drove to it.

“I’m in number eight, but if you’ll stop here at the entrance I can easily walk to my room.”

“I’ll drive you to your door.”

My gratitude to my friend Marshale Natonabah of the Navajo Nation. He uncomplainingly checked the Navajo expressions I used in the book, suggesting better wordings on occasion, and making sure my spelling was correct. Ahéhee’, Marshale.

PROLOGUE