Just Another Desert Sunset by Nikki Broadwell

About the Author

Nikki Broadwell grew up an ‘army brat’, living in several states as well as Germany during her formative years. But it was her time in Virginia on a 400- acre farm that set the imaginative stage for “The Moonstone”, the first book of a fantasy trilogy entitled “Wolfmoon”.

Over the years Nikki has had several art related businesses, including greeting cards and painting on silk--scarves and wallhangings--that were displayed in high end galleries.

Now she writes full time and is working on a sequel to “Wolfmoon Trilogy” as well as a fictionalized memoir of her parent’s life together based on her father’s journals kept while a POW during WW2.

“It’s Arizona, coyote land, runaway land for Sara, who has escaped her abusive husband and finds a desert peace, a new love, and a coyote. Sara’s life changes dramatically the night the coyote saves her from being raped.

From then on she and the coyote run from her criminal husband, the police, hired thugs who are being paid to kidnap her, into each other’s arms after the warm, furry animal shapeshifts into a virile, yellow-eyed Native American in long braids. They are helped by medicine men with mystical powers, a crow that warns Istaga that thinking and living as a human doesn’t suit his coyote nature. Sara loves the man as well as the coyote he is, and she needs to find a way to find a life together, once they have escaped their pursuers, if they ever do. This romantic, thoughtful, paranormal thriller intrigues and informs as the lovers struggle with their differing views of the world outside and the world within. Broadwell makes the beautiful desert come alive as her desperate characters race across it. ” Joanne M Barney

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Nikki Broadwell Airmid Publishing Tucson Arizona

Airmid Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and ideas presented here are the product of the author’s imagination.

Copyright Š 2014. Nikki Broadwell All rights reserved ISBN-10: 099066970X ISBN-13: 978-0-9906697-0-8

Dedication Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. ~Chief Seattle~

The trail of stars led Coyote further and further inside the spiral.

Why was he here? What could he learn from this cold vastness? His place was on the earth where he could use his nose to find his food, his ears to hear danger, his sight to guide him toward where he needed to go. But then he saw the woman ahead of him and he knew the answer.

Coyote watched the sky turn from yellow to rose, deepening into an indefinable rich hue that reminded him of the over skin human females wore on their hairless bodies. There was something about this magic dusky time right before he began his forays into the dark to catch his dinner that made him want to howl. He licked his lips, the anticipation of food and females mingling in his coyote mind.

“Coyote, why do you stare at the horizon?” Raven asked, looking down from his perch in a palo verde tree. “It’s just another desert sunset.”

N= `oyote smelled the fire before he caught sight of the flames burning

hot and bright in the black desert night. He approached slowly, all his senses on alert. What he saw had him confused for a moment. It looked like a man sitting cross-legged on the ground but at the same time a coyote seemed to be superimposed over the body.

“Come closer,” the man/coyote invited.

Coyote was far enough away that it surprised him that the person could see him, but he did as he was asked, moving in toward the fire.

As he drew closer he realized that the man was wearing a coyote skin over his shoulders, the animal head resting on top of his human head.

He had heard of these skin walkers who took the pelts of his brethren to use in ceremonies. It disgusted him but at the same time he was fascinated. There was power here and magic that drew him like the moth that was drawn to the fire.

“I have been waiting for you,” the man continued, his unfocused eyes reflecting the flames. “You have a burning need that I can help you with.”

Coyote watched the flames in the man’s eyes, noticed the rattle in his right hand, the sharpened spear on the ground to his left. His eyes looked like black opals as the firelight danced within them. How did this man know what was in his heart? Because it was true, he wanted to be human, had wished it from the time he was a tiny pup.

“Sit by me, Coyote, and I will tell you a story.”

Well, Coyote liked stories and so he did as the man asked, coming

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by him and settling onto the ground at his feet.

The man stared at him for a long moment before he began to shake the rattle rhythmically, causing Coyote’s eyes to droop. “There was once a coyote who wanted to become a man, but before he could be granted his wish the shaman asked him for three things.”

Coyote pricked up his ears. He wanted to become a man. He waited to find out what those three things might be.

“Now the first task was easy, to bring the shaman six tail feathers from a Raven. Coyote did it in a day, carrying the tail feathers he had stolen from Raven in his mouth. But the second, now that was a bit more difficult. He was to bring the skins of three rattlesnakes and they could not be the same species. Well, Coyote headed off, his senses on alert for something dead. But after a month of trying he was only able to find one skin shed by a diamondback. When he brought it to the shaman the shaman told him it wasn’t enough. And so Coyote headed out again, despondency settling over his hunched shoulders. But as luck would have it he found a dead snake the next day, killed by one of the motorized beasts that humans used to get around. He skinned the sidewinder with his sharp teeth, being careful not to damage the pattern, knowing that the shaman wouldn’t accept it if it wasn’t intact. After delivering the skin this coyote headed toward the mountains. There he would find the final snakeskin he needed.”

Coyote looked up, waiting for the shaman to continue. He was anxious to find out the end of this story and maybe make his own bargain with the medicine man. Finally the shaman began again, his voice rising and falling as he continued to shake the rattle.

“Coyote woke when he felt the deadly prick of the fangs on his leg. It was a tiger rattlesnake that he had disturbed from its slumber and it wanted him out of there. Limping away he realized that he would die of this wound unless the shaman could save him. And so he found his way to the cave where the shaman slept, waking him with a howl that ricocheted off the walls.“ The man put the rattle down, the sudden silence startling Coyote who opened his eyes wide.

“Now this shaman was a decent man and when he took a look at this coyote he knew the animal had very little time. ‘Even though you have not fulfilled your promise I will give you what you wish,’ he told the animal, pressing something against the coyote’s mouth. ‘Eat this,’ he said, ‘and you will be a man.’”

Coyote waited for more of the story but the man was silent, staring into the flames as though Coyote wasn’t there. He couldn’t talk 2

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or ask questions but he wanted to know how it ended. When he let out a series of yips the man looked his way. “I know—the story is unfinished. But you can complete it if you are true in your desire to be a man.”

Coyote watched him, trying with all his might to let the man know that he was sincere. After a long while of Coyote staring into his eyes, the man nodded. “As you might have guessed I am the shaman. And if you fulfill the one remaining task you will have your wish.”

Coyote nearly danced with joy. This need to be a man had plagued him off and on for so long. Whenever he saw the humans in the distance he wanted to walk on two legs, to ride in their strange machines, to touch the pale smooth skin of the females of their kind. It would be easy to find the last snakeskin.

“You must bring me a star,” the shaman continued, as though this was the simplest thing in the world.

Coyote wanted to howl in frustration but he kept his jaws closed.

Why would the shaman give him such an impossible task?

“Now don’t be discouraged,” the shaman said, noticing his tail go down, his ears drooping. “Think of it like a riddle.”

What was a riddle?

 Coyote stood on the hill, his ears pricked to the wind. There was something back there on the trail. And from the pungent overripe smell, it was human. His recently acquired ability to shape-shift had him confused. Should he become the man or just head across the hill and disappear into the brush? But before he had a moment to puzzle this out, he had changed, his nose growing shorter and shorter, his upright ears disappearing, legs lengthening and becoming two instead of four. Looking down he noticed the tight jeans and the gray tennis shoes that encased his feet. A loose plaid shirt flapped around his arms in the breeze. How these humans could stand this cloth on their skin was beyond him. He wanted to rip the cloth from his body but he knew this would cause problems. He had seen the police cars, the handcuffed humans in the back seat who had done nothing but take their clothes off or let their water go where people could see them. The looks in those men’s eyes haunted him.

He thought of the shaman and the task the man had given him two years before that had allowed him to make this shift. In the end it was easy since the entire area was ‘riddled with stars’. A man who called himself a geo-something had told him this. Is that why the shaman had 3

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used that word? According to the geo-man, meteors were always falling around here, their blackened remains what he ended up carrying back to the shaman.

Coyote had learned a lot by listening to the human packs that wandered the desert spouting the wisdom they gathered from the sheaves of paper wedged between two hard covers. He had seen these discarded in the dumps when he was foraging, had tried to discern the contents, but he couldn’t read. Lucky for him the humans liked to show how smart they were by the endless stream of sounds that came from their mouths. A lot of what they said made no sense but some of it stuck.

The shaman had seemed irritated when he arrived with the meteorite, as if he had expected Coyote to never figure this out. It was a very long time before the shaman granted him his wish, warning him that it could be revoked if he abused his newfound ability. Coyote had waited patiently until the shaman finally gave in.

Coyote no longer trusted the shaman, especially after the star incident and also because the wish he granted was not the one Coyote had hoped for. Yes, he could become a man, but he couldn’t stay a man; when he fell asleep he would always revert back to his animal self. It had been a trick after all.

Standing his ground he watched the female approach. She was staring down at her feet and didn’t look up until she was almost upon him. “Oh,” she said, jumping back. “I didn’t see you there.”

An expression of surprise and yes, fear, crossed her features, something he was glad to see. He wouldn’t want it any other way, he thought, narrowing his eyes. After all, he was still Coyote. She was moving past him now, her nervous gaze on him as she skirted around where he stood. She was afraid but there was a hidden part of her that he knew was interested. He could tell this by watching her twirl a lock of her long hair around her finger. Humans were easy to read.

Her wide hips moved rhythmically, the little piece of material straining across the area that stuck out behind her, a place he longed to nip. Her long slim legs emerged from beneath, darkened by the sun.

He could hear the skin of her upper thighs moving against each other as she walked. The boots she wore were made from an animal; he could smell them from where he stood. He licked his lips causing her to flinch slightly.

In that moment he needed to make the decision to befriend her or go on his way. She was pretty for a human, with dark hair pulled back from her round face, and curves that did something odd to his 4

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breathing. “Where are you going?” he asked in what he hoped was a pleasant tone; half the time his words came out in a low growl, scaring anyone within listening distance.

She turned back, her little rosy mouth opening in a round shape, one hand fluttering to her hair. “I…I walk here nearly every day. The trail goes to town,” she said, the sentence rising up at the end. “Do you live in Black Base?”

He pulled his lips up as he’d seen humans do, the skin of his face feeling funny in the odd configuration. This expression would mean something very different if he was in animal form. “No. I live out there.” He pointed toward the mountains rising behind them.

“But there are no houses out there.”

“I don’t need a house.”

When the woman frowned and turned to go, he said, “My name is Istaga. What are you called?”

I’m Velana,” she said, and then she walked quickly away from him as though afraid he might do something scary. He had to admit a couple of things had crossed his mind.

He didn’t stop her although he knew he could, just watched until she disappeared over the ridge that led toward town. His instincts had to be suppressed to carry off this human thing. It wouldn’t do to get arrested.

He knew in the scheme of things he was not a good-looking man.

His nose was too long, his eyes too close together and yellow, which made him appear furtive and untrustworthy. This had happened before, this turning away, the backward glance that said ‘stay away from me’. Mostly it happened after they got a good look at him. But he couldn’t change his human appearance; it was as much a part of him now as his coyote form. Lately he’d presented himself to several human females with the same result. Women just didn’t find him appealing. Was this another of the shaman’s cruel tricks?

The last time it had happened he determined it was the hunger in his eyes. If they didn’t want him to be interested why did they expose their long shapely legs and cover their top curves with material that strained and pressed, revealing what lay underneath? They confused him, these female humans who walked past smelling of rosewater.

Sighing, he became his animal self again, loping through the dry grass and passing by mesquite and cactus as he headed toward the mountains. After hunting tonight he would reconnect with his pack and meditate on why he was so intent on interesting a female who was not his own kind. They haunted him with their dark lashed eyes, the 5

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mixture of fragrances that drifted into his nostrils. His interest in his own species had diminished with his fascination for these two-legged creatures. Why was it always the human females that plagued his dreams?

 Raven watched Coyote shape-shift, the attention his human shape paid to the woman. The look in his eyes was nothing short of ravenous.

If the idiot weren’t careful the police would pick him up for being a stalker. It was time to have a talk with him again. Surely this behavior was out of character for his kind and something that should be halted.

It had been going on for months, ever since the dumbass learned to transform his animal body into human shape. Damn that shaman and his meddling. What was Coyote’s interest in these strange-looking beings? He certainly couldn’t expect to have a relationship with one of those…those devious, and truly ugly creatures. Wind ruffled through his glossy black feathers and he let it take him, soaring on an updraft and then gliding toward the mountain. Tonight he would pay the pack a visit. Maybe they could talk some sense into Coyote.

 Coyote was on another trail, his body again that of the human Istaga. He had picked this name after learning that it meant ‘coyote man’. He certainly couldn’t tell people his name was Coyote, especially since the word in human circles had come to mean a person who helped immigrants get across the border from Mexico. How did he know this? He’d been listening to conversations way before the shaman had given him the ability to shape-shift. He also knew that coyote had other bad meanings that seemed to refer to what he thought of as survival techniques, like being sneaky or greedy. He couldn’t deny them. The only thing to do was keep them hidden as much as possible.

His meditation the night before had brought nothing to mind aside from a morbid curiosity about being human. He was bored with his life, tired of the daily activities of the pack. They played with each other and rollicked around in the dirt like a bunch of morons without a clue. He was sick of resting out of sight until nightfall. He wanted to know what it was to be human. What was it like to mate with one of those two-legged creatures that smelled like flowers? He licked his lips, imagining how it would be done.

His experience with his own kind had become strangely 6

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dissatisfying, as though he no longer belonged. He hadn’t found a mate within the pack and seemed to spend most of his hunting time alone.

The pack had shunned him lately, as though they were slowly pushing him out. He didn’t mind it, really. Considering their hunting patterns he thought he did better sneaking up on his prey instead of the infernal braying that the rest of them engaged in. No wonder the wildlife scattered to the four winds when they came along. For him the silent approach worked best; he had caught several cats in the last few days.

He smacked his lips remembering the sweet taste of their flesh. It was a mystery to him why their owners allowed them out at night. Despite stories to the contrary, they weren’t very fast and always seemed stupidly curious when they saw him. All the better for him, he mused, but something niggled at the back of his mind. This uneasiness about his behavior had been happening more often lately and he didn’t like it. Was that another of the shaman’s cruel tricks?

His conversation with Raven the night before had left him feeling upset and unsure of himself. The bird had said he was playing with fire; humans were not to be trifled with. If they found out what he was doing he would be killed in an instant, either that or thrown into one of those lightless boxes where they kept criminals. And more than that, Raven had continued, everyone around here had guns. Hadn’t he noticed the long barrels on racks in the trucks that went by on the roads? Did he think these females would put up with his ogling? One of these nights some angry man defending his woman would go after Coyote with a gun, and that would be that.

After that Raven had fixed him with his dark eye, asking why he couldn’t be satisfied with his life. It was his destiny, the bird said, waxing philosophic, to be born into coyote form. He needed to embrace what he was and stop tempting fate. Coyote thought that was rich considering it was Old Man Coyote who had created the world, forming people and every other creature, including crows, out of mud, but he let Raven finish his speech, pretending to listen.

Two humans headed toward him on the dirt trail, their arms interlocked. They were male and female and from the look of it, mated; he could always tell. The female seemed wrapped up in some dream of her appearance, her thoughts about the night creams she used and staying young and alluring. She was terrified of the sun and what effect it was having on her skin. The man thought of nothing, only his physical being alert to her perfume and the feel of her skin against his.

Istaga nodded when they drew close but the man eyed him with suspicion, moving off the trail to let him pass. Great Corn Mother, 7

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would no one give him the time of day?

In town he headed to the local pub. It was time to use the paper money he had found on the trail the other day and get himself one of those liquid refreshments all the men drank. He walked in, letting his eyes adjust before following another man to the flat wooden area. He waited and listened before he handed the bartender the money, nodding to indicate his preference just as the other man had done.

While he waited for his beer two women came in taking his attention. They had long smooth light-colored hair that hung down their backs, t-shirts that stretched across their ample tops and shapely legs that made him feel tingly all over. He stared at them with his mouth open until one of them held up her hand with the third finger extended. He had seen this gesture before and knew it signaled anger.

When he turned back to the bar, the man behind the counter raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “You need to be more discreet,” the bartender said in a low voice. “These ladies don’t like possible stalkers.”

Istaga moved the corners of his mouth up in the expression that usually calmed things, and then tipped up his bottle, taking a hefty swallow. He didn’t really like the stuff but it seemed to quiet something in him, tamping down the need to growl and bite when another male entered his personal space. The only problem was that it also loosened something else and made him want to press his body against the females, an urge that he fought to suppress. He couldn’t keep his eyes off them when they walked by; their sweet smells made him weak with longing. What was a stalker?

8

O= para Thatcher was working in her garden when she heard the call of

the coyotes. It was early for them, barely sunset. Normally they came by around midnight or even later and sometimes not until very early in the morning. She made sure her cat was inside before resuming her weeding, her ears attuned to the advancing yips and howls of the pack that reminded her of a bunch of women talking in a foreign language.

She hadn’t lived here long but she considered these wild creatures her friends, happy when they ran by her house. There was one coyote she had seen several times roaming by himself. He looked like a German shepherd, beautiful, with a ruff of dark fur around his neck. He had watched her as she was driving down the dirt road, his yellow eyes unafraid. She wondered if he was part wolf, being so much larger than the others. She had read that wolves and coyotes were mating now, probably due to loss of habitat and mutual need. He was either one of these crossbreeds or a throwback or possibly the alpha male, imbuing the pack with his stronger genes.

Sara was not a native of this area, had only moved here a year ago, leaving a bad marriage and negative friends and family behind in Minnesota. She had found this remote spot in the desert by accident, sure that it was providence that brought her to it. The manufactured home sat at the base of the mountains near the small town of Black Base and the rent was very low. Lucky for her there was Internet out here, a necessity, since her livelihood derived from creating websites.

Thank goodness she didn’t have to sit in an office all day, instead doing all her work from home.

Black Base didn’t have much in way of stores, only a small grocery, a post office, a diner and a bar. There were weekly farmer’s markets a few miles away, but she was determined to grow the vegetables she needed. After all, the sun shone nearly every day—how

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hard could it be? Unfortunately her carefully planted basil had holes in the leaves from caterpillars, her tiny carrots and beets had withered before they became an inch high, and the tomato roots had been chewed off by some burrowing creature. Lettuce couldn’t stand the heat at all. It was time to buy some pots and regroup. Maybe a kind person down at the farmer’s market would give her some advice.

Her marriage had been dead for some time before she moved, her very wealthy lawyer husband turning into an even bigger jerk as his riches grew. His newest interest had been other women. Her own mother had taken Raleigh’s side, telling Sara that she was being selfish and immature. “Let the man have his flings,” her mother had told her.

She should be happy for the support and the luxurious lifestyle. Thank goodness no children had come from their seven-year union, Sara mused, shaking her head.

She thought about how they’d tried at the beginning, all their attention on making a baby together. That had been in the early days before Raleigh had shown his true colors. But somehow it never happened, a problem Raleigh had assured Sara was because of her. But when she talked it over with her gynecologist and had some tests, her doctor assured her that she was a healthy and fertile woman. When she shared this news with Raleigh he’d gone into a rage, refusing to admit that the problem could lie with him. From then on there had been no more discussion about it, and come to think of it, that’s when he began sleeping around.

It had taken seven years for her to find the strength to leave him, and even then she waited until he was away on one of his so-called business trips. She had planned her escape for weeks, making secret arrangements with a man on Craigslist to buy his older, cheaply priced pick-up. It was a cold day in February when she picked up the truck and drove it home. After that she and her friend Allen loaded her bed, (a wedding present from her parents), a table and chairs she had bought with her own money, all her clothing, and a few dishes and pots and pans. It seemed fitting when it began to rain, the sky turning sullen and dark. By the time she rolled out of the driveway the temperature had dipped towards freezing. Despite the weather and the rain her heart felt light for the first time in years, her wave and yelled good-bye to Allen filled with joy. Due to excitement she made the eighteen hundred and twenty-three mile trip from Duluth in just over two days.

This southwestern town where she ended up hadn’t been her destination, but there was something about the desert sunset that first 10

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night that made her pull her truck over. The sky was ablaze with color, the mountains behind a line of darkness. It simply took her breath away. And it was as unlike Minnesota as any place in the country with its dry hills, cactus and ever-present sun. The light alone had perked her up, giving her the energy to search for a place to live.

Glancing up from the patch of chives, she noticed the pack hurtling by, their attention on several rabbits in the distance. They were all yipping as they disappeared into the brush but a moment later there was a sudden silence, as though the leader had held up his hand to signal quiet. She waited but it was as though they had melted into the earth.

Sara didn’t know much about these animals but her first thought was that the yipping was a way to scare the prey into running and then the silence came as they went off in different directions to catch and kill whatever appeared. There were so many rabbits here, as evidenced by her disappearing vegetable starts, that it was hard to feel sorry for them. The coyotes kept the population in balance.

Sighing she went back to her weeding, but it wasn’t long before she noticed the chill that had crept into the air. Despite the sun and warmth of the days, it was still spring and the nights were cool. The mountains had gone from ochre to mauve and then blue-gray as the sun disappeared and now they were fading, their crags losing definition. She put her trowel down next to the patch of vegetables and stood, becoming instantly aware of her lower back.

Inside she sat on the couch with a glass of wine and gazed out the picture window as night came on. The first star was already visible in the sapphire sky and the peaks in the farther distance had turned dark.

Ever since moving here she had been intent on hiking up those steep trails, but so far had only managed to get within a half-mile or so from their base. Distances were deceptive and trails meandered off in all directions, rarely making a straight line toward the mountains.

Tonight there would be a full moon and she had planned a walk to absorb some of the magical energy that she kept reading about on her goddess blogs. John, her new boyfriend, was at a veterinarian conference. She couldn’t wait for him; the anniversary of her first year in the desert was tonight.

She dressed warmly and left the house around eight p.m., her backpack loaded with water, nuts, a flashlight and a Walther PPK 380.

John had told her tales of the mountain lion attacks and she didn’t want to be a casualty. The animals had been driven to the brink because the ranchers had diverted the springs for their sheep and 11

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cattle, affecting the natural food supply. These ranchers hated nature, always calling for eradication of the predators and gobbling up the land for themselves. And in this drought-ridden place it made it doubly hard for the big cats to survive. Of course there were those who were environmentally conscious—the smaller farmers who were trying to go organic, with grass fed beef and so on; she’d met some of them at the farmer’s markets. But they were fighting an uphill battle.

Sara was good with firearms, had trained at an early age with her father, who had been in law enforcement. It had been his expertise and patience that had given her the confidence that she had now. Without the gun and the ability to use it she wouldn’t have felt comfortable living so far from town. The Walther had been a present on her twenty-first birthday, a gift that had given her much pleasure on the shooting range with her dad. He was dead now, killed five years before when he stopped someone for speeding. It turned out that the driver had been mentally unbalanced with several loaded guns on the seat beside him. Her father hadn’t stood a chance.

Thinking of him now made her eyes tear up. He had been her support when her mother turned a blind eye to what was happening with Raleigh, and had offered her a place to stay if things got too bad.

But he died before she could tell him how much she loved and appreciated what he had given her over the years. Now it was too late.

She missed him every day and wished he were here with her now.

Walking along the familiar path she noticed how blue everything appeared. The moon was huge and orange where it hovered above the dark shape of the mountains, giving her an odd sense of space and time and making her aware that she was merely a speck of dust in the universe. These mountains had been here forever, stolid and immune to the petty lives of the humans down on the valley floor. Their highest peak was over nine thousand feet.

Her heart raced for a moment when she heard a rustle, but it was only a jackrabbit, its eyes glowing red for a second in the light from her flashlight before bounding away. In the distance she heard the coyotes again, wondering if it was what she considered, ‘her’ pack, or another.

They had an uncanny way of throwing their voices, giving the illusion of being one place when they were in another. It certainly confused their prey.

Finding a level spot with several boulders to sit on, she pulled her backpack off, letting the magic of the night seep into her. This was the first time she’d had the nerve to come out by herself when nocturnal creatures were roaming. John was usually with her, his six-foot-four 12

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large-boned frame a comfort. They had walked this trail several times after dark but had never watched the moon rise over the mountains.

She scrambled onto one of the boulders, sitting cross-legged and facing east. The moon drew her gaze, its energy giving her a sense of connection as it began its climb into the dark sky. The blogs she read talked about the feminine quality of the moon’s pull on the waters of the earth, as well as the waters and blood of humans. Her light was soft and diffuse, not like the masculine brightness of the sun.

In the distance she heard a small group of javelina going by.

Creatures of habit, they followed a well-trodden trail through the brush, their huffing sounds growing fainter as they disappeared down the slope. Near-sighted and focused on their path, they left her to her own devices.

She pulled out her bag of nuts and began to munch, wondering what other creatures might be watching her. For a second her heart sped up as a vision of snakes, scorpions and mountain lions raced across her mind, but then she remembered the gun and the fact that most animals would be giving her a wide berth. Humans were the ones to watch out for. That line of thought set her off again, but when she listened there was only silence.

Slowing her breath she calmed herself, her gaze going toward the moon and the spread of desert stretching into the distance. After living in the city with the sound of sirens, cars rushing by, and the constant low hum of electricity, this place with its buried power lines and houses so far apart felt like heaven. She’d grown very used to the peace and couldn’t imagine ever living in a city again.

Her mind floated free, lightly touching one subject and then another, when an unearthly howl shattered the night. Before she knew what she was doing the gun was in her hand, safety off. When two eyes glowed red she fired, her hand going to her mouth when she heard the animal scream of pain. It took several long moments before she mustered the nerve to investigate, not wanting to see what she might have killed or maimed.

Carefully making her way by prickly pears and mesquite she found her victim. The coyote was about thirty feet away, its body stretched out by a low-growing cholla. To her dismay it was the one she had been watching, the large loner, her favorite. Tears trickled down her face as she leaned over to see if the poor thing was still alive.

Yellow eyes stared into hers for a moment before they closed. Would he live?

Frantic, she hurried back to where she’d left her pack, opening it 13

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to pull out her flashlight. The moon had afforded enough light to find him but now she had to examine him more closely. But by the time she returned the coyote was gone, leaving behind a trail of blood. The only thing to do was track him but even that seemed useless. How could she manage to get a wild animal to the vet? She had no skills in this area and a bullet wound was way beyond anything she’d had to cope with.

John would know what to do, she thought, wishing she’d waited for him. If he’d been along she wouldn’t have been so hasty with the gun.

Her night was ruined, the moon growing dull above her. She packed up her gear, following the spots of blood with her flashlight until they disappeared into the brush. At home she put her pack away and then stowed her gun and flashlight in the table next to her bed.

Her heart felt heavy and the lump in her throat refused to go away. She still couldn’t believe she’d done such a thing; she was normally so levelheaded and unflappable. If her father had been here he would have been appalled by her trigger-happy behavior and deeply ashamed of her rash reaction. Turning her face into the pillow she cried until there were no more tears. Tomorrow she would have to find the carcass, ask forgiveness and bury it before the crows and circle birds ate it.

A knock on her front door woke her out of a dead sleep. When she looked at the clock it read 2:00 a.m., and for a moment she wondered if the knock had been part of her dream. But when the rap came again, louder this time, she realized there was really someone there.

The terrible images of her dream scattered as she came fully awake, the only remnant the accusing stare of the coyote king who had cursed her. She shook the yellow-eyed glare out of her mind, concentrating on who could be at her door in the middle of the night.

There were no houses within miles and John had a key. Since she hadn’t bothered to undress she headed to the door, putting her eye to the tiny hole to see who might be standing there, but in the darkness she could only see the shadow of a human shape. “Who’s there?”

“I’m Istaga and I need your help,” came the muffled reply.

Istaga? Was she supposed to recognize that name? “Who are you?”

There was no response to this, only labored breathing. Before opening the door Sara turned on the porch light and then ran into the bedroom to retrieve her gun, hoping there wouldn’t be another casualty tonight. When she looked through the hole again she saw a dark-haired man, his face etched in pain. “Okay, I’m opening the door but I have a gun,” she warned, turning the lock.

On her doorstep stood a man around five-foot nine with dark 14

Just Another Desert Sunset

slicked back hair. His face was glistening with sweat and he held his right arm protectively against his side. “I’ve been shot,” he said, his eyes going wide when he saw the gun in her hand. He made a funny whining sound, licking his lips as he backed away.

“Oh my God! Come in!” She flung the door wide, stepping out of the way to give him room.

He staggered across the threshold, his gaze sliding from side to side before settling on her. His unblinking stare seemed to mesmerize her for a moment before she managed to come back to herself. “Here, sit on the couch while I call 911.”

“NO!” The emphatic word sounded like a rumbling growl, scaring her for a moment. Looking down she realized she still clutched the gun in her right hand. She placed it on the kitchen counter. “But you’re hurt and I don’t have the skills to…”

“If you can get the metal out I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, heading to the couch.

“I don’t know how to do that!”

But he was already on the couch, his head lolling back in exhaustion.

Sara sat down next to him, her hand plucking at his plaid shirt.

“You’ll have to take this off,” she told him, surprised to see that there was no hole through the fabric. He must have put it on after getting shot but it was cold tonight and no one in their right mind would be walking around naked to the waist.

Sara had never seen this man before, had no recollection of passing him in the market or in the bar. He must have been shot around here and if that was the case there were dangerous people in the area and she should take precautions. She had no security system or even a motion detector, mostly because she hated the light going on and off and disturbing her sleep when night roaming critters came by.

Wincing, the man removed the shirt, his eyes at half-mast. The wound was bleeding profusely but the bullet had caught him right above the elbow in the muscle and from what she could tell no vein or artery had been affected. “I’ll get some water and try to clean it up, but I can’t go digging around to remove the bullet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how!”

“Just use your teeth to pull away the skin and dig in.”

Use her teeth? She frowned, trying to discern the man’s expression. He must be kidding but when she looked his way he didn’t 15

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meet her gaze.

“Hurry. My head feels empty and windy,” he mumbled, slumping sideways.

Empty and windy. That was a description of dizziness she’d never heard before. Her mind went to movies she’d seen where the hero pours whiskey on the wound and gives the person a big slug of it before using a knife to dig out a bullet. Easy as pie.

She left him there, heading to the kitchen and rummaging though the shelf where she kept the alcohol. She rarely drank the hard stuff, preferring wine and beer. She discovered a dusty bottle of gin she’d bought last year for a housewarming party, and pulled it out, grabbing a couple of rags before heading back to the couch. The man’s eyes were closed now, his breathing shallow and irregular.

“I’m going to clean the wound,” she announced, opening the bottle and upturning it on the rag. When she dabbed a little bit on his arm his eyes flew open and he growled, baring his teeth and making her jump back. The bottle nearly slipped through her fingers as she struggled to maintain her composure. “I only want to clean out any bacteria,” she told him. “And I think you should have some as well.” She held out the bottle, eyeing him cautiously.

“What is this?”

“Gin and it’s very high proof.”

He let out a whine and then took it from her, obediently drinking a hefty amount. When he lifted his head she noticed the unusual yellowgreen of his eyes. He was definitely not the most handsome man in the world, but there was something about him….

“You need to get the iron out. It will make me sick.”

“Iron? I doubt the bullet is iron. It’s probably lead and copper, which aren’t very good for you either. I wish you’d let me take you to emergency.”

This time when he looked up at her his eyes were glazed—he was obviously not a big drinker. “I don’t know what that is, but I’ll go if you take me,” he announced.

 It was several hours before they got back, the doctors releasing Istaga into Sara’s care. They gave Istaga instructions on how to take the antibiotics, but Sara knew she would have to explain again considering the dazed look on the man’s face. He had no driver’s license, no money and no insurance card. His pockets were empty with just a tiny bit of change stuffed into one of them--hardly enough for a 16

Just Another Desert Sunset

pack of gum. His look of confusion when she asked him about these things made her wonder where he was from. His dark hair and skin and odd way of talking certainly seemed foreign.

The doc told her he’d had lost a lot of blood and should rest tonight. Sara filled out the papers in her name and paid, assuring the staff that she would take good care of him. Police had been called in because it was a gunshot wound, but Istaga insisted he had no idea how it had happened. One minute he’d been walking along the road and the next he was down. When the cop suggested a drunken hunter, Istaga only shrugged. When they asked him to fill out paperwork he shook his head, pointing to his arm. They told him to come to the station when he was feeling better; they needed more information.

As they were leaving the cop had caught Sara by the arm, making her promise to bring him in.

“I really shouldn’t let you take him back to your house since he’s probably a Mexican who snuck over the border but you said you know him and you seem levelheaded. I have to assume you know what you’re doing. But if you don’t bring him into the station in the morning I’ll be contacting you. The only reason I’m letting him go tonight is because he’s been sedated and seems completely out of it. He’s in no shape to give us any information. Promise me you’ll bring him to the station. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

The cop reminded Sara of her father with his overly cautious advice and the fatherly way he looked at her. “I promise,” Sara told him earnestly.

Sara was glad to get Istaga into the truck and on the way home.

The police involvement made her very nervous since Istaga had no identification of any kind. Her lie that she knew him was the only way she’d kept them from throwing him in jail. Luckily they hadn’t made her go into detail.

Glancing at his profile she saw a man with a long straight nose, high cheekbones that might suggest Native American heritage, and darkish skin that could mean native or Latin blood. His straight hair was nearly black, falling to his shoulders. “Where are you from?” she asked, but he didn’t answer, his gaze going out the side window.

At the house Sara settled him on the couch and then found a blanket for him before she headed into her bedroom to sleep. She wondered at her lack of fear and worry—he was a complete stranger-but in the state he was in she figured he couldn’t do much, even if he wanted to, especially with the cocktail of painkillers the nurses had administered. She had an odd protective feeling toward him, as 17

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though he was a child in her care.

It was nearly dawn by the time she closed the door to her bedroom, the quail and doves already calling. She sank into bed and fell instantly asleep and didn’t wake again until after ten.

When she dressed and went into the living room the couch was empty, the blanket discarded on the floor. Istaga was gone, the bottle of antibiotics left behind on the coffee table.

At noon the phone rang, the cop from the night before calling to see where she was. “He was gone when I got up,” she told him.

“That figures. These coyotes are slippery devils and manage to get these lowlifes into the country despite all the border security. I have his description. I’ll put out an APB. If you see him again I would suggest steering clear. He looks like the type who would murder his own grandmother. Have a good day.”

Sara hung up the phone feeling disturbed by the policeman’s words. Why hadn’t he mentioned his perception of Istaga the night before? Was she foolish in taking him in? But how could she turn someone in such a state away? She didn’t agree with the border patrol and their unfeeling tactics. It just seemed wrong to separate families and send kids who had lived here all their lives back to a country they didn’t even know. Because that was what they were doing—she’d read all about the deportation laws in the Arizona Sun. People were dying in the desert and no one in law enforcement seemed at all concerned.

If faced with this situation again she was sure she would do exactly the same thing. She had to trust her own instincts and do what she could to help.

18

P= `oyote whined, his hackles rising in alarm. Another pack was where

his had been, their narrowed eyes trained on him. In his weakened state he was sure they would attack; it was their instinct to cull the injured. He turned and ran, pain knifing through him as he limped on his right front leg. His eyesight was blurred and his head hurt, as though he had gotten into locoweed, and there was a fuzzy quality around everything. He wasn’t sure what had happened. A vague sense of deafening noise and searing heat and pain made its way through his muddled brain, but after that the details were hazy.

Where had his pack gone? They should have alerted him before heading into a different territory, but then again he had been gone for…he didn’t know long he’d been gone. Had the sun come up and gone away and then come up again? He could try and track them, but right now with an empty belly and a wound that needed to heal he was hardly in the right shape. Better to lay low until he felt better.

And now that he thought about it there had been a confrontation with his pack the last time he’d returned from being human. The oldest male had let him know that he had to make up his mind. Was he a coyote or a human? They couldn’t have him turning up whenever he felt like it. It was confusing for the young ones and some of them were getting ideas.

Mostly his focus was on the earthy smell of the human female who had tended his wound, the way her sun-colored hair fell softly against his skin when she bent over him. But then he remembered the blinding brightness of the horrible place where she’d taken him. Why had he agreed to that? They’d stuck sharp things in his arms, put something cold in his mouth and wrapped his arm in dark cloth that they proceeded to tighten until he nearly howled.

Allowing them to get the bullet out had been the hardest thing he

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had ever had to do. Without the female holding his hand he would have bitten the doctor and run out of the place and back into the hills.

On the way back to the female’s house in the beast that belched black smoke, he felt strange and disoriented, afraid to trust her but afraid not to. His head felt funny and he had a metallic taste in his mouth. After she soothed him with words he couldn’t quite understand and covered him with a warm blanket, he fell asleep on her couch. He had hoped against hope that she would stay and keep him company, but then again that could have ended very badly.

He slept until his body turned back into animal form, the change awakening him abruptly. He leaped off the couch before she could see him, somehow managing to get the door open with his teeth before running down the road.

Dimly aware of what he was doing he moved through the dry weeds, searching for a protected spot. The idea of shifting into human form went through his mind but he was sure he didn’t have the energy to manage it since it was all he could do to put one paw in front of the other. A low-lying mesquite bush loomed up in front of him and he crawled underneath, curling up to go to sleep.

It was late afternoon before Coyote woke again. His belly ached from hunger, his head woozy from lack of water. It had grown cool but he felt hot, his right front leg burning painfully; he had to find water even if he couldn’t hunt. His senses remembered the bowl the human female kept outside her front door. It held leaves of some kind, but the water tasted fine; he and his pack mates had drunk from it several times during hunting trips. Limping badly he left his hiding place, moving cautiously in the direction of the house. If he didn’t want to be discovered he would have to wait until after dark. When he reached the edge of her property he lay down under a bush and closed his eyes.

The rumble of the truck woke him. It came to a stop a few feet from where he was hidden. The door creaked open followed by a muffled curse from the female. “Another shirt ruined by that f-ing jagged piece of metal,” she muttered before slamming the door.

“What happened?”

Someone was with her, a male of her species. The other door slammed as the man got out.

“Oh nothing, I just need to take the truck in and get some body work done.”

“I’ll fix it for you, baby. Just need to get some time off.”

“You don’t have to do that, John. The guys down in town can handle it.”

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Just Another Desert Sunset

“And they’ll charge you. Hey, have you seen the coyote again? The one you shot?”

“I searched for him…but…”

“You shouldn’t have been out there without me. It was stupid and dangerous.”

“I don’t want to go over that again.”

“Let’s go inside, it’s cold out here and besides, I need a beer and a roll in the hay.”

The woman laughed. “You never change, do you?”

“Don’t you like me the way I am?”

The woman didn’t answer but Coyote got the feeling there was something she wasn’t saying. He saw his human form in her thoughts, that and her worry for the coyote she shot. He almost howled as pain surged through his leg, but he managed to hold it in. He didn’t want to tangle with the male human.

As the two walked toward the house Coyote could smell the scent of anger.

What’s with you now, babe? One minute you seem happy and the next you’re off in the ozone. I was hoping to connect.”

“Is that what you call it?” the female asked and then there was a pause before she said, “You know John, I’m kind of not in the mood. Do you think we could skip tonight? I’ll call you in the morning.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to get home?”

“Oh, I forgot. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Well thanks for nothing.” The man strode to the truck, pulled the door open and got in, slamming it behind him. “You seem as fickle as the wind, Sara. And I’m getting tired of the off and on-again thing. If there’s someone else just fucking say so.”

“There’s no one else, John. I’m just tired, that’s all. Can’t I have a night to myself without having to explain?” The beast burst into life and rumbled away.

Coyote was dozing when he heard the return of the beast. He had slept through his opportunity to drink and now his thirst was even worse. The noise stopped and the woman got out. “What’s this?” he heard her say, but there was no one there. She was looking down and he realized she was examining his tracks in the moonlight. How could he have been so stupid? She was bending down now, searching under the bush where he was, her eyes bright with concern.

“Is that you?” she asked, and then she let out her breath. “I didn’t kill you after all. I need to get hold of animal control. Shit, I shouldn’t have taken John home. He could have lifted you into the damn truck.”

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When the female left him, going into the house to call the ones who would put him in a cage, Coyote summoned the energy to move away. He forced himself down the road and then into the long grass, moving toward the mountains and hoping they wouldn’t go after him.

Fear rose in his throat and before he could stop himself he let out a howl of rage and pain. He hadn’t even managed to get a drink of water.

It seemed like a dream when Raven came to him, telling him that he must become the man if he wanted to live.

“Your blood is poisoned,” the dark bird said, words that had no meaning to Coyote. “To get better you need strong medicine and the only way to get it is to go to the woman.”

Coyote knew that Raven was right. If he didn’t do something soon he would die. He had begun to imagine things, his visions growing stranger and stranger. First he was here and then he was in some other place high in the sky, circling among the stars. His thirst was beyond anything he had ever experienced. Maybe Raven wasn’t really here—just a dream image like the vision of sharing a bed with the woman, her pale skin pressing against his chest, her arms….

“She’ll give you water,” Raven added, and that was all the incentive he needed. It didn’t matter whether it was a dream or not. In the next moment he was swaying on two feet, his right arm throbbing and on fire. “Go,” Raven said, and he did.

22

Q= para was in the garden when she saw Istaga walking down the road in

the direction of her house. He was dressed in the same plaid shirt and jeans and looked pale and sick, his right shoulder hanging. It had been several days since she had taken him to emergency and she’d wondered why he hadn’t returned for the antibiotics.

Sara met him at the door, opening it before he could knock. “You forgot your antibiotics,” she told him, holding the door wide. “How’s the arm?”

Istaga didn’t answer, only grunting as he moved past her into the house. “I need water.”

“Sit there,” she said, pointing toward the couch where he’d spent the night. “I’ll get you some water and your pills.” When she came back she handed him a filled glass, which he downed in two gulps. “You are thirsty.” She took the glass from him, returning after filling it. “Now take one of these,” she ordered. “You shouldn’t have let so much time go by. You look like you have a fever.”

He turned the bottle over in his hands, staring at it with a perplexed expression. “I’ll open it,” she said, grabbing it away from him. “Let me take a look at that wound.”

Istaga obediently took off his shirt, his lips pressed together in pain. The wound was inflamed and swollen. “It looks infected,” she said, shaking her head. “You should take two to get it into your system.” She handed him two pills, watching him put them on his tongue and swallow them down, nearly choking in the process.

“Where do you live?”

“Out there,” Istaga answered, pointing vaguely toward the mountains. “More water.”

Sara took the glass out of his hand and filled it up again. “Have you eaten?”

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Istaga shook his head, his eyes fixed on hers. “Could not hunt.”

“I’m not talking about hunting. Don’t you have any food at your house?”

Istaga looked confused, his eyes roaming around the room.

“I’ll fix you something.”

Sara made him a ham sandwich and then settled him on the couch. He looked done in. “Take a nap and let the antibiotics do their job. You should be feeling better soon.”

She left him there, heading outside to finish up her planting project. She had recently found out that she could plant tomatoes at the same time as squash, cauliflower, broccoli and beans. Her large pots were now taking up almost half of the backyard and she had plans to build a trellis for the beans.

Every so often she snuck a glance toward the house. There was something about Istaga that pulled at her. Without his shirt she noticed the muscles in his upper arms, the wide shoulders that made her feel a bit weak. He was very lean, not at all like John who had developed a slight paunch from all the beer he drank. She had always gone for big men since they tended to make her feel safe. Maybe this feeling was merely a mothering instinct, since Istaga seemed so vulnerable. And what kind of name was that, anyway? Tamping down the earth around a tiny tomato plant she let her thoughts wander down forgotten paths to her life before she met Raleigh.

There had been a boy, or maybe she should call him a man since he was twenty-one at the time, who had captivated her with his exotic looks and artistic nature. He was her first lover and they had spent long hours smoking pot and discussing art and the state of the world.

She was in college at the time and with the support of her parents led a carefree life. But Graham had disappeared one day and never contacted her again. By that time she had met Raleigh, and although they hadn’t made any promises to one another, he seemed to assume that she was his girl. Now that she thought back on it she wondered if Raleigh’s family had anything to do with Graham’s disappearance. He was very poor and if they’d offered him a sizable chunk of money he probably would have taken it in order to study art.

Istaga reminded her of Graham for some reason. It wasn’t his looks particularly but there was something about his naïveté that brought Graham to mind.

She stood to rub her back and then went inside to check on him, expecting to find him asleep on the couch, but he was gone, the front door wide. The ham was gone but the bread had been discarded on the 24

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floor. At least this time he’d taken the antibiotics along.

Sara was restless that night, her dreams filled with the coyote she’d shot, mixed up with dreams of Istaga. At one point she was making love with him and in the next moment a coyote was staring at her out of feverish yellow eyes. In the morning she woke suddenly, her skin clammy. Heading to the kitchen to make coffee she wondered if she was getting sick. But after the first cup she began to feel more normal despite the lack of rest.

The day was overcast and muggy. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the air felt electric. Her nerves were on edge; whether this was because of the barometric pressure or something else she wasn’t sure. If she knew where to find Istaga she would certainly head in his direction, storm or not. She told herself she only wanted to make sure he was okay. Grabbing a sweater she hurried out the door. Maybe she would find him down at the local bar.

The bar was noisy and filled with out-of-work people and other locals who hung out here on a daily basis. Sara sat down at a table, studying the darkened interior. So far she hadn’t spotted Istaga but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here.

“What’ll it be, little lady?” the waiter asked, his gaze a little more intimate than she would have preferred.

“I’ll have a Dos Equis,” she told him, her glance going toward the bar stools where a dark-haired man sat hunched over his drink.

“Do you know that weirdo?” the waiter asked, following her gaze.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. Is his name Istaga?”

“I don’t know his name, only that he pisses people off every time he comes in here.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know why. He has a certain knack for it, I guess. He tried to pick up some girl a couple of nights ago and things got a little dicey.

He’s either a moron or has a serious problem.”

Before Sara could ask more questions the waiter turned, heading to another couple that had just arrived. When the beer came she sipped from the bottle, watching the man at the bar. “Hey, barkeep,” she heard him call. “Give me another one of these damn brewskies.”

He sounded funny as though he was trying out words that he didn’t understand. When a woman came in and sat next to him he leaned toward her, a wolfish smile on his face. He licked his lips, his eyes traveling across her body. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, his hand sliding nervously across his dark hair.

“No thanks,” the woman said, moving off the stool to another one 25

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further away. Istaga looked puzzled for a moment before he glanced around the room. When he spotted another young woman sitting alone he slid off the stool. He lowered his gaze for a moment, seeming to think before looping his thumb through his belt and swaggering over to talk with her.

“Can I buy you a beer?” he asked.

The woman frowned. “Get out of here you pervert.”

“Pur vurt? What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a weirdo and I’d like you to go find some other victim to annoy.”

“Hey, man!” the bartender called. “The lady doesn’t want your company.”

When Istaga turned he saw Sara, his eyes going wide with recognition, but instead of heading toward her he hurried for the door.

“Hey, asshole! You didn’t pay!”

Sara signaled to the bartender. “I’ll pay for him,” she said, pulling out her wallet.

The bartender shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

Sara downed the rest of her beer and headed out the door, hoping Istaga might be lurking around outside. When he wasn’t there she climbed into her truck. She felt agitated and upset, unsure why Istaga had avoided her. The look on his face had seemed full of fear. But why would he be afraid of her?

Fitting the key into the ignition she pressed down on the gas.

When the truck roared to life she put it in first gear and eased the clutch out, heading slowly along the road and hoping to catch a glimpse of Istaga. If he was walking she could give him a ride home.

It wasn’t until she was nearly home that she happened to glance in the rear view mirror, shocked to see Istaga sitting in the truck bed. She quickly pulled off the road and cut the engine. “What are you doing back there?” she asked him as she got out of the truck.

Istaga looked nervous, his eyes darting from side to side. “I was trying to hide,” he said.

“From what? The bartender? I paid the bill for you.”

Istaga stood, his gaze going to the mountains in the distance.

Before she could stop him he had vaulted out of the truck bed and was heading down the road at a run.

26

R= oaven

watched from his perch atop the saguaro as Coyote loped down the path toward him. “You are a fool,” Raven cawed harshly when Coyote came within earshot. “Why do you want to mix with humans? Can’t you see the problems this will cause? Yes, I know, it was my suggestion for you to go there for healing, but now you’re cured.

Leave the woman alone.”

Coyote came to a stop under the tree, his head cocked to get a better view of the dark bird. “I know how to shape-shift and so I must.

I have no control over my desires.”

Raven flapped his wings noisily, clearing his throat with a guttural caw. “You are Coyote and Coyote always has control over his impulses.

Think back to before you were given this supposed gift—how simple your life was. Now look at you. You are nothing but a muddled mass of emotions that you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been bamboozled by the shaman.”

“You’re wrong. I’m not muddled. I hunger for the woman and I think she feels the same.”

“That explains why you were down at the local bar trying to pick up other females of their species.”

Istaga stared at him in confusion. “When I smell them I get caught up in the moment. It doesn’t change how I feel about Sara.”

“I doubt that Sara would see it that way.”

“Sara was there--she saw me. I don’t think it bothered her.”

“But you didn’t stick around to find out did you? And how would you know she has feelings for you? She thinks like a human and humans are subject to whim, not to mention deceit.”

“Not her—she isn’t like the others.”

Raven let a moment go by while he picked his words. “From my observations she already has a man in her life. And what about your

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little problem?”

“What problem is that?”

Raven laughed, an ugly sound. “You cannot remain human while you sleep. How do you think the woman will react to a wild beast in her bed?”

Coyote felt a moment of doubt. Raven was right. This would never work. “I’ll go to the shaman and force him to help me. I did what he asked and he tricked me.”

“The shaman will never give you what you want unless you outwit him.”

Coyote thought about that. It was unheard of for someone to out trick a coyote and yet the shaman had done so. He would get him back if it was the last thing he did. He would do it for the sake of the woman.

As his coyote mind grappled with this new problem he heard the whoosh of Raven’s wings and looked up to see the bird flying away.

While Coyote searched for the shaman he thought about the woman. She had been in the bar, a place he never expected to see her.

It was all he could do to get out of there before she talked to him. In the bar he wasn’t the same person, something he neglected to admit to Raven who knew nothing about human behavior. There he had to make an impression, something he was learning from watching the other men. They all preened and flaunted themselves, trying to get the females to notice them, whether through what they said and how they said it, or playing darts and pushing those silly balls around and trying to get them into the holes at the corners. He thought of how they laughed, their eyes roaming across the room searching out their prey.

And if a woman happened to meet their gaze, the males pushed their chairs back, rising to swagger over. He had watched them buy drinks for the women but whenever he offered the females turned him down.

What was so different about him?

But then again, sometimes their tactics worked and other times they were turned away. He wasn’t only interested in the females; he also wanted to practice being a man. The human females wore scents that pulled the men to them and the men moved in, vying for attention by how they moved and spoke—not so very different from a coyote except he hadn’t seen any of them let their water go on the table legs.

He wondered why since this signaled possession and warned other males off.

As to the human male’s behavior, he hadn’t studied it well enough to carry it off. At least he hoped this was the case because otherwise he was like the flea-bitten, wormy coyote, the one that had no mate 28

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and was frequently turned out of the pack to fend for itself.

Sara’s appearance in the bar made his insides feel funny. An uncomfortable sensation rolled though his chest as he remembered her clear eyes watching him. Unable to stop himself he let out a howl, wishing he hadn’t picked that night to go to the bar. When he was around her he didn’t want to be like those other men, didn’t want to play the game of attracting the females. Around her he was confused and didn’t know who he was. And then he’d made the mistake of hiding in her truck. What a…

“You found me,” a voice announced.

Coyote looked up and into the shaman’s eyes. He had been so deep in thought he’d nearly run into him. This time the man was wearing normal clothes, the coyote pelt gone.

“Come over by the fire, Coyote,” the shaman told him, moving toward the fire pit. “I have several things to share with you.”

Coyote shifted into human form before following the shaman toward the fire pit. He had things to talk about, things to insist upon, things that needed to be voiced. “You tricked me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe I left out part of the truth. If you want to correct this you’ll have to complete another task. Are you willing to do this to keep your human shape through the night? I know how you feel about this woman and how this problem of yours could interfere with what you hope will happen.” The shaman laughed, pulling the rattle off his belt and beginning to shake it. “Now listen very carefully because I don’t want to say this twice. On the night of the full moon you must pick the night blooming cactus flower and bring it to me.”

“Where will you be?”

“Ah, now that is the trick of it, isn’t it? You must search me out.

The full moon is in two days. Good luck.”

When Istaga opened his mouth to reply, the shaman, his rattle and the fire had all disappeared.

On the night of the full moon Coyote ran across the desert searching for the night-blooming cactus. The shaman had neglected to mention which kind of cactus he wanted and Coyote knew there were several to choose from. One of them only bloomed for one night a year so his instincts told him that this was the flower he was expected to retrieve. Over the years he had seen these plants many times during his nightly hunting trips.

Finding the flower was the easy part, although he might have to wait for one of them to bloom. Was it even the right time of the year?

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The hot time was when these flowers sent their perfume wafting across the desert. Coyote had lost all track of the seasons in his fixation with the woman. He sniffed the air and then looked around, trying to align with his animal nature. There was a dusty smell and the air was warm tonight. Was it close to the hot time? He had neglected his Coyote abilities since meeting Sara and he needed them now more than ever.

As he searched for the flower he remembered the joy of being Coyote, the freedom of running though the night and the contentment of having a belly full of freshly killed meat. He had nothing to do but watch the moon move across the night sky and notice the sun lighting up the hills behind where he slept in his cozy den. No worries about women or learning how to be human, no insecurity about being caught and put in one of those cages, simply living each day driven by the moment. The females in his pack accommodated his needs when they arose. If he wished he could have one of them for his mate. Why not give up on this silly dream and get back to what he was supposed to be? He and a mate could have pups and teach them the way of coyotes as they grew. It was fun to play with the young ones, rolling around on the ground and then taking them out to hunt once they were big enough.

Just as he was about to give up the search and go and find his pack, Sara’s face appeared in his mind, her sky eyes staring into his. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and let out a long whine and then a howl of frustration. He had to locate this flower so that he could be with her.

Human or not she was his mate.

When he caught the whiff of the distinctive perfume he headed down another trail, his nose in the air. But the scent came from another sweet-smelling flower that bloomed before the hot time. He picked one with his teeth and then carried it in his mouth, searching out the shaman. He would argue if the man told him it wasn’t the right one. The one the shaman insisted upon didn’t bloom at this time of year and it wasn’t fair for the shaman to ask for it.

He ran from one end of the valley to the other and even up into the mountains, searching for the shaman’s fire. But as night turned into day and then day into night and he still hadn’t found him, he knew that the old man had tricked him once again.

30

S= “para, just hear me out! We’ve been together for nearly six months. I really like you and I thought you felt the same. What’s gotten into you?”

“I…I don’t know, John. I think I may be losing my mind. You’re a great guy and I love that you’re a vet and care about animals, but…”

“But what? We have a standing date for Friday night; you should have told me earlier that you had other plans.”

“I don’t have other plans. I just need to think. Can you try and understand?”

John shook his head. “I don’t understand at all, Sara. You’ve been standoffish for weeks now. Call me when you’ve finished thinking.” He slammed the door of his truck, roaring away in a cloud of dirt and pebbles.

Sara went back into the house, guilt coursing through her. This was so unlike her, this fantasizing about a man she didn’t know who was as elusive as a raincloud in the desert sky. She hadn’t seen Istaga for over a week, not since the night at the bar. The look on his face when she caught him in the back of the truck made her smile; but why had he been there and why did he take off like that?

She had no idea how to get in touch with him. It was possible she would never see him again. John was a decent man with a good job who made her laugh. They had fun together even if she wasn’t all that attracted to him physically. Why couldn’t she just enjoy his attention?

It was certainly better than her relationship with Raleigh.

Inside the house Sara poured a glass of wine and then went outside, sitting down in her favorite Adirondack chair on the back patio. The sun had dipped below the horizon now and the western clouds were dark gray against the deep red-orange sky. It was late spring getting close to the time when the snowbirds left, heading for

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cooler climes. For her it meant quiet days and a lot of time inside with the AC, but the nights were dark and magic, the air soft and velvet on her skin.

Taking a sip she thought about her life here, how much she valued her alone time. John had not interfered with that, his only demand that she spend her weekends with him. Many times he was on call, their dinners cut short by an animal emergency. She loved that he cared about his work, that his love for animals had taken him from medical school to vet school. They hadn’t spoken about a future together, enjoying each other without strings. But tonight had been an eyeopener. John expected more and was seriously miffed. Maybe she had misjudged the relationship, thinking that he was on the same page as her. Maybe he was in an entirely different book!

When her cell phone rang she went to answer it, hoping it was one of her friends from Duluth, but instead she heard John’s angry voice.

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“No, John,” she answered patiently, “I told you, I just need to think.”

“What do you need to think about? Do you want to get married or something?”

“No. I definitely don’t want to get married. Besides, I’m not divorced.” She tried to laugh but it caught in her throat. Raleigh had been after her to move back, his recent late night calls disturbing her sleep. His latest affair had ended and he was lonely, he loved her. Of course these calls only came after he had consumed a large amount of alcohol, his slurred speech and sentimental ramblings making Sara feel slightly sick. Why she didn’t hang up on him was a mystery.

“Why don’t we move in together? Once you get your divorce I would be happy to marry you.”

“Is that a proposal? --Because, if it is, it’s a bad one. ‘I would be happy to marry you’, doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“Come on, Sara, you know what I mean. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, John.” As soon as Sara hung up the phone it rang again. She let it ring, heading back outside to study the mountains; but now her insides were roiling, her nerves on edge. She sat down again trying to breathe deeply but her breath was ragged.

Placing her glass on a table she went back inside to find her tennis shoes. She knew that John would not approve, but she had to take a run. It was the only thing that worked when she got into this agitated state. Vowing to be careful she headed out.

Her jogging route took her up one hill and down another. It was 32

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still light enough to avoid the small roots and rocks as she worked her way toward the mountains. Running had always helped her let go of negativity, putting her into a trance-like state and today was no exception. Time disappeared, her only awareness the rhythmic breath moving in and out of her lungs and the sound of her footfalls on the gravelly dirt trail.

When she tripped and nearly fell she was suddenly aware that it had grown quite dark; her run had taken her into the mountains for the first time. Shadows crept across the jagged peaks; the only sound was the whistle of the wind. This was not a trail she was familiar with.

She jumped when a man appeared, walking down the path toward her.

“You’re lost,” he said, his head cocked to one side.

He had a necklace of teeth around his neck, feathers and rattles attached to his wide leather belt. He must be some kind of medicine man or a shaman, she thought, although his skin looked too light to be native. There was something unsettling about the expression in his eyes.

“I guess so,” she answered. “I live down on Salmon Road. Do you know it?” Why did I just give him my address?

He smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “You really took a wrong turn, didn’t you?”

Sara didn’t like his tone and felt a prick of fear along the back of her neck. “I can find my way,” she said, turning to go.

“I don’t think so.”

When Sara tried to take a step her feet refused to move.

“Don’t worry,” he said, moving closer. “I only want to talk.”

“I can’t move. How did you do that?”

“Hmm…that’s an interesting question, isn’t it? If you guess my name I’ll release you.”

Sara stared at him, noticing the gleam in his dark eyes. She struggled to move but still her feet refused to budge. “How can I guess your name? I’ve never seen you before.”

He watched her, a smile playing around his mouth, and then ran the fingers of his right hand up her bare arm.

“Stop it! Get away from me!”

“I like the feel of your skin,” he said, moving closer. “It’s soft and I bet you smell good.” He leaned down to sniff her arm, and then moved so that his nose was at her neck. She pushed at him with her hands but he grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her.

She smelled his breath and grimaced at the rotting meat odor. His face was too close but when she moved her head he grabbed her chin 33

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with his free hand. “No need to turn away,” he said, chuckling, his fingers grasping her around the neck. “I don’t plan to really hurt you.

You’re Coyote’s woman, aren’t you? Too bad he can’t be a man for you.

I could fill that void…”

When an unearthly howl broke the silence the man pulled his strange glowing eyes away from hers, releasing her arms at the same time. A coyote rushed out of the brush, leaping toward him with his mouth wide open.

The man let out a blood-curdling yell, moving away from Sara as he struggled with the attacking animal. The coyote was whipped into frenzy, its lips pulled back from its teeth, snarling and growling. When those very white teeth sank deeply into the man’s arm, his anguished cries rose into the night. Dark liquid poured from the wound as he sank to the ground.

As soon as the man went down, Sara’s feet came under her control again. She turned away from the horrific scene, running back down the trail. When she glanced over her shoulder the coyote was at the man’s throat, the foaming snarls of rage making her think the animal might be rabid. She heard a gurgling sound as the animal’s teeth penetrated deeply into the man’s windpipe and then a thin wavering cry before a disturbing silence.

By now her mind was numb, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she prayed that the coyote wouldn’t go after her next. How long she ran she didn’t know, but somehow she found herself at a familiar turning. She headed onto the trail that would eventually take her to her house, slowing down to catch her breath.

She was close to her house by the time she pulled out her cell phone, punching in the familiar numbers. “John, can you come over?”

“It’s kinda late, but yeah, sure. Did something happen? I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Sara had had several glasses of wine by the time John arrived, the fear and horror of it all finally fading a bit.

“You’re white as a sheet.”

“I think I just avoided being raped or even possibly killed,” she answered in a shaky voice, picking up her glass.

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” John said, grabbing the nearly empty bottle and taking it into the kitchen.

“You were running at night, weren’t you?” he said, sitting down beside her. “I’ve told you a million times not to do that. It’s fucking dangerous.”

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“I’ve never had a problem until tonight.”

“So are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“There was this guy—older, creepy. I was like paralyzed. He did some spell or something.”

“What? Come on Sara, there’s no such thing as spells.”

“Maybe he was a brujo. He had feathers and weird stuff hanging on his belt.”

“How’d you get away?” John asked sarcastically.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe something happened, but a brujo? Were you drinking before your run?”

“Just one glass, but you haven’t even heard the worst of it. A coyote attacked him. I’m sure the guy’s dead.”

“Coyotes don’t do that.”

“That’s what I thought, but I saw it happen. The coyote saved me.”

Sara looked up, her eyes meeting John’s skeptical gaze.

“So you think the coyote came out of nowhere and saved you from a brujo who accosted you on the trail and then paralyzed you.” John let out a roar of laughter. “You can be weird but this story takes the fuckin’ cake. Let’s get you to bed. You’ve had too much to drink.”

Sara let John lead her to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed while he removed her shoes. “I can do the rest,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt. After she pulled on her nightshirt John tucked her in.

“I’d like to stay for a while but I think you’re too drunk to enjoy what I have to offer.”

“You’re definitely right about that.”

“I’m going now but give me a call in the morning. I want to hear if your story’s the same when you’ve sobered up.”

After John left Sara turned off the light. But as soon as she closed her eyes the image of the attacking coyote filled her mind. She reached for the light switch deciding to read for a while until some other images replaced the nightmarish scene. Surely someone would discover the body and by morning the papers would have the story splashed across the front page. That animal had saved her life.

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T= ko matter how many mice or rabbits Coyote ate he couldn’t get the

taste of the shaman’s blood out of his mouth. He had never felt the inclination to kill as he had that night, his instincts taking over completely. But what he had done plagued him, making him howl when it wasn’t time to howl, to run when he should have been resting.

He hadn’t wanted to kill the shaman but what the man was doing to Sara put him into a blind rage. His pack turned on him when he finally caught up with them, letting him know that he was no longer welcome; his interest in humans had made him weak and unpredictable. When he tried to follow them, the alpha male attacked him, drawing blood.

Later when he told Raven, the bird laughed. “I told you nothing good would come of this. Now you’ve killed a man. If the authorities find out they will either shoot you or you’ll be trapped and taken somewhere far away.”

“They won’t know it was me.”

“They’ll know,” Raven answered, before lifting into the air and gliding away.

Coyote wandered the hills alone, his thoughts on the woman. If he hadn’t been following her she would be dead now. The man had trapped her there like an animal. He felt again the fury that had coursed through him making him do what he did. Before he could think about it he had changed into his human form. He had to see if the woman was okay.

He knocked on the turquoise door, his other hand smoothing back his dark hair and then plucking nervously at the plaid shirt. It took a few minutes before she opened it, her shining sky eyes going wide with surprise. “Istaga! I wondered what had happened to you.”

“Who is it?” a man’s voice asked.

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“It’s Istaga, you know, the guy I was telling you about?”

A male face appeared above her shoulder, the waves of negative energy coming from him making Istaga bristle. A growl began to bubble up but he held it back, waiting to see what would come next.

“Come in,” the woman invited, opening the door wide.

“Oh yes, please do come in,” the man said in a nasty tone, turning away. He had a towel wrapped around his lower body, his chest bare.

Before Istaga could stop himself the growl emerged, jealousy rising up in him. He hid it with a cough, holding his hand over his mouth. When the woman stared at him curiously he said, “Sorry, something caught in my throat.”

“I’ll get you a glass of water. John, do you want some breakfast?” she called.

“Sure, babe.”

Istaga didn’t know much about human language but he knew enough to realize this was an endearment that meant these two were mated. The towel the man wore also spoke to more than a casual relationship. His thoughts went back to the night he spent here, what he felt for this woman. “Sara.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I just remembered your name.”

“Have you eaten?” she asked. “I have enough eggs if you’d like to stay.”

His stomach growled in response to the thought of food but his need to be away from the man outweighed it. He knew if he remained he would start a fight that could only end badly. “I only wanted to see you again, but since you have company I’ll come back another time.”

He had gleaned this little speech from spying on humans, noticing that it produced a smile from the women.

“Okay. But do come back,” she whispered.

Outside Istaga cursed himself and the situation. He would watch and make sure she was alone the next time he visited. He said fuck and shit out loud several times as he walked away, the words oddly soothing.

 “You again.” The bartender gave him a hard look before turning to another customer.

“Can I get a fuckin’ beer?” Istaga called. He liked the curse words these humans used; this one was a favorite, used often in situations like this.

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“Do you have the coin?”

Istaga pulled out a ten-dollar bill he’d taken from the shaman’s pocket, slamming it down on the wooden counter. He had more money in his pockets as well as several feathers and trinkets the shaman had been carrying. “Dos Equis,” he demanded in a loud voice, drawing stares from the other customers.

It was several hours and beers later that he left the bar, his feet unable to walk in a straight line. He had a weird urge and found himself making some strange sounds that the humans made when they were happy. Walking down the road he had the thought to head over to Sara’s house.

 “Istaga! I didn’t expect you back so soon. Do you want to come in?”

He nodded, following her inside, sniffing the air to determine if the male was still around.

“Do you want a beer or do you think you’ve had enough?” she asked, laughing.

“I’ll take one,” he answered, trying to focus on her. She was dressed in a shirt that matched her eyes. It hung down over her hips, her long tanned legs exposed beneath. Her feet were bare, a bright spot of color on each toenail. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach and wondered what it signified. A moment later he knew the answer. Oh crap, he thought, trying out another word in his mind that he’d heard recently. He didn’t know how to control this human body; he only hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Here you go,” he heard her say a moment later, holding out an amber bottle.

“Thanks.” He took a long pull, nervousness making him choke before he swallowed.

“Were you down at the Wild Pig and Pint again?” she asked.

He smelled her now, waves of her own special spice wafting around his nostrils making him stupid. “Pig and what? Oh yeah, the bar. I was there.” He leaned forward, placing his beer on the table. “I go there once in a while.”

“It’s not a bad place,” she agreed.

After that there was a long silence while he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

“Did you hear about the man who got killed?” she asked, her sky eyes making him dizzy.

“Man—killed. Um…no.”

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“It was on the news tonight. The reporters said it looked like a coyote killed him. I’ve never heard of that, have you?”

Istaga’s cheeks burned. How did these humans stand all the feelings that were always coursing through their bodies? At least what was happening between his legs had disappeared with the switch in subject. “I thought coyotes were pretty harmless. They seem to mind their own business.”

“That’s exactly what I thought. John, you know the man who was here the last time I saw you—well, he’s been enlisted to find the coyote that did it. He’s a vet.”

“A vet…”

“You know, someone who works on animals? Not the army kind, if that’s what you thought.”

The more she talked the more confused Istaga became. All he really wanted to do was press his lips to hers. He wasn’t even sure why this idea had presented itself. Was this a thing humans did? Coyotes in this state nipped each other but the way humans handled it was very different from that. What would she do if he tried?

“I don’t know how he thinks he’ll find the right animal. There’s a zillion coyotes out there. I wouldn’t imagine they’d do DNA testing or anything that expensive.”

Istaga couldn’t take his eyes off her. She used her hands when she talked; they fluttered in front of her face like small birds. Her neck was long and smooth and with her hair pinned up he could see the tiny fuzz at the nape. He wanted to nip her there. His desire was back and with all the beer he’d consumed all normal reticence had left him.

Before he knew what he was doing he had leaned close to her, one hand going to the back of her head. He couldn’t see her eyes anymore, but the smell of her overwhelmed him as he searched for her lips, pressing his against them. He felt her hand on his back, the fingers warm through his shirt. She was doing something with her tongue that he couldn’t quite figure out until he felt it inside his mouth. Lights exploded inside his head as sensations burst through his human body, making him weak with longing.

They were lying on the couch now, his hands moving across the shirt that covered her upper body. He couldn’t maneuver the buttons open but he wanted to very badly.

“Here, let me,” she said, unbuttoning the shirt and slipping it off her shoulders. Underneath she wore something tight that cupped the mounds there and he pulled it down with his teeth, pressing his face to her chest to inhale her essence.

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“Hey, be careful! That’s an expensive bra,” she laughed, unhooking it from behind her back.

Istaga felt a burning urge to do something but he wasn’t sure what it was. He held his head back, howling in frustration as the pressure built inside him.

“Quiet,” she whispered, pulling him down next to her. “Are you a virgin?”

He didn’t know what that word meant so he shrugged.

“Okay. I’m going to take the lead.” And she did.

When Istaga woke later he was lying next to her on the couch, his body that of Coyote. He freaked out for a moment before he had the sense to hop off the couch and head for the door.

“Don’t leave,” he heard her mumble, but he was already out the door and away, adrenaline pumping through his coyote veins.

40

U= para woke out of a sound sleep, her unfocused eyes searching the room for Istaga. He was gone. Sighing she swung her legs to the floor, pulling her shirt on over her naked body. Last night had been incredible, not like any sex she had ever had. Istaga was like a wild animal, sensual in a way that she had never experienced. At the same time he seemed innocent, as if he didn’t really understand the mechanics of the human body. She smiled, remembering how she had helped him figure things out, the explosion of emotion all of it had engendered inside her. Why had he left? From the passion between them she had assumed they would at least spend the day together. She had a sudden sinking sensation in her solar plexus as she registered her disappointment.

Istaga was a very strange man, one who didn’t say much, but his non-verbal communications were quite expressive. She had no way of contacting him—hadn’t learned one thing about him except what his body was like underneath the plaid shirt and jeans that he always wore. Smiling, she thought about his hipbones, the way he…

A knock on the door had her scurrying around to find her shorts.

She found them crumpled on the floor and pulled them on hastily before going to look through the peephole.

“Let me in, babe. I forgot my key.”

Oh shit.

“Why are you dressed like that? Did you sleep in your clothes?

Jesus your face is completely flushed and what’s that on your neck? It looks like a hicky.” John frowned before gazing around the room, his eyes lighting on the couch where the throw lay bunched up, all the pillows on the floor.

“Probably from you,” she said, moving away from him into the kitchen to make coffee.

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“Doubtful since you won’t let me near you. It smells funny in here—kind of like wild animal. You didn’t get a dog, did you?” He picked up some gray-brown fur off the floor, holding it up.

“No dog.”

“Well, where the hell did this come from?”

“Maybe it was under the couch from before I moved in. That sofa came with the house.”

John walked into the kitchen, depositing the hair in the garbage can. “I came by to tell you we have a lead on the coyote. I’m tracking him this afternoon.”

“How did that come about?” She poured boiling water into her French press, stirring the coffee with a spoon.

“Tracks mostly, leading away from where the guy was killed— they all know I’ve had experience with that. Jesus, the scene was a bloodbath! I’m glad I wasn’t that poor guy.”

“How can you say that, John? I was the one that guy was about to hurt. Don’t you care about that?”

“I was just commenting on the viciousness of that coyote, that’s all. The guy’s throat was nearly ripped out.”

Sara clutched her stomach as the images came back. Even knowing what the animal had done didn’t make her feel sorry for that weirdo. The man was seriously creepy and would have raped her. “I hope it isn’t the coyote I shot—of course he’s probably dead by now from the wound I inflicted.” She pressed the plunger down with a little too much force, nearly knocking the carafe over.

“No one’s brought in a carcass or reported one. I would know.”

“At least now you believe my story about the shaman.”

“All I know is some guy was killed on a trail up on the mountain. I still have a hard time swallowing that he was a brujo who paralyzed you.”

“I told you all about the coyote, John. Why would I make up the other part?”

John shrugged, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You were drunk.”

“I was not.”

“You were too drunk to have sex, if you remember.”

“Maybe I didn’t feel like it.”

“Whatever—I need to go soon.” He looked at her expectantly.

“What? You want to have sex now?”

He grinned, raising his eyebrows.

“No, John. I just got up, and besides…”

“I have urges, Sara. And I have one right now.”

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“Get out of here!” Sara laughed but there was something about his behavior that seemed out of character and slightly off. “What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t really know,” he answered, his eyebrows pulling together.

“I feel like a cave man who needs to lay claim to his woman…it’s pretty weird. I just saw myself pushing you down on the couch and…well…you know.” He shook his head and then put his cup down and headed toward the door. ”I need to get going. Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome. What will you do if you find the coyote?”

“No ‘if’’ about it. I’ll find him. I suppose we’ll ship him off to another territory—either that or euthanize him.”

“Don’t kill him. He saved my life!”

“We can’t have a man-killing coyote running around, Sara. The authorities will let me know the next step.”

He stopped at the door as if waiting for something, and then shrugged, turning away. “I’ll see ya,” he called, before climbing into his truck.

As the motor roared to life and he backed out of her driveway, Sara thought about his behavior and the animal smell he insisted was in the house. Once she closed the front door she sniffed, but didn’t notice anything unusual. Thank goodness Istaga had gone before John arrived.

Later she went over the details of the night before, wondering about her actions. It wasn’t like her to sleep with someone she hardly knew. And especially since she was in a committed relationship with John. But there was something about Istaga that seemed so familiar, as if they had been together before. But that was impossible. She sighed, picking up the throw and folding it before laying it over the back of the couch. In any case Istaga had made the first move.

Confusion passed though her as she tried to make sense of things.

She might never see the guy again. He seemed a free spirit who came and went on his own terms.

43

V= `oyote

hurtled down the trail away from the ugly whine of the mechanical beast. He knew whoever was in there was after him.

Heading to the right he charged into the low-lying brush and cactus, moving as quickly as he could. The jeep came to a stop and the motor was cut, followed by cursing and then the sound of several raised male voices. “I saw him. He’s over there!” one man yelled and then he heard John’s voice answering.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a scope on this rifle and I’m an expert shot.”

Fear filled Coyote’s throat as he crawled through the brush. There wasn’t much cover here. The only chance he had was to get out of range. When a bullet whistled by his head, he crouched down, his belly feeling the sting of several fallen cholla spines.

“I’ve got him!” John shouted and in the next moment hot searing pain went through his shoulder. His mind turned fuzzy, images of the woman and his one night with her rising to the surface. A howl of sadness and frustration came out his mouth as he realized his imminent death. And then everything went dark.

 “Jesus, John. You almost killed him.”

“Get real, Bob, that’s a tranquilizer dart. He’ll be out until we can get him caged and on a truck. Unless the authorities decide to euthanize him.”

“I’m with the authorities, or did you forget that? Are you positive he’s the one?”

“Pretty sure since my girlfriend told me where to find him.”

“It’s pretty standard to euthanize a dangerous animal like this. Did you know the man he killed is a criminal? He’s been in jail several times for assault. He raped and almost killed a woman a year ago. His

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death is no loss to the community.”

“Was he really a brujo?”

“Where’d you hear that? All I know is that one of the women he attacked had some very strange things to say. But who wouldn’t under the circumstances? If he wasn’t dead right now he’d be in jail for sure.”

John thought about what Sara had told him but decided not to share it with Bob. The man might think he was a little crazy. “So if you don’t euthanize him where will you take the coyote?”

“Probably somewhere in the boonies of Utah.”

“Must be pretty expensive to transfer them. Isn’t euthanizing easier?”

“That would be my choice and I’m sure the community would agree with me, but we have a bleeding heart liberal as a director.

Unless push comes to shove she’ll never agree to kill a healthy coyote.

Especially since she’s a friend of one of the dead dude’s victims. Nope, Rosie cares more about animals than people.”

Bob and John lifted the coyote out of the back of the jeep, carrying the unconscious animal into the vet’s office.

“Put him down on the table,” John said, gesturing with his head toward the open door leading into the examining room. “I need to take some blood.”

“He’s heavier than most of them,” Bob complained, hoisting the animal onto the metal surface. Bob stared down at the coyote and then reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “I need to give Rosie a call.”

John was already getting the syringe from the cabinet. “Before you do that can you shave a little spot there on his leg?”

Once the blood had been taken, John labeled it and stuffed it into a cushioned mailer. “If we’re lucky I’ll have the results back by this afternoon. Stay here while I run it over to the lab.”

 Coyote woke inside a small cage. His head felt woozy and he was very thirsty.

“Looks like the big guy’s waking up,” he heard a woman’s voice say. He perked up his ears hoping it was the Sara, but then he got a look at the speaker. She was round with black hair, a smock straining across her ample body.

“Rabies results are negative. When does he get transferred? Do you feed and water them during the trip?”

Rosie made a funny smacking sound with her lips. “We give them water but they seldom drink. They’re wild animals, after all. Where 45

Nikki Broadwell

he’s going is at least a day and half’s drive. Do want to come along, John?”

“No. I have patients coming in early tomorrow. Will you put a tracking device on him?”

“Yes. All of them have tracking devices. We need to know if he comes back. It’s doubtful he’d find his way, but he’ll want to be with his original pack. It’ll be hard for him out there alone.”

Coyote listened to this conversation with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Where were they taking him? Well, at least he wasn’t dead.

“You’ll need to tranq him again. There are several things that need to be done before we leave.”

Coyote wondered if there was any chance of escape, but when he put his teeth on the bars he decided the answer was no. He whined his hopelessness. Raven’s predictions were coming to pass. He looked up in time to see John coming toward the cage, a gun in his hand.

 “So what did you do with him, John?” Sara had made a trip down to the vet’s office to check on the coyote, but he was no longer there.

“It’s out of my hands, babe. They’re taking him to Utah.”

Sara looked around the office, noticing the fur and dirt lining the linoleum. “I wish I’d never told you where to look. If he’s the one I shot he’s probably weaker than he should be. He’ll never survive.”

“He is the one you shot. I saw the remnants of the wound. He managed to attack and kill a man, Sara. It’s lucky they didn’t euthanize him. He’ll do just fine.”

“This place is filthy. Don’t you ever mop?”

John grinned. “Are you volunteering?”

 Sara was in a daze all the way back to her house. She felt responsible for the coyote since she’d spotted it on the road when she was driving to the post office and told John where it was. Her thinking at the time hadn’t been too clear since she was caught up in a reverie about Istaga.

She thought back to that night, the look in the animal’s eyes as it leapt on top of that bastard. How had it known she was in danger, anyway? It was a beautiful animal. She smiled before remembering that he was gone. Her favorite coyote had been shipped to god-knowswhere and she would never see him again.

46

Just Another Desert Sunset

When someone knocked on her door an hour later she jumped up, hoping it was Istaga, but instead John was at her door.

“Forgot your key again?” she asked, moving aside to let him in.

“I guess I lost it. Do you want to go for a beer? It’s been a long day.”

“Sure. Let me put on some shoes.”

At the bar several men that John knew came up to their table.

“Heard you shot that rabid coyote,” one of them said, turning the chair backward to sit down.

“He wasn’t rabid,” John answered, glancing at Sara.

“But he took out that man’s throat. What coyote in its right mind would do something like that?”

“It was protecting me,” Sara said.

“I’ve never heard of that,” another man said, pulling over a chair from another table.

“Me neither,” John told him. “Hey guys, this is my girlfriend, Sara.”

“So Sara, tell us all about the attack. From what I heard it was like a horror movie.”

“I was long gone by then.”

“What was the guy doing to you before this happened?”

Sara looked over at John. “I think he planned to either rape or kill me or maybe both. My feet…”

“Her feet carried her all the way home,” John finished, with a nervous laugh.

Sara got up from the table. “I’d like to go now,” she announced.

“Jesus, babe!” John said, rising. “We just got here!”

Sara went toward the door, John following at her heels. “I don’t feel like reliving that night. It was bad enough the first time. And why don’t you want me to tell your friends the truth? Something very weird happened out there.”

“I know these guys, they’ll think you’re crazy.”

“So what? Does that reflect on you somehow? Just drop me off. I want to be alone.”

John stomped out the door after her, heading to the driver’s side of his truck. Sara barely had her door shut before he gunned it, taking off out of the parking lot in a cloud of dust. “Slow down!” she yelled as they careened around a corner.

Once they reached her house John stayed behind the wheel while she got out. He never looked her way, his focus straight ahead. “Bye, John,” she said, but he didn’t answer, just revved the engine and then backed out of her driveway and roared off.

47

Nikki Broadwell

That night Sara dreamed about Istaga, his fur glowing in the moonlight. Fur? She woke with her heart pounding, her fingers curled tight around the pillow. Why hadn’t he come back? She searched her memory for something she’d said or done to keep him away. Nothing came to mind since most of their time together had been spent having sex, unless her babbling beforehand had somehow put him off. But if that were the case he wouldn’t have been so exuberant later. No. She was positive he’d enjoyed it as much, if not more, than she did. His disappearance the next morning disturbed her more than she cared to acknowledge. Where was he?

When she fell asleep again Istaga and the coyote mingled in her dreams, unsettling images of bestiality waking her more than once. In the morning she felt rung out, as though she hadn’t slept at all.

48

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