He joined her a moment later and they drove west through Shiprock and then headed on toward the Arizona border. They turned south again a short time later and drove down a narrow highway, then onto a graveled road that went past a trading post she didn’t recognize.

Dana concentrated, trying to get her bearings. All around them were piñon-and juniper-covered hills, and with only the moon to light her surroundings, she was having very little luck.

“Where are we? I know we were heading toward Beclabito for a while, but then we went south again, right?”

“We’re close to the Arizona state line, in a mostly traditionalist area. There are very few modern amenities out here, and that keeps away those who require air-conditioning and telephones. I’ve always loved this part of the rez myself. Open country is part of every Navajo…though some forget.”

“It’s beautiful, but life out here would be hard,” she said softly, seeing a stunted piñon tree growing precariously on the side of a cliff.

“It can be. Mother Earth nourishes The People but also tests us constantly. It’s our beliefs that keep us strong. In the Diné Bekayah, Navajoland, the mountains have names and they watch over the Diné. The Holy People are with us as Wind, Lightning, Thunder, Sky and Rain. We know which offerings will appease them and how to call down their blessings. Living in balance and harmony, honoring that all things are connected, we walk in beauty.”

His voice resonated with a deep love for his tribe and this sometimes inhospitable land. Ranger was a man with loyalties that went deeper than the eye could see. “Your heart is here. I wish I had that sense of home. I envy you that.”

“I’ll share mine with you,” he said and covered her hand with his.

Despite all the barriers she’d put in the way to protect her heart, his words and the gesture touched her. Then, slowly, rationality returned. Ranger was a man on a mission.

She pulled her hand away and shifted in her seat. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to my family home. My parents are both gone and the house stands empty, but my brother and I have maintained it. We use it from time to time to go hunting and fishing, or just to get away.”

She wondered how many other women he’d taken up here as well.

As if reading her mind, he added, “I’ve never taken anyone up there,” he said. “I’ve known many women,” he added slowly. “That’s hardly a secret. But this place says too much about who we were as a family. It’s a simple place that means a lot to me and I didn’t want anyone passing judgment on it. But from what I know about you, I think you’ll be able to see with more than just your eyes.”

He sounded sincere, but she knew that his goal was to gain her trust, and find out everything she knew. Opening up to her, revealing personal matters, could have been part of his strategy.

“You grew up with traditionalists?” she asked.

He nodded. “It wasn’t an easy life, but we worked together. Our family was very close. Everything about our old home reminds me of who I was once. Memories are everywhere.”

“But you’re taking me…out of necessity, or choice?”

“A little of both,” he answered after a brief pause. “But I could have chosen other places. I…wanted you to see it.” He gave her a quirky half smile. “An act of faith, if you will.”

“In me, or in our journey to find justice for a mutual friend?” she asked, then regretted it instantly.

“If you have to ask, then you won’t believe my answer.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so hard and analytical. Speaking about the past always makes me uncomfortable. For the most part, my own memories are something I’m saddled with, not ones I cherish. The only thing I learned back then is that I can survive almost anything.” Including the loss of…possibilities, she added to herself, still looking at him.

It was two in the morning by the time they arrived. The small log cabin lay within a clearing surrounded by tall pine trees, and mostly hidden from view.

“Is someone here?” she asked quickly, seeing the back end of a vehicle parked by the side.

“No. My brother and I keep that truck here for the times when the rain or snow takes out the roads. That old Chevy has a low gear we call Granny, and it never gets stuck in the mud. The more modern trucks and cars can have some real problems out here when it rains.”

The cabin didn’t look nearly large enough to fit four people, but even from outside, it gave off a welcoming feel, and she said so.

“My dad, my brother, and I built this place practically from scratch using the trees we had to clear away to protect us from forest fires. There was just enough space for all of us. With only a few rooms, it was a lot easier to heat in winter, and much more airtight than a traditional hogan. My mother grew vegetables in the back and canned as much as she could, and our water came from a spring up against the hillside. There’s a small lake just a mile from here, so we had fish when we needed them. There was always food on our table.”

Reading her expression, he added, “We never thought of ourselves as poor. In all the years we lived here, we never lacked anything important.”

“What happened to your parents?”

Ranger’s voice grew hard. “My father…worked for the tribe. He was killed on the job.”

She wondered if his father might have been in the Brotherhood of Warriors, but for obvious reasons, it wasn’t something she could bring up. Before she could ask anything more, Ranger continued.

“My mother passed away six months later. She drove away one day, left the car parked on the side of the road and walked off into the desert, like our traditionalists often do.”

She stared at him, stunned, trying to understand what he’d just said. “She…walked off?”

He nodded. “She’d been diagnosed with an advanced form of cancer. Traditionalists don’t want to die at home. That would taint the house for the family. They go off someplace by themselves where their chindi can’t harm anyone. It’s our way, and Mom was ready. She wanted to be with my father.”

Dana tried to understand the mind-set of someone choosing to die alone out in the middle of nowhere. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the concept.

“It’s a final act of love…and sacrifice,” he added, as if guessing her thoughts.

She suddenly understood. His mother’s last act had been one meant to safeguard her sons, allowing them to keep their home. “That took a lot of courage,” she said at last.

Ranger parked and stepped out of the car. “Yes, but she always had more than her share of that.”

There were stones arranged in a circle around an outside campfire site, and he reached beneath one, bringing out a key that had been sealed inside a plastic sandwich bag. Ranger went over to the sturdy-looking door and used the key to unlock both brass locks.

Dana checked the door trim, but there was no circular design here like the one she’d seen on the other house near Farmington. If her suspicions were right and the marking indicated a Brotherhood of Warriors’ or police safe house, this building wasn’t included.

She followed him in, then, curious, studied the room carefully. The living area was sparsely furnished, with an old handmade wooden table constructed of pine planks, and several wooden chairs. The fireplace was big, made of stone, and looked like it could take off any chill on a cold evening. There was one simple wood-framed futon with a thick cushion in the center of the room. “That’s modern,” she said, surprised to see it there.

“The raccoons have a habit of breaking in and tearing up the furniture so we bought something that was comfortable and cheap.”

“You and your brother?”

“Yes. We’re twins.”

Two men like Ranger? She couldn’t even imagine it. “Are you identical?”

“Women always ask me that. Makes me wonder what they’re thinking,” he said, laughing. “But to answer your question, Hunter’s my fraternal twin. There’s a family resemblance, I suppose, but I don’t think we look that much alike, nor do we act and think alike. But despite all that, we’re close. I’ll introduce you someday.”