Chapter 1
Aditsan Claw sank to his knees on the plateau and stared out across the vast desert. The sticky dampness of blood made the velvet shirt he was wearing cling to his skin. He ignored the discomfort. The fabric helped stem the blood from the deep cut to his side. His stiff fingers slowly opened and the bow in his hand fell to the rocky sand beside him.
His gaze beheld the beautiful mountains and for a brief second, he almost forgot about how much pain he was in. Shadows crossed over the mountains, causing the reddish rocks to look even darker than they were. He looked up at the clear blue sky dotted with high clouds. A wry smile curved his lips when he saw the remains of a contrail. For a moment, he imagined he was on one of the huge jets traveling to Toronto, London, or Sydney. That was where he belonged—not here in the middle of nowhere Utah trying to pretend that he was one of his distant ancestors.
Who was I trying to kid? he thought with a self-deprecating chuckle.
He winced and wrapped his arm around his ribs. He was pretty sure he had cracked a few during his fall. The pain made his head spin. He bowed his head and released a shallow, shuddering breath.
If he were lucky, George, his executive secretary, would send out a search party for him—in two or three days. All of this was his fault. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been warned. Hell, even George had been shocked and asked him if perhaps a visit to the gym might be a better way to prove he hadn’t grown soft.
He breathed slowly through his nose and opened his eyes. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he reached for his grandfather’s old bow. He used the sturdy weapon as a cane to help him stand. By the time he was back to his feet, he was panting. The sweat on his face made him feel chilled and he was having trouble catching his breath.
No more sitting or kneeling. If I do, I probably won’t be able to get up again, he silently cautioned himself.
There was a path that crossed the plateau and wound down to a river. He would be able to find some shade, relief from the intense heat, enough vegetation to make a small fire, and water to drink and wash his battered body.
“Never again,” he swore out loud.
It was amazing how speaking something out loud seemed to give him a bit more strength, even if he was talking to himself. He decided concentrating on something other than how painful it was to move might help. It wasn’t like he didn’t have experience with putting the painful parts of his life in a box and moving forward. Of course, most of those moments had been mental, not physical.
“Think of this as a great workout at the gym,” he muttered.
That was fine and dandy until his foot slipped on some loose stones. He released a long list of expletives. How could he have been so stupid?
“If anyone had ever suggested a week ago that I dress up like one of my ancestors and go play in the wilds, I would have thought them mad,” he muttered. He stopped and rested his hand against the cliff.
His world had come undone four days ago when his beloved grandfather had died. Niyol Claw had been his last connection to his former life. His grandfather hadn’t blinked an eye when his mother handed her only child over to him at the tender age of six. She had left and never returned. A part of him was surprised that his mother had kept him that long.
It would be years later before he discovered that his father had died before his birth in a car accident that took four other members of their tribe. He had visited the spot once a few years ago. One of the families of the men still maintained the roadside markers in remembrance of their fallen family member.
He took a deep breath and forced his body to obey his command to continue walking. His raw fingers stung as he dragged them along the sandstone wall. He ignored the pain. It was better to suffer a few more cuts than to fall again.
“When this is over, I’m never looking back again. My life here is over,” he vowed through clenched teeth.
If you make it out of here, the sardonic side of his mind retorted.
Aditsan ignored the self-doubt. He kept his eyes focused on his goal. That was how he had made it off the reservation, through law school, and became one of the wealthiest Native American entrepreneurs in the world. He never gave up anything without a fight.
Chapter 2
Three hours later, Aditsan gave up on his promise not to sink to his knees. His legs refused to hold him any longer. With a loud groan that echoed along the canyon walls, he lowered his sweat-drenched body to the hard ground and leaned back.
The sun was lower and most of the canyon was shaded. The breeze swirling along the canyon cooled his overheated flesh. The sound of the water soothed his exhausted mind. There was so much he still needed to do before dark, but his body refused to cooperate.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Perhaps a ten-minute power nap would help. Scenes from his morning flashed like a slideshow through his mind. If only there was some way to restart his day.
Hell, I need to restart the last week, he tiredly thought.
Four days earlier, he’d been holding meetings and planning a business trip to Sydney when George discreetly entered and handed him the note informing him of his grandfather’s death. He’d finished the meetings before returning to his office to call his grandfather’s nearest neighbor.
“Your grandfather already made all the arrangements. All you have to do is come,” Yas informed him.
“When?” he’d curtly replied.
“You might want to come tomorrow. Niyol set up a sunrise service. Not many people will show up. Your grandfather didn’t have a lot of visitors,” Yas said.
He remembered wincing at the pointed reminder that he hadn’t visited in the past few years. It had been all too easy to make one excuse after another about why he couldn’t visit. His grandfather never complained, but now Aditsan experienced the weight of remorse and guilt that he had stayed away. The man who had raised him had deserved better.
“I’ll be there,” he replied.
And he had been there. He’d canceled his meetings, his trip, packed up his Bentley, and driven back to the reservation. And like the day before, guilt had washed through him as he drove along the dusty, dirt road down to his grandfather’s meager dwelling in a car that cost more than his grandfather had probably made in a lifetime.
Niyol had refused all of his offers to move to Seattle. The house was practically the same as the day he’d arrived when he was a child. Slowly over the last few years, his grandfather had allowed him to hire workmen to install solar power, running water, and a modern bathroom. The small compromise helped alleviate some of his guilt but not all.
The property, nearly a thousand acres of dusty desert filled with canyons, juniper trees, cactus, and the animals that lived among them, would go to him. He had no use for the land. He had homes in Seattle, Sydney, and a flat in London. The last place he—or any of the ladies he dated—would want to stay was in the single room hogan with a tiny bathroom.
At the moment, the hogan sounds like a Five-star hotel, he mused.
The funeral had been simple. A handful of residents came to show their respects, but none of them lingered afterwards and he’d returned to his grandfather’s house feeling like a stranger. He’d spent the rest of the day going through his grandfather’s belongings, trying to decide what to keep and what to discard when he’d found the large box under the bed with his name on it.