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C HAPTER O NE
     
    Scarlet streaks flushed to pink and vibrant orange as the day bled from dawn to dusk. The colors painted the horizon along the burnt dust of the northern edge of the Navajo Nation’s reservation land. At over a mile high, this section of the high desert stretched out in all directions, racing toward its postcard edges. Picturesque, perfect, and patient, the land had witnessed death, destruction, and desperation. So why the H.E. double hockey sticks did Tank have her out here? The bright sunlight, crisp air, and fluffy white clouds belied the near twenty-three degree temperature. February became cold around these parts. The season didn’t care at all that today was Valentine’s Day.
    Lee Stone frowned as the bite of another cold blast tore across the mesas and threatened to tear through her coat. Shuddering inside her parka, she could not fathom another Valentine’s Day mired in tragedy or random acts of chaos.  Slivers of icy wind streaked through her ebony parka and her sweater, directly to her very bones. With her fingers growing numb inside her leather gloves, she yanked her hat farther down over her ears, and not for the first time, cursed the Valentine’s Day gods.  It appeared that for the fourth year in a row, her sweetheart day would end in utter disaster. She looked around. What could possibly be out here?
    Biting her lip, she cast a glance at Tank Begaye. One eyeful of him never satisfied her. It never quenched her constant craving for him. His cowboy hat was tugged low over his eyes, and his arrow-straight black hair tied in a ponytail that hugged the nape of his neck. After four years, most couples’ fires had cooled to a comfortable temperature. Not theirs. Her desire burned blue-hot for him, just like the first day they met. Feeling the familiar tug of hunger skirt across her clit, she squeezed her thighs together before taking the next step forward. Her gaze moved downward from his neck to his leather-clad back, wide and delicious.
    Whatever plans he had, she knew that the calloused hand of Fate would knock them off, scattering them into oblivion and the Navajo desert. They crested a ridge that looked out over the valley below. Speckled with Western-style houses, Hogans, and mobile homes, the sheep and yuccas outnumbered the living structures.
    “Tank…” She detested the whine threading her voice, but the suspense threatened to overtake her.
    He gazed out toward the valley below and hummed. “It’s beautiful here.”
    When she sighed, a stream of condensed air flew from her lips. They’d met at a freak party in Las Vegas and she’d lassoed his heart. He lived in Colorado and she resided in New Mexico. Each year they planned to meet on Valentine’s Day, and each year Fate fucked it up. The first year a blizzard tore through the Southwest and dumped a foot and a half of snow on the Four Corner region. The second year, a fire exploded in Tank’s ranch-style home the day before he’d planned to leave. Last year beat the mother of all tragedies. Tank’s ancient grandmother died two days before V-day. He was devastated. Maybe that was why he had them out here on the rez.
    Road weary and exhausted from hiking through the high hills and low valleys of the reservation, Lee put her freezing hands into her pockets and fondled the thin, gift-wrapped box. She’d bought Tank a necklace, one with turquoise and silver crafted by a Zuni silversmith. As a Navajo, Tank had access to Native American crafts, but she’d had this piece crafted just for him. One of her students in Gallup was Zuni and her father a silversmith. Despite the cold outside burning her nose and making her ears sting, the gift warmed her.
    “Where are we going?” she asked, calling above the sharp whistle of the wind.
    He turned to her in that slow, seductive manner of his. “It’s a surprise.”
    She bit back the retort she had in her throat. His sable-brown eyes peered out from beneath the shadow of his cowboy