Excerpt of Shadow Watch by Linda Conrad

"That Raven Wash kid must be drunk," someone in the crowd
yelled. "He's acting crazy. Watch out!"

Dr. Victoria Sommer jumped to her feet but couldn't see a
thing over the two old men with the tall black felt hats
who were standing in the row below hers. They were doing
the same thing she was — the same thing everyone in the
auditorium was doing — trying to see to the gym floor
below.

Confused by the sudden chaos, Tory shoved her way into the
aisle, hoping to see what was going on. She'd been living
and working on the Navajo Big Reservation for only three
months, but already a few truths about her patients and
colleagues had become perfectly clear.

She'd learned that traditional Navajos were conditioned to
take all things in moderation — making them the most
patient, the most quiet and sometimes the most
infuriatingly late people she had ever encountered.

Save for a few medical emergency exceptions, no one rushed
and no one shouted. So when a long-haired younger man
knocked into her shoulder as he dashed down the aisle and
disappeared into the disturbed crowd, Tory was shocked.

First shouting and now running? Something was very wrong.

Thinking this sudden excitement might be one of those rare
medical exceptions, Tory decided she had better see for
herself if this was a situation where a doctor could be of
help. She wove her way through milling spectators,
excusing herself as she headed down the bleacher steps
toward the high school's gym floor.

Only a few moments ago the Raven Wash senior wrestling
team had been about to win their quarterfinal match
against the Owl Springs Boarding School team. Then
something had stopped the meet.

She picked up speed as the skin on the back of her neck
began to prickle, giving her goose bumps and a case of the
jitters. Whatever this was had to be way out of the
ordinary, and quite possibly dangerous, as well.

The real reason she'd come tonight was that there were no
team doctors available for most of the high schools on the
reservation. Tory had thought she would check it out, and
then maybe find a way to organize a volunteer group from
her clinic to fill in the gaps.

It was a rather presumptuous idea for a non-Navajo
newcomer, but she'd decided to give it a shot anyway. In
her professional opinion, medical practitioners and the
proper medical equipment needed to be standing by at all
sports meets, regardless of how far out in a poor rural
area they might be.

The wrestlers at tonight's meet seemed fit enough for
competition, but she hadn't spotted any safety measures or
special equipment. There should have been a portable defib
machine and precautionary oxygen.

Another surge of foreboding tingled its way down to her
gut. Dr. Hardeen, the chief of medical staff and founder
of the Raven Wash Clinic, would not be happy if he knew
she'd even attended tonight's match. When she'd first
arrived to fulfill her obligation to the National Health
Service, he'd warned her in the strongest terms that it
was dangerous to travel alone on the reservation at night.
But the high school gym was located less than a mile from
the house she was renting, and she hadn't thought there
would be any trouble.

Tory reached the gym floor just as a human ring began
forming along the outer edges of the wrestling mat. As she
pushed through the crowd, she saw a ranting Raven Wash
senior wrestler pacing around the regulation twenty-eight-
foot-diameter mat, while his opponent lay sprawled and
unmoving in the middle. The crowd was keeping a discreet
and quiet distance from the two teens.

The circling wrestler shouted something in Navajo and
shook his fists in the direction of several other
athletes. As far away from the disturbed kid as Tory was,
it didn't take a medical degree to guess that he was high
on some kind of drug. She'd seen this same violent
reaction plenty of times when she'd done her E.R. rotation
at Cook County Hospital.

Alcohol seemed unlikely in this case, despite what had
been shouted out earlier. Liquor was outlawed on the
reservation, and of course, none was allowed in the gym.
This particular young man had been alert and wrestling
according to the rules just moments ago, so a
hallucinogenic was more likely the cause. "What's he
saying?" she asked the gray-haired woman standing on her
right.

Dressed in a long-sleeved magenta blouse and a floor-
length, multicolored skirt, the woman turned a sharp eye
in her direction but said nothing. Tory wondered if the
lady spoke any English. Another thing she'd learned since
first coming to the clinic was that most people on the
reservation spoke some English, but many of the elder
Navajos refused to do so.

"He says he has a knife," said a male voice on her left.
Tory turned and came face to bicep with the same long-
haired man who had knocked into her in the aisle. She
recognized his black long-sleeved shirt and the twin bands
of silver and turquoise on his wrists.

"Do you think he does?" she asked as she raised her chin
to study the tall man's hawklike profile.

As far as she'd seen, the aggressive teenager who was
making all the trouble couldn't possibly have a weapon on
him. Not secreted in his skintight uniform, and obviously
not in his empty, waving fists.

The man to her left answered the question by shaking his
head, causing the ends of his long, loose hair to sway and
spread across his shoulders. But he kept his eyes trained
ahead on the disturbing scene.

"Not likely," he said in a low murmur. "But that doesn't
mean the kid won't be dangerous. He's incoherent. And so
far he's broken at least one bone in his opponent's leg
with his bare hands."

That got Tory's attention. She stood up on her tiptoes and
peered around the woman beside her. When the crowd
shifted, she got her first clear view of the whole scene
and the prone body of the other wrestler. He lay facedown
and still, but one of his legs was turned askew in a most
unnatural position. She'd bet even money that more than
two bones were fractured in that leg.

Tory needed to get a better look. "Why doesn't someone do
something?" she asked of no one in particular. "We need to
get to the injured boy. I'm a doctor. I can help." She
took an unthinking step toward both teens.

A hand snaked out and gripped her by the arm, keeping her
firmly in place. "I am also a doctor," the same stranger
to her left told her in a stilted but firm voice. "But it
won't help if a bystander comes to harm while trying to
intervene. The tribal police have been notified and will
bring the paramedics. Wait."

"But..." She swung left, glaring up into the man's face —
and immediately forgot how to talk.

It wasn't his obviously splendid physique, though it did
seem perfect at a little over six feet with broad
shoulders and muscles in all the right places. It wasn't
his chiseled cinnamon features, either, though the strong
chin and prominent cheekbones were masculinity personified
in Tory's opinion.

And it wasn't even the startling and penetrating deep
brown eyes that at the moment were staring into hers. It
was none of those things and all of them put together that
had rendered her speechless.

With implicit strength and a megawatt sensuality that
probably knocked most women off their feet, the guy was
not at all what Tory had expected. Her body's heightened
awareness at the sight of him was also confusing.

Her palms were suddenly damp, and her brain turned to
mush. She felt electrified and itchy, quite unlike
anything in her experience. Which was ridiculous.

She'd grown up with four brothers. She'd been married and
divorced. She'd gone to med school and interned in classes
made up of fifty percent males. Nearly all her professors
had been men.

She was thirty-three years old and a physician, for pity's
sake. Tory simply did not grow weak and trembling at the
mere sight of an...admittedly...virile man.

Just then she experienced an adrenaline rush that came
hard and fast and right on the heels of the more erotic
hormones already racing through her veins. She had to
move. Get away. Do something.

Twisting her whole body with a sudden, jerky movement that
she'd learned in martial arts class, Tory broke free of
the good-looking guy's grip and stumbled onto the
wrestling mat. A collective gasp ran through the crowd.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see
what would happen next. Everyone including the bugeyed
high school senior, who stopped screaming and stood
perfectly still. He stared menacingly at the strange white
woman.

"It's okay," Tory told the agitated athlete in her most
soothing voice. "Really. I'm a doctor." She reached out
toward the drugged kid with both hands, trying a quietly
pleading gesture. "Please. Let me help."

The young man took a hesitant step back. Tory figured he
must be shocked by her incomprehensible movements. She was
slightly taken aback by them herself.

But she couldn't afford to be afraid. Now that she was
this close, she could hear the moans of the athlete who
lay facedown on the mat. He was alive, but she had to stop
him from trying to move.

Focusing on the semiconscious kid and trying to assess the
extent of his injuries, Tory disregarded her own safety
and turned her back on the crazed wrestler. With no
thought to the consequences, she knelt down on the mat
beside the downed teen and began checking his pupils and
respiration.

Dr. Ben Wauneka didn't stop to think. If he had, he
would've done a lot of things differently.

But he'd been having a major problem with his reactions to
the spectacular blond stranger who'd claimed to be a
doctor. He'd been doing just fine, right up until the
moment she'd turned those soft, blue-gray eyes in his
direction. Then all his thoughts had centered on them and
on the full lips located tantalizingly below that perky
little turned-up nose.

She looked like a white man's version of an angel. And
he'd never wanted to kiss an angel before.

Kiss? Was he totally insane? There were so many reasons
why he couldn't...shouldn't let himself feel...

A loud grunt finally tore his attention away from the
angel on her knees. The drugged-out wrestler, standing
about ten feet from her, seemed to have quickly gotten
over the shock of the bilagáana woman's strange behavior.
Or maybe the drugs in the teen's system simply wouldn't
let him remain inert for any longer.

Whatever the reason, the wrestler roared with blind anger,
fisted his hands over his head and took a few steps in her
direction.

Ben's body moved without his full consent. Before he
realized what he'd done, he was standing between the
crazed teen and the blonde.

Using surprise in the hopes of putting the kid off
balance, Ben tried a distinctly non-Navajo move and rudely
stared straight into the wrestler's eyes. But instead of
seeing the blank stare of a teenager strung out on drugs
like he'd imagined, Ben caught a brief glimpse of
something he hadn't expected to see at all.

The evil ones. Right there in this young man's eyes. Ben
was the one who'd been surprised. A second later, with
momentum in his favor, the wrestler's fists came down
against Ben's chest and knocked the wind out of him.
Gasping for breath, Ben made a desperate move, trying to
keep the kid from getting past him. He swung his arms out.

Catching the teenager by the shoulders, Ben took them both
down. As he heard the sharp crack of his own forehead
connecting with the hardwood floor, Ben was vaguely aware
of being tangled up with a hellcat.

Before he blacked out, his thoughts went in a strange
direction. Suddenly he was surrounded by warm sensations
and secret sensual invitations — and all were emanating
from soft blue-gray eyes.