Miss Greenhorn

“What a beautiful morning.” He grinned as he sat down with a disgustingly full plate and proceeded to eat every bite. “I never get this hungry back in Wichita. Great food, isn’t it? You’re not eating,” he added with a frown.

“I’m so hot,” she said and smiled at him. “I’ll get used to the climate in a day or so.”

“Lots to do today,” he murmured between bites. “Mason’s going to use the laptop to match the pottery fragments we’ve found so far. He spent the night writing a program for it.”

“Computers make me nervous,” Christy confessed. “We have one at school that we’re teaching our second-graders to use, and I’m terrified of it.”

“You should see Mr. Lang’s,” he confided. “He’s got one of those mainframe jobs—you know, the kind that cost twenty grand or so. He uses it to keep his cattle records on, and he’s got some great graphic software that he uses in his mining work. What a setup!”

“He must be pretty smart,” she said.

“Smart doesn’t cover it. The man’s a wizard, they say. A couple of the gang tried to beat him at chess last night. Talk about ego problems…he could checkmate the best of them in three moves or less.”

“I’m glad I don’t play chess.”

“Well, I wish I didn’t,” he said with a grin. “Eat up. Time’s awasting.”

They went out to the dig in the equipment truck again, and Christy settled down to another day of sifting through sand to find pottery fragments.

She was sitting in the shade of the truck with a soft drink from the cooler at lunchtime when the Jeep roared up. Nathanial Lang climbed out of it, still wearing his suit, and looked around the relaxed camp until he located Christy. He studied her from a distance for one long minute and then went and said something to Professor Adamson before he came to join her.

“You’re alone,” he remarked, going down on one knee beside her. “Did George die?”

She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going into Tucson for some supplies I ordered. Come with me.”

Her heart jumped into her throat. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaking me for someone else?” she asked, staring into his eyes at point-blank range. “You walked past me as if you hated the very sight of me not five hours ago.”

“I did, but that was five hours ago,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve checked you out with the professor. He says you can go.”

“I’m not a library book that you can check out… Mr. Lang!”

He’d pulled her up by one hand with apparent ease and she was protesting on the run. He lifted her by the waist, soft drink and all, and put her inside the Jeep, smiling a little as he noticed her attire. Long khaki walking shorts and high beige socks in saddle oxfords, with a lemon cotton shirt that buttoned up and a yellow tank top under that. She’d tied a jaunty yellow-and-white scarf around the band of her hat and she looked very trendy with her long silvery blond hair falling down around her shoulders.

“You look like a teenager,” he said, grinning.

She smiled back, shocked by his attention when she’d given up on ever getting it. “Thank you,” she said, feeling and sounding shy.

He let go of her, shut the door, and got in beside her. “Hold on,” he instructed as he started the Jeep and put it in gear.

It shot off like a gray bullet, bouncing her from one side to the other so that she had to hold her hat to keep it on her head.

“Doesn’t this thing have shocks?” she cried above the roar of the engine.

“Why do we need shocks?” he asked with lifted eyebrows.

She laughed and shook her head. Even a simple thing like going to town took on all the dimensions of an adventure with this man. She held on to the dash with one hand and her hat with the other, drinking in the peace of the desert as they sped along the wide dirt road that led to the paved road to Tucson. Fields of saguaro and creosote, prickly pear cactus and ocotillo, cholla and mesquite stretched to the jagged mountain chains that surrounded Tucson. It was a sight to pull at the heart. So much land, so much history, so much space. She could hardly believe she was really here, sitting beside a man who was as elemental as the country he lived in. Her head turned and she stared at him with pure pleasure in his masculinity, little thrills of delight winding through her body. She’d never felt such a reaction to a man before. But then, she’d never met a man like Nathanial Lang.

He caught that shy scrutiny. It made him feel taller than he was to have such a pretty woman look at him that way. He was glad he’d let his mother talk him into changing his staid bachelor image, and he was especially glad about the improvement when he was with Christy.

“How are you enjoying your stint in the sun?” he asked.

“It’s harder work than I expected,” she admitted. “I’m stiff and sore from sitting in one place and using muscles I didn’t know I had. It’s rather boring in a way. But to sit and hold something a thousand years old in my hand,” she said with faint awe, “that’s worth all the discomfort.”

He smiled. “I find the Hohokam equally fascinating,” he said then. “Did you know that the Tohono O’odham are probably descended from the Hohokam? And that their basket weaving is so exacting and precise that their baskets can actually hold water?”

“No, I didn’t! I’ll bet they cost the earth.”

“Some of them do, and they’re worth every penny. I know an old woman who still practices the craft, out on the Papago Reservation. I’ll take you out to see her while you’re here.”

“Oh, would you?!” she exclaimed, all eyes.

“She’ll be glad to find someone more interested in her craft than in the price of it.” He pulled out onto the paved highway and shot the Jeep smoothly into high gear.

She gave up trying to hold her hat on her head and took it off, clutching it in her lap.

“Not nervous are you?” he taunted gently. “I’d have thought a grammar school teacher would have nerves of steel.”

“I need them from time to time,” she agreed. She twisted her hat in her hands, enjoying the wind in her hair and the sweet smell of clean air. It was different from the smell of the Atlantic, and not as moist, but it was equally pleasant.

“I suppose you miss the sea,” he said, and she started.

“Well…a little,” she admitted. “But the desert is fascinating.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He turned the Jeep on the road that led directly into Tucson. “How do you like Tucson?”

“My first sight of it was staggering,” she told him. “I never realized how big and sprawling it was.”

“We like a lot of space,” he said with a quick smile. “I can’t stand to go back East for long. I feel cramped.”

“Too many trees, I expect,” she replied with a wicked glance.

“That’s about it.” He sped past fast-food restaurants, modern shopping malls, motels and empty lots. “Did anyone tell you about the coyotes?”

“In the mountains, you mean?” she asked as she looked toward them.

“No. Here in the city. You can hear them howling early in the morning. The tourists get a big kick out of it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said, shivering.

“Sure you would. You can hear them out at the ranch, can’t you?”

“I thought the howling was wolves.”

“Coyotes,” he corrected. “The Indians used to call them ‘song dogs.’ There are all sorts of legends about them. One says that they would sometimes stay with a wounded man and guard him until he healed.”

“You know a lot about this country, don’t you?” she asked.

He smiled. “I was born here. I love it.” He turned down a side street and into a parking lot.

Before she could ask where they were, he’d cut off the engine and extricated her from the Jeep.

She almost had to run to keep up with his long strides. In the process of getting into the store, she managed to run into the door and overturn a barrel of hoes and shovels.

With her eyes closed, she didn’t have to see the expression she knew would be on Nathanial Lang’s face. If she’d had the courage, she’d have stuck her fingers in her ears to keep from hearing him. But no sound came, except a clang and a thud here and there, and hesitantly, she opened one eye.

“No problem,” Nathanial murmured dryly. He’d replaced the barrel and its contents and he had her by the arm, an expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher.

“I’m so sorry…” she said, flustered.

“Stand over here and look pretty,” he told her, leaving her against the fishing tackle counter. “I’ll pick up my tags and be back before you miss me.”

He did and he was, giving Christy time to gather her shredded nerves and manage some semblance of dignity. Of all the times to do something clumsy, she moaned inwardly, and she’d been doing so good.

“Don’t look so worried,” Nathanial chided as he came back with a large box over one shoulder. He took her by the arm. “Let’s go. How about lunch?”

“I had a soft drink,” she began as he hustled her out the door and back into the Jeep.

“No substitute for a good meal,” he returned. “How about some chimichangas and a taco salad?”

“A chimi-what?”

“Chimichanga. It’s a… Oh, hell, I’ll buy you one and you can see for yourself. They’re good.”

They were. He took her to a nice restaurant near one of the biggest new malls in town, and she had food she’d never heard of back in northern Florida.

The chimichanga was spicy and delicious, beef and beans and cheese and peppers in a soft shell that melted in her mouth. She’d had great fun studying the menu before they ordered.

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the breakfast entrées.

“Huevos rancheros,” he translated, “or ranch eggs. It’s a little misleading,” he said with a smile. “Scrambled eggs and refried beans with salsa. If you eat it, you don’t want to sit upwind of any potential victims. It’s harsh on the digestive system if you aren’t used to it.”

She burst out laughing. He was so different than she’d imagined. He was good company and a lot of fun, and best of all, he didn’t seem to mind that she couldn’t walk five feet without falling over something.

“Like it?” he asked when she’d finished most of the taco salad and was sipping her huge glass of ice water as if it was the last drop on earth.

“Love it!” she enthused. “I could get addicted to this food.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He finished his soft drink and leaned back in his chair, one lean hand toying with his napkin while he studied her at his leisure. “I’m still trying to figure out how a woman who looks like you do manages to stay single.”

“I haven’t really wanted to get married,” she confessed. She smiled at him shyly. She wanted to add that until recently, she’d looked more like a violet than a rose. She’d bought some new clothes and had her hair styled and she’d even taken a brief modeling course to learn how to move and walk. But she couldn’t tell Nate that. She didn’t want him to think she was a phony. It was just that he wouldn’t have looked twice at the woman she’d been. Nobody ever had—except Harry.

His eyes narrowed as he listened to her. So she didn’t have marriage in mind. Good. Neither did he. And looking the way she did, there’d been men. He was almost sure of it, despite her old-maid shyness. That could be an act, of course. He’d seen some performances in recent years, despite his lack of looks. He had money. It made him a target for all sorts of women, but especially for the pretty, fortune-hunting variety. God knew, there had been plenty of those around. The dude ranch drew them in droves. He’d always enjoyed the game while it lasted, but he was looking especially forward to playing it with Christy. She was a dish and he wanted her feverishly. Going slow was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but she seemed to want a slow pace, and he didn’t want to spoil things.

“Have you always taught school?” he asked.

She nodded. “Ever since I graduated from college. I don’t know if you ever really graduate, though,” she added on a laugh. “You have to constantly take refresher courses and upgrade your education. I don’t mind it. I like learning new things, new techniques. It’s quite a challenge to get young minds to enjoy being taught.”

“I can imagine.”

“You must have studied geology,” she said when a short silence fell between them.

He nodded. “I always loved rocks. The feel of them, the history of them, the colors, the forms.” He smiled at her over his glass. “I was a rock hound even when I was a kid. As I grew older, mining sort of stood out as a possible profession. It’s hard to ignore mines in this part of the country. Tombstone was started as a mining town, and Bisbee with its Lavendar Pit mine was known all over the country for copper mining in its heyday. Even today, seventy percent of all the copper mined in the U.S. comes out of Tucson and Pima County, Arizona. This is the greatest place around for finding profitable minerals, and I don’t mean just gold and silver.”

“I guess everyone in the world has heard about the Lost Dutchman’s Mine in the Superstition Mountains,” she agreed.

“Yes. And that’s far east of here. But there are rumors that another kind of gold can be found in Colossal Cave, and that’s just outside Tucson. It’s the biggest dry cave in the country, you know. Outlaws once used it as a hideout, you see,” he said, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. “And they say the gold’s still hidden in there!”

“Wow!” She smiled with excited delight. “Could we go there and look?”

“And here I thought you weren’t a mercenary girl,” he chided, and the cynicism in his eyes almost gave him away.

“It’s the adventure of it, not the prize,” she replied, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents. “I’d rather find an old six-shooter or some Apache arrowheads than the gold, if you want the truth.”

“I’ve got a whole collection of Apache arrowheads,” he told her. “And if you like, I’ll run you over to Cochise Stronghold one day while you’re here. Cochise and his band used to camp there. He and his people fought the U.S. Cavalry to a standstill and legend and the historical people say he’s buried in an unmarked grave on the site. The Indian agent, Tom Jeffords, who was his friend, was the only white man who was privileged to know the old chief’s burial place.”

“What is it like there? Desert?” she asked.

“No!” he denied, shaking his head. “It’s way back in a canyon with plenty of trees and good water and mountains behind. It’s a beautiful spot.”

“Imagine that.” She sighed, staring at him. “You know, before I came out here, I thought the desert was just a lot of sand stretching to the horizon. But it’s not like that at all. It’s full of creosote and cholla, ocotillo and prickly pear cactus, and cottonwood and mesquite. And the birds! The red-winged blackbird is so beautiful.”

“Not to mention the cactus wren, the roadrunner, and the owls,” he agreed, smiling back at her. “Yes, there’s life out there. Other kinds, too. Lizards and snakes, coyotes, wolves, deer, game birds—”

“How long have your people lived in Arizona?” she interrupted.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know. An ancestor of mine was living in Tombstone around the time of the O.K. Corral, but I don’t know when he actually came here. All I know is that he was a Southerner. He came here after the Civil War.”

“Someone told me that the city of Tucson once flew the Confederate flag just briefly.”

“And it’s true. A lot of Southerners settled here in the old days. There’s plenty of history here in this part of the state.”

“I grew up reading Zane Grey,” she recalled wistfully. “I never dreamed I’d actually get to see any of the places he wrote about. But the most exciting part of this trip has been looking at the Hohokam ruins.”

He nodded. “They fascinate me, too. In 300 B.C., the Hohokam farmed here using a 150-mile system of canals. They were an inspiring people.”

“Yes, I’m learning that.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. Are you through?”

“Yes, thank you. How can you take off whenever you like?” she asked hesitantly as they got up.

He grinned. “I’m vice president of the mining company. My uncle owns it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m rich,” he said, and a mocking smile touched his lean, dark face. “Haven’t you noticed? Most women do.”

She flushed and turned away, flustered by the point-blank bluntness. In her haste to move, she backed into the chair he’d pulled out for her, tripped, and went face down across it, plowing into a table full of tourists and their children.

Milk shakes and hamburgers went everywhere. So did the contents of Christy’s purse. She sprawled on the floor, feeling unbearably foolish and embarrassed.

“That was my fault,” Nate said quietly as he helped her up and proceeded to patch up the incident with a charm and diplomacy that Christy was just beginning to realize was an innate part of his personality. Flinty he might be, but he was a gentleman, and he had a knack for putting people at ease. The tourists were more concerned about Christy than the mess she’d made, and even the restaurant people were understanding and kind.

All that sweetness only made Christy feel worse. She was in tears by the time Nate helped her into the Jeep.

“Now, now,” he said gently, mopping up her tears. “I shouldn’t have cut at you like that. It was my fault, not yours.”

“It was mine,” she wailed. “I’m so clumsy…!”

He finished clearing away the tears and tilted her face up to his searching gaze while he surveyed the damage. “Red nose, red eyes, red cheeks,” he murmured dryly. His eyes fell to her mouth and lingered there until she felt her toes curling in her shoes. “Red mouth, too,” he said, his voice deepening. The hand holding her chin contracted a little. “Red and soft and very, very tempting, little Christy,” he said, half under his breath. He lifted his eyes to catch the look in hers, and his gaze held hers until she was breathless from the tense excitement he created.

The interior of the Jeep was quiet with the canvas top on, and they could barely hear the traffic noise outside. The heat was stifling, but neither noticed. His dark eyes lanced into her pale ones and even as he looked at her, he moved closer, looming over her, the spicy scent of his cologne filling her nostrils as his mouth began to move down toward hers.

She felt her nails clench on the expensive fabric of his jacket while her heart tried to climb into her throat. His mouth was very masculine, and it looked hard and ruthless for all its sensuality. She imagined that he knew a lot more about kissing than she did, and the thought of being kissed by Nathanial Lang was far more exciting than she’d ever dreamed. She felt her lips parting for him, waiting, her body in a tense expectation that was suddenly, painfully, shattered by the car that pulled up alongside Nate’s Jeep with a noisy roar.

Nate sat up, glaring toward the new arrivals. “Just as well, honey,” he said when he noticed Christy’s expression. “What we were leading up to wouldn’t have been appropriate in a public place. I don’t want an audience when I kiss you for the first time.”

She choked on her own reply, but he only smiled and started the Jeep.

“Fasten your seat belt,” he said easily, and pulled out into the road with apparent ease, his expression as relaxed as if he’d been on a leisurely outing with no excitement at all.

He let Christy out at the dig, and try as she might, she couldn’t quite manage to be as blasé and sophisticated about what had happened as he was being.

Fortunately for her, George saw them drive up in the Jeep and came loping toward them, all smiles, with a laptop computer under one arm.

“There you are!” he called to Christy and waved. “I missed you!”

Nate glared toward him. “George, again,” he murmured darkly. “Does he have radar, do you suppose?”

“He’s lonely,” she stammered, surprised by his antagonism for the younger man.

“Is he?” He glanced at her curiously and then shrugged. “Well, to each his own. See you later.”

He let her out and pulled away with a shower of dust, without even looking back. In another man, she might have suspected jealousy. But a man like Nathanial Lang wouldn’t be jealous of her in a million years, and certainly not of sweet egghead George. She turned with a smile painted on her face to listen to what George was rambling on about. But her mind was still on what had happened in the parking lot of the restaurant, her lips hungry for a kiss she’d wanted so desperately and didn’t get.

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