Miss Greenhorn. Diana Palmer
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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