New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer delivers a reader-favorite tale of Prince Charming on the range!

When Christy Haley joined an archaeological excavation in Arizona, she unexpectedly comes across the most fascinating find of all: an irascible, yet irresistible, ranch owner! The blonde teacher can’t help but be drawn to handsome Nate Lang, who makes it clear he isn’t looking for love. But Christy will have to dig a little deeper to find the rancher’s true desires…

The last thing Nate needs is an Eastern greenhorn who doesn’t know a cactus from a cornstalk! But Christy has already unearthed his passion…and discovered her rugged Westerner is a greenhorn himself—at love!

Miss Greenhorn

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Copyright

Chapter One

It was the second day of the dig, and Christiana Haley was having the time of her life. She’d signed up with Dr. Adamson’s Pastfinders team earlier in the year, planning the three-week trip to coincide with her summer vacation from teaching. It was a long way from Jacksonville, Florida, to Tucson, Arizona, but as Christiana had pointed out to her worried older sister, sand was sand.

However, she was learning the hard way that ocean sand and desert sand were amazingly different. She’d forgotten to wear a hat yesterday morning, and he had given her hell. In fact, he gave her hell at every possible turn, and had ever since she and the team had registered at his dude ranch. If only Professor Adamson had picked anywhere other than the Lang Ranch for the dig. It was pure bad luck that the Hohokam ruin the professor was interested in was on property owned by Nathanial Lang, who seemed to hate science, modern people, and Christiana with a passion.

Christy had actually daydreamed about meeting a handsome, charming, eligible cowboy out West when she’d paid the group rate for joining the private archaeological expedition. And what did she get? She got Nathanial Lang, who was neither handsome nor charming even though he was eligible. He’d barely looked at Christy at the Tucson airport and his slate-gray eyes had grown quickly colder. Men had really started noticing her just recently. Her new image gave her a confidence she hadn’t had, and it had helped her to overcome her former demeanor—which was shy and awkward and old-fashioned. She had a nice figure anyway, and the new wardrobe really did emphasize it. She was slender and had pale green eyes and long silvery blond hair, a soft mouth and a delicate oval face. She looked very nearly pretty. But Nathanial Lang had stared at her as if she had germs, and he’d made sure to keep his distance from her, even while he was being charming and courteous to the rest of the twelve-member group.

It wasn’t her fault that she had two left feet, Christy kept reassuring herself. Just because she’d tripped over her suitcase at the airport and sent its contents flying—and her bra had landed on top of Nathanial Lang’s dark head and given him a vague resemblance to a World War I flying ace—well, why should he have been so insulted? Lots of people spilled things. Everyone else had found it simply hilarious. Including, unfortunately, Christy herself.

He hadn’t spoken directly to her after that. At supper, a delicious affair served on the ranch’s sprawling patio facing a range of mountains that became a shade of pale burgundy in the setting sun, she’d managed to spill a bowl of tomato soup on the lap of her white skirt and while frantically trying to wipe it up with the tablecloth, she’d pulled that off her table—along with most of her supper. It was good luck that she’d been sitting alone. Mr. Lang’s mother had been caring and sympathetic. Mr. Lang had fried her with his slate-gray eyes.

The first morning they went out to the dig, she’d tried to get on a horse and had to be helped into the saddle. The horse, sensing her fear of it, helped her right back off again and reached down to bite her.

She’d screamed and accused it of cannibalism, at which point the increasingly irritable Mr. Lang had put her into his Jeep and promptly driven her to the dig site, where he’d deposited her with bridled fury. After a day in the sun, her skin was fried and she’d been no trouble to anybody, preferring a bath and bed to supper.

Somehow, she’d managed to avoid Mr. Lang this morning. Two other members of the party hated horses, so the three of them had begged a ride with the equipment truck driver. It was almost noon, and so far no Mr. Lang. Christy mentally patted herself on the back. She’d avoided him for several hours now; maybe her luck would hold.

Just as the thought occurred, a Jeep climbed over the distant mountain and threw up a cloud of dust as it barreled toward the dig site. A lean man in a creamy Stetson was driving it, and Christy knew just by the set of his head who it was. With a sigh, she laid down the screen box she’d been manipulating for fragments of pottery. It had been too good to last.

He got out of the Jeep and after a few terse words with Professor Adamson, he headed straight for Christy.

“At least you had enough sense to bring the sun hat,” he muttered with a pointed stare at the floppy straw brimmed hat that shaded her pale skin. “Sunstroke is unpleasant.”

“I’m not stupid,” she informed him. “I teach school—”

“Yes, I know. Grammar school, isn’t it?” he added, insinuating with that thin smile that she wasn’t intelligent enough to teach older students.

She bristled. “Second grade, in fact. I have thirty students most years.”

“Amazing,” he murmured, studying her. “They carry medical insurance, presumably?”

She got to her feet. Too quickly. She tripped over the screen box and cannoned into a startled Nathanial Lang, tipping him headfirst into another amateur archaeologist. They collided in an almost balletic sequence, toppling down the small rise and into the small trickle of water in the creek.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lang!” Christy wailed.

He and the other man got to their feet as she made her way carefully down the small incline, her hand against her mouth.

Nathanial Lang’s once-immaculate pale blue pinstriped shirt was muddy now, along with the deep blue sports coat he’d worn with it. There was a long trail of mud down one sharply creased trouser leg, and a smear on his creamy Stetson. He stared down at Christy with eyes that she couldn’t meet.

“Things were so quiet around here before you came, Miss Haley,” he said through his teeth. “And this is only your second day, isn’t it?”

Christy swallowed down her fear. He was tall and very intimidating, not at all the hero type she’d been hoping to meet. “I’m doing my best, Mr. Lang.”

“Obviously,” he said without inflection.

She reached out to brush off a few spots of dust on his jacket, but he caught her wrist. His touch, even firm and irritable, was exciting.

“Gosh, Mr. Lang, I’m sorry about that,” George, the young student archaeologist, apologized. George had gone down the hill with the older man.

“Not your fault,” Nathanial said curtly.

“Not Christy’s, either,” George defended her bravely. He was tall, thin, blond and wore glasses. He was studious and shy and had a habit of going scarlet when he was embarrassed—like now. He managed a smile for Christy and plodded back to his table, where he was sorting and matching pottery shards.

“A fan of yours, I gather,” Nathanial remarked as he brushed angrily at his Stetson while his slate-gray eyes pinned Christy.

“A friend,” she corrected. She shifted. He made her nervous.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked unexpectedly.

Glad for an opportunity to really talk about her work, she said, “I’m searching for pieces of Hohokam pottery. We’ve mapped this area and we’re doing a pottery search.”

“I know that,” he said with forced patience. “What are you doing in Arizona?”

“I had a vacation and I like ruins.”

“There’s Rome,” he pointed out. “They have lots of ruins over there.”

“They’ve all been dug up,” she replied. “I wanted to go someplace where everything hasn’t already been discovered.”

“You might try the North Pole.” He frowned. “On second thought, don’t do it. There’s a theory about the calamity that would strike if it melted. With your background, who knows? You might trip over some forgotten thermonuclear device and blow it up.”

She glared at him. Anger gave her delicate features added beauty and color, and her green eyes blazed up. “I can’t help having the occasional accident!” she said angrily, wishing she could see him better. He was very tall and his face seemed far away.

He put his spotted Stetson back on his head and cocked it at an angle across his brow. “I’ll bet your insurance company has prayer every morning.”

“I don’t have an insurance company,” she managed under her breath.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He tipped his hat and started to walk away.

“I’m really sorry about your hat and all,” she called after him.

“Lucky for me that it was a little creek instead of an old mine.” He stopped and turned, his expression very serious. “That reminds me, there are a few old mines around here, so for God’s sake stick to well-traveled areas. If you go down a shaft, you could disappear forever.”

She sighed. “Okay. I’ll stay where I’m told.”

“You’d better,” he said firmly and kept walking.

The thought of a mine shaft opening under her kept Christy nervous for the rest of the day. So far all they’d found had been little bits and pieces of pottery, mostly gray. But the fact that it was over a thousand years old made her giddy. Imagine holding something in her hand that a Hohokam potter had held in his or hers that many centuries ago! She held one shard up to her nose and drank in its earthy, dark scent with her eyes closed.

They were a very special race, the Hohokam. They’d had irrigation and a unique form of peaceful government here in southeastern Arizona about the same time people were hitting each other over the head with battle-axes in Europe. They had a religion which united and uplifted them, a society which was equal for rich and poor alike. They were a poetic people, with a reverent attitude toward the land and each other. From this ancient people, it was said, the Pima and the Papago (Tohono O’odham) tribes evolved.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” George asked, squatting down beside her as she laid the shard back down. “I’ve read everything I could find about the Hohokam. What a pity that their way of life had to vanish.”

“At least there are offshoots of it—the Pima and the Papago,” she reminded him. “The Anasazi left no trace of themselves as far as we know.”

He sighed. “I’ve dreamed all my life of coming here,” he remarked, his eyes lifting to the surrounding sharp, lifeless mountains and the blue sky. “Isn’t it clean? Like it might have been a thousand years ago.”

“They have pollution alerts in Phoenix these days,” she said, “and water and soil pollution are just as big a threat. Toxic waste and radioactive debris and chemical spills…”

George glowered at her. “You’re a real thrill to have around.”

“Sorry. I have a soapbox. I got hooked on conservation when I was just a little girl. I’ve never lost the fire. I think the Indians had the right idea—to live in harmony with nature. All we’ve managed to do is pollute it out of existence. We’ve destroyed the delicate balance of predator and prey that once sustained the whole planet. Now we’re trying to recreate it by synthetic means. I wish we’d left it alone.”

“If that had happened, you would be pounding maize to make cornmeal and chewing deerskin to make it soft enough for clothing. I would be hunting buffalo and dodging bullets trying to provide meat for somebody’s lodge.” He grinned. “In between there would be prairie fires, attack by enemy tribes, rattlesnakes, dust storms, floods and droughts and rabid animals—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “I agree wholeheartedly that there are two sides to every story.” She grinned back. “How about helping me organize these pottery shards?”

“There’s something we can agree on,” he said.

* * *

That night, Christy managed not to do anything remotely clumsy at dinner. She sat out on the patio watching the stars, munching a cookie while Hereford cattle grazed and lowed in a fenced pasture just a few yards from where she sat. The gauzy white Mexican dress she was wearing was cool and comfortable, and her long hair was blowing in the soft wind.

Footfalls behind her made her start. She knew almost without looking who was going to be there when she turned around.

“There’s a pool game going on and several people are playing bridge,” he said. “I saw a chess match and a checkers tournament. There are books in the library and a television and several new movies to watch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lang, but I find this much more entertaining.”

“Waiting for George to show up?” he queried, pausing beside her chair.

“George is playing chess,” she informed him.

“And you aren’t going to cheer him on?” he asked with cheerful mockery. He lit a cigarette and straddled a chair across from her. He was wearing jeans and boots and a silky blue shirt that clung to the hard muscles of his arms.

She lowered her eyes shyly. “George is just a colleague.”

“Not quite what you expected when you signed on?” he probed. He lifted the cigarette to his lips. “Didn’t you come out here looking for adventure and romance? And what did you find? George.”

“George is intelligent and kind and very nice to talk to,” she faltered. “I like him.”

“He’s not likely to throw you over his saddle and carry you off into the hills,” he pointed out.

“Thank God,” she replied. Her fingers clenched the arms of her chair. Her heart was going crazy. Why wouldn’t he stop baiting her?

He turned his head and watched her, his eyes missing nothing as they ran down her body to her long, elegant legs peeking out from the skirt of the white dress and to her strappy white sandals. “No taste for excitement, Miss Haley?”

“Being carried off like a sack of flour is hardly my idea of excitement, Mr. Lang.”

“Ah. A career woman.” He made it sound like a mutated strain of leprosy.

“I’m not a career woman. I have a job that I like and I’m very satisfied with my life and myself.”

“How old are you?” he persisted.

“Twenty-five,” she said after a minute.

“Not a bad age,” he remarked. He blew out a cloud of smoke. “I’m thirty-seven.” She didn’t say anything and he smiled mockingly. “No comment? No curiosity about my life?”

“What do you do, Mr. Lang, besides run this ranch?” she asked politely and folded her restless hands in her lap.

“I’m a mining engineer. I work for a company near Bisbee. You’ve heard of the Lavendar Pit, I imagine? It was the biggest mine around in the heyday of mining here in southeastern Arizona. Of course, now it’s little more than a tourist attraction. But we have plenty of other mining interests, and I work for one of them.”

“I’ve heard about the Lavendar Pit, but I haven’t seen it yet. I don’t know much about Arizona. Do you like your work?”

“Sometimes. I like geology. Rocks fascinate me. I was a rock hound as a kid and as I got older, I found that I liked it enough for a career. I studied it in college for four years, got my degree, worked briefly for an oil company and finally wound up here.” He took another draw from his cigarette. “I might have gone to Alaska to work, but my father died and mother couldn’t manage the dude ranch alone.”

“You…never married?”

He shrugged. “No reason to,” he said honestly. “It’s a great time to be a man, in a world where women would rather be lovers than wives. All the benefits of marriage, no responsibilities.”

“No security, no shared life, no children,” she added.

He shifted in his chair. “That’s true. Especially, no children. How about you, Miss Haley? Why are you still single yourself?”

“I haven’t ever been in love,” she said simply, smiling as she glanced his way. “I’ve had proposals and propositions but I’ve never cared enough to give my heart.” Or my body, she could have added.

“I can understand that.”

She glanced at him, but she couldn’t see him well enough to gauge his expression.

He leaned toward her, his eyes narrowed. “Why did you come out here?”

“I wanted to do something wild just once in my life, if you must know,” she replied. “My sister—she’s five years older than I am—leads me around like I’m a lost soul. She’s so afraid that I’ll have a terrible accident and die. Our parents are gone, and that would leave her alone in the world. I can’t seem to breathe without Joyce Ann asking if I’ve got asthma. I haven’t been out of Jacksonville in my whole life, so I thought it was time. I escaped on a plane and didn’t tell Joyce Ann where I was going. I left her a note and told her I’d call her in a week and tell her where I was.”

“I imagine she’s worried,” he said quietly.

“Probably.” She stared at her hands. “I guess it was a cowardly thing to do.”

“Why don’t you go inside and call her? You don’t have to tell her where you are. Just tell her you’re all right.”

She hesitated, but only for a minute. “I should, shouldn’t I?” she asked softly.

“Yes, you should.” He got up and reached a lean, very strong hand down to pull her up. For a few seconds, they were almost touching and she had her first really good look at his face.

He had a lean face with a jutting chin and thin lips and high cheekbones. His eyebrows were dark over deep-set eyes and there were little wrinkly lines at the edges of his eyes. His hair was thick and very dark and he combed it all straight back away from his face. He was a hard-looking man, but appearances could be deceptive. He was much more approachable than she’d imagined.

If she was looking, then so was he. His gaze was slow and very thorough, taking in her delicate features like a mop soaking up water. The hand still holding hers contracted with a caressing kind of pressure that made her stomach tighten as if something electric had jumped inside it. She almost gasped at the surge of delicious feeling.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he said. “You’re two hours behind your time in Jacksonville. It will take a couple more days for you to get used to the difference.”

“All right. Thank you, Mr. Lang.”

“Most people call me Nate,” he said quietly.

“Nate.” She liked the way it sounded. He must have liked it, too, because he actually smiled. He dropped her hand and stood back, letting her move around the chair and back to the small guest cabin she occupied. She paused at the corner of the patio and looked back. She made a little farewell gesture with her hand, smiled back self-consciously, and went on her way.

Chapter Two

Joyce Ann was outraged when she found out where Christy was.

“You might at least have asked my advice,” the older woman said. “Honestly, Christy, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. The new clothes, the new hairstyle, and going without your…”

“Now, Joyce Ann,” Christy soothed, “you said yourself that I was getting into a rut. I’m fine. There are some very handsome men out here,” she added, dangling the sentence like bait.

Joyce Ann swallowed it whole. “Men?”

“That’s right. Especially one. He’s very dashing and romantic, and he’s always talking to me.” Well, that was true, except that the way he was talking to her wouldn’t sound very romantic to her sister.

“Well, he couldn’t be much worse than Harry, I guess,” came the reply.

Christy didn’t like thinking about Harry. He was more of a last resort than a suitor, the kind of man her more staid image attracted. Harry probably wouldn’t have cared for the new her. “Harry’s been nice to me,” she said. “It’s just that he wants a mother for his sons more than he wants a wife.”

“You aren’t desperate enough to marry Harry,” Joyce Ann said firmly. “Now tell me about this Arizona man.”

“He’s sexy and very nice.”

“That’s different,” Joyce Ann said, and laughed. “In that case, I’ll forgive you for worrying me to death. How long are you going to stay?”

“Another week or so.”

“Good, good. Darling, do let me know how things go. And do, please, wear your—”

“Goodnight, Joyce Ann. I’ll keep in touch, I promise!”

She hung up with a long sigh. That was out of the way. Now she could enjoy herself, without having Joyce Ann hang over her shoulder trying to shove men in her path.

The image change was her own idea, though, not her sister’s. She was tired of the routine her life had become. She wanted to do something wild, something different. And people had to take chances and do outrageous things once in a while if they didn’t want to stagnate. So she’d signed on for this expedition, something she’d always longed to do, she’d bought new clothes unlike anything she’d ever worn before, and she’d changed her appearance. There were a few little minor drawbacks, like walking into people, but in the meantime she was having a ball. Until tonight, she’d actually forgotten Harry and his plans for her.

As she got ready for bed, she thought about Nathanial Lang’s attitude toward her. For a man who found her an impossible trial, he’d certainly changed his tune. He’d been almost companionable tonight. She remembered how nervous she’d felt around him at their first meeting, and compared it with the ease of talking to him earlier. It was as if he’d wanted her to be curious about his life, to want to know him as a person. And, she discovered, she honestly did. He wasn’t quite the stick-in-the-mud she’d thought he was. He was much more. She went to sleep on that tantalizing thought.

* * *

The next morning, she was the first one at the breakfast buffet, to her embarrassment. She’d slept fitfully and her dreams had been confusing and vivid, mostly about the elusive Mr. Lang.

But if she hoped to find a new beginning with him, it was a dream gone awry. He stared right through her as he walked past the buffet and kept going. She stood gaping after his tall figure in the tan suit and cream-colored Stetson, wondering what she’d done to antagonize him now. Probably, she sighed as she put a tiny amount of food on her plate, she’d breathed the wrong way.

“Here, now, Miss Haley, that’s not enough to keep a bird alive,” Mrs. Lang tut-tutted. The small, dark-eyed woman shook her head. “You’ll make me self-conscious about my cooking.”

“Your cooking is delicious,” Christy protested, embarrassed. “It’s just that the, uh, the heat is difficult for me.”

“Oh.” The white lie produced good results, because Mrs. Lang smiled and lost her worried look. “I forget that you’re not used to the desert. But don’t you worry, you’ll adjust soon enough. Just take it easy, drink plenty of fluids and don’t go into the sun without a hat!”

“You can count on me,” Christy said with a jaunty smile.

She sat down alone at a table, picking at her food, while the much older Professor Adamson and his wife Nell smiled politely as they passed and went to their own table. The others drifted in one at a time, yawning and looking dragged out. George noticed Christy sitting alone and made a beeline for her.

“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.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.