Miss Greenhorn

“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.