Solitaire

“Somehow, I think very little penetrates that thick skin of yours.”

“Mmm, careful. The right woman has open access to my tender heart and loving soul.”

“You’re going to make me laugh whether I want to or not, Slade. Now stop it.”

He saw the faint smile at the corners of her lush mouth, an unspoiled mouth that needed taming. Cat wasn’t like most women, he suspected. But then, he didn’t expect her to be. She lived in a world of brawny miners, skilled in the reshaping of the earth, but resistant to women who chose to be more than bed partners and housekeepers. Slade knew by the set of Cat’s jaw that she had endured much to succeed in her career, and he admired her for that. Like the roses that grew wild behind his ranch house, Cat had not only flowered, she had blossomed in the harsh environment.

Slade cornered the car gently, turning into the flight-service area of the airport. He pointed toward the tarmac. “Say hello to my number-two gal, Maggie.”

Cat’s eyes widened in appreciation as she stared at the sleek, aerodynamically designed Cessna. Slade might appear laid back, but he took good care of his airplane. Its gleaming white surface looked recently waxed, and the graceful red stripe running from the tail to the nose was a dark ruby color. The name on the fuselage read: Donovan’s Services, Inc.

“Just what services do you perform?” she couldn’t resist asking.

Slade put the car in park and pulled the key from the ignition. His grin was infuriating. “What service would you like rendered?”

Cat clamped her mouth shut, fiercely aware of the innuendo in his voice.

“If Maggie’s number two, who’s number one?” she persisted.

Slade released his seat belt and opened his door. Still grinning, he replied, “I’m holding that position open for a woman who wants to share my name and put her shoes under my bed and has as much wanderlust in her soul as I do.”

“Chances are, like every other engineer and geologist I’ve met, you’ve got a woman in every port.”

Donovan winked. “Maybe,” was all he said, before he walked off to the flight office. Within ten minutes he had returned with his flight plan in hand. Then he helped Cat out of the car, remaining close beside her, their bodies almost touching.

“Maggie’s beautiful,” Cat told him admiringly.

“I knew you had a fine eye for beauty. Ready?”

Cat was as excited as if she were heading off to a new mining site in a new land. Slade’s smile told her he understood the tremor of excitement in her voice when she said, “Yes, I’m ready.”

Some of Cat’s initial exuberance turned to gratitude when she entered the spacious cabin of the aircraft. Slade had taken out three seats on the starboard side. In their place was a comfortable-looking cot, complete with a pillow, blankets and sheets. He motioned her toward it.

“Dr. Scott said that you wouldn’t be able to withstand a trip sitting up all the time. It’s going to take us ten hours to reach the ranch.”

She slid him a glance. “Do you spoil all your women this way? So much attention to detail?”

“Just for you, Cat. Just you.”

“One part of me believes you; the other doesn’t,” she said lightly. Her expression, however, was thoughtful.

“You wound my Texas spirit,” Slade complained. “Perhaps I’m your knight in shining armor carrying you off to my castle to live happily ever after. Would that be so bad?”

His wistfulness moved through her like a lover’s caress. My God, the man could weave a spell with his intimate talk–something Cat had not often found in men she’d met during her travels. She’d been handed most of their lines, but Slade was different. The feeling was good, however, so she didn’t really want to fight it.

“You have been my knight, Slade,” she admitted shyly. “You saved my life.”

He preened beneath her compliment, his careless grin spreading across his face. “Well, my lady, you have a choice: sit up in the copilot’s seat for a while and keep me company, or lie down and enjoy the scenery.”

“I’d like to sit up in the cockpit.”

“Ah, to be with me. Good choice.”

“No, I want to see how you handle this plane.” Mustn’t let him get too cocky, she reminded herself.

“Oh.” A shadow crossed his face.

Cat had never run into a man who showed such a range of feelings so easily. Most men stonewalled their emotions and responses, which was why she had found little incentive to establish an enduring relationship with any of them. With Slade, it was just the opposite. He was so obviously rattled by her reason for coming into the cockpit. Feeling more than a little guilty, Cat muttered, “I don’t feel like being relegated to the rear just yet. I’m hungry for some good conversation.”

Slade brightened and motioned her to move in front of him. “So, you’ll even settle for me, hmm?”

Choosing not to reply, Cat sat down and observed Slade’s attention to detail as he checked her seat belt before revving up the aircraft’s two engines. Once he put on the headset, with the slender mike close to his lips, Slade was in another world. But even then, he made Cat feel as though they were a team, putting a headset on her and showing her where the volume dial was located.

She was entranced by Slade’s hands: despite their size and roughness, there was a touching grace to their movements as they went through the preflight check. Heat unexpectedly moved through her. Slade was affecting her on levels she hadn’t anticipated.

Meanwhile, Slade was receiving clearance to take off, and launched into a nonstop commentary about how Maggie was just as alive as they were, in her own way. Cat noticed how his fingers wrapped gently around the twin throttles positioned on the console between them, and she wondered what it would be like to be similarly stroked by this man. A slight smile hovered around her mouth as a fantasy began to take shape.

Suddenly, they were lifting off. All else was forgotten as Slade shot her a joyous look. She smiled back. Maggie sliced through the blue skies of Maine, her nose pointed in a southwesterly direction, toward Texas. Slade adjusted the fuel mixture and the engines began their deep, throbbing growl. Then the vibration minimized and peace blanketed the cabin.

“Maggie’s crew will now ask their esteemed and illustrious passenger if she would like some coffee.”

“I don’t know about the esteemed and illustrious part–” she grinned “–but yes, the passenger would love a cup of coffee. Where is it? I can get it.”

Slade held up his hand. “No, don’t move.” He reached down and retrieved a battered aluminum thermos from behind his seat. Setting the plane on autopilot, he expertly poured a cup and handed it to her. Cat’s otherwise pale cheeks flamed as their fingertips met and touched. “You look more relaxed,” Slade commented. “Is it because we didn’t crash on takeoff or because you’re on another adventure?”

“You have the disturbing ability to read my mind,” she muttered, disconcerted.

Slade poured himself some coffee and recapped the thermos. Then, taking Maggie off autopilot, he wrapped his fingers lightly around the yoke. “Why does that bother you?”

“In my experience,” she said thoughtfully, “few men look farther than the wrapping.”

“You can’t blame any of us poor males for looking, after spending months in some foreign jungle or godforsaken desert. Especially when someone as exotic-looking as you comes along.”

Heat flowed up her neck. “I’m hardly exotic.” Cat held up her left hand, showing him the calluses on her palm. “That’s not exotic, Donovan. I’ve got hands like millions of women in Third World countries who wash and beat their family’s clothes on some rock in a stream. I’ve got more muscle than women who work out daily at a health spa.” She touched her hair. “I have to wear my hair so short that sometimes I’m mistaken for a man from the rear.” She grimaced. “I’m hardly exotic, as you put it.”

“So you think I’m handing you a line?”

Cat sighed, then admitted warily, “The way you talk, I almost believe you mean it.”

Slade gave her a smoldering look. “I do mean it. Someday,” he drawled in his thick Texan accent, “I’ll show you why you’re such an incredibly exotic woman.”

Cat avoided his gaze as molten weakness again flowed through her like light refracting through a diamond. “If there is an enigma here,” she said, laughing, “it’s you. Tell me about yourself. And none of your Texas tall tales.”

Slade laughed good-naturedly, then finished off his coffee and set the cup aside. “Now, there isn’t a Texan alive who can resist embellishing the truth a bit.”

“Try.”

Slade scanned the instrument panel. They had climbed to fifteen thousand feet, the skies were azure and the sunlight bright. He pulled a pair of aviator’s sunglasses from the pocket of his shirt and put them on. “I was born in Galveston, Texas, thirty-five years ago. My Irish father emigrated to the U.S. when he was a lad and he’s still a fisherman in Galveston. My mother–she’s the native-born Texan–owns a small shop at an exclusive mall, importing products from Ireland.”