Miss Greenhorn

by Diana Palmer

  “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.”

&
nbsp; 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.”