Texas Knight: Desert Dream

by Cat Shinier

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Texas Knight

  Cat Shinier

  Copyright © Nadine Kapp / Booklover Verlag

  Am Alten Bahnhof 3

  50354 Hürth

  info@booklover-verlag.de

  www.booklover-verlag.de

  Cover: Shutterstock - PKpix

  Translated: Frank Flora

  Bookdesigner: Booklover Coverdesign

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocoping, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author´s imagnination or are used fictitiously.

  For my husband: I love you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter One

  Today is my big day. Graduation day. I will be receiving my diploma. It is August 2nd, the sky is blue, and the sun is shining. I’m really nervous and for days I’ve been wracking my brain over what I am going to wear for the graduation ceremony, and because the sun is shining and there is no rain in sight, I decide on a white, taper-cut linen mini dress. I bought it on sale last summer. It fit like a glove when I tried it on, as if it had been tailor-made just for me, and so I just couldn’t resist.

  Now it is hanging in my wardrobe and waiting to be worn. I have the radio on to put myself in a good mood with my favorite radio station, Radio Paradise where the DJ seems to still be in summer mode. In the hopes that the neighbor downstairs won’t mind, I crank the volume up and – still in my T-shirt and pants - start dancing to Natalia Kills and “Free”. First I glide toward the toaster, toss in two slices and turn the dial, then, still dancing, to the fridge to get butter, jelly, milk, yogurt and granola, which I set on the counter. I spread some butter and honey onto the toast, toss a few spoonfuls of granola into the yogurt and pour the milk into a small mug. I don’t need coffee this morning. I’m already about to jump out of my skin.

  Actually, I had wanted to start my day with breakfast in bed and enjoy some peace and quiet before all of the excitement, but that is not going to happen now seeing as Natalia Kills is blasting out of my loudspeakers. So I just keep dancing while I have my breakfast. I’m too nervous to sit down anyway. Finally, I turn the volume down and put my dishes in the sink. It is 9 o’clock and my friend Susan wants to come by at ten to drive to the graduation with me. I’m happy she’s coming along because it just wouldn’t have felt right to be all alone and attend the ceremony without family or friends.

  * * *

  My parents would have been proud of me, I’m sure of that. I majored in geology, just like my dad. From a very young age I was fascinated by my father’s love of the earth and its secrets – especially the secrets the earth uses to tell stories. When I passed my entrance exam for geology at the university, I already knew more than anyone else, which made it possible for me to skip two semesters. Now I am the youngest to graduate in geology. I’m only 22, and I’m the best in my class.

  When I was fourteen, my parents were killed in a car accident. After that I was raised by my grandma, who died last year due to a cancerous tumor that was discovered too late. The fact that I’m an orphan, and I don’t have any relatives who are still alive, gives me the shivers. From one moment to the next I feel a rush of melancholy that can dampen my mood and make my eyes well up with tears. Thank God that hasn’t happened for quite some time. I miss my parents and my grandma a lot, today especially, seeing as it is my special day.

  The doorbell rings and awakens me from my reverie, yanking me right back to the present. Susan walks in with a beautiful smile on her face. It’s enough to light up a whole ballroom. “It’s sure good I left early,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re still in the process of getting dressed? How about hurrying things up, honey?” She pushes me in the direction of the bathroom. While I start taking my shower, I hear the dishes clanking in the kitchen.

  Susan is my very best friend. She’s three years older than I am, and we met in high school where she was a few classes my senior. Neither of us had it easy at school. She was a rebellious teenager who fought with her parents and teachers, while I was trying to cope with having just lost my parents and wasn’t easy to get along with either. The first time Susan and I met was during detention – Susan was being punished because she had questioned something her biology teacher said and I was there because I had ignored something my English teacher had said, which both basically amounted to the same thing. After detention we spent the afternoon together.

  And we became such close friends that Susan seems like a sister to me – the sister I never had. Susan’s parents run a private hospital. Materially, this hospital guaranteed their children a carefree childhood, while they showered Susan and her older brother with love and affection. Our friendship gave me a kind of substitute family, and I have always spent Christmas with them. When my grandma was still alive, she also came along. And so despite everything, it was a happy time, and I like to think back on it.

  In the meantime, I have finished showering and am trying to get a handle on my knotty hair. The bathroom door opens, and Susan comes in to keep me company, carrying a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Have you had any news about your applications yet?” she asks. I am holding a hairbrush in one hand and my hairdryer in the other and shake my head.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Things will probably go really fast when it happens. How much notice do you have to give to resign from your current job?”

  “My boss would like me to stay until my job turns into a fulltime position,” I answer, while I try to get a grip on my deep blond, curly shoulder-length hair without flattening it. “He knows that after I graduate I don’t want to continue to work as a secretary. And normally I’d have two weeks to hand in my resignation, but if I need to, I bet he’d let me leave early.”

  I inherited some money from my parents and my grandmother, but I had to work while I went to school, seeing as I wasn’t getting any financial support from anyone. Since high school I’ve been working as a secretary for an insurance company, 20 hours a week – flexi-time during semesters. That gave me some income and a small apartment of my own in Fuerstenfeldbruck, a small Bavarian town on the out
skirts of Munich - my kingdom. The rent is a real deal, and the view from my living room is phenomenal. I watch Susan sit down on the rim of the bathtub and place the cup of coffee down carefully. Then she gets up and presses me down on the toilet seat.

  “Come, let me help you, otherwise this is going to take forever. Don’t put your hair up, just leave it the way it is, natural,” she adds while she spreads my hair across my back, wrapping the curls around her hand and fixating them with some hairspray. Then she adds a few bobby pins, arranging some loose strands around my face so that the rest falls over my back. Susan is really good at things like this.

  “If you weren’t about to become a doctor you’d have made an excellent hairdresser,” I say to Susan, kidding her. She is going to be completing her last exam and will have a degree in traumatology and surgery soon. Even though she’s had a lot of pressure recently, she looks ravishing, happy and well-balanced. I am sure that she knows how to keep her equilibrium during these stressful times. And furthermore, both of her parents are successful doctors and the private hospital they run has a very good reputation. She’ll have the connections to facilitate finding a job after her graduation.

  I glance into the mirror one last time and decide to do without a lot of make-up. Sometimes less is more, and I don’t look good with too much make-up anyway. After I have applied mascara and some lip gloss, I’m done. I grab my dress and pull it over my head; clip on my earrings, then jump into the fancy summer shoes I bought for the occasion. Their heels are pretty high so that I am suddenly about 5 inches taller than I usually am and can squarely meet the gaze of my fellow students. I am about 5 foot 6 inches tall, which is not really small for a woman, but if you are on the go with a group of men you notice how small you are. I start rummaging around in my purse and follow Susan, who is anxiously waiting by my door, down the stairs to her car.

  I did not know how boring graduation ceremonies can be. Good that you only have to go through them once. First Professor Julius Reichenbacher, the president of the university, gives a speech about the importance and usefulness of geology for the international economy. Then two more professors speak. One of whom was my professor during my very short first semester, and the other was my counselor when I was involved in a project about magmatic petrology. My fellow students and I are sitting in front of the stage. To the left are all the professors and behind us the visitors. I crane my neck trying to find Susan at the back of the room, and when I discover her, I notice that she is so focused she seems to be enjoying the event more than me. She’s attentively listening to the speakers, and it looks like she’s letting the good-looking guy on her right explain things to her from time to time. In the years that I’ve known her she has never lacked a handsome escort at her side at all times. Somehow that was never the case for me. Most men I met were either only interested in sex, or they needed me to help them understand something, so that my initial experiences with the opposite sex in love matters weren’t always overwhelming. Gradually, I completely lost interest in pursuing a relationship.

  So finally the speeches are over, and the diplomas are distributed. All graduates are called by name, alphabetically, and one by one they walk up to have their diploma handed to them by the professor who is standing up on the stage. The professor says a few encouraging words to each graduate as he hands them their diploma. The number of people being called seems endless, and I am still sitting on my chair waiting to hear my name. When I am about certain that I have been forgotten, my name finally gets called.

  “And now I would like to call up the last graduate to the stage. Luna-Marie Buchholz.” The president’s eyes search the rows of chairs.

  When I hear my name called my pulse rate goes up as it is my turn to step up to the stage in front of the audience. Situations like these have always made me nervous. I get up from my seat and start walking towards the stage, and the president walks towards me. It is hard not to notice how proud he is when he greets me. He tells the audience that I am one of the few women who managed to raise the bar in a male domain, and that I was not only the youngest student but the one with the best grades. I blush. He hands me my diploma, and I thank him for his kind words and the excellent time that I’ve had at the university. In my mind I am all ready to leave the stage when another person joins us on stage - the dean’s assistant.

  What on earth does that mean? I ask myself. She is carrying a bouquet of flowers and an envelope. She hands both to her boss. Professor Reichenbacher turns to me and then to the audience. “Ms. Buchholz, I have the honor of handing you the invitation by Shalazar Industries. Shalazar Industries is not only a generous sponsor of our university, but one of the largest oil-producing companies in the world that also transports and processes oil. Every year, 50 top European graduates are invited to a workshop and assessment center. A lot of the participants of this workshop end up getting real job offers. Just the fact that you were chosen to be invited is like a reference for the big companies of the geo industry.”

  And I applied for a job there, I think to myself. I wonder if the people at Shalazar Industries noticed that.

  The professor seems deeply moved, takes a deep breath and hugs me carefully. Then he hands me the flowers, a beautiful bright pink and blue bouquet - for which I will not have the right vase – and the envelope. I am speechless, and I feel that I am blushing again. The envelope is big and obviously full. Professor Reichenbacher looks at me proudly.

  “I would have loved to have seen you remain at our university when you write your doctorate. Just get in touch, and we will be more than happy to help you.”

  I am pretty astounded. There I stand on stage with the flowers, my diploma and the envelope while the audience applauds. I look toward Susan excitedly clapping her hands with the rest of the audience. I take a short bow, thank the professor, then walk off stage. After a short farewell speech, the graduation ceremony is over and people start to leave, moving towards the exit. I join the rush and find Susan waiting for me outside the door. She is alone now. The guy who was sitting next to her is nowhere to be seen. She is beaming and gives me a strong hug.

  “I am so happy for you! Have you already taken a look at the envelope?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, “haven’t had time to do that yet. What do you think about taking a look at the contents together?”

  Two hours later Susan and I are at the park, sitting on a blanket on the lawn of the famous English Gardens. We stick the bouquet of flowers into a champagne cooler that we’ve brought along with a bottle of champagne that is now almost empty. Susan uses a small pair of scissors to cut open the envelope and remove the contents. I just sit there sipping my champagne, watching her. Afterwards, she spreads out the pages on the grass and carefully reads each page. I am so nervous my hands feel clammy.

  “Wow, what do we have here?” she wonders out loud.

  I am beginning to have a hard time pretending I am all calm and collected.

  “So tell me, what does it say?” I finally ask. First Susan hands me an invitation. It is engraved on really expensive, hand-made paper and has the letters S and I for Shalazar Industries engraved on it. Pretty impressive, to say the least. The letter congratulates me on my excellent grades and is in reference to my own letter of application, the one I sent them two months ago. The letter describes Shalazar Industries’ sponsoring program for the best graduates and they are extending me an invitation to take part in a one-week training workshop for trainees. Suddenly, Susan jumps up, wildly waving her arms.

  “You’re flying to Dubai, Luna. I can’t believe it! They are putting you up in the Burj al Arab. Do you know what that place costs? And they have enclosed the airplane tickets. You’ll be flying Emirate Airlines. That’s about as good as it gets!”

  She sits down again, and I look up at her, stunned. I stare at the letter I’m holding, and I can’t believe my eyes. Among other things it also says that we are supposed to plan on an extra week. I doubt I will be among those chosen to stay longe
r, but that still means that I will be staying in the most expensive hotel in the world for a full week. The only seven-star hotel in the whole world. Ever.

  “This just can’t be true, Susan. Nobody invites someone they don’t know to stay in that kind of a hotel!”

  “Oh come on, Luna, you’re such a pessimist. It’s right here in the invitation!”

  She turns around to face me and hands me a brochure about Shalazar Industries’ support program to promote new employees. “Just look at all the things they do. Not bad at all, if you ask me.”

  And the brochure really does describe an individualized kind of support program, world-wide operations, company-sponsored university programs and research work. I hadn’t even realized how big the company I had applied to was. It is huge, and I suddenly realize that a company this size has no problem whatsoever paying for an expensive hotel and travel arrangements.

  “Does it give a date?” I am worried that the insurance place I work for won’t let me take a vacation.

  “Hold on.” Susan rummages around in the papers. “September 12 and the return flight is either on September 19 or 26. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I can’t see your boss not granting the vacation. School vacation is over by that time.”

  I agree. Susan shuffles all the papers back into the envelope, and the two of us lean back to enjoy the afternoon sun. I think to myself that the next day I will ask my boss if I can take a vacation.

  Chapter Two

  It is September 12, and about six hours ago I boarded an Emirates Airline plane in Munich in the pouring rain, and we’re about to land in Dubai. Below I can see the desert and vast stretches of sand. The oases look like tiny little islands in the midst of a golden ocean. Even from this height you can see the waves that the wind has sculpted into the burning sand. Above the desert sand, the bright blue and cloudless sky looks like a silk canopy. What a stunning view. For someone who is moving around in the desert, it is probably not as beautiful an experience as it is for me, sitting here by the window of an air-conditioned plane, being served cool drinks by friendly hostesses.