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.”
“Sisters? Brothers?”
“Seven. I’m the fifth-oldest, with three brothers and three beautiful sisters.”
“Not exotic sisters?”
He tilted his head toward her and his voice lowered to an intimate tone. “No, you’re exotic. They aren’t.”
He had such a convincing line, Cat thought, secretly delighted with his opinion that she was exotic and, of course, keeping in mind that it was just that. “I see. How did you get into geology?”
“I decided I didn’t want to fish for a living like the rest of my family. I used to stand in the boat and watch the waves and wonder where they had come from. What far shore had they left? What ships did they encounter on their journey? Or what fish or mammals had graced them with their presence?” Slade shook his head. “No, my father told me when I was only this high–” he pointed to his knee “–that I was like my great-grandfather, who was the family adventurer. He could never stay in one place more than a few months at a time, either.”
“And you have that same restlessness?” Cat offered. She handed him her empty cup.
Slade shrugged. “Restlessness? No. Life to me is one constant, nonstop adventure. I always want to know what lies over the next hill or wander through the next valley to see what and who is living there.”
“Why the fascination with geology then? You could have been in the merchant marine instead, sailing the seas.”
Slade smiled at her question. “Rocks held a special fascination for me. As a kid, when I finished my fishing chores, I used to pick stones up from the beach and study them. I’d wonder why one was black and another striated with pink and white. I used to hold them in my hand, trying to communicate with them and asking them their names and where they had come from.”
Cat closed her eyes, resting against the seat. She could imagine a dark-haired boy crouched on the ground, holding in his palm a rock that stirred his curiosity, staring at it with intense fascination. Slade was like a child who had never closed off his ability to dream and spin stories. He was special, Cat admitted, a rare being who still had the ability to fantasize, to ignore the limitations in a rationally constructed society. “And did any of them talk to you?” she asked softly.
“Of course they did,” he said with a laugh. “That was what led me to ask my teachers about the life of a rock. Eventually they got tired of all my questions and ordered special books on rock hunting for me.”
“And are you still like that little boy, always asking questions?”
“I haven’t changed at all,” Slade confirmed with satisfaction. “Today, I drive mining engineers to the edge of distraction.”
“Where did you take your geology schooling?” she asked, curious to know more about his past.
“Is there any other place? Colorado.”
“Like me. I’m impressed.”
He feigned drama, his hand across his heart. “Finally! We have something in common.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”
“You made it seem that way, Ms. Kincaid.”
She shot him a wry glance. “Despite any possible ulterior motives, you did save my life. The least I could be is a decent guest.”
“Did I slip something into the coffee?”
Cat chortled. “Come on, I’m not always a stickin-the-mud.”
“Did I accuse you of that? No way, sweetheart. You’re a risk taker because your career demands it. It makes you an interesting and exotic woman. One of a kind.”
“Oh, please! Get off the exotic kick, Slade.”
“I can’t help it if you’re not a regular hothouse flower. That’s your fault.”
“Let’s steer the conversation back to you. A four-year degree out of Colorado and then what?”
“Just kicked around the world prospecting like any other crazy rock hound.”
“What kind of rocks? Is your specialty igneous?” she asked, remembering his tourmaline discovery.
“Why? Do I remind you of an igneous type?”
She smiled. Geologists usually chose one of three of the different rock types to specialize in: igneous, metamorphic or sedimentary. “You know what they say about the igneous type: they run hot and molten.”
“So that’s how you see me, eh?”
“I see you being bored by sedimentary exploration. You’re strong and robust; you’re the sort who would challenge igneous rock and tackle it with ease. Although we both know sinking mine shafts into rock that doesn’t want to be penetrated isn’t easy.”
“Granted. Or should I say: granite.”
“Slade, I’m not even going to laugh because that’s a sick rock joke you’d use on a freshman in geology.”
“Nobody said my humor was always in top form.” He gave her his innocent little-boy look.
“Do people always forgive your transgressions?”
“More importantly, will you?”
“I don’t hold grudges.”
“But you’ll remember.”
Her voice grew soft. “I’ll remember.”
“Well, enough of me,” Slade countered. “How about yourself? I had the pleasure of meeting your entire family, so I got an idea of what you’re like.”
“I’m sure Dal and Rafe gave you an earful about me.”
“Don’t sound so wary.”
With a grimace, Cat pretended to pay more attention to the sky around them. “All right, you tell me what they said.”
“Let’s see, what adjectives should I use?”
“If you use exotic, I’m going to take everything you’re saying as one-hundred percent baloney, Donovan,” she warned him.
“Texans can be serious at times, too,” he reassured her, attempting a somber look.
“We’ll see. So what do you think of me, now that you’ve learned all from my family?”
“You’re a daredevil. Rafe told me how you two jumped your horses between two cliffs.”
“Did he also tell you that my horse stumbled on the other side and fell? I broke my arm and nose.”
Slade shook his head. He saw and felt Cat relaxing. She had been so long in isolation with men that she was closed up. He saw the softening of her lips, heard new life in her voice and saw more color stain her cheeks. If nothing else, during the next eight weeks of recuperation, Slade would remind Cat of her decidedly female side, gently drawing all of it to the surface. He knew he could do it; there was a chemistry between them.
“Rafe said you and he made the jump, but that Dal had chickened out. I’d probably be with Dal.” Slade paused and looked at her. “What you did matches the kind of career you chose. Mining engineers have to be a blend of conservatism and daring.”
“What I did didn’t take much brains–is that what you’re saying?”
“Hey, we were all young once and we all pulled our share of foolish stunts. I’m chalking up your wild ride to youth.”
“If the truth be known, I was scared spitless. Rafe was angry because Dal wouldn’t go and he–well, I let him coerce me into doing it.”
“But you didn’t want to?”
“Are you kidding me? That was an eight-foot leap. I was riding a green four-year-old quarter horse who’d never seen a cliff, much less jumped one. I didn’t know if he was going to jump it, skid to the edge, fall into it or what.”
Slade pursed his lips, going for a second cup of coffee and offering her some. She declined. “Interesting,” he murmured.
“Oh?”
Slade put the plane back on autopilot and sipped his coffee. “That gives me a useful piece of information about you.”
“Uh-oh…”
He grinned. “It’s not bad. What it tells me is that despite an overwhelming fear, you did what had to be done and carried it out successfully. I call that courage.”
“That particular stunt was called stupid. What took courage was to tell Dad how I broke my arm and nose. Rafe got the belt on his behind. I would’ve gotten a licking, too, if I hadn’t gotten broken bones.”
Savoring the hot liquid before he spoke, Slade commented, “You can still take that basic premise about yourself and apply it like a formula to any other type of situation. No, there’s a basic vein of courage in you. I like that.”
Cat warmed beneath Slade’s compliment; the obvious pleasure in his voice was like a physical caress. She rarely enjoyed men in the field. But she wasn’t in the field; her contract assignment had been delayed because of her injury. Cat’s brows dipped.
“What’s bothering you?” Slade asked.
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking that because of this accident, I’ve blown my next assignment.” She had talked briefly to Ian Connors, the man who had hired her. Technically, because of her unexpected injuries, she didn’t have to honor the contract. Cat had managed to hold off giving him an answer on whether she’d fulfill the contract or not. Just the bare thought of entering another mine made her break into a cold sweat.
“In Australia?”
“Yes. A two-year contract.”
“You needed a vacation anyway, Cat.”
He was right. She hadn’t walked away from work for five years now. “Work is play for me,” she tried without enthusiasm. How could one mine cave-in turn her lifelong love into a terrorizing nightmare she never wanted to experience again?
“Still, we all need time away, Cat.”
“Do you?” Cat asked, trying to deflect talk of her going back to work. Specifically, into a mine.
“Sure, I’m only human. I can stand the jungle or being a sand rat for only so long and then I have to get back to civilization and get human again.”
“Are you between assignments?”
“Yeah. I was heading home to Texas for a couple of months.”
“How long since you were home?”
“One year. I think you’ll like Mourning Dove. For west Texas, it’s a nice spot.”
“A lot of sand, scrub brush, jackrabbit and deer?”
“That, too.”
“Tell me about the ranch. Is it a working one?”
“Not anymore. I’ve more or less created a deer preserve out of it and sold off all the cattle. I have a Mexican family who lives nearby who takes care of it during my absences. Carlos and his wife, Pilar, are the caretakers.” His voice grew warmer. “Pilar is the best cook this side of the Mexican border. I can hardly wait to get home and fatten up on her cooking.” He patted his hard, lean stomach meaningfully.
Cat understood; she was underweight as well. Perhaps the Mourning Dove Ranch wasn’t going to be all that bad after all. Slade wasn’t the womanizer she had first thought. As a matter of fact, she was going to have to reevaluate many things about Slade. Cat couldn’t apply her earlier experiences to him because he didn’t fit into the categories of men she had known before. She slid him a warm look.
“Has anyone ever accused you of being different?”
Slade laughed solidly, flipped a switch to take the plane off autopilot and resumed the task of flying. “Many times. Why? Does it bother you?”
“You are a bit disconcerting.” And disturbing. Every movement he made reminded Cat that Slade was a consummate athlete; there was never a wasted motion and he had a coordination that at times took her breath away.
“But not threatening?”
She paused a moment before answering, “No.”
“What took you so long to answer my question?”
Cat refused to be baited by him. “Nothing.”
“You were trying to decide whether to be wary of me or not, weren’t you?”
“Quit being such a know-it-all.”
“Your brother, Rafe, spoke a lot about you.” He added in a gentler voice, “Good things. How you love the land and the animals. How easily you were moved by a sunset. Or by a foal being born. I like my woman to be easily touched by everything around her.”
A tremor vibrated through her and Cat discreetly did not ask what Slade meant when he called her his woman. His ability to put everything, including their conversation, on intensely personal terms rattled her. “Life, to me, is a continual blossoming,” she admitted, her eyes darkening with fervor. “All we have to do is keep our hearts and minds open to receive its gifts.”
Slade’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Why are you so afraid to show that side of yourself?”
“I think all of us hide parts of ourselves,” Cat said defensively.
“I’m an open book.”
“Sure you are. That’s why you unexpectedly dropped into my life.”
Slade glanced quickly at her. “Best thing I ever did.”
Cat shook her head. “So, if you aren’t an igneous type, what are you?” she asked, ignoring his innuendo.
“I’m a sedimentary man. Ah, the eyebrows lift and the eyes go wide. What do you know, I finally
got a rise out of you.”
“You get a rise out of me every time we spar,” Cat parried.
“I don’t see us as sparring.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
Slade scratched his head. “Somehow, I’m going to have to instill some trust into our relationship.”
Cat almost blurted out, “What relationship?” But she bit back the response. “Why sedimentary rock? Most geologists are bored stiff by that type.”
“You find a fair amount of gem-quality stone in sediment, that’s why.”
“Ah, now you’re beginning to make sense. You’re more a gem hunter than a geologist.” Cat eyed him speculatively. “You’re a prospector in search of the mother lode, aren’t you?”
Slade checked the instruments, a smile pulling at his mouth. “You mean a treasure hunter? A modern-day gold miner?”
“You said it; I didn’t.”
“I hear distaste in your voice.” Slade’s voice was deceptively noncommittal.
Cat tried to evade his comment. Greg had done this to her; he had placed the mining of precious gems over their love for one another. And it had killed their relationship. Struggling not to let her past experience taint her idea of Slade, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with finding the world’s major tourmaline deposits. It can make you a very rich man.”
Slade looked at her a long time. He saw the discomfort in every line of Cat’s mobile face. “And you think that’s why I go chasing after gem mines?” he probed.
“I don’t know. Why do you? You don’t strike me as the typical treasure hunter.” Which was true. Slade was unlike Greg in many ways, and for the better.
Slade was glad that Cat had asked instead of just assumed why he specialized in precious stones. Even he had to admit that most of the gem hunters he knew were like the old-timers during the gold rush. They were loners to begin with, shaped by the roughness of their life-style. Most of the men he knew carried pistols on their hips and knives in their belts. And they all had one driving force in common: they wanted to get rich. Money took precedence over anything else that life might offer them.
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