MM01 - Valley of Fire (4 page)

Unconsciously she shivered. It was going to be a long night.

 o0o

Before they decided on a spot to camp, they dined on beans from the catclaw acacia. Water was no problem since the Valley of Fire was a tourist attraction, complete with water hydrants. It took them a while to find one, but when they did, they drank their fill.

“Martha Ann, if I have to be stranded in the desert, I'm glad it's with you. “ Rick polished off the last of his beans hungrily. “Who would have thought that a woman who doesn't have a worry in the world except the price of her next diamond would know what to eat in a desert?”

Was he teasing her, she wondered. He was laughing, but the look he gave her was a little too shrewd to be that of a man who believed everything he heard. She'd have to be more careful.

“Even rich people had to grow up somewhere. I suppose it's just a lucky coincidence that we crashed in my old stomping ground.”

“Not so lucky.” He got a faraway look in his dark eyes. “It never should have happened.”

“How did it happen, Rick?”

“A faulty fuel line leaking gasoline. The plane is thoroughly checked out before I fly, of course. Apparently the problem escaped detection. I'm sorry it happened, but it was no one's fault.”

“You did an outstanding job of landing that crippled plane and keeping us from getting killed. I'm not placing blame.”

“I know that, but you are certainly due an explanation. After all, you are paying me to take care of you.”

“Not to take care of me. I can do that myself. I'm paying you for backup.”

“Ah, yes. Backup.” His dark eyes were twinkling again. “A lot of things can come under that heading, can't they?”

“Not the kind of things you're thinking about.” She hitched up her jeans and stomped away from him.

“And how would you know what I'm thinking about, Mrs. O'Grady?”

Hands on her hips, she whirled back around and faced him. “Because you're a scoundrel, Mr. McGill.”

“And we've already proven that you're no lady. That makes us quite a team.”

“That makes us nothing. We're merely two people doing business who had the misfortune to be stranded together in the desert.”

“We'll see.” He rose from his seat on a rock and brushed off his jeans. “Are you going with me to look for a place to sleep, or do you plan to stand on that rock and pose for the rest of the evening?”

“I'm not posing.”

“Yes, you are. And you do it so well.” He stalked her and caught her by the arms. Her eyes went wide. “Don't worry. I'm not going to kiss you again.”

“I'm not worried about that. I'm a married woman.”

He grinned. “I don't need to be reminded. Do you?”

“You're positively the most arrogant, insufferable man I've ever met. For two cents I'd leave you stranded in the desert.”

“Then how would you find your husband?” He tucked her hand through his arm and walked her toward a flat-topped mesa. “I suggest we seek higher ground. I wouldn't want to be asleep on the desert floor if a flash flood came.”

“Being carried away by a flash flood might be preferable to sleeping with you.”

He grinned. “Are you saying that I sweep you off your feet, Mrs. O'Grady?”

“I'm saying that you are one of nature's disasters. I'm surprised there aren't warning systems to protect people from you.”

Chuckling, he led her upward. He knew they had reached higher ground when he heard the whistle of wings. A dark shadow passed over them, and they saw the raven, as black and mysterious as night, returning to his nest in a shallow hole in the canyon wall.

All around them the red and gray sandstones glowed in the intense setting sun. Distant mountains, ancient and wizened and wrinkled, cast shadows over the land. It was a sight so awesomely beautiful, they held their breaths. Nothing marred the silence except the piercing call of a canyon wren.

Suddenly the sun dropped from the sky. The Valley of Fire changed from a vibrant palette of reds and grays to a secret place shrouded in purple. With the sun went the heat. The landscape became cold and forbidding and hostile. Rustlings in the scrubby growth heralded the stirrings of nocturnal creatures.

“It seems we've reached our shelter not a moment too soon,” Martha Ann said.

“My timing's always perfect.”

“A pity your manners didn't match.”

“Sweetheart, as much as I love these sparring matches with you, I suggest we gather enough twigs and branches to make a fire. We're liable to need it before the night is over.”

They spent the next twenty minutes gathering brush for a fire. Some heat was still trapped in the rocks, so they set the branches aside for later use. Then, seated in the lee of an overhanging boulder, they assessed their supplies.

They had escaped the burning plane with almost nothing except the clothes on their backs. Rick's billfold and pipe and lighter were in his pockets, but Martha Ann had left her purse behind in the plane. Ditto their suitcases.

Rick held his lighter aloft. “This is it, kiddo. All that stands between us and the cold.” He flicked the lighter, and it flared briefly in the darkness. Then he shoved it back into his pocket. “Of course, we have each other. Body heat.”

“Don't look so smug. I don't intend to need your body heat. I have a sweater.” Martha Ann drew her cotton sweater closer around her shoulders. Already the desert air was turning cooler. The boulder would furnish some protection from the wind that would swoop across the mesa unhampered, but it would be scant protection from the chill that would settle on the desert as the rocks lost their warmth. Her sweater would help but not much.

Both of them knew that.

They stared into space and contemplated the night ahead. It would be dangerous all right. Nights in the desert always were. But the greatest danger would not come from the chill nor the desert's creatures: The greatest danger would come from the chemistry that sizzled between them. What they had to fear most was themselves.

The boulder they had chosen for shelter was covered with petroglyphs. Martha Ann held the night at bay by telling one of the Indian legends.

“Did you notice the drawing on that rock above your head?”

Rick snapped his lighter open and held it aloft. “It looks like a beetle.”

“That's Ko-Kapelli, the Flute Player. For the Ancient Ones who once lived here, he was the voice of the Father Creator. His melodies of remembrance kept the Ancient Ones from complacency. His song was a challenge to explore new lands, dream new dreams, build new societies. Often at night on the desert, his song can still be heard.”

“Have you ever heard him?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“What is his song like?”

“Sometimes it's serene, like the soft sighing of wind across the desert. Other times it's bold and brash, a harsh thundering that shakes the mountains, telling of Ko-Kapelli's rage.”

“You speak with great authority about the Indians.”

The history teacher in her was showing, and Rick was clever enough to see it. She hastened to make amends.

“It must be the Indian in me.”

“You have Indian blood?”

“Doesn't everybody?” Her bloodlines were as pure as Irish linen. She figured her Irish ancestors were rolling in their graves. A few of the more irate ones might even take up haunting her small cottage in Fulton. It was another price she'd have to pay for deceit.

“Not me. I'm as Scottish as bagpipes.”

Relieved that he hadn't pressed about her ancestors and her background, she leaned against the rock and pulled her sweater closer around her neck.

“Cold?”

She wasn't about to say yes, because she guessed that at the slightest hint from her that she was cold he'd pull her into his arms, bragging about his gallantry. Steeling herself against the creeping chill, she deliberately unbuttoned her sweater and fanned herself.

“Goodness no. I guess all that walking has warmed me up.”

He didn't bother to hide his amusement. His big boom of laughter startled a raven into flight. In one swift move, he tossed a few sticks together and sat down so close, his thigh was brushing against hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Building a fire.”

“A fire?”

He chuckled again. “Yes. What did you think I meant to do?”

“Build a fire, of course.” She scooted away so they were no longer touching. “I was thinking of conserving firewood, myself.”

“We have enough to last a while.” He flipped his lighter open and held it to the branches. They caught in a small blaze. “Just in case you get cold.” He winked at her.

The wink nearly did her in. She loved being on the desert at night, and had often camped in this very valley during her teenage years. Having a companion had always doubled the fun. She and her friends used to sit around a campfire and swap Indian legends and ghost stories until the wee hours of the morning.

But Rick McGill was no teenager, and he certainly didn't have swapping ghost stories on his mind. That bold wink had told her all she needed to know. There was only one way to resist the temptation of that knowing wink.

She yawned and stretched. “I think I'll turn in. I've had a hard day.” She turned her back to him and stretched out on the rocks, using her arms for a pillow.

“You can use my shoulder if you like.”

“No thank you.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I'm very comfortable.”

Rick wasn't ready for bed. The day had been long and traumatic, and he was still tightly wound up. He leaned against the rocks and gazed out across the Valley of Fire. It was hauntingly beautiful at night, shrouded in purple shadows and lit with random patches of light from the low-hanging moon.

He swung his gaze to Martha Ann. Her breathing had become regular. She was all tuckered out from her long day of pretending. He smiled as he remembered how she'd flown across the country, worrying her rosary, all the while pretending she wasn't afraid.

After the crash she'd taken the Valley of Fire like Patton invading Sicily, still pretending to be a pampered rich wife. And now she was curled on the rocks with her back to him, pretending that she was comfortable.

He drew the line at some things. Cold was one of them. Discomfort was another.

“Move over, baby. Here comes your Bogey.” Grinning, he lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms spoon fashion. Body heat. He loved it.

“There now. Isn't that better?”

She snuggled closer to him and sighed. He grinned as he thought how mortified she'd be if she knew what she was doing.

She was as soft and cuddly as a golden retriever puppy. As he fitted himself comfortably against her sleeping form, his passion began to rise. He'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was tenderness. A great swell of protective feeling rose up in him. He felt a need to care for the woman in his arms, to protect her from the scurrying creatures of the desert, the cold wind that bore down on them, the unknown forces of the night. Such a feeling was new to him. And he was far too tired to wonder what it meant.

Closing his eyes, he fell asleep.

 o0o

Ko-Kapelli's song whispered across the mesa, a soft melody as compelling as a lover's kiss.

Martha Ann moaned in her sleep and pressed closer to the warmth at her back. In his groggy state, Rick tightened his hold. Like homing pigeons, his hands sought the warmth of her breasts.

Ko-Kapelli's song became mischievous. It rippled over the mesa, bringing with it the chilly winds.

Martha Ann turned. Rick threw his leg over her hips. She pressed her open mouth against the warm skin at the collar of his shirt. Unconsciously his hands pulled her shirt out of its waistband and spread across her satiny back.

Ko-Kapelli laughed with glee. He howled and danced and swirled over the Valley of Fire, taking with him any bit of warmth remaining in the desert rocks.

Martha Ann and Rick, sleeping together on the mesa top, cuddled as close as lovers, receiving heat and comfort from each other.

In the early hours of dawn, Ko-Kapelli stole away, taking the cold with him.

Still half-asleep, Martha Ann stirred and attempted to stretch. She found herself held tight against the solid body of Rick McGill. She opened first one eye, then the other. Her mouth was pressed intimately against his neck; his leg was flung brazenly over her hips, and his hands were underneath her shirt. She knew she should have been outraged, but the simple fact was, she liked it.

She sighed. Wasn't that just like a Riley woman? She couldn't even get through one night without tumbling straight into the arms of this wife-chasing rake.

The real trick would be to make sure that it didn't happen again. She figured she could act rage as well as she could act rich

Drawing back as far as she could, she punched him in the ribs. “Let go of me.”

“What the—” Rick's eyes flew open. Martha Ann's face was two inches from his nose, and she had murder in her eyes. He grinned. “Good morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?”

“Get your hands out from under my shirt.”

“What a shame. That's such a nice place for my hands to be—even if I didn't know they were there.”

“In a pig's eye, you didn't.”

“Scout's honor.” His hands were still under her shirt, and her skin felt so good, he saw no reason to resist a quick caress or two. .

Martha Ann shivered, and it wasn't from the cold. “Will you stop that?”

He grinned. “You liked it, didn't you, Mrs. O'Grady.”

“I did not. Remove your hands.”

“Since I'm such a gentleman...”he paused, grinning at her, “... I'm bound to oblige.” He took his time, dragging his fingertips over her back just so he could feel her shiver again. Chuckling, he tucked her shirt back into her waistband and patted her bottom. “There. Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?”

She'd gotten what she'd asked for and a lot more to boot. Darned his wicked hide.

“It will be, as soon as you move your leg.”

“Such a pity. I thought we were a great fit.” He pressed his leg intimately against her hip before releasing his hold.

She scooted quickly away from him and stood up. The morning chill almost took her breath away.