pedal. The car chugged along, so loud that conversation was next to impossible even if he’d been a talkative sort. He glanced out at the brownish hue of the land, where the grasses were dormant in autumn. The paloverde trees that dotted the landscape were glorious. He glanced at Trilby, wondering if she knew what they were. He pulled off the main road onto a smaller dirt one that led back to a secluded box canyon. As they drove, Trilby noticed that trees became more plentiful and the mountains loomed large and ghostly.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, delighted with the wooded canyon.
He pulled over, onto the side of the road, and cut off the engine. “Do you like it?”
“Why, it’s lovely,” she exclaimed. Her wide eyes were expressive. “I had no idea there were places like this in Arizona. I thought it was all cactus and sand.”
“You’d have known sooner if you’d ever agreed to come out with your father and brother,” he chided.
“I eat enough dust in the house, thank you, without going out in search of more during roundup,” she replied.
“Dust won’t melt you, sugar plum,” he said, with faint sarcasm.
“I hardly expected that it would, and please, could you refrain from calling me pet names?”
He turned in the seat to face her, idly rolling a cigarette while he stared at her. There were only the two ofthem in the world, in this beautiful wild place. Trilby was intensely aware of him as a man and was fighting not to respond to him. It was very easy to remember how it had been when he’d kissed her the night before. She was much too vulnerable to him, and he had a bad opinion of her. She must remember that, somehow. Her posture straightened as she fought not to betray the tingling excitement he engendered in her.
But he saw her discomfort and understood it very well. “You’re very stiff and formal with me, Trilby. Why?”
She met his searching gaze bravely. “It isn’t me that you’re interested in, Mr. Vance,” she said shortly. “I’m not completely stupid.”
She surprised him. That didn’t often happen with women. Sally had been pretty, but not particularly intelligent. Trilby was. “Then if I’m not interested in you, what am I interested in?”
“The water on my father’s property,” she said, without backing down.
He smiled appreciatively. “Well, well. And what makes you think that?”
“You need water. You don’t have enough, and we do, and my father won’t sell or lease any to you. That’s why,” she replied. “My father doesn’t even suspect that you might be playing up to me for ulterior motives. He thinks the sun rises and sets on you. So does the rest of my family.” She glared at him. “For myself, Mr. Vance, I think you’re a shipless pirate.”
He chuckled softly. “Well, that’s honest, at least.” He stuck the rolled cigarette in his thin mouth and produced a match to light it. Pungent smoke filled the air.
“I don’t really blame you,” she said after a minute.She fumbled with her cloth drawstring purse. “I suppose water is life itself out here.”
“Indeed it is.” He took another draw from the cigarette. “Are you up to a little walking?”
“Of course,” she said, glad to escape the confined space.
He came around and opened her door, carefully helping her out. The touch of his fingers made her heart jump. She moved quickly away from him and began to walk down the road. It was so peaceful. The wind blew noisily and there was a smell, a crisp, earthy smell, in the air. Her eyes found rock formations in the hills beyond. The trees were golden and magnificent against the faint reddish yellow of the maple leaves.
“What sort of trees are those?” she asked curiously.
“The golden ones? They’re paloverde trees. They have long strands of golden blossoms in the spring, and in the autumn they go glorious. I like them better than the maples.”
“Those others are oaks, aren’t they?”
“Some of them. That—” he indicated
Jerry B. Jenkins, Chris Fabry