Miss Greenhorn

“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.”

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.”

“I haven’t really wanted to get married,” she confessed. She smiled at him shyly. She wanted to add that until recently, she’d looked more like a violet than a rose. She’d bought some new clothes and had her hair styled and she’d even taken a brief modeling course to learn how to move and walk. But she couldn’t tell Nate that. She didn’t want him to think she was a phony. It was just that he wouldn’t have looked twice at the woman she’d been. Nobody ever had—except Harry.

His eyes narrowed as he listened to her. So she didn’t have marriage in mind. Good. Neither did he. And looking the way she did, there’d been men. He was almost sure of it, despite her old-maid shyness. That could be an act, of course. He’d seen some performances in recent years, despite his lack of looks. He had money. It made him a target for all sorts of women, but especially for the pretty, fortune-hunting variety. God knew, there had been plenty of those around. The dude ranch drew them in droves. He’d always enjoyed the game while it lasted, but he was looking especially forward to playing it with Christy. She was a dish and he wanted her feverishly. Going slow was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but she seemed to want a slow pace, and he didn’t want to spoil things.

“Have you always taught school?” he asked.

She nodded. “Ever since I graduated from college. I don’t know if you ever really graduate, though,” she added on a laugh. “You have to constantly take refresher courses and upgrade your education. I don’t mind it. I like learning new things, new techniques. It’s quite a challenge to get young minds to enjoy being taught.”

“I can imagine.”

“You must have studied geology,” she said when a short silence fell between them.

He nodded. “I always loved rocks. The feel of them, the history of them, the colors, the forms.” He smiled at her over his glass. “I was a rock hound even when I was a kid. As I grew older, mining sort of stood out as a possible profession. It’s hard to ignore mines in this part of the country. Tombstone was started as a mining town, and Bisbee with its Lavendar Pit mine was known all over the country for copper mining in its heyday. Even today, seventy percent of all the copper mined in the U.S. comes out of Tucson and Pima County, Arizona. This is the greatest place around for finding profitable minerals, and I don’t mean just gold and silver.”

“I guess everyone in the world has heard about the Lost Dutchman’s Mine in the Superstition Mountains,” she agreed.

“Yes. And that’s far east of here. But there are rumors that another kind of gold can be found in Colossal Cave, and that’s just outside Tucson. It’s the biggest dry cave in the country, you know. Outlaws once used it as a hideout, you see,” he said, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. “And they say the gold’s still hidden in there!”

“Wow!” She smiled with excited delight. “Could we go there and look?”

“And here I thought you weren’t a mercenary girl,” he chided, and the cynicism in his eyes almost gave him away.

“It’s the adventure of it, not the prize,” she replied, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents. “I’d rather find an old six-shooter or some Apache arrowheads than the gold, if you want the truth.”

“I’ve got a whole collection of Apache arrowheads,” he told her. “And if you like, I’ll run you over to Cochise Stronghold one day while you’re here. Cochise and his band used to camp there. He and his people fought the U.S. Cavalry to a standstill and legend and the historical people say he’s buried in an unmarked grave on the site. The Indian agent, Tom Jeffords, who was his friend, was the only white man who was privileged to know the old chief’s burial place.”

“What is it like there? Desert?” she asked.

“No!” he denied, shaking his head. “It’s way back in a canyon with plenty of trees and good water and mountains behind. It’s a beautiful spot.”

“Imagine that.” She sighed, staring at him. “You know, before I came out here, I thought the desert was just a lot of sand stretching to the horizon. But it’s not like that at all. It’s full of creosote and cholla, ocotillo and prickly pear cactus, and cottonwood and mesquite. And the birds! The red-winged blackbird is so beautiful.”

“Not to mention the cactus wren, the roadrunner, and the owls,” he agreed, smiling back at her. “Yes, there’s life out there. Other kinds, too. Lizards and snakes, coyotes, wolves, deer, game birds—”

“How long have your people lived in Arizona?” she interrupted.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know. An ancestor of mine was living in Tombstone around the time of the O.K. Corral, but I don’t know when he actually came here. All I know is that he was a Southerner. He came here after the Civil War.”

“Someone told me that the city of Tucson once flew the Confederate flag just briefly.”

“And it’s true. A lot of Southerners settled here in the old days. There’s plenty of history here in this part of the state.”

“I grew up reading Zane Grey,” she recalled wistfully. “I never dreamed I’d actually get to see any of the places he wrote about. But the most exciting part of this trip has been looking at the Hohokam ruins.”

He nodded. “They fascinate me, too. In 300 B.C., the Hohokam farmed here using a 150-mile system of canals. They were an inspiring people.”

“Yes, I’m learning that.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. Are you through?”

“Yes, thank you. How can you take off whenever you like?” she asked hesitantly as they got up.

He grinned. “I’m vice president of the mining company. My uncle owns it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m rich,” he said, and a mocking smile touched his lean, dark face. “Haven’t you noticed? Most women do.”

She flushed and turned away, flustered by the point-blank bluntness. In her haste to move, she backed into the chair he’d pulled out for her, tripped, and went face down across it, plowing into a table full of tourists and their children.

Milk shakes and hamburgers went everywhere. So did the contents of Christy’s purse. She sprawled on the floor, feeling unbearably foolish and embarrassed.

“That was my fault,” Nate said quietly as he helped her up and proceeded to patch up the incident with a charm and diplomacy that Christy was just beginning to realize was an innate part of his personality. Flinty he might be, but he was a gentleman, and he had a knack for putting people at ease. The tourists were more concerned about Christy than the mess she’d made, and even the restaurant people were understanding and kind.

All that sweetness only made Christy feel worse. She was in tears by the time Nate helped her into the Jeep.

“Now, now,” he said gently, mopping up her tears. “I shouldn’t have cut at you like that. It was my fault, not yours.”

“It was mine,” she wailed. “I’m so clumsy…!”