by Peggy Webb
Her throat constricted, and her chest grew tight.
For an awful moment she thought she was going to faint. Then she looked at the man beside her. Rick McGill was as cool and in command as if he were strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon. The sight of him miraculously calmed her down. For the first time since they'd begun the flight, she felt normal.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“As soon as we land, get out as fast as you can. Hit the ground running. Don't stop for anything.” He turned to give her a thumbs-up sign. “We're going to make it, kiddo.”
“You bet we will. Martha Ann... O'Grady never loses.”
There was a valley coming up. He scanned the area, looking for the best spot. There it was, a long smooth canyon between two flat-topped bluffs. It looked wide enough. And long enough. Not a cloud in the sky. It was perfect, too perfect. The skin on the back of his neck prickled.
He felt the jolt when his wheels hit the rough terrain. The plane wobbled, its crippled engine trailing smoke; then it taxied to a stop.
Rick kicked open his door and literally dragged Martha Ann through. He didn't trust her to get out of the plane on her own. But she proved to be a trooper. She hit the ground running, just as he had instructed.
Holding her hand, he raced over the rocky canyon floor. She kept up with him, her long legs stretching out in a sprint.
They didn't stop until they reached a huge outcrop of rock that formed a natural cave. Pulling her with him, Rick ducked inside just as the explosion rocketed through the canyon.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Her face was pale. “Your plane...”
“It's insured.” Her teeth began to chatter. “Hey, it's all right. We're safe now.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She continued to shiver. “It's okay, baby. It's okay.” He rubbed her back and began to rock her in a soothing motion. “Don't go into shock on me now, sweetheart. It's all over.” She made a hiccuping sound against his shoulder. “Are you crying? Hey, don't cry. I'm here. I’ll take care of you.”
“I'm... not... cry... ing,” she said between hiccups. “I always... do... this... when I'm... scared.”
“There's a cure for hiccups.” He tipped her face up with one finger and took possession of her lips.
This kiss was different from the first one, Martha Ann thought. There was a gentleness in his lips, a sweet tenderness that made her want to cuddle up to him forever. She responded by stepping closer and winding her arms around his neck. She rationalized her behavior by telling herself that the only way to cure her hiccups was to do it right.
Her hands crept up and tangled in the hair at the back of his neck. It was crisp and very masculine, yet wonderfully soft. She felt as if she had a handful of sunshine.
Rick dragged her closer, cupping her hips and moving them into his own. The kiss had long since ceased to be a cure for hiccups. He was kissing her for pure pleasure now. No need to kid himself. The woman in his arms was female dynamite, a seductive vamp who set his blood boiling.
Bending her over backward, he plunged his tongue between her teeth. The inside of her mouth was warm and silky and inviting. He explored it with the joy of a sailor on shore leave.
When it was obvious to both of them that they couldn't keep kissing in the name of hiccups, they pulled apart.
Rick gave her a grin that was almost sheepish. “All cured now?”
“I think so.”
“You only think so?” He reached for her. “In that case, we should continue the cure.”
She backed out of his reach and held up her hand. “Please. I'm a married woman.”
“How could I forget?” His chuckle echoed off the rock walls of the cave. “What do you say we explore our surroundings and figure a way out of our dilemma, Mrs. Lucky O'Grady?”
Chapter Three
“We're in the Valley of Fire.”
Rick turned from his contemplation of the endless red bluffs and studied Martha Ann. They had been walking for ten minutes, and as far as he could tell there was nothing to distinguish this canyon from any other in the Southwest.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I lived in this area once.” She turned and pointed to a large section of sandstone atop an ancient bluff. “See that rock. What does it remind you of?”
“By George, it looks like a turtle.”
“This entire valley is filled with such whimsical creatures. Nature's artwork. The result of millions of years of erosion cutting into the soft interbeds of the rock. And over there—” She pointed to a flat-faced rock that looked as if it had been varnished, shadings of blue and purple over red. Rick could barely make out the symbols carved into the rock. “Petroglyphs,” she explained. “Carvings of the Ancient Ones who once lived in this valley.”
Rick was fascinated—as much by her as by his surroundings. She was a born teacher. It showed in the way her eyes lit up when she talked, the way her arms moved to encompass the valley, the animated lilt of her voice.
He smiled. For the moment, Martha Ann Riley had forgotten she was supposed to be a wealthy aloof married woman. He liked the real Martha Ann.
“How far are we from Las Vegas?”
“About fifty miles.” Martha Ann lifted her face toward the sky. “It will be dark soon. We'd be foolish to try to walk out of the desert at night.”
“I agree. We can surely find a shelter around here.”
“Perferably one that isn't already occupied by a sidewinder.”
“There are other things I'd rather cuddle up to.”
Martha Ann thought of the cold desert night ahead with no blankets and no sleeping bags. She'd have only Rick McGill to keep her warm. As she watched him striding up the canyon, checking for a likely spot to sleep, she had plenty of time to fully appreciate her companion. He was lean and rangy and powerful. She'd be willing to bet that the kisses they'd exchanged were just a mere taste of the raw power of the man.
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 alr
eady 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.