gave way to steep granite hills covered with thick chaparral. Wild grass heavy with seeds swayed in the April wind. In a few more weeks the land would be a tawny brown, cured by the hot southern California sun. Then would come a time of stillness and heat reflecting off granite hillsides, a time when only chaparral survived, whispering its brittle secrets into the searing afternoons.
But this day was sweet and warm, the green-and-granite springtime that was unique to the Pala country. Avocado trees grew on either side of the road, groves cut into the rocky hillsides with terraces so narrow and steep it seemed impossible that anything but weeds could grow there. Yet avocado trees loved the stony adversity of the land. In harvest season, the weight of the deep green fruit bent branches to the ground.
Chance’s eyes ceaselessly measured the land, noting small movements and changing shadows. He pointed them out to Reba: the hawks poised hungrily on a fencepost or riding the wind; the ground squirrels darting across open ground, then freezing to conceal themselves from predators that depended on movement to reveal their prey; vultures high up, floating on transparent winds, waiting for time and circumstance to furnish a meal; and a doe with two fawns, watching quietly from the cover of chaparral at the side of the road.
Reba’s pleasure in the trip diminished considerably as soon as Chance turned off the highway onto the dirt road that went to the mine. The hills were steeper and higher here, blending imperceptibly into true mountains. The road itself was little more than parallel goat tracks winding and doubling back, struggling over granite ridges and then plunging into canyons thick with boulders and brush. Washouts, rocks, holes, and landslides were the rule rather than the exception. If it hadn’t been for occasional glimpses of ruts twisting over the land ahead of them, Reba would have sworn that there was no way for a vehicle to get through.
And even with the ruts as proof, she had her doubts.
Chance drove the appalling nonroad with the same ease and confidence she had displayed on the crowded freeway. After a time, Reba unclenched her hands and relaxed, trusting his skill as he had trusted hers. She found she enjoyed watching him, his concentration and quick reflexes, the strength of muscles moving smoothly beneath his tanned skin as he held the laboring Toyota on the rough track.
“There’s a tricky patch around the bend,” said Chance without looking up from the road. “Want to walk it?”
“Are you going to?”
His lips curved beneath his moustache. “Some bloody fool has to drive.”
“If you’re a bloody fool, I’m a candy-striped snake,” she said tartly. “I’ll ride, thanks. I’m in no hurry to break in the shoes you bought for me.”
She looked down at the boots Chance had given her. At his urging, she had changed into her camping outfit when they stopped for lunch. Privately, she thought the boots looked dreadful. Clunky, graceless and dirt brown. They were supple, however, and they gripped the ground securely. The jeans he had bought her weren’t of the designer variety but they fit very well. The blouse followed the line of her body as though made exclusively for her. It was a soft cotton knit, the same dark blue as her jeans, with countless tiny buttons and loops fastening in a line down her left breast to her waist. The label of a very expensive house was sewn discreetly into the high collar.
When she had come back to the table wearing her camp clothes, Chance had given her a look of approval that made her feel very female. She had mentioned that, while gorgeous, her blouse could hardly be classified as rough clothing. He had simply smiled and pointed out that the blouse was dark enough not to show dirt and washable in the bargain. What more could anyone ask of rough clothes? Besides, he added, she could always hide the blouse under the windbreaker he had bought for her.
The Toyota
But this day was sweet and warm, the green-and-granite springtime that was unique to the Pala country. Avocado trees grew on either side of the road, groves cut into the rocky hillsides with terraces so narrow and steep it seemed impossible that anything but weeds could grow there. Yet avocado trees loved the stony adversity of the land. In harvest season, the weight of the deep green fruit bent branches to the ground.
Chance’s eyes ceaselessly measured the land, noting small movements and changing shadows. He pointed them out to Reba: the hawks poised hungrily on a fencepost or riding the wind; the ground squirrels darting across open ground, then freezing to conceal themselves from predators that depended on movement to reveal their prey; vultures high up, floating on transparent winds, waiting for time and circumstance to furnish a meal; and a doe with two fawns, watching quietly from the cover of chaparral at the side of the road.
Reba’s pleasure in the trip diminished considerably as soon as Chance turned off the highway onto the dirt road that went to the mine. The hills were steeper and higher here, blending imperceptibly into true mountains. The road itself was little more than parallel goat tracks winding and doubling back, struggling over granite ridges and then plunging into canyons thick with boulders and brush. Washouts, rocks, holes, and landslides were the rule rather than the exception. If it hadn’t been for occasional glimpses of ruts twisting over the land ahead of them, Reba would have sworn that there was no way for a vehicle to get through.
And even with the ruts as proof, she had her doubts.
Chance drove the appalling nonroad with the same ease and confidence she had displayed on the crowded freeway. After a time, Reba unclenched her hands and relaxed, trusting his skill as he had trusted hers. She found she enjoyed watching him, his concentration and quick reflexes, the strength of muscles moving smoothly beneath his tanned skin as he held the laboring Toyota on the rough track.
“There’s a tricky patch around the bend,” said Chance without looking up from the road. “Want to walk it?”
“Are you going to?”
His lips curved beneath his moustache. “Some bloody fool has to drive.”
“If you’re a bloody fool, I’m a candy-striped snake,” she said tartly. “I’ll ride, thanks. I’m in no hurry to break in the shoes you bought for me.”
She looked down at the boots Chance had given her. At his urging, she had changed into her camping outfit when they stopped for lunch. Privately, she thought the boots looked dreadful. Clunky, graceless and dirt brown. They were supple, however, and they gripped the ground securely. The jeans he had bought her weren’t of the designer variety but they fit very well. The blouse followed the line of her body as though made exclusively for her. It was a soft cotton knit, the same dark blue as her jeans, with countless tiny buttons and loops fastening in a line down her left breast to her waist. The label of a very expensive house was sewn discreetly into the high collar.
When she had come back to the table wearing her camp clothes, Chance had given her a look of approval that made her feel very female. She had mentioned that, while gorgeous, her blouse could hardly be classified as rough clothing. He had simply smiled and pointed out that the blouse was dark enough not to show dirt and washable in the bargain. What more could anyone ask of rough clothes? Besides, he added, she could always hide the blouse under the windbreaker he had bought for her.
The Toyota
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