"I have to keep my costs down. I saw some hotels nearby, but they look pretty fancy. What do you think, Cal? You've been here before. What do you recommend?"

Cal had wolfed down one slice of pizza and was taking a big bite off the point of the second. He paused, wiped his mouth and swallowed.

"Here's what I was thinking. The C-Bar is only about a hundred and fifty miles from here. I haven't been home in ages and I'd like a chance to see my folks. I know they'd be real pleased to meet you. Wouldn't take but a couple of hours to drive there, and you'd have a free room for the night."

"A couple of hours! Jamie was astonished. "Are you planning to fly?"

"Don't need to fly. It's a straight shot on I-80 from here. It's an easy drive and I promise I'll hold it to the speed limit. And I'd really like for you to meet my folks. Anyway," he took another bite of the pizza, "these big cities are too noisy for me. I'd kind of like to sleep at the ranch tonight."

Jamie agreed about the noise. The traffic racket outside and the indoor clatter of shoppers and the music had begun to feel like a smothering blanket of sound. She made a quick calculation, balancing her own shyness at the prospect of meeting Cal's parents against the oppressive clamor of the city around her.

"Okay, Cal." Her decision was impulsive. "Let's just do it. Let's drive to Nevada!"

Chapter Ten.

He didn't quite keep his promise. He held the big pickup down to about eighty-five, zipping straight-arrow past the Great Salt Lake and the Bonneville Salt Flats, stopping only at the state line at Wendover to get gas and call his mother to tell her he was on his way and to let her know to expect company. It was near sundown when they turned off the interstate highway onto the secondary road that took them to the Cameron spread. The sun was huge against the distant mountains, almost blinding them, when Cal turned the truck west again onto a dirt road, pa.s.sing through the gate and under a wooden sign that marked the entrance to the ranch.

"This is it," he said. "This is the C-Bar."

In the glowing last warm rays, the change that came over Cal was visible; he was glad to be home. He settled comfortably back against the seat and pushed his hat back letting the wind blow against his face. Behind them, a cloud of dust rose high as the truck moved along the dry road, through the gray and silver-green of the sage, made rosy now by the approaching sunset. Ahead of them, high in the blue sky, a hawk was scanning the spa.r.s.e foliage, lazily finishing off his day's hunting, and to the north, along a slope of hill, a herd of elk grazed quietly, one or two of them lifting a casual head to examine the pa.s.sing truck. On the flat, a rough air-strip had been laid out and a small Cessna was parked there. In that big country, the plane looked as small as a child's toy, as though it were waiting to be picked up and put away in the toy box, now that the day was over.

"Helps cut the place down to size," Cal said, waving airily at it.

Moments later they reached a compound of several buildings surrounded by a white-painted rail fence. They turned into the driveway and in front of them was the Cameron home, painted white like a Midwestern farmhouse and two stories tall under a gabled roof. It had a broad porch and a large, well-watered lawn all around, a tidy patch of green in the surrounding desert. Behind the main house were bunkhouses, a cook house, a slaughter house, and a tack room. Two enormous cottonwood trees shaded the southern side of the lawn and between the two trees, in a gazebo, a white lawn swing rocked back and forth, gently, lazily.

A small woman, slightly plump and light-haired, perhaps fifty years old, in jeans and plaid shirt, was in the swing, reading a book. She looked up as the truck arrived inside the fence in a cloud of dust, dropped her book on the seat beside her, and came quickly toward them, beaming. At the same time, the front door of the house opened and a man came out onto the porch, calling, "Hey, Christina, they're here!"

"Let me get that door for you," Cal said to Jamie, and he was quickly out of the truck and around to her side to let her out. Then he ran to his mother, lifted her off the ground and swung her around a couple of times.

"You fool boy! Put me down! Watch that knee, Cal! You hear me? I don't want you banging that knee again!"

Cal gave his mother a big hug as he stopped swinging her and set her back on her feet.

"Stop babying the boy, Chrissy. He's just fine. The knee's just fine, isn't it, Cal?"

"You bet, Dad. It's coming along just fine. Doc says I'll be busting horses again in no time." The men's hands met in a warm grip, followed by a big hug, muscular and affectionate. Over Cal's shoulder, Big Cal saw Jamie, who had remained near the truck. Christina Cameron was already sizing her up.

"Let's meet your friend, Cal." Mr. Cameron's weathered face, lined by deep creases at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, turned to examine Jamie, a genial smile masking whatever his thoughts might be.

"Mom. Dad. This is Jamie Sundstrom. Jamie lives down in Sharperville, and she needed some legal advice, so I drove her up to talk to Elaine French. She has to see Elaine again tomorrow morning, so I convinced her to come and stay here tonight."

Jamie shook the proffered hands. "I sure do appreciate your having me here tonight. I don't know my way around the city and I didn't know where I was going to spend the night."

"Why, Jamie, we're happy to have any friend of Cal's." Mrs. Cameron led Jamie to the house and up the porch steps. "And any excuse that gets that boy here is a special treat for us. We don't get to see him often enough."

Jamie stayed quiet during dinner. The Camerons were cordial, but mostly they chattered away at each other, sharing their news, their concerns, the events of the community and the ranch. The parents wanted to hear all about Ellie and the kids, and they wanted to be a.s.sured that Cal's knee was healing well. They all had so much to catch up on, they left Jamie free to listen quietly and to get over her shyness. And that gave her a chance to look around her at Cal's home.

In Jamie's experience, ranch families worked hard the year round and usually had far too little to show for all their work. Luxuries, even small ones, were hard to come by, and many a ranch owner thought he'd had a good year if enough was left over after the calves were sold to buy a new Stetson and maybe a pair of boots.

But obviously it was different here on the Cameron spread; this was one family that was making cattle ranching pay. Comfort and financial stability were evident even in the simplicity of the big kitchen where they ate their meal. By Jamie's standards, the room was sumptuous, with its thoughtful design, sleek stainless-steel appliances, and airy s.p.a.ce. This was not the hardscrabble lifestyle she was accustomed to.

And she had time now to reflect, and to realize that, in fact, this whole remarkable day had been one introduction after another to a more attractive way of living than she had ever known, beginning with the drive up from Sharperville. Cal's reliable, solid vehicle made the long drive and not once did it heat up or break down. Then there'd been the imposing offices of Larrabee, Slaughter, and French, where the aura of power and money was laid on in a layer as thick as the firm was able to create. And that had been followed by the abundance of goods in the stores at the shopping mall, where there had been almost a surfeit of things, things, and more things. To say nothing of the lingerie store and all it lacy frippery-a tiny bit of which had come away with her, even now snug around her bottom like a secret memento. And finally, this casual, oh-so-ordinary Monday night dinner with the Cameron family, luxurious in its ease, almost opulent in it warmth and honest generosity.

The comfort, the sense of natural, unforced affluence that had gathered around her this day was seductive in its casualness. Even the dinner, which was ranch style-big portions of pot roast, gravy, and potatoes, with cherry pie for dessert-was solidly substantial without being overwhelming. When she declined seconds, Mrs. Cameron didn't press her, though Big Cal did tell her, with obvious pride, "Those cherries are from our own trees, right out in back. Best in the county."

When dinner was over, she offered to help with the dishes, but Cal interrupted her, taking out of her hand the dish towel she had already picked up and putting it back on the wood-topped counter.

"Mom, do me a favor and excuse us from doing the dishes. Or leave them, and we'll do them when we get back." He was already leading Jamie out the door, not even waiting for his mother's response, not even stopping, on his way out, to pick up his hat from the hook next to the door. "I want to take Jamie for a ride. I'd like her to see the place."

Jamie's protest was evident but ineffective as Cal propelled her out through the kitchen door. Mrs. Cameron was smiling, shaking her head indulgently as she started to clear the table.

"You could at least let the girl catch her breath," she called after him, knowing Cal wasn't listening.

The screen door banged behind them and Cal and Jamie disappeared in the direction of the truck. In the kitchen, Big Cal picked up the dessert dishes and carried them to the sink. He ran some water over the plates to rinse them and placed them into the dishwasher. Then he straightened up and looked out the window over the sink, watching the taillights of the truck already far down the road.

"What do you think of her, Chrissy?"

His wife came over to where he was standing and joined him, watching the taillights disappear.

"I'm not sure, Cal. She's young, of course, but it seems like she's right on the edge-like she's just about to go one way or the other. I think she's had some hard times, and it's put a rough edge to her, but underneath, there's something really ladylike about her. Sort of smooth and gentle, if you know what I mean."

"Just what I was thinking, too. She sure is a pretty little thing."

"She is, indeed. I think I like her."

"Me, too."

"And I think Cal is in love with her." She went back to the table, collected more dirty dishes, and brought them to the sink. "Be the best thing in the world for him," she said, "to start thinking about the future. This last year's been so hard on him, and I'm worried about how hard he's taking it-he hasn't accepted what's happened to him at all. I was never happy about his rodeoing, but I hate for him to have it end this way."

"Not easy," said her husband. "Having it all be over so sudden, and so young. Takes a man a long time to get used to that kind of thing." He remained quiet for a long time, preoccupied with another idea that was taking shape in his mind. At last, almost to himself, he said, "I never believed in spoiling my children. You know that, Chrissy. But this friend of Cal's, now that's something else. I do believe a little comfort would do that girl some real good. Looks to be like she could use a little spoiling."

He kept staring out the window for a long time while his wife went back and forth, picking up the dirty dishes and loading up the dishwasher.

At last he turned around and leaned back against the sink.

"You know, Chrissy, one of these days, Cal is going to be needing that house down by the creek. I've been thinking about it and I believe I'm going to do that kitchen over again. Put in a dishwasher and maybe a washer and dryer. It's a nice little place, but it could use a little fixing up. What do you think, honey?"

His wife came over to him and clasped her hands behind his neck. She kissed him lightly on the mouth and said, "I think you ought to talk to Cal about it. I think he may be having some ideas of his own about that house. Wouldn't surprise me the least bit."

Cal switched off the engine and waited for Jamie's reaction.

"I wanted you to see this. It's my favorite spot on the whole ranch."

He had brought her to a sweet oasis that lay, rec.u.mbent and sensuous, hidden in an almost invisible pocket in the harsh desert, dotted with shadowed foliage that bristled in the moonlight. Not more than a hundred yards away, a long, low cliff rose into the night, its harsh face cleft and jagged, with spiny bushes and stunted trees clinging tenaciously to the sides of the rugged rock. Along the base of the cliff flowed a broad stream that flashed in the moonlight, its waters fed by distant mountain run-off from the melting winter snows. The stream's music could be heard, running its endless scales, singing its timeless songs, bringing life to its patch of the desert. A broad band of vegetation grew along the waters' banks, and at its far side, tall cottonwood trees formed a kind of grove, cool, touched equally by moonlight and shadow, a lush and private hideaway in the stark openness.

With the engine silent, Cal turned toward Jamie and rested his arm along the back of the seat, waiting to see if this lovely place affected her as it did him.

She was unaware of his eyes on her for her senses had been captured by the enchantment of the stream's song, the grove's sheltered beauty. Her lips parted in response to the shimmering, magical setting, and her breathing slowed, her gaze caught, as though she had been hypnotized. She turned to look at Cal and noticed that without his hat, he looked naked, somehow, like a man just coming out of the shower. He was watching her-so intently-his eyes exploring her face, eager for her response. And she knew why he'd brought her here. Before she could stop him, his hand moved toward her and stroked up through her hair, lifting it away from her neck, smoothing it back as though it had a beautiful life of its own, as though it were a delightfully, magnetically attractive adornment that he, like a curious child, couldn't help touching.

But the pressure of his hand at the back of her neck frightened her. All her inhibitions were once again solidifying inside her.

"Cal, wait. I have to talk to you."

She put a hand against his chest.

To Cal, her touch felt like the closing of a circle, the forming of an irresistible connection between them, and he heard nothing she said. Instead, his arms went around her, enfolding her, and in the same movement, his mouth came to hers, hungry and demanding.

"Please, Cal," she was whispering now, stopping him, turning her face away from him, "please, I really do need to talk to you." She felt as though there was a hand clutching her heart, a barrier against any feeling, a guard against any response. She looked intently into his eyes and she was more forceful. "Please, Cal. Please let me talk to you." Her hand remained pressed against his chest, a silent, clear rejection.

And now he paused. He closed his eyes momentarily, as though he were in some deep, private communion with himself, and then he took a long breath, opened his eyes. He wasn't smiling now and she was sure he was angry.

"I can hold you while you talk, can't I?" His tone was cool.

"No. This is hard enough for me as it is."

Reluctantly, he let her go. He sat back into the seat, resting his hands on the wheel.

"All right. Go ahead. Talk."

"This isn't easy."

"I got that already."

"I don't want you to be angry."

"I'm not angry." Not yet, he seemed to be saying, but the wary set of his face told her he was getting there. "But you know what I want, Jamie." He looked beyond her, toward the stream. "I want to go with you over there, where those cottonwoods are. Tonight. In this place. I want to make love with you."

That stopped her. He spoke those words so easily; would he be able to understand that for her the language of love-and of lovemaking-lay trapped behind great, inhibiting barriers of sad memories and lost innocence?

"That what I mean, Cal. That's what I have to talk about." She could barely make the words audible. "I have to talk to you about"-she could barely say the words-"about making love."

She didn't know how to interpret the way he was looking at her. He was silent, eyeing her cautiously. She could do nothing but continue, now that she'd finally started.

"Making love-even the casual way you say it, like it's something so easy. I know, it should be easy."

Tears burned against her eyelids and she looked away from him, out the window at the gentle grove of trees.

Her voice was faint now, but Cal heard her perfectly.

"Well, dammit," she was whispering, her face still turned away from him, "it's just not all that easy. Not for me, anyway. I'm not saying this right but I don't know how to say it. It scares me to tell you this. I know how I feel when you hold me. I know how I feel . . . inside . . ." Now the tears slipped down her cheek.

"But I get scared. It's like something bad is going to happen. And I get afraid I'll be all numb and nothing will work right, and then I feel so ashamed. I know it's not supposed to be that way. And I think something really is wrong with me."

She kept looking out the window, unwilling to let him see her face.

"Has it always been like that? I mean, with other guys?" His voice was very quiet.

"Well, it's not like there have been a hundred men in my life." She laughed briefly, bitterly. "In a town like Sharperville, a girl like me learns early to be careful. You sleep with one guy, soon the town'll have you sleeping around with everyone. Not that there weren't boys who tried . . ."

"I'll bet."

"But Ray was the first." She closed her eyes. "And the first couple of times it was good. I thought I was in love, and I was so d.a.m.ned young and so d.a.m.ned dumb. But then, after we got married, Ray didn't care anymore one way or the other . . . and sometimes . . ." She really couldn't continue.

"Did he hurt you?" Cal spoke through clenched teeth.

She pressed her forehead against the window, ashamed of the memory. She could only whisper an answer. "Sometimes."

She didn't see that Cal's eyes closed and he lifted his chin as though he'd absorbed a blow. "And since Ray? Has there been anyone?"

"Are you kidding? After Orrin Fletcher and all that mess? That's all I'd need. The judge gets wind of that, I'd never get Mandy back!"

"Hey, Jamie. You're not expected to stop being a normal s.e.xy woman just because you want custody of your little girl."

"Well, that's how it feels. Like I have to be super careful."

"It's not like that, Jamie. Trust me."

She looked around at him and laughed. "That's what they all say."

He laughed, too, briefly. Then he reached his hand toward her and wiped the tears from her cheeks. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

"Come here," he whispered. His arm circled her and he drew her close to him. And he kissed her. At first, just once, very softly. And then, as though he would not allow any barrier, he kissed her again, with a growing intensity.

Poor Jamie tried, she really did try . . . but his hand moved to the b.u.t.tons of her shirt . . . and his hand slipped inside . . .

And that's when she froze.

The image of those d.a.m.ned panties flashed through her head and she knew that this was what she'd wanted when she put them on, and she was ashamed and afraid.

She went instantly numb. "I can't do it!"

She pushed hard against his shoulders, forcing him away from her with sudden strength. She grasped his hand in both hers, his hand that was already inside her shirt, and she felt its strength, felt his resistance, felt how impossible it could be to stop him. His face was blackening with sudden frustration and as she pushed him back, forcing his hand away from her, she was certain that now she really had made him angry. Confusion and fear raged through her.

"I can't. Please, Cal. Don't be angry. I can't do it. I'm scared." She pulled her shirt closed around her. "I told you how it is with me. I just can't do it." She turned from him, crying now, looking out the window. "I want to go back. Please drive me back." The grove of trees looked dark now, and threatening.

She was rigid with her determination to keep him away, and he understood that she really meant him to stop. His jaw set hard, the muscles working. And then, abruptly, without another word to her, without looking at her again, he turned on the engine. With a grinding of rubber against the dirt, he turned the truck back toward the ranch and got them home in a hurry. And when he got there, he held no doors for her, offered no kisses goodnight. He slammed into the house, letting Jamie trail miserably behind him, and he stormed into his room.