Priced to Move

being spinels when they grow up.”

“No kidding.”

But enough with the chitchat. Out comes my loop. I wave it at my armed nanny. “Does he mind?”

The men sing out Burmese. When both nod, I take up my trusty tweezers and loop away.

It doesn’t get much better than this. To make sure I’m not dreaming, I set down the loop, slip my empty hand under the table, and pinch my thigh. “Ow!”

“Did you just pinch yourself again?” Max asks.

“Yeah. I don’t want this to be some dream. Doesn’t it freak you out even a little that you’re here, all the way around the world, in a country few people have visited in forty or more years, and looking at some of the most spectacular gemstone material ever?”

“The travel’s cool.”

“But not the stones?”

The devastating smile shows up again. Aaack! Even when he makes me crazy, his smile melts my bones.

He crosses his arms. “What can I say? They’re okay.”

Rather than try to answer, I shake my head and turn back to my gems, soon to be Miss Mona’s and the S.T.U.D.’s gems.

We make our way around, up, and then finally down all the vendors’ tables. I collect perfectly green peridot; all colors of tourmaline—except Paraiba; amethyst so purple it makes me want to cry; green—you hear that? Green! — zircon; squeaky clean aquamarine; velvety navy-blue kyanite; super-rare green kornerupine; and not just the more common colorless danburite but also sunny yellow and fancy pink.

As we head back to the van, exhaustion almost brings me to my knees. Miss Mona, however, is sassy as ever, the usual spring still in her step. How does she do it?

I struggle to keep up with her and Max, but my eyelids get scratchy and my arms and legs weigh about a ton each. In the van, I collapse into my seat. Miss Mona settles in, and Max fills the back bench with his long, lean figure.

Miss Mona hugs her handbag close. A tiny smile curves up the corners of her mouth.

“How does it feel to carry around a king’s ransom?” I ask.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she answers. “But I love it. I’m so glad you agreed to work for the network. I wouldn’t have had this chance any other way. And I wouldn’t trade this trip for anything in the world.”

Even though I’m pooped, I realize how right she is. “I wouldn’t trade it either.”

I’d consider trading Max the Magnificent for an air conditioner . . .

It’s hot in Burma. And it doesn’t help that every time the guy looks at me, my temperature rushes right up to stratospheric heights. I’ll just have to work harder to control my response. I can’t fall for a jock who doesn’t know rocks.

You’re going to help me, Lord, right? I can’t do this alone. All I know is that Max Matthews is more dangerous than any of the poachers the vendors have told us about.

Maybe I can get on his nerves so much that I’ll chase him away—Whoa! I can’t be that awful. True, I feel as though I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, and Max is either about to push me over or catch me on the way down. Beats me which, but I’m scared. Still, aside from knowing nothing about my field of expertise, what has Max done? Nothing so bad. Right?

Oh, phooey! The truth is, I’m afraid if I have to spend a whole lot more time around him I might . . . let’s just say I don’t even want to know what might happen.

He’s way too attractive. And I might start to believe there’s lots more behind that amazing smile, those twinkling sky-blue eyes, the dumb-jock routine.

Miss Mona’s nobody’s fool. She hired him. Maybe . . .

Even if he doesn’t know his chalcedony from his chryso-beryl.

Heaven help me. Please!

Dinner tonight is more of the same mystery mix— fishy-flavored this time—veggies, and rice. The best part of the meal is the fresh tropical fruit we’re served for dessert. Afterward, I sleep like a dog—totally oblivious to everything but my off-the-wall dreams. Okay, so maybe I don’t chase my tail in my sleep, but I do spend a ton of time trying to catch Max before he makes another one of those bloopers of his.

In the morning, we follow yesterday’s routine of shower and dress, then breakfast in the hotel’s dining room. We head out to the mine as soon as we push away from the table.

“Miss Andie,” the mine manager says when I do like a dust devil, and my cloud of grime and I approach. “We dig tunnel more today.”

“Great! I can’t wait to film that. How do you want us to go about it? Do you need Hannah to go in by herself, or can both of us go down together?”

“I no want you there. Danger in tunnel is big.”

“But we came to tape the operation here. If you’re going deeper into the ground, I want to get that on film.”

I can just hear the rusty wheels in his head cranking around the idea of two loony American women going into his mine while his workers jackhammer their way farther into the earth’s crust. Poor guy. Life as he’s known it is history. Wait till we leave and he gets a chance to really think about what hit him.

From her practically bottomless tote bag, Miss Mona pulls out two dust masks. “Hold it right there, Andie-