bottom, drawing her deliberately against his thighs, raising her blood pressure unexpectedly. He’d made it more than clear he had no intention of making love to her on the road, and Anne was increasingly bewildered by his continued restraint. They had only two weeks…
She reached up to touch his rough-bearded cheek. “You look terrible,” she informed him sleepily. “Darn it, Jake, why are you driving yourself so hard?” Her lips followed in the wake of her hand, until she snuggled closer for a simple, unavoidable, unexplainable, delicious hug. His chamois shirt was soft and his body warm, and when his arms wrapped around her she felt sleepy all over again, defenseless, not caring… It was far too early in the morning to think about principles and problems.
Jake’s thighs tightened responsively against her softer ones. His fingers threaded back her hair as he dipped down to kiss her just behind her ear. “Don’t you want to see Idaho?” he questioned.
“No.”
“Don’t you want to see your present? Actually, there are two.”
“No.”
In slow motion, his hands weaved down under her hair. His fingers, cloaked by the heavy tresses, moved over her shoulders, then down her spine, then lower to cup her bottom again, molding the shape of him to her own shape. Her pulse was beating erratically. She wanted to sing. She was weary of traveling and weary of worrying, and undoubtedly when she really woke up, her head would overrule all the base impulses that were racing through her bloodstream. She could deal with that later. Right now, the silver eyes that captured hers promised that Jake was very much of like mind, full of base, unprincipled, degenerate thoughts.
“Although,” he said gently, “we are parked on the edge of a cliff.”
“That’s nice.” But unwillingly she shifted her eyes away from him to the window. The nose of the motor home really did seem to be hanging in midair. At least all she could see was a terrifying drop below to a tree-studded valley where pines of gold and green reached valiantly for the sky.
“They turned into Idaho.”
“Pines are supposed to stay green all year, not turn gold like that.”
“Idaho pines don’t follow the rules,” he agreed. “It’s also already warm outside. Not quite as warm as inside, I’ll grant you…” He drew away from her with a distinctly crooked smile. “But I’m beginning to have the feeling this day could turn out very warm indeed.”
He didn’t seem to be talking about the weather. As Jake went back to the driver’s seat, Anne groped for clothes and padded back to the bathroom, feeling curiously light-headed. She felt less so when he’d backed away from the cliff and was safely on the highway again. She washed and drew on underthings, occasionally peeking out the curtained window in back.
In the Bighorns, there had been snow. How strange to look out and see mountains here that looked even taller, yet totally different. These spiky peaks were tall and skinny and steep, too steep for a house to be set anywhere, too steep for any other road to have been built, and there were no other roads that she could see. Just the one highway. And the crazy gold pines…there had to be millions of them, all catching the warm sunlight’s glint and shimmer. Clouds lay right on the road, like wisps of cotton candy. They were driving so high up she could feel her ears pop…
She slipped on stockings, a skirt and blouse, then started working impatiently with her hair. Her mirror image annoyed her. The coral Victorian blouse was a favorite, with its splash of lace at her throat and wrists, and the camel-colored skirt fit well, gathered just a little around her slim hips. The outfit was tailored and trim and feminine…and totally wrong. It had once seemed terribly important to show Jake she wasn’t the jeans and sweatshirt type and never would be, but she could at least have had the sense to be a bit less stubborn and more practical. One pair of pants wouldn’t have killed her.
Her fingers hesitated, forming the tight coil at the back of her neck. Impulsively, she loosened the confining knot, allowing a few strands to curl around her ears. The effect was not particularly practical. Or sensible. She turned away from the mirror.
A few minutes later, she carried two mugs of coffee up to the front of the motor home, setting both down as she noticed two packages on the rug between the seats. Her eyebrows flickered up in question.
“I told you I had presents for you this morning.”
“I thought you were joking. Jake, I don’t want you to buy-”
“These are arriving-in-Idaho presents. They’re necessities,” he assured her.
“Necessities?” she echoed faintly as she sank down into the passenger seat. The first package was tiny, wrapped in silver paper with a huge satin pink bow. “Jake,” she started to scold, but stopped when she saw the exquisite filigree of silver inside, a necklace so delicate and light she was afraid to touch it.
“Do you like it?”
“I…it’s beautiful. More than beautiful.” She looked at him helplessly.
He nodded. “It suits a woman who wears lace at her throat and soft colors next to her skin.” He took a quick inventory, and she could have sworn at that moment he was pleased at her choice of dress. “Now open the other package, Anne-but be careful. It’s heavy.”
She took another moment to finger the necklace, and then on impulse put it on and fastened its tiny catch behind her neck. “Jake, it’s so…” She hesitated, an odd tremor in her voice, and then leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The other package was the shape of a brick, and when Anne bent to lift it she couldn’t. She arched both eyebrows in Jake’s direction, but he didn’t turn away from the road. Cautiously, she undid the wrappings-and then froze.
“It weighs about seventy pounds, honey. A really effective paperweight.” He hesitated, adding sadly, “You can be hard to buy for, sometimes. But I figured this was something you could really use when you get busy pushing papers around.”
The silver ingot was the size of a brick, a solid block of gleaming metal so bright, so mirror-bright, that the sun reflecting off it hurt Anne’s eyes.
“First,” Jake said lazily, “we’re going to mine a little silver. Then we’ll head up to my ghost town, Anne, where I usually set up camp when I’m here.
If Anne had
“Jake, you’re out of your mind. Stark raving out of your mind.”
Chapter 9
Anne turned silent, once Jake came back out of the bank and started driving through the narrow streets of Wallace. The touch and look of the silver ingot was indelibly engraved in her mind, evoking unwilling fantasies of sterling castle…and a dreadful anxiety as to exactly what Jake had got himself involved in.
The look of the town was just not what she’d expected. Jake had been playing tourist guide, blithely relating that Idaho’s Silver Valley produced more than 40 percent of the nation’s metal ores. Wallace, he said, was the unofficial capital of the valley. He went on about geological fault lines and mineral deposits and the incredible wealth hidden in the mountains. Anne was hardly the type to whimsically imagine streets lined with silver, but Wallace…well.
The town was about as big as a handkerchief, and appeared as old as the hills behind it. Silver Shares Sold Here, shouted the signs in every other window. So much wealth in gold and silver, pocketed in this tiny, tiny place? The mountains simply didn’t provide growing room. Old frame structures were packed one on top of the other. Houses had backyards that led to a second tier of houses, with steps that led to a third tier of houses-and beyond that the mountains shot straight up.
