Mittman, Stephanie Read Free

was quavering with the cold,
and Sloan wanted to tell him to get out of his wet clothes, but he didn't dare
give himself away.
    Luckily,
the boy was smart enough to think of stripping on his own. When his cries
brought no answer, he began to unbutton his shirt. His back was to Sloan, and
as he removed the soaked shirt, Sloan caught a glimpse of strapping across the
boy's back. Wondering just what it was the boy had strapped under his clothes,
Sloan raised his head slightly, knowing his buckskin-colored Stetson blended in
with the rocks, as did everything else he had chosen to wear, ride, and bring.
The boy was peeling off his blue jeans, probably store-bought Levis from the way
the sun glistened off the rivets. Beneath the jeans, instead of the usual
drawers, was some kind of small dark cloth that just barely covered the boy's
ass.
    Again
the boy called out, asking if anyone was out there, and then he reached back
and unfastened the strapping that wound around his back and shoulders. He laid
each of the garments out on the rocks to dry, and then sat down himself.
Reaching up into the mass of red hair, he pulled out some pins and let loose the
curls.
    A
curious feeling began to rise in Sloan's stomach, and he slowly turned to make
sure there was no one coming up behind him. That gut knotting always meant
something was amiss, but until the boy stretched himself out on the rocks to
dry, and Sloan looked down to see two creamy white breasts with deep rose
nipples attached to what he had thought was a young man's chest, he didn't know
what was wrong.
    She
spread her hair out around her head like a halo, and except for the tiniest
triangle of cloth, which appeared to be attached to a ribbon and which covered
only her most private of places, she lay in the sun, naked as the day God made
her. She lay there for the better part of what was left of the afternoon,
sleeping on and off, sitting up and checking on her clothing every now and
then, always looking around, and not dressing again until nearly dark. Sloan
knew just how long she lay there buck naked because he didn't take his eyes off
her once during the course of the whole afternoon. Of course, his mind was on
the Tates, no matter where his eyes might happen to roam.

CHAPTER 2
    She'd
gotten back into the still damp clothes as though that would solve everything.
Well, at least she was alive. After falling hundreds of feet, that was no small
thing. But where the river had come from was anyone's guess. She was sure there
had been only rocks when she'd looked down from the bridge.
    And
what was she supposed to do now?
    Nothing
like a brush with death to throw a crimp in your day, Mary Grace. Your car is
several hundred feet above you, your map is in the car, you're somewhere in
no-man's-land, and it's getting dark.
    Her
boots rubbed against her feet through her very soggy socks, and she knew she'd
be facing blisters long before she found a bed to tuck her boots beneath. Her
damp jeans chafed her inner thighs and felt cold and clammy as the sun played
peek-a-boo with the few trees that lined the ridge above her.
    On
the map there had been two roads that converged like a squat X, and the
house she was looking for was somewhere up the left fork. She couldn't see anything that even
resembled a road now that she was down on the floor of the canyon. Had she not
been a grown-up, had she not learned to be brave and resourceful and strong,
she might have given in to the tears that threatened to flood her vision.
Instead she sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
    Feeling
not a whit better but refusing to give in, she squared her shoulders and headed
off in what she hoped was the right direction. Soon the stars would be out, and
she could use them to guide her.
    How
could it have gotten so cold when it had been over a hundred just a few hours
ago? It was just like everyone always said about the desert. As soon as the sun
went down, all the heat disappeared. When she'd stopped the car