her hunger, she was reluctant to leave the hushed solitude of the old house and the silent companionship of the ancient artifacts lining the shelves of the workroom.
Slanting yellow light came through the north window, deepening the textures of stone and sandal fragments, potshards and glue pots, making everything appear to be infused with a mystic glow. Diana couldn't wait until tomorrow, when she would drive to September Canyon. Photos, artifacts and essays, no matter how precise and scholarly, couldn't convey the complexity of the interlocking mystery of the Anasazi, the land and time.
Her mind more on the past than the present, Diana walked slowly into the bathroom. The slanting light coming through the small, high window made the gold in her hair incandescent and gave the darker strands a rich satin luster. Her eyes became indigo in shadow, vivid sapphire in direct light. The natural pink in her smooth cheeks and lips contrasted with the dark brown of her eyebrows and the dense fringe of her eyelashes.
Once Diana would have noticed her own understated beauty and heightened it with mascara and blusher, lipstick and haunting perfumes. Once, but no longer. Never again would she be accused by a man of using snares and lures to attract members of the opposite sex, then teasing and maddening them with what she had no intention of giving. Never again would she put herself in a position where a man felt entitled to take what he wanted in the belief that it had been offered, and if it hadn't, it should have been.
Soap, water, unscented lotion and a few strokes with a hairbrush through her short, gamine hairstyle and Diana was ready for dinner. She thought longingly of the four-inch heels she wore when she was teaching to add to her own five feet three inches of frankly curved female body, but wearing a cotton pullover sweater big enough for a man and faded jeans with four-inch heels would be ludicrous. Besides, the scarred, rough-country hiking boots she wore most of the time added at least two inches to her height.
And she was going to need every inch of confidence she could get.
" Mmmrreooow.''
Diana's head snapped toward the window at the unexpected sound. A lean, tiger-striped cat with one chewed ear was standing outside on the tree limb that brushed against the bathroom window. The cat's forepaw was batting hopefully at the bottom of the window, which was open a crack.
"Hello," Diana said, smiling. "Do you live here?"
The paw, claws politely sheathed, patted again beneath the length of the opening.
"I get the message."
She pushed up the window enough for the cat to come in. It leaped from windowsill to the edge of the sink with an effortless grace that reminded her of the Rocking M's ramrod vaulting the corral fence and landing running.
The cat sniffed Diana's meager toiletries, nosed the peppermint toothpaste, sneezed, yeowed softly and stropped itself against her midriff. She ran her palm down the cat's spine, enjoying the supple arch of the animal's body as it rubbed against her in turn. Soon the vibrations of an uninhibited purr were rippling from the cat.
"You're a sweetheart," Diana said. "Would you let me hold you?"
The cat would. In fact, it insisted.
"Goodness, you're heavy! Not fat, though. You must be all muscle."
The purring redoubled.
Laughing softly, Diana smoothed her cheeks and chin against the vibrant bundle of fur. The cat moved sinuously in return, twisting against her in slow motion, relishing the physical contact. And shedding, of course.
Diana looked at the gray and black hairs sticking to the navy cotton sweater she was wearing. She shrugged. Maybe some of the men would be allergic to cats. The thought had a definite appeal.
"C'mon, cat. Let's see if they allow felines in the dining room."
The cat burrowed more tightly into Diana's arms, clinging with just a hint of claws while she closed the bathroom
Slanting yellow light came through the north window, deepening the textures of stone and sandal fragments, potshards and glue pots, making everything appear to be infused with a mystic glow. Diana couldn't wait until tomorrow, when she would drive to September Canyon. Photos, artifacts and essays, no matter how precise and scholarly, couldn't convey the complexity of the interlocking mystery of the Anasazi, the land and time.
Her mind more on the past than the present, Diana walked slowly into the bathroom. The slanting light coming through the small, high window made the gold in her hair incandescent and gave the darker strands a rich satin luster. Her eyes became indigo in shadow, vivid sapphire in direct light. The natural pink in her smooth cheeks and lips contrasted with the dark brown of her eyebrows and the dense fringe of her eyelashes.
Once Diana would have noticed her own understated beauty and heightened it with mascara and blusher, lipstick and haunting perfumes. Once, but no longer. Never again would she be accused by a man of using snares and lures to attract members of the opposite sex, then teasing and maddening them with what she had no intention of giving. Never again would she put herself in a position where a man felt entitled to take what he wanted in the belief that it had been offered, and if it hadn't, it should have been.
Soap, water, unscented lotion and a few strokes with a hairbrush through her short, gamine hairstyle and Diana was ready for dinner. She thought longingly of the four-inch heels she wore when she was teaching to add to her own five feet three inches of frankly curved female body, but wearing a cotton pullover sweater big enough for a man and faded jeans with four-inch heels would be ludicrous. Besides, the scarred, rough-country hiking boots she wore most of the time added at least two inches to her height.
And she was going to need every inch of confidence she could get.
" Mmmrreooow.''
Diana's head snapped toward the window at the unexpected sound. A lean, tiger-striped cat with one chewed ear was standing outside on the tree limb that brushed against the bathroom window. The cat's forepaw was batting hopefully at the bottom of the window, which was open a crack.
"Hello," Diana said, smiling. "Do you live here?"
The paw, claws politely sheathed, patted again beneath the length of the opening.
"I get the message."
She pushed up the window enough for the cat to come in. It leaped from windowsill to the edge of the sink with an effortless grace that reminded her of the Rocking M's ramrod vaulting the corral fence and landing running.
The cat sniffed Diana's meager toiletries, nosed the peppermint toothpaste, sneezed, yeowed softly and stropped itself against her midriff. She ran her palm down the cat's spine, enjoying the supple arch of the animal's body as it rubbed against her in turn. Soon the vibrations of an uninhibited purr were rippling from the cat.
"You're a sweetheart," Diana said. "Would you let me hold you?"
The cat would. In fact, it insisted.
"Goodness, you're heavy! Not fat, though. You must be all muscle."
The purring redoubled.
Laughing softly, Diana smoothed her cheeks and chin against the vibrant bundle of fur. The cat moved sinuously in return, twisting against her in slow motion, relishing the physical contact. And shedding, of course.
Diana looked at the gray and black hairs sticking to the navy cotton sweater she was wearing. She shrugged. Maybe some of the men would be allergic to cats. The thought had a definite appeal.
"C'mon, cat. Let's see if they allow felines in the dining room."
The cat burrowed more tightly into Diana's arms, clinging with just a hint of claws while she closed the bathroom
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