"Women that I've spent more than one night with."
"Don't expect me to be flattered."
"I don't. I'm sure an Anglo virgin like you can't imagine anything worse than having an Indian between her lily white thighs."
"You're unspeakably vulgar. And I'm not a virgin."
"Have you been married?"
"No."
"Then you lived with a man?"
"No."
"Affairs?"
"None of your business."
She would rather die than have him know that there had been only one. Hardly worth mentioning. It had been a terribly disappointing experience that she had engaged in mainly to satisfy her curiosity.
Between her and the man, there had been only mild affection, little communication, no warmth or closeness, nor even much passion. Afterward, she had been disillusioned and disappointed and imagined that her partner had been as well.
She had never risked that kind of awkward encounter again and recently had begun to think that she simply wasn't sexually inclined. The men she went out with tried, but none stirred even enough interest for her to pursue the relationship beyond dinner dates and an occasional good-night kiss.
Rather than talk about her love life, or lack thereof, she asked him, "What about you? How many affairs of the heart have you had?"
But either he had dropped off to sleep or he ignored her. In any event, no answer was forthcoming.
* * *
She snuggled closer to the warmth.
A soft growl, like the purr of a great cat, echoed through the waking chambers of her mind. She stirred and when her brain began to piece together the information her senses were sending she came suddenly awake and her eyes popped open.
"Oh my God," she cried.
"No, that's my line," he groaned.
She was sprawled atop Lucas Greywolf.
Sometime during the night she had turned over, so that now her cheek was resting on his bare chest where his shirt had fallen open. Her breasts were flattened against his stomach and her hips… "Oh, Lord." She repeated her plea to heaven because the cleft of her thighs was cuddling his manhood.
And it was very hard.
Cheeks flaming, she pushed herself up and scrambled to the other side of the back seat. "I'm sorry," she stammered, keeping her face averted.
"So am I," he grated, as he opened the door on his side and practically fell out. For a long while, he just stood there by the side of the car. Aislinn didn't dare ask what the matter was. She knew.
After several minutes, he walked to the front of the car and raised the hood. He fiddled with something beneath it, then came back to crouch down inside the open car door. "Take off your bra."
If he had said, "Sprout wings and fly," she couldn't have been more astounded. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. Either that or your blouse. But hurry up. We've lost enough time."
It was well past dawn, and her blush deepened when she realized how soundly they had both slept. Of course yesterday had been an exhausting day and—
"Either you take it off or I do," he interrupted her thoughts brusquely.
"Turn around."
"Oh for…" He turned around. Hastily she peeled off her shirt, took off her bra, then pulled the shirt back on, buttoning it quickly.
"Here." She thrust the garment at him. He took it without a word and carried it back with him to the front of the car. After several minutes of sweat-breaking work and elaborate cursing, he slammed the hood and got into the driver's seat, wiping his hands on the legs of his jeans. All he said by way of explanation was, "That might hold it for a while."
But not nearly long enough. They had driven only twenty miles or so when threads of white smoke began ghosting from beneath the hood. Then it began to billow.
"You'd better stop before the car blows up," Aislinn suggested tentatively. They hadn't spoken a word since starting out. If he was as shaken as she by the position in which they had found themselves upon waking, then she could understand his reticence.
She kept remembering things she wished she could physically blot from her mind, like how his chest hair had felt warm and fuzzy and fine against her lips. And how his hands had been cupping and caressing her derriere before she was fully awake. And how good she had felt moments before realization stunned her into consciousness.
His remote features gave away none of what he was thinking as he pulled the car off the road again. It wheezed to a stop. "Well, that bra did no more good there than it did keeping your nipples from showing."
She gaped at him in shock, but he merely opened his door and stepped out. "Come on."
"Come on where?"
"To the nearest town."
"You mean we're going to walk?" she asked incredulously. They were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by rugged terrain on all sides. In the distance was the purple silhouette of mountains. Between here and there was nothing but rock-strewn ground, the callused palm of Mother Nature, unrelieved except for the gray swath of the highway.
"Until someone stops to pick us up," he said in answer to her question. He struck off. Aislinn had no choice but to leave the car and trot along behind him until she caught up.
She wasn't about to stay there alone. He might not come back for her, and it looked as though it could be days before another car came along. She was already thirsty and hadn't helped that by eating a few cookies out of the provisions Greywolf had taken from her kitchen.
They walked for what seemed like hours. She had to virtually jog to keep pace with him. The sun beat down unmercifully on her uncovered head. The terrain was fit only for Gila monsters and other reptilian creatures that occasionally slithered across their path.
Finally they heard the chugging sound of an approaching vehicle and turned to see a pickup truck coming from behind them. It looked like a faded red specter materializing out of the shimmering heat waves. Before Greywolf even raised his arms and waved, the driver was downshifting. Three stoic Navaho men sat shoulder to shoulder in the cab of the ancient pickup. After conversing with them briefly, Greywolf hauled Aislinn into the back of it with him.
"Did they recognize you?"
"Probably."
"Aren't you afraid they'll turn you in?"
His head swung around and, despite the heat, she shivered against the cold glance he sent her. "No."
"Oh, I see. They're honor bound to keep their silence."
He didn't even bother to reply, but turned his eyes toward the northeastern horizon, where she had already deduced they were headed.
They maintained a hostile silence for the length of the ride into a small, dusty town. Conversation would have been difficult anyway. The hot wind pounded her and sucked the breath out of her lungs.
While they were still on the outskirts of the town, Greywolf knocked on the rear windshield of the pickup and the driver downshifted to a halt in front of a service station. Greywolf jumped to the ground and assisted Aislinn down. "Much obliged," he called to the driver, who doffed his straw cowboy hat to them before reengaging the gears of the truck and driving off.
"Now what?" Aislinn asked, tiredly. She had known instinctively that the Navaho men would be in sympathy with Greywolf, but hope had briefly glimmered at the prospect of stopping in a town.
Hope died the moment she saw the community. The streets were deserted. Except for chickens pecking on the barren ground in a yard across the highway, there were no signs of life anywhere. The town looked as unwelcoming and inhospitable as the desert that surrounded it.
Greywolf walked toward the tin building which housed the service station. Aislinn forced herself to follow him, dragging her feet. She had never been so uncomfortable in her life. The perspiration that had soaked her clothes and body while they were walking on the highway had dried now and left a gritty, salty residue on her skin that itched like mad. She was hot, sticky and sunburned. Her lips were parched, her hair a tangled mess.
She groaned when she read the sign posted on the grimy window of the service station. "Siesta!" she exclaimed mournfully.
"They're closed until four o'clock," Greywolf said, turning his head to consult the sun.
Aislinn discovered a meager sliver of shade near the wall of the building and pressed herself against it. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. They came open instantly when she heard the crash of breaking glass.
Greywolf had smashed out a window in the door with a rock. Without so much as a blink of his eyes, he reached inside and unlocked the door. It swung open with a protesting squeak and he went inside. Aislinn, who would never have considered deliberately breaking a window, much less trespassing onto anyone else's property, followed him into the marginally cooler interior.
Once her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, she saw that the place was not just a gas station, but a small grocery store as well. Wooden shelves were stocked with potato chips and canned goods, paper products and household cleansers.
There was one dusty glass counter filled with even dustier Arizona souvenirs. On top there were boxes of candy bars, cigarettes and chewing gum. Behind it, the pegboard wall was covered with an inventory of small automotive parts.
Greywolf crossed the aged wooden floor, which protested each of his footsteps with a groan, to an old-fashioned cold-drink vending chest. Lifting the lid, he jimmied the lock that was supposed to prevent thefts, took out two bottled Cokes, opened them and passed one to Aislinn even as he raised the other to his mouth and drank thirstily.
"I intend to pay for mine, "she said sanctimoniously.
He lowered the bottle from his mouth. "I intend for you to pay for mine, too. Also for the broken pane of glass. And for the water hose."
She drank the cold cola, thinking that it was the best-tasting thing she'd ever had. "What water hose?"
He was scanning the various implements behind the counter. "To replace the one that busted. Like this," he said, lifting one off its peg and holding it up to her.
With his other hand, he was opening drawers behind the counter and examining the contents. Metal tools clanked and rattled as he moved them about in the drawers. The sound emphasized to Aislinn how deserted the place was.
She felt alien, consumed by the feeling of desolation that lurked around the place. Greywolf suffered from no such unease. When he found the tools he was looking for, he took them out. Just when she was about to succumb to abject despair, she spotted the pay telephone.
She was sure Greywolf hadn't noticed it. He was still pilfering the tool drawers and hadn't looked in the direction of the corner where the phone was attached to the wall. It was partially hidden by a rack of outdated magazines.
If she could keep him talking, maybe she could get to that phone and place a call without his knowing. But where was she? What was the name of this godforsaken town? What highway had they been on? She didn't recall seeing any signs. Had it even been a highway? For all she knew they could have crossed a state line and were no longer in Arizona.
"Finished?"