Solitaire. Lindsay McKenna

than a few months at a time, either.”

      “And you have that same restlessness?” Cat offered. She handed him her empty cup.

      Slade shrugged. “Restlessness? No. Life to me is one constant, nonstop adventure. I always want to know what lies over the next hill or wander through the next valley to see what and who is living there.”

      “Why the fascination with geology then? You could have been in the merchant marine instead, sailing the seas.”

      Slade smiled at her question. “Rocks held a special fascination for me. As a kid, when I finished my fishing chores, I used to pick stones up from the beach and study them. I’d wonder why one was black and another striated with pink and white. I used to hold them in my hand, trying to communicate with them and asking them their names and where they had come from.”

      Cat closed her eyes, resting against the seat. She could imagine a dark-haired boy crouched on the ground, holding in his palm a rock that stirred his curiosity, staring at it with intense fascination. Slade was like a child who had never closed off his ability to dream and spin stories. He was special, Cat admitted, a rare being who still had the ability to fantasize, to ignore the limitations in a rationally constructed society. “And did any of them talk to you?” she asked softly.

      “Of course they did,” he said with a laugh. “That was what led me to ask my teachers about the life of a rock. Eventually they got tired of all my questions and ordered special books on rock hunting for me.”

      “And are you still like that little boy, always asking questions?”

      “I haven’t changed at all,” Slade confirmed with satisfaction. “Today, I drive mining engineers to the edge of distraction.”

      “Where did you take your geology schooling?” she asked, curious to know more about his past.

      “Is there any other place? Colorado.”

      “Like me. I’m impressed.”

      He feigned drama, his hand across his heart. “Finally! We have something in common.”

      “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

      “You made it seem that way, Ms. Kincaid.”

      She shot him a wry glance. “Despite any possible ulterior motives, you did save my life. The least I could be is a decent guest.”

      “Did I slip something into the coffee?”

      Cat chortled. “Come on, I’m not always a stick-in-the-mud.”

      “Did I accuse you of that? No way, sweetheart. You’re a risk taker because your career demands it. It makes you an interesting and exotic woman. One of a kind.”

      “Oh, please! Get off the exotic kick, Slade.”

      “I can’t help it if you’re not a regular hothouse flower. That’s your fault.”

      “Let’s steer the conversation back to you. A four-year degree out of Colorado and then what?”

      “Just kicked around the world prospecting like any other crazy rock hound.”

      “What kind of rocks? Is your specialty igneous?” she asked, remembering his tourmaline discovery.

      “Why? Do I remind you of an igneous type?”

      She smiled. Geologists usually chose one of three of the different rock types to specialize in: igneous, metamorphic or sedimentary. “You know what they say about the igneous type: they run hot and molten.”

      “So that’s how you see me, eh?”

      “I see you being bored by sedimentary exploration. You’re strong and robust; you’re the sort who would challenge igneous rock and tackle it with ease. Although we both know sinking mine shafts into rock that doesn’t want to be penetrated isn’t easy.”

      “Granted. Or should I say: granite.”

      “Slade, I’m not even going to laugh because that’s a sick rock joke you’d use on a freshman in geology.”

      “Nobody said my humor was always in top form.” He gave her his innocent little-boy look.

      “Do people always forgive your transgressions?”

      “More importantly, will you?”

      “I don’t hold grudges.”

      “But you’ll remember.”

      Her voice grew soft. “I’ll remember.”

      “Well, enough of me,” Slade countered. “How about yourself? I had the pleasure of meeting your entire family, so I got an idea of what you’re like.”

      “I’m sure Dal and Rafe gave you an earful about me.”

      “Don’t sound so wary.”

      With a grimace, Cat pretended to pay more attention to the sky around them. “All right, you tell me what they said.”

      “Let’s see, what adjectives should I use?”

      “If you use exotic, I’m going to take everything you’re saying as one-hundred percent baloney, Donovan,” she warned him.

      “Texans can be serious at times, too,” he reassured her, attempting a somber look.

      “We’ll see. So what do you think of me, now that you’ve learned all from my family?”

      “You’re a daredevil. Rafe told me how you two jumped your horses between two cliffs.”

      “Did he also tell you that my horse stumbled on the other side and fell? I broke my arm and nose.”

      Slade shook his head. He saw and felt Cat relaxing. She had been so long in isolation with men that she was closed up. He saw the softening of her lips, heard new life in her voice and saw more color stain her cheeks. If nothing else, during the next eight weeks of recuperation, Slade would remind Cat of her decidedly female side, gently drawing all of it to the surface. He knew he could do it; there was a chemistry between them.