Everyone connected with the Pollux Mine walks around with a short fuse these days."

"The Pollux mine? The doctor's part of the mine?"

"Chase is...was the company doctor, besides having a private practice. That's why he has a nurse working in the office, to handle his patients when he's called out to the mine. Of course, the nurses came and went like the full moon, and now I understand why."

That explained the bright paint on the bottom of the sign. Sylvia Flores, R.N., had only just arrived, to discover she had accepted a job under the thumb of an unredeemed male chauvinist.

Whit poked at the papers spread on the table. "I figure we should go to every ranch Rod checked, and see if he visited it."

"We're looking for old, abandoned buildings," Kyla said. "In places likely to harbor hantavirus, there'll be no one to ask."

Whit unfolded another sheet of paper, and displayed an abstract pattern that reminded Kyla of the tread on a tire. "This is how we do it. Rod put new tires on his pickup last month while he was in Los Angeles. I cleaned one off and smeared it with ink, then backed over this paper. We look for his tire tracks."

Kyla caught herself before she laughed at this ridiculous notion, cleared her throat. "It's been weeks since he visited some of these ranches," she protested.

"Tracks last a long time in this country, especially in the spring. We had a late snow that dampened the ground for a week." Whit tipped his cup and drained it, and picked up his hat.

"I'll take my coffee along," she said. Whit fetched a plastic top from the counter, and met her on the way to the door. A gallant gesture. Like an old-fashioned cowboy in a Randolph Scott movie. In those movies, did Randolph Scott fall in love and stay with the beautiful leading lady? Or did the films end with him riding off into the sunset?

Chapter Three.

"I can't stay long," Kyla said as Whit fiddled with the air conditioning controls and hit the switches to roll up the windows. Old-fashioned cowboy or not, she had better make it clear that she would leave the ranch immediately after getting the information she needed. "Tomorrow afternoon is this barbecue thing -- "

"Farewell party for the Pollux workers. A bit late, since a lot have already left town for new jobs."

"Trace and his friends are having a car wash and bake sale during the barbecue to raise money for Carl's memorial, and I volunteered to make two cakes, one chocolate and one white. I've never baked at this alt.i.tude, so I'd better start this afternoon, in case of failure. And I still have to go to the grocery for powdered sugar."

She sat back, pleased at having presented an incontestable excuse for not hanging about the ranch. An excuse that cast no shadow on his reputation. Once she got on his computer, she would print the Center for Disease Control page, and avoid having to ask Whit's help again.

"I want to visit two ranches tomorrow morning," he said quickly. "If you make the cakes today, and we leave early, we'll be back in time for the barbecue."

"Why tomorrow morning?"

"Rod marked two ranches over the mountains, in the Owens Valley, where it gets mighty hot. Temperatures have been climbing every day this week, and the forecast says...well, I want to get those two properties out of the way so we can concentrate the search around Argentia. It'll save time."

As flimsy an excuse as her two layer cakes, Kyla thought wryly. She would have to watch herself around Whit.

"And while we're over there, we'll buy some decent coffee."

"We? Don't look to me for advice. Like the song says, 'I buy my coffee beans already ground.'"

A fleeting smile. What bad luck, to meet a tempting man under totally inappropriate circ.u.mstances. In his presence she felt the long-disregarded tingle, a little too low for her heart, and a bit farther down, liquid oozing like sunshine on the mountain. The consistency of honey. Kyla caught herself staring at the large silver buckle, tight on Whit's flat stomach.

He did not look at her, not even a sidling glance. Didn't he feel the slightest waver under the blue work shirt? Kyla remembered the stunning, flirtatious woman in the photograph. Whit did not need her. He had no interest in a short-term fling with an out- of-town med student.

Kyla unhooked her seat belt as Whit slowed for the gate. Furnace heat struck like a blow when she opened the door, and the wind took her breath. If the valley beyond the mountain was hotter than Argentia, maybe Whit had a point about hurrying the trip. She stood back from the road to avoid the dust kicked up by the tires, closed the gate and jumped into the cool haven of the truck's cab.

Whit parked in the shade of the cottonwoods. Kyla, now prepared for the startling house, had time to examine the other buildings scattered under the trees. Equipment sheds, a stable that appeared to be empty, and a puzzling structure that resembled a motel. Door, window, door, window.

"Who built a motel this far off the highway?" she asked.

"That's a Hollywood version of a bunkhouse, a two-room apartment for each of the hands, with a kitchen and mess hall at the far end. Go on in the house and get started. The front door's open. I'll wait for the fellows coming down the hill."

"Someone coming? How do you know?" Whit pointed to a streamer of dust on the hillside that Kyla judged to be at least a mile away. The wait would keep him busy for some time.

"I'll only be a jiffy," Kyla said. She ran up the stairs, down the entry hall, through the echoing family room and kitchen, into the office. Whit must have used the computer before he came into town, for busy images spiraled over the screen. Good. That saved several minutes. She clicked on the Internet icon, and tapped her fingers through the process of dialing. Where was the printer. She would turn it on now so it would be ready the moment she found the CDC site.

Strange, the printer sat right beside the computer, and she had not noticed it yesterday.

Of course, the photograph of the dark-haired woman had stood in front of the printer yesterday. But the photograph was no longer there.

Center for Disease Control. No time to think about the vanishing photograph. Her stomach untwisted as she read the first paragraph. "A serious, often deadly, respiratory disease that has been found mostly in rural areas of the western United States."

So much for Dr. Chase. A middle-aged doctor, who had not kept up with his reading since he graduated. Kyla clicked "print," the printer groaned, made a sound rather like a shotgun being readied, then clattered. In computer years, the thing was an antique.

As the sheets spilled out, Kyla idly wondered where the photograph had gone. It had toppled over when Whit slammed his fist on the desk. Perhaps he had moved it to a more stable location. Not on the desk, nor behind the computer. She shrugged. Whit's private life was none of her business.

Yes, on second thought, the state of Whit's love life might have grave importance to her. Didn't men sometime hide photographs, so a new friend did not question their attachment to an old flame? If Whit made advances...The printer clattered to a stop.

Kyla s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper in an untidy bundle and ran to the front door, and almost collided with Whit.

"Done?" he asked, and she thought she detected a waver of disappointment in the word. She nodded. "Would you...uh...like to see the rest of the house?" She heard too much hope in the question for comfort. The rest of the house would include the bedroom wing.

"No, I really must get back to town," she said primly. All the way back to Argentia she wondered why she should felt a deep sense of regret...

Whit picked her up before sunrise and headed west on a paved road that had no yellow line down the center. The asphalt narrowed further in the slot of a canyon, widened on rolling hills, then gained alt.i.tude. From the curves Kyla could see Argentia spread out below, like a toy town. Sage brush and greasewood gave way to junipers and pinon. Whit slowed on a curve, pulled onto the narrow shoulder and stopped.

"There's something I want you to see," he said. "Feel like a walk."

"Wonderful. I'm not getting enough exercise."

In the way of ranch country he did not lock the truck, but instead opened all the windows. She followed him around gnarled junipers, twigs and needles crunching beneath their feet. He led her uphill, toward the top of the ridge, but instead of using the easiest path in the depths of a gully, he climbed over a rocky bluff. His long legs stretched, he reached a hand down and pulled her up the final six feet.

"Oh!"

As far north, as far south as she could see, the peaked escarpment of the Sierra Nevada blocked the view to the west. Saw-toothed gray peaks, their flanks streaked with snow, swept ten thousand feet above the green and tan valley.

"Oh!" she said again, and felt foolish that she could find no more eloquent words. "Thank you." She stepped forward blindly, a rock turned beneath her foot, throwing her off balance. Whit's arm caught her about the waist, needlessly she told herself. She would not have fallen...But she did not regret the closeness, for the distant mountains reflected in his eyes.

What followed was no chaste, first-date kiss. His lips strangled hers, his tongue poised, entered, searching, setting an instantaneous fire, made hotter by his fingers digging into her hips She'd been right all along, his gallantry was a facade, and he had lured her to a lonely place, where he could rape and murder her and her body wouldn't be found for days. Weeks. Maybe months. She considered struggling, too late, for he released her mouth, although he kept her tight in his arms.

"I've wanted to kiss you for days," he muttered.

Kyla leaned back as far as she could, which was not far because his hands cupped her b.u.t.tocks. To her amazement, he seemed to be blushing. At least a russet color spread beneath his tan. Impossible, she decided, Men who plotted this sort of isolated attack did not blush.

"You can't have wanted to kiss me for days," she said firmly. "We met day before yesterday." His belt buckle graved into her stomach, as aggressive as rape. The cool liquidity suddenly turned molten.It's not rape if you want it, too .

But she had had no experience with wanting a man she hardly knew. s.e.x came after acquaintance, with plenty of time to consider methods of birth control. Snap at him! Get angry! Tell him this isn't love, but l.u.s.t, primitive urges, plain in the fingers that hiked her skirt. Obvious in the straining of her hips against his. Below the buckle she sensed another hardness.

"You know what I'm thinking," he said thickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to happen like this. I think we'd better go back to the truck." The russet flowed around his eyes, and grew so dark the sun gleamed red on his cheekbones.

Walk down hill? Kyla wondered if her legs would move. Everything below her waist stirred like boiling mush. She had never made love any place other than a bed.

But what room had a view like this? She slid from the circle of his arms.Say something to break the spell.

"I must say, you picked an absolutely stunning place for our first kiss." Then, for some inexplicable reason, she sat down on a rock, and only crossed her legs when he knelt before her. She could not decipher his expression, whether worried or triumphant.

"Whit, I do not habitually make love with men I do not know. I am not panting for a man."The h.e.l.l I'm not! " I know it's a common misconception that women in medicine are...well...easy. But we are truly no different from other women, except that we know more about s.e.xually transmitted diseases, including AIDS."

He spun away from her, his knees carving shallow holes in the duff. She saw only his profile, not even that when he dropped his head in his hands.

"I mess everything up, don't I." His words came out m.u.f.fled, and possibly contrite. Kyla used this moment of introspection to scramble to her feet and straighten her skirt. She turned her back on Whit, concentrated on the mountains, resplendent in the morning sun, and willed her heart to a normal beat.

In the moments since her first startled glance, the scene had changed. Not just a slightly different angle of the sun, but a sensual beckoning. The snow curled seductively about the rugged peaks, the peaks towered over the magnificent depth of the valley...Kyla shivered, knowing the physical world had not changed. Only her eyes and mind.

Why should the mountains, why should this man tempt her?

"Do you want me to take you back to Argentia?" he asked.

She opened her mouth twice before her throat allowed a full breath. "We've got two ranches to look at. Hantavirus, if you recall," she added sarcastically.

He scrambled to his feet. "Doesn't do any good to say I'm sorry, I guess."

"Not really, so just shut up."

He plunged down the slope, heels digging into the pine needles. "Whit!" she called. He slid to a stop. "Thanks for the stunning view. And I would have enjoyed the kiss, with a little warning." He grinned and extended an arm to catch her in case she slid out of control. Kyla placed her feet very carefully.

"I guess I didn't have any warning either," he said when they reached the truck...

Kyla tightened the seat belt, pressed against the door and said nothing. The ball was in Whit's court, to snag or let go. He drove very slowly over the crest.

"Can I tell you something that might explain?"

"If you want."

"You're the first woman I've met in six years who...I'm attracted to you. And it happened so fast, in the coffee shop. I felt like I was swimming in a flooded mine pit with no way out."

"You were in shock." Might as well use one of her Glenda-inspired remarks. "You had no one to turn to in a moment of grief."

"I looked at you, and fell in love, and it sure as h.e.l.l caused a shock."

"I don't think love happens that fast."

He shook his head in determined disagreement. "It happened to me once before, in college. Her name was Jenny Lovelace. I walked into Sociology 101 and there she was, the love of my life. An art history major," he added, in a flippant manner that tried for mockery, but did not succeed because his chin quivered. Kyla felt a mad need to escape from the truck. Something dreadful was coming. But escaping the cab of a pickup rushing down a mountain road...

"She died," Whit said flatly. Kyla felt no surprise. It was as if the confession had pa.s.sed inaudibly from his brain to hers. He shifted into third gear to slow for an upcoming curve.

"The house on my ranch, I saw it being built. I'd ride out on my bike, twelve miles each way, and walk through the place, dreaming it was mine. I turned twenty-one Christmas vacation of my senior year." His smiled wanly. "I'm one of those unfortunates born on Christmas Eve."

"I'm the day after Christmas," Kyla said, then regretted having formed even this minor bond between them. Although, the misfortune of a holiday birth gave themsomething in common.

"Really? That's a fantastic coincidence."

"Not really." Kyla intended to side track Whit with a lecture on the uncanny frequency of common birthdays in any group, but he interrupted her.

"The week after Christmas Dad had to go to Reno on business," he said, interrupting, unwilling to be put off. "I rode along, my first opportunity to gamble in a fancy casino. Dad gave me twenty-five dollars and hung around, grinning, teaching me the evils of gambling by letting me waste our dinner money in a progressive slot machine. But on the last dollar bells rang and lights flashed, and when they picked me up and revived me, I found out I'd won more than eight-hundred thousand dollars."

"Eight-hundred! That's close to -- "

"A million. Eight-hundred-seventy-four thousand, and some cents. I don't really remember all the doc.u.ments and photographs and congratulations. My picture was in the Reno paper next day, and I look like someone who's just wakened from a six-month coma. What I do remember is Dad's hand on my arm, and him saying over and over again that we had to go home. As we drove out of town, everything seemed to glow, a light I'd never seen before. Car lots, equipment yards, department stores. 'Wow!' I'd think. 'I can buy one of those and one of those.'

We'd gone a hundred miles when Dad asked me to think back to the day I'd graduated from high school. What dreams did I have then? And I knew immediately, Dead Man's Ranch, and that house, and I imagined Jenny in it, and the fit was perfect."

Whit ma.s.saged his chin, worked his mouth and cheeks as if his face threatened to dislocate and he had to adjust it into place. "Right after college graduation Jenny came and we signed the papers. That afternoon I rode the fences, four miles -- the movie star had got fed up with the expense and had let them fall down. While I was gone, Jenny cleaned out my old tree house and fixed it up with towels for curtains and pictures from magazines tacked to the wall, like a play house, but for grownups. A real white tablecloth. We had dinner there, with champagne..." His voice broke, and there was a silence that lasted several miles before he spoke again.

"We spent the night in the tree house, and you can guess what we did. It wasn't the first time, but it was the best. Then Jenny drove home to Pasadena, because the wedding was in two weeks. I rented a truck and went to Arizona to pick up some heifers, the beginning of my herd. When I pulled in the gate, Dad was waiting, to tell me -- " He braked so suddenly Kyla automatically put out her hands to catch herself. The truck swerved onto the narrow shoulder, the side mirror crashing into brush.

Whit leaned against the window, sobbing in great whooping gulps. After a long moment, Kyla loosened her seat belt and slid across to him. She lay her arm lightly across his shoulders. He did not turn, but his right hand reached back and grasped hers.

Cleaned out my old tree house.

She waited until his shoulders no longer heaved, until his chest resumed the natural motion of easy breath. "She died the way Rod and Carl did?" Kyla asked.

"I don't know. They said a sudden pneumonia, and I never wanted to learn the details. But probably, because I hadn't cut down that d.a.m.ned elm tree -- "

"The elm tree! The one on the corner, where Elm meets Main?" He nodded. "I was so sorry to see it gone, but looking over the fence, I realized the center had rotted away."

He grabbed the steering wheel with his left hand, his right hand drew hers against his chest, and she felt the steady, slow throb of his heart.

"I've got to know for certain. If it's what you think -- this hantavirus -- I'll make sure it never happens again. I'll start a non-profit, the Jenny Lovelace Foundation, send out yearly warnings to all the ranchers, all the mines with abandoned offices and bunkhouses, everyone with a vacation cabin in all of western Nevada. I'll get Rod's sister to help me." He released her, reached for the gearshift, but before he let out the clutch he leaned over, placed his lips an eighth of an inch from her cheek and smacked. "Thanks. You're going to make a wonderful doctor."

Kyla slid back to the door and fastened the seat belt.

None of this was happening. He had not come close to raping her on a mountaintop. He had not just poured out his guts and sobbed like a child. She studied Whit from the corner of her eyes, while her internal sight searched for moorings. Everything she had held onto, all principles, washed away. This man would take her to bed, make love to her, before she even found out who he was.

On the other hand, it might be an ideal affair, designed by the mountain G.o.ds.

She dare not risk a serious relationship, not with years of medical school and residency ahead. Whit, with his abiding love for the dead girl, would never commit himself to anything but a casual relationship. A deeper commitment would betray the dead fiancee, his eternal wife. Why not a vacation fling?

After all, her friends would laughingly describe Whit as a GU man.