her survey results.” He pursed his lips. “The site’s in Arizona, near the Apache reservation. You can go see your grandfather.”
“I can do that without having to follow your misplaced ingenue around,” he said coldly.
“Jennifer is a geologist,” the older man reminded him. “Her looks have nothing to do with her profession. For God’s sake, you get along with my other female employees, why not with Jennifer?”
That was a question Hunter didn’t really want to answer. He couldn’t very well tell Eugene that the woman appealed to his senses so potently that it was hard to function when she was around. He wasn’t in the market for an affair, but he wanted Jennifer with a feverish passion. He’d managed to contain his desire for her very well over the years, but lately it was becoming unmanageable. The temptation of being out on the desert with her was too much. Something might happen, and what then? He had good reasons for his dislike of white women, and he had no desire whatsoever to create a child who, like himself, could barely adapt to life in a white world. White and Apache just didn’t mix, even if he did frequently wake up sweating from his vivid dreams about Jennifer Marist.
“You can always threaten to quit,” Eugene advised with a sharp grin.
“Would it work?” Hunter queried.
Eugene just shook his head.
“In that case,” Hunter said, rising to his feet with the stealthy grace that was unique to him, “I won’t bother. When do we leave?”
“First thing in the morning. You can pick up the tickets and motel voucher from my secretary. You’ll need time to lay in some camping equipment, so the motel room will be necessary the first night. You and Jennifer will be pretending to be husband and wife when you switch flights in Phoenix to head down to Tucson. That’s going to throw any followers off the track, I hope, and give you both time to scout the area before they discover their mistake and double back. Better get in touch with our operatives in Arizona and advise them of the plan.”
“I’ll do that now.”
“Try not to look so dismal, will you?” Eugene muttered darkly. “It’s demoralizing!”
“Stop sending me out with Jennifer Marist.”
“You’re the only man in my corporation who could complain about that.”
“I’m Apache,” Hunter said with quiet pride. “She’s white.”
Eugene had been married twice and he wasn’t stupid. He could read between the lines very well. “I understand how it is,” he replied. “But this is business. You’ll have to cope.”
“Don’t I always?” Hunter murmured. “Will you tell her, or do you want me to?”
“I’ll enjoy it more than you would,” Eugene chuckled. “She’s going to go right through the ceiling. It may shock you to know that she finds you offensive and unpleasant. She’ll fight as hard to get out of it as you just did.”
That didn’t surprise Hunter. He had a feeling Jennifer felt the same unwanted attraction he did and was fighting it just as hard. From day one, their relationship had been uneasy and antagonistic.
“It won’t do her any more good than it did me,” Hunter murmured. “But if she ends up roasting over a campfire, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Eugene’s blue eyes twinkled. “Okay. I won’t.”
Hunter left and walked along the corridor with an expression so cold and so fierce that one employee turned and went back the other way to avoid him. He had a fairly decent working relationship with some of Eugene’s people, but most of them kept out of his way. The icy Mr. Hunter was well-known. He was the only bachelor who didn’t have to fight off feminine advances. The women were too intimidated by him. All except for Jennifer, who fought him tooth and nail.
And now a week on the desert with her, he mused. He lit a cigarette as he walked and blew out a thick cloud of smoke. He’d just managed to give up cigarettes the week before. He was getting hooked again, and it was Eugene’s fault. For two cents, he’d quit and go back and raise horses on the reservation. But that would bore him to death eventually. No, he’d just have to find some way to survive Jennifer. One day, he promised himself, he was going to walk out the door and leave Eugene with it.
Jennifer Marist shared an office with several other geologists, a roomful of high-tech equipment, maps and charts and assorted furniture. On good days, she and the other geologists who worked for the Ritter Oil Corporation could maneuver around one another as they proceeded with their individual and collective projects. Unfortunately this wasn’t a good day. Chaos reigned, and when the big boss himself, Eugene Ritter, asked Jenny to come into his office, it was a relief.
She took her time going down the long hall enjoying the glass windows that gave such a beautiful view of Tulsa, Oklahoma, and the lush vegetation that accented the walkway. Jenny was twenty-seven, but she looked much younger. Her long blond hair was soft and wavy, her deep blue eyes full of life and quiet pleasure. She wore a white knit sweater with simply designed gray slacks, but she still looked like a cover girl. It was the curse of her life, she thought, that men saw the face and not the personality and intelligence beneath it. Fortunately the men in her group were used to her by now, and none of them made sexist remarks or gave wolf whistles when she came into a room. They were all married except Jack, anyway, and Jack was fifty-six; just a bit old for Jenny’s taste.
All told, though, Jenny had given up on the idea of marriage. It would have been lovely, but despite the modern world she lived in, the only two men she’d ever come close to marrying refused to share her with her globe-trotting career. They wanted a nice little woman who’d stay at home and cook and clean and raise kids. Jenny wouldn’t have minded so much with the right man, but she’d spent years training as a geologist. She was highly paid and tops in her field. It seemed wasteful to sacrifice that for a dirty apron. But, then, perhaps she’d just never met the man she’d want to compromise for.
She glanced around as she entered the waiting room of Eugene’s plush carpeted office, looking for Hunter. Thank God he was nowhere close by. She let out a tense sigh. Ridiculous to let a man get to her that way, especially a cold-blooded statue like Mr. Hunter. He was the company’s troubleshooter and there had been a little trouble just lately. He and Jenny had partnered up for an evening to catch enemy agents who were after Jenny’s top-secret maps of a potential new strike in strategic metals. It had been an evening to remember, and Jenny was doing her best to forget it all. Especially the part that contained him. They’d caught two men, but not the ringleader himself. Hunter had blamed her. He usually did, for anything that went wrong. Maybe he hated blondes.
She lifted her eyebrows at Betty, Eugene’s secretary, who grinned and nodded.
“Go right in. He’s waiting,” she told Jenny.
“Is Hunter in there?” she asked, hesitating.
“Not yet.”
That sounded ominous. Jenny tapped at the door and opened it, peeking around to find Eugene precariously balanced in his swivel
