Hunter. Diana Palmer

including air studies and maybe even expensive computer time for the satellite Landsat maps.

      But right now what mattered was the fieldwork. This particular area of southern Arizona bordered government land on one side and the Apache reservation on the other. The reservation was like a sovereign nation, with its own government and laws, and she couldn’t prospect there without permission. What Eugene hoped to find was in a narrow strip between the two claimed territories. He had a good batting average, too. Old-timers said that Eugene could smell oil and gold, not to mention moly.

      It was too short a day. She collected all her equipment to be taken to the airport and the charts and maps she expected to have to refer to. With that chore out of the way, she went home.

      Jenny cooked herself a small piece of steak and ate it with a salad, brooding over her confrontation with Hunter and dreading the trip ahead. He didn’t like her, that much was apparent. But it shouldn’t have affected their working relationship as much as it did. There were other women in the organization, and he seemed to get along well enough with them.

      “Maybe it’s my perfume,” she murmured out loud and laughed at the idea of it.

      No, it had to be something in her personality that set him off, because he’d disliked her on sight the first time they met.

      She remembered that day all too well. It had been her first day on the job with the Ritter Oil Corporation. With her geology degree under her belt—a master’s degree—she’d landed a plum of a job with one of the country’s biggest oil companies. That achievement had given her confidence.

      She’d looked successful that day, in a white linen suit and powder-blue blouse, with her blond hair in a neat chignon, her long, elegant legs in sheer hose, her face with just the right amount of makeup. Her appearance had shocked and delighted her male colleagues on the exploration team. But her first sight of Hunter had shocked and delighted her, to her utter dismay.

      Eugene Ritter had called Hunter into his office to meet Jenny. She hadn’t known about his Apache heritage then; she hadn’t known anything about him except his last name. He’d come through the door and Jenny, who was usually unperturbed by men, had melted inside like warm honey.

      Hunter had been even less approachable in those days. His hair had been longer, and he’d worn it in a short pigtail at his nape. His suit had been a pale one that summery day, emphasizing his darkness. But it was his face that Jenny had stared at so helplessly. It was a dark face, very strong, with high cheekbones and jet-black hair and deep-set black eyes, a straight nose and a thin, cruel-looking mouth that hadn’t smiled when they were introduced. In fact, his eyes had narrowed with sudden hostility. She could remember the searing cold of that gaze even now, and the contempt as it had traveled over her with authority and disdain. As if she were a harem girl on display, she thought angrily, not a scientist with a keen analytical mind and meticulous accuracy in her work. It occurred to her then that a geologist would be a perfect match for the stony Mr. Hunter. She’d said as much to Eugene and it had gotten back to Hunter. That comment plus the other unfortunate stunt had not endeared her to Hunter. He hadn’t found it the least bit amusing. He’d said that she wouldn’t appeal to him if she came sliced and buttered.

      She sighed, pushing her last piece of steak around on her plate. Amazing that he could hate her when she found him so unbearably attractive. The trick fate had played on her, she thought wistfully. All her life, the men who wanted her had been mama’s boys or dependent men who needed nurturing. All she’d wanted was a man who was strong enough to let her be herself, brains and all. Now she’d finally found one who was strong, but neither her brains nor her beauty interested him in the least.

      She’d never had the courage to ask Hunter why he hated her so much. They’d only been alone together once in all the years they’d know each other, and that had been the night they’d staged a charade for the benefit of the agents who were after Jenny’s survey maps.

      They’d gone to a restaurant with Cabe Ritter and his then-secretary, Danetta Marist, Jenny’s cousin. Jenny had deliberately worn a red, sexy dress to “live down to Hunter’s opinion” of her. He’d barely spared her a glance, so she could have saved herself the trouble. Once they’d reached the apartment and the trap had been sprung, she’d seen Hunter in action for the first time. The speed with which he’d tackled the man prowling in her apartment was fascinating, like the ease with which he’d floored the heavier man and rendered him unconscious. He’d gone after a second man, but that one had knocked Jenny into the wall in his haste to escape. Hunter had actually stopped to see that she was all right. He’d tugged her gently to her feet, his eyes blazing as he checked her over and demanded assurance that she hadn’t been hurt. Then he’d gone after that second man, with blood in his eye, but he’d lost his quarry by then. His security men had captured a third member of the gang outside. Hunter had blamed Jenny for the loss of the second, who was the ringleader. Odd how angry he’d been, she thought in retrospect. Maybe it was losing his quarry, something he rarely did.

      She washed her few dishes before she had a quick shower and got into her gown. The sooner she slept, the sooner she’d be on her way to putting this forced trip behind her, she told herself.

      She looked at herself in the mirror before she climbed wearily into bed. There were new lines in her face. She was twenty-seven. Her age was beginning to bother her, too. Many more years and her beauty would fade. Then she’d have nothing except her intellect to attract a husband, and that was a laugh. Most of the men she’d met would trade a brainy woman any day for a beautiful one, despite modern attitudes. Hunter probably liked the kind of woman who’d walk three steps behind her husband and chew rawhide to make them soft for his moccasins.

      She tried to picture Hunter with a woman in his arms, and she blushed at the pictures that came to mind. He had the most magnificent physique she’d ever seen, all lean muscle and perfection. Thinking of him without the civilizing influence of clothes made her knees buckle.

      With an angry sigh, she put out the light and got under the sheets. She had to stop tormenting herself with these thoughts. It was just that he stirred her as no other man ever had. He could make her weak-kneed and giddy just by walking into a room. The sight of him fed her heart. She looked at him and wanted him, in ways that were far removed from the purely physical. She remembered hearing once that he’d been hurt on the job, and her heart had stopped beating until she could get confirmation that he was alive and going to be all right. She looked for him, consciously and unconsciously, everywhere she went. It was getting to be almost a mania with her, and there was apparently no cure. Stupid, to be so hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t even know she existed. At her age, and with her intellect, surely she should have known better. But all the same, her world began and ended with Hunter.

      Eventually she slept, but it was very late when she drifted off, and she slept so soundly that she didn’t even hear the alarm clock the next morning. But she heard the loud knocking on the door, and stumbled out of bed too drowsy to even reach for her robe. Fortunately her gown was floor-length and cotton, thick enough to be decent to answer a door in, at least.

      Hunter glowered at her when she opened the door. “The plane leaves in two hours. We have to be at the airport in one. Didn’t I remind you that I’d be here at six?”

      “Yes,” she said on a sigh. She stared up at his dark face. “Don’t you ever smile?” she asked softly.

      He lifted a heavy, dark eyebrow. “When I can find something worth smiling at,” he returned with faint sarcasm.

      That puts me in my place, she thought. She turned. “I have to have my coffee or I can’t function.”

      “I’ll make the coffee. Get dressed,” he said tersely, dragging his eyes away from the soft curves that gown outlined so sweetly.

      “But…” She turned and saw the sudden flash of his dark eyes, and stopped arguing.

      “I said get dressed,” he repeated in a tone that made threats, especially when it was accompanied by his slow, bold scrutiny of her body.

      She ran for it. He’d never looked at her in exactly