Chapter One
“Oh no!” Cheyenna Dupres felt a hot wave of embarrassment, contrasting the chill of the nocturnal desert air.
Here she was, in nearly nothing but her birthday suit, and she just realized she was in someone else’s van! One glance at the Stetson she’d almost sat on told her she’d blown it big time.
Feeling like a blundering idiot, she yanked on her thermal underwear. The van, one of a few hundred vehicles parked alongside the dusty road, had looked so much like her own in the darkness. Still, anyone could’ve done this, she tried to console herself. She’d read in the daily paper, the Oregonian, that Indianhead Springs, the site for the amateur astronomy campout, was chosen for its exceptional dark skies.
“Mama! Where are you?” The sound of her nine-year-old daughter’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. She peered through the half-opened van door. There was Mandy, barely visible, back turned, standing a short distance away.
Mandy! Over here!” Chyenna called in a stage whisper.
The girl spun around. “Mama?”
“Yes! I’ll be right there!”
A pause followed, then a shrill, “What are you doing-”
“Shh! I’ll explain in a minute.”
“Hurry! I can’t find the porta-potties! I gotta go!”
Chyenna finished dressing, then scrambled outside and led the way. They passed a string of tents, campers, and trailers where most of the others were camped, their tele-scopes and cars close by. Small groups were clustered, speaking in technical jargon Chyenna didn’t understand--and didn’t care to. Spending this special time with Mandy camping under the stars was all she needed right now...
Half serious, half laughing, she told Mandy about the details of her humiliating mishap. They giggled so hard, they had to stop walking to splint their aching sides. It felt so good...good to be finally laughing.
A short time later they returned to their campsite. Chyenna had pitched their tent several hundred yards from the road beneath the towering pine trees where a few other shade-loving souls had also camped. Though the forested canopy protected them from the scorching desert sun, it also meant a longer trek back to the van to get food or gear. Forest Service regulations required all vehicles to be parked near the road to allow a quick exit in case of fire.
“It’s awesome here!” Mandy exclaimed as they carted two reclining lawn chairs onto a grassy clearing, then sat down.
“Yes, gorgeous!” Chyenna tipped her head back for a long moment and sighed. Masses of stars winked against a canopy of midnight blue. Never, ever had she seen the Milky Way with such brilliance, such clarity. She beamed her flashlight onto the star chart she held on her lap, then peered up again. “Look! The Northern Cross.”
Where?”
“Right there.” She pointed. “Straight overhead!”
“Oh, wow! Now I see it! That’s cool!”
They continued star hopping from one constellation to another. Chyenna recounted aloud the age-old myths about each, while Mandy listened, fascinated.
“Where’d you learn those stories, Mama?”
“In college. Greek literature, I think.”
"Pardon me, Ma’am.” A voice. A definitely male voice.
She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t even heard anyone approaching.
“Do you mind shutting off that damned flashlight?” he said, his words edged with irritation.
“What?”
“You heard me. Your flashlight. Turn it off!”
The man towered over her. Broad shoulders and lanky frame were concealed inside a heavy jacket and tight- fitting jeans. Though it was too dark to discern his facial features, she caught the faint scent of aftershave which mingled with the dusty smells of the desert.
She flipped off the light, then stood up, straightening to her full five and a half feet. “Happy?” she asked.
“Obviously you didn’t read the rules in the registration packet,” he went on, ignoring her impudent retort. He took a step closer. She could see a bit more of his ruggedly chiseled profile, the stubborn set of his jaw. A shiver of awareness rippled down her spine. He appeared so male, so ruggedly powerful.
“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t,” she shot back. “Mandy and I’ve been busy.” Truth was, they’d spent the last two frustrating hours trying to drive their tent stakes into the rocky desert floor. Yet this was apparently a guy who played by the rules--whatever they were--and it was plain he wasn’t going to let her off easy. “What rule could we be possibly breaking?”
“Our red light policy. No white light allowed after dark. Red only.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he rocked back on his heels. “White light interferes with night vision more than you obviously realize, and your white light, lady, is no exception.”
“Oh, give me a break. Surely this one little flashlight can’t make that much difference.” She refused to allow this man to humiliate her so, especially in front of Mandy, though right now her daughter appeared more intent on rummaging through the cooler than listening to their verbal sparring.
“Trust me, it does make a difference,” the man continued. “I’ve got a line of folks waiting to take a look through my telescope, and if they can’t see as good as they should, I’m gonna lose big bucks.”
“Oh, I get it. You must be one of those hot shot astrophotographers,” she retorted. “Who else would be so uptight about a little white light?”
“No, I’m just your average amateur astronomer--that is, when I’m not minding the ranch. We raise cattle, Herefords. On the side, I make custom telescopes and sell them.”
She bit her lip, considering. Now that was an interesting combination, though certainly not an impossibility. Goodness only knew, this valley was marked by memories of frontier days when cowboys roamed the unsettled plains. Then too, the annual rodeo and county fair every Labor Day Weekend was still the biggest event of the summer.
“This your daughter?” he asked, his voice softening a little. By now Mandy was stretched out again on the lawn chair, ankles crossed, chomping a granola bar.
“Yes. Her name’s Amanda. I’m Chyenna.” She didn’t bother to give their last name, nor any explanations why they were camping alone.
“Howdy,” he said, extending his large gloveless hand. His grip was strong, enveloping, and hot, despite the night air. “I’m Blair Westerman. I’ve a daughter about Amanda’s age--maybe a little older. Name’s Lisa.”
“Wow! Someone to hang with!” Mandy exclaimed. “Where is she?”
Sleeping in our tent.”
“Oh. Can I meet her tomorrow then?”
“Reckon so. Anyway, you’re bound to run into her sooner or later.”
About my astronomically incorrect red flashlight,” Chyenna interrupted before they could get too chummy. “Got any ideas about how I can make it right?”
“Sure. A few strips of tail light repair tape, and you got it. Matter of fact, I just happen to have a new package back at my campsite. If you’d like to head over there with me, I’ll give you some.”
She stiffened. “No thanks. I’ll think of some other way of improvising. And for now, Mandy and I won’t need our star charts anyway,” she was quick to add. “We can always make up our own constellations.”
He gave a brusque laugh. “Now that’s what I like. A self-sufficient woman.” She thought she detected a flash of amusement in his eyes before he turned and sauntered back into the blackness.
* * * * *
Blair Westerman sat outside his tent, watching the night turn to dawn. The first rays of sunlight were showing, transforming the skies from a dusky cobalt blue to washes of mauve-orange. All was quiet now, amazingly quiet, except for the sound of his little daughter’s gentle, even breathing from inside the tent.
Man, what a night! The skies had been dark and clear as glass, a perfect 10. And the moons of Jupiter had been outstanding. Why, it had been tempting to go get that plucky little lady he’d talked to--her girl too--and invite them to take a look through his telescope--anything to spend just a few more minutes with her. Let’s see, what did she say their names were? Chyenna and Amanda? Yep, that was it...
But she probably would’ve refused his invitation flat out, he reminded himself. After all, she hadn’t taken too kindly to him informing her about the white light rule, and now that he thought back on it, maybe he had come on to her a little too strong. Besides, he couldn’t help sensing that all she’d wanted was be left alone.
Yes, even when they’d first arrived during twilight, he’d seen the haunted look on her face, sensed her quiet desperation. In the beginning, he’d been merely intrigued, attracted to her. He’d found it hard to resist the sight of her long mane of hair, the color of molasses, the way it swung gently with her every graceful move. And what a figure in those snug designer jeans! Enough to put a rodeo queen to shame.
But soon attraction had evolved into something more... Concern, maybe. A desire to help. Try as he did, he couldn’t brush aside the nagging thought she might be running from something.
Or someone.
But why? Who?
At first it appeared as if they were going to sleep in their van, but then she’d finally hauled out that pitiful excuse for a two-man tent. The entire time she’d struggled to drive in the stakes, he’d held back offering his help. If she was as proud as Martha--and from the looks of it, she probably was--she’d turn him down anyway.
Martha. Unbidden, his thoughts turned back to the four years they’d lived in LA...the drive-by shooting...the look of regret in the emergency room doctor’s eyes when he’d said there was no hope of saving her.
He heaved a sigh, then stared unseeingly at a distant hill. One year ago. Somehow, it seemed like forever. He and Martha had been happily married, as happy as any two people could be. Well, almost, that is. Martha had always been a big city girl. They’d met their senior year in college at Eastern Oregon State, fell promptly in love, and soon after graduation, they’d married. Though she’d tried her best to make a new life for herself in Prairie Valley, she’d grown more depressed with each passing year. She yearned for the concrete and high rises, the noise and the energy that pulsed through the crowded streets, she’d said. And here in the country, she’d felt as if she were dying a slow, agonizing death.
“College lasted only a few years, not a lifetime,” was her quick reply every time he’d reminded her that the university where she’d studied just happened to also be in a small town.
And so against his better judgment--for they had Lisa’s future to consider as well--he gave in. He gave in and took Martha back to L.A. where she landed herself a position in a big advertising firm; he, a job with a major science catalogue distributor; and for Lisa a highly recommended nanny. Life would be perfect now, he’d promised Martha, though deep in his gut, he couldn’t see how.
Then came the shooting, and that very bliss he’d promised her had so swiftly come to an end. If only he’d insisted they stay on the ranch, this tragedy would’ve never happened, he told himself over and over again. Afterwards, he hadn’t wasted a minute high-tailing it out of there, out of that noisy, dirty city, back to the simple country life he’d known for nearly three decades. Still, the guilt had only grown, haunting him, stalking him, nearly driving him clean out of his mind.
He massaged the back of his neck, then closed his eyes and yawned. Hell, he’d better get some sleep. Already Lisa was stirring and before long, she’d be pestering him to take her for another hike in the canyon or worse, back into town for more junk food. Yep, junk food. That’s what kids liked best, didn’t they? Candy, soda, and potato chips, that sort of thing. He had to admit, he sometimes didn’t have a clue when it came to raising his little daughter. But now, God bless her, Ma had stepped in and taken over. Her house was right behind his on the hundred-and-fifty-thousand-acre spread that made up the Lazy Y Ranch--a family operation that he and his two brothers had taken over ever since their father died of cancer ten years earlier.
He sighed again. At least there’d been another female who was willing to play the role of surrogate mother. But even Ma had had a tough time filling Martha’s shoes. Despite her unhappiness, Martha had been one damned good mother...
Don’t think about Martha. Don’t dwell on the memories. Memories can run a man right into the ground--and you’re already about to hit rock bottom.
* * * * *
"Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention, please?” the man’s voice rang out.
It was late afternoon the following day, and the sun scorched down in shimmering waves on Indianhead Springs, where each rolling brown hill stretched to meet the horizon. The earthy smells of sage, freckled milkvetch, mixed with pine carried on a faint breeze. Some nine hundred campers were gathered near the registration tent, some sitting on camp stools and lawn chairs, others standing. The Saturday program was about to begin.
Chyenna fanned herself with a brochure as she listened to the man standing behind a makeshift podium, a black metal music stand.
“My name is Blair Westerman, this year’s president of the Northwest Astronomers Association,” he was saying. “On behalf of all the club officers, I’d like to thank you for making this the best attended Star Party in our twelve-year history here in central Oregon.”
So the man who’d humiliated her so last night had had a major role in organizing this event, she mused with growing interest. The club president, in fact.
As Blair Westerman smiled at the crowd, exposing a flash of even white teeth, she struggled to repress a fresh wave of awareness. Now that she could see him in the full light of day, he was even more ruggedly handsome than she’d dreamed. He wore tight denim jeans that molded trim hips and sculpted thighs. His white T-shirt strained against his well-muscled chest. Unlike the night before, when he’d worn a snugly fitting knit cap, he was now sporting a Stetson, which partially shadowed his alluring face.
Wait a minute! She narrowed her gaze as the reali-zation slashed through her like a jagged knife. Could that be the same Stetson she almost sat on last night? Could the van she’d mistaken for her own belong to Blair Westerman?
Don’t be ridiculous! her more reasonable self argued. There are plenty others here with Stetsons just like that. Besides, this Blair Westerman she’d talked with had said he was a cattle rancher. Surely he’d be driving a pickup instead, wouldn’t he? Didn’t all ranchers drive pickups?
“Before I introduce our guest speaker,” he continued, flashing the crowd another lazy grin, “I have one announce-ment to make. Will the owner of the cell phone and lipstick left in my van last night please contact me as soon as possible? Though I’d don’t have a clue how they got there--not to mention the fact I already have my own cell phone, and claim no earthly use for “Blazing Fuchsia” war paint--I would like to get them back to the rightful owner.”
Chyenna closed her eyes as a roar of laughter rose up all around her. Lord help me, she prayed, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up in her cheeks.
She needed that phone. There was no way she could avoid claiming it. She’d promised her business partner at the inn, Nan Woodall, she’d keep it within ear shot in the event Nan needed to reach her. This was Nan’s first weekend to manage the place alone, and goodness only knew, things hadn’t been running too smoothly lately. Why, only last week an unnamed citizen wrote an editorial for the town paper criticizing Chyenna’s efforts to attract tourism. Several of the locals had even stormed inside the inn to voice their objections in person.
“Mama?” Mandy piped up. The girl tugged on Chyenna’s T-shirt. “Is that man up there talking about you?”
Amused glances flashed their way. More laugher rippled through the crowd.
Gritting her teeth, Chyenna shot Mandy a warning look. “Shh, darling. We’ll deal with that later. Right now the speaker’s about to begin.”
But listening to the speaker was the last thing Chyenna did as the next hour passed by. All talk about the ever growing problem of global light pollution and recent discoveries made by the Hubbell telescope barely penetrated her thoughts.
The memories of what should’ve been this thirteenth day of August were still too raw, too painful. Chyenna had been desperate for a distraction, any distraction, and hence her spur-of-the-moment decision to come here. She’d hoped against all hope that maybe on this desert mountaintop, she could at last find peace.
So far, she’d experienced everything but that--especially after she’d encountered Blair Westerman. Last night when she’d crawled into her sleeping bag and was drifting off to sleep, she’d vowed she would forget about him. And right now it was tempting to send Mandy to get the cell phone, instead of facing him herself.
Shame on you! Shame on you for even entertaining that notion...
Inhaling a shaky breath, she glanced his way. No, she wasn’t a coward. She’d face him. Own up to it like she should. But could she withstand still another onslaught of his rugged male magnetism?
Like it or not, she’d soon find out.