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for its lack of trees. Haven’t you ever watched any Western movies?” he added, and came very close to a smile. “Remember the Indians chasing the soldiers in John Wayne movies, and the soldiers having to dive into dry washes or gulches for cover?”
    She stared at him, fascinated. “Yes. I didn’t think you’d watch that kind of movie…” She colored, embarrassed.
    “Because the solders won?” he mused. “That’s history. But the Apache fought them to a standstill several times. And Louis L’Amour did a story called Hondo that was made into a movie with John Wayne.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It managed to show Apaches in a good light, for once.”
    “I read about Cochise when I was in school. And Mangas Coloradas and Victorio…”
    “Different tribes of Apache,” he said. “Cochise was Chiricahua. Mangas and Victorio were MimbreÑos.”
    “Which…are you?” she asked, sounding and feeling breathless. He’d never spoken to her like this before.
    “Chiricahua,” he said. His eyes searched her face. “Is your ancestry Nordic?” he asked.
    “It’s German,” she said softly. “On my father’s side, it’s English.” Her eyes wandered helplessly over his lean face.
    Her intense scrutiny disturbed him in a new and unexpected way. Her eyes were enormous. Dark blue, soft, like those of some kitten. He didn’t like the way they made him tingle. He turned away, scowling.
    “We’d better go, Jennifer.”
    Her name on his lips thrilled her. She felt alive as never before when she was with him, even if it was in the line of duty.
    She started toward the door, but he turned as she reached it, and she bumped into him. The contact was like fire shooting through her.
    “Sorry!” She moved quickly away. “I didn’t mean to…!”
    He put a strong hand under her chin and lifted her face to his eyes. Her eyelids flinched and there was real fear in them at close range. “You really are afraid of me,” he said with dawning comprehension.
    She hadn’t wanted him to know that. Of course she was afraid of him, but not for the reasons he was thinking. She moved back and lowered her eyes. “A little, maybe,” she said uneasily.
    “My God!” He jerked open the door. “Out.”
    She went through it, avoiding him as she left. She hadn’t expected the confession to make him angry. She sighed heavily. It was going to be a hard trip, all the way, if this was any indication. He was coldly silent all the way to the motel restaurant, only taking her arm when they were around people, for appearance’s sake.
    They were halfway through their meal when he spoke again.
    “It’s been years since I’ve scalped anyone,” he said suddenly, his angry eyes searching hers.
    The fork fell from her fingers with a terrible clatter. She picked it up quickly, looking around nervously to see if anyone had noticed, but there was only an old couple nearby and they were too busy talking to notice Jennifer and her companion.
    She should have remembered how sensitive he was about his heritage. She’d inadvertently let him believe that she was afraid of him because he was an Indian. What a scream it would be if she confessed that she was afraid of him because she was in love with him. He’d probably kill himself laughing.
    “No, it’s not that,” she began. She stopped, helplessly searching for the right words. “It’s not because you’re…” She toyed with her fork. “The thing is, I’m not very comfortable around you,” she said finally. She put down her fork. “You’ve never made any secret of the fact that you dislike me. You’re actively hostile the minute I come into a room. It isn’t exactly fear. It’s nerves, and it has nothing to do with your heritage.”
    She had a point. He couldn’t deny that he’d been hostile. Her beauty did that to him; it made him vulnerable and that irritated him. He knew he was too touchy about his ancestry, but he’d had it rough trying to live in a white world.
    “I don’t