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private life. There were no men at the office, he knew. She was discreet, if nothing else. In fact, he thought, studying her absently with narrowed eyes as she put away her computer, he’d never heard of her dating a man in all the years she’d been with the company. He’d never seen her flirt with a man, and even those she worked with treated her as just one of the boys. That fact had never occurred to him before. She kept her distance from men as a rule. Even out in the field, where working conditions were much more relaxed, Jennifer went without makeup, in floppy shirts and loose jeans, and she kept to herself after working hours. He’d once seen her cut a man dead who was trying to make a play for her. Her eyes had gone an icy blue, her face rigid with distaste, and even though she hadn’t said much, her would-be suitor got the message in flying colors. Hunter wouldn’t admit, even to himself, how that action had damned her in his eyes. Seeing her put in the knife had made him more determined than ever not to risk his emotions with her. There were too many hard memories of his one smoldering passion for a white woman, and its humiliating result. And, even longer ago than that, his mother’s contempt for him, her desertion.
    He turned away from Jennifer, busying himself with the surveillance equipment one of his cases contained. He redistributed the equipment in the case and closed it.
    â€œWhy do we have to have all that?” she queried suddenly.
    He nodded toward her computer and equipment. “Why do you have to have all that?” he countered.
    â€œIt’s part of my working gear,” she said simply.
    â€œYou’ve answered your own question.” He checked his watch. “Let’s get something to eat. Then we’ll have a look at camping supplies.”
    â€œThe joy of expense accounts,” she murmured as she got her purse and put away her reading glasses. “I wonder if Eugene will mind letting me have a jungle hammock? I slept in one when I was a kid. We camped next to two streams, and they were like a lullaby in the darkness.”
    â€œYou can have a jungle hammock if you think you can find a place to hang it.”
    â€œAll we need is two trees….”
    He turned, his hands on his lean hips, his dark face enigmatic. “The desert is notorious 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.
    â€œBecause 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.”
    â€œI read about Cochise when I was in school. And Mangas Coloradas and Victorio…”
    â€œDifferent tribes of Apache,” he said. “Cochise was Chiricahua. Mangas and Victorio were MimbreÑos.”
    â€œWhich…are you?” she asked, sounding and feeling breathless. He’d never spoken to her like this before.
    â€œChiricahua,” he said. His eyes searched her face. “Is your ancestry Nordic?” he asked.
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œWe’d better go, Jennifer.”
    Her name on his lips thrilled her. She