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his hand. She smiled involuntarily at him, and was treated to an
unexpected answering smile. Her spirits lifted with unexplainable affection
when he placed the coffee in her hand.
    "Soup's on. It'll be ready in
a minute," he said cheerfully.
    Later, they ate at the table in
companionable silence. And when he spoke again, she understood why he seemed to
be in such a better mood.
    "I just took a look outside.
The water seems to be going down. I'm sure I can get you back into town today.
That is, if you feel up to it."
    "That would be
wonderful!"
    He grinned. "At no
charge."
    "I guess I deserved you having
a little fun with me," Melinda said. "It was — rude — of me to treat
you like you were some sort of hobo."
    "No problem," Mac said.
"I haven't exactly been on my best behavior either."
    Already, she had pleasant visions
of a motel room and a hot shower. She would buy some clothes to replace the
ones she lost in the flood. And then, the next day, she would search for the
McClure place again — this time with a hired driver.
    She considered asking Michael to
take her directly to the ranch, but somehow she couldn't face the McClures
looking like some kind of war refugee.
    They leisurely finished their meal.
This man soon would be part of the past. Idly, she recalled the previous night
— the airplane and the vehicle noises that had so abnormally pierced the quiet
of their isolation.
    "Did you hear anything last
night?" she asked casually.
    "A few cattle are milling
around — those that weren't caught on low ground when the waters came up.
That's about it."
    "Yours?" she asked
sympathetically.
    He nodded. She wondered then if
part of his chronic ill temper might be blamed on concern for the livestock
that must have been destroyed in the storm. It was his livelihood, after all.
However, he still had not satisfied her curiosity.
    "Wasn't that airplane horribly
loud?" she asked. "It came so close. You went out in the jeep about
the same time, didn't you? I heard you."
    "Planes fly over here all the
time. It didn't mean anything. I just went out to check some cattle."
    "In the pitch dark?"
Melinda asked incredulously.
    "If you're so interested, then you tell me what it means." Michael's tone turned cold.
    Melinda was sorry she brought up
the subject. He stood, almost turning over his chair. Then he cleared the table
by piling dishes onto one arm. He dumped everything in the sink before he
turned around to face her. As he wiped his hands on a dish towel, his tense
stance contradicted the forced indifference of his voice.
    "Really," he coaxed.
"I want to know. Why are you so concerned?"
    "Well, I — it was just
strange, that's all."
    "Something to do with Roy
Finch, do you suppose?"
    His voice was so accusing that
Melinda found herself gaping at him.
    "What are you talking about?
Who's Roy Finch?"
    "Don't give me that,"
Michael said in disgust. "That road you were on leads to Eagle Ranch. What
was your business there?"
    He walked slowly over to the table,
and leaned over it to scrutinize her at close range.
    "You may as well tell me all
about it. I know more than you think I do."
    Melinda responded angrily.
"You've definitely got me mixed up with someone else. And I don't want any
part of whatever you're involved with. But just to clear things up — not that
it's any of your business — I was on my way to Sacramento Ranch to see Preston
McClure."
    Michael's eyes flashed with
surprise, then mistrust as he straightened and stepped backward. "I don't
believe a word of it. Why would Preston have anything to do with the likes of
you?"
    Melinda scooted her chair back,
stood, and faced him squarely.
    "Now look here. I've had about
enough. I'm Preston's sister-in-law, Melinda Bailey. And contrary
to what you seem to think, I have every right to be here."
    Utter disbelief wiped away his
hostile expression.
    "Joan's sister?"
    "So you know the
McClures?"
    Michael's face turned a flaming
red. "I should have known. When you said your first