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compartment. She was aware that the burnt russet of her hair was tousled and the emerald dress was badly wrinkled. The sleeping compartment had been strangely confining and she was glad to escape, even if she was still very sleepy.
    "We'll worry about that in the morning," Yale told her, reaching out to help her back into the front seat. His mouth quirked in amusement as she blinked up at him sleepily. "You look like a tabby cat someone's just rudely awakened."
    "Thanks," she muttered, knowing tabby cats tended to be plump and comfortable-looking, not sleek and racy. "How's the wound, Hank?" she added, eyes narrowing as she turned to peer at the other man's hand.
    He held it up and grinned cheerfully. "Fine. The bleeding's stopped and I can manage things now."
    "Oh. Well, I hope you have a good, safe trip on down to Sacramento," she said, returning his smile. "And... and I think you ought to consider finding another sort of job, Hank," she went on in an urgent rush. "This isn't a good life for a family man! Your wife shouldn't have to be raising that boy alone and—"
    "Come on, Dara !" Yale's crisp drawl cut across the flow of words as he opened the door and grabbed her wrist. She was practically pulled down out of the cab and he had to steady her as she landed off balance beside him.
    Hank's face appeared in the window above them as he slid behind the wheel. He was grinning.
    "You take care of that little lady, now, Ransom. She looks to me like she's got about everything a man could want on a cold night! See ya !"
    Yale wrapped an arm around Dara's waist and pulled her back out of the way as Hank brought the monster truck to life once more.
    "Thanks, Hank," Yale called, lifting a hand in farewell.
    "Anytime, pal, anytime!"
    Diesel fumes filled the air as the truck and trailer growled past on its way back to the only element in which it was truly comfortable, an Interstate highway.
    "It's cold out here!" Dara noted, wishing she hadn't left her coat in the Alfa Romeo. She glanced around at the scattered buildings.
    "There's a motel over to the right," Yale said conversationally, holding her close to his side and starting off in the direction of the flashing sign advertising rooms.
    "A motel!" Dara frowned. "Aren't we going to head back to Eugene?"
    "Not tonight. We'll find a way back home in the morning. It's too late tonight to scare up a ride and we're both tired."
    "What time is it?"
    "Almost two o'clock. Did you get any sleep?"
    "Between Hank fiddling with the CB and you switching from one country station to another on the radio, no!" Dara lied feelingly. "And what's the idea of telling half the northbound traffic on the Interstate that you were traveling with your own personal stockbroker?"
    "I didn't tell anyone that. That was Hank on his CB," Yale defended with a grin that exposed the gold.
    "He got it from you!"
    "Well, he wanted to know your status in my life so he could share the gossip with his road buddies. I had to think of something."
    Dara was about to berate him further, but the truth was she had fallen asleep shortly after hearing Hank's cheerful announcement and she wasn't at all sure what had been said next.
    "Do you think this place is clean?" she demanded skeptically, surveying the old motel with a critical eye.
    "Hank assures me it's fine. Not elegant, but decent."
    "We're going to look a little strange to the desk clerk." Dara sighed, lifting a hand to graciously cover a yawn. Even the chilly night air wasn't going to keep her awake much longer. "I mean, what with no luggage and no car..."
    "I'll handle it."
    "Uh-huh."
    "Have some faith in your man, woman!" Yale gibed cheerfully as he opened the front door of the office.
    "I'm your stockbroker, not your woman, remember?" she retorted sweetly.
    "Actually, we haven't even agreed on that states yet, have we?'' he noted. The door swung shut behind them, cutting off her next words.
    A thin, elderly desk clerk detached himself from a small television set and