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kind of screwed-up diplomacy. You started to ask me questions because you wanted something else of me. All you had to do was ask the real question straight out.”
    Her brown eyes darkened with pain as she held his steady gaze. Anger and humiliation flooded her and she snapped, “I’m hardly ‘vulnerable,’ as you put it, at age twenty-nine, Mr. Wagner!”
    He shifted the Jeep into higher gear range as they began to pick up speed over the flat dirt road that stretched toward a small group of office trailers in the distance. “Call me Dan,” he said, the hardness gone from his tone. It wasn’t a command but a request. “I called you vulnerable because every emotion registers so clearly in your golden eyes. You’re transparent. That’s what I like about you. You can’t hide a thing.”
    She didn’t know what to do or say. His voice was suddenly caring, and that threw her even more.
    “So, what do they call you at the office? Elizabeth? Betty?” he asked.
    “No. Libby,” she answered, her voice toneless.
    He nodded, his eyes narrowing as if he were thinking about it. Finally he murmured, “That fits you. It’s not a weak name, but it isn’t a totally independent one, either. A nice blend of femininity and strength.”
    She stared at him, her brows knitting. “What?” she asked.
    “Names. Haven’t you ever rolled a name off your tongue and noticed that it sounded strong, weak, soft or whatever?” He looked at her for a moment and then returned his gaze to the road.
    “N-no, I can’t say I have,” she answered tentatively, thinking about the concept. She was amazed at the way he looked at the world.
    “What was your ex-husband’s name?”
    Libby sat there for a second, saying the name to herself. Then a small smile edged her mouth. “Harold.”
    She began to laugh and he joined her. The tension eased between them as she sat back, enjoying the shared moment. Dan’s eyes were softer now, and she marveled at the azure intensity of them.
    “I’ll refrain from making any observations about that name,” he intoned dryly.
    Libby managed a quiet laugh. “Yes, I think you should. I’ve probably covered most of them myself.”
    “How long did it last?”
    Suddenly she didn’t mind answering his questions. “Five years. About three too long, if you want the truth,” she admitted.
    “You’ve been free for a couple of years, then?”
    “Yes, two years.”
    “Like being single, Libby?”
    She shivered inwardly as he spoke her name, his voice husky. It sounded incredibly beautiful. “Most of the time, yes,” she answered. “Sometimes...” She shrugged her shoulders. “It gets lonely.”
    Dan pulled the Jeep to a halt at the first trailer. The office had once been white, but now it was coated with a thick coat of yellow dust He switched off the engine, leaning back and turning his gaze to her. His eyes seemed to drink in each facet of her face, and Libby experienced a frightening thrill and a sense of danger about his frank perusal. Finally he turned away and climbed out.
    “Well, three weeks in these mountains are either going to make you feel loneliness like never before or a wonderful sense of contentment. I don’t know which.”
    She slid out the door, glad that she had worn her casual shoes as the dust settled on the tops of them. Eagerly she looked around at the mountains that embraced the valley. The vivid blue of the spruces mingled with the darker color of evergreens. She spotted a small stand of white birch halfway up on a mountain opposite the road down which they had come. Everywhere the colors seemed vibrant, alive. It was as though the forest were inviting her to reach out, touch and enjoy. Looking across the hood at Dan, she grinned. “Somehow I think I’m going to love it.”

3
    L ONG INTO THE evening Libby worked on the business at hand in the command trailer. Large topical maps of the state land-grant area lay sprawled out over roughly hewn work desks as they went over the