SAMPLE THE STORY BY READING CHAPTER ONE

The bullet slammed through the windshield.

It starred the glass, shattering it. It drove past the startled girl at the wheel and buried itself in the rear-seat upholstery.

Clea Bennett screamed. That yell came up from somewhere deep inside her and reverberated throughout the little Volkswagen. Her hands shook, she felt the terrified shudder run all through her, and her foot instinctively sought the brake. The car quivered, jolting to a halt.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed.

It was a hunter, it had to be. And yet. . . .

Out here, along Route 66, in the shadow of the Old Dad Mountains? What was there to hunt, away from everything? And why would anyone be hunting something on this main roadway? It made no sense. But someone had fired a bullet. At her? At her little car? That made even less sense, unless it was some kook who hated cars, or who hated girls who drove them.

She sat crouched over the wheel, shaking, wondering if that someone were going to shoot at her again. There was a coldness deep inside her, a terror that grew and grew until the tears ran down her cheeks and little whimpers came from her throat. Her hands were frozen to the wheel, so tightly that she felt her muscles cramp in her fingers and arms.

Her eyes lifted to the road ahead. It was deserted, there was no one in sight. She let her gaze stray to the rear-view mirror. Ah! A car was coming up fast, behind her, a big car—a maroon Continental, she told herself—and it was almost on top of her.

It slowed, it stopped. The door opened and a big man emerged, a man in slacks and a pullover sweater, with broad shoulders and a lean waist and a mop of blond hair that fell halfway across his eyes. Impatiently, he pushed the hair back and came striding toward her.

He did not speak; he went to the front of the Volks and let his eyes study the bullet-hole in the windshield, the shattered glass. Clea watched him, her mouth dry, her heart still pounding away. Her every muscle was taut; she could not have moved if the car were about to explode.

Then he came around to her door and opened it. His hand reached in and caught her wrist, gently pulling it until she let go of the wheel. He drew her out onto the road, and when her legs began to shake so much that she almost fell, he put his arms about her, holding her up.

“It was close,” he murmured.

“C—c—close? It a—almost hi—hit me!”

She let him hold her. It was good to be held, to know that there was someone, another human being, who could sympathize with her, could stop and help her. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, but her heart still thumped away riotously.

Clea fought for control. She lifted her face, stared upward into the face of this stranger. “S—somebody tried to k—kill me,” she whispered.

His green eyes looked down into hers, held them almost hypnotically. He nodded slowly. “I think so, too. Now why would that be?”

“Why would what be?” she yelled. “Do you think I go around getting shot at as a matter of daily routine?”

She couldn’t help it. She began to blubber. The tears oozed out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed, she wailed, she shook all over. Vaguely, she realized that she was making a spectacle of herself, but she didn’t give a damn. It wasn’t every day that she was a target for a bullet.

His arms held her tightly. His voice was soft, soothing. “Easy, now. Easy. It’ll be all right. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Her head pressed against his sweatered chest, she shook it back and forth. “N—no. It m—missed me.”

“Well, now. That’s something to be grateful for, isn’t it?”

She leaned back to stare up at him. “Grateful?” she howled. “Grateful for what? D—do you see my p—poor car? H—how can I drive it the way it is? And—and I have to be at the Mount Wilson Observatory for the s—seminar they’re holding there.”

His hands were at her shoulders. She felt his fingers tighten as he pushed her back a little so he could see her face more fully. “Mount Wilson? I’m heading there myself. I’ll be glad to give you a lift.”

“You are?”

He smiled and the thought came to Clea that he had very nice lips. Irked at herself for some reason she could not understand, she went on. “I’d really appreciate it, I honestly would.”

“Then say no more. We’ll transfer your bags and be off.”

His eyes lifted to scan the mountains bulking large off to one side, and it seemed to Clea, who was looking up at those eyes, that there was a gleam of honest pleasure in them, as though—well, as though he might want to come face to face with the man who had shot at her. But this was nonsense, of course. He seemed like such a well-behaved young man.

He looked down at her, and there was something tender in his eyes that reached out to her. Clea told herself—rather wildly—that she was imagining things. After all, he was a stranger, he certainly wouldn’t be getting a crush on her.

Still, he was nice.

She drew back slowly, away from him. “I’d better be getting my bags, then.” In a gush of words, she added, “I can’t really thank you enough for your offer. This is my vacation of the year, sort of, and I’d have hated to miss it. I’ve been looking forward so much to hearing Conal Shannon speak. He’s a brilliant astronomer. I’ve read his three books. I have them home. Actually, they’re in my bags now.”

He paused with his head in the Volkswagen trunk, turning it to look at her.

“I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” he asked in what Clea thought was an odd voice.

She smiled at him. “Well, no. But everything’s been happening so fast——”

“I’m Conal Shannon.”

She blinked at him. “The astronomer? But. . . .”

He lifted out her bags, carried them toward the Continental. Clea turned to watch him, blinking. This man couldn’t be that Conal Shannon!

He swung her bags into the huge trunk of the Continental, then closed the lid. His eyes glanced at her, and she saw he was struggling not to smile.

“You were starting to say, ‘But. . .’ But what?”

Her cheeks flamed crimson. “I’ve always thought of him as a much older man.”

“With white hair and thick eyeglasses and a perpetual stoop?”

Clea flushed even more. “We—ell, y—yes.”

He gave a whoop of laughter and reached out to catch hold of her hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Miss—er? Miss what?”

“Clea Bennett,” she muttered, feeling like a fool. How could he have let her go on gushing about Conal Shannon when she was talking about him all the time?

He opened the car door, watched her slide onto the seat. His eyes were going over her, and Clea wished she had not worn such sensible clothes—the wool skirt, the old blouse, the sweater that had seen far better days. Her hair was in need of a wash, too, it must be dirty and dusty, and she wished also that she had done it in something other than this rather prim way of gathering it close to her skull and then fastening it with a rubber band, somewhere there below her neck. She must seem a real frump in his eyes.

“We’ll stop at a garage somewhere along the way,” he was saying as he started the engine, “and send somebody back to fix your car. By the time the seminar is over, it will be fixed.”

“That’s very good of you,” she said carefully, looking straight ahead.

“Not good at all. Just what anybody else would do.”

She slid her eyes sideways at him. He was rather good-looking, she decided. Embarrassment still stirred inside her. She had really gone overboard in her praise of this man. Well, it was true enough. He wrote well, he had a tremendous knowledge of the stars. He had even discovered a couple of new stars.

“Are you really an astronomer?” she asked suddenly. “Are you really the Conal Shannon who wrote those books?”

“Honest Injun, I am. Why?”

“They’ve been my bibles. I’ve used them to teach in the school where I work. Oh, it isn’t a big school, there aren’t all that many pupils. But I like it that way, I can spend more time with each one.”

“Good. I like that. Shows you’re devoted. You know, I think this calls for a bit of a celebration. How does the idea strike you?”

“What kind of celebration?” she asked cautiously.

“Cocktails and a wonderful lunch. On me. How about it?”

Clea thought of the dry sandwiches she had made and tucked away in her bags, to be munched on as she drove, when hunger pangs got too much, to be swallowed down with the cold coffee in her thermos.

“You make it sound very tempting,” she admitted.

“Great. I know just the place. It’s only about fifty miles ahead. Be there inside an hour.”

They drove through barren country which resembled desert lands. Clea found her eyes drawn toward something black and sprawling up ahead, and sat up straighter so as to observe it more carefully.

“Lava beds,” Conal said, noting her interest. “Pisgah Crater is the big thing you see, off to the left. A volcano, some few thousand years ago.”

“It’s very dead country, isn’t it?”

Conal chuckled. “Nobody would want to live out here, one would imagine, but people do.”

“They like solitude, I guess.”

“Like me.”

Her eyes slid sideways. “You don’t strike me as a man who would want to live off by himself.”

“Oh, but I do. For instance, I have a little hideaway in the Sierra mountains where I run every chance I can get. It’s quiet there, and you can see the heavens so clearly at night, it seems you can almost reach up and grab hold of the moon.”

Clea let herself think about that for a time. Then she said softly, “It must be heavenly.”

“You enjoy solitude?”

She laughed. “I surely do, especially after teaching for a while. You have no idea how noisy young people can get on your nerves.”

“Hey, tell you what. Come up with me after the seminar to my place. You’ll love it. There’s a lake where we can swim, go out in a canoe, do some fishing too, if you like that sort of thing.”

“It sounds marvelous. But I have to get back.”

“It’s early summer. Your school must have just let out. Why can’t you?”

Ha! Up in those mountains, all alone with Conal Shannon, there would be no telling what might happen. Clea admitted to herself that this man beside her had a definite animal magnetism about him, and while he might be a gentleman—as she was positive he was—still, the effect of stars and loneliness might work a change in him.

And in her, as well. She was honest enough to admit that. It wasn’t because she didn’t like male companionship that she lived by herself in that little house in Bitter Springs, Arizona. Her parents had left it to her, along with a lot of barren land in Oklahoma that was good for nothing but housing rabbits and prairie dogs, but it was all she had.

When she grew too old to teach, she was going to retire in Oklahoma, build a little place, and live out her days there, with her books and her memories. She had it all planned. She was saving a little from her salary, investing in stocks that would pay her enough, with their dividends at the time of her retirement, together with her Social Security and teachers pension, to enable her to live modestly and without a worry in the world.

She planned on selling the house she lived in now, and using that money to build the new one. Oh, she had it all figured out. Everything was going according to schedule, too.

But to go with Conal Shannon to some mountain retreat might open new doors to her. She would see how other people lived, and could grow envious. Better not tip her little boat, better not upset her plans. It would be safer to live her life as she already lived it.

“I want to thank you for the invitation,” she said after a time, “but my plans are all made.”

“What plans?”

Clea shrugged. “I know just what I’m doing, where I’m going. When I retire, I’m going into Oklahoma and live there, on land I own.”

“Doesn’t sound very exciting. Safe, yes. I grant you that. But there’s more in life than just safety.”

“You aren’t a woman, living by yourself, without anyone to depend on.”

He glanced at her. Clea was very much aware of those green eyes as they went over her profile and then dropped for an instant to study her body. She wanted to wriggle, to twist away from that stare. It was doing something to her that came close to frightening her.

He was silent for quite a long time.

Then he said, “Do you good, you know.”

Clea was startled, sunk in her thoughts. “What would do me good?”

“To come up with me to the mountains. Something different for you. Give you a new perspective on life.”

“No, thank you.”

She was very much aware of how he turned to scan her again. She sat primly, knees together, not really taking up much room, off over in the corner, so to speak, of her seat. What was he looking at? Oh, she knew she was a mess, without lipstick and her hair all bunched below her neck. She writhed, wishing she had put a barrette back there instead of a rubber band. Whatever would he think of her?

“Please don’t,” she whispered, flushing.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go on staring at me. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Surprise was in his voice. “Have I been staring? Hmmm. Maybe I have. But I don’t mean to. You’re a very pretty girl, you know—and I don’t get to ride with a pretty girl very often. Not at all, almost, as a matter of fact.”

Clea turned to look at him. “I’m not pretty. Far from it And—and you must know a lot of pretty girls.”

“Oh, sure. Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Norma, Virgo.”

It dawned on Clea that he was enumerating the names of constellations or stars. A vague surprise ran through her and she turned to eye him suspiciously.

“What about real girls? You must go out with them.”

“Oh, and why? I’ve been busy, lady. My work keeps me so involved I don’t get much chance to have dates.”

“So take it easy. Invite some glamour girl up to that mountain hideout of yours and seduce her.”

He grinned. “I’ve just invited you, and you turned me down. Mind, seduction wasn’t in my plans, but since you mentioned it, I’ll admit it isn’t a bad idea. The only thing is, how would I go about it?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she snapped.

“I’m not. Really! All my life has been spent with books and stars and telescopes. Sort of like yours, in a way. You’ve spent all your life teaching, right? I’ve spent all mine as I just said.”

He waited a moment, then asked, “How would I go about seducing you, for instance?”

Clea sniffed. Then the idea of her telling him how to seduce her struck her funny bone. She smiled, then laughed. She turned a little on the seat, lifting her legs and sitting on them. Her eyes regarded him thoughtfully.

“You really want to know?” she asked.

“I most certainly do. You’re a teacher, so teach me.”

Almost against her will, she found herself talking. “You have to be romantic, to begin with. Candlelight and wine, with a little repast to nibble on. Tell her nice things, she’ll listen. Praise her, compliment her. Caress her slowly, her hand or an arm. Stuff like that.”

“Would that work with you?”

Clea smiled. “No, it would not. But then, I’m not your ordinary female. I’d know right off what it was you intended doing, so I’d be able to stop you in your tracks.”

Conal said gloomily, “I’d never have the nerve to try it, anyhow. What do I know about girls and seduction, anyhow?”

“Well, you’re a man. You’d think of something.”

“I don’t know about that. I’d probably start telling her about the stars and before you’d know it, she’d be asleep.”

“Not if you made it interesting enough.”

“But how would I do that?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. You’ll have to use your brain, you know. Give it some thought. I’m positive you’ll come up with something.”

Conal sighed. “I’ll try. I really will.”

The big Continental purred along. It was so pleasant here, so relaxed, that Clea found herself dreaming about Conal Shannon and what a catch he might be to some lucky girl. He was a renowned astronomer, he must have oodles of money; after all, he had a mountain retreat to run away to, and he drove a magnificent car. His clothes—he was wearing a maroon velour Christian Dior pullover and slacks that she would bet were Alan Fusser corduroys—were expensive and of the latest style. She couldn’t see any shirt, but his shoes were Clarks of England.

Clea squirmed, beginning to feel even more dowdy.

What was a man like this doing unattached? Not married? Or maybe even not spoken for? Darkly, she began to feel that maybe he did have a wife, somewhere, and was merely trying to set her up for a big seduction scene in some wayside motel. Ha! If that was what he had in mind, he’d better forget it. She was no pushover.

As a matter of strict fact, she told herself morosely, she was a born old maid. Not for her the fun of having a handsome husband, wonderful kids, a fine home. No, she would go back to an empty house, to classrooms full of children to be taught, lectures to give, exams to check. . . .

Clea sighed. She was almost sorry she had met Conal Shannon. He had opened her eyes to the fact that her life was pretty empty. There was no fun in it, no excitement, nothing to look forward to except getting old and building that house off there in Oklahoma. Phooey!

She glanced at him again. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and straight nose, and his lips were full and looked very kissable. Now why should she think that? If she weren’t careful, the way she was feeling it wouldn’t take too much to push her over onto a bed, at that.

She began to grin at the thought. Her? Prissy Miss Bennett who taught school? Getting herself seduced at some roadside motel? It was utter nonsense. Besides, Conal Shannon wasn’t making any passes at her.

He hadn’t reached out to put an arm about her, to pull her over closer to him. He hadn’t suggested that they stop over somewhere. She guessed he didn’t think she was tempting enough to try to seduce.

Well, that suited her fine!

At the same time. . . .

The car was slowing. Clea lifted her eyes to stare at a big building into the entryway of which Conal was turning. She could make out other cars parked here, a big white doorway and brown shingles, rows of windows, a varicolored slate roof. There was a sign, too, reading The Highway Haven.

Clea sat up. This place looked really posh. Of course, Conal Shannon was dressed for it, but in her driving clothes (why hadn’t she worn the wine-colored Enka polyester that was in her bag, or the Lady Devin skirt with the Jordache jacket?) she would appear even more dilapidated than she felt. She almost began to cringe.

“Here we are,” he said brightly, shutting off the motor and turning to smile at her. Why must he be so damn cheerful. Didn’t he realize how she felt?

“You go in,” she muttered. “I’m not dressed for a place like this.”

“Hey! You’re beautiful! What’s with you, anyhow?”

She stared at him. Her? Beautiful? The guy was balmy. Or—maybe it was part of his seduction line. Butter her up with compliments, get her all weak and fluttery, then strike hard.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” she exclaimed bitterly. “I know how I look, nobody knows better. I feel like a poor relative.”

His eyes widened. In a strange voice, he asked, “You know what I’d like to do, right now?”

“What?”

Conal shook his head glumly. “I’d better not.”

He looked so gloomy that Clea found herself saying, “Oh, go ahead.”

“You mean it?”

Clea sighed. “Yes, of course I mean it.”

He reached out, caught hold of her, drew her up against him. Clea was so amazed, she did not react. Then his lips were on hers, pressing firmly, and she felt the earth fall away from under her.

Her thoughts rioted. This could not be! She was in the middle of a dream. Or something. His arms were around her, holding her firmly, his lips were caressing her mouth, he was pressing her breasts to his chest. And that kiss was going on and on. And on.

He let her go, and for the instant, Clea almost fought against that release. What was the matter with her? She wanted to be grabbed and kissed. She did! In something like amazement, she stared up at him, into those green eyes that were so tender.

“How—how dare you?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said frankly. “All of a sudden, the urge came over me and I did it. Say! you don’t mind, do you? I mean, you’re not mad or anything like that? I certainly don’t want to offend you. I like you, I really do.”

Clea was in a turmoil of emotions. She didn’t know what to say to him. Of course, she ought to tell him off, to let him know that she was not the sort of girl to be grabbed and kissed like that, that no one had ever done such a thing to her before.

On the other hand, she had liked that kiss. It had sort of opened up something deep within her. Something to which she was an utter stranger. A part of her wished he would catch hold of her and force another kiss on her. But she couldn’t have that! Indeed not!

“You have your nerve,” she spluttered.

“Now that I don’t have,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “It took all my courage to do it. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me. After all, you’re without a car, you have to ride with me. And I took advantage of you.”

“But why did you do it? I certainly didn’t give you any provocation.”

“You certainly did!”

Her mouth opened as she stared at him. “I did? But—but how?”

“Just by being you. So lovely, so beautiful.”

“I’m not beautiful,” she howled. “I’m just a frump and you know it.” Almost bitterly she added, “Look at these old clothes! I look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Hey, you really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He caught her hands, held them even though she sought to pull them free. “Listen to me, Clea Bennett. I’m not good at saying this, but I want you to know that you’re the most attractive girl I’ve ever seen. There’s something about you that stabs at me, right in my gut. Sure, sure. I’m not expressing myself the way I’d like to, but I mean it.”

“You’re crazy,” she breathed.

“No, I’m not. I’m in full possession of my senses. I say you’re beautiful, and there’s no sense in your trying to deny it.” He drew a deep breath. “Now stop seducing me and let’s go eat.”

He let go of her hands and was out of the car before she could think of a thing to say. Seducing him! The guy was loopy. Out of his mind. Ready for the loony bin.

He was opening her door, extending a hand to help her out. Clea scowled at him, ignoring his hand. As she slid out, her wool skirt crept up to the middle of her thighs and she flushed, realizing that her stockings were worn and mended, wishing she had worn the new ones she had bought just for this trip and which reposed now—together with her fancy skirt and jacket—in her bag.

“Nice legs, too,” he nodded.

“Will you shut up!”

He took her arm and walked her toward the entrance. The feel of his hand was disturbing. Nobody had ever walked her like this toward a restaurant. Nobody had ever held out a hand to assist her out of a car, either, for that matter. Clea did not know whether she appreciated this attention or not.

He held open the door and she walked into warmth and the smell of good things cooking. Her eyes ran around the huge room, seeing tables and people at them, eating or waiting to be served. Conal was raising his hand and a man came toward them, smiling and nodding.

“A table off somewhere in a corner,” Conal was saying.

Clea glanced up at him. He seemed to be quite at home here, in such a fancy place. Well, why not? A guy who drove a Continental and who had a mountain retreat to run off to, must know his way around. She’d bet he had squired a lot of girls to such places, too. That bit about his not going around with girls was just so much malarkey.

A menu was thrust into her hands. At least she could concentrate on that, try to calm herself, to accept Conal Shannon as a Good Samaritan. If only he had not kissed her!

“What’ll it be? Steak and onions? The chicken gumbo? Or the roast beef? Order whatever you like.”

“I’ll have a sandwich.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, come on. You can eat more than that.”

“Not at lunch time. I’m not used to eating big meals in the middle of the day. Actually, I don’t eat very much at any time.”

“All right. Club sandwiches, then. One for each of us. With coffee.”

Clea hesitated. She never ordered club sandwiches. They were too expensive for a girl who had to save her pennies for her retirement. Still, if Conal Shannon were going to treat her, she might as well eat up.

She nodded, waiting quietly while Conal gave their order. She was going to have it out with him about that kiss. He must never do it again. They had to settle that between them, right now. She wanted him to know that he wasn’t going to get her into any motel room with him.

He handed over the menus to the waiter, then turned to smile at her.

“Now tell me,” he said softly.

“I most certainly will. I’m not the sort of girl to be kissed the way you did, back in the car. I want you to understand that!”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

“But I do. Really, Mr. Shannon, I’m surprised at you. People—nice people, that is—don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Fellows kiss girls. Even I know that, hermit though I am.”

“Not this girl.”

“Yes, that’s what I want to talk about. Your kind of girl. What sort of trouble could a girl like you get into, that someone would want to kill you?”

Clea opened her mouth and left it open.

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