Chapter 4 Interesting Stranger

Tessa looked at the man again, trying to size him up. He didn't seem nearly as threatening now that he'd backed off. The smile had helped. So had the dimple. Surely if he had meant her harm, he wouldn't have stepped away.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, his tone softening. His voice was low and masculine.

She met his gaze, suppressing another shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. She'd bet he could ooze charisma. When he chose.

She angled her head, deciding to be forthright. Everyone she'd met out West thus far had been open and honest, expecting the same in return.

"I'm from Boston. I guess I got lost in thought."

He nodded. "You're lost, all right. Look, lady---"

"Tessa." She held out her hand. "Tessa Monroe. And you are?"

"Dane." He stepped close once again, grasped her hand briefly, then released it, but didn't step away. "Look, Tessa, here are your options. The closest gas station is twenty miles that way, in Jordon." He pointed in the direction from which he'd approached. "But it won't open until daybreak. There's a small motel in town. You --- and your imaginary friend" --- he winked, letting her know he knew --- "can stay there and get help in the morning."

His words took a moment to sink in. "You're giving me a ride?" She pointed to his Harley, fighting to keep the squeak from her voice. "On that?"

He chuckled. She wore indignation like a rose wore thorns. A ravishing rose. Little Miss Priss with a steel spine. In a different life, he'd be all over this woman. "You've never been on a motorcycle?"

"Never."

He shrugged. "The choice is yours. Stay or go." He wasn't about to leave her here all alone, but he could sense her hesitation and hoped that by giving her an option, she'd decide to go on her own will. It was a hell of a lot easier than using force.

Stay or go, Tessa thought. Both held risks. The thought of being left alone held little appeal. It grew colder by the minute, and it wouldn't be light for hours. And even then, who knew when another car would come by? Or worse, who would be in that car...

She looked Dane directly in the eyes, searching, considering, deciding. She'd never made a faulty evaluation when she judged someone by his or her eyes. And her instincts approved. She'd be safe with this man. His eyes were trustworthy. They were also sinfully sensual, but she decided not to hold that against him.

She sighed. Well, she'd wanted to have an adventurous summer, hadn't she? This would certainly be a start.

"I've got a duffel bag in the trunk. Can we strap it on the back?" She pointed to the vertical back bar of the motorcycle.

He grunted, doubtful. "How big is it?"

"See for yourself." Tessa led the way to the rear of the vehicle.

Dane whistled when he saw the contents of her trunk. It was crammed with boxes and tool cases. He pointed to a worn pickax. "Don't tell me. Your great-great-granddaddy left you a map to his gold mine, and you're out here looking for the mother load." His voice held a gentle ribbing quality.

She laughed. Maybe she'd been too quick to pigeonhole this man because of his appearance. There was definitely more to him than met the eye. Hadn't read a recent magazine article about young professionals --- lawyers, doctors, and bankers --- who rode motorcycles, complete with the grunge look? Weekend warriors, was it?

He had confidence. He had finesse. Yes, she could picture him in a three-piece suit, in a courtroom. But as her doctor.... never! She glanced at where his hands rested on the car, taking in his long, thick fingers. The artist in her had a thing for strong hands. And his were definitely a ten.

She shoved the pickax to one side and scrambled to divert her line of thinking. "Actually, I design jewelry. I did a short internship at a mine in Idaho to get a firsthand look at gems and stones in their natural environment."

"Near Coeur d'Alene? Rough country." Dane's eyes swept over her, trying to reconcile her polished fingertips and porcelain skin with the sweat and grime he knew it took to swing a pickax. His image of miners encompassed decrepit old men. Not dazzling blondes. Or stacked blondes. Or his favourite kind: adventurous blondes. His pulse stepped up.

His eyes flickered briefly over her hands. No rings adorned her fingers, engagement or wedding. Single, he'd presume. What man in his right mind would let a woman like her wander freely about the countryside? He damn sure wouldn't.

"So where are you headed now?"

"The Fort Peck Indian Reservation. Their big Arts and Crafts festival is this weekend, and there are two silversmiths I want to meet."

"Planning to intern with one of them?"

"No. Actually, I'm hoping to buy inventory for my store in Boston. I'll be following the summer craft show circuit for a few weeks, looking for new talent." A note of pride crept into her voice. "I can't keep up with the demand by myself anymore. And my clients want variety."

Dane frowned, thoughtful. "You must have trustworthy help to be able to leave for weeks at a time."

She shrugged. "The shop is closed from Memorial Day to Labor Day, which gives me time to build up stocks for Christmas."

"Which probably also heightens demand." He studied the two necklaces around her neck. One was an antique silver choker. Old and valuable. A family heirloom he'd bet. The other looked newer and vaguely familiar.

Giving in to the temptation to touch, Dane reached forward, picking up the small medallion nestled below the hollow of her throat. The delicate silver crescent was heavier than it looked.

"Did you design this? It reminds me of one of the symbols favoured by the Cuna Indians."

Tessa smiled, her skin tingling where the pads of his fingers had brushed. Dane was either well-traveled or well-educated. Perhaps both. Which hopefully explained the growing attraction she felt towards this man. She relaxed, warmed by his genuine interest.

"Yes, I did design it. In fact, I have a whole line of jewelry inspired by the art of the Cuna tribe."

"You exploit indigenous people?"

Warmth flared. To fire. She tugged the medallion from his grasp. "Yes! And small children too!"