1 Chapter 1

Carole Janine VanDemont, C.J. to her friends, crossed the exquisite Aubusson carpet with quick, choppy strides. She paused before one tall window to stare out over the rolling grounds of the family estate, which extended to the distant river, a branch of the Hudson. Tinted a soft green by the fresh spring foliage, with a hint of scattered pastels, the scene reflected pastoral peace. Instead of providing inspiration or comfort, the familiar view seemed bland and dull.

“What does one do when, at twenty-six, there are absolutely no new worlds to conquer?”

Although her question was rhetorical, her brother Michael answered it anyway. “Why, one either seeks to discover new worlds or rests on one’s laurels, I expect, sis. Life isn’t that boring, is it?” His lifted eyebrow echoed the mocking tone of his words.

She shrugged, an irritable twitch of her right shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just out of sorts, I suppose. It was most inconsiderate of Uncle Rene to kill himself just when we were planning the trip to India. I was counting on riding elephants, perhaps shooting a tiger this year. Daddy would never think of such a trek, and he’d have apoplexy if I went alone. What shall I do instead?”

“You sound as if Uncle Rene crashed his plane on purpose or out of spite. I thought you were fond of the fellow.”

“I was. His death left me devastated. Now don’t misunderstand, but had we not been related, I could’ve happily married the man. He’s the only person who’s ever challenged me.”

“But he happened to be Mom’s black-sheep, younger half-brother, so that was out of the question. Too bad.” Michael, home from Harvard on spring break, flopped into a chair. He picked up a magazine and began to leaf through the pages. He stopped, mid-flip, perusing one page more intently. “How about an Arizona dude ranch vacation? Here’s an advertisement. Sounds fascinating to me.”

He tossed the magazine to C.J. as she stalked by, pacing the confining limits of the elegant but comfortable den. She caught it with a supple twist of her wrist, scarlet nails flashing in the light of the lamp by which he’d been reading. “Surely you jest. Riding old nags along bridle paths in the desert instead of Central Park, and eating beans around the camp fire? I might as well go on that cruise with Grandmère.”

Still she scanned the ad, stopping her restless motion as she read…

Adventure of a lifetime! Hunt savage, illusive wild animals in the rugged southwest. Camp in sites made famous by Zane Grey and John Ford in books and films. Relax and enjoy the modern comforts of La Riata Ranch or rough it he-man fashion in the wilderness.

The choice is yours. Contact Cameron Greenway, YA7-5635, or P.O. Box 1727, Verdell, Arizona.

There were also photographs. One showed a rustic, two-story lodge-style building constructed of rounded stones bonded with cement. The big house was surrounded by smaller cabins of comparable construction and a grove of towering, wide-leafed trees. Another showed several saddled horses hitched to the rails of a massive log corral. The one that caught C.J.’s eye featured a man, uncommonly tall, unless the horse at his side was pony-sized. He wore cuffed jeans with cowboy boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and a shirt with elaborate embroidered yokes. He seemed to be looking straight at the camera—or the reader—his piercing pale eyes casting a hypnotic spell. Though unsmiling, his craggy, handsome face stole her breath.

C.J. sucked in a quick gulp of air. Oh my, now that’s quite a man. He looks like he belongs in a movie with John Wayne or perhaps Gary Cooper—a real cowboy. Can he be Mr. Greenway or a mere employee?All at once she was determined to find out. If it took a trip to Arizona, at least that would beat sitting here at home dying of ennui. Striding to the shiny walnut desk in one corner of the room, she picked up the telephone to place a long distance call.

Three days later, she boarded the train to head west, not sure what she would find there, but feeling a tickle of excitement for the first time in weeks. With a small sigh, she settled back in her Pullman compartment to pass the leisurely trip.

* * * *

Cameron Greenway paced the bricked platform between the Santa Fe Depot and the nearest track. His boot heels beat a sharp rhythm on the hard surface with his restless strides. Due in soon, the Super Chief was already a few minutes late. He glanced at his watch, frowning. At this rate it would be dark by the time they got back to the ranch.

He’d driven to town to pick up a client, one C.J. VanDemont. Mr. VanDemont had a strange voice, low and husky, but something about it had bothered him. Well, people often sounded peculiar on the telephone. The connection had not been the best. Anyway, the man indicated he wanted the full package—a ten-day adventure with camping, hunting and some side trips for scenic photography. That Cam could do. He had no false modesty about the quality and level of adventures he provided. He’d perfected just the right mixture of luxury and rustic atmosphere to please almost any well-heeled guest. He tailored the degree of roughing it to each client’s abilities and desires once he met them in person.