Free Solitaire by Lindsay McKenna Page B

called her his woman. His ability to put everything, including their conversation, on intensely personal terms rattled her. “Life, to me, is a continual blossoming,” she admitted, her eyes darkening with fervor. “All we have to do is keep our hearts and minds open to receive its gifts.”
    Slade’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Why are you so afraid to show that side of yourself?”
    “I think all of us hide parts of ourselves,” Cat said defensively.
    “I’m an open book.”
    “Sure you are. That’s why you unexpectedly dropped into my life.”
    Slade glanced quickly at her. “Best thing I ever did.”
    Cat shook her head. “So, if you aren’t an igneous type, what are you?” she asked, ignoring his innuendo.
    “I’m a sedimentary man. Ah, the eyebrows lift and the eyes go wide. What do you know, I finally got a rise out of you.”
    “You get a rise out of me every time we spar,” Cat parried.
    “I don’t see us as sparring.”
    “Call it whatever you want.”
    Slade scratched his head. “Somehow, I’m going to have to instill some trust into our relationship.”
    Cat almost blurted out, “What relationship?” But she bit back the response. “Why sedimentary rock? Most geologists are bored stiff by that type.”
    “You find a fair amount of gem-quality stone in sediment, that’s why.”
    “Ah, now you’re beginning to make sense. You’re more a gem hunter than a geologist.” Cat eyed him speculatively. “You’re a prospector in search of the mother lode, aren’t you?”
    Slade checked the instruments, a smile pulling at his mouth. “You mean a treasure hunter? A modern-day gold miner?”
    “You said it; I didn’t.”
    “I hear distaste in your voice.” Slade’s voice was deceptively noncommittal.
    Cat tried to evade his comment. Greg had done this to her; he had placed the mining of precious gems over their love for one another. And it had killed their relationship. Struggling not to let her past experience taint her idea of Slade, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with finding the world’s major tourmaline deposits. It can make you a very rich man.”
    Slade looked at her a long time. He saw the discomfort in every line of Cat’s mobile face. “And you think that’s why I go chasing after gem mines?” he probed.
    “I don’t know. Why do you? You don’t strike me as the typical treasure hunter.” Which was true. Slade was unlike Greg in many ways, and for the better.
    Slade was glad that Cat had asked instead of just assumed why he specialized in precious stones. Even he had to admit that most of the gem hunters he knew were like the old-timers during the gold rush. They were loners to begin with, shaped by the roughness of their life-style. Most of the men he knew carried pistols on their hips and knives in their belts. And they all had one driving force in common: they wanted to get rich. Money took precedence over anything else that life might offer them.
    “Gems hold a special fascination for me, Cat. In a way, they’re like people: when you first discover them, put a miner’s light on them, they’re rough and unpolished. Then, as you take the time to gently loosen them from the matrix of pegmatite or sediment, you can carry them to the surface. It’s exciting to realize that what you carry in the palm of your hand hasn’t ever seen sunlight. As you bring it to the surface to watch the light refract through it for the first time, you’re the first one to ever witness it.” Slade gave her a soft smile. “It’s much like watching a person unfold in front of you, watching how they react and respond. Later, a jeweler will look at that rough specimen with a knowing eye, spot its inclusions and watch how the light refracts through it. He’ll cut it to bring out all of the natural fire and brilliance that has waited millions of years to be brought to life.”
    “That’s an inspiring view.” At least he hadn’t mentioned money as his prime goal, Cat