Mountain Moonlight - By Jane Toombs Page 0,1

her bag and squinted at the paper as she wrote down the barely legible phone number, all the time telling herself it was a waste of time. Bram had taken his name off the list, so why call him? She already knew he wasn't available as a guide and if she made the call for old time's sake, he probably wouldn't remember her anyway. Why should he? She'd left Phoenix with her family when she was sixteen and, at that age, she'd been a bookish, mousy, overly shy girl.

He might not remember her but she'd never quite forgotten him. At eighteen Bram Hunter was the most devastatingly handsome boy in the school with just enough of a shadowed reputation to intrigue every girl she knew. Including her. Her mother, unlike the mothers of her friends, had never bothered to warn her to steer clear of Bram Hunter, believing Vala was too shy to speak to any boy. Her mother had been right--in a way. But there were some things her mother never found out.

Is it possible Bram recalls that night with the same awful clarity that I do? Vala wondered.

Bram Hunter lounged on his terrace, gazing at Camelback Mountain, absently stroking Sheba, the Siamese draped across his lap. The day was warm and sunny, no more than Phoenix deserved after a week of rain. He hoped the good weather held until Friday when he'd be leaving for the Caribbean.

A squeak from the depths of the house roused the Siamese and she leaped off his lap to hurry inside to her five tiny kittens.

Motherhood had certainly changed Sheba's personality-- tied to her kittens, she'd actually become a worrier. He hoped she'd regain her zany, carefree attitude once her brood was old enough to leave for homes of their own. He'd made mistakes in his life but luckily none of them had been the mistake of tying himself down to a wife and family.

Marriage had never been on his agenda. He yawned and settled back on the lounge. In less than a week he'd be scuba-diving off St. Amaris, one of the islands the tourists hadn't yet found. He hated crowds. He wouldn't mind a stray blonde or two to spice up the night life, though, the kind of woman who wasn't looking for any real involvement, just a few laughs. He smiled and closed his eyes.

The phone rang, jolting him. Muttering a curse, he rose and padded into the house, aware he'd left the answering machine turned off.

"Hunter," he growled into the phone.

"Uh, hello," a woman said. "This is Bram Hunter, isn't it?" He didn't recognize her voice.

He grunted an assent. When she didn't immediately continue, he said impatiently, "What was it you wanted?"

"I was wondering if you--that is, do you remember me?" Bram rolled his eyes. Guessing games. He hated cutesy. "How the hell do I know?"

There was a pause and then she said, "I'm Vala Channing."

Vala. For a long moment he forgot to breathe. She was the last person in the world he'd ever expected to hear from. "Yes," he said finally. "I remember you."

"I wasn't sure you would. I'm in Apache Junction and I happened to see your name on a guide list."

He frowned. "I thought I took my name off that list." "Well, it was crossed off."

After another pause, he said, "Are you living in Arizona now?"

"No. Davis and I--he's my son--are just visiting here."

So she was married. "Your husband's not with you?"

"I'm divorced."

I'm, not we're. Most people said we're divorced. Was that significant? Bram shook his head. Why should he care how she worded it?

"I was wondering," she added, then paused again. Evidently Vala hadn't conquered her shyness.

"What were you wondering?" he asked.

"Well, I know you're a guide. Would you be willing to tell me something about Superstition Mountain? Davis and I are planning to hike in there and I'm not much of a camper."

Bram scowled and his annoyance showed in his voice.

"The Superstitions are no place for amateur campers."

"I've already been told that. I was hoping you'd give me a few pointers."

Her persistence reminded him of another characteristic of Vala's--she was shy but stubborn. What the hell, he had time to spend an hour or so talking to her--it would take at least that long, he supposed, to convince her to try camping somewhere else. Besides, he was sort of curious to see what she looked like after fifteen years.

That didn't mean he was going to ask her into his home. Very few people even