Native Silver by Helen Conrad Page A

long, loose plait down her back and slipped her feet into rope-mesh sandals. Then she left the house, determined to meet David on the road. She couldn’t risk having her grandfather see her going out with a Santiago.
    She was almost to the highway before she saw his Mercedes SL 450 coming towards her. He pulled up and sat looking at her for a moment, his mood un readable behind the dark glasses he wore to drive.  
    “Going my way?” he asked at last, coming out to open the door for her.
    “Thinking about it,” she murmured in answer, letting him help her into the car. He was wearing grey slacks and a blue sports coat over a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. He looked fresh and confident, and she had a hard time remembering he was her opponent. How much nicer it would be to have him on her side!
    “You won’t regret it.” He got back behind the wheel and turned the car back the way he’d come. “I promise you a dinner you won’t soon forget.”
    There weren’t many restaurants in the sleepy town of Destiny, and what places there were hardly seemed likely to produce the kind of repast he was talking about. She wondered if he were planning to drive down into the closest beach city, Destiny Bay, or even farther, all the way to Santa Barbara. Would that be good or bad? It would certainly give them more time to talk.  
    On the other hand, it would leave her stranded awfully far from home if she let her temper get the best of her and he retaliated in kind.
    When he turned the silver car in through the gates to Rancho Verde, he caught her off-guard, and she found herself clutching the edge of her seat.  
    “Where are you going?” she asked sharply. She’d never come down the main drive before. The sides were lined with towering deodars which bordered a series of white-fenced paddocks, each sporting at lea st one sleek thoroughbred racehorse.
    “I’m taking you to dinner, just as I promised.”
    “But . . . not here?” Her voice sounded strangled.  
    “Why not?”
    No. He couldn’t do this. And yet—what would it feel like to walk through these rooms? Suddenly pure excitement was flowing through her.  
    He pulled the car up before the massive solid-oak double doors of the entryway. “Have you ever been here before?”
    She stared at the huge ranch house. Built before the turn of the last century, over a hundred years ago, it had the red-tiled roof and white-washed adobe walls, the high protective enclosure and black wrought-iron balconies, that fol lowed the Spanish style of the times. How many stories she’d heard about this place, how many times she’d thought of walking through its flowered courtyard.  
    It had been a dream, something as remote as a trip to a star. And now, suddenly, here she was. Her skin was tingling with anticipation.  
    “No,” she said softly, gazing at the large stone planters, overflowing with yellow pansies and red moss roses, that sat at either side of the entry way. “No, I’ve never been here before.”
    “Come on, then.” He came around and helped her out of the car, and she followed, all protests forgotten. Her eyes were wide as she looked around, taking in every detail, and she let him put a hand to the small of her back and lead her.
    He took her through most of the lower floor, into the courtyard with its lovely water fountain, through the high-ceilinged dining-hall and airy sit ting-room.  
    She didn’t say a word during the tour, but she knew it was affecting her on an emotional level that she couldn’t express aloud. She was feeling a strange mixture of joy and distress, wishing her grandfather could be here, wishing she could do something to hold the experience for him.
    At one point, when David sensed her turmoil, he put an arm lightly around her shoulders, drawing her closer, and she found herself snuggling into the nook of his arm, as though she needed the warmth an d support he offered. She didn’t look at him, but she took comfort from his touch.