9

Whatever the reason, Cassie stuck rigidly to her schedule, working impressively long days. She had been given office space in the hospital, so she saw little of her counterparts at The Fulton Group, and the appearance of a large diamond on her left hand went unnoticed. While Chan was gone, two letters came for him, and she glowed as she read his name on the envelope with her address underneath. They had agreed that after they were married he would move in with her. “I hope you don’t mind if I give this address out before we’re married,” he had said, and she answered, “The only thing better than a letter for Mr. Chandler Jordain in my mailbox would be a letter for Mrs. Chandler Jordain.”

When Chan got back in town, she gave him his mail and said she couldn’t spend time with him except lunch and dinner. Since she had to eat anyway, that wouldn’t disrupt her work. Usually he came to join her at the cafeteria at St. Alphonse’s, but one night he persuaded her to let him cook dinner for her at home. She got away from the cancer center a bit early, and as she parked and walked to her door she saw that Chan was outside, standing on the curb and talking to someone in a dark sedan. It was a newer car, though not the latest model, and Cassie noted on the back bumper a small saguaro cactus sticker that was the logo for El Cheapo Rentals, a local, cut-rate car rental firm.

Chan’s face was hard, and he scowled as he bent to talk to the driver, jabbing the air with his index finger to make his point. Cassie hesitated, uncertain what to do, but the car drove away and Chan, spying her on the sidewalk, broke into a smile.

“Who was that?” she asked when he joined her.

“Someone from the past. A former business contact.”

“It didn’t seem to be a happy meeting.”

“Didn’t make me unhappy,” Chan said lightly. “I don’t know about him.” He kissed her. “Don’t distract me now; I’ve got a dinner to get on the table.”

They lingered so long on the patio in the twilight that Cassie gave up going back to the office that night and said it was the cafeteria or nothing from then on. In fact, she declared, she was going to eat at her desk. Chan wasn’t even welcome at the cafeteria.

Chan laughed. “That’s all right. I’m busy, too. I’m planning a wedding. But remember, Friday you’re mine.”

She remembered, and though it seemed it never would, Friday morning finally came. She was ready early, dressed casually, as Chan had asked, in Levi’s and cross trainers. Chan picked her up, and they went to the courthouse to get their marriage license. “No blood tests? No waiting period?” she asked. “I don’t need my birth certificate?”

“Nope. They’re very wedding-friendly here. You just need your driver’s license to prove you’re of age.”

With the document in hand, instead of taking Cassie home, Chan headed east out of town. He shook his head as Cassie peppered him with questions about where they were going, simply smiling enigmatically and saying that she would find out in due time. “Trust me. You said I could plan this wedding. You can do the next.”

After the intense two weeks Cassie had just spent, she was actually grateful to sit back, close her eyes, and relinquish control. As she felt the sun on her face and the wind tugging wisps of hair out of the barrette’s severe confinement, the stress of the preceding two weeks sloughed off, leaving her feeling light and buoyant.

She opened her eyes when they turned off the highway onto a gravel road. “Where are we going?”

“All in due time,” he repeated.

The road became rougher, dwindling into two dirt tracks, but still Chan drove on. Cassie hung onto the doorframe and cast apprehensive looks at her companion. “We’re almost there,” he said, pointing ahead.

Cassie couldn’t see anything at first, but as they drew closer she saw horses, at least a dozen of them, standing in a clearing among mesquite and palo verde trees.

“That’s a very pretty sight,” Cassie said tentatively.

As Chan parked the car and came around to help her out, they were hailed by a middle-aged cowboy who came ambling toward them. “Howdy, Chan. Y’er right on time. Howdy, Ma’am. Glad to make your acquaintance. Buck Logan’s the name.” He was small and wiry; the skin on his face and neck was like old leather, and his hands were gnarled. But his movements were spry and his handshake was firm.

“How do you do, Mr. Logan,” Cassie said, still mystified.

“Got yer gear?” Buck inquired.

“It’s right here,” Chan said, opening the trunk.

“What is that?” Cassie asked, looking at the two athletic bags Chan was handing to Buck.

“Your trousseau.” Chan closed the trunk and kissed her lightly.

Understanding dawned as she watched Chan help Buck, Buck’s hefty wife, Edith, and their young adult son, Tory, load up a string of pack horses. Her eyes got wider and wider, and she pulled Chan aside. “I’ve never ridden a horse,” she whispered urgently.

“You don’t need to worry. You just sit there, and the horse does everything.”

“Chan! I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. You’re on your way to your wedding.”

“My wedding? What about the others? Punky and Ben? Where is Bishop Harris? I thought he was going to marry us.”

Chan laughed. “No, you didn’t think about anything. We agreed that I would plan this wedding, and I did. Down to the last detail, my love. So, get on that horse. You can do it.”

Chan was right. She did it. Mounted astride a gentle buckskin that Edith called Plug, Cassie not only endured, but was soon entranced with the experience. They wound through rugged desert landscape, dropping down into rocky canyons and winding up over ridges only to drop down again. After an hour or so, they stopped on the banks of a stream that cascaded over a fall and then meandered through a grassy meadow. In the shade of a small stand of cottonwoods, they unloaded the pack team. In less than an hour camp was set, including a tent with an inflatable mattress on a bed frame, crisp sheets, a comforter, and pillows. To Cassie, it looked as if everything they needed to make a comfortable stay had been thought of.

They were married as sunset torched the sky, a conflagration of reds and oranges that formed a backdrop for their nuptials. Dressed in a simple white muslin frock, Cassie took Chan’s hand as they stood in front of Buck, who held a frayed leather bible in his hands and recited from memory the wedding service. The sky had muted to pink and gold when Cassie said, “I do,” and when she stood in the circle of Chan’s arms, holding her marriage license newly signed by Buck Logan, Justice of the Peace, the clouds had faded to purple and gray. Standing thus, they watched the pack train climb out of the valley and disappear over the ridge, and silence settled around them, broken only by the fluting notes of a mourning dove nearby. Chan loosened Cassie’s barrette and thrust his fingers into her hair as it tumbled down her back, and she whispered, “I know how Eve felt.”

It was their Sonoran Eden. After Cassie’s sheltered, intellectual upbringing, the passion that Chan had awakened was a world-shifting experience, a soaring, searing discovery of hidden knowledge and pleasure, and she understood now the meaning of the biblical “to know.” For two days and three nights they lived in their own world, a splendidly sensual, intimate, unfettered place, where time had been carried away with the pack train so that past and future had no place in their thoughts.

Cassie wore her hair down, and as they roamed the canyons, Chan told her stories of the Lost Dutchman Mine and the Peralta family who owned the Spanish land grant that included all the land round about. They found the petroglyph that someone had carved, and wondered what was the engraved clue that would lead someone to fabulous wealth?

On their last evening there, sitting next to Chan as they watched the lengthening shadow of the mountain called Weaver’s Needle slowly creep over the landscape, Cassie leaned against him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Sighing, she softly said, “You think of all the people who have watched that shadow, hoping it would point to a treasure hoard, when all along, the treasure was to be found in their own homes, by their own hearths, in their own beds.”

Chan turned and looked at her, his dark eyes searching the depth of her blue ones. Smoothing away an errant tendril of golden hair, he smiled wryly. “You’re right,” he said, speaking as softly as she had. Tracing the line of her eyebrow and down her cheek with his fingertips, he slid his hand around to the nape of her neck and drew her to him. “Do you suppose that the shadows have reached our little tent-home?” he breathed in her ear. “Has it marked our hearth? Come.” Standing, he drew her up beside him. “Let’s go seek our treasure there.”

* * *

The lights of Phoenix were beginning to glimmer in the twilight as Cassie and Chan, Mr. and Mrs. Jordain, approached from the east. “Are you too tired for one more surprise?” Chan asked.

“I’m just a little saddle-sore,” Cassie admitted. “You have another surprise? Haven’t you spent your quota?”

“I was afraid you might be disappointed that you didn’t have friends to stand up with you at your wedding.”

“If you had said at first that they wouldn’t be there, I would have said that it would be terrible not to have them. But it wasn’t terrible. It was lovely.”

“Well, I’ve invited them to have dinner with us tonight.”

“Oh, not at home! They may never leave!”

Chan chuckled. “Treasure hunting, my dear?”

Cassie laughed, too. “Maybe.”

“I talked to Punky,” Chan said. “She and Ben are going to meet us at Chuckwagon Chicken. She said that’s where you always celebrate.”

“It is. It’s tradition.” She squeezed Chan’s hand. “Thanks.”

They arrived first and found an empty booth, telling the waitress that they were waiting for the rest of their party. Punky came next and stood unnoticed for a moment because Cassie was turned toward Chan, listening to something he was murmuring in her ear.

Clearing her throat loudly, Punky laughed at Cassie’s stricken look and plopped down in the opposite bench. “No need to ask how it went. Here it is almost October, and you two are exuding springtime.”

“Oh, Punky! It’s so good to see you. Is Ben coming?”

“I hope so. I left a message on his cell phone to meet me here. I didn’t tell him what for. There he is now.”

The three of them turned and looked expectantly as Ben came through the door. They saw him speak to the hostess, saw her indicate where they were, and watched his eyes track and locate them in the back booth. Cassie was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling, her left hand raised to wave.

Ben stood and stared for a moment. He didn’t return their greeting, did not smile. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the building.

“What in the world?” exclaimed Punky. “What got into him?”

“I don’t know,” said Cassie. “Why would . . . wait. Wait. What day is today?”

“It’s Monday,” said Chan.

“No. No. What is the date?”

“The twenty-fifth. September twenty-fifth.”

“Oh, no!” Cassie cried, sliding out of the booth. “I’ve got to talk to him!” Moving as quickly as she could through the tables, Cassie hastily pushed through the outside door just in time to see Ben’s car pulling out into traffic.

Crestfallen, she watched his taillights, trying to keep track of them among the hundreds of moving red dots on the arterial, as if that act of constancy could atone for the fact that she had completely forgotten that this was the day, this was the place, she had promised he could ask her again to marry him.