Captured In Concho

Chapter 1

 The air was stifling, as I exited Show Low Regional Airport, in Show Low, Arizona. The thin cotton of my yellow sundress, clung to my damp skin and perspiration beaded upon my upper lip. The porter, waved at a car just pulling to the curb and I protested that I couldn't afford the luxury of a Rolls-Royce, but the porter hadn't heard me, or chose to ignore my comment. The driver introduced himself as Frank Bolton Transportation and I resigned myself to being ushered, gratefully, into the car out of the unrelenting, Arizona sun. On the ride to my destination, a ranch that was the vacation spot of all the employees of Randolph, Parsons, and Associates, I gazed around the interior of the lavish auto and felt sorely out-of-place. I felt I had wound up in another universe or I was still on the plane. I would awake any minute to find it all a dream. I pinched myself, just to be sure, so much for that theory.

It was 27 miles to the retirement village of Concho, where the ranch boasted to have the best view of White Mountains. I wanted to get a few shots of the natural beauty of Arizona, but my head nodded. I had not gotten any sleep on the plane. You see, I'm terribly afraid of heights and kept imagining all kinds of ills that could befall us at any time. A jolt had me sitting upright and I let out a shriek of terror. In my dream I were thinking I was still on the plane. I was much relieved to see the jolt had been the Rolls braking in front of a quaint trading post. The car door opened and the driver asked if I would like to stretch my legs, as he wanted to go; and see how his mother was doing. I gingerly stepped onto what can only be described as a wooden sidewalk, not unlike those in old-west, cowboy movies.

The building was called Broad Rock Trading Post, a name I'm sure was derived from the very mountains looming in the background. I wondered if those were the White Mountains, as I ambled toward the tiny, dilapidated trading post. As I grew closer, I noted the wood planks on its facade weren't weather-beaten, just antiqued so that they looked aged. I pushed through the swinging doors, that resemble a pair of saloon gates. I immediately felt cooler air and basked in it for a spell. I sighed contentedly and a small giggle befell my ears. Standing at the end of the sales counter, stood a child of 3 or 4, eyeing me. I said hello and the child giggled, before running from the room.

I walked over to a table holding some blankets and gingerly fingered the exquisite, coarse, woven cloth. A man cleared his throat behind me and I turned to find a pair of quizzical, brownish-green eyes, regarding me. I asked him if the blankets were woven by Native Americans and he cocked his head to one side. I felt a stain darken my cheeks, as I realized he hadn't understood a word I had said. I thought he had looked like he could have been Native American, but I could've been wrong. He said something to me, that I equally did not understand. He held up a hand and went out, the way he had come in. In an instant he returned, followed by the driver of the Rolls Royce. Again he uttered to the driver, the very words he had spoken to me. The driver turned to me, "He wants to know if you like the blankets and told me to tell you they were woven by his wife, before she became ill," again the slim, sun-bronzed man, spoke, turning sparkling eyes upon me, "He, now, wants to know if you would like to buy one. He says they cost 25 dollars."

I was dismayed and tried to keep the disappointment from showing, but failed miserably at it, "Please," I implored, keeping my eyes on the elder gentleman, "can you tell him I haven't much to spend. I would really like to have one, but I only have 15 dollars that I can spare." I rushed on, wishing I did not have to haggle. A look of disbelief creased the driver's dark brow, "I will gladly work off the rest, if that is what is troubling you."

A lecherous smile played at the corners of his mouth and he queried, "How...exactly do you propose...to pay it off?"

A flush crept up to tinge my cheeks and my gaze faltered for a second, then my eyes flashed blue flames at his. That is when, I was caught by how silvery his eyes were, like that of a wolf. Or at least the wolves I had seen on television, for I had never seen a real-life wolf, nor did I have any inclination to do so. They both intrigued me and frightened me, at the same time. Just as his now steely-grey eyes were sending tiny shivers through me. I quickly glanced away, before he could read anything in my eyes. What I wanted to do was run from that intense stare and never look back. But he made me look back at him with his next words. My heart leaped into my throat and I felt, as I would suffocate.