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Chuck cut down to Highway 60 and followed it eastward out of town. Neither of us spoke at first, and I racked my brain for an innocuous topic of conversation.
“Do the monsoons really not start until after the beginning of July?” I asked, apropos of nothing, and he sent me a sideways look.
“Depends,” he replied. To my relief, his tone sounded natural enough. “That’s the traditional start, I suppose, but some years it’s later and some years it’s earlier. We’ve had a couple of pretty dry seasons in a row, so we’re all hoping it’ll change with this go-’round.”
No wonder Willis Dale had been worried about fires. And I had to admit that the hillsides outside Globe had looked sort of parched, but since I was still getting used to the terrain around here, I’d just assumed Arizona was always that dry.
“Maybe I should do a rain dance instead of a solstice ritual,” I joked, and once again Chuck gave me a sidelong glance.
“Can you do that?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Well, it’s not like a Native American ceremony or anything,” I said. “But there are rituals for the weather, just like there are for everything else. I’ll admit that weather magic isn’t my field of expertise, though.”
The corner of his mouth that I could see lifted slightly. “Then we should probably just leave it to Mother Nature for now. If things start looking dire in mid-July, maybe we’ll have to ask you for help.”
That suggestion sounded reasonable enough to me. Weather magic could be tricky, and, like I’d told him, it wasn’t something I had a lot of experience with. “Sounds like a plan.”
We settled back into silence after that, but it was a more companionable one, not nearly as awkward as when we’d first pulled away from my building. Globe had already slipped behind us, and the world felt vast and dark. I usually was safely at home when night fell, so heading east on the highway, it really hit me how vast and black the countryside was out here, unrelieved by a single street lamp or house with its lights on. Brilliant stars shimmered overhead.
Coming into view, however, was an oasis of light that proved to be the Gold Dust Casino. It was nowhere near as big as the single Native American casino I’d visited — Pechanga just outside Palm Springs — but it looked respectable enough, with a row of palm trees out front and stacked rock surrounding its plate glass front doors.
The lot was more crowded than I’d expected, and so we had to park a good ways off. Since I wore flat sandals, the walk wasn’t a big deal, although the night air was warm enough that the air conditioning inside the casino felt wonderful after traversing the parking lot.
It seemed Chuck had made reservations, because we were ushered into the restaurant without having to wait at all. More stacked rock composed the walls, and the colors were warm and subdued and utterly Southwest — soft coral, warm sand, dusty turquoise.
The hostess, a pretty girl with long black hair, obviously one of the San Ramon Apache, took us to a quiet booth off to one side. While I appreciated the privacy — I’d never liked being stuck at a table out in the middle of the restaurant floor — I uneasily wondered if Chuck had requested a spot like this because it was much more romantic.
But I tried to seem natural as I slid into the booth and took the menu the hostess handed me. To my relief, Chuck didn’t try to sit too close, but settled himself a respectable foot or so away.
“Everything’s good here,” he said, “so if you’re not a red meat kind of person, you don’t have to order steak. It was just a suggestion.”
Red meat was an indulgence for me, true; I usually had it once or twice a month, if even that much. Since I’d been good lately, I figured it couldn’t hurt to order it tonight. Besides, if we both got some kind of steak, choosing a wine would be easier.
“No, steak sounds great,” I told him. “I haven’t had one in months.”
He looked a little relieved at that statement. Maybe he’d been worried about the wine selection, too.
When our waiter came by — a good-looking man with high, sharp cheekbones, black hair pulled back into a ponytail — Chuck asked for a bottle of cabernet, and we both placed our orders. Once that was done, another of those awkward little silences fell.
Obviously, he thought it was his duty to initiate the conversation this time, because he reached for his glass of water as he said, “So, how did someone like you ever end up in Globe, Arizona?”
I chose to take the “someone like you” comment as a compliment. “You mean Josie hasn’t spread the story far and wide?”
He grinned, showing off friendly crinkles around his bright blue eyes. Oh, yes, definitely cute. I knew my mother would be ecstatic if I hooked up with someone like Chuck Langford.
But since I’d never run my personal life to please my mother…or anyone other than myself…I wasn’t going to let that internal observation sway me.
“I don’t have much time to listen to Josie Woodrow’s gossip,” he said. “The ranch keeps me pretty busy.”
“Ah,” I said, wondering if he handled all of the livestock on Shady Oaks Ranch himself. That didn’t seem very likely, though, and I filed the question away for further on in our conversation. “Honestly, it was about the psychic equivalent of sticking a pin in a map and seeing where I was headed. Or maybe not exactly like that — the universe gave me some pretty clear signals as to where it wanted me to go.”
Chuck absorbed that confession in silence. Was he thinking I sounded like a complete whackadoodle? I suppose to the uninitiated, accepting signals from the universe did seem pretty out there.
But my experience had taught me that the universe really did its best to let us know what it wanted for us. If we were too busy or preoccupied or just downright dense to acknowledge those signals, well, whose fault was that?
His smile widened, though, and he said, “Well, then, I guess I should thank the universe for sending you here.”
Oh, dear. I was saved from having to make a reply by the arrival of our waiter with the bottle of cabernet. Once he’d opened the bottle and poured us each some wine — and assured us that our salads would be out shortly — the awkwardness of the moment had passed, thank the Goddess.
