“I have to admit Miss, it is Miss, I presume. No man would have such a sharp tongue under his roof.” He laughed at the furry in her eyes and continued. “As to where we are, I’m at a loss to know our location, how we got here or why.”
“You’re such a smart aleck. I’m surprised you don’t have any answers,” she replied haughtily, all the while thinking that despite his attitude, he was gorgeous. “And yes it’s miss. What’s your name?”
“Well, it’s not blockhead or smart aleck,” he sneered and headed down from the top of the scorching sand dune.
Alexi hated him already—his arrogance, his lack of fear and concern for her safety. Most men wanted to wait on her hand and foot, and would have begged to come to her aid. Nevertheless, she had an extremely self-sufficient mind-set and rarely needed anyone’s help. Now, however, for the first time since she had turned fourteen seven years before, she realized with aghast that she couldn’t, no didn’t want to, be left alone. All the same, rather than call him back she sat down on the sand to think about what to do.
“Yeow, ouch, ooh, aha!” She jumped up, hollering, “It’s burning hot.” She began to cry as she stared at her blistered hands.
The young man turned when he heard her scream, and then he felt sorry for her standing all alone on the blazing dune. Jumping up and down, her short skirt showed more of her splendid legs, and her dark curls sensuously fell from the clip that held most her hair off her pretty face.
He laughed as he came up to her. “Is something the matter?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, “See,” she whimpered holding her palms out in front of him. “The sand is so hot; we can’t touch it. What are we going to do?”
The fear in her dark brown eyes softened him but he didn’t want to admit it. “Do you really mean we?” he asked sarcastically.
“Is there anyone else? Of course I mean you and me,” she gulped down her pride once more. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”
“Well, if you put it that way, alright then. My name is Brandon, Brandon Summers, from Santa Barbara, California. Where are you from?”
After trudging to the bottom of the sand dune, Brandon spoke, “We need to cover our heads. Take something off and rip it up, I have a pocket knife you can use. I’ll take my shirt; fortunately I have an undershirt on. Never could stand to go without one.”
“Thank you for that information,” Alexi said. “And what do you expect me to tear up? My skirt’s too short and my top is practically nothing. I suppose I could take off my nylons,” she said, looking weary.
“No, you should keep your legs covered if possible, “he said.
“Can’t you share some of your shirt with me, or give me your t-shirt?”
He laughed at her frustration. “Not my undershirt, but there’s enough of my good shirt to spare.” He took out his pocketknife and began to rip the shirt in half. “Now, let’s have a look at your shoes. Take off one at a time and rest your foot on me so you don’t touch the sand.”