The plume of dust was slowly moving towards us, likely just under a mile away at this point. The dust that had been disturbed from the hard track first was drifting gently to the south in the late afternoon air, blending into the harsh heat. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but that was normal. Across the valley floor you could just make out the resort community in the slightly cooler shade of the mountain range but here on this side we got the full brunt of the sun. Once night fell, the twinkling lights around the valley would blend into the stars.
I was currently standing on the slab entrance to my house, perched near the top of one of the many hills on the east side of the valley. The hills were rocky and craggy, the locals called them mountains. But the height of these so-called mountains compared to the breadth of the valley gave me the feeling I was standing on on the first bleacher row at a football field.
The house itself was odd, we didn't build it but it was new. A series of flat rectangles jutting out of the landscape, the roof line extending well beyond the massive windows in order to keep the direct sun from coming inside. Entirely off the grid, it had a massive solar array about 100 yards to the north and a well that ran deep enough to make me wonder if there was magma not much further. Long ago, I had bought some crypto when it was first a thing on the advice of one of my clients. Promptly forgot about it and then 15 years later I was retired from corporate life, my kids were at the schools of their dreams, and I owned 40 acres of chaparral on the edge of one of the most unforgiving deserts in North America. This wasn't even our primary residence but we spent a good chunk of time here.
"Better than a doorbell," my wife remarked looking at the plume of dust with me. By now it had closed half the distance to us and we could see the glint of sun reflecting off the windshield of the source of this disturbance.
"Who is this again?"
"A woman I met at the educators conference last summer and kept in touch with. She's a geologist and has something like three best sellers." She paused, "she is on her way to a project site deep in the mountains and needed a place to stay for the night since it's like 15hr drive from the airport."
I pondered that while the car began its final climb up the driveway. It revealed itself from the dust as a large black SUV. My wife waved at the vehicle, "see if she needs help with her bag, I'll go make some lemonade."
As the dust settled, I walked down the massive stone plates that made the walkway. The door opened and a woman got out and looked around at the view. She did not look like any stereotype of a geologist. Shoulder-length wavy blond hair that seemed closer to a Hollywood movie star of days long past than a published scientist. She had a loose white top, casually unbuttoned down her cleavage and was wearing a short tan skirt with large movie-star sunglasses. She had the air of someone who had spent the last 5 hours in 60 degree air conditioning and was rapidly coming to terms with the blast furnace she was now suddenly in.
As I came around the car, her hand was on her forehead as she acclimated.
"You must be Dr. Taylor."
More of a statement than a question. She turned and looked at me without moving her hand from her head. Then flashed a megawatt smile, "just call me Hillary, please."
"Ok Hillary please, I'm Derek" and I extended my hand, "welcome to the desert"
She took my hand, still smiling, and said, "Nice to meet you Bob."
I know she heard me, the only sounds here were the faint hum of a generator and the sound of the sun frying anything living. Lame joke met with a lamer one, someone who could sink to my level. Could be worse.
"Do you need help with your bag?"
She walked to the back of the SUV and lifted the gate, it was filled to the brim with pelican crates and one tiny wheel-a-board suitcase. She handed that to me, and grabbed a backpack from the front seat. "The rest is new equipment for the site. But here, I brought some wine from Spain," she said flashing her smile again.
I regarded the bottle she handed me and I gestured, "Thank you! Let's head on in then, I'll show you around." She marched up the slab steps and I was perfectly positioned to admire her long tan legs disappearing into the skirt. She stopped at the patio level and stepped aside so I could lead her inside. The interior was cool, dark, and a welcome contrast. We were well insulated from the desert in here. My wife had set out a tray of drinks and was working on dinner.
After Hillary got settled, we all went out to the back patio to catch up. The patio was in the shade at this time of day, a long narrow pool angled off to the side, and we had a few fans gently running from the overhang. It was easily 15 degrees cooler on this side of the house and while still hot, this was my favorite spot.
