He scanned across the miles of vivid-colored rock formations. “Maybe I should have proposed to you here, after all.”
She kissed him on the neck. “If you did, I might’ve fallen over the rail.”
“In shock?”
“No... in excitement.”
They laughed, then kissed.
* * * *
LATER THAT AFTERNOON they returned to Flagstaff, dropped in on Linda’s aunt and uncle for dinner, then sped away to tour the town in the Corvette as the sun was setting to sample a little of the neon nightlife. Whitman saw some hot cars parked by The Gateway and turned into the lot.
Whitman’s attention fell on the clean, bone-white 1962 Chevy Impala hardtop. He saw the chrome V-8 insignia on the driver’s side fender. Either 283 or a 327, he guessed. Next to it was a dark-purple Thunderbird with a white top. Not bad. Then he s
