The Mating Season
"Look below," she instructed. "We're flying over the Flint Hills. Aren't they fascinating?"
"If you say so." But his agreement was strictly an indulgence, not an endorsement. "I'm still waiting to see a sunflower. Kansas is the Sunflower State, isn't it?"
"Yes, but they don't grow all year round," Jonni chided him, then smiled. "I should be grateful you didn't get it mixed up with Iowa, the Corn State."
If Trevor had exhibited more interest Jonni would have pointed out the route of the old Santa Fe Trail which had wound the breadth of Kansas in the pioneer days. Instead she kept silent, watching the changing terrain the plane's shadow covered. When the plane banked southwest, the lowlands of the Arkansas River were beneath them. Farther along the river, out of sight, was the historic town of Dodge City where the trail herds from Texas had driven their beef to the railhead.
They were nearing Starr country, where the Cimarron River snaked through the red hills. It was too soon to look for the ranch boundaries yet. Jonni leaned back in her seat. So much of the flight had been in silence that she glanced at Trevor to see if he was still awake. He was, his gaze steadily watching her.