by Unknown
“You’re taking the field school for certain?”
“I will if I can coax Walker into loosening the purse strings on my trust. I’ve sort of overspent my budget the last few months.”
“Fair warning. If I get hired, I’m not cutting you any slack just because we’re friends. I’m a tough instructor.”
She waved away his threat. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
“And work very hard.”
“Hard can be fun,” she teased.
Jericho’s face reddened and he tugged at his collar. Ha! She’d embarrassed him. That’s what he got for making the fanny comment, but now she was feeling off kilter too.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s a lot of ifs first. If I get the job and if Walker gives you the money for tuition, we can worry about the rest after that.”
“It’s gonna happen. Mark my word,” she said.
Jericho’s chuckle was deep and inviting. “I love your self-confidence, Zoe-Eyes.”
Love.
Why did that word seem to stand out from the others? And why was she feeling warm and squishy inside because of it? Nothing wrong with loving your best friend, right? There were all kinds of love. For instance, she loved Urban Decay waterproof mascara, Chee-tos—the puffy kind, Aunt Sandra’s to-die-for banana pudding, skinny-dipping in Lake Cupid on a hot summer evening, and lying on the hood of a car staring up at the darkest night sky in the entire US of A, and making wishes when a star streaked flaming bright. Never mind that more often than not, she cast her wish as a single question.
When is my soul mate going to show up?
“And I’m so happy you’re here,” she chattered, pushing past her feelings. She learned a long time ago that the best way to deal with melancholy was to keep her mind, and body, busy. “Do you realize how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other in person?”
Jericho put a palm to the back of his neck. “It’s been three years since I moved to Utah for my PhD in anthropology.”
“That’s right.” She playfully swatted his shoulder. “You’re a doctor now. We must definitely celebrate. Chantilly’s tonight. Be there seven-thirtyish and put on your best dancing boots. We’re gonna do some serious boot scootin’. I haven’t had a decent dance partner since you abandoned me.”
Jericho smiled, shook his head. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”
“Me too. Missed you, that is, not me. How could I miss me?”
“That mind of yours runs a hundred and fifty miles an hour.”
“Ya think?” She winked.
“I know so. Chantilly’s tonight. It’s a date.”
Date.
She knew he didn’t mean it that way. Why was she thinking like this? She and Jericho were just friends, but c’mon, who could deny the man filled out a pair of pants in the most drool-worthy way?
His hand rested on her shoulder. “It is good to see you again, pal.”
Zoey’s lips went cold. Pal. Buddy. Amigo. Friend. A guy who wanted to sleep with a girl did not call her “pal.”
Jericho leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek, a platonic peck. Brotherly. Clearly, nothing had changed for him in three years. Fine. Good. She’d use that as a damper to douse the tiny flame that flickered in her heart. The feeling would pass. It always did. What she needed was a new boyfriend. Maybe she’d find one tonight at Chantilly’s.
“I better get to that interview.”
“Good luck!” She wriggled her fingers and turned back to the van, her heart thudding strangely. She was about to get in when she remembered about the kitten. Maybe she’d gotten lucky and it had taken off when she’d been talking to Jericho.
This time, so that her rump wouldn’t be in the air, she crouched and ducked her head underneath the van. The Siamese was curled up asleep. Aha. Gotcha now. She reached around to pick it up and the kitten leaped as if she’d touched it with a live wire and darted to the opposite side of the van.
“Not again.” She groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
Zoey jumped, whacking her head against the undercarriage. “Ow!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jericho apologized. “When I saw you on the ground, part of me said to just let it go, it is Zoey after all, but the curious part of me that knows whatever you do is never boring, had to come over and see what was up.”
She rubbed the top of her head, glanced up at him. “You’re too sly. You should wear a bell or something.”
“Probably my Native American blood. Hunter DNA.”
“Yeah, all one sixteenth of it.” She got to her feet.
“One sixteenth Comanche,” he said. “Strong genes. Stamps the bloodline forever.”
“I’ve heard this brag before.”
“So you have. Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Catfishing,” she replied.
Jericho rolled his eyes upward and addressed the sky. “I had to ask.”
“As it turns out I’m really lousy at it.”
“It being … ?”
“Stubborn kitten doesn’t want to be rescued.”
“Ah,” he said. “I’m finally on board the Zoey thought-train. It’s been so long since we’ve talked in person that I’ve gotten out of the rhythm. Let’s see if I can help.”
How many times had he helped her out of a jam? Two dozen at least, probably three if she thought about it long enough. Ya think by now you should be able to handle your own problems. You’d think, but she scooted over to make room for him.
Jericho crouched beside her, his scent getting all tangled up with the smell of asphalt and kitten. His shoulder brushed against hers and she caught her breath.
The kitten stared at them, eyes wide, muscles bunched.
“The poor thing must think we’re ganging up on him. I’ll go to the other side of the van,” she said, hopping up quick. Whew. Gotta put some distance between her and those broad shoulders. Once on the other side, she dropped down on her knees again and settled in to watch him.
Jericho made a low, soothing sound in the back of his throat, but he did not touch the Siamese.
The curious kitten cocked its head.
“That’s right little guy, come out, come out. We won’t hurt you.”
He spoke soft and slow and as if by magic, the kitten crept forward. After a few minutes, he put his hand down and the little Siamese came over to nibble on his pinky finger and then, finally, curled up in his palm and started purring.
“I’ll be damned,” Zoey muttered. “You missed your calling. You should have been a cat whisperer.”
With the kitten cradled against his chest, Jericho got to his feet. She hustled around the van to join him once more. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
Jericho checked. “Boy. You wanna hold him?”
“Yes.”
He transferred the cat over to her.
“Hey, there, Egbert,” she crooned. The kitten looked up at her with sleepy eyes. It was still purring. Happy now. Apparently they’d just gotten off on the wrong foot.
“Egbert?”
“I named him already. Eggy for short.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“How so?”
“When you start naming animals they have a tendency to become your pet.”
“If I can’t find his owner maybe I will keep him.”
Jericho put a palm over his mouth, amusement deepening his chocolate eyes to coffee.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Nope.” He nodded.
“Liar. You are laughing at me.”
He dropped his hand to show that he wasn’t smiling, but he had his lips pressed together so tightly she knew it was all he could do to keep from bursting out in a belly laugh.
“What is so funny?” She frowned. Normally, she loved making him laugh, but it was the principle of the thing.
“Nothing.”
“You don’t think I can own a cat?”
“No one owns a cat. T
hey own you.”
“Fine, you don’t think I can take care of a cat.”
“I never said that.”
“You looked both entertained and skeptical. Like it’s the most outrageous idea you ever heard of.”
“Have you ever owned a pet?”
“Sure. Lots.”
“Name one.”
“Um … I had a hamster once, or maybe it was a gerbil.”
“What was its name?”
She crinkled her nose. “I can’t recall.”
“Apparently he was quite beloved.”
“Sarcasm, cheap shot for the uninspired.”
Jericho chuckled. “God, I’ve missed you. Repartee is not the same in e-mail.”
“Why do you think I keep trying to get you on Twitter? It’s the medium for one-liners. Junie Mae’s on it,” she said, referring to his stepgrandmother. “She’s the Twitter Queen.”
“You’re the one who excels at one-liners.”
“True.” She tapped her chin. “Your e-mails do tend to run along the lines of War and Peace, the unabridged.”
“So whatever happened to the hamster?”
“Got out of its cage and ran away.”
He dipped his head, arched one eyebrow, and slowly shook his head.
“What? It happens.”
“I seemed to remember you also had goldfish. What happened to them?”
“They died.”
He held out his palms. “You’re proving my case.”
“They’re goldfish. How long do they last? A couple of weeks tops.”
“Mine lived for twelve years.”
“Show-off.”
“Simply stating my case.”
“Which is that I couldn’t possibly be a responsible pet owner?”
“Trying to establish a precedent.”
“Natalie and I had a dog once.”
“And who took care of it?”
“Natalie, but that’s beside the point.”
“Is it?”
“Jeez, Jericho, whose side are you on?”
“Egbert’s.”
“You seriously don’t think I can take care of a cat?”
“Zoey, you can do anything you can set your mind to. I believe that one hundred percent.”
“But … ?”
“Some people just aren’t meant to be pet owners. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Wow, way to stomp on a girl’s feelings.”
“It’s just that you have so many interests. You’re always on the go, never at home. A pet requires a lot of time and attention.”
He was right. She did have trouble sitting still, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t own a cat. The deal was, she never really had much of a reason to stay home.
“He might belong to someone,” Jericho said. “So the point could be moot.”
“I’ll take him to a vet,” she said. “See if he’s been chipped, and I’ll put up notices, post on a few social media sites.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take charge of him?”
Earlier, he’d sort of bruised her ego, but now she was just plain irritated. She sniffed. “I can do this, besides you have an interview.”
“I meant after the interview. Just offering to let you off the hook.”
She looked at the kitten, who was staring at her with such a trusting expression that her stomach flopped over. She could be a cat owner. Why not? “Thanks for the offer, Jericho, but I’m in this hook, line, and sinker.”
And she might have darn well believed it too, if he hadn’t laughed.
Chapter 2
Culture: Common beliefs and practices of a group of people.
MIND churning, Jericho walked across campus to Ferguson Hall for his interview.
The last thing he wanted was to hurt Zoey’s feelings. She was the very best friend he’d ever had, bar none. Never mind that she was four years younger and an extremely attractive woman. When he was with Zoey he felt comfortable, relaxed, and accepted in a way he’d never felt with any romantic partner. She was the one woman he could tell anything to without fear of being judged.
He treasured their friendship. Put it right up there with archaeological digs, Fort Worth barbecue, Hank Williams music, and his favorite worn-out pair of handmade cowboy boots. Scratch that. Their friendship topped all those things, even the digs.
Which was precisely why he had kept things strictly platonic all these years, even though there had been times when it had taken all the strength—and cold showers—he could muster not to take her to bed.
For instance, the time she’d kissed him.
Jericho rubbed a palm across his mouth. It had been Zoey’s twenty-first birthday and right after he’d earned his master’s degree and been accepted into the PhD program at the University of Utah. They’d been celebrating and had just left Chantilly’s. Over the course of the evening, Zoey had discovered a shooter drink called Firecracker that was made from Goldschlager cinnamon schnapps, tequila, and Rumple Minze, and when she drank it, the girl turned into a Roman candle.
He’d walked her home along the lakeside path that led from the marina bar to the Cupid’s Rest B&B where she lived with her sister, his palm pressed against her back as he guided her, fearful that she’d slip and take a header into the water.
Suddenly, she stopped, tipped back her head, and howled at the full moon. “Woo-hoo! I’m finally twenty-one!”
“Okay, Wolf woman, let’s concentrate on getting home in one piece,” he said.
“I’d rather concentrate on this.”
“What?”
“This.” She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her cinnamon-flavored lips against his.
Puzzlingly blindsided and feeling loose from a couple of Firecrackers himself, for one millisecond he’d almost kissed her back. Lord knew he wanted to, but he was driving to Utah the next day and Zoey was a few stages past tipsy. He simply couldn’t take advantage of the situation, but most of all, he feared kissing her would set off a raging forest fire of desire that could not be contained.
And nothing terrified Jericho more than losing control.
So he forced himself to stand there, absorbing the heat of her sweet lips but not responding, until finally, slowly, she untangled her arms from around his neck and stepped back to look at him with those big, green doe eyes.
“Well,” she said briskly. “That didn’t turn out the way I’d imagined.”
He told her then he didn’t want to do anything to harm their friendship. She agreed. The next morning, wearing sunglasses and drinking Red Bull, she came to see him off. When he casually mentioned something about what had happened the previous night, she pretended she didn’t remember anything about it and they left things like that.
It was the last time they’d seen each other in person, and while things had been a bit awkward for a little while, to his relief, the kiss hadn’t changed anything between them. They e-mailed, texted, kept up with each other on social media sites, and did face-time phone calls.
Once in a while, in the dark of a lonely night, desire would get the better of him and he’d kick around the idea of saying, Screw it, let the chips fall where they may, and telling her how he felt, but something always got in the way of deepening their relationship.
In that regard, they had the worst timing in the world. When they were teenagers the four-year age difference had been too great. Then when Zoey was old enough, Jericho had a steady girlfriend. Whenever he was free, inevitably she was hooked up with someone. Realistically, if they were meant to be anything more than friends, wouldn’t the timing have been right at some point?
He’d imagined that with three years and a thousand miles between them, those lurking embers might have finally been extinguished, but one look at Zoey’s sweet little tush waggling in the air as she tried to coax the kitten from underneath the van and his body had hardened. He knew he was in trouble. Leaving him face-to-face with the real reason he would never make a move on her.
> Zoey was like a bright jungle parrot—free-spirited, vibrant, quicksilver, and curious. He’d watched the revolving door of men come and go through her life, and he was the only constant. He knew it was because he didn’t push her for anything more than friendship. Whenever a guy started talking long-term commitment, Zoey got itchy feet and invariably showed him the door. People and things that were out of reach fascinated her, but once she got what she wanted, she quickly lost interest. He couldn’t bear it if she lost interest in him. By holding himself apart, he kept her close.
Twisted reasoning, maybe, but losing her was what he ultimately feared most, and who said fear was logical?
There was only one solution, only one way to keep from getting left in Zoey’s dust. Erect a few walls. Keep his hands to himself. Protect his heart. Protect them both. Because you couldn’t cage a bright bird like Zoey; she soared only when she was free.
He stopped, took out his phone, and sent her a quick text message. Sorry. Can’t make it tonight. Something’s come up.
It wasn’t a lie. Something had come up. Something he feared he could no longer control.
Outside Ferguson Hall he took a minute to straighten his tie, run a hand through his hair, and practice a smile. Was it a mistake coming back here after all?
It was the wrong time to be worrying about that. He didn’t have to take the job if it was offered.
If.
Operative word. His bank account was lower than a snake’s belly after graduate school, but at least he’d gotten through it without school loans, and that was saying something. If he got the job he wasn’t in much of a position to refuse it.
He had to wait for a few minutes, but then the director, Dr. Sinton, came out to shake his hand. The older man had a jaunty step and the perpetual tan of a tennis lover. His salt and pepper hair was academically long and he sported a soul patch on his chin. “Good to see you again, Jericho, come on into my office.”
Although his smile was cheery, something in the man’s voice dropped acid pellets into Jericho’s gut. He eased down on the edge of the chair Dr. Sinton waved at before taking his own seat behind the desk.
They made small talk first and the director told him about the position and the summer field school. Finally, Dr. Sinton picked up the curriculum vitae Jericho had e-mailed to him Monday and looked over it. “You’ve the best credentials of anyone who has applied for the job.”