Webster Carmichael stepped forward to shake hands with the sheriff and his deputy. Without either man saying a word, she sensed the tension between the Indian agent and Rory Burnett. Rory merely nodded in the man’s direction and then turned his attention to her.
If Webster Carmichael was sorry for his lack of hospitality when she had first arrived in Colorado, he didn’t try to make up for it by thanking her for riding out to help identify the body at his feet. He acknowledged her with a curt, “Miss Stanbridge.”
She could almost pity the man. Almost. He appeared too old for the responsibility heaped on his stooped shoulders. Stick thin, a harried expression on his face, Carmichael impressed her as a man who would be more at ease in a schoolhouse than in an Indian outpost. His sparse gray hair and shabby wool coat with too-short sleeves that exposed his thin, blue-veined wrists only made him appear that much more vulnerable. He was out of place in a land where only the strongest of any species flourished.
Jessica moved in closer and was thankful for the solid warmth of Rory’s hand at her waist as she approached the tarp and the fetid odor of death and decay hit her. She forced herself to concentrate on what Carmichael was saying and to ignore the pounding in her ears.
“A hunting party found the body wedged between those two rocks.” The agent pointed toward a group of boulders that stood against one another like fat, round biscuits in a pan. “From the looks of him, he fell from the top of the mesa.”
They all looked up to the flat-topped butte jutting out above them. Silently Jess measured the distance. Then, without warning, Carmichael bent down, grabbed the corner of the tarp, and whipped it back to expose the body.
At first, Jessica was too shocked to move. Filing past a dead man in a coffin was one thing. Staring down at a bloated, battered, decomposed body was another. Blindly she reached out for Rory and he took her hand. She clenched his fingers and forced back the bile that rose in her throat.
The man’s limbs were twisted at odd angles. His eyes were staring open and sightless from his grayish-white, battered face. Even though the body was in such a distressful condition, there was no denying his identity. Lying there before her, his hair matted with congealed blood, his skull split open by the impact of the fall, was Jerome Stoutenburg, her former student assistant.
“Stoutenburg.” Her lips moved, but no sound issued from them.
“You’ll have to speak up,” Carmichael insisted. “You know him or not?”
Jessica closed her eyes and licked her dry lips. “Jerome . . . Stoutenburg.” The words came out as a croaked whisper. She turned to Rory, wanting to hide her face against his shoulder and tap into the warm solidity of his strength.
Before she could say another word, the pounding in her ears increased to a roar. When she pulled back to ask him for help, his image faded and the world went black.
“JESS?”
The voice came from very far away. She shook her head, unwilling to return to consciousness, some inner defense guarding her from the grisly truth.
“Jess, it’s all right. You’re all right.”
She felt something cool and soothing on her brow. Forcing her eyes open, Jessica stared up into Rory’s black gaze.
He smiled and pressed his wet bandanna against her cheek. “Can you sit up?”
When she realized they were beside the stream and he was cradling her in his lap, she tried to sit up. More embarrassed than she had ever been, she looked up at the circle of curious faces surrounding them.
“Don’t blame you a bit, ma’am,” Sheriff Williams said as he hunkered down to her eye level and pushed his hat back off his forehead. The heat on the canyon floor caused his upper lip to bead with sweat. “Not a very pretty sight.”
“Nope,” Dexter Hudson put in. “Dead bodies never are. Why, remember that one time down around Shiprock when the wolves got to—”
“That’s enough, Dexter,” Williams admonished with a wave of his hand as he stood up again.
Even the Ute scout had joined the others, but he silently turned away when she looked at him. Carmichael fidgeted impatiently from foot to foot. “Can you tell me who that man is and what he was doing here?”
Rory shot him a cold glance and said sharply, “Damn it. Give her some time, Carmichael.”
Jess laid her hand on his sleeve and said softly, “I’m all right now. Would you please help me up?”
Rory did as she asked, unwilling to let go of her completely in case she blacked out again. Jess carefully avoided looking toward the corpse, which was still uncovered, forgotten in the confusion of the moment.
“It’s Jerome Stoutenburg. He was a student assistant at the Harvard Natural History Museum, the same museum I work for as a staff paleontologist. He was assigned to be my assistant and started the journey out here with me and my companion, but he became so ill on the train that I insisted he return to Harvard. Obviously he changed his mind.” Carmichael frowned. “So you think he was looking for you?”
“He must have been.”
The agent addressed her again. “Then why didn’t he come in to agency headquarters like you did?”
“How would I know?”
“You said he had papers on him,” Rory reminded Sheriff Williams.
Williams turned to Carmichael. “That’s right. Where are they?”
Carmichael reached into his coat pocket and took out a folded sheaf of papers that was spattered with dried blood. He handed them to Rory, who offered them to Jessica. She shook her head and let him hold the wrinkled sheets as she read them, her hands still shaking far too hard for her to hold the pages still.
The credentials were identical to her own. Issued in his name, they gave Stoutenburg full rights and permission to search the area, including the Bureau of Indian Affairs reservation lands. The documents had been issued by Harvard Museum and signed by Gerald Ramsey, museum director.
It was a double blow to realize that not only was Stoutenburg dead, but that Ramsey had sent her assistant into the field with the same authority she held. Originally only she, as head of the expedition, carried such official documents.
A growing anger and suspicion banished some of her former fear. “I resent the fact that you made me identify Stoutenburg when you already had his papers,” Jessica said as Rory handed the pages back.
“The papers could have been stolen,” Dexter answered smugly before anyone else could speak.
“That’s right,” Williams said as he shot a glare at his busybody deputy.
Carmichael defended himself. “I wanted to be sure. Things can get tricky all around when a white man’s found dead on the reservation.”
Rory pinned the agent with a cold, hard stare. “Now that you’re sure who he is, we’re leaving. Come on, Jess.” He gently turned her away and headed for the horses.
The agent called out, “Just a minute, Burnett. Miss Stanbridge, do you intend to notify the museum, or should I? A telegram should go out immediately.”
Rory turned on the man, his eyes flashing with intense dislike. “Listen, Carmichael, she’s been through enough—”
Jess whirled around and pinned the agent with a cold stare of her own. “Why can’t the sheriff notify the museum? I’m afraid I wouldn’t handle the situation very tactfully, seeing as how my director obviously went behind my back to send another representative without telling me.”
“I thought he was your assistant?” Williams rubbed his jaw.
“He was until he got off the train—ostensibly to go back to Harvard. Now he shows up with the same authority I have and obviously didn’t try to find me before he began searching on his own. He might have asked after me in Cortez, but did he, Sheriff?”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t.”
“Just as I thought. Nor did he stop in at Ignacio at the agency, which leads me to believe the
museum director sent him out here because they no longer had confidence in me.”
Rory crossed his arms and stared up at the overhang jutting above them. Just yesterday Piah had told him the spirits were displeased. At the time he thought the man was just bluffing. Now more than ever he knew Jessica needed his protection. Stoutenburg’s death might have been accidental and Piah may have stumbled across the body on his way to the ranch, but if Piah was behind it, he had gone far beyond mere protection of the sacred cave. He had murdered an innocent man.
Before he said anything to Sheriff Williams to incriminate Piah, Rory was determined to do a little investigating of his own.
“Let’s get going,” he said to Jessica, anxious to get her away from the still-uncovered corpse.
She started to walk away and then turned back to the agent. “May I see those papers again?”
Carmichael complied. This time Jess held them without shaking, calmly inspecting every line. Everything seemed to be in order. Everything pointed to the fact that the museum director had granted Stoutenburg the same power he had given her. She was about to refold the pages when her gaze fell to the lower right-hand corner.
Jess held the page between her thumb and forefinger and felt the paper.
“What are you looking for?” Rory was at her side again, watching carefully.
“The seal. There’s no seal, no imprint of the museum stamp that makes these documents official.”
“Meaning?”
She looked up at him as relief washed over her. “Meaning Stoutenburg must have copied my documents, forged the signatures, and then, after feigning influenza, followed me out here.”
“Why?”
Disappointed at his lack of understanding, she slowly explained. “Because he wanted to make a find before I did and steal the credit that would earn him the instant acclaim and respect of his colleagues. Do you see what this means?”
Totally confused, Rory shook his head. “No.”
She sighed. “It means Ramsey didn’t send someone else out to do my job because he lacked faith in me. It means Stoutenburg acted on his own.” She suddenly recalled, “Why, he even carried my papers for me once in a while and had ample time to counterfeit his own set!”
“So?”
Exasperated, she sighed dramatically. “Good heavens, you’re dense!”
“Why, thank you,” Rory said with a wry half smile.
Williams coughed back a laugh and shifted his weight. Dexter and Carmichael continued to listen to their exchange.
“Stoutenburg must have believed I was on the right track, so much so that he was willing to risk his career by forging these documents. Once the find was made, his illicit measures would no doubt have been overlooked because Ramsey and Beckworth would have been overjoyed.”
When she realized the rest of the men were still hanging intently on her every word, Jessica handed the forged documents back to Carmichael.
Intending to walk away, she stopped short when Carmichael said, “Just how far were you willing to go to keep this man from making any discoveries before you did?”
Rory took a step in the agent’s direction. “What are you trying to say, Carmichael?”
“Rory, please.” Jess laid a hand on his arm. The look in his eye was full of fury. Then she turned on the agent herself. “Mr. Carmichael, are you accusing me of coldblooded murder?”
“I’m just saying you seem more upset that he was out here trying to jump your claim than you are to see him dead.”
Jessica had to step in front of Rory to keep him from going for the man’s throat. “If you want to question me, Sheriff, you know where I’m staying.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked back to her mare. Rory grudgingly followed, but not before he threw a threatening scowl at Carmichael.
When they were alone and ready to mount up, Rory said, “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’d like to wring the man’s neck.”
“Don’t be sorry. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to succeed.”
Rory gave her a boost into the saddle then walked over to Domino. The idea of her newfound determination plagued him every step of the way.
“WE’RE NOT GOING to have a choice,” he told Jess as he drew up and turned around in the saddle to look back at her. “What?”
She had been lost in thought; he could see it by the far-off look in her eye and the way she was studying each and every section of the rock canyon wall they rode past.
“We’re going to have to camp out here for the night. The sun will be behind the ridge soon. I don’t intend to have you on that mare stumbling around in the dark. We’ll camp at that sandbank up ahead and there’ll be enough sunlight left for me to snare a rabbit for dinner.”
“But—what about everyone at the ranch?”
“Can we help it if we can’t get back tonight?” He could see her measuring the truth of what he had said. “Really. We’ll never make it back before dark.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself—unless you are trying to trick me into spending the night with you.”
“When I see the suspicion in those blue eyes of yours, I can’t help but jump to my own defense.”
She blushed, her cheeks flaming crimson even beneath the shade of the wide hat brim. After she rode past, Rory followed her to the sandbank he’d pointed out. The soft, coarse sand was high and dry—a perfect place to camp for the night in the narrow canyon. He caught up to her as she pushed her hat back and let it dangle from its rawhide tie against her back and sat astride her mare to survey the area.
She looked back up the stream. “Will the others be coming along soon?”
“Williams and the deputy?” He shook his head. “They’ll take the river fork and go back to Cortez that way. It’s shorter since they don’t have to go past the ranch again.”
She had asked an unspoken question and he had answered. There would be no interruption. When night fell, they would be alone beneath the stars. Rory watched her as she digested the information, half expecting her to protest, knowing he’d go along with her wishes and take her back to the ranch if she did.
He swung down out of the saddle and was beside her mare to reach up for her before she moved. She looked down at his outstretched arms and then met his eyes. He shrugged, again asking a silent question. Jessica nodded almost imperceptibly and let him lift her down.
He savored the way she felt beneath his hands. Instead of turning her loose, Rory pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. For a moment they stood silent, locked in a warm embrace, neither willing to move or speak and break the spell. The sound of the creek bubbling over the rocks as it meandered through the canyon was soothing in its consistency. He began to sway slightly, rocking her from side to side and felt her nestle her cheek lovingly against his chest.
Rory ran his hand over the back of her head and then began to take the pins out of her hair.
“Don’t drop them,” she murmured against the front of his shirt.
He carefully complied, saving each precious hairpin as he drew them one by one from her hair. Unwilling to release her, he held her captive with one arm as he shoved the pins down into his pocket. When her hair hung loose and free, he finger-combed it until it spread out about her shoulders and fell with the ripples of moving water down her back and past her hips.
“I should be out hunting up something for our dinner,” he said softly, stroking her hair over and over as she stood silent in his arms.
Her words were a whisper barely heard above the sound of the water. “I’m not hungry.”
“Not now you aren’t, but I’ll bet you will be before long.”
She shifted, nestled closer, and sighed.
Rory let her take her strength from him.
“Seeing Jerome like that today wa
s horrible, wasn’t it?” she said softly.
“Yep. I hated like hell that you had to go through that.”
“And I thank you for that. I was afraid there for a moment that you and Carmichael would come to blows.”
“It’s not the first run-in I’ve had with him,” he admitted. “Last spring the beef rations were short and I let the Utes have what they needed. It’s something my pa always did, too, but Carmichael didn’t think too kindly of it.” He felt her squeeze him tighter as she acknowledged his generosity.
She took a deep breath as if gathering her courage to tell him. “When I recognized Jerome, so many thoughts raced through my mind at once . . . ”
“Such as?”
“I had an immediate surge of guilt. I thought of Whitey, I thought perhaps another young man had died because of me, and if I hadn’t told Jerome to go back to Harvard, then he wouldn’t be out here looking for me, wouldn’t have fallen off the cliff. But then, when I saw those papers and realized what he had done—”
“And you’re positive they were forged?”
He felt her nod against him.
“Yes. When I looked at them again, when I had gathered some of my wits about me, I could see that Ramsey’s signature was a very good copy, but not perfect. I’ve seen it enough to know.”
When she stood silent again, Rory said, “You know, we took a trip back east once when I was a boy. My mother’s sister was ailing. Ma took me to a museum, but all I can remember was that it was cool and dark and musty smelling. There was a hush about the place, too. I always thought anybody who worked in a place like that would be as honest as a looking glass, but what you’ve told me reminds me more of a nest of rattlers.”
She pulled back and smiled up into his eyes. “You have the most unique way of putting things, Mr. Burnett.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Why, thank you kindly, ma’am. I guess that makes up for my being so dense.”
Jessica was suddenly very interested in his top button. “I’m sorry I said that, especially in front of those men.”
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