Shadows and Ruins

by Denise A. Agnew

  With that ominous warning he loped out of the restaurant.

  Glad to see the back of Grant, she waited until the waitress stopped floating around

  Shane before she forced herself to her feet and started toward his table. The closer she

  got, however, her breathing quickened and her stomach did disturbing cartwheels.

  Easy. Easy. No reason to freak out over polite conversation. At least she hoped it would be

  polite.

  Shane didn't appear to take notice of her until she stopped at the table. In one

  lightning-quick moment, his hard gaze swept from her face down to her toes. A

  puzzling warmth filled her center, an uncertainty that hovered somewhere around

  irritation and definite arousal. Emma thought that if his assessment of her was an insult,

  his contempt was as stimulating as most men's admiration.

  She took a deep breath and smiled. "Good morning."

  "`Morning," he said, his words rumbling out stern and deep. He didn't answer her

  smile with one of his own.

  Okay. So he planned to make this difficult. "May I have a word with you?"

  He stared at her for so long she thought he'd never answer. Then he nodded. She

  sank into the chair opposite and immediately bumped knees with him. Snatching her

  legs back as if she'd been burned, she caught a glint of amusement in the crystal quality

  of his eyes.

  "I hope you're not here to try and convince me to let you on my land, Miss Baker,

  because it's not going to work."

  "Call me Emma. Miss Baker makes me feel like a spinster school teacher."

  "Emma," he said softly and the tone made her name a caress.

  She wanted to hear it on his lips again. She did a mental shrug to train her thoughts

  back to the task before her. "I think you and I can come to an agreement about this dig."

  "The only agreement I want is for you to say you'll stay away."

  "Please hear me out. This excavation is very important."

  "Did Wilder send you over here to talk to me?" He shifted in the chair, leaning back

  slightly as the waitress appeared with his order of French toast. He waited until the

  waitress left before he continued. "Because if he did, you can forget it right now."

  She opened her mouth to retort but remembered she should use charm, not battery

  acid. "No, he didn't send me over. I'm here because I think you're a reasonable man

  and that if you'd give us a chance we—"

  "I'm not reasonable," he said with the soft, low quality of velvet. He hadn't even

  touched his breakfast yet, his gaze trained on her continuously. "The first thing most

  people discover about me is that I'm the last person they want to deal with. If you're

  smart you'll pack up and get out of town."

  Suddenly she had the absurd feeling she'd stepped into the O.K. Corral. "This is not

  Gunsmoke, Mr. O'Donnell—"

  "Shane," he said.

  She took in a deep breath as he reached for his fork and started in on his breakfast.

  "Shane, I don't want to fight with you. I have a proposal."

  Instantly she regretted her choice of words. He was the type of man who missed

  nothing and used everything to his advantage.

  The power of his gaze caused her to lean back in her chair. Fear and fascination

  darted through her as he smiled. She'd wondered what his grin would look like. Now

  she wished he hadn't. Instead of amusement lightening his face, his expression gave

  new meaning to the word hazardous. His smile, no matter how sarcastic, tipped him

  into the stunning category. Her heart seized up and her pulse throbbed in her wrists,

  her neck and other places she didn't want to think about right now. He took the next

  few seconds to apply a smattering of butter and not much syrup to his French toast. He

  gulped back some more coffee then took his first bite of toast. As he chewed rapidly, a

  single thought speared her mind.

  Shit, the man even eats like a bear. Ravenous. Quick. Without remorse.

  "I doubt anything you offer me will change my mind." He leaned forward on the

  table and pinned her with a look undeniably salacious and hungry. "But you can try."

  Well, all righty then. Whatever else he was, Shane O'Donnell held enough sex appeal to slay

  two dozen damsels in distress with one hot look. She gulped. Not that she was a damsel of

  any kind, but the husky, sexual nuances in his voice filled her head with visions of cool

  sheets, candlelight, wine and a hard masculine body against her naked flesh. Again, she

  felt heat ignite in her cheeks.

  Damn him.

  The waitress returned to fill his coffee cup and Emma took the moment to regroup.

  So he wanted to play dirty? She'd make sure he got downright dingy. When the

  waitress left she sent her first volley.

  "What are you afraid of, Shane?"

  He stiffened and the coffee cup stopped halfway to his lips.

  Direct hit.

  His eyes narrowed. "I'm not afraid of anything."

  "Grant and I were discussing why you're so reluctant to let us on your land if your

  uncle is okay with an excavation on his property. Is there something you don't want us

  to find? Maybe you want to keep Sadie Cutley's treasure all to yourself?"

  Seconds stretched out as he glared at her. He ate a couple of big bites of French

  toast. A spot of syrup on his lower lip caught her attention. When he licked it off, her

  stomach heated. In short order he'd consumed half the toast.

  "There is no treasure, and if there had been my father would have found it long

  ago," he said.

  "But would he have located everything? Without a professional archaeological

  survey it's very possible he would have missed the site. It sometimes takes a trained eye

  to see what's right in front of you."

  "True. But even if my father hadn't a clue what he was doing, I would have found

  it."

  "You sound very sure of yourself."

  "I know a little about archaeology."

  Surprised, she stared at him silently. He met her gaze steadily and she wondered if

  he hid the truth as well as he did his feelings. Everything about him seemed like a

  coiled spring, ready to blow loose.

  "Don't look so amazed," he said. "I realize city women like yourself sometimes

  think country men are dumb hicks."

  Mortified, she knew she hadn't said anything to indicate her opinion of cowboys,

  but somehow he'd known anyway. Maybe she had underestimated him and that ticked

  her off. From now on she needed to keep a tight hold on her expression. She didn't

  want her quest jeopardized by inability to rein in her feelings.

  "I apologize. I didn't mean to insinuate anything about your intelligence," she said,

  adding a bright smile.

  His rigid expression didn't change as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

  "What's in this for you, Emma? Why aren't you working with the Bureau of Land

  Management or some other big organization where your skills would be appreciated?"

  Surprised again by his turn in conversation, she answered without thinking. "Grant

  Wilder is an expert in the field of historic archaeology."

  "So you're hoping some of Wilder's prestige will rub off on you? Why? What do

  you need it for?" Low and soft, his words rumbled with a seductive quality. His voice

  carried a personal caress that lingered within her. She looked down at her hands in her

  lap then ba
ck at him.

  Emma pondered his question and realized the tables had turned on her once more.

  She'd tried to scrutinize Shane's motivations and with a masterful twist he had her

  answering his interrogation. Angry, she pursed her lips and chose to ignore his last

  query.

  "We're not talking about me, we're discussing the excavation. Let's stick with that,

  shall we? If I do a good job on this dig it'll go a long way towards building our

  company's image. With that reputation comes more contracts. And that's good for me."

  He nodded. "True. But somehow I don't see Wilder giving any of the glory to you.

  Where was he yesterday while you were slaving in the hot sun?"

  Was the man a mind reader? How had he picked up her irritation with Grant? He

  didn't know her well and he hadn't met Grant. "He was ill."

  Shane shook his head and polished off two more bites of his breakfast. He picked

  up a slice of bacon and set to work on it. When he'd consumed one piece in quick order,

  he said, "Then you shouldn't have been there alone."

  She bristled. "Why not? I can do the work."

  "It isn't safe for a woman alone in the canyon."

  A tiny alarm bell went off in her head. "Why is that?"

  "It's miles from my house or my uncle's and even more miles to the main road.

  What if you had some car trouble or something else happened to you? You could be

  there for hours before anyone realized you needed help."

  She always packed her SUV with emergency supplies, including enough food for a

  couple of days. She tried a smile. "I was a Girl Scout."

  He pinned her with a cool appraisal, as if she were a door-to-door vacuum cleaner

  salesperson. "You don't get it, do you? Things happen out there, especially when the

  sun starts to go down." A muscle in his jaw worked. "Things no—"

  He stopped as panic raced over his features and made him appear vulnerable and

  almost human for one moment.

  Curiosity made her press forward. "Things? What things?"

  "Just forget it. It's none of your business." His voice lowered to a gruff tone that

  told her to back off for now. One last fork of French toast and another slice of bacon and

  he was done eating. "If your pretty little ass gets in trouble, there won't be anyone to

  help you. You understand?"

  Pretty little ass? Warmth darted through her stomach. Okay, so maybe he found her

  more than just an irritating archaeologist. If he slipped up and admitted he thought her

  ass qualified as pretty, he found her attractive, albeit reluctantly. Unless, of course, he

  was pulling her leg and meant his statement as more of an insult.

  She sighed and when she touched the saltshaker again, she noticed his gaze

  dropped to her hand.

  "I don't want you on my land." He dragged his gaze back to her face. "And that's

  the last word on it."

  Resentment steamed to the surface. "I haven't even told you my proposal."

  He put down his fork and crossed his arms. "All right. Give me your best shot."

  She inhaled deeply before speaking. "Grant's initial survey last week pinpointed a

  concentration of artifacts slightly to the west of your uncle's land. The site extends past

  his land with the heaviest collection of items located where I'm digging now. If we can't

  concentrate our efforts there we might as well pack up our bags. I can promise you that

  I pride myself on doing a professional job."

  "How do I know that? Just because you have professional credentials doesn't mean

  you won't pocket what you find."

  She glowered at him. "We specifically asked your uncle if we could transport

  artifacts to the lab after they've been recorded in situ. We would do the same for

  anything found on your land, of course." When he remained quiet, holding her gaze

  steadily, she continued. "I'm not a pot hunter. And I can prove it to you. Come by the

  site each day, any time you want, unannounced. Observe what I'm doing."

  He remained silent, his body language laced with mistrust. His black hair lay in

  chaos, flowing around his shoulders like a pirate after a fight. Every thick, wavy lock

  seemed astray and she wanted to reach up and push them back in place. Few men held

  the confidence to wear their hair as long as his. Even with short hair he'd pulsate with a

  heavy male potency. God, what did he eat for breakfast every day? An entire side of

  male pheromones?

  Uninhibited visions flicked through her head like lightning. His head between her

  legs, his tongue lapping, suckling, tasting her juices as arousal sent her higher and

  higher. She almost sucked in a breath at the vivid fantasy. Oh, God. This was so insane.

  She had to stop thinking about him like this.

  She realized she couldn't afford to let his more than masculine attributes distract

  her repeatedly. The devil sitting on her shoulder wouldn't let her capitulate yet.

  The waitress brought his check, and he looked at it and said nothing.

  "Should I take your silence as a no?" she asked.

  "All right. You can dig on my land." Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out money and

  laid it on the table. "When I come by each day, I want a full report on what you've

  found and I want to see every item. And remember, just because you can't see me

  doesn't mean I'm not watching you." Again that piercing stare ate into her. "Screw up

  once and there'll be a penalty. One I don't think you're prepared to pay."

  A penalty.

  With Shane, it was dangerous to wonder too deeply about what kind of penalty

  he'd extract.

  With that, he walked away. Adrenaline sprinkled through her blood as if she'd run

  from a predator. She couldn't feel happy about what she'd accomplished, and she

  didn't know why. The fact this man could stretch her nerves tighter than a crossbow

  made her want to scream.

  She didn't leave the restaurant until she saw Shane's truck leave the parking lot.

  Then she headed outside to her vehicle. Before she turned on the ignition she looked

  out the window and took in the spectacular mountain range that surrounded the town

  on all sides. Blue and green against the stunning panorama of a clear heaven, the

  mountain chain rose to a lofty fourteen thousand feet and stunned her senses with its

  beauty. For a moment, she envied those who lived in Gambit Creek. Lifestyles here

  seemed so calm, serene and settled. Yet she knew nothing in small towns remained as

  simple as it appeared.

  What she wouldn't give to have peace like this on a permanent basis. Serenity. A

  place to call home. A family. A niche where she could settle into a routine that didn't

  include a frenetic round of running from excavation to excavation. She wanted to be far

  from her parents and memories too painful to contemplate. Somewhere like these

  mountains. But she had work to do and it waited while she dilly-dallied.

  She picked up the unopened letter that lay on the seat next to her and perused the

  return address on the envelope. Mr. and Mrs. Harmon Baker. Feeling the expensive

  texture of the stationery, she thought about opening the letter. Unchecked anger slipped

  between the cracks of her control, and she threw the letter back on the seat. What could

  they want from her after all this time? To tell her they forgave her? To say they'd been

  wrong?

  No. Her father was ne
ver wrong, and neither was her detached, cold mother.

  Annoyed with herself for allowing them to control her emotions when they resided

  hundreds of miles away, she started the vehicle and headed out of the parking lot

  toward the site.

  No. She wouldn't read the letter. This was the first correspondence she'd received

  from them in a year and she'd become used to the lack of communication. It was almost

  better this way. Silence hurt less than the haughty tone of her father's pen or the cold

  bite of her mother's words.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  As Emma finished her last taste of Josy O'Donnell's secret recipe chili, the sun

  dipped under a dark cloud hovering near the mountains. Night waited for no one, and

  reminded her that she needed to leave the cozy atmosphere of Clement and Josy's patio

  for the sterile interior of her hotel room.

  "That was wonderful," Emma said as Clement poured her another glass of

  lemonade. "Grant will be jealous when I tell him about this feast."

  "We haven't seen Grant this week at all," Josy said.

  Discomfort niggled in Emma's brain. When Grant said he couldn't attend this

  crucial negotiation dinner, she'd wanted to strangle him.

  "He's been doing library research and today he went to visit some friends over in

  Cortez," Emma said. "He also said he still wasn't feeling top-notch or he would have

  been here. He should be back to the excavation tomorrow."

  Clement munched a tortilla chip. "Shows he has confidence in you."

  "I'm just glad I'm still at the site. For a while it was touch and go."

  Josy nodded. "I'm sorry there was confusion. We thought we'd made it clear to

  Grant that the work couldn't stray onto Shane's land."

  She kept her diplomacy hat firmly in place. "I'm sorry there was confusion too. I

  guess Grant was so enthusiastic about the project, he didn't catch on to your statement."

  She didn't like defending Grant, but Josy and Clement had been so nice about the

  situation.

  Josy nodded. "When Clement called Shane about letting you continue the dig, we

  were surprised that he'd already talked to you at breakfast that morning."

  "Hell, I was amazed he gave in as easily as he did," Clement said.