by Heidi Hormel
So why did she feel like she had to prove herself to a wannabe cowboy, when she should be worrying about finding her next high-powered job?
Despite her annoyance with Jones, a tiny part of her brain mulled over whether she could pull off accidentally forgetting to pack two tents so they’d have to share the one. What was wrong with her? She had never been the kind of woman—even as a teen—who made sex or men a priority. So had all of that stored-up sexual frustration exploded when Jones showed up in his kilt?
“Yee-owl,” Cat protested on the back patio. She sat with her tail primly curled around her feet, but the narrowed eyes told another story.
“Cat, you’ve already had your food for the day. The vet has me under strict orders. He says that you’ve got at least six pounds to lose.”
“Yee-owl.”
“Sorry.” Lavonda opened the door and Cat raced into Lavonda’s quarters, entertaining the possibility she’d left a piece of kibble somewhere. As Lavonda created the list of items for Jones, she heard Cat’s bowl being knocked around the small kitchenette. As she wrote, she peeked at Cat sitting by her empty bowl. The cat’s tail did the slow twitch of annoyance. Lavonda leaned down and picked up the bowl quickly enough to miss the swat.
“Yee-owl.”
“What is wrong with that animal?” Jones asked, appearing from nowhere outside her door—a good distance outside of her door. She jumped.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Dang it, that flutter in her heart had moved to points south.
“You said something about a list.”
“I just printed it out. We’ll go over it quickly. I’m sure you have the majority, if not all, of the equipment. As you pointed out, this is not your first rodeo.”
“I’m certain I didn’t use those exact words.”
“Probably not, but close enough for government work.”
He shook his head a little. “You’re lucky that I watch American programs on television. Otherwise, it would be like you were speaking Greek.”
“Indubitably, Jones, my man.”
“Your knowledge comes from Masterpiece, right? All Americans watch that and think they know the British, although not so much the Scots.”
“No Masterpiece for me. I’m more old-school. Ab Fab and The Vicar of Dibley and really old old-school, Are You Being Served?”
“No Doctor Who or Agatha Christie?”
“I like comedies.”
“I see.” He gave her a once-over and then turned away. “I don’t think there’s enough allergy medication for me to come in there with the cat. Who, by the way, can’t keep her paws out of my Hobnobs.”
“At least you’re not sneezing. I’ll meet you on the back patio. That way, if I’m contaminated by any cat hair it shouldn’t kill you.”
* * *
“I’M ALMOST BEGINNING to like this,” Jones said, indicating the long, tall glass of amber liquid Lavonda had brought with her. “It has the look of Scotch. Maybe that’s why?”
She couldn’t stop herself from grinning just a little. “So no iced tea in the Highlands?”
“I do not live in the Highlands. But no, iced tea is not a beverage of choice. Hot tea is, of course.”
“Of course. Drink up because we won’t be having it on the trail.”
Sitting at the rustic patio table, he scanned the list quickly. He asked for clarification on items and pulled a pen from somewhere to make checkmarks and notes. Their iced teas were empty by the time they’d gone through each point.
“We’ll be using tents, not sleeping under the stars around the campfire?” Jones asked.
Lavonda felt the flush, remembering what she had been thinking about their sleeping arrangements. “Tents make sense for protecting equipment as well as people. It’s early enough in the spring that nights are rather chilly.”
“In Scotland, tents keep the rain off the equipment. I would guess that’s not the problem here.”
“Not usually. If we were going during monsoon season, that would be different.”
“Monsoon season?”
“Summer storms come out of the Pacific and dump a ton of rain. Not that much of it sticks around. The ground is so hard it pretty much just runs off. Arizona is not known for its gentle rains.”
“No smirr.”
“Smirr?”
“Mist, drizzle. Typical Scots weather.”
“It’s totally different in the winter. In Phoenix the pollution just lies in a haze with no wind or storms to blow it through.”
“You’ve lived here your entire life, right?” Jones had leaned back in his chair.
“Not here, but in Arizona, when we weren’t on the road with the rodeo. Though my mama is from Texas. Daddy’s people hail from Arizona.”
He grinned at her. “Your accent changed when you talked about your parents. Do they live nearby? Any siblings?”
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. But then, why should she be all hot and bothered about going a little country? “My parents are near enough, by Arizona standards. I have a younger brother who lives in Angel Crossing. My sister has a place outside Phoenix. What about you?”
“My brother is older and a professor at the university, too.”
“Your parents?”
“My father is retired from the same university and Mother gardens.”
“In a castle?” she asked, just to get a rise out of him. It worked.
“That’s our summer home.”
She grinned. “It’s good that you’re all close.”
“Not that close,” he said in a tone that told her they were at the end of this line of discussion.
She decided to not take the hint. “So you always wanted to be an archaeologist? Sounds like a family tradition. Since your brother’s in the same field.”
The emotions that raced across his face moved so quickly she’d barely understood them before they were hidden behind his usual mask of flat professional detachment. She’d seen, though, a soul-deep hurt.
“We had standing stones at the edge of our property. Iain and I set up a dig. We’d seen a program about it on television. I found a bead and a pottery shard. He found a jawbone, and we were hooked. We set up digs every summer with our friends. The biggest find was a Roman coin that I sold for a hundred quid. We split it four ways and bought sweets. And I purchased a trowel because my mother complained about us using hers. She would sometimes make us stop our work so she could get back her tools.”
“I bet you still have that first trowel.” She delighted in watching him fidget with discomfort. She shouldn’t be encouraging him to dig at his childhood, because it made him a little too endearingly cute.
“Yes, well, my parents were tolerant to a point. My mother had hoped one of us would follow in her grandfather’s footsteps and become a solicitor, but Iain and I were stuck on archaeology.”
“Is that how you got the nickname?”
Darn it. Now a cute-as-a-button blush lit up his high cheekbones, highlighting the smattering of freckles.
“I did a school project where I explained why the archaeology of the Indiana Jones movies was inaccurate. The name stuck. But your history is much more fascinating than mine. You won championships?”
Now she shifted and looked away. Dang internet. “That was when I was a teen, and I didn’t have a lot of competition. It was our family business, though none of us are still in it. There weren’t too many girls riding broncs—not like the guys—though the bull riders get all of the attention now. Jessie, my sister, rodeoed for a number of years, but she’s got her riding rehab program now.”
“That’s where Reese may go, right?” he said, the cool facade slipping. She could see the eager student he must have been and the focused academic he’d become. He smiled encouragement for her to go on, and Lavonda couldn’t
resist. She explained how the burro would fit into the therapeutic riding program Jessie had started for children with physical and mental challenges. The iced-tea pitcher was empty by the time Lavonda noticed the setting sun. “It’s getting late. I have a lot to prepare before we leave.”
They stood. She hesitated, feeling that maybe she should offer to make a meal. It had been part of the contract, although he hadn’t insisted she cook for him. Probably best for all involved, especially his stomach. Her relief had nothing to do with the intimacy of sharing a meal, she insisted to herself.
“Yes. I must look for my protection.”
Her heart stopped for a moment. What the hell was he saying? She choked out, “I don’t think that will be necessary. I mean we’ll each have our own tent. I wasn’t imagining—”
“For my equipment.”
She couldn’t stop her gaze from going directly to his crotch. Horrified, she looked up quickly and caught the dark interest in his intensely green eyes. “It would be bad to get sand in—”
“In such sensitive...um...apparatus?”
“Absolutely,” she answered, her heart beating fast. “The heat and sun can do damage to the gear, too.”
“I wasn’t expecting it to be a daytime affair, but if you insist,” he said, a knowing smile curving just the corner of his lips.
“Now you’re teasing.”
“Maybe. Lavonda...don’t you think we should get all of this out of our system before we’re all alone in the desert?”
“Get all what out of your system? I’m the guide. You’re the guidee.”
“Let me show you.” He stepped forward much quicker than a man of his size should be able to move, pulled her to him and curl-the-toes kissed her.
Chapter Five
Jones refused to analyze beyond the obvious why he was kissing Lavonda. He nibbled at her soft mouth, slipping his tongue in to taste the earthy spice that would remain forever tangled up with his memories of the dry desert heat. He pulled her closer. Her hands moved to rest on his jaw before stroking down his neck in a barely there touch that made him shiver.
“Should I show you more?” he asked, moving his lips to her cheek, while wanting to bury his face in her neck. To slow down his pulse, he placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling the delicate roundness.
“We can’t. I don’t think...”
“No thinking.” He whispered across her lips. She didn’t pull back. He went in for another kiss, another nibble, another taste. She opened her mouth, her tongue sweeping in and tasting him right back, connecting directly to his groin. He needed to stop before they went further. He’d not been thinking when he started this, but he needed to engage his brain now. To prove that this was something they could control. Or, at least, he could control, so when they were alone he’d be able to concentrate on what was important and not the lush softness of her lips.
He made himself step back and turn from her. “I’ll check the list,” he said, getting his breathing under control. “I’ll be ready to head out day after tomorrow.”
He walked as calmly as he could from the patio and into the house, his control tattered. Not a good thing when he was here to repair his reputation. Getting close to her would make it more likely that she—and, therefore, both universities—would discover his lie.
He sneezed. Damn it. The cat had contaminated the whole house. He focused on his current misery to get himself back under control. He’d used a ruthless self-discipline to barrel through university and up the academic ladder. Now he needed to call on his focus to put Lavonda and the kiss out of his mind.
Or he could make an argument that a brief affair with Lavonda would be okay, the sort of thing that happened in the field. Who would know? They would be in the desert on their own. He’d be back in Glasgow by fall and never see her again. Perhaps she wouldn’t guess what his true purpose here was. Perhaps there was no need to dismiss her or her lips so quickly. He sneezed again.
All right. First things first. Another dose of medicine, then a trip to the shops for whatever he needed from the list, including the protection she probably hadn’t listed but he was beginning to think he’d better pack. Suddenly, the daunting task of finding his ancestor’s secret cache and keeping it under wraps while not succumbing to his allergies no longer seemed like too much of a problem.
* * *
“YOU’VE CHECKED YOUR PACK?” Lavonda asked Jones in the early-morning chill. “We can’t come back for anything you’ve forgotten.”
“I’m not a novice,” he answered formally, because he’d reminded her of that more than once. His guide had changed from the sexy pixie into a frowning, impatient perfectionist.
“Let’s go, Reese,” she said to the burro, who was laden with a goodly portion of the equipment. The remainder was split evenly between his horse and hers. Jones put on his sunglasses and gestured for her to move in front of him. Reese dropped his head and ears, a forlorn figure.
An hour into the ride, Jones had warmed sufficiently to strip off his jacket. He lifted his camera to take a shot of the landscape. And by landscape, he meant the rear aspect of his guide. She turned suddenly, and he moved the lens to the surrounding countryside. Damn. He’d evolved years ago from a horny sixteen-year-old ogling girls. Though he still remembered how superior he’d felt when the perfect Iain had been caught taking snaps of girls at a topless beach they’d snuck onto during a holiday trip—using the new camera his parents had given him for achieving perfect marks.
“Do you think that outcropping ahead might be the one you’re looking for?” Lavonda pointed to an arrangement of rocks and boulders that provided a natural shelter. She was thinking about it as a possible native settlement for his cover expedition. But based on the coded journals, he thought it might be one of the trail markers.
Keep his real search a secret, find the cave, save his career and redeem his reputation. This was going to be difficult. His ancestor had come to the Americas for similar reasons, and if the journals could be believed—if Jones had properly decoded the entries—then that Kincaid had discovered a cave full of ancient relics. He needed to—
“So? Stop or move on?” Lavonda asked, turning to him, sipping water.
He squinted at the overhang to appear that he was seriously considering it. His horse, Joe, shifted under him impatiently. The formation wasn’t quite right. He needed to find one that looked like a woman’s breast and to the right would be an arched cat. He couldn’t tell her that, though, because he was supposed to be looking for ancient settlements based on previous scholars’ research, which included coordinates, not lewd descriptions.
“Let’s move closer and see if there is anything there,” she said before he could respond, urging her gelding through the scrub and rock. She moved easily with the shifting gait of the dun-colored horse, its black tail switching lazily. She fit both the saddle and the desert somehow, her small stature not overwhelmed by the big-footed horse, cacti and craggy mountains.
He followed her more slowly to gather his thoughts. What might make a credible explanation for why this wasn’t a location to explore? When he caught up with her and dismounted, the overhang, thankfully, looked even less promising as the location for even a temporary settlement. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, as if this had possible significance. He moved around to examine the space from different angles. He straightened with finality, hands on his hips, thinking he’d spent an appropriate amount of time in his examination.
“Anything that might have been here is probably gone,” she said, and pointed to the bare rock path. “There have been a lot of washouts here.” She looked toward the slopes of the mountains that were still distant. “This looks like the beginnings of an arroyo. And look here—you can see where these boulders have moved. That kind of scarring has to be recent or it wouldn’t be visible.”
He nodded because
everything that she’d noticed made sense. “We’ll look elsewhere, as this is rather distant from the coordinates of the previous finds.” What a pompous ass he sounded.
She nodded, paused for just a second before easily getting herself into the saddle, and looked at both him and his horse with a professional courtesy. “I know that you have a survey of the area. Maybe you should be leading. You know what you’re looking for.”
If she only knew. This was more complicated than he wanted. Of course, he’d planned to have a guide who could have cared less what he was doing as long as he got paid. He had to take a chance and use the information he’d gleaned from the diaries. He could tell her...a colleague had recently sent him new research? Would she believe that? He could say the colleague had sent references to an old text that indicated the locales, but the exact locations had not been plotted yet. That might work. In fact, it was near enough to the truth that he might pull it off.
“Are there any specific land formations I should be on the lookout for as we near the coordinates?” she asked.
Finally, something on this godforsaken trip was going his way. She’d given him the opening he needed. “Just before we set off, I received research from a colleague that is based on an old source...the journal of a European explorer.” He deliberately slowed his speech, acting like a professor allowing note-taking students to catch up. “He...this explorer mentioned unique rock formations my colleague had not had the opportunity to map.”
“Hmm... I’m not sure if that will help. They could have changed and there’s a lot of desert. Were any settlements noted? We have a pretty good listing of those—depending on the year. We should be able to get a good enough signal to pull something up on the GPS.”
Jones dug into his rucksack for his tablet to give himself a little more time to refine his story. “In addition to the landmarks, this explorer did give locations based on settlements. One of them was the Los Santos Angeles de Guevavi mission.”
“That’s good. That hasn’t moved.”
“The trouble may be that from that locale he makes note of rock formations and we are not starting from the mission.”