by Heidi Hormel
Jones sat and pulled a kitchen towel over his lap. She dabbed at the cuts. He didn’t move or make a noise. She was nearly impressed because she knew how much it hurt to clean out the animal’s scratches. He was pretty good at the stoic-cowboy thing, like her brother and father. Of course, he also went for the Clint Eastwood squint. She’d seen him trying it on Cat. She smiled.
“What?” he asked, his glass nearly empty of whiskey as he put it on the table.
“Nothing. Almost done.”
“You’re good. Barely felt a thing.”
“I doubt that. I know how much the peroxide burns. But cat scratch fever is a real thing. Wouldn’t want you to be too sick to finish your research, Jones.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
She really looked at him. Something in his face was different. What had his brother said on the call? “Everything okay at home?”
“As right as a summer monsoon.”
She looked up at him, and saw his broad grin and the spark in his green eyes. She turned back to the final swipe of peroxide. “Are you sure that’s your first whiskey?”
“Absolutely positive, darlin’.”
“Was that supposed to be John Wayne?”
“Maybe? You’ve barely touched your drink.”
“I’ve had enough. I’m more a beer girl myself.”
“Not that American piffle?”
No longer a cowpoke, he sounded foreign and offended. “I go for mass-market, pretend Mexican-beer options.”
“I know you drank one of my stouts.”
“Guilty. Well, Jones, you’re patched up and—”
“It’s not ‘Jones,’” he said, very serious.
“What?” His eyes looked too clear for him to be drunk.
“It’s a nickname. One my family and friends gave me because I was so good at archaeology. My real name is Ross Nigel Meredith Kincaid. If you search for Ross Kincaid, you’ll find me.”
What was he saying? That she’d been sleeping with a man she didn’t even know? “Are you on the run from the law?”
“I wish. I’m on the run from the damned internet.”
Crap. Her brain shifted into PR disaster mode. When she’d been working at corporations, they had plans for such disasters.
He rose from the chair as he said, “I’ll get my laptop and show you. I can tell that you’re coming up with something really horrible. I didn’t murder anyone.”
She thought she heard him say, “Except my career.”
* * *
HE’D KEPT QUIET about all of this for months—why had he felt the need to confess tonight? The whiskey. Blame it on the whiskey, isn’t that what you did in such situations? Damn it. He’d seen her face. She’d been hurt and scared. Of course, she had. He’d lied to her.
The coolly logical Professor Kincaid part of his brain pointed out that he hadn’t lied technically. He just hadn’t revealed all. Many people knew him as Jones and anyone could understand why he’d tried to distance himself from the online memes and videos making fun of the cairn of dolls. The trip to Arizona had been his chance to salvage his career and academic reputation, and to leave behind the inevitable giggles from everyone he met.
“I’ll tell you—” He didn’t get further because she was already intent on the screen of her phone.
“You found me?”
“Wow,” she said, not moving her gaze from her phone. “Dolly-Acropolis? Archaeologists often don’t find what they’re looking for. What was the big deal?”
He opened his mouth to answer.
She immediately broke in, “I see. You were looking for a treasure, like looking for Montezuma’s gold here.”
“Something like that. The university contacted television shows and newspapers. No one imagined so many journalists would show up. In retrospect, we should have waited until we were sure what we’d find.”
“I’m a little confused. This doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your current research. Aren’t you the bean guy?”
He hadn’t thought this through as well as he’d imagined. Lavonda had that effect on him. “I’m returning to my roots.” In more ways than one, so it wasn’t really a lie.
“Ah...oh, my, did you see the one where they put a bullwhip in your hand like Indiana Jones?”
“I’ve looked at all of them.”
She put the phone down. He waited. She took a sip of whiskey, leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. Good God. Why was she torturing him?
“I can’t decide how annoyed I should be. Not annoyed. That’s not right. How mad should I be that you lied about your name and your past?”
“Technically—”
“Don’t even try. You lied. You knew you were lying, deceiving me and we...we’ve been intimate. I expect a certain amount of honesty.”
He unglued his feet from the floor and moved toward her. She put up her hand. He stopped, sat down and picked up her hand before she could pull away. “Ask me whatever you want and I’ll tell you the truth. The complete truth.” Why was he promising what he couldn’t give her? He wanted to erase the hurt from her face.
“So you’re just in Arizona for the research?”
“To compare the bean culture of...”
She stared at him, her usually wide eyes narrowed. “You’re running away?”
That hurt. “Not running away. Redeeming myself, I’d say.” That was true, at least. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s what people insist when they don’t want to explain something.”
“In this case, it’s true. I am here to work on my research, but the complication is that my brother is chair of the department. He and I don’t always see eye to eye.” Again, totally true. He and Iain hadn’t agreed on the color of sky since they were teens. It had gotten even worse as Jones had insisted he wanted to study the American West.
“I would guess that the discovery of the dolls instead of the gold messed him up, too.”
“Not that much. He ended up chairman of the department and I ended up... You saw.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking again at her phone. “I should be kicking you to the curb for the way you’ve treated me, but... I’m a big fan of underdogs.” She smiled sweetly, leaned forward and kissed him. “Don’t think you’re totally forgiven, but I understand.”
She understood now, but what would she think if she found out the other bigger lie? Why did it matter what she thought? Because it did. Because she was right. She did deserve his honesty.
“I assume Gwen and Stanley know who you really are?”
“Yes, but...shite... I don’t know—”
“There’s more? You lied about something else?” She pulled away and the disappointment in her eyes nearly made him change his mind.
“More a case of not revealing all.”
“I call BS.”
He stood and paced three steps. The whiskey sloshed in his stomach and his chest tightened. He had faced a wall of cameras with a pile of dolls. He could do this. He had to do this.
“It’s about the real reason I came here.”
“Real? You’re not hunting beans?”
He rubbed his hand over his face, hoping for clarity and inspiration. He got none. “I am following the trail of a Kincaid relative who found a cache.”
“He studied beans, too?” Her voice continued to be quizzical.
“No. He and a couple of other archaeologists—adventurers really—found a cave.”
“What else? You said a cache. Like a treasure? Like the Lost Dutchman’s Mine.”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“The American Kincaid—that’s what we call him—sent a set of journals back to my great-great-grandfather in Scotland. They were placed in the library...but that
doesn’t matter. I found them and realized that the material was in code and that what the American Kincaid had found was a cache of relics stolen from a Spanish wagon train bringing treasure to the missions.”
“You’re looking for a hidden treasure? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“The journals were very clear once I broke the code.”
“Did you use a secret decoder ring?”
“Beans are not going to restore my reputation or get me the chairmanship.”
“I don’t know a lot about academics, but I don’t think following a secret treasure map is going to get you accolades.”
“If what the journal revealed is true, this could be bigger than King Tut.”
“Gwen and Stanley know what you’re doing?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I didn’t want another Dolly-Acropolis. Press and everyone else watching and—”
“You have to tell them. And if you won’t, I will.”
“I don’t need you to do that. I’ll tell Gwen and Stanley. You’re right that I should be truthful.” He picked up his glass to refill it with whiskey. “I’ll find a new guide,” Jones said. He took another sip and turned to Lavonda, wiping his face clear of expression. “I’ll also stay in my own room...alone...from here on out.”
“Is that so?” she asked. “Are you implying that I’m so enamored of you and your Scotsman that I can’t say no on my own?”
Shite. Why couldn’t she appreciate that he was protecting her? He knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who slept with a man lightly.
“Stop it right now,” Lavonda said, standing inches away and glaring up at him. “I can read it on your face. You think I’m naive.” She poked him in the chest. “Let me tell you, Dr. Kincaid, I’ve traveled around the world, worked for Fortune 500 companies, and I wasn’t a virgin. I understand how the world works and I don’t need some Scotsman who imagines that he’s a cowboy to protect me from myself. I’m a grown woman. So yes, you will be sleeping by yourself and if you say another word, I may just send Cat in there to keep you company.”
She walked off to her bedroom, not dramatically and not hurriedly. She walked just like the adult woman she’d just told him she was. The adult, intelligent woman she was.
“Hell,” he said to the kitchen. He’d imagined the stash of moldy baby dolls was bad. Child’s play... He barked out a laugh, slammed back the rest of the whiskey then stood looking around the room. He wanted to...needed to... “Double hell.” If he were a real cowboy, he’d go out to the barn, saddle up a horse and ride off this anger. Isn’t that what the cowboys in his favorite movies did? Instead, he stood in the kitchen of a cowgirl’s ranch house still arguing with himself about sleeping with his pixie.
* * *
SITTING IN GWEN’S OFFICE, Jones shifted in his seat. He’d apologized, explained himself and accepted his punishment. Why weren’t they done with him?
Stanley’s face remained in its stern lines. “While you will be expected to finish your contract, we will not provide any additional funding for a guide, nor will we require anyone affiliated with the university to offer his or her expertise.”
“To clarify,” Jones said, to prove he could out-professor the lot of them, “any forays into the desert are without a guide, unless I pay for that out of my own pocket. I am, however, still afforded the use of the ranch and its equipment?” Stanley nodded.
The campus president took up the argument, “We will also be contacting your home university about the deception—”
“There was no deception,” Jones said. He and Iain might not get along but he wasn’t hanging out his brother for discipline. “I am and have been following the bean research as outlined in my proposal.”
Dr. Hernandez said, “We have made our decision. We will fulfill our portion of the contract and provide you housing at the ranch. We will also publicize your findings, but only after they have been thoroughly vetted by our department. Lavonda will no longer be required to be your guide as part of her obligation to the university, by the way.”
Lavonda finally entered the conversation. “I would also suggest having a press release and statement available in case Dr. Kincaid’s past comes up from another avenue. The students may have or will ferret this out. They are researchers, after all.”
“You’re right,” Gwen said. “Please prepare that and bill me directly.”
Lavonda nodded and turned for a moment to look at Jones. He tried to interpret her expression, but he’d lost that ability when she had found out about the lies.
“We’re done here,” Gwen said and stood, clearly telling everyone it was time to head out.
* * *
LAVONDA’S MINI COOPER hadn’t gotten any bigger. In fact, Jones was sure it had shrunk. He sat as close to the door as he was able so he didn’t accidentally brush against Lavonda. She had been silent since the meeting. He still had eight weeks remaining in the agreement. How many of those could he spend in the field? Being around Lavonda would not work out, but he needed her help to get to the cache. Since he’d been sleeping alone, he’d had plenty of time to work with the journals and was certain he’d discovered the proper landmarks about thirty miles from the ranch. A lengthy but not unreasonable horseback ride. He could take the animals by himself, but Lavonda understood how to find water and seemed to instinctively know the best paths. He couldn’t ask her to help, though. Or could he?
“I know you are no longer obligated to help me,” Jones said into the tense silence of the Mini about fifteen minutes from the ranch, “however, I do have more research to complete, which could be finished faster with the help of an experienced guide.” He kept his voice very matter-of-fact as he went on. “The sooner I complete the research, the sooner I’ll be off the ranch.”
She turned her head slowly toward him. Her dark Disney-princess eyes were blank. “That would be grand.”
Grand? “I’ve apologized. You’ve got to understand the situation was—”
“I understand that you’re a liar. I understand that you only care about yourself. I understand that I’m going to have to lead you out into the desert again because I refuse to have your death on my head, and I want you gone as soon as possible.”
“Then we’re in agreement.”
“In agreement, that you’re a...a...jerk? Then yes.”
“You have to see it from my viewpoint.”
“No. I don’t.” She sliced through the air with her hand, swatting away his words, her eyes once again on the road. “Gwen and Stanley were clear about their expectations. Here are mine: I will be your guide. I will care for the animals and ensure that we have enough supplies. That is all.”
“All right.”
“I will hold you to completing your research by your deadline. Finally, I expect that you will keep anything that was not professional about our previous relationship to yourself?”
“Of course. In any case, that had nothing to do with this.”
“God. You really are a cowboy. Only a cowboy could be so bullheadedly stubborn in not understanding that lying about his past and his name is the same as saying that I was just any old warm body in the night.” She looked away from the windshield to stare at him.
Oh, God, the hurt in her wide-eyed glance tightened his stomach in self-loathing. It was for the best that all of this had come out and that she was ending things. He wanted to make sure that there was no going back. “What are those rodeo women called? Buckle bunnies?”
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Don’t say another word.”
Good. He’d really made her mad now. She wouldn’t imagine that they could have any sort of personal relationship. She would thank him for that when she figured out that he hadn’t given up on finding the cache, no matter what she or the university thought.
Chapter Ten
; “Tell me you can’t come and take care of Cat,” Lavonda said to Olympia as soon as the other woman answered the phone.
“Okay. I can’t take care of Cat. Why am I saying this?” A faint “yes we can” in a young male voice came through the phone.
Lavonda paced in her room, ignoring Cat’s glare. “Is that Cal?”
“You know how he feels about that animal. Really, why am I not able to take care of her?”
“I’m supposed to take Dr. Kincaid out on the trail. If I can’t find someone to care for the animals, I won’t be able to do that.” It wasn’t the best of excuses, but Lavonda would take anything to stay at the ranch while Jones went out into the desert and he wandered there like Moses, for all she cared. She should never have agreed to guide him in the first place. It might have been her hormones talking and she had put those in their place now.
“Dr. Kincaid...” Olympia paused. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I told you the eminent archaeologist residing at Hacienda Bunuelos will be out in the desert and needs a guide. Me.”
“That’s the same kilted guy that you—”
“He’s the professor being hosted by the university that owns the ranch.”
“Stop, Lavonda. Tell me what’s going on or I’m packing everyone up—including the puppy—and coming for a visit.”
“Cat heard that,” Lavonda said, stalling. She looked at the feline, who really did have extra menace in her stare.
“If that threat doesn’t work, I’m pulling out the big guns. I’ll tell Jessie or...your mother.”
Lavonda cracked. She should be better than this. A professional businesswoman should have more backbone than to cave at the thought of someone calling her mother. She told Olympia about the meeting in Gwen’s office, about Jones’s—or should she say Ross’s—lies, and the most telling fact: Dolly-Acropolis.
“I can see why he might not want to broadcast he’d found dolls instead of gold,” Olympia finally said.
“He lied.”
“So?”
Lavonda could almost hear the shrug through the phone. “Let me say it again. He. Lied.”