by Nina Bruhns
"So, I suppose you want to do it again?" she said as they approached the front door.
His head jerked up. "Huh?"
His thoughts must have been written all too plainly on his face, for a blush ripped over hers and she quickly looked away.
They had always been totally in sync with each other, knowing instinctively what the other was thinking. Not that there'd been a huge variety of topics. After about age fifteen, they'd been pretty well confined to one.
Some things never changed.
She cleared her throat. "I meant, you'll want to take charge again."
He couldn't help smiling as the blush deepened.
"In the office." Her fluster further increased, but she put an end to it by rolling her eyes. "Tell you what, this time I'll do the talking." She reached for the door.
"Wait. I—" Before he realized what he was doing, he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. "Oh, cara. What can I do? Tell me what to do to make this all better."
"Help me get my artifacts back," she said. "And then—" She stopped short of saying it, but he knew the words she'd been about to say. "Go away?"
"That would be best."
She said it with such firm conviction he thought maybe she wasn't just trying to convince him, but herself as well. For the first time since the day he'd talked to the high school reunion committee, he felt a glimmer of hope.
"Will you forgive me before I leave?"
She looked away, her expression going fragile. She shivered, as if a chill wind had swept down from the glaciers glittering on the mountains above them. "I don't know," she murmured, and went through the door.
* * *
She was holding up pretty well, Roman thought as he watched RaeAnne pace back and forth. All things considered.
Toby and the gang had thrown the place into a bit of a commotion with their arrival and transfer of the stolen boxes. The Board of Trustees wasn't used to dealing with this kind of thing. Their main function was to consider issues that impacted native people in the whole Owens Valley—economic development and broad political questions—not small-time archaeological digs or rogue teenagers trying to flex their cultural muscles. Archaeological concerns were generally dealt with on a state level, or even federally, such as with the Smithsonian's ongoing talks on the subject.
Still, Roman knew firsthand that academics digging up human remains struck a mighty sore spot with most Indian people, so he wasn't surprised that the Board Chairman was reluctant to turn the boxes back over to RaeAnne. And certainly not without very careful consideration by the whole Board. There would be far-reaching local political implications regardless of what they chose to do.
Roman and RaeAnne were waiting for the Chairman to contact the rest of the Board, to see when that meeting might take place. She was hoping for this afternoon. Roman knew better. However, he wasn't about to say anything to annoy her any more than she already was.
The Chairman's office door opened and the distinguished-looking older man appeared. Immediately RaeAnne turned to him, anxious impatience sparking in her eyes, but to her credit, she didn't jump all over him with questions. She waited as he handed a small sheaf of papers to his secretary and spoke a few low words to her, then approached them in an unhurried manner.
"Have you made a decision?" she asked nervously.
"There is one more member I must speak with," he said, his voice pleasant and melodic. "He is a salesman and travels."
"Okay," RaeAnne replied uncertainly. "Any idea when that might happen?"
The older man gave her a smile. "I will keep trying."
She exhaled. Roman felt a touch of pride when she didn't give vent to her irritation, but just said, "Thank you. I know you're very busy."
The Chairman then turned to him, pinning him with a considering gaze. "Roman Santangelo, I would speak with you."
With that he headed back to his office, giving Roman little choice but to follow. He lifted his palms at RaeAnne, who looked none too happy about being excluded.
"I knew your father," the Chairman began when Roman had taken a seat opposite the desk nameplate that said Robert Campanelli, Paiute Tribal Chairman. "A long time ago."
So that's what this was about. His father. Roman made an effort not to look pained. He just nodded and accepted a small cup of coffee.
The old man studied him for a long while, so Roman took the opportunity to do a little studying of his own. The Chairman's silver hair was even longer than Roman's, but unlike his, was caught in a meticulously braided ponytail which hung down his flannel-shirted back. He wore jeans, clean and well-pressed. The sun pouring in through the window glinted off the polish on his black cowboy boots.
Finally, after each had taken measure of the other, the old man said, "It embarrasses you to be your father's son."
"No." It wasn't embarrassment Roman felt, it was shame.
All right, maybe a little embarrassment, too. Over reaping the lifelong benefits of having a hero for a father, when in reality the man was nothing but a common murderer. If he had to sit through another long recitation of Hector Santangelo's bravery and invaluable contributions to the American Indian Movement he might just have to be sick.
Luckily, the Chairman seamlessly changed the subject. "About these artifacts." He leaned back in his buckskin-covered office chair and motioned at a stack of cardboard boxes piled neatly against the wall. "What's your interest in them?"
The old guy watched him like a hawk. His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and his nose bent in an elegant hook, giving his face an air of authority and distinction. This was not a man to be trifled with.
"I have no personal interest in the artifacts," Roman said. "But I grew up with RaeAnne, and she would do nothing to disrespect our heritage. If she says these are not Indian remains, they are not Indian remains. I would think twice about letting a hotheaded boy turn this into a high-profile political battle. My opinion is that this is not the time to stand and fight."
The Chairman inclined his head. "I will consider what you say. In the meantime, I suggest you take your lady home. I doubt there will be a decision this afternoon. You can call later to find out when we'll be meeting."
Roman thought briefly of breaking his cover and telling the Chairman of his affiliation with the FBI. He could easily claim jurisdiction and confiscate the boxes on FBI authority. But he'd rather not have that come out. His next quest would be difficult enough without everyone knowing he worked for what most Indian people felt was the enemy.
"I doubt there's a phone at the dig, but we'll drop by later to find out what's happening," he said, easing out of his chair.
As they exchanged final pleasantries, the older man captured his gaze. "Sometimes people and situations are not what they appear to be, even to the firmest believer. The truth is always there for us to find, if we just open our eyes. But beware, the truth can be dangerous."
Roman could only hope the Board would see the truth of this particular situation, and do the right thing to keep RaeAnne out of any more danger from reckless teenage boys.
But as they stepped into the outer room, a nagging feeling came over him, that the old man wasn't referring to RaeAnne and her artifacts at all. Still, what else could he possibly be talking about?
RaeAnne stopped pacing when she saw them emerge. He could tell she was burning up with curiosity, but again she said nothing.
"I will speak with you later, then."
"Yes. Thanks again for your help." Roman shook the Chairman's hand, then casually put his arm around RaeAnne. She stiffened, but didn't protest. Not until he'd led her outside.
She slid out from under his arm. "What was that for?"
"Show of solidarity, personal connection. United front and all that."
She eyed him warily. "And are we? A united front?"
"God, I hope so." He pushed out a breath. "I'm taking a leap of faith, here, Rae, that you're the same ethical, principled woman you were when I knew you."
She bristled
. "Of course I am. If anything—"
He held up his hands. "I never doubted it, or I wouldn't just have put myself way out on a limb for you.
She halted before climbing into the Jeep. "You did? What did the Chairman want?"
Good question. "Let's drive."
"Okay, give," she shouted a few minutes later, undaunted by the noisy rush of the wind as the open Jeep sped along the highway.
He looked over at her and was simply mesmerized. Back-dropped by a blurry green streak of roadside vegetation and a frame of faded red metal, her blond hair whipped around her face in a tangle of curls and strands. A small frown marred her forehead, but otherwise she was the picture of confidence. He'd always liked that about her—that she took life by the horns and dealt with it head-on. No artifice. No whining. Just pure competence wrapped in a bone-deep femininity that had nothing to do with batting eyelashes or ploys of helplessness. A femininity all the more seductive because of her strength.
"He knew my father," he shouted back.
The frown disappeared. "You're kidding! That's great! I mean, it is, isn't it? He'll cut us a break then, right?"
Roman shrugged, savoring the little spin of joy her use of the word 'us' set off in his heart. Trying hard not to let his ambivalence about his father ruin the moment. "I suppose."
"What's wrong?" Again, that instinctive knowing.
"A while back I found out some things about my father."
"What kind of things?"
"Things I wish I hadn't found out."
There was a pause while she digested that. His fateful discoveries had come well after she'd left Rincon. "You want to talk about it?"
It was just like her to ask, despite the strain between them. And he'd wanted to talk about it forever. The only ones who knew the truth were himself and the FBI. And his mother, of course, who'd been the one to tell him. She'd held the awful secret in her heart all that time since his father had had to disappear, back when Roman was just six. She'd told him his father was dead. Everyone thought he was dead. A dead hero.
Yeah, Roman had wanted to talk about it. Talk to RaeAnne, whom he could tell everything and know she'd understand. Comfort him. Hold him in her arms and rock him until the hurt dulled and the betrayal didn't seem like it would kill him. But he'd driven her away from all she'd known and loved, and had no right to claim her comfort now.
"Maybe someday."
She nodded and fell silent for the rest of the trip back to Cleary Hot Springs. They approached the cabin, and he spotted the Harley lying on its side in the dirt, his black leather jacket draped over it like a cloth covering a dead victim.
"So," she said, following his gaze, "you'll be leaving now."
Something in the way she said it made him reply, "No."
He hadn't meant to say no. He'd realized in the first minute forgiveness wasn't in the cards. He should leave now, before he got even more drawn into this stupid artifact thing with the Chairman—a man who made him distinctly uncomfortable. And especially before he got more involved with RaeAnne.
"What do you mean, no?"
"I promised we'd both go back later to see what the Board decides. I'll stay till then."
The frown came back with a vengeance. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Me, neither. But I'm doing it anyway."
"All right. Fine," she said, a muscle jumping in her cheek. "But don't expect me to entertain you. I've got work to do."
She disappeared into the cabin and he went to take care of the bike. He raised it and wheeled it to a spot in back of the cabin, hidden from view, where he lovingly checked it for bumps and bruises. After a long moment of indecision, he lifted his pack and bedroll from the back of the seat and headed round front. The Sierras were notorious for sudden afternoon squalls, and he'd just as soon keep his kit dry.
"Rae?"
He stuck his head in the cabin door, but the room was empty. He slipped in, set his things against a wall and looked around. It was ancient, but neat and as clean as a hundred-year-old stone cabin could get. One room served as kitchen, living room and bedroom. But before he could investigate further, his astonished gaze landed on the full-size bed taking up an entire corner. It was covered by a beautiful Navajo blanket. The one he'd bought for her.
He closed his eyes against the deluge of memories that flooded through him, seeing it there on her bed. Memories of the soft scratchy feel of the rough weave on his bare skin, of the musky scent of natural wool mixed with the sweet perfume of young love. Of the first time he'd peeled away her clothes, inch by torturous inch, to reveal a sight that had awed and humbled him, and filled him with a jumble of tumultuous, tender emotions that had completely undone his sham of youthful male worldliness.
Emotions he'd only experienced with her.
"What are you doing?"
Her suspicious demand tried to rock him out of the old feelings. Tried, and failed. He turned to look at her in the doorway, and all he could think of was that he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her so badly his whole body ached with it.
Unbidden, his feet started across the warped and uneven heart pine floor, toward her. Just once before he left, he had to touch her. Feel his lips on hers. Taste her.
Just one more time. Before he left her forever.
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
Roman advanced on RaeAnne for the second time in as many hours. Blind panic seized her in its icy grip. Ohlord-ohlord-ohlord. He was going to kiss her.
She couldn't move, she couldn't think. She couldn't do anything at all except watch him get closer and closer, his intent written all over his handsome face.
If she could have found her voice she would have screamed loud and long against his impudence. But it eluded her. The best she could manage as his hands reached out and cradled her cheeks and his face lowered to hers was a mute whimper of protest. Or maybe of bliss.
His lips met hers as softly as a sigh. They hovered there, barely touching her, as the taste and feel of him whispered through her like the haunting of an old, familiar ghost. She wanted to press herself into him, relive every angle, every muscle, every secret hollow of his hard male flesh. But she didn't dare move.
Trembling, she breathed in the seductive smell of him, bubbles of yearning bursting in every cell of her body.
Bliss. Definitely bliss.
The pressure of his lips increased infinitesimally and his chest brushed against hers. Her nipples hardened in ardent recognition, and her heart beat wildly. Just as it had the first time he'd kissed her.
She'd been fourteen, her body blossoming, along with scary, exciting new feelings. They'd been at a football game, strolling under the bleachers toward the snack booth, when he'd looked down and stopped her with a dark, smoldering gaze. And suddenly she'd known. Her best friend, the remarkable boy who'd teased her and taught her how to fish, who'd taunted when she cried at Hallmark commercials and driven her crazy dating girls his own age, had known all along how she felt about him, and felt exactly the same way about her.
And then he'd kissed her. Right there, in front of Tanya and Cole and half the kids in their high school. He'd taken her face in his hands and kissed her, just as tenderly as he was doing now. And her heart had melted completely. She'd known then they were meant to be together. Known with the conviction and naiveté of the young and innocent that they were destined to go through life as best friends and faithful lovers.
That kiss had changed everything.
And this kiss was fast threatening to do the same.
It was crazy. She was being stupid and gullible. And what about Philip? But she couldn't pull away. Not just yet. It was the gentlest, most tender, poignant kiss she'd ever been gifted with. Roman's lips brushed over hers, back and forth, back and forth, softly rekindling fires that had lain dormant, deep inside, since the last time he'd swept over her like wildfire.
What was she doing? She had to stop. Not just because of Philip, but for her own sake. T
his had to stop!
As if he heard her inner plea for sanity, he stopped. He lifted his mouth, taking the warmth of the day with him.
Her soul cried out with loss, craving the heat and the love this incredible man had once shown her. He gazed into her eyes, and in them she saw pain, confusion and hunger.
It was the hunger that finally stirred some sense back into her—a hunger she herself had been running from for such a long, long time.
She'd found him inside the cabin staring at her Navajo blanket, no doubt shocked to see she'd kept it. She almost hadn't. She'd gotten as far as accepting a hefty check from a Los Angeles collector before she'd realized there was no way in hell she could give it up. It had then taken years of purposefully lying beneath its heavy warmth to purge the memories it held. To be able to fall asleep without picturing some random adventure or milestone they'd shared together, with it spread beneath them. Or fingering the small, nearly invisible addition giving him her virginity had left upon its design.
She should have gotten rid of the accursed blanket when she'd had the chance.
"Cara—"
"I have to get back to work," she said past the lump in her throat and turned, making herself walk calmly down the cabin steps and across the meadow, toward the spot where she was currently digging. Away from him and that damned blanket.
Except he followed her. Hands in his pockets, he watched as she collected her tools and buckets from the giant plastic storage bin she kept at the works, and hopped two feet down into the pit of unit 27G.
To the untrained eye, 27G probably looked like just some hole in the ground—rather like an open grave, except perfectly square—its dirt bottom reluctantly yielding up its old debris. But to her, it was beautiful. With carefully scraped, plumb-to-the-millimeter sides and a bricklayer-level floor, 27G had already yielded up a gold mine of fascinating and useful finds and information. RaeAnne only hoped she'd get G's artifacts back soon, along with all the rest.
She tamped down a spurt of renewed anger at Toby for his misguided cultural "rescue" and gingerly knelt down in the bottom of the square. Pointedly ignoring Roman, who was peering down at her from behind the taut guide string that marked the perimeter of the unit, she began working. She could easily take the floor down another five or ten centimeters in depth before they had to leave for Bishop again.