Читать книгу The Accidental Cowboy - Heidi Hormel - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“Damn it,” Jones said into his mobile two days after landing at the ranch from hell. “What do you mean you can’t make it for another month?”

“Just what I said,” replied the experienced guide, the one who had his payment in full.

“What about the money?”

“I’ll return it.”

“I had bloody well better see that money back in my account within the week.”

“Seeing as how that account is in England—”

“Scotland.”

“Whatever. It may just take extra time. No reason to blow a gasket.”

“I will expect the funds in the account within the week. I know you know how because you asked for me to electronically transfer the cash in the first place.”

“You see—”

“I don’t want excuses. I expect the money returned. If I must get a solicitor involved—”

“This ain’t Nevada, and I never had to pay for that.”

What was the man babbling about? Then his brain made the connection. “A solicitor is an attorney. I did not mean paying for sex.” Maybe he was fortunate this man could not guide him after all. “What?”

“I said now that I think on it, I’m pretty certain the contract said no refunds.”

“I can’t imagine that would hold up in court, since you are in breach of the contract.”

“Whatever. I can’t take ya.” The line went dead.

What the hell could he do now? He’d suspected there was a problem when he had been unable to reach his allegedly professional guide. He’d made assumptions about the man’s abilities and reliability. He should have done more research, and he would have if this had been one of his usual research trips. So much more than the discovery of a little piece of an academic puzzle was riding on it.

He squinted against the sun and put the mobile back in his pocket. He’d come outside to get a better signal and to ensure there was absolutely no chance Lavonda could overhear him, no matter if she was in her own rooms. He had to be discreet about exactly where he was going and what he was doing. As far as both universities understood, the bulk of his research would investigate the Hohokam and their use of beans as an alternate source of protein, and would not involve looking for a long-lost treasure. Jones could, using a local satnav system, probably go forward with his work. He’d wanted a local guide so he didn’t run afoul of either the US government or the local Native American tribes. His recent string of bad luck had him on edge.

This secret expedition had to end well. In the course of his usual life, Jones would have dismissed the journals he’d found, purportedly from an early-twentieth-century Kincaid home here in Arizona. He wasn’t living his usual life, though. Everything had unraveled when his big find, the one that should have gotten him full status at the university, as well as a chairmanship, had led to a cairn filled with discarded, valueless children’s toys. Unearthing the fabled Kincaid’s Cache with its statuary and gold would redeem him in more ways than one.

If looking for agricultural evidence was the only thing on his agenda, he’d have just called the university for a new guide. He couldn’t afford any extra scrutiny of his expedition, especially from his brother.

“Something wrong?” Lavonda asked, strolling from the back of the house, her head tilted to the side and the bright sun sparking off her sleek fall of hair.

“No,” he said, drawing out the word as his mind turned over potential solutions.

“Hmm...well, you might not want to stand in the sun without a hat. Do you have on sunscreen?” Her wide-eyed gaze scanned him up and down with clinical interest.

“I’m fine.” Not only would he have to rely on his own satnav system if hared off on his own, the guide had promised to bring the transport.

“You leave tomorrow, right? For how long?”

“A change of plans. I won’t be leaving tomorrow.”

“So when will you be going?”

“That is yet to be determined.”

She frowned. “Humph.” It was a little pixie snort. How could he think that was cute, even endearing? Maybe he did need a hat.

“There’s a colleague I must ring,” he lied, to move her along.

“I’m going out to check one of the Hohokam sites. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

He couldn’t decide what she was trying to imply. “Absolutely. What site?”

“One with petroglyphs and a couple of metate corn grinders. Part of my duties as caretaker. I go out and make sure nothing has been damaged or needs stabilization. It’s a restricted area, but there have been problems in the past. I also keep my eyes on the saguaros. The big ones get rustled.”

Did she want him to come with her? Did he want to go? Yes, he decided. It would be better than second-guessing his just-this-minute decision to explore on his own. In fact, going out with her would be a good way to get the lay of the land. “Why don’t I come with you? The metates could be associated with the bean culture.” The more he thought about it, the better this decision became. He could use his own satnav for coordinates if he saw any of the landmarks noted in the journal.

“It’ll be pretty boring, and I’m walking.”

“I’m used to physical activity.”

“Walking in the desert is not tossing trees.”

He ignored her comment. “I’ll need to change footwear and get my lucky hat.”

She sighed heavily. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

Maybe the guide canceling wasn’t part of his curse. Could his luck be changing?

* * *

“WHAT IS THAT?” Jones asked Lavonda, pointing at Reese. The tiny donkey’s long ears drooped and his stubby brush tail flicked at an imaginary fly.

“This is our pack mule...well, burro.” Lavonda patted the animal. She didn’t want his feelings hurt. He might only be as tall as a good-sized Great Dane, but he had the ego of a Clydesdale.

Jones’s face went from annoyed to amused and back to annoyed, but he said nothing. She’d already noticed that he was standoffish, not unlike the executives she’d worked with as a highly paid corporate communications specialist. She could suck it up and be nice. She’d definitely learned to do it before.

“You’ll thank Reese when we unpack the water and snacks. Plus, this little guy needs the exercise and experience.” She clucked to get the burro moving. She heard the scuff of Jones’s boots following them. “Did you know that saguaro cacti only grow in the Sonoran Desert and the arms don’t appear until the plant is about seventy years old?”

“Yes. As part of my preparations for this trip, I did internet research on the region.”

Not friendly but factual. She could live with that.

“Your...what did you call it?” He gestured at her pack animal.

“Reese. And he’s a he...or was a he.”

“Is he a native of the region?”

She went on to explain how burros, aka donkeys, were used by miners and then turned loose to become feral. Reese had descended from those intrepid little animals. “My sister, Jessie, has a therapeutic riding program for children with medical challenges. She’s considering burros for cart work.”

“Cart work?”

“Pulling children in carts or buggies. Especially the younger kids who may be too small to ride a pony. The burros’ size also makes them less intimidating. They’re very, very smart and affectionate.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type of beast a cowgirl like you would defend.”

“I’m not a real cowgirl. Not anymore.” She closed her mouth fast. She didn’t want to talk about this with a stranger.

“You live in Arizona on a ranch, and—”

“That doesn’t make you a cowgirl,” she shot back. What the hell? She knew how to keep quiet even when provoked. She’d been the spokeswoman when her company had been at the center of a media crap storm, and she hadn’t let the press rattle her. Here she was ready to lose her cool with a professor studying beans. She turned to Reese and gave herself a moment to relax. This man was from Scotland. Of course he didn’t understand that being a cowgirl was more than a hat and boots.

“Are you sure your burro is up to this outing?”

She refocused on small talk. “Reese learned that looking pathetic would get him out of work with his last owner. The college just recently received the property as a bequest. He and Cat came with it. There’s a goat, too, but she’s out eating her weight in tumbleweeds.”

“Quite a menagerie.”

“At least we don’t have a javelina.”

“Are they related to scorpions?” he asked straight-faced, though she could see that he was trying to...flirt? No way.

“My friend Olympia’s stepson rescued one and called it Petunia. You know, like the pig in the cartoon? Except they’re not pigs, even though people call them wild pigs. They’re peccaries, a big rodent...sort of.”

“Your friend allowed her stepson to adopt a rat?”

She had to smile at that. Petunia and all javelinas looked like hairy, long-nosed pigs. “Much cuter than any rat I’ve ever seen, especially Petunia. I’m sure she’s back in the wild by now. That was their agreement. Actually, in the wild, they can be a problem, especially the boars that get very aggressive.”

“Any other deadly creatures? Or ones that are called one thing but are really another?”

“Most wild things run when they see or smell a human.” She looked at the familiar pile of boulders. “We’ll need to go up there. That’s where the rock drawings I need to check are.”

“The petroglyphs,” he corrected.

“The petroglyphs are scattered throughout the area, along with metates.” Did he think she was stupid because she had breasts?

He hummed an answer, squinting up at the outcropping. “This region has been inhabited for more than two thousand years. The people created the necessary irrigation techniques. There are indications of widespread agriculture.” He sounded so stilted. “Perhaps I’ll see evidence of bean production in the drawings.”

Really, who studied beans? Men like Jones did, along with a number of the faculty her friend and president of the college Gwen had introduced her to. That’s when Gwen had asked Lavonda to work her PR magic in addition to her caretaking duties. Gwen hoped a little notice by the press of the Angel Crossing campus would lead to better funding. The professors and researchers had tunnel vision when it came to their fields of study. She was glad she didn’t have to try to make his bean research interesting to the general public.

“Perhaps,” she finally said.

“You said this area is protected? By the college?”

They continued their way up the slope on the barely discernable path. “The ranch house has national historic landmark status. The college had been approached about protecting the acreage with a federal designation.”

“Why would the ranch be considered ‘historic’?”

Could the man get more annoying? Or maybe he was really interested in the answer. She looked at him closely. His head was cocked a little to the side and softness curved his lips. Not that she was looking all that closely. “After the woman from Georgia, it was owned by Arizona’s first ‘official’ cowgirl. She might have beat out Annie Oakley if they’d ever met.”

“That’s quite a claim, from what I understand.”

“I’ve seen the stats and the pictures. She was good. She had a way with horses, too. She could ride anything, even competed as a bareback bronc rider...when the cowboys would let her.” Lavonda said. “When I was competing, she was the kind of cowgirl I was trying to live up to, not afraid to go up against the boys.” She shut up, not sure why all of that had come spilling out. No one wanted to hear her own ancient history.

“You rode broncs?” He looked more than a little surprised.

“You only have to hold on.”

“I believe there’s more to it than that.”

“Not much, and being short was an advantage. Low center of gravity.”

“Interesting,” he said with a crooked smiled, then asked with an eye on the donkey, “Is there a problem with the burro?”

She pulled on Reese’s rope to get him moving again. “I wonder what the lady from Georgia thought when they found these drawings. Or even the cowgirl?”

“Sorry. Not my area of expertise, unfortunately.”

Maybe he wasn’t such a stick-up-his-rear academic. He’d actually smiled and nearly laughed. She’d always been a sucker for a man who could laugh at the world and himself. Sort of like she was a sucker for a man in a kilt or out of it—whoa! He was a colleague and temporary lodger. She had to stop remembering brushing against him and the charge of something a little dark and a lot exciting. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like that. Maybe never.

“Come on. You’ll probably want to spend a while looking around, and I need to write up my report.” She led Reese up the incline toward the drawings that decorated the wall just to the left of an overhang of red and dusty beige rock.

“Report?”

“I might be a ‘civilian’ but I am more than capable of providing the college with my assessment of the area.”

He nodded, then asked, “Are there multiple locations with drawings and obvious signs of habitation?”

“This one is the closest to the ranch. There are more extensive ones a day’s walk away. Others aren’t in restricted areas, so I get to those in the ranch pickup or on horseback.”

He looked away before he said, with a return to clinical stiffness, “My research focuses on the diet of late Bronze Age man—”

“And woman,” she added because his tone hit her “annoy” button again—she’d thought she’d disconnected it after years in the corporate world. She needed to work on that, especially if she planned to return to a corporate job...eventually.

“And woman. Technically the Americas did not have a Bronze Age. There was no bronze until after the colonial period. I’m specifically interested in how legumes entered the diet here.”

Jeez! Just when she’d thought he wasn’t a pompous professor. “Hmm,” she said, a noise that could mean anything.

“Pardon me. You’re not a student and you probably know more about the area and its early inhabitants than I do.”

Whoa, Nellie! Down, girl. Sure he’d just said she had intelligence and had apologized, but her only job was to act as hostess and not a hostess with benefits. If he wanted that, then he could drive himself to Nevada. Still in his utilitarian khakis—and she knew exactly what they were hiding—he had a certain charm.

* * *

JONES LOOKED UP the incline, not paying much attention to the flora, fauna or prehistoric graffiti. All he noticed was the very fine swing of the pixie’s hips as she led her pixie-sized donkey. He should feel awkward, like a giant in her miniature world. Her car—a Mini Cooper—matched her undersize lifestyle. Instead, he got that same low-in-the-gut heat that had stirred when she’d brushed up against him that day with the scorpion. Randy came to mind to describe his state. He shook his head as he moved again. His brain certainly wasn’t working at full capacity if he was coming up with Victorian descriptions of his state of...interest. He watched her more closely. Was that a natural swing? Or did she know that he was watching?

“Which group does the department at the university attribute these drawings to?” he asked as he drew close to her and the overhang that created a shallow cave-like space.

“They don’t have a specific group but have dated the area’s settlement to around 400 CE.”

“Hmm.” She proved to him again that she was more than a cute pixie-sized cowgirl. She was a woman with intelligence.

“The college recently received the property and hasn’t funded any formal explorations, although the sites have been documented over the years.” She dropped the donkey’s lead rope. She pointed and said, “Right there, see?”

He moved up beside her, close enough to touch. The hairs on his arms stood at attention. He looked over her head to faint white markings just to the left of the shaded overhang, stepping around her and forward so his back was to her. He stared at the drawings, mentally going through the list of British kings, starting with Alfred the Great. By the time he got to Ethelred the Unready, he had everything under control and could look at her again. “What do they symbolize?” He pointed to a zigzag pattern.

She shrugged. “There’s been a lot of speculation. Water or maybe wind or the deity for one of those elements. There are researchers who think that the glyphs are astrological, like Stonehenge.”

He snorted. Stonehenge. He’d not get started on that. “Are there more?”

She nodded and moved into the shallow cave and the deep shadows. “It’s cooler here, too. This is where I planned to stop for lunch. You explore. I’ll get the packs from Reese.”

Lavonda turned from him and wiped her palms down the sides of her jeans. Was she nervous? She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who was squeamish about bugs or animals that might be hiding in dark places. She nearly tripped on the uneven rocks on her way to the animal. Then she stopped, straightened her back and easily took off the smaller cooler tied to the burro’s saddle. That didn’t seem very Wild West, as he’d imagined it when he was a boy. Maybe because they weren’t in the Wild West. They had mobiles, satnav and sunscreen.

He turned back to the wall with its faint but still-visible drawings. He moved farther to the right and closer to the end of the overhang where a shallow indentation had been made by someone. How old was it and what had this been used for? His archaeologist’s interest was piqued. He heard Lavonda talking to Reese. He walked slowly, not disturbing anything. Then he caught dull silver, glinting in the sunlight that barely reached under the overhang. A twenty-first-century drink can—or something older? He reached into his pocket for his mobile and the flashlight app. He shone it into the cave’s dark corners.

“What did you find?” Lavonda’s hushed voice whispered over his skin.

“Probably nothing, but I saw... Ah, just there.” He pointed a little to the right and up on the wall.

Lavonda moved closer and a shiver of awareness skittered through him. Distracted for a moment, the flashlight beam swung wildly.

“Did you see something?” She touched his forearm briefly, her small fingers leaving a heated impression.

“Not yet,” he said calmly, as if he was in a lecture hall and not standing next to an enchanted pixie, maybe a leannán sí who’d taken possession of his body like a succubus out of a Scottish fairy tale. He concentrated on the beam of light and what had caught his eye.

“There it is.” Her arm shot out to point. She leaned in farther. Her breasts brushed against the outside of his arm.

It took all of his concentration to keep the light steady. “Yes.” He made himself move closer to the glint and away from her warmth, carefully moving his feet to minimize any disturbance of the site. Habit. He needed that habit to keep his brain working. Otherwise, all he would think about was the pixie hovering by him, her darkly sweet scent of molasses and...oats? He looked over his shoulder and noticed the little donkey, his ears standing up and watching the two of them. “Your animal. Is he loose?”

“What?”

He gestured with his head, savoring again the brush of her light touch on his arm as she turned to deal with the animal. As he got closer to what he’d glimpsed, he saw exactly what had been reflecting the light. Another niche, this one definitely enlarged by a tool. He ran his fingers over the surface, noting the notches in the stone. The mica and pyrite in the stone had created the flashes of light. The blackened spots made it clear a candle or other light source had occupied the niche. That made sense with the reflective—

“Oh, that’s amazing,” Lavonda said, once again close.

“This cave has been used before.”

“Oh, yeah. Any place that gives you shelter from the sun has been used. If not by the Tohono O’odham or Pascua Yaqui, then by ranchers, missionaries or animals. It’s important to have shelter in the desert, even the high desert.”

He nodded, lost in the crackling heat that surrounded her like the auras around the saint statues that filled every Arizona mission. Is that what the artists had been trying to portray? What was he thinking? This was not a divine feeling. This was the basest of urges. He stepped away from the raw, overwhelming urge that unbalanced him. “I’m sure the university has mapped and noted this location.”

He’d traveled to Arizona to save his reputation and to finally be seen as his own man and not just the younger Kincaid brother. To do that, he needed to keep his distance from everyone, especially Lavonda. His secret could be discovered. He knew if she found out why he was really here, she would tell the college’s president. She was just that kind of woman—honest, forthright...a cowgirl. Remain aloof, separate, he told himself. Otherwise, he might just talk himself out of his plan. It would be easy enough to forget what was waiting for him in Scotland if he took her into his arms, if he kissed her like there was no tomorrow, if he... If he did absolutely nothing, they would both be better off, so that was what he would do.

“What’s for lunch?” he asked, turning from her and toward the sunshine slanting into the darkness, highlighting the miniature donkey whose head was buried in the open cooler. “I believe that Reese has beaten us to it.”