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The Accidental Cowboy
Heidi Hormel
COWBOY IN A KILTWhen former bronc rider Lavonda Leigh is asked to guide a Scottish archaeologist through the Arizona desert, she's expecting a fussy egghead. But then she discovers tall, strong Jones Kincaid competing at the local Highland games. She can’t help her interest in him—and that's before he puts on his cowboy hat and hits the trail like a pro.Jones is after more than he's letting on. His quest could clear a past scandal and let him live his dream—studying the old West. But as he spends time with Lavonda in this rugged landscape, he realizes that what he wants isn’t just academic: he yearns for a life with her on the ranch. If she discovers his deception, this professor-turned-cowboy will lose his reputation…and Lavonda, too.


COWBOY IN A KILT
When former bronc rider Lavonda Leigh is asked to guide a Scottish archaeologist through the Arizona desert, she’s expecting a fussy egghead. But then she discovers tall, strong Jones Kincaid competing at the local Highland games. She can’t help her interest in him—and that’s before he puts on his cowboy hat and hits the trail like a pro.
Jones is after more than he’s letting on. His quest could clear a past scandal and let him live his dream—studying the old West. But as he spends time with Lavonda in this rugged landscape, he realizes that what he wants isn’t just academic—he yearns for a life with her on the ranch. If she discovers his deception, this professor-turned-cowboy will lose his reputation...and Lavonda, too.
Jones watched her move with assurance to the donkey to unload a small cooler.
That didn’t seem very Wild West, as he’d imagined it as a boy. But they weren’t in the Wild West. They had cell phones and sunscreen.
He turned back to the wall. His archaeologist’s interest was piqued. He heard Lavonda talking to their donkey, but he didn’t catch what she said because he’d noticed something else. Accessing his 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... Ahh, just there.” He pointed.
Lavonda moved closer, and a shiver of awareness skittered through him. Distracted, he let the flashlight beam swing wildly.
“Did you see something?” She touched his forearm briefly, her small fingers leaving a heated impression.
“Not yet,” he said calmly, as though he was in a lecture hall and not standing next to an enchanted pixie, a leannán sí out of a Scottish fairy tale. He concentrated on the beam of light and what had caught his eye.
“There it is.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_5798e88f-2055-55ce-ac71-8b737d401bf2),
Welcome to Angel Crossing, Arizona—my new series set in a fictional town filled with heart and humor. It’s fitting that the first book in this series is about two people finding their way home. Lavonda Leigh (who showed up in both The Surgeon and the Cowgirl and The Convenient Cowboy) is back to being a cowgirl after years in the corporate world, and Scottish archaeologist Jones Kincaid is combing the desert for ancient treasure to save his career. These two never planned to stick around Angel Crossing, but they soon discover what home is in Arizona’s wide-open spaces and their own warm embraces.
Despite a very German name, I have quite a bit of Scots in my background and have traveled to the country of haggis and kilts a number of times. Something in the Scottish take on life reminds me of the cowboy attitude. Arizona is even home to an annual Highland games, which I’ve included in this book.
As my new series gets started off with a bagpipe and a yee-haw, I am already working on other stories of the men and women in Angel Crossing. No matter their backgrounds, they each find their place in this town that embraces change while staying true to its heart. Quite a feat.
If you want to know more about my inspirations and musings or want to drop me a note, check out my website and blog at heidihormel.net (http://www.heidihormel.net), where you also can sign up for my newsletter. Or connect with me at Facebook.com/authorheidihormel (http://facebook.com/authorheidihormel;); Twitter.com/heidihormel (http://Twitter.com/heidihormel); or Pinterest.com/hhormel (http://Pinterest.com/hhormel).
Yee-haw,
Heidi Hormel

The Accidental Cowboy
Heidi Hormel

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With stints as an innkeeper, radio talk show host and craft store manager, HEIDI HORMEL settled into her true calling as a writer by spending years as a reporter (covering the story of the rampaging elephants Debbie and Tina) and as a PR flunky (staying calm in the face of Cookiegate). Now she is happiest penning romances with a wink and a wiggle.
A small-town girl from the Snack Food Capital of the World, Heidi has trotted over a good portion of the globe, from Tombstone in Arizona to Loch Ness in Scotland to the depths of Death Valley. She draws on all of these experiences for her books, especially for her Angel Crossing, Arizona series.
Heidi is on the web at heidihormel.net (http://www.heidihormel.net), as well as socially out there at Facebook.com/authorheidihormel (http://Facebook.com/authorheidihormel); Twitter.com/heidihormel (http://Twitter.com/heidihormel); and Pinterest.com/hhormel (https://www.pinterest.com/hhormel/).
For the wonderfully amazing young men who allowed me to borrow their names and never complained.
Contents
Cover (#u6e1f7e57-1633-511a-9cc7-e1ffca6e7fee)
Back Cover Text (#ud2c021b4-7a54-5cae-b9af-cd8ec15c8057)
Introduction (#u8e8ae6fa-9c08-5981-8566-374f6de4db80)
Dear Reader (#ua53e7f8a-b658-5bf7-93da-ca658bca51fc)
Title Page (#ufd440c36-8c06-5c7f-9b6e-a9ae2e444d35)
About the Author (#u35d8b1a3-b4bf-59da-a3f2-94e84e80a047)
Dedication (#ubfb14c96-c13f-557c-828c-8c25cbba917b)
Chapter One (#ufda8a82e-061b-52ff-81df-793ea83b3d61)
Chapter Two (#ue2891339-65a3-5936-835a-e44ef8123d77)
Chapter Three (#u4b860fc8-6afe-5bbc-b642-ffdab80f3a26)
Chapter Four (#uece3ff6c-5c2b-588a-a686-35b75634a9be)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_ab7da3d7-4c63-5f47-9e1d-3ff7667fb193)
“Yep. He’s got the arms for it,” remarked the old woman, munching a churro and nodding down at the arena filled with kilts, kneesocks and T-shirts. Last week it had been bulls, broncs and cowboys.
The flash of a hairy leg and a swirling kilt didn’t excite Lavonda Leigh any more than the rest of her life did right now. She checked her phone for messages, a habit from working in corporate communications, where she’d been expected to be available 24-7. She glanced back at the ring, trying to decide which one of the men was the egghead she’d have to babysit for the community college that owned the ranch she’d been calling home. Even though Professor McNerdy would be staying at the ranch, too, they’d barely see each other because she lived in the cozy and private in-law quarters added in the 1970s to the rear of the hacienda-style house. Plus, he’d be out poking around the desert looking for ancient beans—that had to be the most boring research topic. A topic she was glad she didn’t have to spin into PR gold.
“That’s it. Next time you should watch and not text,” the other woman said with disapproval.
Lavonda ignored her and started down the metal bleachers to find the Scottish professor, who had insisted that he compete in the local Highland games with the college’s team. The group should’ve been easy to find in the sea of plaid. They’d be the ones in glasses with sunken chests and spindly arms. Judgmental? Yep. But she’d grown up with cowboys, and a bunch of academics just didn’t cut it in the he-man department.
Lavonda moved along with the small crowd. Were there Highland-game groupies, like rodeo-buckle bunnies? She finally saw the college’s distinctive lime-green canopy, shading a group of kilted men. No spindly arms, though. Maybe they were ringers. Did Highland games have ringers?
“Excuse me,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the manly rounds of congratulations. “I’m here to pick up Professor Kincaid.”
A juvenile ooh went through the assembled men. She shook her head. They sounded just like her brother and his friends, somewhere around junior high in emotional and social maturity.
“Hey, Jones,” a bearded behemoth shouted over his shoulder, “you’ve got a groupie.”
The others laughed and lifted their bottles of beer. Right. This was why cowboys had stopped appealing to her, despite their tight jeans, tilted hats and dusty shirts. Men plus beer equaled jerks.
“Just a moment,” a voice said from the other side of the shelter. “Must get my bag.”
She peered through the throng. Being short made that a little difficult since each man appeared to be the height of one of the logs they’d tossed. Really, what was the point of throwing a tree?
“Good afternoon, Ms. Leigh.” The voice was deep, with a Ewan McGregor accent.
A man nearly a foot taller than her, with arms and chest appropriately large enough to toss all the things that had just been tossed, strode over. He looked at her with eyes the deep, dark green of a ponderosa pine. “Lavonda,” she said automatically, holding out a hand and smiling. They must grow them big in Scotland. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Another chorus of masculine comments, including “That’s what she said,” which didn’t make any sense. This group might be more elementary school than junior high.
“I’m ready,” he said, trying to rearrange his longer-than-it-should-be auburn hair, a color just like a bay horse her dad had owned.
“I’ll say it so you guys don’t have to,” Lavonda said to the crowd of academics. “‘That’s what she said.’”
The professor looked down at her and squinted a little before leaning forward and whispering, “What does that mean? They’ve been saying that and I can’t quite—”
“I’ll explain in the car. You only have the one bag?”
“The others are being delivered.” He easily lifted the large duffel at his feet. His arm bulged nicely. No. Not nicely, Lavonda told herself. This was the man she was babysitting, nothing more.
* * *
LAVONDA HAD NEVER felt her Mini Cooper was small until Professor Kincaid—no, she was supposed to call him Jones—had wedged himself inside. Why hadn’t she brought the ranch pickup? They still had another thirty minutes or more stuck in her vehicle.
“You study beans, right?” she asked, hoping this conversation would go better than her attempts to explain “that’s what she said.”
“Yes. By examining the usage of foodstuffs, we can discern...”
He went on, but her brain had hit the pleasant autopilot where she could nod as needed without actually listening. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” From the silence, she knew she’d missed something.
“I asked about the other transportation at the ranch.”
“An old pickup, three horses and a donkey,” she said, glancing over at him and catching a look of annoyance.
“I need to make a call,” he said, and pulled a cell phone from the furry sporran, aka Scottish man-purse, which previously she’d only ever seen on someone dressed up at Halloween.
She’d been dismissed. She’d gotten used to it working with the movers and shakers in her corporate jobs, but that didn’t stop her from being miffed. She watched the road, ignoring the nearness of her passenger, the familiar odor of sweaty male combined with Jones’s own scent of dusty wool and cool, dark earth. She did not, however, find it sexy. Sexy to her nearly thirty-year-old self included a tailored jacket, starched shirt and silk tie, like Harvey Specter from Suits.
She glanced over, thinking his hair was too long and his prickly jaw too sharp. He was also too tall, probably even taller than her brother, Danny. Why had she gotten the short genes?
“I understand that you will be providing meals?”
That was news to her, but she’d promised her friend Gwen, the president of the college, she’d keep this man happy—within reason. “I can certainly do that,” she said calmly, while she scrambled to remember what food she had at the house.
“Then we will not need to stop for supplies.”
“Not unless there’s something specific that you like or need. The ranch isn’t close to any stores.”
“I am certain what you have will be fine until I get settled. I flew in this morning, and jet lag is catching up with me.”
“What? You went right from the airport to the stadium?”
“The team would have had to forfeit. If I hadn’t been here, then they would have been out of the running for the regional competition.”
She looked at him more closely. He did look a little droopy around the eyes. “I’ll make something quick for dinner.”
“Wonderful.”
She nodded and added, “I’ve moved into the in-law quarters. You’ll have the house to yourself.”
“That will work fine, although I plan to be in the field the majority of the time.”
“You do have a hat and sunscreen, right?”
“I’m not a tenderfoot.” He reached easily into the backseat and dug in his bag, pulling out a battered straw cowboy hat.
She hadn’t expected that.
“What?” Jones asked. “We’ve heard of cowboys in Scotland. This hat has been on every dig with me.”
“Surprised it’s made it this far. Jammed into your bag. Is that any way to treat it?”
He tilted the hat. “I didn’t want to forget it. It’s my lucky hat.”
She grinned, thinking, That’s what she said. Professional, she reminded herself. Make small talk. “Did you find that in London or have you been west before?”
“Edinburgh has its own Wild West street in Morningside.”
“I’d never have imagined. Is that where you became interested in Arizona and beans?”
His expression froze. “Something like that.”
He was lying. Why would he lie about that? Crap. She’d nearly missed the turnoff for the ranch. “Not long now,” she said, glancing over at the kilted giant in his cowboy hat. “Well, if you want to go to a rodeo or ride the range, let me know. I’ve got connections.” Connections that she’d mostly severed long ago, right after winning the teen bronc riding championship, but her brother or dad would show him around if she asked...nicely. Of course, then she’d be grilled about what she planned to do with her life. Right now, get this man home and into bed—that’s what she said.
* * *
LAVONDA LED HIM into the long, low, mud-colored ranch house, explaining that it had been on the property for nearly one hundred years. She acted as if that were a great deal of time. He didn’t point out the “new” part of his family home had been built before Arizona was even a territory.
“It doesn’t look like they’ve dropped off your other stuff,” she said as she opened the front door. “The delivery guys just leave whatever here on the front porch. The woman who built the house was originally from Georgia and insisted a house wasn’t a home without a porch, although she probably called it a ‘veranda.’”
He stepped into the dim house, feeling taller than usual. The ceilings didn’t soar and the pixie of a woman who, he’d been told, cared for the property barely reached his shoulder. His nose twitched. “Is that a cat?” he accused, pointing at a feline that was wider than it was tall.
“Um...yeah?” Lavonda said as she kept moving despite the cat’s yowl.
“Get it out.”
“Excuse me? That’s Cat.”
“I bloody well know it’s a cat.” He sneezed. “No one told me you had a bloody cat.”
“The cat’s name is Cat. Why would anyone tell you about her?”
“Because I’m allergic.” Usually cats just made him sneeze. He hadn’t had a full-blown asthma attack since he was a child. He stumbled outside where the desert heat hit him like an anvil in one of those American coyote cartoons. He leaned over and made himself breathe slowly out and in. The stress and jet lag had laid him low, obviously.
“Should I call nine-one-one?” Lavonda asked, her dark eyes even wider than usual.
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine in a moment, but you need to remove that animal.” The damned thing had followed them outside. He stepped away. It followed him, trying to rub against his stockinged leg. Dignity be damned, he danced away and batted at the feline.
“Cat,” Lavonda said, reaching forward, snatching up her pet and dumping it in the yard.
“Has that animal been living in the house?” He’d have to dose himself with antihistamines. Good thing he’d be out in the field soon.
“She usually hangs out in the barn with Reese. They are in one of those weird different-species friendships.”
Damn it. Why couldn’t one thing go smoothly today? Just one bleedin’ thing? “My allergy medication is in the cases that have not been delivered. We’ll need to take a trip to the shops after all.” His eyes itched, but he refused to give in and rub them. He should be right as rain with over-the-counter tablets.
Her frown quickly turned it into a smile. “Sure. Anything else? Maybe you should check the fridge to see what we’re missing.”
His stash of Hobnob biscuits was in the other luggage, too. This sort of day called for a pint and his favorite oat biscuits—or should he say cookies now that he was in the US? Why had he thought flying all night followed by an afternoon at the games would be a good idea? Because he was an ass, his brother would say. Actually, it was even worse. He’d mixed up the dates and thought the games were next week. When he’d figured out the mistake, it’d been too late to back out.
“Check the fridge, then we’ll run to the store,” Lavonda said with a patient smile.
He sneezed. Damned cat.
* * *
BY THE TIME they got back to the ranch, he was so tired that even the dusty ground in front of the house looked comfortable. On top of the jet lag, the medicine had made him drowsy and a little dizzy. Though that may have been from lack of food. He should have let her talk him into stopping at the caravan parked beside the road in town. She’d said it had the best tamales and fry bread. He’d just been too tired. He wanted a bed now. “Which is my room?”
“Any, really. They all have linens—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish, going to the nearest room and dropping his duffel on the floor, followed by his shirt, shoes, stockings and kilt. He should take a shower. He had a rank odor of travel and competition about him. Tomorrow. He’d do that tomorrow. He stepped forward, looked down and stopped.
“Lavonda.” He choked out the name, totally awake now. “Ms. Leigh.” His voice finally reached an adequate volume.
“Yes,” she said tentatively as she knocked on the door. “What did you need?”
“Come in, please.” He didn’t take his eyes from the creature on his foot.
“Did you forget to get something at the store? It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Damn,” she said suddenly with feeling. “It didn’t get you, did it?”
“No.”
“Good. The sting won’t kill you, but it hurts like heck. Let me think a second.” She stepped completely into the bedroom.
His foot twitched all on its own, and the mammoth insect moved. “It would seem logical that the job of caretaker include ensuring all vermin have been eliminated?” Good, Jones, upset the one person who can help you. Maybe he could just kick out his foot, except now the beast had scrambled onto his ankle.
* * *
LAVONDA STARED AT the nasty, pissed-off bug as the TV news crawl flashed through her mind: Scottish professor killed by rogue scorpion as caretaker does nothing. She could stamp on it. No. It had moved up his leg toward—she’d keep her gaze from moving farther up his almost naked body. “Don’t move.”
“I had not planned to. Maybe you could swat it away with a stick?”
That was a good suggestion. She looked around the room. Nothing here. “I’ll be right back.”
“Certainly.”
He was pale, though she wasn’t sure if that was a usual lack-of-sun complexion or the bug on his foot. She had to admit it took balls—no, that was wrong. It took courage to stand still like that. She looked at the courage in question... What was her problem? The man could die... Okay, probably not from a scorpion, but still. She had started out of the room, when Cat came streaking in, howling like an animal possessed.
“What the bloody—”
“Cat,” she yelled as the animal landed on his foot, batting the bug away and then pouncing on it like the puma she apparently thought she was. With a triumphant meow, she squashed the scorpion. The professor sneezed. Cat sat, looking regal and pleased above the mess of bug innards.
“I guess I don’t need that stick,” Lavonda said lamely. “Cat saved you.”
She looked up from Cat and her prey. Jones stood in just his underwear, limned in gold from the last rays of the setting sun as it sparked off the hairs on his arms and legs, all of him very fit and substantial.
“Perhaps...” He sniffed loudly, then sneezed.
“Of course,” she said, and as she lunged forward to get Cat, she brushed against—oh my, that wasn’t his thigh. That was his courage. She looked up into his watering and surprised eyes. “Sorry?” Only she wasn’t. Crap. The body part in question seemed to be ignoring the fact that he had just narrowly avoided death. She scurried back. He turned and groped on the floor for his kilt. He wrapped it around his waist and buckled it on. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about...
She snatched up Cat. “I’ll be back to clean up the mess,” she mumbled as she hurried from the room. She wasn’t a blusher, but she knew her face was flaming.
Cat yowled and Lavonda loosened her death grip on the animal as she entered the dimness of the barn. It’s where Cat usually hung out with Reese, the miniature donkey. And now that Cat had found her inner killing machine, she could take care of the mice that were eating their weight in grain.
“Cat, stay here,” she told the soccer ball–shaped feline. “Professor McNerdy can’t take you, so you need to hang here, which you like better anyway.” Cat walked away, her tail straight up in the air and swaying slowly in contempt.
The three horses popped their heads over the stalls, hopeful for a treat, and Reese brayed loudly, smacking his stall with a tiny hoof to get some feline love. Cat ignored him and sat licking her paws. The poor miniature donkey didn’t understand that cats did what they wanted, when they wanted, and the more you wanted them to do something the less likely they were to do it.
How long did she need to wait out here until she and the professor could both pretend that she hadn’t felt up his bucking bronc, accidental or not. Awkward with a capital A. She should think about how to make him feel welcome after this disaster. She cared for the property and the animals in exchange for staying rent free at the ranch. Humans were animals, after all, so it was her job to take care of him. She’d get back to writing press releases and taking calls from MSNBC soon enough. She might even be missing the pressure cooker of corporate work.
“Yowl,” Cat said, looking at her accusingly with her slightly crossed Siamese-blue eyes. She nosed an empty food bowl into Lavonda’s foot. Good distraction. She focused on Cat. “If I feed you this time, you promise to take care of the mice and stay away from the professor, right?”
Cat meowed again and batted the food bowl. Lavonda should’ve been the one promising to leave the professor alone. She dug out the plastic container where she kept the cat’s kibble. A big hole had been chewed in it and a mouse looked up from the bottom, holding a piece of food with a mousy laugh.
Chapter Two (#ulink_3dce958e-5ba9-5a7e-bf9d-bdfa9eb67bbc)
“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.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_cecbbacf-1843-53ca-ae0d-4358033afc08)
“Damn it, Reese,” Lavonda said as she raced to the front of the cave, away from Jones and the crackling heat between her and the Scottish Clint Eastwood. “Get out of there. You don’t like empanadas.” She yanked the donkey’s questing nose from the cooler she’d left open. What had she been thinking? Getting under Professor Kincaid’s kilt, that’s what. She dragged the donkey outside and into the shade thrown by the rocks, tying him to a small mesquite bush. “Stay here. I’ve got food and water for you.”
“Will we need to return to the ranch?”
“The food is good. It’s all wrapped up. Reese just gave it a good sniffing. You can keep exploring, and I’ll tell you when I have our lunch ready.”
Jones stared at her, his exact expression unclear in the shadows of his hat. He gave a quick nod and moved away, gone and out of her sight before she could say anything, not that she had anything to say. She turned to the little burro. “Reese, kilts aren’t sexy, right? Plus, he’s the ‘strong, silent’ type, which is not my type, right?”
The donkey’s ear swiveled at the sound of her voice, but he kept his back to her. Obviously, he was miffed she’d kept him from destroying their empanadas. She pulled out the small bag of feed and the larger container of water, getting the donkey set up for his own lunch. He moved in on his food, and she patted his withers as he munched. “You know what Jessie would tell me?” she asked the donkey, changing her stance to mimic her long, tall cowgirl sister. “‘Lavonda, don’t go messin’ with a man unless your intentions are clear.’”
Yeah, exactly what did that mean? She gave Reese a final pat and unpacked their human food. No matter what, she did owe the college and her friend Gwen to keep the visiting professor fed and safe. So far she hadn’t done so well, nearly killing him with Cat and then the scorpion.
“Yo, Jones,” she yelled out, going for asexual female pal. “Lunch is ready.” She waited for a response. Nothing. Great. With her luck, he’d fallen, hit his head on a rock and was now in a coma. “Jones,” she shouted again. No response. He’d gone out of the overhang and to the left. She walked that way, scanning the area for his hat—his lucky cowboy hat—and khakis. She needed to find him before he died from heatstroke or was attacked by marauding javelinas. She pulled her mind back to Jones. He couldn’t have gone far, even if he was out of her line of sight. She scanned the area, then caught the sun glinting off his deep auburn hair, its ruddiness overlaid with a rich chestnut. He’d taken off his hat. He shouldn’t have done that. Smartest dumb man in the desert today. Visitors like him just didn’t understand the power of the sun. With the dry heat, sweat evaporated so quickly that you didn’t even realize you were sweating.
“Hey,” she yelled to catch his attention. He turned. She walked carefully over the large and awkwardly placed boulders that looked as if a giant child had scattered them like marbles. “Lunch is ready.”
He waved at her again. She couldn’t figure out if he was dismissing her or beckoning her closer. She kept moving. He crouched closer to something at his feet. She thought he was near the dry riverbed, which turned into a full-blown river during the summer monsoons. He’d probably spotted the pottery shards that had washed down over the centuries.
“Did you find something interesting?” she asked when she was close enough to catch the hint of moss and pine scent that somehow clung to him in the dusty desert heat.
“I believe this is one of the metates that you discussed, and more drawings.”
She looked down at the round hole in the flat rock, near to the riverbed, obviously man-made or, more accurately, woman-made. “That’s it. Can you imagine how much stone people ate with their grain? I mean that’s how those holes were made, years and years of grinding corn and whatever else.”
He nodded, and then his head moved up and she saw his eyes scan the horizon.
She started her own lecture. “This region was heavily settled at different times, not like the pueblos up at Montezuma Castle...you know, up at Camp Verde.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not looking for anything that old anyway. This area was heavily settled when Father Kino came through here building missions and churches. You should go see San Xavier, even though Kino didn’t build that one.”
He squinted cowboy-style into the open desert but didn’t say anything.
She felt obligated to go on to fill in the strong-silent-type quiet. It’s what she did when there was a lull in conversation. “It’s a huge tourist attraction. The priest founded a string of missions, from Mexico over to Baja, California.”
He stood and gestured for her to go first.
She looked at him without looking at him. Had she bored the pants off him? If only. Dang it. She went on to distract herself from the memory of him, her and nothing between them but a thin layer of cotton. “We became part of the US in 1854 with the Gadsden Purchase. Before that it was definitely claimed by Mexico... Spain. Actually, it was Hohokam land... You know all that.”
When she saw he now had on his patient, professorial expression she was certain he used on particularly dull students, her babble dried up. “Here’s our lunch. Empanadas—”
“Spanish pasties. They stole the idea from us.”
He startled a laugh out of her and, without thinking, she touched his arm. Tingling awareness shot through her body. She seriously considered whether one of them should steal a kiss. His lips softened. He must have read that on her face because his green eyes darkened. She leaned in enough to capture his cool and dark moss scent. Stop. She subtly shifted her body away and his features moved back into something that was a mix of “aloof academic” and Clint Eastwood in Two Mules for Sister Sara—a classic, according to Daddy. She didn’t want to start anything, even if he was interested, which was hard to know for sure. It just wasn’t the time or place, right? She’d been at a crossroads and restless for months now. On the other hand, maybe going against her usual type would knock her out of her holding pattern and onto a new path. Yep, keep telling yourself that, sister. This could be a disaster of epic proportions.
“Here.” She thrust an empanada at him. She picked up her own and sat three boulders away, near Reese. He was just about as good at conversation as the professor, anyway.
* * *
TWO DAYS AFTER his hike in the desert, the image of Lavonda with the cartoon-princess eyes and luscious lips kept distracting him while he video-chatted with his colleagues in Glasgow. The chair had asked him three times if they needed to reschedule the call because Jones had missed key points in the presentation. The situation was ludicrous. He’d pulled it together enough to finish the call and tie up loose ends on a joint project. One or two more calls, a review of the material and the project would be complete.
He was sure he’d never have been invited to work on this paper after Dolly-Acropolis—or the “ancient” burial site created by a manufacturer of baby dolls, as it had been described by the papers. The university had insisted on publicity for his find. They’d called in the press, thinking, as he had, that he’d find a significant Viking site, not a doll dumping ground. The toys had been destroyed and hidden because they’d been made with illicit products during World War II. The company could have been fined and shut down, so they buried the evidence.
The damned dolls were the reason—at least part of it—he had to keep his search for Kincaid’s Cache secret. If it came to nothing, no one would know and it wouldn’t play over and over again on YouTube, courtesy of the video shot on camera phones by student workers.
If he found the cache, though, the dolls would be forgotten and he’d be back on his way to the top of the department. His colleagues would also have to acknowledge that he’d not gotten his position because of his brother.
Jones gathered his laptop and overstuffed file folder for the short walk to the nondescript building that housed Stanley’s office. The man was head of the history department for the university’s Angel Crossing campus, and Jones hoped he would have another recommendation for a guide. He’d looked at his problem from all sides. He didn’t have the time to find a guide on his own in an unfamiliar place. Plus, after going out into the desert with Lavonda, he realized that while he might stumble on something on his own, a guide familiar with the area could help him quickly eliminate dead ends.
He also wanted to confirm the teaching schedule he had agreed to for the remainder of the spring and the full summer semesters. The seminar on identification techniques would not meet every day. Plenty of time to do both sets of explorations.
Jones paused at Stanley’s door. The professor was speaking with Dr. Gwen Hernandez. He recognized the president of the college from her picture on the website. He hesitated but Stanley said, “Jones, come in. How are you settling in at Hacienda Bunuelos?”
“Pardon?”
“The ranch,” Dr. Hernandez said. “It’s the traditional name of the ranch, although we will be renaming it to honor the very generous alum who donated the property to the university.”
“Very comfortable now that we’ve sorted the cat problem.”
“The cat problem?”
Jones had been keeping himself dosed with medication. The damned animal had decided that she was his personal exterminator. Today there had been a small lizard outside his bedroom door.
“Have you met our president?” Stanley asked. Jones shook his head and his colleague made the introductions before gesturing for Jones to sit. “Now. What did you need from me?”
“I am currently without a guide. The gentleman I contracted cannot provide his services—”
“Wait,” Dr. Hernandez said. “I know I authorized reimbursement for the guide.”
“You did and I paid him. Now he says that he cannot begin the job for another month, which is unacceptable. He also was reluctant to return the deposit, but I believe I convinced him otherwise.”
“Well, hell,” Dr. Hernandez said.
“That’s why I’ve stopped by for new recommendations for a guide, Stanley.”
Stanley and Gwen had a back-and-forth about the legalities. Since he was not familiar with the area or the university’s systems, Jones didn’t have anything to contribute. Finally, Gwen snapped her fingers and grinned. “I’ve got it. Lavonda.”
“What about Lavonda?” Jones asked.
“She can guide you. She knows the area well and has plenty of desert experience. It will allow you to do the preliminary explorations. Perfect short-term solution.”
“Lavonda?” He had been keeping her at arm’s length, worried his housemate would figure out his trip wasn’t about beans. She was much smarter than he’d assumed a cowgirl would be. Of course, he’d been picturing a cowgirl with big hair, sprayed-on trousers, and big—
“Absolutely.”
“But she—”
“I know she doesn’t look like a roughing-it camper, but believe me, she’s tougher than she looks. That girl has a bronc riding champion buckle.”
Jones still hadn’t reconciled her rodeo riding with the pixie-sized woman with the sleek hair, polished nails and soft skin, but her boots looked well used. “I don’t know that—”
“Let me call her.” Gwen pulled a phone from her pocket. “Stanley can help you look for a professional guide, but this will get you out in the field right away.” She stood and walked out as she spoke to Lavonda.
“Gwen is a problem solver,” Stanley said. “I’ll call around, but most guides are booked in advance.”
Jones’s stomach roiled with excitement, fear, anticipation—he had no idea with what. He and Lavonda alone in the desert could be a recipe for disaster or... Affairs happened at dig sites. He’d seen more than one start during the plotting of a Bronze Age village. His current decision must be based on what was best for his career, not what might get him into Lavonda’s sleeping bag.
“Is there a problem with this woman?” Stanley asked.
Jones pulled himself together. “I just didn’t understand that she had trail skills.”
Stanley shrugged his narrow shoulders. “If Gwen says she does, then she does. It’s not that unusual for a cowgirl.”
Gwen entered, smiling, “She’ll do it, and she’s the kind of price we need. Free.”
“Free? I don’t think that we can—”
“Don’t worry. We’ve have worked out an agreement. She understands that it’s a temporary thing until you find a real guide. Her words. Not mine. So, Dr. Kincaid, we have that little problem solved. This is working out well. Our students are very excited for your seminar. I didn’t realize that beans were so popular. Got to go,” she finished abruptly.
Jones shook her hand and tried to read the older woman’s face. There was something there that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was like finding a number of pottery shards and piecing them back together. You knew it was a pot but not its shape.
Jones made himself leave the office at a stroll, unconcerned and confident. What had he just committed himself to? Days on end with a sexy woman affiliated with the university from which he was attempting to hide his real mission. Having an affair with a cowgirl had not been on the map or his plan, even if it seemed as though the Fates were setting things up that way.
Chapter Four (#ulink_300152de-e220-568c-90e1-003edc393292)
Back in her old life, Lavonda had been fearless, telling 60 Minutes they couldn’t film on her company’s property and pushing away Anderson Cooper’s mic. But when Gwen called, she’d caved, saying yes to leading the kilted giant on his search for beans. The older woman had been Lavonda’s first boss. She’d helped her find her footing in the corporate world, from what to wear to understanding the hierarchy of vice presidents. Giving in to one friend meant facing another. Lavonda would have to call Olympia to back out of helping at her and her attorney husband’s ranch. Lavonda felt bad about letting her down and worse because she’d been ducking calls. She just wasn’t up to defending herself from questions about why living at the university’s run-down ranch as the “caretaker” was a good career move.
“Hi, Lavonda.”
Darn her friend. Why had she answered? Lavonda had hoped to just leave a message. “How’s it going?”
“You don’t want to know. Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to get married?” Olympia asked, her tone somewhere between exasperation and affection.
“Because it was easier than arguing with a lawyer about it?”
Olympia laughed. “You got that right. What’s up?”
“The university roped me into helping out an archaeologist. I’ve got to babysit him while he wanders the desert, make sure that he doesn’t die, that sort of thing. I’ll be out on the trail for at least a week, and I might have to go out with him again later. I’m sorry but I won’t be able to come to the ranch for a while.”
“No problem. Cal’s getting better at helping, and Spence’s law practice is doing well enough that we’ve even hired someone to come out a couple of times a week to help around the place.”
“That’s good.” Lavonda could see Olympia’s stepson puffing out his chest as he did barn work. He’d been so sick as a little guy that any kind of “man’s work” made him strut around proudly.
“What about you? Besides this guide thing, what else do you have going on?”
“I’m still doing work for the university when they need it.” She knew her friends and even her family had begun to worry at her lack of focus. “I’ve got a couple of possible projects on the horizon.”
“If you say so. What’s he like? Egghead, right?”
“Why would you assume my guidee is a man?”
“Sorry. This person.”
“It is a man. Scottish. He showed up in a kilt and everything.”
“What? Wait. A kilt?”
“He competes in Highland games and agreed to be on the Angel Crossing campus team at an event in Tucson. Although why anyone would think Arizona was a good place to wear wool is beyond me.”
“So he wears a kilt, does manly competitions and digs in the dirt?”
Lavonda ignored the implied question and went on, “He’s studying beans, which apparently is an exciting thing if you’re an archaeologist. Gwen is trying to talk me into writing press releases. Not sure how that’s going to work, but I could be up for the challenge. I mean how do you make studying beans not the punch line to a fart joke?”
“The beans are definitely lowering his sexy level.”
“What do you care about his sexy level?”
“I’m looking out for you. If you’re not concentrating on finding a job, then you should be concentrating on your love life.”
“Who decided you should be my own private dating service?” Lavonda did not want to think about the havoc Olympia and Lavonda’s sister, Jessie, could wreak if they had any idea that Lavonda had looked at Professor McNerdy and imagined...things that should not be said to nosy sisters and friends.
“I didn’t realize you were so touchy.” Lavonda almost heard the shrug through the phone. “Anything else going on besides the hottie in the kilt?”
“He’s not hot,” Lavonda protested.
“I knew it. He’s hot and you’re interested.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because I know you and now you’ve just admitted it. There’s one good thing about being married to a lawyer—you learn all kinds of sneaky ways to get people to admit to things.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You should have told me you were interested in this guy instead of pretending it was all business.”
“But it is.”
“I know your mama told you that lying is a sin.”
“If—and that’s a big if—anything goes on between the two of us, that’s our business.”
“Like what was going on between Spence and me was our business, right?”
“That was different. You were living together.”
“Yep, that makes this so different.”
“You were pregnant and there was Cal, too. A lot more was at stake.”
“Don’t try to wiggle out of this,” Olympia said with the tone of no-nonsense authority that had crept into her voice since becoming a mother.
“Hey, don’t go telling Jessie any of your fantasies about my love life. I don’t need her sisterly advice.”
Olympia laughed. “I won’t need to tell her anything. As soon as you start talking about this guy, she’ll know. What’s his name anyway?”
“Jones.”
“As in ‘Indiana’?”
She smiled. Could the academic really be nicknamed for a movie character? “Could be. Wouldn’t that be a hoot and a half.”
The two women talked about what Lavonda would need for the weeklong hike, then Olympia said, “If you like this guy, go for it. Maybe it’s just what you need.”
“How about I just focus on keeping the two of us safe and sound in the desert. The poor man almost bit the big one when a scorpion crawled up his leg, but Cat saved him.”
“Dang it. I wish I had time to hear that story, but Cal’s bus will be here any minute.”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Olympia was right. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to Jones, despite his strong-silent-type swagger. Mama would call him a volcano under an ice cap. Although there was no reason she and Jones had to act on their mutual attraction. God, that sounded like corporate speak. Sure. An affair or fling might be fun and might even make her feel she was living rather than marking time. Except, in college she’d tried the just-sex thing. That hadn’t ended so well. What if it wasn’t just her lady parts that wanted Jones? Plus, the professor didn’t live in the real world, really. He might not understand how a fling worked. She didn’t want to hurt him, even if he could be a pompous jerk. Then, she could lose her job and the place that had begun to feel like home if she “fraternized” with the guest. Not that anyone had said anything, but Jones sort of, kind of, was her boss.
So the best approach was the one she’d been hanging on to: wait-and-see. Wait and see if she could figure out what to do next. But how much longer could she wait to get back in the game? The downsizing had made for a good break, time to recharge her batteries, plan her next move. Made her realize, being out here, how much she enjoyed ranch life. This was supposed to be a detour on her way back to an office with a view and a lot of zeroes after the first number on her paycheck. She’d guide the Scot, write a press release or two for Gwen and have one final cowgirl adventure before slipping back into her tailored wardrobe and heels.
* * *
“EXCUSE ME.”
Lavonda stood with her back to him, her head cocked to the side, the sunlight coming through the open barn door outlining her petite curves that hid a surprisingly hot strength.
“Yep,” she said without turning to him. She ran her hands over the little donkey, her touch light but sure. Jones refused to let himself imagine those hands on him. He needed to have a conversation with her about their trip and his expectations. Business. Focus. His career and reputation were riding on this expedition.
He hadn’t planned for a guide who might have the intelligence to figure out that what he was searching for wasn’t what he said he was searching for. Plus, Dr. Hernandez had explained Lavonda would write stories about his explorations for the alumni magazine and even the local newspapers.
“I would like to go over our schedule for this first foray,” he said clearly and precisely with a tinge of authority, like he did in a classroom full of students.
“Shoot,” she said, not lifting her head but scooting around the donkey and bending over, her nicely compact and rounded bum facing him.
“I know that you were drafted into guiding me because of your familiarity with the region and as a favor to Dr. Hernandez. However, I have done extensive research and have a satnav to adequately direct us.”
“Good. We won’t be wandering around like Moses, then.” She stood up and stepped away from the little animal, who stared at Jones with a hostile roll of his eye. “Anything else?” she asked, interrupting the staring contest between him and the burro.
“You have a confidentiality agreement with the university?”
Her eyes widened. “Sure.”
“Are you certain? This is important because when I go into the field, I do not—”
“All right, hoss, let me tell you how it will be. I know that you’re the boss of the search. But I’m the guide, which means I make sure you have food and water and you don’t die out there.”
“I doubt that’s—”
“Do you want me to show you the stories? The desert isn’t anything to fool with. I know it seems like we’re close to civilization, that it’s just a ‘little warm’ and whatever else you imagine. We’re going out into rough terrain that may not get any signal, other than satellite—”
“Which I have.”
“I studied the area you want to explore, and it isn’t well mapped, even though it’s relatively near to the ranch, because the things that draw any kind of settlement haven’t changed that much over the years. Those things would be shelter and water. There is a very deep well here, and my guess is that a couple of the settlements nearby had small wells that probably ran out over the years and the groups moved on.”
“Still, this is not something for which you’ve trained. Weekend and daylong treks notwithstanding.”
“Excuse me?”
She blew air out of her nose and Reese shook his head while stamping a small hoof—a cartoonishly small hoof. Petite and pixieish, just like Lavonda. “Gwen wouldn’t have suggested I take you out into the desert if I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Were you a Girl Guide? Sorry. Um, a Girl Scout? Right? That’s what they’re called here.”
She drew herself up to her fully unimpressive height, and he watched closely as her cheeks reddened with obvious anger. “First, I am a woman. Second, I have much more experience in desert survival than you. Third, I am saving your bacon, because while Gwen may not have said it, you would not have been permitted to go out exploring on your own.”
“Saving my bacon?”
“You know, keeping this whole bean search from going south.”
He knew what she was getting at. He knew exactly what happened when a project went “south,” except this one at least wasn’t being filmed. Never again. “Since I have done an exhaustive review of the literature as well as corresponding with local experts, I am certain that we will quickly and rather easily discover what I am looking for.”
She looked down at Reese, whose ears drooped. The burro reminding him of a stuffed lop-eared rabbit he’d abandoned when his brother had teased him mercilessly.
She squared her shoulders and said, “I’ve led similar expeditions over the summers and breaks while I was in college. I have a fair amount of expertise...it just wasn’t something that fit into my long-term plans in the end.”
Whether he liked it or not, she was his guide if he wanted to get his search started sooner rather than later. Her familiarity with the area could help him locate the landmarks described in the journal, which had belonged to an ancestor who’d settled in the West at the turn of the last century. “I am sure that you are competent...more than competent.”
“Whatever. It’s temporary until the university finds you another guide.”
“Again, I thank you for taking on this extra responsibility.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I’ll make up a checklist for you.” She led the burro back to his stall and strode from the barn. Shite. Why was he acting like a schoolboy by making her angry, when his very adult self wanted to watch her hips swing like that all day...and night?
* * *
LAVONDA STROLLED OFF with a nonchalance she worked on maintaining. Jones’s comments had gotten way under her skin, which was silly. What did she care what a Scottish academic thought of her trail skills? It wasn’t like she’d make a living out on the range. She’d decided long ago that ranching, horses and all that went with it weren’t her future, after seeing the toll this lifestyle had taken on her sister—every time Jessie was thrown from a horse yet again or had fallen asleep during class after a weekend of rodeo competition. She and her family had worked so hard and had so little back then. Classmates had computers and Tony Lama boots. She loved the horses and didn’t mind sweating, but she wanted the “riches” that should have followed all of that work. It didn’t take much brainpower to figure out a job in an office with a big company might mean a lot of hours but also money for the computers and the boots.
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.”

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