She'd noticed the cairn but hadn't realized its significance.
"Don't you usually put up fence to delineate property lines, Mr. O'Donnell? I'd
hardly call a pile of rocks a clear indicator of where your land starts. My boss didn't say
anything to indicate we couldn't take this dig to its full and natural conclusion." She
smiled, trying to ease some of the fury out of the conversation. "Your uncle gave us all
the proper maps but—"
"Damn it," Shane said roughly. "He didn't tell you not to cross over into my land,
did he?"
"My boss or your uncle?"
"My uncle." He passed his large tanned hand over his jaw and sighed. A small
muscle twitched in his cheek. "Look, I haven't got time for this. I've got work to do back
at the house."
He looked so weary that for a moment, sympathy emerged inside her. He could
have a bad day or not, she wouldn't allow him to ruin her day. Maybe a little humor
would lighten up this large man's attitude a smidgen.
Emma smiled. "Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. If I'm lucky I'll make considerable
progress on this trench today. The quicker I finish here, the faster I'm out of your hair."
He didn't smile. If anything his expression hardened, turning rock-solid with
condescension. His gaze snapped to hers with a hardness she felt deep within her as her
stomach did a strange flip-flop. "You don't seem to understand what I'm saying. I don't
want you on this land."
She gestured to the pit. "But the survey Grant did last week turned up a variety of
objects in this area that point to a major historical site. It's very possible we could be on
the land where Sadie Cutley's cabin once stood."
He closed the remaining inches between them until he stood so close they almost
touched. "I don't give a damn whether he found Noah's Ark. I want you off my land
and that's the last word."
Determined to stand her ground, she didn't flinch. She tilted her head back and
looked at him. Smiling, she decided to pour honey over the vinegar. "You don't have to
be nasty about it. All of this could be solved—"
He moved one big hand and for a shocking, fearful second she thought he would
grab or hit her, and she stepped back with a gasp. Memories of a night long ago roared
up inside and threatened like a vicious dog launching at her throat. A man's hand
coming at her, his fist a hard, solid wall slamming into her jaw with brutal intensity. She
took a shuddering breath as she controlled her reaction. God, she didn't need this right
now. Didn't need to freak just because a man moved suddenly. She should maintain
control or O'Donnell might take advantage.
His hand scrubbed over his jaw, and she took a deep breath of relief. His gaze
sharpened, his eyes transforming from angry to almost concerned. For a moment, she
thought he might ask why she'd jerked away like a scared rabbit, but he didn't.
"Either you fill up this hole and get back on my uncle's boundaries, or I'll get the
shovel out of my truck and do it myself," he said, his voice a deep whisper that caressed
her ears with threat.
Her nerves skittered as she assessed his intentions. If she didn't leave his land right
now, would he resort to violence? In her mind she could hear her father's voice
rebuking her. You're too impulsive. One day you'll regret it.
This could be the day.
No, don't be ridiculous.
Perspiration dotted the man's upper lip. She gazed at it in fascination. Then she
looked back into his eyes. Nothing lenient or forgiving in those eyes. He'd march right
over to her trench and dump the soil back into the hole, damaging days of work.
Obviously pleasantries didn't work on this brawny, inconsiderate man.
She nodded. "All right. Just give me another half hour and I'll have my stuff packed
up and I'm out of here."
"I'll give you fifteen minutes."
Her mouth dropped open. "Fifteen minutes? But it'll take longer than that—"
"I want you out of here in fifteen minutes. Load your stuff up and get out." He
turned and headed back to his truck. He reached for the door handle and paused. "If
you come back, I'll have the sheriff on your butt so fast you won't know what hit you."
With that last parting shot he climbed into his truck, started the engine and roared
off, traversing the bumpy canyon like a rattlesnake looking for shade in a desert.
For several moments she stood where he'd left her, staring with contempt after the
retreating hunk of ugly, lime-green, rusty metal.
What a bastard.
What a nasty, arrogant pig.
She absolutely abhorred him.
A slight twinge of distress in her chest made her realize she'd held her breath and
she quickly sucked in air. Her face felt stiff, her lips dry, and her tongue parched.
She couldn't remember the last time anyone had made her so angry she could
scream. She would gladly have pitched rocks at his handsome head if she didn't think
he would retaliate.
Infuriated, she started gathering her equipment. God, she hated it when she lost
control and let her past play games with her head. She disliked it more than his obvious
mistrust of her. As she wrestled with the heavy sieve, she knew fifteen minutes
wouldn't be enough time to finish and retreat from his land. Well, he'd have to live
with it. Besides, if he was herding cattle or breaking broncos or whatever cowboys did,
he wouldn't have time to come back here and accost her immediately.
Screw him. She'd at least finish the last bucket of work.
Grabbing the bucket, she dumped the combination of sandy soil and dark dirt onto
the sieve and seesawed back and forth. After a couple of shakes she pushed her gloved
hands through the soil and searched methodically for anything significant. Despite the
heated encounter with O'Donnell, her blood rushed with excitement at the prospect of
finding a significant artifact.
She hadn't lied to O'Donnell about Grant's survey of the area last week. Several
historic era artifacts, old spoons, nails, barbed wire and bottles had turned up, and the
concentration suggested a major site worth a test pit. With the old Cutley Mine nearby,
she knew the cabin couldn't be far away.
Emma was attending a seminar on radiocarbon dating when she received Grant's
call. He needed her help and asked her to get down to the San Juan Valley area of
Colorado as soon as possible. But here she sweltered in the sun, sucking down dust and
encountering the wrath of one overbearing, ugly, renegade rancher with the personality
of a bull.
She chuckled as she sifted through the dirt. Who was she kidding? He might be
stubborn and as toxic as flypaper. He might have scared her.
But he wasn't ugly. And his butt sure wasn't skinny.
With a self-reproving laugh, she remembered her surreptitious glance at his jean-
clad rear as he'd returned to his truck. Not only did the nastiest man on the face of the
planet radiate a stomach-tumbling sexuality, but he had the best-looking ass this side of
the Rocky Mountains.
* * * * *
Along the ridge south of the excavation, a short man crouched behind some scrub
brush that lined the bluff. He prized these quiet moments, these opportunities to watch
the
tall, delectable woman below as she worked. He'd watched the lady and the big
man tangle it up over the dig. He hadn't heard their words, but their expressions had
shown equal parts anger.
Emma Baker and Shane O'Donnell. At least that is what the One told him they were
called.
He didn't care.
He coveted a chance to taste her and he knew that soon he'd have the opportunity.
His heartbeat took up an excited tempo as he brought his binoculars up so he could see
her long legs as she walked across to the Ford Explorer and opened the back hatch. She
reached inside and brought out a bottle of water. She licked her lips and he watched the
path of her tongue. After twisting the top off the fresh bottle of water, she greedily
drank. She removed the bandanna from around her neck and soaked it with water. She
tied it around her neck again and then held the bottle to her cheek and closed her eyes.
He smiled.
A sharp pain beat suddenly at his temples and he gasped and dropped his
binoculars. "Shit. Shit."
He knew the agony well. It tortured him whenever it pleased. He rubbed at his
temples and took a deep breath to ease the lightning-sharp stabs. Immediately the pain
released him as if it had never been there before.
A feathery voice echoed in his mind. Deliver it to me. Bring it to the night.
The One of the Shadow Realm called him, mocked him and challenged him to bring
home the necklace that belonged in the possession of evil. The One needed the necklace
to return to the Shadow Realm and its rewards and to bring humanity to its knees.
His grin widened at the thought. Yes, soon he would harness a power more
plentiful and hideous than anything known before because the One had promised to
share it with him. With that power he could control a rising tide of spiraling hate,
insidious evil, incredible destruction. All these forces hovered just out of his reach, just
out of his ability to manipulate. The One was particularly good at ensuring death,
destruction and mayhem. He wanted a fragment of that for himself. Just a tiny fragment
would do.
Fire stirred in his lower belly as he thought about the danger soon to be unleashed
at the archaeology site. He licked his lips, and he realized the peril tasted like blood.
Or had he bitten his own lip?
He didn't know and didn't care.
Nothing was more important than making sure everything went as planned, and
that meant the woman might have to disappear at one point or another. He smiled.
Damn, he loved his work.
* * * * *
Shane squinted in the bright sun, not bothering to retrieve his sunglasses from the
glove compartment of the truck. His vehicle bumped over the dented road, rattling and
groaning as its old joints protested.
As he traversed the dirt road that served as a driveway to his Uncle Clement's
house, he contemplated what he would say to his uncle. He'd never spoken in anger to
Uncle Clement before, but after the incident with the archaeologist this morning, his
blood simmered.
His scalp itched and he pulled the leather tieback out of his hair and tossed it on the
dash. His hair flapped in the breeze. It was stifling in the old truck, and he rolled the
window down all the way. The hot wind that blasted inside didn't help, but maybe the
discomfort would take his mind off Emma Baker.
If he thought back he couldn't remember any woman in recent memory making
him boil like a kettle on high. In more ways than one.
He couldn't say which was more annoying—that she'd pissed him off with her
combination of stubborn insistence and smooth negotiation style, or that on closer
inspection he'd discovered the front of her was as damned beautiful as the back. He
gritted his teeth in annoyance.
He'd almost forgotten to feel anger when she'd unfolded her legs and stood to offer
her hand. At six-five, he towered over most women and men, but she wasn't petite.
When she'd looked up at him he'd noted the trace of freckles over her upper cheeks,
sprinkled like cinnamon along the pink flush of her skin. Each curve of her face had
looked delicate. Intelligence and determination had etched her blue eyes.
Her long-sleeved shirt had sheltered her from the sun but hadn't concealed the
enticing shape of her full breasts. Encased in worn denim, the gentle, full curve of her
hips and her long legs had given his libido a kick-start. He'd felt a stirring in his gut that
had nothing to do with the fact breakfast had been a long time ago. When he'd climbed
into the truck he'd allowed the raging reaction to her to spill through his blood. A royal
hard-on still pressed uncomfortably against his jeans. He slowed the truck and took
deep breaths. Fuck. He needed this boner to disappear before he reached his uncle's
house.
When Emma had spoken, the seductive, warm liquid of her voice had short-
circuited his brain. When she'd parted her lips and smiled he'd almost choked.
And she was a little strange.
Had she called him Mel Gibson?
Reluctantly he chuckled and shook his head.
Nope. Emma Baker was the type of trouble he didn't need. Add the Baker woman's
solid determination to fight him, along with his mother's phone call yesterday, and he
felt his annoyance notch up a degree. Yeah, if anyone could fry his cookies, his mother
Shane swallowed and tasted the dry flavor of bitterness on his tongue. Deciding he
didn't want to think about those years before his mother left, he pushed the painful
thoughts back where they belonged. In a trash bin of memories that he kept stored
away, cataloged under G for garbage.
Amazed at the tension that tightened his shoulders, he grimaced. After he paid a
visit to his uncle, a serious workout might take the sting out of the residual anger
thrumming within him. Sometimes it frightened him, this animosity, and this sudden
urge to vent his spleen. Scared him in a way that was deep, hot and undeniably as
raging as the sun blazing into his truck.
Get it under control. You don't want to be like Dad. Along that path lies certain disaster.
Not only that, but he'd seen fear in the pretty archaeologist's eyes. He'd moved too
quickly and from her startled reaction, he thought she might run shrieking. The last
fucking thing he wanted to do was make a woman think he would hurt her.
He'd eat off his own testicles before he'd harm an innocent woman.
He inhaled slowly and deeply once again and vowed to keep his temper in check
before he lost it and did something he'd regret forever.
He thought of his Uncle Clement's insistence that the archaeologist discover if Sadie
Cutley's cabin existed in a specific spot. Damn it, he wished he could have done
something to stop his uncle from even starting the project. Dread simmered on the
surface of Shane's thoughts. Shane knew allowing archaeologists into the area was a
huge mistake. If left unchecked, this situation would spiral out of control.
Shit. Take one step at a time.
He'd successfully wrestled his body into submission—the erection was gone. And
not a moment too soon. Uncle Clement and Aunt Josy's log cabin-style ranch house
came into view. He drove into the
circular drive and with a stomp on the brakes came
to a halt. Shit. His brakes were getting mushy from the way he'd been driving lately.
One of these days he might lose it completely and careen off a canyon road.
Sometimes the idea didn't sound all that bad.
Aunt Josy worked on a rose bush in her flowerbed at the front near the porch, and
as he climbed out of the truck, she stood and waved.
Visiting his aunt and uncle remained one of the few things that could calm his soul.
Aunt Josy's enduring good looks made her appear much younger than middle-aged. He
wished he had half her patience and warmth. Her good nature glowed in her dark eyes
and the pink complexion of her round face. A bit overweight for her petite height, she
still had a stamina and endurance that surpassed many thinner women. Her long, dark
hair flowed straight down her back in a thick ponytail, and today she wore a floppy,
wide-brimmed hat with ridiculous plastic flowers on the rim.
"Haven't you given up on those damned rose bushes yet?" he asked as she went
into his arms for a warm hug.
She laughed and released him. "No, and nothing you can say will change my mind.
I'm going to make it work this year."
He smiled, but the effort made him feel like his face would crack. "If anybody can
make roses bloom in this climate, Aunt Josy, you can."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Shane." She wiped her hands on her worn jeans
and started toward the porch steps. "I suppose you'd like to stay for lunch? I've got a
luscious stew brewing in the slow cooker."
He groaned and followed her inside the cabin and toward the kitchen. "Sounds
good. Tempting as the offer is, I really came to see Uncle Clement about that
archaeologist."
When they reached the kitchen, she slipped off her garden gloves, opened a door
under the sink and tossed them onto a shelf. "Uh-oh. Don't tell me you went down to
the site?"
He nodded. "I didn't even know anyone was there until I took out my binoculars
and saw her in the canyon."
"Saw who in the canyon?" a deep, rumbling voice said behind Shane.
For a split second Shane thought his father had come back from the dead, the
familiar voice so much like his parent. But he turned and his uncle stood in the