| Hot wind blew dirt from the pit into Emma’s sunglasses, stinging
her face.
Impatiently, she moved back from the pit and sat down. Pulling off her gloves,
she tossed them aside and removed her sunglasses. As perspiration cooled her forehead,
she wished she’d remembered to use one of those cool pack things for around
her neck. She glanced at her watch. Not too much longer and she’d quit for
the day. The sun flame-baked the southwest Colorado landscape like a torch, searing
the earth and scorching her in the process.
She sighed and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to ease the ache throbbing
between her shoulder blades. She’d worked in the test pit since seven that
morning. After a few soft months in the lab she’d forgotten that excavation
could be strenuous work. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, and she wished
she’d taken the plunge and chopped off some of her hair for the summer.
Emma glanced at her watch again. Already nine o’clock and she’d
barely scratched the surface of what her boss Grant Wilder had accomplished in
the last three days. Too bad about his stomach bothering him. They would have
this test pit completed in no time today if he’d worked alongside her.
A screech from high above startled her. She pushed her baseball cap back further
on her head and glanced into sky, squinting as the sun obscured her view. A hawk
circled above, soaring as it called.
Suddenly Emma knew someone watched her.
With the extra sense of prey targeted by a carnivore, her flesh prickled as
if the hawk waited for her to expire in the rapidly rising heat. Yeah, Emma.
It’s a hawk, not a buzzard.
After putting her sunglasses back on, she looked around the area and scanned
both sides of the canyon. She stared at the brush and the ponderosa pines that
lined either side of the mountain ridges and spotted nothing suspicious.
She shrugged. Work, don’t worry. Her father’s strident
voice entered her memory, urging her to get the lead out. She frowned and sighed.
Her father’s arduous work ethic dictated that no matter how hard she toiled
it would never be enough. Nothing was ever good enough for Harmon Baker.
Resolutely she shoved thoughts of her father to the back of her mind. Absorbing
the clean scent of mountain air invigorated her and, notwithstanding the intense
heat, she enjoyed herself. Everything on this dig would go well.
Unless, of course, that rancher got his underwear in a twist and told her to
get the hell out of Dodge.
Clement O’Donnell had warned her that his nephew wasn’t exactly
the friendly type. She envisioned a tobacco-chewing, slang-using, swearing and
animal-smelling man who rode a big horse and used expressions like ‘darlin’
or ‘honey’.
“Darlin’, my butt,” she said. She may have grown up in the
city but she refused to feel intimidated by men with backward ideas.
Emma reached for her canteen and unscrewed the cap for a long swig of cool
water. Somewhat revived, she decided to tackle the pit once again and stepped
into it, settling down with her legs crossed.
She groaned and shifted her legs, wishing for once she’d been born short.
The sample trench was narrow and her uncomfortable position almost precluded her
from leaning forward to use the trowel. What I wouldn’t do for a couple
of knee pads right now.
The sound of a vehicle approaching caught her attention. A truck barreled down
the dirt road, kicking up dust. Whoever was behind the wheel of the rapidly approaching
piece of metal drove too damn fast.
The rusted and dented lime-green truck roared to a stop. Choking dust floated
into the air. Emma grimaced, waving her hand in front of her face and squinting
to keep the dirt out of her eyes. Filthy windows obscured her view of all but
a shadowy man. The driver’s side door swung open, rusty hinges creaking
in agony.
Out stepped one very tall, very large, very angry hombre.
Emma’s mouth dropped open slightly as she took her first good look at
the man striding toward her. His steps ate up the ground rapidly as he moved.
She waved and smiled, hoping to defuse whatever had lit this guy’s fire.
“Hi.”
When he didn’t answer, a tingle of worry and annoyance combined in her
psyche. Was this Clement O’Donnell’s cowboy nephew? What was his name
again? Steve? Shannon?
She squinted, but she couldn’t see his face clearly as the sun blazed
down on her.
Cowboys. They were all lean, mean, with silly drawls and skinny butts. But,
on closer inspection, Emma realized this man could never be described as skinny.
Nope. Powerful, yes. Strong, absolutely.
Emma cataloged his attributes into convenient compartments, using her archaeologist’s
analytical mind to decide that gorgeous would not slip into her vocabulary
describing this man. Animal magnetism, maybe. Mesmerizing, perhaps. No way would
she say gorgeous.
He stopped at the edge of the trench, and for a second, she thought he would
step right in. Instead he planted his feet slightly apart and rested his big hands
on his hips. She could now see him clearly.
He didn’t wear one of those western shirts with the bolo tie. He sported
a cropped, royal blue muscle shirt of fine mesh with the number ten boldly emblazoned
in white. The shirt showed to advantage the powerful sinew in his arms and emphasized
his broad shoulders and the lean, washboard ripple of stomach muscles sprinkled
with dark hair. Obviously, he worked out or performed other physical exertion
on a regular if not daily basis. Her gaze traveled past that impressive display
of masculinity and noted faded jeans molded his lean hips with a wicked fit.
Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed as she took in dust. Lord,
his body was made for sin. With that muscle shirt, long dark hair pulled back,
and attitude to match, he didn’t appear anything like a stereotypical cowboy.
No cowboy hat, no cowboy boots. His brown utility boots screamed lumberjack or
construction worker. Under those dusty jeans, his legs showed hard musculature.
His hair shone almost blue-black under the blazing sun. Though he was tanned,
it wasn’t the leathery skin so many men acquired from baking in the sun.
His chiseled jaw rough with a five o’clock shadow belonged in the movies.
His shimmering teal eyes burned under dark, thick brows with an intensity that
pierced her with fiery attention. She’d never seen such mesmerizing, striking
eyes. An uncanny feeling swept over her. She wondered if he could read her mind.
She shivered despite the heat. Intimidating or not, blatantly physical or not,
he tugged at long-buried female needs.
His nicely carved mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed. The bottom dropped out
of her stomach.
Okay, on second thought, gorgeous might apply.
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