by Avery Flynn
“Put your hands down,” Sam bellowed from his spot by the window.
“But the light—”
“Put them down!”
The man pulled a pair of night-vision goggles from his face, taking more than a few strands of greasy, shoulder-length gray hair with it. Red suction marks circled his twitching eyes. A ten o'clock shadow darkened a familiar jawline. He caught sight of her in the doorway and broke into a crooked smile that made her heart stutter. Curiosity besting her sense of self-preservation, she stepped closer to him. His eyes didn't have the same gold flecks, but they were the same hazel color as Sam's.
“What in the hell are you doing here, Uncle Harlan?” Sam stood arms akimbo, naked as the day he was born.
Josie's blood started pumping again, but for a whole other reason than fear. She jabbed her short nails into the palms of her hands. This was not the time to get distracted by Sam's tight ass or strong thighs or his…damn, she was a lost cause.
“Does Mom know you're here?”
“No. No one knows I'm at your house.”
“Not at my house, here in Dry Creek.”
Uncle Harlan cleared his throat. “Um, no. And I'd like to keep it that way. Your mother doesn't like me very well.”
“Doesn't like you? You're lucky she didn't fill your skinny behind with buckshot after you stole Rebecca's diary and then lost it in a poker game. The only reason you still get invited to Thanksgiving dinner is because of her promise to Granny Marie. If it was up to mom, she'd bury you hip high in an ant hill.”
“That sounds about right.” He rearranged himself so he sat with his back straight, the soles of his feet together and interlaced his fingers around his bare feet. All in all, he looked pretty Zen for a guy who'd just gotten caught in the middle of a B and E. “Why don't we meditate on this latest development.”
“Are you completely nuts? You just broke into my house.” Sam grabbed a small, grimy duffle bag, the contents of which clanged together. “With burglary tools and, what, night-vision goggles?”
Sam's disapproving tone had no impact on Uncle Harlan, who sat straighter. “A concession I had to make to age. I can't lurk around in the dark as I used too, my eyes won't let me. Getting old is hell on the body, but the yoga helps. You should start now, Sam. It does wonders.”
“But you had the lights on.”
“True, but it's not like I could turn the rest of the lights on in the house.”
Sam stomped over to his uncle and loomed over him. “You're after the map, aren't you?”
Uncle Harlan grimaced and waved a hand at the swinging parts of Sam's anatomy only inches from the older man’s face. “I don't mind your nudity; however, can you take a few paces back?”
Throwing up his hands in annoyance, Sam roared, “You break into my house in the middle of the night and then complain that I'm naked?”
Peering around Sam's legs, Uncle Harlan wriggled his snowy eyebrows at Josie. “I'm sure you had your reasons. Very good reasons.”
“Leave her out of this.”
Uncle Harlan grinned his crooked smile and doffed an imaginary hat at Josie. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Despite the fact that she should be annoyed at him, she couldn't help but warm up to the bedraggled black sheep of the Layton clan. “Maybe you should go get some pants on; I'll keep an eye on the prisoner.”
The old man's eyes twinkled at her jaunty salute to Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room, grumbling something about old fools and idiotic treasure hunters.
“So you're after Rebecca's Bounty?”
“For fifty years now.”
Fifty years of searching and no treasure? Josie's gut sank as her visions of an easy find faded away. Snips was not the patient sort. He'd send his goon after her—or worse, after her parents—if she didn't find it.
So she'd find it, that's all there was to it.
“Of course, up until this week, I hadn't heard there was a map. Now that changes everything.” He nodded and reached out a skinny arm toward her. When she obliged, his bones popped and cracked as she helped him into a standing position. He placed both hands on the small of his back and completed a shallow backbend, setting off a cacophony of pops as his bones set to right.
“I thought yoga was supposed to make you more limber?”
“I'm sure it is, but I don't do yoga. I just said that to bust that young man's chops. He always did get riled quick. I think it's because they treated him with kid gloves after Michael died.”
“Who's Michael?”
Uncle Harlan made a thch-thch-thch sound and shook his head. “Sad story that is. The boy died so young. Sam never was the same after.”
“You need to stop talking right now.” Sam stood in the doorway, clad only in jeans, his forehead deceptively smooth considering the venom in his tone.
Uncle Harlan pursed his lips and shook his head. “There's nothing you could have done to save Michael. It's about time you accepted that.” His stance softened and the flush drained out of his cheeks as quickly as it had appeared. “Even if you'd found it, the money couldn't have helped him.”
A powerful silence descended, pushing down on Josie's shoulders like an unbearable weight. She'd gotten lost in a family drama that had been playing out for years with no resolution.
If Sam noticed the tension, he refused to acknowledge it. He stood as silent and solid as a statue, his face a mask of banality, giving no clue as to his emotions at the moment.
A chastened Uncle Harlan stepped forward, closing the gap between the two men to an arm's length. “Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”
“If you leave right now, I won't tell anyone you're here.”
“Sammy—”
“Just go.”
Uncle Harlan sighed and walked toward the door, pausing to rest his hand on Sam's shoulder. The men stood in the quiet for a few heartbeats, neither speaking nor moving.
The elder Layton gave Sam a quick pat and cleared his throat. “Well then, I'll be seeing you next Thanksgiving.”
When Sam didn't say anything, Uncle Harlan flashed Josie an apologetic smile and brushed past her and out the door. The subsequent click of the front door announced he'd left.
Josie looked around at the office's disarray. Papers were scattered everywhere. A stack of books had been knocked to the floor. For most people, this would be a bit more than daily wear and tear, but for Sam's house it equated to disaster-level carnage.
As if unsure about what to do next, Sam trudged to the desk and pushed at the papers on the floor with the tips of his bare toes. “Michael was my twin brother. He died of leukemia when we were twelve.”
“Oh God, I'm so sorry.”
“I spent an entire summer before he died searching for Rebecca's Bounty, convinced that if I could just find the treasure, we'd have enough money for some magical miracle cure because the treatment he was getting wasn't doing a damn thing anymore.” He kept his back to her, misery thickening the natural bass of his voice. “I climbed that stupid bluff every day. Hank, Chris and Claire came with me in the beginning, but by the end of the summer it was just me searching. I must have touched every square inch of limestone, crawled into every crevice and cried on every rock at McPherson's Bluff. Michael died, but I never stopped looking. Ever. If someone was meant to find Rebecca's Bounty, don't you think I would have found it by now?”
Josie took a tentative step toward him, her chest tight. “Sam, what happened with Michael, it wasn't fair but it wasn't your fault.”
But Sam wasn't listening to her anymore. Like a man suffering from shell shock, he stared past her, unblinking, confronting whatever demon only he could see. Tension turned his flesh to steel and he clenched his jaw so tightly, Josie worried he'd break something.
Wanting to ease his pain, Josie crossed to him. When he didn't brush off her nearness, she stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her face against his bare back. They stood intertwined like that for several
minutes, until his erratic breathing calmed under her damp cheek. He unwound himself from her embrace and stepped to the other end of the large desk. An all-to-familiar emptiness took the place of his warm body.
“Harlan took it.” Sam's shoulders slumped as he gazed into an empty cigar box in the middle of his once pristine desk. “I had hoped, for once, to be wrong.”
“The map? It's gone?”
“Only a copy of a fake. I figured if someone came looking, they wouldn't stick around here to confirm its authenticity.” All of the anger he'd suppressed burst to the surface in a howl of frustration. “You. Harlan. Who's next to use me because of Rebecca's Bounty? I've been looking for that damn treasure for my entire life. I've wasted years trying to it, to fill some missing part of me. Not anymore.”
He flung open a file cabinet and tossed out papers in such quantity the sheaves flew around him in a tornado of fury. Next, he attacked one of the book shelves, chucking worn books to the ground.
Josie slunk back to the doorway as he continued his path of destruction. Who knew better than her the pain of betrayal? God, what had she done?
Sam paced the length of his home office, running his fingers through his hair and grumbling about false hope and crazy relatives. He'd had enough. No more searching or failed attempts to fix the past. Uncle Harlan was right about one thing. Finding Rebecca's Bounty wouldn't do a damn thing to bring back Michael.
Just as his invectives slowed from a flood to a trickle, something sharp jabbed the arch of his bare foot and pain shot up his leg. He hopped awkwardly on the uninjured foot until he could lean against his desk. Holding his bum foot in one hand, he peered down at the diamond-shaped gold pin piercing his tender flesh.
Michael's Little League pin. Mom had given it to him to wear to the funeral in his twin's memory. Sam slid down the desk and sat surrounded by the papers scattered around the floor and surrendered to the pain.
The cloying scent of lilies, thick in the small church, had nearly choked him. His father sat on Sam's left side, ramrod straight and perfectly still except for the shake in his hands that wouldn't stop. His mother sat on his right side, crying silent tears and squeezing his hand tight as if to keep him from leaving too. A sunburn still chapped his nose and cheeks from his failed attempt to find Rebecca's Bounty and brand-new stitches held together the gash across his cheek, caused by a tumble down one of McPherson's Bluff's steep inclines. Dirt caked under his nails, embedded during fruitless digging after he'd flung the shovel off the bluff in frustration. He hadn't spoken in three days and couldn't imagine ever wanting to again.
He'd denied for so long that his twin was really dying that when it had actually happened, he'd gone into a kind of shock. When he emerged a year later, some part of him had remained trapped in stone—until Josie had shaken it loose.
The woman in question hunkered down beside him, brushed aside the papers and settled next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and her amber scent tugged him away from his dark memories.
He should shake her off, but her warm flesh pressed against him helped anchor him to the here and now.
“After L.A., I was lost. Usually, I'm the one taking care of everyone, but I couldn't even remember to brush my teeth on a daily basis. Cy came for me, helped me set myself to rights. He's my twin. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose him. I'm so sorry.”
The news she had a twin didn't shock him. Intrigued him, maybe, but didn't surprise. That dormant twin part of him must have sensed it and latched on with all its might. Of all the people who knew about Michael, she'd understand most of all.
“The pain, it never goes away. You just get used to it.” He relaxed back against the desk. “After Michael died, I was so angry. I didn't speak for a year after he died. And everyone was always staring, whispering when I walked by, calling me 'that poor boy’. They weren't trying to be mean, but I hated being the center of attention, a hook for the town to hang all their pity on. I hated Michael and myself.
“Then, I came across Rebecca's diary. You've read it; you know what her life was like. Her story of giving everything up and starting all over inspired me. I started going out to the bluff again, but it didn't take long until I realized I needed more information. My first words after Michael died were to ask my mother for our family tree. She was taking a tray of baked macaroni and cheese out of the oven at the time and dropped it. The glass pan shattered on the floor, sending shards of glass and pasta flying everywhere. Then she was holding me tight and we were both crying.”
He stopped to inhale her scent and brush his cheek against her platinum curls while he regained his iron control over his emotions. God, he'd miss her, but she was an aberration, a wild flower sprouting in the hayfield. Just as the farmer yanked out the trespassing weed, he'd have to remove her from his life. The only true thing he had left was his sense of order and Josie was chaos personified.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from taking one last whiff of her perfume. “I haven't stopped looking for Rebecca's Bounty since that day, but it's time I admit it. There is no treasure.”
Josie's stomach tumbled at the hard look in his eyes. He wasn't just talking, he really believed it. The realization struck her as hard as a fist. She'd never be able to save her parents without that treasure.
“I think you need to go.” Sam stood and walked to the window, not bothering to turn and look at her. “Go back to Vegas.”
Pushing past the prick of his words, she strode to his side, stopping next to him as if to dare him to try to ignore her. “I'm not leaving Dry Creek without the treasure. It's out there and we're going to find it.”
His jaw hardened. “Then you're an even bigger fool than that old man. There's nothing for you here.”
The words sucker-punched the air right out of Josie's lungs. It took her a minute but eventually she dragged in a ragged breath. “You would think so, but you're wrong.”
She swept out of the room, unsure of what hurt more, Sam's dismissal or the fact that leaving him hurt like she was stabbing herself in the eye with a cocktail umbrella. She stuffed her legs into her jeans, slipped on her shoes, swiped her shirt off the floor and considered switching out of Sam's T-shirt before deciding it wasn't worth the bother.
Josie slammed the front door shut behind her and grabbed her keys out of the front pocket of her backpack as she stomped over to her crappy car. She’d figure out a way to get Sam to come around. Her parents’ lives depended on it. And dammit, she needed him.
The car door creaked open on rusty hinges. Like her, it was barely holding it together.
Chapter Eleven
Josie scanned the crowd outside of the small house in the middle of nowhere for Sam's auburn-streaked hair. Nearly everyone wore ski caps or these weird hats with earflaps, frustrating her efforts to find him.
The idea had seemed perfect this morning when she’d read about the auction of Beth Martinez's house in the Dry Creek Gazette. The article had been accompanied by a photo of Beth and her fiancé, Sheriff Hank Layton. Josie figured Sam would have to show up to his soon-to-be sister-in-law's big event.
She hadn't expected it to be so crowded. There must have been a hundred people milling around in the freezing temperatures. Though her fingers felt like skinny blocks of ice, she'd rolled the dice on finding Sam here and she wasn't ready to give up yet. Perseverance seemed to be her word of the week here in Dry Creek.
Check that. The word of the week had to be desperation. She had to persuade Sam to work with her to find Rebecca's Bounty. Her secret hope was that he’d welcome her into his arms again too, but after she made her confession, there was no way that would be happening. But Sam was a good man. He’d help her save her parents. He had to, time was running out and she didn't expect Snips to offer her an extension.
Josie rubbed her gloved hands together to ward off the arctic-level cold as she hung out at the edge of the crowd at the Martinez auction.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” Sam hissed in h
er ear.
Heat flooded her body and she was transported to the tropics. “Looking for you, of course.”
“Well, you found me. Now go away.”
How did he make it through a day without someone clobbering him? “Did anyone ever tell you that you can be a real ass?”
“Happens all the time.” His gaze traveled down her body before snapping back up to her face. “Don't you have a real coat?”
“What do you call this?” She held out her leather-covered arms.
“An invitation for frostbite.”
Fire seared her skin when his hand landed on the small of her back and he nudged her toward his car.
“Come on, let's warm you up in my car before you freeze to death.”
Damn, even his car was tan. This man desperately needed some color in his life. He followed her to the passenger side and opened the door.
“Thanks.”
“Even I have manners occasionally.”
It looked like a shiny, new show model on the inside. No crumpled candy wrappers or junk mail piled on the passenger seat or even a wet patch of melted snow. She slid into the still warm car and practically melted into the leather seat.
Sam circled around back. A blast of cold air shot into the car when he pulled open the driver's door and sat down. After he shut the door, they sat in silence for a few minutes until he turned the key in the ignition and a hard-driving drum solo blared from every speaker. With reflexes faster than a cat sprayed with water, Sam jammed the radio's off button.
Josie couldn't stop laughing. “It's okay, I'm not going to rat you out for actually being human.”
Sam's lips twitched into an almost smile. “No one would believe you anyway.”
“Not even your family?”
He snorted. “Especially not my family. I'm as much a black sheep in the Layton family as my uncle Harlan.”
“What did he do?”
“He stole Rebecca's diary and lost it in a poker game.”
