Her fingers slid into his thick tawny hair, holding his head against her soft breast. His fingers slid between her legs to take possession of her in primitive passion. He stroked her, and her nails dug into his flesh. “If you stop, Jonah, I’ll...”
His fingers halted their tantalizing play. A dimple pitted his cheek. “Yes? You’ll what?”
“I swear I’ll see you hanged.” She grinned, then gasped as he resumed plowing her furrow.
“Anything to accommodate you,” he whispered roughly, and slanted his mouth over hers.
Piercing currents of desire electrified her body. Just as she knew there could be no sustaining the avalanche of unbearable pleasure, Jonah withdrew his fingers. “No!” she protested weakly.
But he slid up over her and took her, starting her all over again on her sensual climb. By the time they had finished their loving, her hair was matted with twigs and dried grass and dirt—and she didn’t care in the least. She wondered if her Renegade Man had given his lover as much pleasure as Jonah gave her.
But then—and the realization nearly staggered her—wasn’t Jonah her Renegade Man? Hadn’t he always been? Silver City’s renegade. And yet she had never seen the obvious.
Casting secret smiles of amusement at each other, they got dressed again. Jonah stepped behind her and snapped her bra, then she stood in front of him and buttoned his shirt while he studied her features in minute detail. She lifted her gaze to his chiseled face. “My nose dirty or something?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I was just thinking how hungry I am. You look good enough to eat, but there’s not enough meat on your bones to satisfy my appetite.”
She feigned a sigh. “I suppose you want to break for lunch?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Then it’s back to work!”
After a ten-minute snack break she prepared to go back out into the boiling sunlight, but he surprised her by putting on clean clothes and telling her, “I’m going into Silver City to have the gold content analyzed.” She watched him drive off, feeling that the celebration of Jonah’s find was, for her, a bittersweet one.
She went back to her digging, but hours went by, and she was no nearer to solving the riddle of the spear point than she had been went she started. Then, even though the air was broiling hot, she felt suddenly cold. Illogically, irrationally chilled. She picked up a small brush and began dusting the ochre dirt from the irregular mounds and indentations. A shape began to emerge: a skeleton.
She had uncovered a burial ground. A human burial plot. But this burial had taken place within the last hundred years. She could tell because the bones weren’t red, as they would have been if the gravesite had been older. They would have leached the color from the soil. Sitting back on her heels, she observed what was left of the clothing and calculated that the burial was even more recent than she had initially guessed—within the last twenty-five to fifty years, give or take a few.
Then the hair stood up on her arms, and a withering sense of fear seized her in its clutches. She shook herself free of her morbid terror and, using her brush, gently pushed back a remnant of a shirt from the skeleton’s breastbone, revealing a dirt-encrusted object that looked frighteningly familiar. Careful not to disturb the remains, she took her find in her trembling hand and stared at it, her breath coming in deep, terrified gulps. Unsteadily she rose and somehow made her way to the Chevy. She drove as mindlessly as a madwoman, tears blurring everything beyond her windshield.
When she reached the lavish home in the North Addition, she pushed past the startled maid and stormed into the den. C.B. was sitting in his favorite chair, a half-empty shot glass in his hand. She glanced at the coffee table and noticed that the snake was missing, then was surprised at her lack of satisfaction.
C.B. didn’t seem startled by her abrupt entrance. His eyes empty, he stared at her over the rim of his glass. “I know why you’re here, girl, but despite whatever you may think about me, I wasn’t responsible for what Buck did to your dog. I don’t hold with cruelty to animals.”
She had an insane, scary fear that she was going to laugh. Laugh! She opened her palm, and the object she had taken from the grave dropped with a clunk onto the coffee table. Puzzled, C.B. glanced down at it, then up at her.
“My grandmother’s Eastern Star ring, C.B.,” she said coldly.
In the heavy silence, their gazes locked. He swallowed hard, and she asked in a deadly soft voice, “You may not hold with cruelty to animals, but what about cruelty to humans?”
He shook his head, like a swimmer trying to clear the water from his ears. His lips trembled. His face went the same dead white as his shirt, and the glass slipped from his hand to thud on the hardwood floor. “As God is my witness, I loved him,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I loved him as much as I love my own life. Chap was my life! ”
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the leather couch. She stared sightlessly at the ring, unable to bear the anguish in the old man’s face. “Why, then? Why?”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” His tears coursed down his weathered cheeks. “The night you left town, Chap got drunk and came—”
“Chap never drank.”
“I know. But he did that night.” C.B. covered his face with his age-spotted hands. “He barged into the ranch house. He was furious that I had talked him into giving you up. I had been hunting and was getting ready to clean my guns. We got into an argument over you. I don’t know how it happened, but we ended up wrestling for the shotgun . . . and, my God . .. My God, it went off!”
She closed her eyes against the horror of the image. “That’s why you wanted me to leave Tomahawk Flats, wasn’t it?” she said tonelessly. “You knew I might discover your grisly secret.”
He hung his head and wept, great, body-wracking sobs. “You don’t know how often 1 wished it was me who had died that night. I’ve been condemned to a living hell ever since.”
She rose and stared down at him. “I don’t think I could ever have thought up a revenge that would have . . . How ironic. There’s a certain awful justice to it, isn’t there? The secret’s yours, C.B. You have to live with it the rest of your life, God help you.”
She turned to go, and he said in a voice that was roughened by tears, “The sheriff will be out at Tomahawk Flats tomorrow morning. I’m turning myself in. I can’t go on like this anymore. Believe me, Ms. Randall, I’m glad it’s all over with. It was too heavy a burden.”
He had called her Ms. Randall, she thought in amazement.
She said nothing, simply walked out. In the entryway, she passed the gilt-framed mirror. Her face was ashen, but the bitterness, the same bitterness she had seen in C.B.’s eyes when she had first returned to Silver City, was gone. She was at peace at last. But it was a hollow peace that only time could fill.
The sheriff came out the next morning with the fo rensics people, who gathered, collected, photographed and took notes, their expressions bland. She answered a few questions, then moved off to one side, watching the morbidly clinical routine from beneath a shady cottonwood. Magnum and Jonah hovered around her, the Lab at her side, whining nervously, Jonah behind her, his strong hands gentling her tense shoulders.
“What will happen to him? To C.B.?” she asked, turning her gaze up to Jonah.
His features were granite-hard. He shrugged. “He turned himself in of his own accord. He’s a native son. I think the judicial system will be lenient with him.”
Somehow Soren had found out about the discovery, because he arrived a few minutes later and bypassed the investigative team to talk to her and Jonah. Taking her hand between his big ones, Soren said, “I just heard, Rita-lou. I’m sorry. I know this must be hard for you.”
She could only nod. Soren and Jonah talked in low voices for a moment; then Soren left. She knew he was seeing Nelda these days, and hoped he would find the happiness he was searching for.
Happiness. At that moment she couldn’t
remember what it was. After Chap’s remains had been gathered in a zippered black plastic bag, she turned and laid her head against the comforting support of Jonah’s chest. She was shaking with anger and anguish. “So unfair,” she murmured thickly. “All the dreams—the hopes of youth—silenced forever. It’s so damned unfair!”
“It’s all right,” he said tenderly. “It’s all right now.”
For several days she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the dig, so she puttered around the camper or helped Jonah with the tedious task of panning. “This is how it’s done,” he told her, still exuberant because the Assay Office had reported that Jonah’s find indicated the presence of gold in a heavy concentration.
Wrapping his arms around her from the back, he said, “You just shake the pan gently, Rita-lou, so the water gradually swirls over the edges and the gold is trapped in those riffles.”
She found it difficult to concentrate, enveloped in those muscled arms, his breath fanning her cheek. She glanced up to see the lusty twinkle in his eyes. “I think,” she said coolly, “that you’ll never find your mother lode if we stay glued to each other like this all day.” She thrust the pan back into his big hands. “Here, we both have our own work to do.”
And she did. She had her own dream to pursue. She deserted Jonah, and for about half an hour merely sat in front of the grid where she had found Chap’s body. But she had found the Clovis spear point here, too. Possibly it had been disturbed by C.B.’s digging so many years earlier.
Sweat beaded at her temples and along her upper lip. Sweat trickled into her eyes and down her neck, but still she sat, absorbing the idea germinating in her mind: that perhaps, after abandoning her in life, in death Chap was giving her her dream.
Galvanized into action, she picked up a lightweight trencher and carefully began to shovel the dirt from the top layer, all the while keeping an eye out for the first telltale sign of the black earth that marked human habitation.
Half a day of cautious digging uncovered the next zone—black soil, as she had hoped. She immediately discarded the trenching tool and began to use her trowel again. With gentle strokes she soon unearthed what turned out to be, after examination, charred animal bones, perhaps those of an early bison.
She spent the rest of the day bagging and recording her find. She was still hopeful, but she was also exhausted. The past two days—finding Chap’s remains, the scene with C.B., answering questions and reliving the sad memories—had taken their toll on her.
That night Jonah was filled with boyish exuberance, and she lay in his arms in the dark, delighting in his nearness, in his deep voice as he talked about his favorite seafaring experiences.
“Jonah...”
“Mmmmh?”
“If you don’t kiss me..
He complied. After his mouth released hers, he whispered against her cheek, “You should have seen that schooner, Ritz. It—”
She clamped her hands in his hair and tugged fiercely, bringing his mouth down to her own. She heard him chuckle against her lips; then he took control in a kiss that left her panting. “Fuck the schooner story!”
Oh, how she was going to miss him when he left!
Buoyed by her premonition that she would find her Renegade Man in the same grid where she had found Chap’s body, she arose before dawn and began dressing. Jonah reached out sleepily to try to haul her back into the bunk with him, but she successfully dodged him and escaped into the chill early-morning air. Magnum immediately roused himself from his place beside the camper steps to follow her the quarter mile to her site.
By the time the sun tinted the eastern peaks with brilliant shades of pink and orange, she was kneeling in front of grid five. “I’m getting calluses on top of calluses,” she mumbled to Magnum, who expressed only vague interest by flexing his droopy ears.
All day she dug and troweled and sifted. Grid number five was nearly three feet deep when her trowel nudged something solid, and a strange feeling took hold of her. Excitement, although there was nothing yet to be excited about. She could merely have found a small stone.
Instinctively she sensed otherwise. Somehow she knew that she was about to discover something momentous.
Before her eyes, as she worked, a human form took shape. She had uncovered a second burial site.
She worked quickly, but with gentle strokes. Two hours later she sat back against the grid wall and observed her find: interred with the partial remains were a spear, thousands of stone beads and numerous rings and anklets, undoubtedly reflecting the deceased’s rank in society. The lavish grave indicated that these people must have believed in a life after death.
Her trained eye studied some of the revealed bones. They were soft and flaky and red. An ironic smile curved her lips. She had found not her Renegade Man but a child.
A girl-child thirty-five-thousand years old!
Chapter 16
What’s with you?” Jonah asked.
She glanced up from her bowl of soggy cereal, but she couldn’t hold his penetrating gaze. “Nothing. Nothing. Just tired, that’s all.”
Tenderly he cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Come on, Ritz. No more moody silences and secretive glances. We’ve been honest with each other up till now, so what’s up?”
Behind Jonah’s guileless green eyes there gleamed an intelligence, a sharpness, that she had always found wonderful, exciting. But now that intelligence weighed and measured and calculated, and she found it disconcerting.
“It’s the dig,” she answered quickly, lying—and feeling terrible about it. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that lying was the only solution. If she didn’t do something quickly, all the secrets that might be found in the prehistoric grave would be destroyed by scavengers. Yet to rebury it now would be to expose it to further, quicker deterioration.
What could she do? Once her find was announced, scientists and sightseers would descend on the place, putting an end to Jonah’s work. The site woqld be nationalized and all unrelated digging prohibited.
“I’ve come across some artifacts I’m having trouble dating,” she answered slowly. “And I can’t go any further until I do. I’d like to get a lab analysis on an arrowhead. I suppose I’m going to have to make a trip to see the boys in Santa Fe.”
He arched a brow. “The boys in Santa Fe?”
“The state archaeological team there. They’ll probably be able to help me out.”
That decided, she smiled brightly, telling Jonah that she would be back the following day, and thirty minutes later she kissed him goodbye. “I thought you had the hots for me,” he teased her, nuzzling her neck. “How can you leave such a good thing?”
“Easy,” she wisecracked. “I’ll take a cold shower at the first motel I come to.”
She had to keep things light; she could never let him know how deeply in love with him she was. Driving away, she felt as if she were leaving the largest part of her heart behind.
A little over five hours of highway driving brought her into Santa Fe, New Mexico’s mountain capital.
The predominant architecture was Pueblo and territorial, and the office building where the National Park Service team was headquartered fit into the latter category. Schotsky rose from behind his desk and smiled cheerily. She wished she could feel as happy.
He was completely bald and wore thick glasses that made his engaging blue eyes seem even bigger than they were. He motioned for her to sit down opposite him. The driving had left her weary, and she sank gratefully onto the hardback chair.
“You told my secretary you wanted to speak with me about something important?” he prompted.
She took a deep breath, then blurted out her precious knowledge. “I’ve found it, Ben—my Renegade Man.”
“You did what?” He jerked forward in his chair. “You did it? You found proof of a thirty-five- thousand-year-old man?”
She nodded. “There’s a slight problem, though.”
He sighed and sat back in his
chair. “I thought so. The big come-on. Now, what did you really find?”
“I’m very serious.” She dug into her shoulder bag and opened a small sack. Half a dozen ivory beads rolled out onto his desk. “I found what I said. Have them carbon-dated if you don’t believe me.”
He stared at them as if they were gold nuggets. “My God, if you did, then it’s the discovery of the century!” His excited gaze flicked back to her. “So what’s the problem?”
She stared out the arched window, not really seeing the Sangre de Cristo peaks, but instead visualizing Jonah’s face, alive with vitality and enthusiasm. His eyes had the far-off look that other historic adventurers, like Lewis and Clark and Christopher Columbus, had undoubtedly worn.
She couldn’t watch that light go out; she couldn’t destroy that dream, not even at the expense of her own. “I have a proposition for you, Ben. An opportunity you would sell your mother down the river for.”
“His brows climbed on his balding head.
“I’m willing to give you and your office the credit for the discovery of the Renegade Man in exchange for a promise that the discovery will be kept secret for the next three months. At that time you may reveal the find to the press and your colleagues.”
Schotsky’s eyes grew round. He opened his mouth and closed it, then took a gulp of cold coffee from the mug on his desk. He was beside himself, and she felt a deep, weighty sadness. But that sadness would eventually pass. The regret she would have felt at destroying Jonah’s dream—and with it the man—would have lasted forever.
After several swallows he croaked, “You may be out of your mind to do something like this, Rita-lou, but I’m certainly not so out of mine that I’d turn down such an offer.”
After getting Schotsky’s word on the deal, she checked into a modestly priced motel off the plaza and spent two hours soaking in the tub. The hot bath should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. She wished she was back in that cramped camper, enfolded in Jonah’s arms, wished that he was kissing her until she lost all track of time. Morning couldn’t come quickly enough. When it did, she wished with all her heart that day had never dawned.
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