Somebody to Love

by Unknown

  “I know.” She sighed. “I wished I never started digging there in the first place. We might as well head back.”

  “Don’t give up so quickly. You do have a tendency to quit when the going gets tough.”

  “Yeah, according to my family, it’s my fatal flaw.”

  “I wouldn’t say fatal.” He chuckled. “You just need a little dose of stick-to-itiveness.”

  “Meaning?” She flashed him a hopeful look. She looked too cute in that pink straw cowgirl hat and denim shorts. It was all he could do to keep from ogling her gorgeous legs. Okay, so he couldn’t keep from it. He ogled. Big-time.

  “I’ve got an ace up my sleeve,” he said. “It’s not as good as official documentation, but it’s something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oral history.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “From whom?”

  “Let’s grab some lunch first and I’ll tell you my plan.” He didn’t bother asking what she wanted to eat. He knew her favorite casual dining place in Alpine. A cozy mom-and-pop joint.

  “Yummm,” she said, practically breathing the sound as they pulled up at the Sandwich Hut. “You remembered.”

  “Of course I remembered. If this place was an airline we’d have maxed out frequent flier miles, as many times as we’ve eaten here.” But back then they’d only been friends, going Dutch. Now they were … what? Professor and student, his stern left brain provided, but that’s not what his frisky right brain was thinking.

  He did his level damnedest not to stare at her butt as she sauntered through the entrance ahead of him, and failed spectacularly. When she spun around to ask him if he wanted to split the Big Bend, the restaurant’s premier sandwich, she caught him in mid-ogle.

  Face heating, he quickly glanced away.

  “I saw that,” she teased.

  Chagrined, he decided to just go with it. “Hey, it’s not my fault you have the sexiest fanny this side of the Pecos.”

  “Why, thank you for the compliment.”

  The owner and his wife, Max and Molly Marino, spied Jericho and came over to welcome him home, and they insisted on giving him and Zoey complimentary beers. He wasn’t much for drinking during the middle of the day, but hey, maybe it would help him unwind a little. He’d been tight as a top ever since he’d come home and discovered his feelings for Zoey had warped into something he did not fully understand. He’d missed her, that was for damn sure.

  “You two look so cute together,” Molly said. “How come you’re just friends?”

  Zoey stroked her chin and gave him a sideways look. She was going to let him field that question.

  Jericho shifted his weight, met Zoey’s eyes. “She’s way too much woman for me. She’d wear me out in a New York minute.”

  “Hey, shoot for the stars, I always say.” Max slung an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “If I hadn’t been cocky about my chances, I wouldn’t ever have landed a gem like my Molly.”

  “What if I come up short?” Jericho asked, because he really wanted to know the answer. What would happen if he made a serious move on Zoey—after the dig was over, of course—and he simply could not keep up with her? The woman was lightning—quick and hot. He was more like hinkypunk—lingering and cool.

  “At least you would have had a great time failing.” Max chuckled.

  Molly whispered something to Zoey, who burst out laughing.

  “Take it from a sandwich man,” Max told him. “You two are more compatible than you might think. Do you have any idea how many couples can’t split a Big Bend because they don’t like the same things?”

  “My husband is convinced that sandwich compatibility leads to compatibility in the bedroom,” Molly said. “And I tend to agree.”

  Amid the good-natured ribbing, Jericho led Zoey to a vacant table at the back of the restaurant. “What did Molly say to you?”

  Zoey grinned impishly. “You sure you really want to know?”

  “Will I be embarrassed?”

  “Probably. She said if the size of your hands are any indication I would be in for a treat.”

  Jericho whirled his head around to stare at the matronly Molly, who waved from behind the checkout counter. “Molly said that?”

  “Um-hmm and from the size of Max’s hands, she knows what she’s talking about.” Zoey was trying to get his goat. What would she say if he turned the tables on her?

  “You’re just dying to find out if the old myth is true, aren’t you? That the size of a man’s hands translates into the size of his … er … other appendages.” He splayed his palm in the middle of the table.

  Her gaze fixed on his hand and her eyes widened. “Does it in your case?”

  “There are some things,” he drawled, “that need to be experienced firsthand.”

  Her face turned the color of ripe cherries and she ducked her head just as a server slid their sandwich and beers in front of them. Zoey plucked up the beer and took a long gulp. “Ah,” she declared. “I was so thirsty.”

  “You’re just trying to change the subject.”

  “Absolutely!”

  This was fun. Usually, Zoey was the outrageous one.

  “I’m digging in,” she announced, picked up her half of the Big Bend, and sank her teeth into the toasted baguette stuffed with smoked turkey, roasted buffalo beef sliced wafer thin, crisp slices of candied bacon, fried egg and Colby Jack cheese. Not the healthiest sandwich in the world, but for the occasional splurge, it was decadently delicious. Just like the sexy woman in front of him.

  Jericho shook off the thought. He admired the way she went at everything with total gusto. Even the way she’d dug up those artifacts the day before. Yes, her impulsiveness had put them in a tough spot, but she’d figured out something was under those mounds, and for a novice archaeologist, that was pretty impressive. He hated that they wouldn’t be able to dig there, but maybe all was not lost. They did have one last hope.

  “So,” she said, wiping the juice from her mouth with a napkin. “Where are we going from here?”

  He took a swallow of ice-cold beer. It went down easy. “Think about it. Where are you most likely to obtain an oral history?”

  “From someone who knows the topic.”

  “And who is that?”

  She wrinkled her nose in the cute little way of hers. “A history buff?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Someone who is old enough to know a lot of history?”

  “Exactly. The older the better, and where might we find someone like that?”

  She beamed. “Oh, I know where you’re going with this. We need a local informant. Are you impressed that I know the lingo?”

  “Zoey, you never cease to impress me.”

  Her face pinked with delight, and her delight delighted him. “Are we headed to the nursing home to talk to your maternal great-grandmother? Isn’t she the oldest living person in Cupid?”

  “At a hundred and two, she is,” he said, “and she spent her entire life in Jeff Davis County. The only problem is that sometimes she’s lucid and sometimes she’s not. Hopefully, we’ll catch her on a good day.”

  “If that’s the case can we trust her oral history?” Zoey caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Oral histories are always prejudiced by point of view and memory, but when you don’t have anything else to support your theories, they’re a starting point, and you’d be surprised at how helpful they can be, even if they’re not completely accurate or objective. If we can get something out of my great-grandmother, it might be enough to take to Winz-Smith and ask for his permission to dig the mounds.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  Her wildfire enthusiasm lit him up inside. While he loved his work, it had been a long time since he’d seen archaeology through beginner’s eyes and she made him remember the pure excitement of discovery. Or was the adrenaline surging through him much more complicated than that? One thing was for sure, whenever he was around her he felt m
ore alive. Always had, probably always would. Leaving one big question.

  What was he going to do about it?

  Chapter 10

  Traditions: Customs or beliefs passed down from adults to children.

  “GRANNY Helen,” Jericho called to the wizened woman crumpled in a wheelchair by the window. Zoey trailed behind him feeling out of place.

  Granny Helen was tiny, birdlike. Her face was wreathed in wrinkles, her hands gnarled with arthritis. She narrowed dark brown eyes cloudy with cataracts and then broke into a toothless smile. Her high patrician cheekbones spoke to her Comanche ancestry. “Joe?”

  Zoey winced. Joe was Jericho’s grandfather, Helen’s only son, and he’d been dead for more than fifteen years.

  “No Granny, I’m Jericho, your great-grandson,” he corrected gently, took the chair beside her, and reached for her hand.

  “Angie’s boy?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where’s Joe? He doesn’t come see me anymore.” Her eyes misted and her bottom lip trembled. “Why doesn’t he come see me anymore?”

  Jericho patted his great-grandmother’s arm. “How have you been?”

  “Who’s that?” Granny Helen peered around him at Zoey.

  “That’s my friend, Zoey McCleary. You’ve met her before. When we were kids.”

  Granny Helen assessed her with a hard eye. “She’s no friend.”

  Unsettled, Zoey shifted her weight and wrapped her arms around herself. This did not appear to be one of the elderly woman’s good days.

  “Sure she is. I’ve known her most of my life.”

  “You can’t fool me, boy. I see the way you’re looking at her. You don’t look at a friend that way.”

  Jericho’s eyes met hers. Zap! A hot spark sprang from him to her. Zoey dropped his gaze. Things were quickly getting sticky between them.

  “Listen, Granny, we wanted to ask you about when you were a girl.”

  “You shouldn’t make a lover out of a friend.” Granny fretted, her gaze focusing on a red bird that had come to perch on the outside of the window. “It won’t work.”

  Zoey’s pulse quickened.

  “Why not?” Jericho ventured.

  Granny Helen plucked at the hem of her floral blouse. “They tried it and look what happened.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Little Wolf and Clarissa.”

  Sadness tugged the corners of Jericho’s mouth downward and he blew out a long breath.

  “Who are Little Wolf and Clarissa?” Zoey asked.

  Jericho shook his head. “It’s a fairy tale she used to tell me as a kid.”

  “Have some respect, boy,” Granny Helen scolded, her voice growing stronger. “Little Wolf and Clarissa were as real as you and me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he placated.

  “Girl.” Granny Helen pointed a knotty finger at Zoey. “Get me my cigar box.”

  “Where is it?” Zoey glanced around the room.

  “In the closet.”

  Dutifully, Zoey went to the wardrobe and searched around until she found a well-worn Aurelia Biltmore cigar box on the top shelf underneath a stack of folded nightgowns, and brought it back to her.

  The elderly woman settled the box into her lap and opened it up. She took out old black and white photographs of long-dead relatives, a jar of baby teeth, a half-finished cross-stitch project, clippings of newspaper articles about various historical events in Cupid, one of which was how Zoey’s great-great-uncle August McCleary saved the Trans-Pecos from the Spanish flu with his medicinal concoction. It was that article that spurred Cousin Walker to do research and write August’s biography.

  From the bottom of the box Granny Helen dug out a Native American beaded medallion. She placed the medallion in Jericho’s palm. The beadwork depicted a bright yellow flame on a background of dark green.

  “What is this?” Jericho asked.

  “Your heritage. Passed down from my full-blood mama and her mama before that. Take it.”

  “I didn’t know Comanches did much beadwork.”

  “Our family was special,” she said proudly.

  “In what way?”

  “Keepers of the Flame.”

  Jericho looked unconvinced. “How come you never told me about this before?”

  “I forgot about it. Until now. Until I saw her.” She pointed at Zoey. “That’s why you have to stay away from her. She’s one of them.”

  “One of who?”

  Her eyelids flickered and she looked momentarily confused. “Where’s Joe?”

  “Granny,” Jericho said gently. “Grandpa Joe passed away.”

  Her eyes widened, her bottom lip trembled, and a single tear slid down her cheek. “Gone. It’s all gone. Everything gone.”

  “I’m not gone. I’m here,” Jericho said.

  She shook her head. “Don’t get old, son. You lose everything.”

  Jericho smoothed her hair, spoke soothing noises.

  Zoey’s heart wrenched for the poor woman. She moved to kneel in front of Granny Helen. “Could you tell me the story of Little Wolf and Clarissa? I’ve never heard it.”

  That perked her up. She raised her head, wiped away the tear. “You never heard about Little Wolf and Clarissa?”

  “No.”

  Jericho gave her a grateful smile and silently mouthed, Thank you.

  Granny Helen set the cigar box on the window ledge, and the red bird flew away. She smoothed wrinkles from her floral cotton skirt, and for the first time since they’d come into the room, she seemed completely clearheaded. “Little Wolf was a handsome Comanche boy. As handsome as that one when he was little.” She smiled at Jericho.

  “He is handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Watch it. He’s not for you,” Granny Helen snapped. “You’re too much like Clarissa.”

  Zoey rocked back on her heels. What could she say to that?

  “I know you’re a good girl,” Granny Helen’s voice softened. “I can see it in your eyes, but being good does not change the facts. You two don’t belong together.”

  Granny’s words caught her with an uppercut. Her stomach churned and she wished she hadn’t eaten that Big Bend sandwich. Don’t freak, she’s just an elderly woman whose mind isn’t what it used to be. Don’t take what she says to heart.

  “Granny,” Jericho said, gently but sternly. “Zoey is my best friend.”

  “Just be sure you keep it that way. Otherwise, there’s nothing but trouble.”

  Alarm tightened her throat. “You were telling us about Little Wolf,” Zoey prodded, hoping to get her back on topic.

  “Was I? Oh yes. One day Little Wolf went to gather water at a crystal-clear lake,” Granny Helen went on. “He slipped on a wet rock and fell in. The water was over his head and Little Wolf couldn’t swim.”

  “He went to gather water all by himself?” Zoey asked.

  “The men were off on a hunting party and the women were tending the camp. All the other children were either too small to go off on their own, or old enough to go hunting with the braves. As he was going down for the third time, Little Wolf knew he was about to die and prayed to the Great Spirit to save him.”

  Granny Helen paused a long moment, stared blankly over Zoey’s head as if she’d forgotten the story or was seeing something from a long-ago past.

  Zoey couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Was he saved?”

  Granny Helen blinked and continued. “Just when that boy thought he’d breathed his last, someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out of the deep.”

  Riveted by the story, Zoey asked, “Who saved him?”

  “As Little Wolf lay on the ground gasping for air, he looked up into the face of a blond-haired, blue-eyed angel. She was Clarissa, the young daughter of a pioneer settler.”

  “That must have been dramatic,” Zoey breathed. “Praying to be rescued and at the last moment a pretty girl saves you.”

  “Make no mistake. Pretty as she was, Clarissa was Little Wolf�
��s enemy. Her people had invaded the land of his people, but they were children and they didn’t care about stuff like that. They became fast friends even though they knew their families would not approve.” Granny Helen’s voice took on a dreamy quality.

  “Ooh conflict, the heart of any juicy story.” Zoey looked at Jericho, who was studying her with a pensive expression.

  “By the light of the moon, Little Wolf and Clarissa would slip off at night to play with each other,” Granny Helen went on.

  Zoey gulped. “I can see where this is about to go horribly wrong.”

  Granny Helen nodded. “One night, Clarissa’s father caught her frolicking with Little Wolf and forbade her to ever see him again.”

  “Whew,” Zoey said. “At least it wasn’t worse.”

  “They didn’t see each other for many moons. Missionaries came to the land and built schools and attempted to convert the Native Americans to their religion. Little Wolf’s tribe was peaceful people and they allowed him to go to school. He was very happy to find out that Clarissa also went to the same school and they resumed their friendship as best they could under the stern glares of the priests.”

  “But they were just friends, right?”

  “For the time being.” Granny Helen looked from Jericho to Zoey and back again. “They were still children after all, but their bodies were already starting to change.”

  “Oh dear,” Zoey murmured.

  “One day they foolishly shared a kiss and they were caught by one of the priests. Little Wolf was cast out of the school and Clarissa’s parents no longer allowed her to leave the settlement. By this time, they were desperately in love and being apart only fanned the flames of their longing.” Granny Helen paused to take a long, deep breath. Clearly, so much talking was taking a toll on her.

  “It’s okay,” Jericho said. “You don’t have to go on. Do you want us to help you to bed?”

  Granny Helen glowered at him. “I’m fine, Joe. Just need to rest a minute.”