Shadows and Ruins

by Denise A. Agnew

  doorway, his thumbs hooked in his belt, his feet planted apart. Skinny and rather small

  in stature, Clement didn't look anything like Shane's dad.

  "Miss Emma Baker." Shane enunciated her name succinctly, recalling the haughty

  tilt to her head as she'd looked up at him. Unfortunately he also remembered her soft

  scent.

  "Ah, so you met Emma." Uncle Clement moved further into the kitchen. "Isn't she a

  nice girl?"

  Shane didn't think the word "girl" described her.

  Woman. All lush, one hundred percent woman.

  Shane snorted a laugh. "A little high and mighty."

  Shane caught the glance that passed between his aunt and uncle. Uncle Clement

  arched a brow and smiled. "I can see she made quite an impression on you." Then he

  gave his wife a mock frown. "What's for dinner, woman?"

  Aunt Josy put her hands on her hips. "Take your hat off in the house, Clement."

  "Humph," he said softly, the rumble in his voice tinged with affection as he reached

  for his wife and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth. "What's that wonderful

  smell?"

  "It's certainly not you," she said, smiling affectionately. "What have you been

  doing?"

  He scratched his balding head. "Fixing that fence over at Cutley Ridge. One of those

  damned cows of yours must be leaning on the fence again, Shane."

  Shane sighed and crossed his arms. "What we need to do is put a fence between my

  property and yours."

  Uncle Clement frowned. "Why?"

  Shane shook his head as renewed anger stirred. "Because I want to keep that

  archaeologist off my land. I told you the dig was a big mistake. She's already wandered

  into an area where she doesn't belong. You said she had a freaking topographic map

  and instructions. How did she end up on my side?"

  Shane's uncle grimaced. "Uh-oh."

  "Yeah, uh-oh," Shane said softly. "You didn't tell Wilder to keep the dig on your

  side, did you?"

  Uncle Clement frowned. "I thought I mentioned it to him."

  "I think I remember Clement saying something and Grant Wilder said he'd keep

  the survey on our side," Aunt Josy said, her smooth forehead wrinkling as she frowned.

  Shane sat down at the kitchen table. "Apparently Mr. Wilder lied. She was digging

  in a pit when I went down to confront her."

  Aunt Josy's gentle eyes narrowed. "You confronted her?"

  Shane stiffened, resenting the suspicious tone in her voice. He hated it when people

  acted as if he was a time bomb ready to go off. No matter that his aunt and uncle loved

  him with a fierce devotion, sometimes they gave him that "look". The one that said they

  didn't quite trust him to hold in his anger.

  "I just talked to her."

  Aunt Josy smiled. "I know, darlin'. You didn't frighten her though, did you?"

  He frowned. "Hardly."

  His uncle chuckled. "I suppose you ordered her off your land?"

  "Damned right," Shane muttered, leaning back in his chair slightly and stretching

  his legs in front of him. "When I went back thirty minutes later she'd cleared out. And I

  don't want her on my property again."

  Aunt Josy frowned deeply. "Now, Shane, really. There's a better way to confront

  this. You know the old saying about sugar versus vinegar."

  He grunted. "Yeah, I've heard it."

  Uncle Clement chuckled and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. "Ever the cynic.

  You worked in government too long, Shane."

  Shane nodded. "Taught me to watch my back and take care of myself. No one else

  is going to." As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he caught the disappointment

  on his aunt and uncle's faces. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "People will take

  advantage if you let them."

  Uncle Clement sighed. "Of course some people will, but maybe this is a

  misunderstanding. We'll invite Grant and Emma over for dinner one night and we'll

  talk it out."

  Shane knew his aunt and uncle would do their best to clear up the problem. "Good.

  I want to be here when you lay down the law."

  "Nicely," Josy said. "Lay down the law nicely."

  "We'll call them this evening," Uncle Clement said. "Everything will be fine."

  God, he wished he could be an eternal optimist like them, but he didn't think that

  would happen anytime soon.

  He shouldn't give a shit about seeing Emma Baker again. Instead, he liked the idea

  way too much.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Emma fiddled with the utensils lying on the napkin on the table, then took a sip of

  her coffee. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this edgy.

  As she sat in The Golden Brand restaurant and waited for a server to cover her

  table, Emma looked out the window and half expected to see Shane O'Donnell. But he

  probably had plenty of work to do in the morning on the ranch and wouldn't dream of

  coming into a family-style restaurant.

  The word "family" was far too cozy for him.

  Her mind flashed back to the way he'd looked standing by the site near Cutley

  Ridge. Powerful, tall, just plain large man all the way around. He probably scared kids

  and dogs on a regular basis with his bristling, intimidating masculinity. She drew in a

  slow, deep breath as she recalled the way his gaze had raked over her with insolence

  and obvious dislike. Not that she cared whether he found her attractive. No way. Shane

  didn't qualify as her type. A sophisticated, intelligent man with kindness and the ability

  to have meaningful conversation. That's the kind of man she preferred to date. A coarse

  man with an ego the size of Mount Fuji didn't interest her.

  Even if he was the most gorgeous, sexually stimulating man she'd ever seen.

  She sighed and closed her eyes for a minute. She'd lost her mind. She opened her

  eyes to take in the restaurant. The large log cabin structure leaned precariously on the

  edge of a short drop to the river that rushed by the small town of Gambit Creek.

  Charming in a rustic way, the establishment had been highly recommended by Josy

  O'Donnell, the aunt of the infamous Shane.

  Emma couldn't imagine Shane in a place like this. No. He was the hard-drinking,

  womanizing type who frequented places she'd seen on the small main strip in town.

  The Bull. The Pike. Amazon Saloon. Yep. She knew it in her bones.

  She pictured him sipping a whiskey and cola. Or more likely, he'd have the

  whiskey straight and slam it back. She wouldn't be surprised if he drank it for

  breakfast.

  Recalling the hard, rough edge of his speech, the husky, sexy tone, she could easily

  picture him corralling the waitress who had yet to appear at her table. It would be as

  easy for him as snapping his fingers.

  She could almost hear the tinkle of piano keys played in the background, the scent

  of smoke, sweat, blood and booze filling the air. The waitress would wear one of those

  saloon girl outfits with the black fishnet hose. Shane in a cowboy hat, long duster coated

  with trail dust, his face covered with stubble. Shane's strength as his arm snaked

  around her waist and pulled the waitress down onto his lap.

  Yet, instead of seeing the waitress on his lap, Emma envisioned herself in his arms.

  Crockery smashed to the floor in the kitchen and brought her out of her daydream

  with a jolt.
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  How ridiculous. I wouldn't be caught dead in Shane's embrace.

  Especially not after his tirade yesterday at the site. When his aunt and uncle had

  contacted Grant and then he'd called Emma at her hotel room, she knew the shit had hit

  the proverbial oscillating device. They wanted to have dinner with her and Grant to

  clear up what they called "misunderstandings" about the dig.

  Emma sat back in her booth. Where was Grant anyway? It wasn't the first time she

  wished her boss could be prompt. When she'd stopped by his RV last night, he'd

  suggested they have breakfast before going out to the site. After specifying a time to

  meet the next morning, he'd asked her to stay for a drink. Knowing she had to drive,

  and not too keen on staying in his company socially, she declined the offer.

  Everything about Grant irritated her. She knew she could learn a lot from his

  expertise in the field, and because of that she tolerated his temper, his supercilious

  remarks and demanding attitude. To use a cliché, it was his way or the highway. Soon

  she hoped she'd have enough experience to apply for a bigger position with a larger

  company or to hire on with the state. In the meantime, she would endure Grant's

  dubious company.

  As she reached for her coffee, she spotted her tardy boss pushing his way through

  the gaggle at the front. His wore a slouch on his tall, skinny form and his ungainly walk

  reminded her of a baby giraffe's stagger. This morning he wore his usual uniform of

  baggy jeans, charcoal T-shirt and hiking boots. She couldn't remember ever seeing him

  in anything more formal.

  "Emma." Grant frowned and flopped into the seat opposite her. He swept a hand

  through his bushy, long, red hair, pushing it impatiently back. "I feel like crap."

  "Good morning to you too."

  He sighed and gave her a slightly sarcastic smile. "Good morning." He inhaled.

  "God, even the smell of food makes me sick."

  "Sorry to hear that." She glanced outside at the bustling main street of the mountain

  town and the high peaks that surrounded it. "What's wrong?"

  "Bad stomach."

  His gaze snapped from the people at the other tables then back to Emma. The heavy

  smattering of freckles on his pale face stood out in stark relief over his sharp nose.

  One thing she could count on with Grant was an excuse not to work. She was

  amazed the man even operated his own business. "I'm not sure that we should dig after

  Clement O'Donnell's call last night."

  The waitress interrupted to take their breakfast orders.

  When she left, Grant dropped his tone to a whisper. "Don't worry about

  O'Donnell's tirade. His aunt and uncle assure me we can work this out to everyone's

  satisfaction. Go ahead and work on the portion you started."

  Confused, she sighed. "Grant, that's not a good idea. If O'Donnell sees us there

  again, he's going to take a strip off our hides."

  He smiled. "What? Are you afraid of Shane O'Donnell?"

  She lied. "No."

  He shrugged. "I suppose you should be afraid of him."

  Apprehension slithered up her spine. "Why?"

  I've heard rumors from the locals that he's a rough character."

  "Define rough."

  "I talked to people at Chester College in the anthropological department this

  morning. They tried to get permission to excavate in the canyon on his property last

  year. He came at them with a rifle."

  Frowning deeply, she picked up her coffee and took a sip of the steaming liquid.

  "He tried to shoot them?"

  "Not exactly. They called him ahead of time and he didn't want to even meet with

  them. Then they went out to his ranch and he greeted them at the door with a gun."

  She could imagine him doing just that, and the idea disturbed her. Maybe danger

  lurked closer than she'd realized. She swallowed hard as she recalled Shane's eyes

  snapping with anger, and his large body looming over her in threat. A cold sensation

  wrapped around her.

  "What happened then?" she asked.

  "They weren't crazy. They decided digging up Sadie Cutley's old homestead wasn't

  worth a bullet in the back."

  "It seems odd, though. Why would anyone go to such lengths to keep

  archaeologists away? All he had to do was say no like he did to me."

  Grant shrugged. "Does seem pretty strange. My guess is there's something on that

  site he doesn't want us to discover."

  Emma fumbled with her paper napkin and utensils. "Nothing O'Donnell said

  yesterday indicated he knew anything extraordinary about the site."

  "Maybe he wants to keep the loot to himself."

  "That's assuming there is loot."

  "That's sacrilege. Everyone knows there's treasure there. It's just a matter of finding

  it. Hell, Sadie had that mine."

  She shook her head. "When Clement O'Donnell told us about the treasure he

  qualified it as a legend. Probably three-fourths myth. We're looking for evidence Sadie

  Cutley even lived on that spot, not whether she had mounds of money and jewels

  hidden somewhere. Besides, if there really had been a treasure, don't you think the

  O'Donnells or someone else would have discovered it by now? The joke would be on us

  poor little archaeologists digging around looking for something that doesn't exist."

  "Yeah," he said slowly, exhaling the word like a man blowing smoke from a

  cigarette. "Unless Clement finding the necklace made his nephew think there's more

  treasure."

  The possibility had never occurred to her.

  Before she could speak the waitress brought their order and they spent the next few

  minutes using condiments and settling into a silence as they ate.

  Grant's eyes narrowed as he chewed. "We've got a lot riding on this excavation,

  Emma. Competing with the big boys gets harder every year."

  He was right. Grant had founded his small archaeological firm five years earlier

  and had done well on his own. Before he'd hired her a year ago, she'd traveled for three

  years to various countries and worked on numerous projects to hone her skills and

  knowledge. After moving from place to place she'd looked forward to a firm footing in

  one location in her home state. Lately, though, assignments had come in slowly and she

  knew Grant worried about finances.

  Before she could comment, she caught sight of Shane following a waitress to a table.

  Surprise, surprise. So The Golden Brand was his type of place. Emma's heart leapt with

  an emotion she couldn't define. Fear? Excitement?

  She didn't like it one bit.

  Shane nodded to Emma and Grant and continued until the waitress showed him to

  a small table for two. With his broad shoulders, long arms and legs, it would be

  impossible to sit at the dinky table with him and not bump knees. Today he wore a

  snug navy T-shirt that molded his shoulders and muscular chest, and the shirt was

  tucked into western-cut jeans that hugged his ass and muscled thighs just right. Not too

  tight, not too loose. A disturbing excitement winged through her, surprising her right

  down to her hiking boots. She could picture her hands drifting over that chest, of

  palming those strong pectoral muscles. A flush heated her face.

  God, Emma. Keep your mind on business.

  Forbidden fruit was just that. Forbidden. And for a damn good reason.


  "What's he doing here?" Grant asked.

  She shrugged. "Eating."

  "Very funny, Emma."

  She glanced at Shane again. "I'd hate to see all the work we've already done go to

  waste."

  "Remember, his uncle's going to talk to him today. With any luck, the big ape will

  back off and let you on the property."

  She put down her fork. She'd already lost her appetite. "I thought you said you

  were coming to help me haul the heavy equipment away from the site today in case he

  doesn't allow us back on the property. I wrestled with that sieve yesterday and almost

  broke my arm."

  He shook his head and his hair moved around his thin shoulders. He tucked the

  long strands behind his ears and the effect made his face look even sharper. "I need to

  go to the library today and see if I can locate more information on the O'Donnell ranch

  area and the legend of Sadie Cutley."

  She sighed. "All right. But if Shane O'Donnell hauls off your expensive survey

  equipment don't blame me."

  She glanced at Shane again. The waitress who'd been so inattentive to her earlier

  hung around Shane's table, smiling and actually batting her eyelashes. Shane frowned,

  but when the woman placed her hand on his arm and squeezed, Emma saw him wink

  at the buxom, beautiful woman.

  Emma sniffed, looked away and drank the last of her coffee. "Well, if you're going

  to do some research, maybe I'll stop by Shane's table before I leave and see if I can talk

  him into letting us get back to work."

  Grant's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? You'll just make him angry. Let's get

  through this dinner with him and his family first."

  "Call me perverse. I like a challenge."

  He put his head in his hands. "This guy may be dangerous."

  He might be. Do I really want to be within striking distance? Then sanity prevailed.

  "What can he do to me, Grant? We're in the middle of a restaurant. I don't think

  he's hiding an AK-47 under his shirt, do you? As of this moment we're out of a job

  unless we can sweet-talk our way back into it."

  He lowered his gaze to his empty coffee cup. For a moment she thought he would

  order her to stay away. "All right. Maybe you can sweet-talk him." Grant tossed some

  money on the table. "I'll contact you later at the hotel. Be careful."