by Erica Ridley
“You call me ‘Kat’ again and I’ll kill you.” She trudged off toward the dig.
Alberto grinned at Katrina’s retreating back. But before he took his second step after her, his cellphone rang.
“Habla,” he answered cheerfully, without glancing at the screen.
Sadly, Alberto did not throw a mean curveball. Or ever turn off his cellphone.
Trevor quickly gave up on translating the rapid-fire conversation. For now. As soon as he made tenure, he’d finally have time to learn Spanish.
“¿El jefe?” Alberto darted a horrified glance at Trevor and lowered his voice to a murmur.
He needn’t have bothered. Aside from the universally recognized term for “boss”, he might as well have been talking Swahili.
Not that it mattered. Regardless of whatever Alberto was whispering about him, Trevor was confident he’d spill all once he hung up. Alberto’d never kept a secret in his life.
“Gracias, ’manita,” Alberto said at normal volume. “Te quiero. Ciao.” He stared at Trevor without blinking.
Trevor waited. A ripe mango rocketed down from where the howler monkeys nestled high above in the trees. Katrina’s “Ouch!” and extended cursing rose amid raucous laughter around the dig. Alberto didn’t move.
“Well?” Trevor prompted, when it looked like his student might just stand there staring for the rest of the evening.
Alberto sighed. “That was my sister.”
“Yeah? Wait. Which sister?” Trevor tried to picture all the Rodriguez girls who’d played interdepartmental sports. “Maria José, with the winning hit in last summer’s opening game? Or Rosa who works in accounting for the dean?”
“That’s the one. Rosa. She says hi, by the way.” Alberto tapped the phone against his cheek. “She also says the budget cuts are worse than projected and that most of the non-tenured professors won’t be returning next year.”
Trevor swallowed. Non-tenured professors. Like him.
“Well, no worries there.” Trevor lifted a shoulder with more nonchalance than he felt. “I’m up for tenure right after finals. If the vote goes well, I’ll be leading senior trips for the next two decades, which means I’ll be eligible to keep coaching every summer. And you can tell Maria José I saved a spot for her on the upcoming team.”
Alberto squinted somewhere over Trevor’s shoulder. “Well, that’s the thing.”
“What’s the thing?” Trevor shoved his hands into his pockets, partly to hide his suddenly white knuckles, and partly to keep himself from shaking answers out of Alberto. The kid wasn’t being difficult on purpose. He might’ve been the first student in history to get fired from being batboy, but only because it took him an inordinate amount of time to do whatever it was he was doing. Although it took him an extra hour and a half, he aced every one of his exams.
Alberto fiddled with his smartphone. “Rosa was doing some snooping—she’s had a crazy crush on you ever since she saw you in your baseball uniform and nobody can get her to shut up about it—and she found a board memo with the plans for next year. Fatal. Talk about slashing budgets… She says the Anthropology Department won’t be able to offer everyone tenure because they’ll have to let someone go.”
“What? But the only other non-tenured professor is—Berrymellow.” Trevor covered his face with his palms. This couldn’t be happening. No way would he let Berrymellow wreck his career. If he found something publishable on this dig, there would be no problem. If he couldn’t…
Refusing to continue that line of thought, he leaned over and plucked a misshapen stone from the moist soil. He turned and hurled the rock as hard as he could. A distant thwack and the squawking of displaced birds reminded him he was still in Costa Rica. All was not lost.
“Want me to find you more rocks, Prof?”
“No, I’m good.” Trevor picked up another but didn’t throw it. There weren’t enough rocks in Costa Rica to make him feel better about this turn of events. “Well, which one of us is out here actively doing field research, putting the university’s name on the map? Me.”
He brushed the dirt from the rock as if proving his point.
Alberto grimaced. “But which professor has been back in Indiana for the past four weeks, treating the department heads to golf outings? Not you.”
“Shit,” Trevor muttered. His fingers tightened around the rock. Maybe he could blame his white knuckles on that.
Truth was, while Trevor was the better forensic anthropologist and paleo-anthropology professor, Joshua Berrymellow was by far the better schmoozer. Trevor sighed. It was a sad fact of life that many political decisions were made over eighteen holes and a case of Heineken. With or without an epic anthropological discovery, he needed to do some damage control as quickly as possible.
He glanced at his watch. The school had contracted a private jet company to make two trips to the U.S. the next day, one in the afternoon and one in the evening. Without having to deal with crowded terminals or boarding passes, hassle was kept to a minimum. And if Trevor took the first flight instead of the second, maybe he could arrange some face time with the dean before it was too late.
“Katrina!” he yelled toward the dig.
She jogged toward him as if she’d been hoping he’d call another break. “Yeah, Coach?” Her eyes tracked Trevor’s hands as he nervously tossed the rock from one palm to the other. “Change your mind about taking a vape break?”
“No, I changed my mind about who goes home first tomorrow.”
“What?” She gave him an aggravated glare. “You said me and Alberto head out on the afternoon flight with the equipment and the artifacts, and you were gonna take the evening flight with the kids.”
“In the immortal words of Willy Wonka—scratch that, reverse it.” Trevor considered the dozen tents lined behind a row of dusty Jeeps and made his decision. “Something has come up. I’m putting you in charge of the undergrads. I go back first with the skeleton and the artifacts.”
Katrina scowled. “I don’t want to be in charge of them anymore. Why do I always get stuck with people instead of pottery?”
“It’s because I trust your ability to handle them.” Trevor’s stomach clenched. What if his early arrival wouldn’t be enough to throw Berrymellow off his game?
“What about the laptop?” Alberto asked. “I downloaded all the pictures onto it this afternoon but Katrina hasn’t had a chance to enter the metadata.”
“Then let her finish.” Trevor peered closer at the rock in his hand, then sighed. Too bad it was just a rock, and not something career-making like, say, a prehistoric baking tool, or maybe even proof of a previously undiscovered culture. That’d stop Berrymellow cold. “The second flight doesn’t leave for several hours. Now that you’ll have extra time, you can finish transcribing the written field notes while you’re waiting for the plane.”
With a long suffering sigh, Katrina crossed her arms and pouted. “Is it because—”
“It’s because TA stands for Teacher’s Assistant. I’m the teacher. Assist me.” Trevor glanced at the waning sunlight. “And once you’ve got your stuff packed up, go ahead and get some rest. Early day tomorrow for all of us.”
He glanced at his tent. The canvas flaps gapped at the bottom and a strip of mangled netting fluttered in the wind. Weird. Hadn’t he zipped everything closed? He must be losing his mind. Hopefully no strange critters were inside eating all his power bars and peeing on his sleeping bag. And hopefully it wasn’t—
As if conjured straight from the libidinous recesses of Trevor’s mind, the tent flaps parted and a set of tiny, red-painted toenails poked through. He held his breath… and wished his students weren’t watching right along with him. As luck would have it, the bare foot belonged to last night’s pixie princess, as did the rest of the curvy body unfolding from his tent like a butterfly from a cocoon. How was he possibly going to explain this one?
“Damn, Coach.” Katrina punched him in the shoulder. “Next year, can I bring a cabana boy?”
<
br /> Before he could think of a professorial response to that one, the woman in the wilted wings and clingy green dress caught Trevor’s helpless stare and started running.
Toward him.
“I don’t know her,” he said quickly, backing up a few feet just in case.
“Trevor!” Daisy waved wildly, a manic smile not quite hiding a certain desperation in her eyes. “It’s me, from last night!”
Katrina let out a low whistle. “Don’t know her, eh? Bet she could round the bases in twenty seconds. Look at those legs go!”
“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Alberto breathed, clutching his phone to his chest. “I can’t stop.”
Trevor couldn’t even reprimand him. He was doing the same thing.
Daisy sprinted toward them, still wearing the cat-eye glasses, the jagged-hemmed dress, and not much else. Bare shoulders, bare back, bare legs, bare feet…
She tripped on the rutted grass and ran smack into him.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders to keep her from knocking them both down. Again. It was just for her safety, he told himself as his body responded to the welcome feel of soft curves against his hot skin. He meant to set her upright, but somehow his hands slid down her naked back to her waist, holding her steady against him. Vanilla-scented hair tickled his nose.
She hugged him tight, as if terrified he might have left camp without notice. “Oh, Trevor. You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you.”
If she kept clinging to him like that, she wouldn’t need much imagination to know how he felt about having her pressed against him. He forced himself to untwine her arms from his neck and flashed a (hopefully) innocent smile at his students. “I have no idea who this woman is, I swear.”
“Shyeah.” Katrina quirked an eyebrow, not bothering to stifle her grin. “First name basis and on intimate terms with your tent? Clearly total strangers.”
Ignoring the commentary, Daisy’s face tilted upward, her wide hazel eyes blinking at Trevor in obvious frustration. “I looked through every inch of your sleeping bag, and I can’t find it anywhere. What did you do with it?”
“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about,” Katrina said with a smirk, “that’s because it’s out here with him. It goes wherever he goes. Unless he’s got a detachable one.”
Eyes fluttering heavenward, Daisy’s jaw tightened. Maybe she wasn’t as oblivious as he thought. She grabbed him by the shoulders and fixed him with an earnest stare. “Do you have it with you? I swear to Gaia I’ll be out of your way faster than you can say ‘pixie dust’ if you just hand it over. Pretty please.”
It wasn’t until she twisted out of his arms in order to pat him down that Trevor realized he’d untwined her arms but hadn’t quite managed to let go. Now that she was no longer plastered to the front of his body, maybe he really could get her out of his mind and off his dig.
“For the love of God, you’re not allowed on—”
“I’m Alberto,” said Alberto helpfully, stepping beside Trevor to shove his hand toward Daisy. “Encantado.”
Trevor knocked down the kid’s arm. “We’re not speed-dating. Nobody has to be introduced to anybody else. Miss… Miss…” Damn. What the hell was her last name? “Miss Daisy was just leaving.”
Katrina’s hands curled on her hips. “Like ‘Driving Miss Daisy?’”
He cast her a quelling stare. She thrust her chin higher, but clamped her mouth shut.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Daisy patted down his back pockets and then moved to the front. “I told you I would do whatever it takes. You can give it to me on your own, or… or… or I’ll take it from you.”
“Dios mío,” Alberto whispered, eyes huge. “What do I have to do to get women to talk to me like that? You’re the professor. Teach me. Please.”
“No hope for you, batboy,” Katrina said with a smirk. “Get some muscles. Or a job.”
“Okay, this is getting out of hand,” Trevor began and then paused. Out of hand. Against all odds, he was still gripping the large stone. And important artifacts were often buried in rock.
“Here.” Trevor thrust the stone into her hand.
Daisy cast a dubious stare at the dusty stone in her palm. “That’s not a tooth. That’s a rock.”
“A tooth?” Katrina repeated, goggling at her. “What is she, a nympho dentist?”
“You’re holding a very important artifact,” Trevor explained to Daisy in his best “teacher” voice.
Alberto’s starry-eyed gaze turned dubious, as if he no longer wanted to be taught whatever Trevor was up to.
“This is what I was working on last night. Paleo-anthropologists look for clues in the rocks, like archaeologists. Sometimes bones get fossilized.” Trevor gave Daisy his most winning smile, blasting her with his rakish dimple. She was unmoved. “I was going to dig out the tooth for you, but I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon. Go on. You can have it.”
“Why?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is a trick, isn’t it? I won’t get three feet away before you tackle me to the ground and wrestle it back.”
Katrina snorted, but Alberto brightened and lurched forward. “Hey, Prof. If you don’t, can I?”
“Nobody’s wrestling anyone.” Trevor stepped in front of Daisy to block Alberto’s view. “Look. It’s yours. I promise. You may leave freely.”
Painted toes or not, he’d promise her anything to get her off his dig and away from the curious eyes of his students. The last thing he needed was to give Berrymellow ammunition against him. Just the thought turned Trevor’s skin cold. If rumors of him and some tourist got back to the dean…
Daisy’s shoulders relaxed and an expression of joyous relief smoothed the lines from her face. Instead of leaving, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she murmured in his ear, the plump fullness of her bottom lip scraping against his stubble. “And sorry about the tent. If I can, I’ll conjure you new netting.” Her breath steamed his earlobe and tightened his pants. “I owe you big time.”
She tilted back her head and aimed a kiss toward his cheek. He leaned backward to keep his distance, but she didn’t even pause. Her parted lips melded with his for the barest of seconds before he jerked away so quickly their noses clashed. From the heat crawling up his neck, he’d guess his cheeks burned as bright as hers. Shit. Definitely not what he needed. Nothing would screw up his chances of making tenure—or staying head coach of the most popular university employee baseball league in the Michiana area—like rumors of sex with strangers during a student trip. And from the twin expressions of avid interest on the faces of both his TAs, neither the accidental kiss nor the subsequent blushing had gone unnoticed. At least the trees had blocked the other students’ view.
“Just… go wait over there for a second.” Trevor’s voice sounded raspy and strained even to his own ears. “Let me talk to my students.”
Ignoring Katrina and Alberto’s shameless stares, Daisy flashed him a grateful smile and turned toward his tent without further protest.
Trevor could still taste her kiss on his lips. Even though his rational mind knew she was at best a sexy psycho, he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracking the sway of her hips as she headed across the grass toward the tent, hugging the rock to her chest.
“You ain’t got to explain a single thing to me,” Katrina informed him with a snicker. “You teach anthropology, not Sex Ed.”
“Same,” agreed Alberto without taking his gaze from Daisy. “But I’ll loan you some condoms if you need them.”
Katrina let out a bark of laughter. “Why the hell did you bring condoms to the middle of the rainforest?”
“Hey, always be prepared.” Alberto shrugged off his backpack and unzipped the front pocket. “They can come in handy. Professor Masterson needs them, doesn’t he?”
Katrina snorted. “You’re no Professor Masterson.”
“Enough, enough.” Trevor waved them both back
toward the dig. “I don’t even know this woman. She’s crazy. I’m just trying to make her leave. Go pack up equipment. I’ll bring over the jeep in a minute.”
“Better take more than a minute,” Katrina called over her shoulder. “We’ll time you.”
Alberto grinned. “And then Facebook it.”
“Christ.” Trevor’s jaw clenched. “I told you—I have no idea who that crazy lady is!”
He had to get her out of here. Stat. For the sake of his coaching career, his tenure, and his sanity. He strode to the tent, threw open the flap, and stumbled to his knees in shock.
Empty. Empty.
She was gone again.
Chapter 2
Daisy’s homing ring deposited her back in her office, where she leaned her forehead against the closest wall and tried to dream up a plan that wouldn’t get her fired. She had to earn her wings—real ones—if she was ever going to rise above being the laughingstock of Nether-Netherland. But she was never going to ace her performance review if she couldn’t get the tooth, which was already a day late, into the little glass vial sitting on her desk.
She plopped into her hot pink ergonomic swivel chair and stared despondently at the mandatory tooth transportation vial. If she were magical enough to separate the tooth from the stone, she wouldn’t be in this bind. For the mission to count as a success, she had to follow regulation to the letter. But what could she do? There was no way to transport the tooth without bending more rules.
After making sure she was alone in the silent office, she lifted the assigned tooth vial from her desktop and peeled the “Angus, age 8” label from the glass.
The label refused to stick to the rock. She cleaned it with tissue and tried a fresh, new label. Still no luck. Crap. Well, what was one more bent rule?
She pulled a Pearly States delivery pouch out from her desk drawer. Those were supposed to be for taxes, not teeth, but she was running out of options. She stuffed the stone, the empty vial, and both semi-crumpled labels inside the pouch and hesitated. A gnawing uncertainty rose from her stomach, but at this point, what choice did she have?
