She worked with a trowel and rock pick, carefully loosening the debris, then scraping it away. Sometimes it was hard not to rush right in, but she didn’t want to damage any pieces.
Finally, she hit pay dirt…or rather, bone.
A femur, the long bone of a thigh. Now if she could just find the pelvis, she’d know for sure whether it was male or female and the approximate age.
She examined the femur before placing it beside her shirt and pack. From its thickness and length, it probably belonged to someone about five-ten to six feet. As she’d suspected from the thickness of the wrist bones, the skeleton was most likely that of a male.
DNA tests could tell her for sure, but so could the pelvis. She worked swiftly, removing the debris and placing it aside, making sure she wasn’t overlooking any pieces. An hour passed.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead and took a break. It was while she was resting that she heard a “Hello-o-o” from below.
“Up here,” she shouted.
A man came up through the woods. She recognized the broad shoulders and braids tied with leather strips before he emerged from the shadows under the trees a few yards away from her.
“Jackson, hello,” she called to let him know where she was.
He spotted her and came over. “You’ve found something?” he asked, a tone of excitement underscoring the statement as he viewed her work under the ledge.
“Yes, a femur.” She retrieved it and held it so he could visually examine it.
“Can you tell anything from it?”
“Um, yes.” She became preoccupied with taking a closer look at the thick thigh bone. “I think it was a man, or a very tall, robust female. Young. There’s no sign of deterioration in the joint. He was most likely a cowboy, or somebody used to sitting astride.”
“Wow,” Jackson said. “Anything else?”
She got out a bag from her pack and wrapped the bone, then turned back to the dig. “Not yet, but I’m hoping. The body was apparently concealed under this ledge….” She considered for a moment, then added, “Or he might have crawled in there for protection.”
“Maybe he fell from his horse,” Jackson suggested.
“And it was storming—”
“The wolves were after him—”
“Right. His leg was broken—”
“Could you tell that from the thigh bone? It looked okay to me.”
She laughed. “No. I was just getting into the scenario.” Sitting on the ground, she went back to work.
He dropped down on his haunches and peered under the shallow ledge. “Uncle Frank said to thank you for the reports you sent to the office. He was disappointed the bones weren’t ancestors and said to tell you that you had permission to do any tests necessary to identify them, including DNA matching. He asked me to phrase this delicately, so here goes—could you have made a mistake about the age of the bones?” he asked bluntly, then grinned.
“You always did have a way with words,” she remarked dryly. “There’s no mistake. The bones aren’t fossilized, not even on the surface. They’re not old. You knew that.”
“Yeah, but as an official of the tribe, I had to ask. Now that that’s out of the way, do you want to come to the house Friday night? Maggie and I are having a cookout.”
She was curious about Jackson’s new wife. “I’d love to…if you promise me fry bread with honey.”
“Pick up some honey from Winona and you’re on. I’ll do the fry bread myself.”
“Your wife isn’t Cheyenne?” That surprised her, considering that Jackson had once been married to a white.
“She’s a city Injun,” he explained. “She doesn’t know fry bread from buffalo chips.” He shook his head, as if wondering why he’d ever married such an ignorant woman.
Tracy saw the warmth in his eyes when he spoke of his wife and suppressed a jab of envy. “I’m looking forward to meeting her. Now, enough socializing. My boss will fuss if he finds me talking instead of digging.”
“I’ll help. Tell me what to do.”
She glanced at his clothes. He wore old jeans and scuffed boots. His shirt had seen many washings. “Okay. Block off a square and take off one even layer at a time.”
They worked companionably for an hour. She was reminded of her childhood days on the reservation. Jackson had been her best friend. They’d both loved it there and wanted to stay, but both of them had had to leave.
Strange, the turns life could take. He’d left and married, apparently never to return, while she’d married and moved close by. Then he’d divorced and returned, apparently to stay. She’d divorced and left, meaning never to come back.
Longing washed over her in a sudden deluge. She gripped her trowel and concentrated on digging until the emotion subsided.
“Hey,” Jackson said. “Look.”
She blinked away the memories and glanced over at his find. “The ilium! Don’t move it!” she ordered when he tried to lift it.
He moved aside when she crowded in. Carefully, she dug out the debris around the bone. She lifted it out of the hole.
“It’s complete,” she murmured in satisfaction. She turned it, looking at it from every angle. “Yes…yes,” she said, picking out clues as she examined the pelvic bone.
“Well?” Jackson demanded.
“Male. Less than twenty-five years old.”
“Indian?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Show me your thigh bone, and I’ll make a comparison.”
“Ha-ha,” he said.
“Let’s find the skull. It’s bound to be here. With it, we can surely figure out who the cowboy was.”
“I’ll start a check of all the tribal missing-person reports,” Jackson told her.
“Good. Now let’s see what else we can find.”
It was nearly dark before they gave up.
“Damn,” Jackson said.
“My feelings, too.” Tracy frowned at the hole.
They’d hit rock bottom. There was nothing else. She studied the area. He looked at his watch.
“Erosion,” she muttered. “Look at the runoff patterns. This area under the ledge has eroded away where the water gushed through that crack.” She pointed out the signs.
The shallow gully disappeared over the edge of the bluff. She and Jackson walked over and peered fifty feet down into the creek that meandered along the cliff base.
“So that’s the end of it.”
“Heck, no. Now I’ll search the creek,” she said.
“We’d better leave. It’s getting late.”
“Right.” She packed up and headed for her car, the bones wrapped in special paper bags, then in plastic.
Like a kid with a treasure she wanted to show, she was eager to get to town. She said goodbye to Jackson and drove down the steep trail. She had to see Judd right away.
Seven
J udd looked at the clock, then at the darkening sky. Where the hell was Tracy? She was usually back from her digging around on the res well before dark.
Not that she had to report in to him…as she’d made damned clear more than once.
Hell, she’d probably gone to the tribal chairman’s house for dinner. Frank Many Horses seemed to think of her as a long-lost daughter. Jackson Hawk thought a lot of her, too. Of course, Jackson had recently married, so he wasn’t a rival—
Judd broke off the thought and cursed aloud as he realized what he was thinking. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the comfortable executive chair, his heels on the desk, and idly rocked to and fro while he tried to get his head straight.
There was nothing wrong with him that a little sleep wouldn’t cure. Or a long, satisfying tumble in the hay, an insidious voice from some unbidden recess of his mind suggested.
Yeah, he admitted, that, too.
His dreams were a mixture of the old and the new—the old being the days and nights with Tracy when he’d been free to make love to her whenever he wished; the new being the days her perfume, her laughter, her wom
anly aura lingered in his office long after she took off for the res.
A hard pang whipped through him as his body reminded him all too forcibly that he was a man. The problem was Tracy. She was the one he wanted.
She’d been the most wonderful lover he’d ever had.
Not that there had been all that many. He was a naturally monogamous person. Maybe it was the way he’d been raised, or maybe it was something he’d learned from observing others, but he’d always felt that when two people were intimate enough to possibly produce a child, they owed respect to each other and that creative process.
He pressed his thumb and finger against his eyes, momentarily shutting out the headache that had plagued him all day, then looked at the clock again.
Where the hell was she?
Pivoting in the chair, he sat so he could see the street. Most of the parking spaces were empty. The stores didn’t stay open past five o’clock on a weekday night. Farther along, there were two pickups and three cars in front of the local saloon.
He gave a snort of wry laughter. Sterling would have said he was being “bitchy.” Maybe so, but, well, he was worried.
The courthouse clock chimed the hour. Seven. Maybe her car had broken down. Probably a flat tire. Or she’d run out of gas.
Tracy tended to live in her own world and forget the basics, things like eating, putting gas in the car and so forth. It hadn’t bothered him while they were married.
She’d pleased him in so many other ways, he admitted. When he came home, she was always delighted to see him. The way she’d look up, her eyes wide and shining, as if he were Prince Charming in person…God, what it did to a man to be wanted like that.
He gritted his teeth and tried to close out the troublesome thoughts. He couldn’t.
The memory of their lovemaking filled his nights. She’d been so responsive, loving everything he did…so natural.
Images flashed into his mind. Her hair flowing around her shoulders as she turned the tables on him. Her teasing smile as she made him lie still and let her have her way with him. The little crooning cries she’d made. The low murmurs of delight, telling him what she liked.
Yes, like that…no, slower…lower…there…oh, yes…oh, love, love…
He leapt to his feet, his body as rigid as a steel beam. It was no good thinking of what had been. It was over. Over.
The ringing of the telephone halted him in his tracks as he headed for the door. He grabbed the instrument, nearly yanking the cord out in his rush to answer.
“Hensley,” he said.
“Judd?”
He took a calming breath. “Winona. What can I do for you?”
“Is Tracy there with you?” she asked.
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He forced himself to be calm. Nothing had happened to her. He’d know it if she were in trouble. He didn’t pause to figure out this last cryptic thought.
“No. Do you want me to take a message for her?”
There was silence at the other end of the line. “She wasn’t home when I tried her house,” Winona told him, worry in her tone.
“What’s wrong? Have you seen something?”
“It’s more a feeling. I can’t describe it. I just sense…I don’t know. Danger, I think. It came to me a couple of hours ago. Did she find more bones? That seems to trigger it.”
“She’s supposed to be at the reservation. Maybe I’ll run out and check on her.”
“Would you?” Winona requested. “I’d feel much better if I knew she was all right.”
“Sure. She’s probably had car trouble. I’ll check it out.”
They said goodbye. He locked his office and headed out the door. At the front steps, he stopped. A compact car, its metallic blue surface taking on a purple hue in the twilight, pulled to a stop across the street. Tracy hopped out.
He watched as she removed a package from the seat as if it were fragile and headed across, quickly glancing both ways. She saw him at the top of the steps and quickened her pace, a smile blooming on her expressive lips.
His heart rate speeded up, too.
There were dirt stains on the knees of her jeans and at her temple where she’d obviously pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. Her lipstick was gone, and her nose was pink from the sun. She was indescribably beautiful.
“Judd, wait till you see what Jackson found,” she called out, holding her package out a little.
He waited for her, then fell into step with her as she headed for the building. “Jackson?”
“Um-hmm. He came by and helped me dig this afternoon.”
Judd had to unlock the outside door to let them in. They went through the silent corridor and up the steps to his office. He opened the door. She went through to the conference room, where she set her package on the table. “Look at this.”
She removed the two packages from the plastic bag, then laid her finds on the table. She smiled at him, her eyes wide and shining, filled with delight.
He bent over to hide the sudden sting of moisture in his eyes. Damn, but he’d have to get a grip on himself. The past was gone, and she wasn’t in his future.
Her find was a femur and the pelvic saddle. He studied them for a couple of minutes. “Male?” he asked, venturing a guess.
He’d read a book on forensic anthropology once, not because her father had said she was studying it, he hastened to assure himself, but because it sounded like a subject a lawman ought to know a little about.
“Definitely. Early twenties.”
“How can you tell?”
She picked up the pelvic bone. “See this Y-shaped junction here? The three main growth centers don’t come together until the male is around twenty-five. The epiphyses are almost together but not quite. See?”
He studied the section she pointed out. Her hair brushed against his cheek as he bent closer. He ignored the tingles that radiated from the spot. Concentrating fiercely on the pelvis, he peered at the Y-shaped line she’d mentioned.
“Can you give me a more definite age?” he asked, trying not to notice the tantalizing scent of her. She smelled of earth and sunshine, of mountain air and pine resin…of sweat and musk and perfume…of woman.
“Yes. He was twenty-four years, three months, two days and eighteen minutes old when he died. Would you like the seconds, too?” She replaced the pelvis on the table.
He inhaled the essence of her deep into his lungs. It was like filling himself with life. He realized she was staring at him, her eyes changing as she noticed his absorption with her rather than the conversation.
Heat seeped into his neck as he tried to remember what she’d just said. Her words finally registered in his brain.
“Very funny.” He tried to sound amused. He pushed his hands into his pockets and walked away.
“He was closer to twenty-five than twenty,” she told him in a softer tone.
“I see.”
“I’m going to ask for another week here. I think we can make an identification. A young male, five-ten or so, strong, but lanky rather than bulky, a cowboy nearing his mid-twenties.”
“Great. That only describes half the county, not to mention the state.”
She shrugged. “Jackson is already checking the tribal missing-persons records. I’d suggest you get someone on the county files right away. Rafe Rawlings volunteered to check the city reports.”
“Rawlings was at the site, too? What was it—a damned field day?” Judd snarled.
“Only Jackson was at the site. I saw Rafe patrolling the highway and flagged him down. He’s interested in forensics.”
“I’ll bet,” Judd muttered under his breath. He wished to hell people would stay out of what should have been his investigation.
“If I’m keeping you from an important date, please feel free to leave,” she informed him coolly. “I’ll lock up when I’m through here.”
She placed her precious bones in their protective covers and stored them in the cabinet he’d assigned for her use. Her be
aring was as stiff as a cactus and about as friendly.
“Winona called,” he said, ignoring her dismissal.
“Oh?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She’d always gone into her cool, barely speaking mode when she was miffed at him. He knew how to get her out of a snit.
He frowned. No, he didn’t. Well, he did, but he couldn’t grab her up in his arms and kiss that ticklish spot on her neck until her temper collapsed into a fit of giggles, then sighs, then moans as the kiss changed….
“What did she say?”
“Who?”
“Winona.”
He gave her a blank look.
She heaved an exasperated breath. “You said Winona called.”
The worry came back. “She said you must have discovered more bones. She had a feeling, she said. She thinks you’re in danger.”
Tracy nibbled on her lower lip while she thought. He wanted to take over the task for her. He watched her, the hunger growing stronger by the second. He saw her gaze drift over his face, down his body…. She looked startled, then her eyes flicked back to his face. He gave her a sardonic smile, acknowledging the erection he couldn’t hide.
“Yeah,” he said softly, “I’ve got a feeling, too. I think I know where the danger lies.” He returned her steady gaze and forced himself to warn her. “With me.”
“Us,” she corrected with the honesty he’d always admired in her. “The danger is between the two of us.” She managed to smile, but it was rather wobbly at the edges.
He shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated by the passion that just wouldn’t give up and die. To get mixed up with her again was stupid. In another week, she’d be gone. And he’d have to face the emptiness all over again.
“Yes,” he finally said. “But we’re adults. The attraction is there, but we don’t have to act on it. You were right. It’s no good between us.” He paused and tried to think of something to add to that. “It’s no good,” he repeated.
But once it had been the best. He went to the door, aware of the utter silence in this part of the building and that they were alone. “Call Winona so she’ll know you made it back all right.”
Montana Mavericks 04 - The Once and Future Wife Page 10
