Expedition of Love (14 page)

Stopping her frustrated search, she spun around, her hands fisted on her hips. “I actually thought I'd finally made things clear to him on the steamboat. You would think that having a crock of goat's milk dumped on his head would convince him that I have no desire to be courted. But does he see the logic in such an outward gesture? No. He decides I'm playing some silly game! Of all the—what are you laughing at?"

He tried to stop, honestly he did, but the memory of Geoffrey Walters doused in milk, reeking to high heaven was simply too funny. After a giggle here and there, she laughed with him before they finally calmed themselves.

"It is rather funny, but honestly, don't you think the man is intelligent enough to understand the word ‘no’ when he hears it?” she asked.

He sighed with the weight of the problem. “I'll admit he doesn't appear to be thinking clearly."

She stepped closer as she shoved her hands in her back pockets, pushing her breasts against her soft white shirt. His eyes behaved like magnets and instantly fell to the soft lush mounds.

Clearing his throat, he adjusted his spectacles. The covered wagon seemed to shrink in size. “I'll, um, have another talk with him."

"I'm sure he'll begin to see how futile his pursuit is eventually. I can handle Mr. Walters."

Forcing his gaze upward, he noticed a smudge of dirt on her cheek and reached for his handkerchief. “I'm sure you can, but I would feel better if I spoke with him.” Lifting the cloth, he gently wiped the dust from her skin.

Her mouth quirked up at the corner.

"You had dirt on your face,” he explained hastily, and returned his handkerchief to his pocket.

She stepped closer, holding his gaze with hers. “Thank you."

"My pleasure. I mean, you're welcome."

She took another step, close enough for him to feel the heat of her body. Close enough for him to realize what a dangerous position he'd fallen into. One he needed to extricate himself from post haste.

"Well, if you should require any assistance, say with your camera, I'll be happy to have someone help you."

"No, I don't need any help with my equipment.” Closing what little space stood between them, she brushed against him, inciting real panic.

"I think I should go see how the others are doing.” He stumbled back and scrambled down from the wagon to his tent. Once inside he fell to his knees, struggling to calm his racing heart and slow his rapid breathing.

What was the woman doing? She couldn't possibly want him to kiss her, and yet the hot and inviting look in her eyes seemed to contradict that fact.

He rubbed at his face. Hallucinations. It was the only logical conclusion. She'd accidentally brushed against him, being in such tight quarters, and her face naturally turned up to see his since he was a good deal taller. Definitely not an invitation for a kiss.

He swept his brow with his forearm. “I must be mad."

Chapter Eight

"Oh—bother.” Kristina slumped down on top of a crate and rested her chin in her hand. Her seduction plan wasn't going as she hoped. She thought for certain Stephen would give in this time and kiss her, but instead, he took off like a scared rabbit. A full-fledged retreat.

What was she doing wrong? Oh, if only she could apply the principles of reasoning to her problem.

"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” she mumbled.

Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way? Perhaps playing hard to get was the answer.

She sighed. No, that wouldn't work with Stephen. When openly pursued, he ran with his tail tucked between his legs, and he had stopped himself when he had been the pursuer. The man was a paradox. Or was it his blasted sense of propriety? He repeatedly apologized for his behavior, and had nearly gone into conniptions at her choice of attire.

Yes, that had to be the reason. Why else wouldn't he kiss her when she obviously wanted him to? Yet another possibility did exist. There was a chance she had mistaken the entire situation, and the man wasn't really attracted to her.

"Damnation."

"What is wrong, Chica? Did you lose something?” Antonio stood at the foot of the wagon, eyes gleaming with humor.

Straightening her back, she glared down at him. “I most certainly did not."

He chuckled and looked around the corner. “I think your doctor will not be so easy to catch. Shall I give you some lessons?"

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.” She resumed her search for her equipment.

Shaking his head, he hopped up into the wagon. “I have seen the way you watch him. There is no hiding the desire that sparks in your eyes when he is near."

She spun around at his all too truthful observation. “You've been out in the sun too long. I don't give a whit about him."

His smile softened as he cupped her face in his large tan hands. “You have grown into a very beautiful woman, Kristina. If you were not in love with this man, I would try and win you myself."

Her eyes widened as a trickle of fear slid down her back.

Love? Her childhood friend was demented. She couldn't love Stephen. There was no room in her life for such nonsense, and what was this ridiculous notion of winning her for himself?

She shook her head, although he still gently cupped her face in his callused palms.

He grinned roguishly then lowered his lips to hers. It had to be the sweetest, most tender kiss she had ever received, but it didn't affect her in any other way. No wave of heat, no racing heart, no pounding pulse, all the things Stephen Baxter's mere presence caused. Antonio's kiss was simply—pleasant.

Pulling back, he said, “See, Chica. You do not feel anything.” He dropped his hands from her face with a heavy sigh. “A pity. You are so full of fire, it would have been a great pleasure to feel you burn with passion while we made love."

She swallowed audibly, utterly stunned by his words. No man had ever spoke to her quite that way before, and she found herself wishing she felt something too. Her friend had grown into a strikingly attractive man, and that voice of his was like the Pied Piper's flute.

Oh, yes, a night in Antonio's arms would be a night to remember for the rest of her life—if she felt something.

"Do not worry, Little Mule.” He tweaked the tip of her nose. “You will catch him eventually. It is always the way when a woman loves a man."

"I do
not
love him."

Chuckling, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Whatever you say, Chica.” He winked, then jumped down out of the wagon and disappeared.

She stood motionless for a moment staring out over the plateau before climbing down.

"I will never understand men,” she mumbled and stormed off to her tent, completely forgetting about her equipment.

As the day waned, Stephen managed to regain his senses, but the niggling fact that Antonio had left the wagon not long after he did with a disquieting grin on his face refused to go away. Were he and Kristina really just friends?

"It's none of my concern,” he mumbled.

With unwavering determination, he resumed his task of assigning jobs. He arranged the team members into pairs for cooking duty, and created a rotating schedule for cataloging their finds. Satisfied with his detailed roster, he and Edwin set out to determine where they should begin digging.

The substantial piece of fossil Antonio found protruded from the ground where it had been exposed over time by the weather. This determined the beginning point, but not how much of the area they should encompass. After further examination of the bone, they decided to err on the side of caution and staked out a fifty-foot square area with twine. By the time they had finished, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Anderson had dinner prepared.

Because of the unseasonable heat and stifling still air inside the cook tent, the team gathered outside after taking turns filling their bowls with stew made from fresh vegetables and meats they'd acquired in Viedma. While enjoying their meal, Antonio talked about the area and gave them some advice.

"The heat is deceiving. We do not normally have this type of weather this time of year. Be prepared for the temperature to drop suddenly. This heat wave cannot last forever."

"Are you staying here with us, or returning to wherever you came from?” Mr. Walters asked flatly.

Stephen would be glad to see him go too, but he didn't particularly care for his assistant's tone. They owed the young gaucho their thanks.

Antonio didn't respond immediately. The rigid set of his shoulders and the steeliness in his gaze left no doubt that he had decided not to like Mr. Walters. Unfortunately, Stephen shared some of those same feelings.

Finally breaking his silence and long study of his assistant, the young man said, “I must return to my father's ranch. There is much work to be done.” He looked to Stephen and Edwin, the coolness in his eyes ebbing. “If you should need me or my father, we are an hour's ride south. I will be back in a week to see if you require any supplies. I imagine my father will come with me when I return."

"Thank you, Antonio. Tell your father I look forward to seeing him and that we appreciate your family's generosity,” Edwin said.

"The honor is ours, Professor.” He put down his bowl and adjusted his hat. “The land is still as wild as it was years ago. The pumas still roam this country and hunt at night for food.” He extended his hand to Kristina, pulling her to her feet. “Be careful, Chica. I would not want anything to happen to you."

Stephen's gut churned, as Antonio brushed his fingers across her cheek.

"I can take care of myself,” she said.

Antonio chuckled, her imperious tone apparently not fazing him in the least. “When I return I hope all of these men will still have their toes.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and she playfully slapped his chest.

With a hearty laugh, he climbed on his horse and rode off.

Stephen's firm grip on his tin bowl finally registered as the edge started cutting into his hand. He carefully set it aside and concentrated on soothing the churning in his belly.

"What's this about our toes?” Richard asked.

"Ah, yes, well,” Edwin stammered, and cleared his throat. “Several years ago a chap mistook my daughter's tent for his own. Unlucky for him. And Kris, you see, had just learned how to shoot."

"My word,” Scott murmured, and all eyes turned to her.

Stephen watched her sit down, with her chin lifted, and a single brow arched. “Don't you think women should use firearms?"

"No offense meant, Miss Peterson, I assure you. I'm simply surprised. I've heard it common out west, but not in New York.” Scott turned back to Edwin. “Dare I ask what happened to the man?"

"He is minus a few toes, I fear,” her father answered with a boisterous chortle.

The men laughed along with him, while Stephen grinned.

"I'll have you know, I hit exactly what I was aiming for,” she said sternly.

That only made them laugh harder and pulled a satisfying chuckle from Stephen.

"No one is saying otherwise, my dear,” Edwin said.

She huffed softly.

Stephen's gaze fell on her luscious mouth, twitching with the urge to join them. He should have tasted her when he had the chance—propriety be damned.

With a subtle shake of her head, she lifted her spoon to her mouth. He observed every movement and nearly groaned aloud as she swiped her bottom lip with her tongue to catch the drop of broth.

Two months. Two long, painful months. He would never make it. He quickly changed the avenue of his thoughts before someone caught him staring at her with hungry eyes. “All right, everyone. We have a big day tomorrow, and I suggest we get some rest. During breakfast I shall give you your assigned areas."

"Do you think we should post a guard,” Scott asked. All eyes looked at him in questioningly. “For the pumas,” he explained.

"Don't worry about the cats, young man. They prefer goats and sheep to people,” Edwin said.

The professor's words didn't appear to ease his obvious concerns, yet the young man nodded anyway.

Stephen doused the fire, and they all made their way to bed. He had just entered his tent and started unbuttoning his shirt, when he heard a yell followed by some rather vivid cursing from one of his assistants.

Hurrying back outside, he found Scott standing in the center of the encampment pointing a shaking hand toward his tent.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"S-s-snake!"

Kristina appeared alongside, as did everyone else. She distracted Stephen for moment as her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, wavy from being braided all day. Or was it naturally that way?

"What is it, Mr. Thomas?” she asked.

He turned an ashen face to her. “S-snake."

"Oh, is that all?” She giggled then turned to enter his tent.

"Miss Peterson!” Stephen reached out to stop her, but she quickly slipped inside. He would've gone after her if not for Edwin's hand on his arm.

"It's all right, Stephen. She knows all about the wildlife in the area. She'll be fine."

He stared aghast at his friend, then grudgingly nodded and turned his attention to the tent.

A moment later she emerged with a snake coiled around her arm, her dainty hand holding up its head. “It's just a Hognose, Mr. Thomas. The Lystrophis Histricus are not poisonous. He's perfectly harmless. I imagine your tent is near his hunting grounds."

Stephen knew his mouth hung open, as did the others with the exception of her father. He couldn't believe she was standing before him holding that slithering creature as if it were an everyday occurrence.

"B-b-but he has black and red bands. The c-coral snake is highly poisonous,” Scott said.

"Quite right, but if you'll look at his snout you'll see the upturned rostrum. This is thought to allow our friend here to burrow more easily after toads and small lizards. His coloring is believed to be used to help trick his prey, as the hognose is generally a slow moving creature.” She studied the snake closely. “He is a pretty one, isn't he, Papa?"

"Yes, my dear. But you know I have no love for the slimy creatures."