Expedition of Love (16 page)

No, no, he wasn't why she couldn't sleep. It was the cot, she thought, while preparing a large batch of coffee.

Minutes later, Stephen stepped inside.

She swallowed her nervousness and smiled. “Good morning."

"Oh, um, good morning. I hadn't expected anyone to be up yet. I'll just leave you to your work.” He started backing out of the tent.

"The coffee is already prepared. You may as well stay and have some."

He nodded, his eyes darting away whenever their gazes met.

With a discomfited sigh, she poured a cup of the fresh brew as he made his way to a table and sat down. She handed him the steaming cup and waited for him to take a sip.

She smiled as he closed his eyes with obvious pleasure. If she knew anything, it was how to make a good cup of coffee, but that was the extent of her abilities in the kitchen. She absolutely despised cooking.

He opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly at being caught. “You make an excellent cup of coffee, Miss Peterson."

"Thank you.” She poured herself a cup, and they sat together in silence for several minutes.

She hated this. They had a good start on a friendly relationship, and now it was ruined. She wondered how long they would tiptoe around one another. Most likely the full extent of the expedition. But as the silence continued, she realized she liked sitting quietly with him, sharing a cup of coffee. Perhaps she would take him some coffee tomorrow morning as he stood to watch the sunrise.

She frowned into her cup. No, he was probably too excited about the dig to sleep, and that was why he was up so early, not because of what happened between them. Which meant he wouldn't be there in the morning watching the rays of light gently kiss the plateau. But she would, and she wished for him to be there beside her.

"Good morning,” her father said cheerfully, as he came into the tent. He walked over to her and kissed the top of her head. “Mmm, I smell your coffee. Stephen, there's nothing like Kristina's coffee. Ah, I see. You've already discovered her gift with the bean."

Stephen grinned, his gaze on his cup. “I must ask, Miss Peterson, where you acquired this marvelous talent?"

The sincerity of his question softened the dull ache of his rejection the night before and the odd twinge of loneliness shrouding her thoughts. Perhaps they could still be friends.

"I learned while tagging along with Papa. And over the years I managed to create my own special blend. I'm glad you like it."

"I hope you brought enough to last us a while. I could get used to this.” He lifted his cup with a silent salute and took another long sip.

Her father joined them at the table. “Not to worry, my friend. I made certain we would have enough for our entire stay. Can't abide that stuff the locals drink."

"What do they drink?” Stephen asked.

"Mate cebado. It's similar to tea,” she said.

Edwin blew across his cup. “The devil it is."

"Oh, Papa. Hot water is poured over the leaves of the yerba plant in a mate or gourd. The yerba is an evergreen shrub related to holly. When the gourd is filled with water, the leaves expand and fill the mate. It's usually taken through a bombilla, a straw with a strainer often elaborately decorated."

Stephen nodded as he listened and sipped his coffee.

Her father took a long savoring drink. “Ah, but it cannot compare to this. I believe this is your best batch yet, my dear."

She laughed. “Careful, Papa. I'll get a swelled head."

"Not to worry, daughter. That can never happen. Other than this, you are totally useless in the kitchen."

She huffed teasingly and cast him a withering glance.

Stephen laughed, a wonderful deep rumble that sent her stomach straight to her toes. Resting her chin in her hand to keep her mouth from hanging open, she let the pleasant sound warm her soul. Amazing how something as simple as a smile could transform a person's face.

Her gaze scanned his features as he and her father discussed the dig. Stephen was exceedingly handsome when he smiled. He would be even more so without the beard and perhaps the spectacles, but she didn't really care about that. All she knew was her stomach did funny things around him, and her skin prickled with delightful goose bumps.

All of which she was supposed to be forgetting about.

The rest of the team straggled in, and breakfast got underway. Her father wouldn't admit he wasn't much use in the kitchen either, and decided on a more traditional Argentinean meal of rolls and jam.

Stephen's demeanor changed back to the serious scientist she was more familiar with, as he began discussing the areas each member was to focus on.

She lost track of time listening to his smooth rich voice, letting her mind drift off into space. He never did answer her question the night before. What were his beliefs? Did he hold those similar to most men regarding the suffrage movement? He didn't seem to be opposed to women having the right to vote, but they hadn't really discussed it.

Their dinner conversation during their journey had focused on geology, biology, and paleontology. There was that one heated discussion regarding Darwin's theory of evolution, but it had ended with everyone agreeing to disagree.

He didn't once disregard her presence, shun her for taking part, or belittle her opinions. He actually seemed to listen most intently. Was he as open-minded about women's rights?

"Are you going to help with the dishes or sit there daydreaming all day, missy?"

"Oh. Sorry, Papa.” She joined her father by the washbasin, noting the others had left. “I guess I'm a little groggy. It's going to take a while to get used to sleeping on a cot again."

"Oh? And here I thought you were daydreaming about someone special."

"Don't start that again. There is no one special. I've explained to you in great detail how I do not wish to be attached to a man. Now, please, Papa. Stop worrying me about it."

"Very well.” He winked then started washing coffee cups. She knew she hadn't convinced the manipulating old professor, but she harbored a hope that he didn't have any clues as to the identity of the man she'd been thinking about. If he did, he would have Stephen proposing and her wedding arranged before the end of the week.

Her heart did a little flip.

Ridiculous. She did not wish to marry. She was simply excited about getting started on the dig. Yes, that was it. The dig.

Rinsing her cup she paused, wondering if Stephen would roll up his sleeves again. His arms felt wonderful wrapped around her, pressing her to his chest, and his lips were soft and warm. She imagined them moving across her cheek, down her neck to her bare shoulder.

"Wash,” her father grumbled.

Dropping her chin to her chest, she scrubbed her cup, hoping, praying he wouldn't comment on her flushed face.

Chapter Nine

Stephen studied the bone they believed belonged to an Argyrosaurus, protruding from the ground, for several minutes before lifting a single tool. Delicacy was of the utmost importance. Fossils could appear sturdy and yet fall apart at the mere touch of a finger, but this specimen did seem to be quite solid.

As he painstakingly removed layers of sedimentary rock and dirt a teaspoon at a time with his brush and trowel, he could hear the occasional click of Kristina's camera.

He listened with one ear as she explained in great detail to an over zealous Mr. Thomas the various processes used by photographers. As she moved her tripod to a different location, she discussed the pros and cons of using flexible film versus dry plates.

She said she'd intended on saving the cumbersome glass plates as backup since she preferred the other, but once they'd arrived on the site she saw no need in carrying them so far without using them. And if any plates broke during their trip home, they would still have more than enough pictures of the expedition. Her only concern was keeping the exposed film and plates dry and hidden from any light.

Stephen smiled at her practicality and knowledge of her craft. If her comprehension of paleontology measured a fraction of what she knew about photography, she would be more of an asset than he could have ever hoped.

As long as he could keep his distance.

He heard the distinctive sound of a new plate sliding into her camera and awaited the familiar click. The audible sound of the shudder release kept him aware of her at all times, allowing him to concentrate on his work. It was if he needed her there so that he could perform tasks he'd been doing most of his life.

He hadn't been certain he would be able to work at all in her presence until after seeing her at breakfast. The exchange between her and Edwin allowed him more insight into what made Kristina Peterson so unique. Her wit, her love for her father, her unfailing ability to smile most of the time, even in light of what happened between them the night before. All traits that added to his growing respect and admiration for the woman.

The lack of a shudder falling into place brought his head up from the wire mesh screen he used to sift the soil. Stephen located her in less than a moment.

She had picked up a trowel and brush and was meticulously removing dirt from a place outside their marked area while Scott returned to his appointed location.

He observed her for several minutes where she sat on the ground, surprised by her fluid use of the tools. Her intense scrutiny of the spot in which she worked, pulled up the corners of his mouth. She looked charming sitting there covered in dust and dirt, her dark braid falling to her side, the cinnamon tip brushing the earth. He had never known a woman like her, and knew he never would again.

Stephen chuckled beneath his breath at his own ignorance. He should never have assumed anything about Kristina Peterson. Her uniqueness was an extremely pleasant surprise, and yet just as annoying, for it made him want her all the more.

Mr. Walters appeared and settled on the ground beside her.

Stephen's jaw clenched. When would he leave her alone? He knew perfectly well she wanted nothing to do with the young man.

"Nor does she want anything to do with me,” he said beneath his breath. Not after the way he had treated her. He behaved abominably and deserved whatever censure she chose to impose, although it did appear at breakfast that she had put the incident from her mind.

Either way, she was still a member of his team and his responsibility. He'd intended on warning Mr. Walters again after what he witnessed the day before by the wagon, but with everything that had happened since, he hadn't had the chance. It would seem, however, that he needed to intervene once again.

He rose from the ground, setting aside the mesh screen, and walked toward them. His step faltered as Mr. Walters trailed his finger down the length of her arm.

Stephen's hands still burned from the warmth of her skin and the softness of her hair. Things he would never feel again, but his demented brain had him convinced that no one else had a right to touch her.

With anger boiling and churning inside him, both at himself and at his assistant, he moved closer until he cast them in shadow.

Kristina raised her frowning face to see who blocked her light, then smiled.

Stephen's anger wilted. Had she truly forgiven him his shocking behavior the evening before?

He cleared the anxiety from his throat. “Are you having any luck, Miss Peterson?"

"Actually I believe I've discovered more of our friend here."

"Really? That would mean—” Intrigued, Stephen squatted down beside her and examined the area. “May I?” He held out his hand for her brush, which she quickly surrendered.

His thoughts of her unwanted admirer were forgotten, as he uncovered more of what she'd found. Lying down on his stomach, he propped up on his elbows to examine the fossil more closely, and could hardly believe his eyes. Their marked-off area was too small. Never did he dream they might actually find an area where a nearly complete specimen lay.

"Miss Peterson, do you have any idea what you've found? A part of the tail! We may actually have the most complete specimen of an Argyrosaurus since Lydeckker named the beast!” He glanced up at her and froze at the sight of her wearing spectacles.

Leaning in closer, she studied the small portion he'd uncovered. “I was afraid to get my hopes up. I haven't done this in so long, I thought I was wishing for something that wasn't so."

"No, not at all,” he mumbled. She looked wonderful with dirt smudged on her cheek, wearing the dainty frames. Simply wonderful.

She turned to look at him and sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. Without my spectacles, I hadn't realized your eyes were streaked with such a brilliant gold."

His throat constricted, cutting off his air. She was talking about his eyes in a breathy voice made purely for seduction with her lips scant inches from his. The memory of their taste, their texture, tore at his soul. He needed to put some space between them before he gave in to the desire to kiss her, but he couldn't seem to move. And she wasn't moving away either. Was she remembering too?

"Are you absolutely sure we've found the tail?” she asked, nibbling at her bottom lip.

"Quite sure.” His gaze remained glued to her perfect mouth and the hypnotizing motion of her teeth.

"That's nice,” she said with a soft smile, her lips now a beckoning shade of deep red from her momentary assault.

"Very nice."

"Well, Miss Peterson, you've outdone yourself again,” Mr. Walters said, causing them both to jump apart.

Stephen leapt up from his place beside her, feeling like an absolute fool. Sitting there staring into her eyes and at her mouth, wanting to kiss her, to hold her, all the time forgetting he had sworn never to touch her again. She had no idea how her comment about his eyes affected him. Being an innocent, she couldn't begin to imagine the things running through his head. Things he wanted to do to her, share with her. But it was wrong.

"Excellent work, Miss Peterson,” Stephen said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things I must attend to. This area must be included.” He turned and headed toward the supply tent for more twine. Somehow he would beat this attraction. He had to.