Expedition of Love (18 page)

Quietly, he followed Stephen to retrieve his cot, his shoulders sagging with worry.

"It looks as if you have a few more admirers, Kristina."

Mr. Walters. Lovely.

She rolled her eyes heavenward asking God what else could possibly go wrong on this expedition.

Chapter Ten

The droning sound of young Anderson's voice listing the various items and locations he'd catalogued thus far forced Stephen's mind to wander yet again.

Damned annoying. At every turn his thoughts went back to Kristina. Her laughter, her smile, the way she flipped her braid over her shoulder, everything. She derailed his thoughts constantly, and sooner or later he would resemble the besotted old fool he was. That is if he didn't already.

"Doctor Baxter?” Mr. Anderson asked.

"Hmm? Oh, my apologies. I allowed my thoughts to wander. I'm sure your catalogue is fine. Was there anything else?"

He looked at him thoughtfully. “No, sir."

"All right, then. Get back to your area, and we'll see how much work we can accomplish before the sun sets."

With a puzzled frown, the young man walked away.

Stephen sighed. Yes, he was a besotted old fool, and it was painfully obvious to his colleagues. His mind went back to Kristina, but the unusual calming effects of a camera clicking appeared to be absent. Scanning the site, he found each of the team members, including Mr. Walters, working diligently, but no Kristina.

Blast the woman! How did she manage to sneak away from her appointed guard whenever she chose? She heard every word those men said the other day, and still she acted as if they posed no threat whatsoever. Even though she'd hidden partially behind him and slipped her hand into his, something he had never imagined possible, she refused to accept their evil intentions as fact.

Grumbling beneath his breath, he walked to the work tent, praying she would be there. Stepping through one of the wide doorways beneath the tied back canvas, he found her hunched over the worktable near the opposite opening where the afternoon sun encased her in its golden glow. With her spectacles perched atop her nose, her graceful hands carefully examining a fossil beneath a magnifying glass, she created a most extraordinary picture.

He sighed softly at the scene. To think just a few weeks ago, he thought her nothing more than a pretty girl, too delicate to go on an expedition. Now, he saw a fellow scientist, a beautiful scientist, intently studying something she had discovered.

His heart sped up as he realized she was a lot more like him than he ever thought possible. An obvious result of being her father's daughter.

His anger and worry over her safety dissolved as he moved behind her. Leaning over her shoulder, he looked to see what had captured her attention. He almost chuckled as he listened to her discuss her theories with herself, totally unaware of his presence.

"I believe you are correct, Miss Peterson."

She jerked up, pressing her hand to her throat. “Goodness! Please, don't do that.” Leaning forward, she cupped her forehead. “You scared me half to death."

"My apologies.” He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. So, she was afraid. Good, then maybe he could talk some sense into her about sneaking away from her guard. “You shouldn't be in here alone."

"I'm fine. No one can get in here without someone seeing. And anyway, it's been almost a week, and they've yet to return. I suspect we won't be seeing them ever again."

"In any case, you are to remain with your guard."

Her brow arched sharply. “I'll not be treated like a child or a prisoner, Doctor. Now, as I was saying about this specimen, he looks to have been someone's dinner."

He took a long steady breath. The woman was obstinate, contrary, and damnably exasperating. With a subtle shake of his head, he took the fossil she held in her hand, and gave the bone a quick study. “Yes, the tooth marks are evident. Here and here,” he said, pointing to the long striations, then returned the fossil.

Leaning back in the chair, he supported one arm atop the other across his chest, and stroked his beard. “However, we cannot assume he or she had been hunted, only that the Argyrosaurus became a part of the natural food chain."

"I agree, considering the enormous size of our friend. Why do you do that?"

His hand paused at the base of his beard as he met her curious stare. “Do what?"

"Tug on that—scruff,” she said, her fingers flitting in front of his face.

"Scruff?” He dropped his hand, his arms folded across his chest.

"Scruff,” she replied flatly.

"How did we get from discussing the Argyrosaurus to my facial hair?"

"I asked. Why do you have a beard? Are you hiding a weak chin under there?” She reached out to feel for herself, her brow furrowed with concentration.

He held his breath as she caressed his face, what he could feel. His beard insulated him from her probing fingers, but still she was touching him intimately, reigniting the feel of her fingers laced with his, the taste of her lips, the heat of her body.

Regaining his good sense, he wrenched his head back, out of her reach. “I do not have a weak chin. I happen to like my beard."

"Like it or not, you look like an old bear.” She chuckled at his low growl. “I rest my case."

Glowering at her, he stood.

"Oh, don't get in such a huff. You have a very nice smile, and I think it's a shame you choose to hide it behind all that hair."

He opened his mouth then snapped it shut. Exasperating was too calm a word to describe Kristina Peterson.

Turning, he strode out of the tent. “Mr. Thomas! Your charge is in the work tent."

The young man looked about frantically then scurried inside. Satisfied she was safe, Stephen started across the compound.

"Scruff,” he mumbled beneath his breath. His hand went to his chin and stroked the bristles. He happened to take great pains in keeping his whiskers neatly trimmed, and had done so for the last five years. If she didn't care for beards, which was apparently the case, then it couldn't be helped.

He stopped. Did she really think he had a nice smile?

"Nonsense.” She was merely attempting to ease the tension still hovering between them from their kiss and the accidental handholding the other day.

He started walking again, pondering her question. Why
did
he have a beard? Arriving at the edge of the site, he came to the conclusion he had no real reason. He'd simply started it while earning his Ph.D. and hadn't given it another thought. Most scholars and scientists had beards. Her own father, as a matter of fact.

He stroked his chin, trying to remember the feel of his face without hair. What would she think if he shaved it off?

Stephen looked back over his shoulder at the work tent. She would probably think she'd goaded him into it, and she'd be right to a certain extent. And yet, he couldn't help but feel compelled to shave it off. If for no other reason than because she wished it.

There was the rub.

Dropping his chin to his chest, he changed direction and went to his tent. He wanted to please her, even though he knew nothing more than friendship could ever exist between them. He stopped in mid-stride.

What if she didn't like what lay beneath the whiskers? The whole matter required further thought.

Kristina took a deep breath as she stared at the opening Stephen had walked through. What had possessed her to touch him like that? Had she lost her mind?

She looked down at her fingers, still tingling from the feel of his beard. It was as soft as she remembered.

"Oooh, no. Simply put it from your mind,” she told herself. She had to forget about kissing him. They were friends and nothing more. This battle against her baser instincts was proving to be a great deal more difficult than she had anticipated.

Mr. Thomas joined her at the worktable in a matter of seconds after hearing Stephen's roar. He picked up a specimen and examined it carefully before completing the catalog details.

Each fossil's original location was meticulously recorded on a drawing of the dig site, then taken into the work tent for further study. Once everything they could learn from the specimen had been gathered, they would add their notes to the catalog for future reference. Once the items were back at the university, they would use more sophisticated tools, microscopes and such, to study the bones and reconstruct the skeleton.

She yearned to be a part of that process, but women did not attend Graham University, nor did the college hire them. Once again, she was faced with the inequalities between men and women in society.

Sighing, she observed Mr. Thomas perform both of his duties. One of which she felt was completely ridiculous. She did not need a bodyguard and wasn't the least bit concerned about those men. Her only concern lay with Antonio's involvement with them.

Something wasn't right in Patagonia. The man she knew, the boy she'd spent so much time with, wouldn't associate with the likes of them by choice.

In need of some fresh air, she went back outside to her camera, Mr. Thomas hurriedly following in her footsteps. Sitting and fretting over Stephen and Antonio wouldn't do her any good, and she still hadn't figured out what to do about her other problem, Geoffrey Walters.

After several hours of photographing fossils and the men as they worked, she called an end to her day. Mr. Thomas watched her from a distance as she made her way to her tent. The poor man was torn between his work and playing protector.

With a soft, tired chuckle, she waved at him then went inside. She contemplated flopping down on her cot and sleeping the sleep of the dead, but she needed food to keep up her strength. Her internal battles were as tiring, if not more so, than working at the site for hours on end.

After cleansing the dirt of the day from her face and hands using a cloth and a small basin of water, she dragged her weary body back to the cook tent. She assisted in whatever way she could without ruining their meal, then collected a plate and moved to the table. The men stood as usual, refusing to forget the silly custom.

As she was about to sit down, Stephen came in. All talking, all movement stopped.

He had shaved. The grim-looking scientist, whom she thought of once as an old fossil himself, had been transformed into a younger, more handsome man.

Kristina fell into her chair, nearly toppling the table over. She should never have kissed him. Now she wanted to feel the difference, and she would be thinking about it for the rest of the cursed expedition.

"Well, well. I was wondering if the dirt and dust blowing about was going to get to you,” her father said to Stephen. He walked over and inspected Stephen's new appearance. “You look good without it. A bit younger, too.” With a slap on the back, he escorted Stephen to the table. “I think I'll keep my dust collector, however. I'm afraid of what I might find beneath it."

The group chuckled, then went back to eating with a comment or two about Stephen's missing beard and moustache. Kristina did everything possible to refrain from reaching out and touching.

Eventually the topic of discussion returned to the day's events, but she found herself watching him from the corner of her eye. The way his lips moved, the way a tiny dimple formed in one cheek when he grinned, and the way he would reach to stroke the beard that was no longer there.

He caught her watching him once as he lifted his hand to his chin, and they exchanged wry smiles. How could she ever have thought him an old fossil?

Something brushed her leg, which she ignored at first, her attention solely on the handsome scientist sitting across from her. That is, until a foreign object settled firmly atop her knee.

"Are you well, Miss Peterson?” Stephen asked.

She blinked several times, realizing she had frozen with her fork half way to her lips. Gently returning it to her plate, she relaxed the death grip she had on its handle.

"Miss Peterson?” he asked again.

She attempted to remove her leg from Mr. Walters’ grip, but his hand merely squeezed tighter. He'd given her time to consider his
suggestion
, which translated in her mind to mean he wouldn't speak to her father no matter what she did, as long as he assumed she would capitulate at some later date. Or so she hoped.

"I'm sorry, Doctor.” She smiled a bit forcefully. “I imagine I'm a bit more tired than I realized.” The fork slipped from her hand and dropped to the ground. “Oh, dear. I beg your pardon."

"Allow me,” Mr. Walters said.

"No, no. I'll get it. I don't wish to interrupt your dinner.” She bent to retrieve it before he could insist.

Fumbling for a moment, and skillfully moving around enough so that his hand could no longer remain on her knee, she located her fork. But as she started to rise, his hand returned, only this time higher. Giving in to her anger, something she seemed to be doing a great deal of lately, she jabbed the fork into Mr. Walters’ leg. With a hardy yelp, he jumped up, knocking his chair to the ground.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon.” She gently placed the fork next to her plate. “I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Walters. Are you all right?"

"Yes,” he hissed. “I'm fine.” With a small bow, he said, “If you'll excuse me gentlemen, Miss Peterson.” He proceeded to limp out of the tent.

She swallowed her laugh as her gaze fell on her fork. One of the tines pointed up at an accusing angle.

Oh, dear, she must have stabbed him a great deal harder than she'd intended. She worried over the possibility of him altering his promise because of her blatant rebuttal. If he did, she would need to come up with some explanation for her father, some defense against his accusations, although they were true.

The others resumed their discussion. She lifted her gaze from the damning fork and found Stephen studying her with one brow arched.

Kristina quickly looked away. If he should ask what happened, what on earth would she say? She refused to be the cause of any unpleasantness between Stephen and one of his students during the expedition, and she'd had quite enough of his attempts to protect her.

Feigning interest in the discussion at the end of the table, she chanced a glance back at him. A stern frown marred his newly shaven face. He knew, of course. It was obvious, and he wasn't pleased by Mr. Walters’ latest infraction.