Expedition of Love (19 page)

In an attempt to delay the inevitable discussion, she decided to begin clearing the dishes. She'd lost her appetite anyway.

Stephen appeared beside her at the washbasin with his plate. “May I ask what that was all about?"

"What, what was all about?"

"Coy, Miss Peterson? Somehow it doesn't suit you. You know precisely to what I'm referring. If he's harassing you, I must know."

She sighed as she pulled her hands from the water. “I've explained that it's nothing I can't handle, Doctor."

Reaching for another plate, his hand caught hers. “You are a member of my team and my responsibility."

Her heart fluttered at his touch. Lifting her gaze from their clasped hands, she looked at him. “Is that all I am to you?"

His jaw clenched. Something she suspected he did quite often, only not as noticeable before with his beard. But his continued silence unnerved her. Was it so painful a question to answer? And why in the world had she asked?

Pulling her hand from his, she turned back to the basin and the dishes. “You needn't worry about me. I can take care of myself. And Mr. Walters."

"I realize that. You've reminded me of your abilities quite frequently, but I would prefer it if you came to me before shooting off any of the young man's toes."

A crooked grin stole across her mouth. “I'll do my best to refrain from using any firearms.” She held up her bent fork. “But I can't promise not to find other ways of rebuffing any further unsolicited advances."

His laughter was a very pleasant surprise, and she relaxed in its wake.

Her father appeared with the remaining plates, as Stephen began to dry the ones she'd already washed. “Stephen, you have usurped my duties. But I'm not complaining, mind you. I despise washing dishes."

"Not one of my favorite pastimes either, my friend."

She paused in scrubbing. “Since I didn't cook, I don't mind doing all the dishes. So I hereby officially relieve you and your second of dishwashing duty."

"I don't need to be told twice,” Edwin said, and quickly strolled out of the tent.

Stephen chuckled, then picked up another plate to dry.

"You really don't need to do this,” she said.

"It's my turn to act as your bodyguard, Miss Peterson."

"Oh.” Disappointed, and angry with herself for it, she handed him another dish.

Well, what had she expected? That he would want to be in her company?

Of course, not. The man wanted nothing to do with her. He'd made it quite clear that his damnable sense of duty came first.

Silently, they continued their chore with a slight pause as he tried to fix the bent fork. She wondered why she hadn't noticed what a wonderful personality he had, in spite of his excessive decorum. Once imagining him as an overgrown encyclopedia, she could only assume she had let her own prejudices guide her judgment. As it turned out, she suspected he was shy around women.

A soothing warmth unfurled inside her. He didn't seem to be shy around her. Not all the time. While they argued or talked about fossils or minerals, or performed such mundane tasks as washing dishes, he seemed perfectly at ease.

But she wasn't at ease. Even while he discussed the intricacies of fossil research, she found herself observing him rather than listening to him. Remembering his kiss, the touch of his hand, the strength of his arms, the firmness of his chest. Bittersweet memories she would have to keep hidden deep inside her. Not a comforting thought.

Edwin's hope that his disappearing act from the cook tent the evening before would spur some reaction, proved to be fruitless. Kristina and Stephen seemed determined to ignore the powerful attraction between them. Since they had arrived in Argentina he hadn't seen any real advancement take place between them. They talked often, worked together well when they weren't arguing, but rarely did they allow themselves to be alone with one another.

What puzzled him most was how they could go on pretending they hadn't kissed each other so passionately their first night in camp. He'd seen them quite clearly, but unfortunately hadn't been able to hear what was being said. By the look on his little girl's face when she turned away, however, he could only imagine they were not words of love.

"Blast,” he mumbled.

When were they going to stop this silly game? He had hoped that young Walters’ continued advances on his daughter would spur Stephen into acting on his jealousy, but Kris seemed to be able to handle the young man without much trouble. He was surprised she hadn't shot him yet, but she did seem adept at using other deterrents, he thought with a chuckle.

Swiping his brow for the hundredth time, he straightened from his work. The blasted heat had cooled somewhat, just as Antonio said it would, but working beneath the ever-shining Argentinean sun wasn't much better.

As he dried his face and neck with his damp handkerchief, he thought of Kristina's childhood friend. Another disappointment. Edwin was certain with Antonio's constant touching and teasing of Kristina, Stephen would lose control, but still his friend remained calm. Barely.

Edwin grimaced at the thought of the boy his daughter adored when she was little. What had Antonio gotten himself into? The men who'd paid them a visit the previous week created too many questions, and too many fears. He knew Kristina could take care of herself, but against men like those, there were no guarantees.

His eyes sought out his little girl. She stood a few yards away with her camera, busily taking pictures. He didn't want to lose her, she was his greatest joy, but he couldn't bare the thought of her living a long and lonely life.

His gaze moved to his friend standing in the distance watching his daughter.

"Don't just stand there wishing, boy, do something,” Edwin whispered.

Kristina glanced Stephen's way, spurring him to turn his attention back to his work.

Disgusted with their deuced determination to foil his plans for their future, Edwin leaned over to resume digging. A sudden wave of dizziness engulfed him. Throwing out his hands, he caught himself before his face landed in the dirt.

"Papa!"

Kristina ran to her father's side, her heart pounding in her chest. “Papa, are you all right?” Falling to her knees beside him, she cupped his bright red cheek in her hand.

He chuckled roughly without humor. “Remember when you asked me to recognize my limits? Well, I think my limits aren't what they used to be."

Stephen appeared on his other side. “Let's get you out of this sun.” Slipping her father's arm over his shoulder, Stephen helped him to his feet.

She took his other arm and tried to support him as best she could while they made their way back to the compound.

Her father took several deep shaky breaths. “I'm just a little tired. Nothing to worry about. I can still walk. I'm not an invalid. Not yet, anyway."

Stephen's gaze met hers, the same worry she felt evident on his face.

"You've been doing too much, I wager,” Stephen said. “A little rest, and you'll be back to work in no time."

"Yes, in no time.” Kristina struggled to keep her voice from cracking and wasn't sure she succeeded.

The team hurried over the minute they saw what was happening, all wanting to help.

Stephen took complete control of the situation. “Mr. Anderson, fetch Professor Peterson some water. Mr. Walters, you and Mr. Thomas get a cot in the work tent immediately. It has better air circulation than any of the others."

"I'm all right. I just need to sit down a minute,” her father complained weakly.

The water appeared and so did the cot in less time than it took to get him inside. As they settled him on the edge of the small bed, she held the glass of water while he continued fussing about being treated like an invalid.

"Just drink, Papa.” Her hand shook so much she nearly dumped the water in his lap.

Stephen's strong fingers wrapped around hers and took the cup from her hand. She couldn't think, she couldn't talk, her whole body shook as if it were on the verge of breaking apart. Biting down on her lip, she held back the tears begging to be released.

"Here you are, Edwin. Take it in small sips. It's the latest vintage,” Stephen said jokingly.

Her father chuckled roughly and sipped the water, still insisting he was fine and that everyone could go back to work.

"I'm staying here,” she said between trembling lips.

Stephen placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a soft squeeze. She drew comfort from the gesture. Her father was all she had in the world. What would she do without him?

"I'm fine, missy,” Edwin insisted. “Now you both need to get back to work. We don't have much time to collect this specimen."

"You're quite right,” Stephen said. “There's a great deal of work to do. As a matter of fact, we've collected a rather large assortment of bone fragments and were just about to catalog them. Isn't that correct, Mr. Anderson?"

"Yes, sir."

The assistant gathered what he would need to do the job, one that was usually performed in the early evening, or first thing in the morning in the work tent. Not in the middle of the afternoon when there was still plenty to do at the dig site.

"Perhaps Professor Peterson will be able to assist you when he's feeling better. Eh, Edwin?” Stephen asked.

Her father nodded with a slight smile as he continued to sip his water. His color seemed to be slowly returning to normal, but Kristina still felt a torturous fear wrapping around her heart like a vise.

"The rest of you return to your work and let the professor rest,” Stephen said to the team.

As they shuffled out, she moved to sit in a chair beside her father who had finally lain down, but stopped when Stephen slipped his arm around her waist. At any other time she would've savored the feel of his hands, however innocent, but at the moment she could only lean into him since he would not allow her to sit.

But why? She looked up at him, her mouth trying to form the question with little success.

"Miss Peterson and I have some new areas to look over. We shall be back to check on you in a little while, Edwin."

Oh. Yes, of course. She was a nervous wreck and should leave before upsetting her father more. “Promise to rest, Papa.” Her tight quivering voice didn't fool him, but he smiled back at her just the same.

"Don't worry, my dear. I've learned my lesson.” He reached up and patted her hands where they were clinched tightly together. “Now, you go with Stephen. I'll be fine."

She nodded then allowed Stephen to guide her from the tent. His arm felt natural around her waist, as if it belonged there, but she didn't think on it long. She only knew that she probably wouldn't have been able to walk without his support.

His normally long stride shortened to accommodate hers as he led her to one of the wagons. Once well out of sight from the others, he picked her up and sat her on the end of the wagon bed.

"What are you doing?” she asked, shocked out of the daze that had settled over her.

"Putting you where you won't hurt yourself when you faint."

"Faint? I am not going to faint. I never faint."

He chuckled, a nice soothing sound. “Then I suppose it's safe to remove my hands?"

She didn't realize she continued to clutch at his forearms while his hands remained on her waist.

"Oh, I beg your pardon.” She let go, as did he, then instantly wished his arms were wrapped around her. Something told her she would feel safe there, as if he could stop anything from hurting her or her father.

But allowing herself to feel more, to risk relying on him when her life teetered on the edge of being turned upside down, frightened her beyond belief.

She'd thought her attraction to him was strictly sexual, but these new feelings were on a deeper level. One she never dared visit before, and wasn't too sure she wanted to now. They were friends, in a way, which was more than she thought possible after that first night. She could only hope she'd managed to bury her real feelings, whatever they were, beneath a thick layer of camaraderie.

"No need to apologize, Miss Peterson. You simply suffered a slight shock."

The tears that begged to be released earlier mixed with her emotional insecurities, slid down her dirt-smudged cheeks. She quickly covered her face with her hands, embarrassed, confused, and scared to death.

Stephen laid his hand on her shoulder. “He'll be fine. He just got a little overheated. He'll be right as rain in an hour or so. I'm certain of it."

"I'm sorry,” she mumbled into her hands, abhorring the sense of helplessness.

He pried one of her hands from her face and offered her a handkerchief. “Here. There's nothing to be sorry for."

Sniffling, she wiped her eyes with the clean white linen cloth then looked at him, their heads now even with one another. Instead of seeing the serious scientist or the irritated protector she was used to, she saw a man full of compassion and genuine concern.

"Thank you,” she said.

The delightful dimple appeared in his cheek with his smile. “My pleasure."

Whether or not she could name this feeling she had for him, no longer mattered. He was a kind, intelligent, thoughtful man, most of the time, and she liked him.

Swallowing her tears, she started to climb down. “I'm all right now."

She'd barely moved when he lifted her off the wagon. They stood perfectly still after her feet touched the ground, his hands on her waist, hers resting on his shoulders. This was where she wanted to be, but shouldn't. It wasn't healthy to want something she couldn't have.

"I should look in on Papa."

"And I should check on the others."

She looked at his lips and wondered again what they would feel like against hers without his beard.

His head lowered and their breaths mingled. He paused, gazing deeply into her eyes. What did he see? The same things she did? Desire, want, need, and something she didn't recognize. Something she was afraid to recognize.

They pulled back from one another at the same instant.

"Well.” Taking several steps, he cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “I will see you at dinner, Miss Peterson."