Look What the Wind Blew In (17 page)

Gingerly pressing on the cartilage below the bridge of his still-throbbing nose, he rounded the corner of the mess tent and ran smack-dab into Angélica. His elbow jammed into her shoulder, which in turn rammed the heel of his hand into his nose.

“Yowch!” He reared his head back, his eyes watering.

She let out a yip of surprise and stepped backward, tripping over a tent stake, her arms flailing.

Quint caught her wrist, pulling her back toward him before she fell into the tent wall. “Gotcha.” He steadied her, holding her by the shoulders while he blinked away his pain.

She looked frazzled in the pale light. Wisps of hair floated around her face, pillowcase wrinkles lined her cheek. The tag of her tank-top stuck out at chest level, bobbing slightly as she breathed. The shirt’s seams were showing.

“Sorry about that,” Quint said. “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

She leaned into him slightly, like she needed a kickstand to stay upright. “I’m the one who should’ve been more careful.”

Taking a closer look at her, he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. Sweat dotted her upper lip. She looked more than tired; she was almost haggard. “That wasn’t you screaming was it?”

The scream had been high-pitched but not quite at the female level.

“No, not me.” She stared blankly off to her left, and then shuddered at whatever was passing through her thoughts.

“What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

Steel came around the corner right then, following in Quint’s wake. He stopped at the sight of them, his face pinching into a scowl. “Well, isn’t this cozy.”

Angélica snarled at him. “Don’t start, Jared. I’m in no mood for your high-and-mighty shit.”

He looked at Quint’s hands, which were still clutching her shoulders. “Are you taking her prisoner, Parker?”

Quint ignored him, focusing on the tousled, obviously troubled woman in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Ask me that again when the sun is setting.”

“Unhand her, Parker.”

Unhand her?
Were they lords and ladies? Apparently, he’d missed the trumpeted announcement. Hell, and here he’d gone and left his rapier in his other pants.

Quint slid his hands down to Angélica’s elbows before releasing her, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his fingers.

Steel muttered something not very gentlemanly.

“What happened?” Quint asked her.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Jared answered.

“I don’t remember yanking your chain, Steel.” Quint kept his focus on the woman in front of him.

“Uh, nothing really.” She crooked her head side-to-side, stretching her neck. “Just a minor glitch in this morning’s routine.”

Damn her for trying to close him out again. “Either I hear the truth from you or from your crew, Dr. García. Who’s it gonna be?”

She nailed him with a squint. “I don’t want this to show up in print.”

“It won’t.”

“You understand I’m very concerned about my crew’s reputation as qualified field workers.”

“Completely.” He held her squint. “You have my word.”

“Don’t trust him,” Steel advised.

“Jorge has experienced an incident that caused several large blisters to form on his skin.”

Quint grimaced, wondering what the boy had gotten into. “How did—”

“Dr. García,” Fernando interrupted, joining their little party. “
Nada
. Not on the seat, the walls, or the door handle.”

She threw up her hands, cursing in a rapid-fire mixture of English and Spanish.

“Teodoro says it smells like resin from a
chechem
tree,” she said after catching her breath.

“He can actually smell that?” Steel asked.

She nodded. “He sent Enrico out to gather some juice from a
chacah
tree.”

Quint looked from Angélica to Fernando and back, lost in the middle of the conversation. “What does that do?”

Angélica glanced his way. “Cures the rashes caused by the
chechem
resin.”

“What should I do about them?” Fernando thumbed in the direction of the cluster of men hovering outside of Teodoro’s door.

“Send them to the mess tent. I’ll be there shortly to deal with the ripple effects from this.” As Fernando walked away, Angélica sniffed the air. “I smell coffee.”

Quint sniffed, too, noticing only the scent of his tent canvas coming from his clothes, which reminded him of something. “I broke my tent zipper. It was jammed or something, and when I tried to force it, the zipper broke off in my hand.” He pulled the piece of metal out of his pocket and showed it to her.

“You’ll have to switch to the other supply tent.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one next to mine.”

“Parker should remain with the other workers,” Steel commanded, as if it were his decision. “Give him the one I’m using, and I’ll move into the one next to yours.”

She hit Steel with a testicle crushing glare. “Damn it, Jared! This is my dig site. Try to remember that while you wait for me in the mess tent with the rest of my crew.” She returned to Quint. “You can move after breakfast.” Squaring her shoulders, she limped off toward her tent.

Quint noticed her boot and flip-flop ensemble and grinned.

“Pretty convenient, your zipper breaking like that.”

“You should see me work my magic with buttons.” Quint continued to watch Angélica until she slipped between tents and disappeared.

“You’re up to something, and I’m going to catch you in the wrong place at the right time,” Steel threatened.

Jesus, this pissing contest was getting old. “Oh, yeah? Catch this.” He tossed the zipper at him.

Steel snared it with a bandaged left hand, sucking in his breath in pain. He dropped the zipper into his other palm, wincing as he flexed his injured hand.

Quint eyed the bandage. The wrap job didn’t look like a Teodoro Special. “Ruin your manicure in the bat cave?”

“Stay away from my wife, Parker.”

There was an underlying menace in his voice that made Quint pause. His gut warned him there was more to Steel’s animosity than petty jealousy. “I have a news flash for you—she’s not your wife anymore.”

Steel’s nostrils flared. “She’s my wife until I say otherwise.”

The son of a bitch really needed his face rearranged. “Tell you what. How about you just stand here living in your fucked-up fantasy world while I go grab a cup of coffee and enjoy reality without you in it.”

“Remember,” Steel snared Quint’s sleeve. “I’m watching your every move.”

“Fine.” Quint yanked free. “Watch me move into the tent next to hers.”

* * *

Inside the safety of her tent, Angélica dropped onto her cot and covered her face with her hands.

What in the hell was going on? First Esteban’s arm, then Alonso’s leg, now Jorge’s ass. Over the years, they’d had incidents at the dig site but just the average sprained ankles and sore backs. Nothing like this. Maybe she was working them too hard. Maybe she needed to give them a longer
siesta
after lunch. Maybe …

“I see some things haven’t changed,” Jared said.

She lowered her hands, frowning at her ex-husband who was peeking inside her tent through the mesh flap.

“Mind if I join you?” He let himself inside the zippered flap.

Tents really needed to come equipped with doors with deadbolts.

He eyed her messy tent with an expression of distaste.

Like she needed this shit right now. “I told you to wait for me in the mess tent.”

“Your standards have lowered greatly.”

She considered telling him that he was mistaken, throwing back that she had divorced
him
after all, but she didn’t feel like getting into an argument after this morning’s mess. “Why are you standing inside of my tent, Jared?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“So talk.” She plucked a pair of clean underwear from a stack of clothes next to her cot, and then stood and unhooked her bra from the tent pole where she’d draped it to dry yesterday.

“You used to wear satin and lace.”

Was she actually awake? Was this madness real? Here she had yet another crewmember injured, inciting more whispers about that stupid ass curse, and now her ex-husband wanted to reminisce about past lingerie choices.

“What can I do for you, Jared?” She crossed her arms.

“There’s another reason why I came down here, other than the university’s needs.”

No shit. “Can we talk about this another time? I’m a little busy right now.”

“As you’ve probably noticed,” he plowed right over her. “I’m still in love with you.”

She blinked. No. This couldn’t be happening.

He stepped over a pile of boots and socks, closing the distance between them. “I’d like you back as my wife. Living without you all of these years has made me realize how valuable you are to me. We could do so much together for the archaeology world.”

She blinked again. Maybe there was a curse after all.

“Angélica, darling.” With uncharacteristic awkwardness, Jared reached for her, capturing her shoulders. He pulled her closer. “I’ve missed the scent of your skin.”

Really? He missed the smelly parts and all? No way.

He lowered his head, zeroing in for a kiss.

She sidestepped. “Jared, it’s way too early in the morning for blisters and kisses.”

“Come on, my love,” he said, snaring her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “We were so good together in bed.”

He remembered their sex life a lot differently than she.

“Jared, stop.” She tugged free of his grip. “This isn’t going to work.” The Yucatán Peninsula would freeze over before she even considered swapping spit with him, let alone signing up for another tour of his version of wedded bliss. However, she needed to use a dump truck load of tact while making her feelings crystal clear. Her father’s future was at stake here.

“I know you still enjoy my touch.” He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Why fight the feelings you have?”

He was right. She should stop fighting and choke the arrogant son of a bitch to death. “We tried the marriage thing, remember? It caused more harm than good. Maybe it’s best if we keep this,” she pointed back and forth between them, “the way it is.”

“Ah. I see.” His smile had way too much confidence behind it. “You need some time to consider my offer.”

Sure. The rest of eternity might be enough. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t
think
? So, there is an element of uncertainty still.” He took a step back. “How about I give you a little time to work through this morning’s unfortunate event and let my proposal sink in. Then we’ll revisit this later.”

“Okay.” Fine. Groovy. Whatever it took to remove him from her tent before she clobbered him with her boot. “How about this time next year?”

“Oh, how I have missed that dry wit of yours.” Jared stepped over her mess of clothes on his way toward the tent flap. “It reminds me of all the good times we used to have.”

Huh. She wondered if he’d put in a change of address at the post office now that he was living in Fantasyland. “Jared, there’s no use digging up bones. Let’s keep to the present.”

“You dig up bones every day. Just think about my proposal.”

She’d sooner weigh the pros and cons of lighting her hair on fire. “I’ll do that. Now leave so I can get dressed.”

He left, zipping both tent flaps closed behind him.

As his footfalls faded, Rover waddled out from under the cot and snorted up at her.

“My thoughts exactly.” She scratched behind his ears. “So, what am I going to do about the other guy?”

* * *

Later that afternoon, she was still working on that answer while sitting across from Quint in the small burial chamber two layers inside the Temple of the Crow.

She’d made the choice of keeping Quint with her today rather than Jared. Listening to Jared talk about their past for hours would’ve driven her headfirst into a
cenote
, hands tied and all—especially after the crazy rumors flying around at lunch. She’d barely had a chance to eat while trying to convince her crew that Jorge’s blisters were not caused by some supernatural devil that blew in on the wind along with that damned curse.

Expecting Quint to spend their time together plying her for information for his article, she was surprised at how quiet he was today while they worked. She should have been doing the Snoopy dance at his lack of chatter. Instead, she kept glancing his way, watching the frown lines sweep over his face like cloud shadows over the desert valley floor at her dad’s ranch.

What was going on in his head? Was he regretting coming down here after learning more from Fernando about what had happened to Jorge? Was he unhappy with having to move to the tent next to hers? Did his pensiveness have anything to do with that letter he’d received from Jeff Hughes?

Her vision blurred, her eyelids growing heavy. The heat of the temple was building, draining her. They shouldn’t stay in here much longer, but the soft glow of the lantern and the sound of Quint’s breathing lulled, making her want to curl up and catch up on all the sleep she’d missed lately.

She leaned her head against the warm wall, her eyelids drooping, thoughts scattering … her father rubbing his sore tooth, Teodoro sending her worried glances, Quint digging in a chamber, Jared holding out a diamond ring, Esteban screaming, her mother crying in her tent, Jorge whimpering, Quint cupping her face …

“Dr. García.” His voice seemed to come from far off, echoing, yet she could feel his breath caressing her skin.
Tell me, Angélica.

She reached for him, coming up empty. Where was he?

“Angélica,” he whispered in her ear.
Tell me what you want.

She wanted him, damn it. Right here in this hot, pitch-black chamber where nobody would see her lose control, hear her cry out when he touched her. She could smell his skin, hear his clothes rustling. Her imagination took over, slamming her with sensations and stimulating fantasies, filling her with aches and longings.

Her hand flailed until she touched something solid, warm. “Quint.” She grasped his shirt, tugging him down.

“Angélica,” this time his voice was clear and strong, right in front of her.