The Accidental Cowboy. Heidi Hormel

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      He squinted against the sun and put the mobile back in his pocket. He’d come outside to get a better signal and to ensure there was absolutely no chance Lavonda could overhear him, no matter if she was in her own rooms. He had to be discreet about exactly where he was going and what he was doing. As far as both universities understood, the bulk of his research would investigate the Hohokam and their use of beans as an alternate source of protein, and would not involve looking for a long-lost treasure. Jones could, using a local satnav system, probably go forward with his work. He’d wanted a local guide so he didn’t run afoul of either the US government or the local Native American tribes. His recent string of bad luck had him on edge.

      This secret expedition had to end well. In the course of his usual life, Jones would have dismissed the journals he’d found, purportedly from an early-twentieth-century Kincaid home here in Arizona. He wasn’t living his usual life, though. Everything had unraveled when his big find, the one that should have gotten him full status at the university, as well as a chairmanship, had led to a cairn filled with discarded, valueless children’s toys. Unearthing the fabled Kincaid’s Cache with its statuary and gold would redeem him in more ways than one.

      If looking for agricultural evidence was the only thing on his agenda, he’d have just called the university for a new guide. He couldn’t afford any extra scrutiny of his expedition, especially from his brother.

      “Something wrong?” Lavonda asked, strolling from the back of the house, her head tilted to the side and the bright sun sparking off her sleek fall of hair.

      “No,” he said, drawing out the word as his mind turned over potential solutions.

      “Hmm...well, you might not want to stand in the sun without a hat. Do you have on sunscreen?” Her wide-eyed gaze scanned him up and down with clinical interest.

      “I’m fine.” Not only would he have to rely on his own satnav system if hared off on his own, the guide had promised to bring the transport.

      “You leave tomorrow, right? For how long?”

      “A change of plans. I won’t be leaving tomorrow.”

      “So when will you be going?”

      “That is yet to be determined.”

      She frowned. “Humph.” It was a little pixie snort. How could he think that was cute, even endearing? Maybe he did need a hat.

      “There’s a colleague I must ring,” he lied, to move her along.

      “I’m going out to check one of the Hohokam sites. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

      He couldn’t decide what she was trying to imply. “Absolutely. What site?”

      “One with petroglyphs and a couple of metate corn grinders. Part of my duties as caretaker. I go out and make sure nothing has been damaged or needs stabilization. It’s a restricted area, but there have been problems in the past. I also keep my eyes on the saguaros. The big ones get rustled.”

      Did she want him to come with her? Did he want to go? Yes, he decided. It would be better than second-guessing his just-this-minute decision to explore on his own. In fact, going out with her would be a good way to get the lay of the land. “Why don’t I come with you? The metates could be associated with the bean culture.” The more he thought about it, the better this decision became. He could use his own satnav for coordinates if he saw any of the landmarks noted in the journal.

      “It’ll be pretty boring, and I’m walking.”

      “I’m used to physical activity.”

      “Walking in the desert is not tossing trees.”

      He ignored her comment. “I’ll need to change footwear and get my lucky hat.”

      She sighed heavily. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

      Maybe the guide canceling wasn’t part of his curse. Could his luck be changing?

      * * *

      “WHAT IS THAT?” Jones asked Lavonda, pointing at Reese. The tiny donkey’s long ears drooped and his stubby brush tail flicked at an imaginary fly.

      “This is our pack mule...well, burro.” Lavonda patted the animal. She didn’t want his feelings hurt. He might only be as tall as a good-sized Great Dane, but he had the ego of a Clydesdale.

      Jones’s face went from annoyed to amused and back to annoyed, but he said nothing. She’d already noticed that he was standoffish, not unlike the executives she’d worked with as a highly paid corporate communications specialist. She could suck it up and be nice. She’d definitely learned to do it before.

      “You’ll thank Reese when we unpack the water and snacks. Plus, this little guy needs the exercise and experience.” She clucked to get the burro moving. She heard the scuff of Jones’s boots following them. “Did you know that saguaro cacti only grow in the Sonoran Desert and the arms don’t appear until the plant is about seventy years old?”

      “Yes. As part of my preparations for this trip, I did internet research on the region.”

      Not friendly but factual. She could live with that.

      “Your...what did you call it?” He gestured at her pack animal.

      “Reese. And he’s a he...or was a he.”

      “Is he a native of the region?”

      She went on to explain how burros, aka donkeys, were used by miners and then turned loose to become feral. Reese had descended from those intrepid little animals. “My sister, Jessie, has a therapeutic riding program for children with medical challenges. She’s considering burros for cart work.”

      “Cart work?”

      “Pulling children in carts or buggies. Especially the younger kids who may be too small to ride a pony. The burros’ size also makes them less intimidating. They’re very, very smart and affectionate.”

      “He doesn’t seem like the type of beast a cowgirl like you would defend.”

      “I’m not a real cowgirl. Not anymore.” She closed her mouth fast. She didn’t want to talk about this with a stranger.

      “You live in Arizona on a ranch, and—”

      “That doesn’t make you a cowgirl,” she shot back. What the hell? She knew how to keep quiet even when provoked. She’d been the spokeswoman when her company had been at the center of a media crap storm, and she hadn’t let the press rattle her. Here she was ready to lose her cool with a professor studying beans. She turned to Reese and gave herself a moment to relax. This man was from Scotland. Of course he didn’t understand that being a cowgirl was more than a hat and boots.

      “Are you sure your burro is up to this outing?”

      She refocused on small talk. “Reese learned that looking pathetic would get him out of work with his last owner. The college just recently received the property as a bequest. He and Cat came with it. There’s a goat, too, but she’s out eating her weight in tumbleweeds.”

      “Quite СКАЧАТЬ