One Night With The Texan. Lauren Canan

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СКАЧАТЬ her at the open farmland extending as far as her eyes could see. A river snaked through the golden, knee-high wheat, feeding huge trees that grew sporadically in giant clumps near its edge. An old trapper’s shack that a sneeze could probably blow down sat under the branches of a giant, towering oak. To the east were cliffs, their dark red composite a vivid contrast to the white-gold of the wheat. Dark impressions on the face of the cliffs gave indication of caves, which could have at one time been home to ancient people.

      It had taken her an enormous effort to get the huge bulldozers and other machinery to shut down on this site. But she’d finally ascertained which man was the head of this operation and waved the court document under his nose. Now, with the motors of the huge machines turned off, only the sound of the wind blowing through the wheat and the occasional call of a bird remained.

      Somehow in this mass of timber, cliffs and cultivated soil that went on for miles she was supposed to find confirmation that an ancient people had, at one time, existed. A tribe of Native Americans never referenced in any record book in history. Never mentioned by scholars or spoken of in the homes of the people. Except one: her paternal grandmother’s. The day before she’d died.

      When a person so dear to her heart asked Tallie to find her people and, with trembling hands, opened her palm and dropped a tiny token into hers, Tallie had no other option but to promise she would do as asked. A sense of calm had overtaken her ipokini and, with a smile, she’d handed Tallie one other item: a doeskin about two feet square, rolled and tied with a braid of leather.

      On the inside of the doeskin was a crude, hand-drawn map. One large area, marked in faded red powder, must relate to what her grandmother had asked her to find. It encompassed an area from a river on the west where the water washed the roots of a massive oak tree to just beyond cliffs to the east. At various points inside the red circle were rudimentary images similar to those found in caves. A horse. A deer. A warrior with a lance. A teepee village. At the top, a cryptic design indicated mountains. Across the bottom the word Oshahunntee. The tribe of no existence. Like many of the words taught by her grandmother, it was also unknown to all but a few.

      Her ipokini was not a wealthy woman. Her gold was encased in a heart as big as Texas and spread among all the people she’d helped for almost one hundred years. For her to give Tallie something that must have been so special to her was a great honor. Tallie had promised her then—and in her heart now—that she wouldn’t let her down.

      She had been surprised when her boss, the chief curator at the museum where she’d worked the past three months, not only okayed her request to do this search but had, in fact, become quite excited when she’d showed him the map. Instead of making her take a leave, Dr. Sterling had endorsed it as an approved dig for the museum, though Tallie would have to cover her own personal expenses. Dr. Sterling had even been able to point her to the part of Texas the map seemed to describe. Now, with the court’s backing to explore the site, only one thing might stand between her and discovery. She was pregnant.

      Dr. Sterling had voiced his concern about her condition and made her promise to check in regularly. He couldn’t spare another associate to send with her and had made it clear she would be on her own. She’d convinced him she was fine. And she was. Or soon would be. Beginning her third month of pregnancy, she was almost over the morning sickness. At least, she hoped so.

      Discovering she was pregnant from her night in New Orleans had been a life-changing moment. Her memories of the encounter were so hazy, it was almost as if she’d been in a blackout. But she was left with a very real reminder of what had happened. She had no hope of finding the father, and initially, her dreams of the future had gone out the window. She couldn’t imagine traveling the world on archeological expeditions with a baby. Yet as the idea of having one settled into her mind and filled her heart, she made peace with it. Other single mothers worked and raised their children. She could, too. Admittedly, she would have to halt travel to remote sites until the baby was old enough, but just because she didn’t have a regular nine-to-five didn’t mean she’d have to throw away years of study just to be a mother.

      But right now she would concentrate on the present and take the future one step at a time. She was healthy and happy and determined to find the proof of the lost tribe as she’d promised her grandmother she would. At least, she had to try.

      A chill went down her spine at the thought that the lost tribe might actually prove to have existed. But why had her grandmother waited until she was dying to tell her? And where had the map been all these years? She’d spent a lot of time at her ipokini’s house as a child and had never seen it or anything like it. Tallie could only suppose her grandmother had her reasons and all she could do now was accept that some things would never be explained.

      Clutching the court-issued injunction in her hand, she took another look around. The paperwork required the owner of the property to halt all operations for ninety days so that she could search for relics. She would concentrate on the present and take the future one step at a time.

      Suddenly the wind kicked up, blowing her long hair in every direction. She fought to catch it at the back of her head and then pulled a band from the pocket of her jeans and secured it in a rough knot on her crown. The sound of a helicopter in the distance shattered the silence. It was coming toward her and not wasting any time, soon landing a safe distance from where she stood between the old trapper’s hut and the river. She didn’t have to be told who it was. Cole Masters, billionaire eight-times-over and owner of this land, had arrived. Dr. Sterling had mentioned she might receive some resistance from this man, whose reputation for doing things his way preceded him.

      The man who emerged from the chopper was big. Broad shoulders, his biceps bulging beneath the rolled-up sleeves of the white-silk dress shirt. A blue tie had been loosened at the neck to accommodate the unbuttoned top of his shirt. Honey-brown eyes were emphasized by dark lashes. His short, dark brown hair and his thick beard gave him the look of a warrior. His chiseled jaw was set for a fight. His full lips were drawn into a line of disapproval and those eyes were fixed on her as he marched to where she stood. So this was the great Cole Masters. Alive and in person.

      In spite of her professional approach to matters such as these, the closer he came, the more she felt her years of study and experience fading to nothing. On that realization, she took a deep breath and concentrated on why she was here. This dig was a one-shot attempt to prove something incredible. She wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed by his sex appeal or intimidated by his rumored bitterness and arrogance. She’d somehow maintain the professional attitude the situation called for.

      “Cole Masters,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.

      “Dr. Tallie Finley, archaeologist with the North Texas Natural History Museum,” she said as she accepted his hand. It was twice the size of hers and exceedingly warm. A slight electric current tingled between their grips, traveling some distance up her arm. She could tell by his frown he’d felt it, too. She quickly withdrew her hand.

      “It’s you.” His brows raised in surprise and his demeanor became less in your face.

      “Ah...yes. I’m me and I’m guessing this is what you want to see.” Something about him seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn’t quite place him.

      She handed him the court document. “It allows an intrusive and extensive survey of the area indicated on the map as presented to the court.”

      “You are Dr. Finley?”

      Something had suddenly removed the harsh tone from Mr. Masters’s voice and replaced it with a slight hint of congeniality. Because she didn’t know what had caused the change, she was more off kilter than when she’d initially faced his hostility. Good grief. Had she failed to button her blouse? Was she wearing the oatmeal she’d had for breakfast?

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