Shadows and Ruins Read online

  She'd noticed the cairn but hadn't realized its significance.

  "Don't you usually put up fence to delineate property lines, Mr. O'Donnell? I'd

  hardly call a pile of rocks a clear indicator of where your land starts. My boss didn't say

  anything to indicate we couldn't take this dig to its full and natural conclusion." She

  smiled, trying to ease some of the fury out of the conversation. "Your uncle gave us all

  the proper maps but—"

  "Damn it," Shane said roughly. "He didn't tell you not to cross over into my land,

  did he?"

  "My boss or your uncle?"

  "My uncle." He passed his large tanned hand over his jaw and sighed. A small

  muscle twitched in his cheek. "Look, I haven't got time for this. I've got work to do back

  at the house."

  He looked so weary that for a moment, sympathy emerged inside her. He could

  have a bad day or not, she wouldn't allow him to ruin her day. Maybe a little humor

  would lighten up this large man's attitude a smidgen.

  Emma smiled. "Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. If I'm lucky I'll make considerable

  progress on this trench today. The quicker I finish here, the faster I'm out of your hair."

  He didn't smile. If anything his expression hardened, turning rock-solid with

  condescension. His gaze snapped to hers with a hardness she felt deep within her as her

  stomach did a strange flip-flop. "You don't seem to understand what I'm saying. I don't

  want you on this land."

  She gestured to the pit. "But the survey Grant did last week turned up a variety of

  objects in this area that point to a major historical site. It's very possible we could be on

  the land where Sadie Cutley's cabin once stood."

  He closed the remaining inches between them until he stood so close they almost

  touched. "I don't give a damn whether he found Noah's Ark. I want you off my land

  and that's the last word."

  Determined to stand her ground, she didn't flinch. She tilted her head back and

  looked at him. Smiling, she decided to pour honey over the vinegar. "You don't have to

  be nasty about it. All of this could be solved—"

  He moved one big hand and for a shocking, fearful second she thought he would

  grab or hit her, and she stepped back with a gasp. Memories of a night long ago roared

  up inside and threatened like a vicious dog launching at her throat. A man's hand

  coming at her, his fist a hard, solid wall slamming into her jaw with brutal intensity. She

  took a shuddering breath as she controlled her reaction. God, she didn't need this right

  now. Didn't need to freak just because a man moved suddenly. She should maintain

  control or O'Donnell might take advantage.

  His hand scrubbed over his jaw, and she took a deep breath of relief. His gaze

  sharpened, his eyes transforming from angry to almost concerned. For a moment, she

  thought he might ask why she'd jerked away like a scared rabbit, but he didn't.

  "Either you fill up this hole and get back on my uncle's boundaries, or I'll get the

  shovel out of my truck and do it myself," he said, his voice a deep whisper that caressed

  her ears with threat.

  Her nerves skittered as she assessed his intentions. If she didn't leave his land right

  now, would he resort to violence? In her mind she could hear her father's voice

  rebuking her. You're too impulsive. One day you'll regret it.

  This could be the day.

  No, don't be ridiculous.

  Perspiration dotted the man's upper lip. She gazed at it in fascination. Then she

  looked back into his eyes. Nothing lenient or forgiving in those eyes. He'd march right

  over to her trench and dump the soil back into the hole, damaging days of work.

  Obviously pleasantries didn't work on this brawny, inconsiderate man.

  She nodded. "All right. Just give me another half hour and I'll have my stuff packed

  up and I'm out of here."

  "I'll give you fifteen minutes."

  Her mouth dropped open. "Fifteen minutes? But it'll take longer than that—"

  "I want you out of here in fifteen minutes. Load your stuff up and get out." He

  turned and headed back to his truck. He reached for the door handle and paused. "If

  you come back, I'll have the sheriff on your butt so fast you won't know what hit you."

  With that last parting shot he climbed into his truck, started the engine and roared

  off, traversing the bumpy canyon like a rattlesnake looking for shade in a desert.

  For several moments she stood where he'd left her, staring with contempt after the

  retreating hunk of ugly, lime-green, rusty metal.

  What a bastard.

  What a nasty, arrogant pig.

  She absolutely abhorred him.

  A slight twinge of distress in her chest made her realize she'd held her breath and

  she quickly sucked in air. Her face felt stiff, her lips dry, and her tongue parched.

  She couldn't remember the last time anyone had made her so angry she could

  scream. She would gladly have pitched rocks at his handsome head if she didn't think

  he would retaliate.

  Infuriated, she started gathering her equipment. God, she hated it when she lost

  control and let her past play games with her head. She disliked it more than his obvious

  mistrust of her. As she wrestled with the heavy sieve, she knew fifteen minutes

  wouldn't be enough time to finish and retreat from his land. Well, he'd have to live

  with it. Besides, if he was herding cattle or breaking broncos or whatever cowboys did,

  he wouldn't have time to come back here and accost her immediately.

  Screw him. She'd at least finish the last bucket of work.

  Grabbing the bucket, she dumped the combination of sandy soil and dark dirt onto

  the sieve and seesawed back and forth. After a couple of shakes she pushed her gloved

  hands through the soil and searched methodically for anything significant. Despite the

  heated encounter with O'Donnell, her blood rushed with excitement at the prospect of

  finding a significant artifact.

  She hadn't lied to O'Donnell about Grant's survey of the area last week. Several

  historic era artifacts, old spoons, nails, barbed wire and bottles had turned up, and the

  concentration suggested a major site worth a test pit. With the old Cutley Mine nearby,

  she knew the cabin couldn't be far away.

  Emma was attending a seminar on radiocarbon dating when she received Grant's

  call. He needed her help and asked her to get down to the San Juan Valley area of

  Colorado as soon as possible. But here she sweltered in the sun, sucking down dust and

  encountering the wrath of one overbearing, ugly, renegade rancher with the personality

  of a bull.

  She chuckled as she sifted through the dirt. Who was she kidding? He might be

  stubborn and as toxic as flypaper. He might have scared her.

  But he wasn't ugly. And his butt sure wasn't skinny.

  With a self-reproving laugh, she remembered her surreptitious glance at his jean-

  clad rear as he'd returned to his truck. Not only did the nastiest man on the face of the

  planet radiate a stomach-tumbling sexuality, but he had the best-looking ass this side of

  the Rocky Mountains.

  * * * * *

  Along the ridge south of the excavation, a short man crouched behind some scrub

  brush that lined the bluff. He prized these quiet moments, these opportunities to watch

  the
tall, delectable woman below as she worked. He'd watched the lady and the big

  man tangle it up over the dig. He hadn't heard their words, but their expressions had

  shown equal parts anger.

  Emma Baker and Shane O'Donnell. At least that is what the One told him they were

  called.

  He didn't care.

  He coveted a chance to taste her and he knew that soon he'd have the opportunity.

  His heartbeat took up an excited tempo as he brought his binoculars up so he could see

  her long legs as she walked across to the Ford Explorer and opened the back hatch. She

  reached inside and brought out a bottle of water. She licked her lips and he watched the

  path of her tongue. After twisting the top off the fresh bottle of water, she greedily

  drank. She removed the bandanna from around her neck and soaked it with water. She

  tied it around her neck again and then held the bottle to her cheek and closed her eyes.

  He smiled.

  A sharp pain beat suddenly at his temples and he gasped and dropped his

  binoculars. "Shit. Shit."

  He knew the agony well. It tortured him whenever it pleased. He rubbed at his

  temples and took a deep breath to ease the lightning-sharp stabs. Immediately the pain

  released him as if it had never been there before.

  A feathery voice echoed in his mind. Deliver it to me. Bring it to the night.

  The One of the Shadow Realm called him, mocked him and challenged him to bring

  home the necklace that belonged in the possession of evil. The One needed the necklace

  to return to the Shadow Realm and its rewards and to bring humanity to its knees.

  His grin widened at the thought. Yes, soon he would harness a power more

  plentiful and hideous than anything known before because the One had promised to

  share it with him. With that power he could control a rising tide of spiraling hate,

  insidious evil, incredible destruction. All these forces hovered just out of his reach, just

  out of his ability to manipulate. The One was particularly good at ensuring death,

  destruction and mayhem. He wanted a fragment of that for himself. Just a tiny fragment

  would do.

  Fire stirred in his lower belly as he thought about the danger soon to be unleashed

  at the archaeology site. He licked his lips, and he realized the peril tasted like blood.

  Or had he bitten his own lip?

  He didn't know and didn't care.

  Nothing was more important than making sure everything went as planned, and

  that meant the woman might have to disappear at one point or another. He smiled.

  Damn, he loved his work.

  * * * * *

  Shane squinted in the bright sun, not bothering to retrieve his sunglasses from the

  glove compartment of the truck. His vehicle bumped over the dented road, rattling and

  groaning as its old joints protested.

  As he traversed the dirt road that served as a driveway to his Uncle Clement's

  house, he contemplated what he would say to his uncle. He'd never spoken in anger to

  Uncle Clement before, but after the incident with the archaeologist this morning, his

  blood simmered.

  His scalp itched and he pulled the leather tieback out of his hair and tossed it on the

  dash. His hair flapped in the breeze. It was stifling in the old truck, and he rolled the

  window down all the way. The hot wind that blasted inside didn't help, but maybe the

  discomfort would take his mind off Emma Baker.

  If he thought back he couldn't remember any woman in recent memory making

  him boil like a kettle on high. In more ways than one.

  He couldn't say which was more annoying—that she'd pissed him off with her

  combination of stubborn insistence and smooth negotiation style, or that on closer

  inspection he'd discovered the front of her was as damned beautiful as the back. He

  gritted his teeth in annoyance.

  He'd almost forgotten to feel anger when she'd unfolded her legs and stood to offer

  her hand. At six-five, he towered over most women and men, but she wasn't petite.

  When she'd looked up at him he'd noted the trace of freckles over her upper cheeks,

  sprinkled like cinnamon along the pink flush of her skin. Each curve of her face had

  looked delicate. Intelligence and determination had etched her blue eyes.

  Her long-sleeved shirt had sheltered her from the sun but hadn't concealed the

  enticing shape of her full breasts. Encased in worn denim, the gentle, full curve of her

  hips and her long legs had given his libido a kick-start. He'd felt a stirring in his gut that

  had nothing to do with the fact breakfast had been a long time ago. When he'd climbed

  into the truck he'd allowed the raging reaction to her to spill through his blood. A royal

  hard-on still pressed uncomfortably against his jeans. He slowed the truck and took

  deep breaths. Fuck. He needed this boner to disappear before he reached his uncle's

  house.

  When Emma had spoken, the seductive, warm liquid of her voice had short-

  circuited his brain. When she'd parted her lips and smiled he'd almost choked.

  And she was a little strange.

  Had she called him Mel Gibson?

  Reluctantly he chuckled and shook his head.

  Nope. Emma Baker was the type of trouble he didn't need. Add the Baker woman's

  solid determination to fight him, along with his mother's phone call yesterday, and he

  felt his annoyance notch up a degree. Yeah, if anyone could fry his cookies, his mother

  knew just how high to set the oven.

  Shane swallowed and tasted the dry flavor of bitterness on his tongue. Deciding he

  didn't want to think about those years before his mother left, he pushed the painful

  thoughts back where they belonged. In a trash bin of memories that he kept stored

  away, cataloged under G for garbage.

  Amazed at the tension that tightened his shoulders, he grimaced. After he paid a

  visit to his uncle, a serious workout might take the sting out of the residual anger

  thrumming within him. Sometimes it frightened him, this animosity, and this sudden

  urge to vent his spleen. Scared him in a way that was deep, hot and undeniably as

  raging as the sun blazing into his truck.

  Get it under control. You don't want to be like Dad. Along that path lies certain disaster.

  Not only that, but he'd seen fear in the pretty archaeologist's eyes. He'd moved too

  quickly and from her startled reaction, he thought she might run shrieking. The last

  fucking thing he wanted to do was make a woman think he would hurt her.

  He'd eat off his own testicles before he'd harm an innocent woman.

  He inhaled slowly and deeply once again and vowed to keep his temper in check

  before he lost it and did something he'd regret forever.

  He thought of his Uncle Clement's insistence that the archaeologist discover if Sadie

  Cutley's cabin existed in a specific spot. Damn it, he wished he could have done

  something to stop his uncle from even starting the project. Dread simmered on the

  surface of Shane's thoughts. Shane knew allowing archaeologists into the area was a

  huge mistake. If left unchecked, this situation would spiral out of control.

  Shit. Take one step at a time.

  He'd successfully wrestled his body into submission—the erection was gone. And

  not a moment too soon. Uncle Clement and Aunt Josy's log cabin-style ranch house

  came into view. He drove into the
circular drive and with a stomp on the brakes came

  to a halt. Shit. His brakes were getting mushy from the way he'd been driving lately.

  One of these days he might lose it completely and careen off a canyon road.

  Sometimes the idea didn't sound all that bad.

  Aunt Josy worked on a rose bush in her flowerbed at the front near the porch, and

  as he climbed out of the truck, she stood and waved.

  Visiting his aunt and uncle remained one of the few things that could calm his soul.

  Aunt Josy's enduring good looks made her appear much younger than middle-aged. He

  wished he had half her patience and warmth. Her good nature glowed in her dark eyes

  and the pink complexion of her round face. A bit overweight for her petite height, she

  still had a stamina and endurance that surpassed many thinner women. Her long, dark

  hair flowed straight down her back in a thick ponytail, and today she wore a floppy,

  wide-brimmed hat with ridiculous plastic flowers on the rim.

  "Haven't you given up on those damned rose bushes yet?" he asked as she went

  into his arms for a warm hug.

  She laughed and released him. "No, and nothing you can say will change my mind.

  I'm going to make it work this year."

  He smiled, but the effort made him feel like his face would crack. "If anybody can

  make roses bloom in this climate, Aunt Josy, you can."

  "Flattery will get you everywhere, Shane." She wiped her hands on her worn jeans

  and started toward the porch steps. "I suppose you'd like to stay for lunch? I've got a

  luscious stew brewing in the slow cooker."

  He groaned and followed her inside the cabin and toward the kitchen. "Sounds

  good. Tempting as the offer is, I really came to see Uncle Clement about that

  archaeologist."

  When they reached the kitchen, she slipped off her garden gloves, opened a door

  under the sink and tossed them onto a shelf. "Uh-oh. Don't tell me you went down to

  the site?"

  He nodded. "I didn't even know anyone was there until I took out my binoculars

  and saw her in the canyon."

  "Saw who in the canyon?" a deep, rumbling voice said behind Shane.

  For a split second Shane thought his father had come back from the dead, the

  familiar voice so much like his parent. But he turned and his uncle stood in the