Excavated (3 page)

He
didn’t have the physical bulk of a body builder, but he’d always had a
different sort of power.

Lucy
used to be attracted to it.

She
wasn’t attracted anymore.

The wall between the
two rooms of the trailer was paper thin and did next to nothing to muffle any
but the faintest of sounds, so Philip heard Lucy leave her room late that
evening.

He
figured she was just walking her dog or stretching her legs, but she still
hadn’t returned two hours later. Deciding he better discover what she was up
to, he stopped taking notes on the newest of the unearthed artifacts and
instead put on his shoes and headed outside.

Because
the sun didn’t fully set at this time of year, the island was illuminated by a
dim glow, casting weird shadows onto the blowing grass from the standing
stones, tents, and trailers. Some of the grad students had set up tents to
sleep in that night. A few must have already turned in, and Kurt and Kayla were
huddled around a laptop and chatting softly.

Philip
walked past them with a distracted gesture—basically just acknowledging their
existence—and headed toward the standing stones.

The
upright boulders weren’t as large and impressive as Stonehenge, but they formed
a very nice henge—a nearly complete circle of stones. They appeared
particularly eerie in the half-light of a summer evening.

He
wasn’t surprised when he saw Lucy near the stones, sitting cross-legged on the
grass with a state-of-the-art tablet on her lap. Her little white dog lay
beside her.

“Communing
with ancient spirits?” he asked dryly when he’d gotten near enough to speak.

She
wasn’t facing the trailers, so she hadn’t heard him approach. She jerked in
surprise and glared back at him. “I thought you were already in bed.”

The
dog leapt to his feet and barked as Philip approached.

“Down!”
Despite his clipped command, he was vaguely surprised when the dog immediately
flattened himself on the grass.

Lucy’s
frown deepened, as if she resented his instruction to her dog. “Arthur, come.”

As
the dog scurried back to lie next to her, Philip lowered himself to sit beside
her. “Unearthed anything mysterious and supernatural yet?”

“Nothing
but an arrogant ass.”

Despite
himself, he felt a glimmer of amused appreciation for the quip. She was
obviously just as clever as she used to be, no matter how else she had changed.

“Sorry,”
she murmured, her expression softening. “I’m just getting the lay of the land.
Looking for how we might film shots later on for the greatest impact.”

She
gestured toward her tablet, where she’d obviously been taking notes.

He
knew she was trying to move things back into polite, professional terms, which
was probably what he should do as well. “Your staff doesn’t help?”

“Of
course they do.  Sawyer will spend most of the next day or two finding the best
locations for filming. But I don’t want him to have to work all
night—especially after such a long trip—and I like to get a sense of a place
myself first.”

“How
long does it take to do the prep work before you start filming?”

“It
depends. I like to learn about the site from the local experts and scout things
out before we do any filming. Other than the introductory shot when we first
arrive. Sometimes it can take several days to get a good feel for a site,
especially if it’s big and sprawling or has a really complex history. Since
there’s not much to this island and I’ve done the Neolithic thing before, it
will probably only take a day or two before we can start filming. We might even
be out of your hair in less than two weeks.”

This
should have been excellent news to Philip, but he found himself bristling over
her casual dismissal of the island he’d spent a career studying. “I could have
told you from the beginning that the island wouldn’t be a fruitful location for
manufactured, ghost-hunting thrills. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill Neolithic
site, though, and its history is much richer than you might think.”

She
rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t insulting your precious site. Don’t get defensive.”

His
lips tightened. It had been a long time since anyone had talked to him that
way, and he didn’t like it.

He
wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to come out here tonight at all. She would have
been fine on her own, and she probably knew enough not to disturb the actual
dig.

But
he felt on edge and unsettled. Lucy had known him a long time ago—back when he
was young, when he didn’t have things all together, when wasn’t in control of himself
the way he was now. For years, people had known him as a competent,
professional expert in his field. Lucy saw only the young man he’d been before.

“Sorry,”
she said again, giving her head a shake as if she’d lectured her inner self for
her blunt retort. “You seem to rub me the wrong way, but we have to work
together for the next week or two so there’s no sense in squabbling.”

“I
agree.”

Arthur
had been eyeing Philip suspiciously since his arrival, and now the dog got up
and stalked toward where Philip was sitting, sniffing at his trousers.

“Arthur,”
Lucy chided, pointing toward the ground, gesturing for him to lay down again.
“He doesn’t like you,” she told Philip.

“He
probably picks up on your vibes. Dogs don’t know any better.”

Her
eyes narrowed, and she visibly restrained a sharp comeback. Then she cleared
her throat. “I’ve probably got enough notes for now. I guess I’ll call it a
night.”

Philip
stood up and extended a hand to help her to her feet. She took it, although not
particularly enthusiastically. She released it as soon as she could.

For
the first time, he noticed she was dressed comfortably in yoga pants and a
stretchy boat-neck top. The clinging fabric emphasized the curves of her body,
and his body was immediately interested.

She
must have noticed his distraction and misinterpreted it. “No need to look so
surprised. Did you think I’d sit around on the grass at midnight in a tight
skirt and four inch heels?”

“I
have no idea what to expect from you now.” He fell in step with her as she
headed back to the trailer, Arthur on her heels. He tried not to let his eyes
linger on the way her bra was visible through the thin white top or on the
outline through the fabric of her nipples, which must have tightened from the
cool air. “You have to admit your outfit earlier was rather impractical.”

“Of
course it was. That’s the point.”

“What’s
the point?”

“The
point of my show. You used to be good at marketing strategy. If you thought it
through even a little, you would know why I dress that way when I film.”

He
did know, and he wasn’t surprised it was successful. People invariably fell for
the most superficial of appeals.

“I’m
not saying it isn’t effective. I just wouldn’t have expected it from you. The Lucy
I used to know wouldn’t have shown up at an archeological dig in such
ridiculous clothes.”

He
knew the words and tone would rile her up, and he’d said them anyway. He had no
idea why.

She
stiffened. “And the Philip I used to know was hell-bent on sticking with his
mother, even if it made him miserable. We all change.”

“Yes.
We do.”

They
were standing in front of the door to her room now, facing each other.

“You
obviously remade yourself,” she said. “Started over. Why shouldn’t I?”

“I
never said you shouldn’t.”

“To
expect me to be the same as I was back then is ridiculous. I’m not a college
freshman anymore, you know.”

“I
know you aren’t.”

He
did know it. And he was made even more aware of it as she stared up at him with
fierce annoyance. Her green eyes were unnaturally big and deep in the dim
light, and the sculpted contours of her face and her full lips were more mature
than they’d been, highlighted by her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

He’d
been attracted to her back then, when he never should have been, and he was
attracted to her now.

She
was all woman now. Beautiful—and sharp as glass.

“You
won’t find me easy to take advantage of anymore.”

He
blinked in surprise. “When did I ever take advantage of you?”

Her
lips parted as she stared at him for a long stretch of silence. Then, “Are you
serious?”

Something
was wrong here. She wasn’t just being prickly. She resented him for some reason
and thought he should know why.

“If
you’re referring to the kiss, I apologized to you for that immediately after it
happened. You said it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I
know that. That kiss wasn’t even a blip on my radar. Believe it or not, your
tongue isn’t impressive enough to hold a girl in thrall after fourteen years.”

Her
voice was casual, glib, but he wasn’t deceived. He peered at her with intense
scrutiny, trying to read her feelings from her expression.

“Stop
trying to read my mind,” she snapped. “I told you it was no big deal. I don’t
give a damn about your sloppy kiss.”

His
first instinct was to counter her word choice, since she’d intentionally made
him seem childish and clumsy. He bit back the instinct, though, since it would
accomplish nothing and just make him look even more foolish.

“I
was young too,” he said slowly, uncomfortable by the admission but even more
uncomfortable by the way she was looking at him. Like he’d betrayed her in some
way. “But I knew it was inappropriate. I haven’t let anything like that happen
since.”

“I
assume you don’t mean you haven’t kissed anyone since. So you’re saying you
haven’t done anything inappropriate in fourteen years?” Her eyebrows arched
dubiously.

“No.”

It
was the truth. He’d shaped a new life, one he could control, one that wouldn’t
control him.

Then,
to his surprise, her mouth twitched. “Sounds kind of boring.”

He
resisted the urge to laugh in response. “It’s that or sloppy kisses.”

Now
she was peering at him, scrutinizing him, and her gaze left him feeling
uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“You
didn’t know me at all back then, and you obviously don’t know me now. You
haven’t even apologized for the right thing.” She shook her head with a sigh.

He
choked on a knot of frustration. “Then tell me what I should apologize for.
That was the only time that year that I treated you inappropriately.”

She
laughed. Soft and bitter. “You say you’ve changed, but other than your job and
your clothes, I see no evidence. Still the same old Wentworth. Good night, Philip.”

Before
he could even process the words, she’d walked into her room and closed the door
on his face.

He
swallowed over his impatience and went through the other door of the trailer to
his office.

He
sat down in front of his computer and looked around at the small room. Most of
the surfaces were stacked with papers and books, except the long table against
the far wall that held some of the excavated artifacts. He used to keep his
mom’s campaign headquarters perfectly organized, perfectly neat. He’d done
everything that was required of him—and then some.

Why
Lucy couldn’t see how much he’d changed was a mystery, since it was glaringly
obvious.

He
tried to focus on clearing out some email, but he kept hearing her move around
in the room next door. Then he heard her talking. Since he heard no second
person, he assumed she was on the phone or Skype.

Certainly,
it was rude to listen in on her phone conversation. He had no other choice,
however, unless he left the trailer completely.

He
didn’t leave.

After
a few minutes, he figured out she must be talking to an old boyfriend or
ex-husband. She was arguing with him over custody of Arthur.

She
didn’t snap at the man the way she’d snapped at Philip. She sounded weary but
patient as she explained the dog had always belonged to her and he wasn’t going
to get any money from her that way.

He
heard her say goodbye. Then he heard her say, “Idiot.”

He
assumed she’d said that after she hung up.

A
few minutes later, he heard the bed in her room shift. It was right next to the
wall—as small and Spartan as the rest of the furniture in the bedroom.

He
sat in silence, staring blankly at his computer screen, hearing the squeaking
of the springs as she must be turning and repositioning on the bed. He heard a
loud sigh, almost a moan.

It
wasn't sexual—he was sure—just the normal sound of a person trying to relax,
trying to sleep. But his body tightened immediately anyway.

He’d
worked hard that year to suppress his attraction for Lucy, since there were too
many reasons why it wouldn’t be right to pursue it. He was obviously still
attracted to her, but it wasn’t the kind of attraction he was used to
experiencing.

He
couldn’t enjoy the thought of her soft, supple body under the covers of his
bed, relaxing the tension of the day and easing into sleep, because he was so
unsettled by memories, by defensiveness, by her irrational indictment of him.