Expedition of Love (20 page)

She nodded at his retreating back. A weighted sigh escaped her lips. He still didn't want to want her, and she shouldn't want him either, but that didn't stop the heat building low in her belly. Fear had been the only thing keeping her from throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him thoroughly.

But fear of what?

Taking a steadying breath to cool her stirring blood, she concentrated on a different fear, her father's health, and hurried back to him.

Chapter Eleven

Stephen made quick work of checking on the team. Making the rounds, he discussed a few new finds and examined some small fragments, using his work to push Kristina from his mind, but his strategy failed as usual.

After checking Mr. Thomas’ latest catalog entry, he caught sight of her coming out of the work tent. All thoughts of fossils and dinosaurs were vanquished as he watched her walk across the compound and disappear behind one of the tents.

Running his fingers through his hair, he cursed himself for his lack of control, and the fact that he nearly kissed her again. Even his friend's ill health, barely hindered his obsession. How and when would he beat this terrible yearning to have her?

With leaden feet, he made his way to the work tent, puzzling for the hundredth time over his irrational behavior. Stepping through the doorway, Stephen found his friend sitting at the worktable, insisting Mr. Anderson return to his regular work.

He chuckled to himself. Not much fazed Edwin Peterson. Not for long, anyway.

Stepping up beside the table, he asked, “How are you feeling, Edwin?"

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry I caused such a ruckus. I promise it won't happen again."

"I'm just glad you're all right."

Edwin huffed. “Tell that to this young pup. He keeps looking at me as if I were about to die on him."

"You'll outlive us all, my friend."

"Quite right,” Edwin replied with a hearty laugh.

Stephen smiled and nodded to his assistant to return to his work outside. Edwin did seem a good deal better, even though he preferred the man remain lying down. But the old gentleman could be as stubborn as his daughter at times. Thinking of Kristina, Stephen decided he should check on her too.

"Since you appear to be your old self again, I'll leave you to your work."

Edwin grunted, already engrossed in his study of another bone fragment.

Chuckling, he left the tent in search of the woman who constantly plagued his thoughts. As he scanned the area for her, finding each of his students, the fact she no longer had a bodyguard finally materialized in his befuddled brain. His heart quickened as he checked each of the tents, but no Kristina.

His chest heaving with panicked breaths, he moved to the edge of camp scouring the distant plateaus for dust whirls kicked up by riders, for any sign of her or her abductors. Passing behind the cook tent, nearly stumbling over one of the stakes, his gaze fell on her tiny form sitting on a small ledge facing away from camp.

Grumbling words not intended for a lady's ears, he started toward her at a quick and steady pace. The woman was going to be the death him, one way or another.

Watching the sun begin its descent behind the distant mountains, Kristina swiped at her nose, her hands still shaky from her recent scare and the surge of adrenaline from Stephen's touch. There was nothing she hated more than not being in control. All this emotional upheaval galled her to no end. Her temper often got the best of her, but this crying nonsense and her blasted obsession with Stephen Baxter was more than she could stand.

Hurried feet came up behind her. “You shouldn't be out here alone,” Stephen growled.

Swallowing her tears, she looked over her shoulder at the intruder. She didn't think she was up to any more battles verbally, emotionally, or otherwise with the man, but she knew he wouldn't relent about her needing a bodyguard.

With a sigh, she turned back to the sunset. “You're here now, so I'm no longer alone."

Prepared for another lecture on her safety, she waited as he seated himself beside her, his long legs dangling over the edge. Surprisingly, he remained silent for several minutes. Using the moment to slow her heartbeat and steady her pulse, she focused on letting the wind whisk away her turmoil and seep into her soul.

He sighed then leaned back, resting on his hands. “I don't believe I've ever seen sunsets quite like the ones here."

She nodded with a small smile, relieved he decided not to offer up another sermon regarding her safety, and savored the curious sense of peacefulness settling around them. Something akin to curling up in a favorite chair on a drizzly afternoon with a cup of tea and a good book. A day with no worries, no fears, no upset of any kind, just simple comfort.

Watching the sun sink lower, they listened to the nocturnal wildlife begin to stir.

"I imagine dinner is ready,” he said.

"I'm not really hungry."

He shifted, and she felt him survey her face as she continued studying the landscape and this new odd sense of calm created by his presence.

"Edwin seems to be feeling fine now,” he said.

"Yes, he did seem better.” Her brush with serenity turned to embarrassment from her earlier reaction to her father's sudden illness.

Fidgeting with the repaired tear in her pants at the knee, she said, “I want to thank you for everything you did today. I'm afraid I fell apart.” Something she didn't care to admit, but the truth could not be avoided.

Stephen sat forward, resting his strong arms on his thighs. “There's no need to thank me. Your father is in general good health. He simply made a miscalculation."

She nodded, but said nothing, still feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Edwin's a fine man. You're a lot like him in many ways."

A small smile touched her lips as she looked at him. “Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do. You both possess the same—uh—determination.” He grinned crookedly.

She laughed. “You mean stubbornness.” She turned her gaze back out over the plateau to the distant mountains, her spurt of laughter lodging in her throat. “He's all I have left now.” She sniffled and swiped at her cheeks, internally cursing the pain and fear bleeding through the cracks in her heart. “I'm sorry. There I go again, making an absolute ninny of myself."

He handed her a handkerchief, clean and perfectly folded, distracting her from her foolish fears. Did he have a supply hidden somewhere? She didn't think anything of hers was clean anymore. Not like the pristine white cloth he held in his hand. The dust of the plateau was on and in everything. Even her hair refused to feel clean after a thorough washing.

"Thank you.” Dismissing her wandering thoughts, she accepted his offering and discreetly blew her nose and dried her eyes. “I suppose we should be getting to dinner."

With his hand beneath her arm, he helped her to her feet. They stood and admired the scenery for another moment before she turned and handed him his handkerchief.

"I meant what I said before about helping Papa. Thank you, Stephen.” Rising on her toes, she gently pressed her lips to his. His mouth seemed softer with the missing whiskers. She ached to explore further, to lengthen the connection and taste him fully, but this was a simple thank you kiss between friends. And he wasn't exactly wrapping his arms around her, begging for more.

Pulling away, she looked up at his stunned expression. Her stomach landed squarely atop her feet. He hadn't appreciated the token gesture at all. Embarrassed beyond belief and furious with herself for breaking her vow never to kiss him again, she spun around and practically ran back to camp. Oh, why couldn't she have left well enough alone?

Nearing the cook tent, Mr. Walters stepped out from behind the corner directly into her path. Surprised by his sudden appearance, she stumbled and fell right into his arms.

"Isn't this a coincidence? And a very cozy one, at that,” he said.

"Let go of me.” She tried to wrench free, but he tightened his grip.

"Now is that any way to thank me for stopping your fall?"

"I was not falling. Now either remove your arms or endure a severely bruised shin."

"Whatever the lady wishes,” he said with sickening sweetness, holding his arms wide.

Kristina knew he'd only complied because of the voices coming closer on the other side of the tent, but she felt a small sense of relief just the same.

Swallowing her rage, she took several steps back, before moving to the side to ease around him. But as she passed, he reached out and took her arm. She shot him a heated look, but his attention was focused elsewhere.

"I was coming to escort you to dinner, but I see you were otherwise occupied.” His fingers tightened around her arm.

She followed his gaze to Stephen standing in the distance looking out toward the mountains.

Good heavens, how much had he seen?

Jerking free of his grasp, she refrained from rubbing the spot, although she knew there would be a bruise come daybreak. “You can think whatever you like, Mr. Walters, but you're quite wrong."

"Am I?” His eyes, once a pleasant blue, seemed more like ice as they bore into hers.

Her muscles stiffened, refusing to let the shiver running through her inner core become visible to his steely gaze. She could not let him know how deeply he upset her. “I was simply thanking Doctor Baxter for assisting my father."

He looked back at Stephen's tall form slowly changing to a silhouette with the fading light. “I'd say it was a lot more than thank you."

Realizing he'd seen everything, regardless of how innocent the entire event had been, she knew he would believe whatever he chose.

Sick of dealing with the odious man, she saved her words and ran straight for her little cot where she could pull the covers up over her head and hide. She couldn't bare much more of his disgusting innuendoes. For days she batted away his roaming hands, replied acidly to his suggestive remarks, and still he continued to pursue her.

And time was running out. If she didn't walk with him soon, alone, he was going to inform her father of what happened between her and Stephen.

She covered her face with her hands and groaned. And now she'd given him another show, how generous of her.

Stephen couldn't make his feet move. The tingle of her lips pressed against his had rendered every joint, every muscle in his body immobile. He couldn't walk, talk, or think. The synapses in his brain had fused together, and all because of a simple kiss bestowed out of gratitude.

Heaven help him, he still wanted her. If it hadn't been for the unexpectedness of her kiss, he would have pulled her against him and devoured her sweet mouth, and never let her go again. But he valued their friendship, and refused to let his carnal urgings ruin it. Resolved once again to force his innermost desires from his mind, he turned on his heel and strode back to camp.

Entering the cook tent, he took a plate and filled it with beans. He was quite tired of the brown pasty fare, but the few added bits of pork made the dish tolerable. They had to make do from time to time with simple dishes as the desert-like terrain didn't allow for extravagance in the kitchen, but he doubted he would miss beans once they returned to New York.

Collecting a piece of bread and a cup of coffee, he noted Kristina's absence. Strange, he assumed she would be hovering around her father, concerned with is wellbeing. Yet she did seem to run off after kissing him. Why?

Embarrassed, most likely. It was a rather forward gesture for friends, regardless of their history, but somehow his hypothesis didn't sound credible. She wasn't one to back away from uncomfortable or even dangerous situations.

Puzzling over her whereabouts, he looked at his friend sitting at the table eating heartily. Edwin did seem to be back to his usual good health and in high spirits. Perhaps she'd noted the positive change and retired early.

Settling in beside him, Stephen joined the dinner conversation. It was a typical evening, discussing the usual topics, with a few minor references to Edwin's health. Yet oddly with no comments from Mr. Walters. The young man seemed a bit out of sorts about something, but Stephen thought it best to leave well enough alone. He wasn't faring well with his assistant, still wanting to take a hefty swing at him, sending him deep into the Andes Mountains.

Stephen jerked his gaze to the tent opening then back to the others. Kristina was somewhere alone with no guard. Before jumping up from his seat he turned to Mr. Anderson. “Isn't it your turn to guard Miss Peterson?"

"Um, yes, sir, but—"

"I saw her slipping inside our tent,” Edwin interrupted. “And told the lad not to worry about her. I don't believe she's quite recovered from her scare this afternoon."

Stephen nodded, forcing his feet to remain beneath the table, instead of rushing outside to stand guard and insure her safety. What Edwin said was most likely true. She was probably overly tired with all the excitement and worry. Hadn't he just theorized that very thing upon arriving for dinner?

Yet his skepticism lingered. It simply didn't sound like the woman he knew. Oh, she'd cried a little, but her determination and strength always shined through.

Then why wasn't she at dinner? Knowing his excessive concern could spark distasteful rumors, he remained in his seat and silently finished his meal. One he could no longer taste.

Several minutes later, after the dishes had been cleaned and put away, the men went to their beds. Stephen cast furtive glances toward her tent, but assured himself she was well. His need to see her stemmed from a more disturbing, unyielding emotion, rather than a fear for her safety.

Deciding to sit by the fire a while and attempt to relax, he lugged a folding chair from the cook tent and placed it next to one of the crates they commonly used as a table. His hand strayed to the sketchpad and pencil he'd left on the box hours earlier. Idly, he placed lead to paper and drew as his thoughts lingered on Kristina's innocent kiss and the sharp painful memory of one several days before.

"I'd love to have that when you're finished,” Edwin said, sitting down beside him on a small crate.