Heart Of Gold (7 page)

But there
was a thread of something different in that tone of his, some subtle shift that
made the tiny hairs on her arms prickle with an alarming delight. It was as if
he had stroked his hand across her skin.

With a
wave of heat, her body let her know it wanted in on his promise of pleasure.
Desperately.

Dammit, she
thought.

When she
remained silent, he shrugged. “Well, if there's going to be no tour, we
might as well get down to business.”

With a
stiff nod, she led him into the house. She watched how he took it all in, his
eyes traveling over her things with the same disturbing focus he'd trained on
her.

When she
got to the foot of the stairs, he said laconically, “You don't have to
change on my account. I'm already used to today's getup.”

Her eyes
shot sparks at him. “I wouldn't change my clothes for you even if you were
offended.”

“Especially
if I were offended, right?” A slow smile spread over his face, pulling the
dimple back into place.

She
wished like hell he would go back to being argumentative. His arrogance got on
her nerves but that smile could prove deadly.

“My
study's up there,” she said with a frown.

“Of
course it is.”

Carter
marched up the stairs, preferring to let that one go. When they got to the
second floor, she regretted having her workplace and her bedroom in one space.
Both were revealed before him, a road map into her intimate world. She felt
naked and didn't like the idea of having a memory of Nick Farrell being in the
same room where she slept.

Clothing
herself in determination, Carter approached her desk. “Let's see what you
think you have.”

“Think
I have?”
\

“Fakes
are well known in my business,” she said briskly, flipping on a
goose-necked lamp.

“Then
you and I have something in common, after all.”

Carter
held her tongue, anxious to get through the meeting.

Despite
her impatience, or maybe because of it, he loitered with the briefcase in his
hand, taking his time to look over the desk and her books, the view and the
bare floorboards. His eyes lingered on her small twin bed with its simple white
comforter and its lonely pillow. By the time he finally fixed his gaze on her,
she was ready to jump out of her skin.

“You
live here by yourself?”

“What
business is it of yours?” Carter began drumming her fingers on the desk.
When his eyes skirted over to the sound, she forced herself to sit still

“Just
curious.”

“Get
used to the feeling.”

“Tough
talk from a gardener.” But he put the briefcase on her desk, released its
two brass locks, and opened the lid. She noted absently that the inside of the
case, which was done in red silk, was as beautifully finished as the outside.

Farrell
took out a cloth bundle and gently unwrapped it on her desk.

Carter's
breath left her in a reverent gasp. Laying in the cloth was a simple wooden
cross, made from two pieces of hardwood with a square-headed nail in the center.
Blackened with age and ragged on the ends, it was four inches long and three
inches wide and had a metal circle at the top through which a piece of cloth
could be threaded.

Pulling
over her lamp, Carter sat down and put on an elaborate set of magnifying
glasses. Before she touched the cross, she slid on some cloth gloves to keep
the oils from her skin off the wood. Carefully, she turned the piece over in
her hands, noting its sturdy construction.

Just like
the faith it symbolized, she thought.

On the back,
cutting through the wood grains like trails through history, she saw the
engraving Rev. J. Winship.

“You
look very fierce,” he said softly. “Although your hands are
gentle.”

Carter
stiffened but kept her mouth shut, hoping he'd go back to staring at her
things.

“You
don't like being watched, do you?”

“I
don't know anyone who does,” she clipped. “Or why you're bothering
to.”

“Those
glasses make you look like a scientist. That smudge of dirt on your nose makes
you human. It's an interesting combination.”

She
couldn't help it. Still examining the cross, she started rubbing her nose.

“A
little more to the left,” he directed. “But I like it where it
is.”

Carter
rubbed even more vigorously and heard him laugh.

“Where
did you find this?” She looked up from the artifact.

“In
the circle of rocks.”

“Was
there anything else with it?”

He shook
his head. “We have found a lot of arrowheads up there but nothing else like
this."

“So
all that digging at the site wasn't just Lyst’s?”

“You
mean those holes? No, they're all his handiwork. I was sixteen when I found
this.” Nick looked down at the cross. “That was a long time
ago.”

Carter
tried to imagine him as a boy, digging in the dirt. “Do you know if anyone
else has excavated up there? Any professionals?”

“Members
of the family have hit the mountain with shovels over the generations but no
one with formal training's ever been up there. We try to keep the experts and
the amateurs away.”

“You've
taken good care of this. It's well preserved.”

“That's
more luck than stewardship. Right after I found it, I was afraid it would get
taken away from me so I kept it under my bed. In college and business school,
it lived in my bookcase. Lately, it's been marking time in my safe.”

Carter
could see how attached he was to the piece by the way his eyes caught on the
aged wood and held. He seemed nostalgic and it made him more approachable.
Unexpectedly, she found herself warming to him.

Clearing
her throat, she said, “It looks like the real thing to me.”

He smiled
with approval. “So it seems like we have something to discuss.”

Carter
shut off the light and glanced up at him. “And that
is?”

Because
he was so tall, she had to arch her neck to see him, making her feel like she
was at a disadvantage. She got to her feet.

“Are
you still interested in doing a little digging?”

She
shrugged. “Maybe. But what's with your sudden change of heart?”

“I
did a little research.”

“On
the value of history?”

“On
you.”

She
swallowed through a tight throat. “And what did you find out?”

“You're
at the top of your field.” Farrell began to stroll around the room, the
heels of his shoes landing sharply on the floorboards. She could see how
commanding he would be in a boardroom. “Specializing in early American
history, you're on track to become one of the youngest full professors at UVM.
Part of that's because you graduated from prep school at the ripe young age of
sixteen and doubled up on your classes at college. Mostly it's because you're
widely respected as an archaeologist and a historian and are known for being painstakingly
meticulous both in your field work and your scholarship. You lecture around the
country, a part of your job which is complicated for you.”

He leaned
over to look at some of her books.

“Oh,
really?”

“You
hate to fly.”

Carter
was surprised he knew about her phobia.

He
straightened and resumed walking, heading for her bed. She was struck by an
urge to shoo him away from it.

“You're
tough to get a hold of and prefer to work alone. When you do collaborate, it's
with a Harvard guy, Branson Swift. Most recently, you were in charge of
excavating a four-block section of Manhattan before a new underground subway
platform was constructed. That was this spring and, come autumn, you should be
ready to start presenting on those finds.”

He bent
down to her bedside table and picked up the mystery novel she'd been reading.
“Kinsey Millhone. I like Grafton, too.”

When she
remained silent, he put the book back and faced her. “You're a workaholic.
I venture most of your relationships are based on your profession and you like
it that way. I'd also bet you haven't taken a vacation in years, if ever. And
you obviously live here alone, which I have to believe is by choice.
Considering your looks.”

A warm
glow spread through Carter's body. She beat it back with determination.

“That's
all pretty accurate factually,” she said tautly. “Although I'm not
going to comment on your conclusions. Are you a private eye as well as a
corporate raider?”

“We
prefer the term 'takeover engineer,'” he tossed back. That slow, half
smile crept across his face again.

Carter
began to feel fuzzy in the head. Flustered, she broke their eye contact and
walked over to the window farthest away from him.

She took
a deep breath, wrapping her arms around her body. “So I'm supposed to
believe you've asked around, read my curriculum vitae, and suddenly decided the
sum of my virtues is sufficient to justify changing your mind? I don't get
it.”

“Perhaps
conversions happen,” he murmured, “even in people like me.”

“I'll
believe that when I see it.”

“Maybe
you just need to get to know me better. I could have a heart of gold under this
gruff exterior.”

“That
would be fool's gold, no doubt.”

He
laughed, a low, husky sound.

Carter
turned to face him. “Why me?”

“Because
I believe you when you say it's not about the gold. You're known for being an
academic, not a gold digger.”

She had
to hide a smile at his choice of words. “Well, at least you got that part
right. Would you be prepared to put any artifacts I find on permanent loan to
the museum of my choice?”

“Of
course.”

“And
what if I find the gold?”

“You
won't.”

“Don't
think I can?”

“I
don't think it's there to be found. Chances are whoever slaughtered the Winship
party took it along with their scalps.”

“So
you think Red Hawk ran off with it after he killed them?”

“You
tell me. You're the expert.” Nick's eyes were steady on hers. She began to
think he was serious about changing his mind.

“My
team and I are going to have to camp out by the site.”

“Team?”

“I'll
have at least one other person digging with me. Maybe a third.”

“The
talented Branson Swift?”

“Yes.”

Farrell
inclined his head. “Fine. You can all stay at the house.”

“Out
in the woods is more convenient,” she said quickly. And safer than
sleeping under Farrell's roof, even with the mountain lions and rattlesnakes.

“You're
prepared to turn down all the comforts of home for a tent and sleeping bag?
Should I take this personally?”

“Buddy
and I set up a good camp.”

Farrell's
face grew pensive. “So you and Swift like to get cozy on these digs, is
that it?”

“What
do you mean?”

“Nothing.
Just humor me and consider it an open invitation. We can get some cold nights,
even in June. When will you start?”

“Day
after tomorrow?”

Nick
nodded and went over to her desk where he started rolling the cross up in its
cloth. “I'm going to expect regular reports from you.”

“Of
course. Buddy, er—Dr. Swift and I will be happy to present—”

Those
gray eyes flashed over to her. “I want them from you.”

“But
he and I always—”

“I
don't care what you always do. I don't want a lot of people chatting my ear
off. You're the project leader. I want to hear from you.” There was no
arguing with the tone in his voice.

Carter
frowned. “Okay. Whenever you're at the lake, I'll fill you in.”

“I'll
be there the whole time.” He laughed as her jaw slacked open. “Why
does everyone greet the prospect of me being up here for the summer with the
same expression of horror?”

“You'll
be there the whole time?”

“Until
Labor Day. Is that a problem?”

She
pulled herself together. “Of course not. I'm just surprised you'd be away
from your businesses so much.”

“I
am my business. People come to me, not the other way around.”

Carter
had to imagine that was true.

“If
you'd like, you can leave the cross here so I can study it in greater
depth,” she offered as he resumed wrapping up the artifact.

“This
stays with me.” Nick returned it to the briefcase, thumbing the locks back
in place. “But you can always come and look at it.”

He picked
up the case from the desk and extended a hand toward her. She made no move in
his direction.

“Aren't
we going to shake on our agreement?” He prompted. “Surely a woman who
is willing to sleep in the great outdoors doesn't fear anything as civilized as
a handshake?”

Carter
approached slowly and slipped her palm into his. His fingers enveloped her
hand, his skin warm and smooth against hers. Immediately, a shock went through
her and her eyes shot up to his. She watched as his expression changed from one
of sardonic teasing to something altogether serious. When she went to pull her
hand back, he held on for a moment before letting her go.

“I'll
see you in forty-eight hours.” His voice was very deep, his eyes hooded
and burning under dark lashes.

As they
left the room, Carter hurried down the stairs despite the fact that her legs
felt shaky. She was desperate for fresh air because, through some shift in the
laws of science, he'd made the wide open space of the loft seem cramped and
suffocating. He was, she thought, larger than life.

It took
several deep breaths before she was ready to face him again.

“So
long, Carter Wessex,” he said when she met his eyes. With an enigmatic
grin, he slid his sunglasses back on, went to his car, and shot off down her
driveway.

Oh, God,
she thought. The man was going to be at the lake the entire time she was there.