The Lies Uncovered Trilogy (Books 4, 5, and 6 of The Dancing Moon Ranch Series) (35 page)

Two hours later, Marc stood on the mound while Kit walked around with a trenching shovel, digging little pockets of dirt while surveying the area. "It's definitely a midden," she said, "and there's enough debitage and refuse scatter around to make it worthwhile. There's also little chance of it being a burial ground, so all we need to do is convince your father. I looked up Oregon rules for digs, and all artifacts found are the property of the land owner."

"The key word is artifacts," Marc said. "Bones and sacred items bring in the authorities and that's what will worry my father."

"Then if we dig up a bone we'll cover it up and your father will never know," Kit said.

Marc gave a little snort. "You don't know my father. Once we start in he'll be out here practically directing the dig. At least your tent's a good ways from mine. That might count for something."

He looked to where Kit had her encampment set up some distance away. As soon as she'd spotted the clearing then learned that the hot springs wasn’t more than a ten minute hike away, she made a beeline over there and staked her claim, then drove her truck as close as she could, which was a short distance from the stable. After removing a tarp that covered whatever was mounded high in the bed of the pickup, she began carrying things to the camp site. He hadn't bothered to see what all was there.

"Come see how I have my place set up," Kit said. "It's beautiful over there among the ferns and evergreens, and the idea of hiking on forest trails and soaking in a hot springs pool while your father makes up his mind about letting us dig won't be a problem."

Marc laughed and walked with Kit to where her new, double-wide, forest-green tent stood. Just outside the wide front flap was a coco mat with the word WELCOME on it, which had its own implication. She already had an oversized rain fly stretched tight over the top of the tent and staked down, and with its large front overhang, it created a cozy covered entry, which made the welcome mat seem even less random, like maybe it was there for more than just cleaning the soles of boots. Under the canopy were two folding wooden chairs with canvas seats, a large folding table with a two-burner propane stove on it, an ice chest, and a covered plastic storage bin with what looked to be pots, kitchenware, and other cooking gear.

Kit sat on one of the chairs and removed her boots, then placed them together just off to the side of the tent entrance. Holding back the entry flap, she said, "Come on in and see how I have it fixed up inside. Take off your boots first though."

"You have a foot mat," Marc said. "I'll wipe my boots off."

"That's for effect," Kit insisted. "No boots in the house."

Marc begrudgingly tugged off his boots, a reminder of how it was with his mother and grandmother and boots. They stayed in a line-up in the mudroom. Placing his boots beside Kit's, he ducked inside and was surprised to find a double-wide mattress covered with a quilt with triangular patterns on it, the kind she might have picked up at Walmart for the occasion, a bedside stand with in a small table cloth over it and a propane lantern on top, a three-drawer plastic storage dresser, a rattan clothes hamper, and another wooden folding chair a couple of feet from the foot of the mattress.

"Make yourself at home," Kit said.

While Marc lowered himself to the chair, Kit sat cross-legged on the mattress, facing him. "So, what do you think?" she asked.

"Definitely cushy," Marc replied, which also reinforced what he'd surmised earlier. Following digs was definitely not Kit's bag. Eyeing the hamper, he said, "What will you do with all your dirty clothes? Haul them into town to the dry cleaners?"

"Are you hung up on Wally or something?" Kit asked. "You keep coming back to him."

"I didn't come back to him."

"Yes you did. You mentioned dry cleaning, so obviously you were referring to him."

Marc gave a cynical laugh. "Why should I be hung up on a guy who's the size of a two-hundred-pound keg of dynamite with a two inch fuse?" he said, and wondered why he couldn't sound convincing. He
was
hung up on the elusive six-foot-four Wally, who weighed two-hundred-twenty-pounds of solid muscle from lifting weights and still had Kit's stuff at his house.

"A four inch fuse, actually," Kit replied. "But your rhetorical question didn't tell me why you keep returning to Wally."  

"Just small talk," Marc said.

Kit gave him an ironic smile. "Actually, Hansen, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're jealous, which makes no sense because you have big balls, nice hair, and when stripped to the waist just what it takes to get that long-fingered, big-busted goddess breathing heavy. And Wally calls his mother every night at seven."

Marc gritted his teeth. She'd done it again, mixed a Hansen with the
stripped to the waist, just what it takes
bit, which means she'd taken note. "Did he you?" he asked, wishing to hell he could get off the Wally kick. But the guy just kept coming back.

"Did he me what?" Kit asked.

"Get you breathing heavy?"

"There you go again, coming back to Wally. And no, he didn't get me breathing heavy," Kit said. "He barely got the job done. Now, can we go on to another subject? You sound like a man who's making himself available, or at least leading in the direction of availability, which doesn't fit the no-commitment guy in the jungles of Belize."

"Marc?" Jack Hansen's deep voice came from just outside the tent.

"Oh shit!" Marc said. "Just what we need. My father catching us in here." When Marc ducked beneath the door flap to greet his father, after walking out of his life over four years before, the look on his father's face said it all. He was not happy his second son was back.

CHAPTER 5

Deciding it would be better to exit the tent right behind Marc, rather than raise further suspicions that she might be stretched out on the mattress, still hot and damp from some non-existing lovemaking, Kit ducked outside and prepared to meet Jack Hansen, the patriarch of the Hansen family. She'd heard a little about Jack’s twin brother, Sam, but it was clear Jack was the dominant twin, just as Adam had been the dominant twin, even though he and Marc weren't twins, which still confused her some.

Standing in her stocking feet beside Marc, who was also in his stocking feet, which didn't bode well for whatever would come next, especially with Jack Hansen's eyes darting between the his-and-hers-boots standing together at the entrance to her tent, Kit smiled at Jack Hansen and waited to be introduced. The man didn't smile back.

"Uh, Dad, this is Kit Korban," Marc said, grabbing Kit's arm.

Jack eyed Kit with displeasure, then made an effort to neutralize it by saying to her, "We'd put you up but the rooms are filled in the lodge and the cabins are occupied."

"I'm fine," Kit said, offering her hand. Jack took it in a firm grip, which was what she'd expected from a man his size. "As you can see, I'm comfortable here. Marc's tent is
way
over there." She emphasized the word, way, and pointed in the distance to where Marc's tent stood off to the side of the Indian mound. She wanted to make sure the older Hansen understood that the younger Hansen wasn't sleeping with the woman he'd arrived with, unannounced, after four years. But that still didn't explain why Marc had crawled out of her tent only moments before.

Jack eyed the tent, then turned to Marc and said, "It's good to see you, son," and offered his hand. Which seemed odd to Kit. She would have expected the man to open his arms to a prodigal son who'd been completely out of his life for over four years. It bothered her that maybe Marc was right. Maybe Jack Hansen had favored Marc's twin who wasn't a twin but was the real son, which complicated the mix.

Marc clasped his father's hand, and said in a tight voice. "You look well."

Jack didn't answer right away, because it was obvious, from the look of disapproval on his face, that he'd spotted the ponytail. Then adjusting his gaze to Marc's face, he said in a reserved voice, "Your mother said you're an archaeologist now."

Marc nodded. "I have my masters and I'll be working on my PhD."

"That's good," Jack replied. "I'm proud of you."

It was only a moment of pride though, before the man's face became stern again. And Kit felt like screaming, the air was so tense, and the looks passing between the men so filled with accusation. She could almost hear the words shooting silently back and forth on both sides.

Why did you go away for four years and say nothing?

Why didn't you give a shit about me when I was here?

You could have at least contacted your mother.

She has your six real kids to take up the slack.

"Mr. Hansen," Kit said, to break the silence, "I want you to know there's nothing going on between Marc and me, even though Marc was in my tent when you arrived. We're colleagues, field archaeologists, nothing more." As soon as she said the words
we're
field archaeologists
, Kit realized it was a big mistake, especially with Marc's tent perched beside the Indian mound.

Jack looked in the distance and eyed the tent with misgiving and said nothing, but there was no question, from the look on his face, that he'd put the pieces of the puzzle together. His prodigal son came back for one reason only, to dig up a mound that was off limits to everyone.

Returning his gaze to Kit, Jack said, "Marc knows the rules about unmarried couples staying here and we'll leave it at that."

Kit could tell, from the look on the man's face that he was far from leaving it at that. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off the two pairs of boots and the double-wide tent and two-chair eating area, and surroundings that looked comfortably set up for a couple who intended to sneak into the tent after dark for a night of heavy breathing. Nor could the man dismiss Marc's ponytail. Just as Marc couldn't stop glaring at his father. Negative vibes were bouncing in both directions.

In an attempt to neutralize things, Kit said, "Marc mentioned you had an Indian mound on the property and I was curious, but I probably won't be here all that long, maybe a day or two."

Immediately Marc's glare shifted from his father to Kit. And Jack's dark gaze shifted from Marc to the comfortable quarters Kit setup, which looked as if staked there for substantially more than a couple of days. More like the duration of the summer.

Marc looked at his father again, and said, "Actually, Kit wants to stay a while. I told her about the ranch, and she just drove over 1400 miles from Albuquerque, and you can see she's self-sufficient. Would that be a problem?"

Kit saw plainly that Marc had just issued a challenge. He wouldn't see it that way of course, and he'd argue with her if she pointed it out, but Jack Hansen saw it clearly. "You don't need to rush off," Jack said, in a tone that matched Marc's, although she knew he hadn't intended it to be a challenge, just couldn't hide the fact.

"I'm thinking we should both leave," Marc said, abruptly. "I don't feel very welcome."

He turned and started to walk off, when Jack grabbed his arm, and said, "We need to talk."

Marc looked down at Jack's hand on his arm, and Jack removed it.

"You're both welcome here," Jack said, "but you have to understand that your mother's not well."

Marc looked at Jack in alarm, the hostility of moments before replaced by worry. "What do you mean?" he asked, in a tone that said it all.
Whatever issues he was having with the family, he loved the woman who'd raised him
. "Is she sick, like with something, terminal?"

"She's depressed," Jack said. "She's on medication, which helps, but you need to be a little considerate of her. The boys and Maddy understand and they do what they can."

"Depressed over what?" Marc asked. "Did something happen around here?"

"Yes. You walked out one day and never came back."

Marc stared at his father, but the dynamics had changed. The hostility was still there, but now Marc carried the added burden of guilt. "I'll try not to make things worse," he said in a conciliatory voice. "What do I need to do?"

"I don't know," Jack said. "It depends on why you came back. Your mother didn't seem to think it had anything to do with her. She's upset and crying and thinking she ruined your life."

"Oh shit," Marc replied. "I'll go talk to her."

Again Jack grabbed Marc's arm. "You'd better change that attitude before you do." Then his eyes sharpened, and he said, "Why, exactly, did you come back?"

Marc glanced toward the Indian mound, and for a moment Kit thought he was going to tell his father the real reason. Then his face became thoughtful, and he said, "Kit convinced me it was time to come home. I'll go talk to Mom."

Jack released his arm and said, as Marc was walking off, "Welcome back, son. We've all missed you."

Marc glanced around at his father, gave a little shrug of indifference, and said, "Maybe. I'll go talk to Mom."

For an instant, when Jack stood looking at the encampment, Kit thought he intended to stay and pump her full of questions that would demand answers, but after a stretch of silence, he said, "We'll expect you at the house for dinner."

Kit gave him a feigned smile, and replied, "I'm fine here. My cooler's full of food and I'm set up to cook on the camp stove."

"That's not necessary. My wife serves dinner at seven," Jack said, and left.

Kit realized she'd just been given an ultimatum by a man she had no intention of challenging. But she did have clearer insight into the relationship between Marc and his father. Although they might be miles apart in understanding each other, there was a strong bond of love between them. She also knew it would take an act of God to get the two of them together if Marc didn't began to lighten up some.

***

Marc found his mother in her bedroom sitting on the bed, staring out the window. His brothers still hadn't returned from the rodeo, so he'd have time alone with her to try to straighten things out some, or at least begin to undo the damage he'd caused. While he was away, he had no idea his being gone would matter. He'd never felt he was one of them, but apparently his mother felt otherwise. "Mom?" he said from the doorway.

Grace glanced around and her eyes were red-rimmed, and very sad. She blinked several times, and said, "Come in honey, I was just sitting here trying to decide what to fix for dinner."

Marc saw right through that. "Maybe what you usually fix on Friday," he said. "Catfish."

"It's Friday already?" Grace mused. "I guess I'd lost track of the days."

Marc sat on the bed beside her and put his arm around her shoulders and was surprised at how much weight she'd lost. She'd always carried a few extra pounds, and because she was large-breasted she gave the appearance of being heavy, but he felt a boney protrusion on her shoulder that hadn't been there before he left. "It's good to be back," he said, and hoped he sounded sincere, when the fact was, the confrontation with his father left him feeling drained.

Grace reached out and patted his leg, and said, without looking at him, because her eyes were red from crying he assumed, "You have no idea how relieved I am you're here, honey, and that you're alright. We didn't know. You never called or wrote."

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry. I guess the time just slipped away. I won't do it anymore."

"Then you're here to stay?" she asked, turning to look at him, her eyes hopeful.

"For a little while," Marc said.

"And if Dad doesn't want you digging up the mound? Will you leave then?"

"I'm here for a while no matter what," Marc replied. "I am an archaeologist though, so I'll eventually have to hook up with a dig somewhere." He took her hand and tugged on it, and said, "Come on, you need to move around some. Come see how Kit fixed up her place. It's a good long way from my tent, which is her way of telling me to keep my distance, but she's made a nice little home in the woods near the hot springs."

"Maybe not now, honey," Grace said. "I need to start thinking about dinner."

"It's only two o'clock," Marc said. "There's plenty of time."

"I suppose." She stood and walked with Marc out of the house. As they crossed the grounds between the house and the Indian mound, she said, "Is Kit someone special to you?"

"If you mean a romantic interest—" Marc let out a short guffaw "—she calls me Hansen and I call her Korban. We're colleagues, nothing more." He also knew that was a bald-faced lie.

Every time Kit threw him a curve it smacked him upside the head. But instead of knocking him senseless, it was the reverse. Making a commitment was still out, but he came to the startling realization, about the time Kit approached him about digging up the Indian mound, that he wasn't ready to go off on another dig without her. Coming to the ranch got around it for now, and he hadn't wanted to think beyond that. But if he got the job supervising the team at the Cahal Pechto project, that's where he'd go, which was the last place Kit wanted to be. Her cushy encampment just ahead was like putting a period on things.

"Then you met her in college?" Grace asked.

"No," Marc replied. "I was field director at a dig in Central America and she was a member of my team. The dig was sponsored through the University of Texas, where I graduated and got my masters. I'm working on my PhD there now."

Grace smiled and said, "I'm proud of you, honey. You always did like digging in the Indian mound." Then her face sobered, and she said, "How did you end up going to college in Texas?"

Marc said nothing for a few moments while he deliberated over just how much to tell, considering his mother's depression and her current state of mind. Announcing that he'd been living with the parents of the man she'd once been married to, the same people she'd withheld information from for twenty-five years, wasn't likely to lift her depression. It also sent a little shot of bitterness through him that he quickly shoved away. She'd done what she had out of love, but that wasn't the way Grandma and Grandpa Templeton viewed it.

Grace stopped walking and turned to him. A slow awareness began to creep into her eyes as she said, "Isn't the University of Texas in Austin?"

Marc nodded, vaguely.

"Is that why you ended up there?" Grace asked, and Marc knew there was no point in continuing a pretense of half-truths.

"My grandfather's a physics professor there," Marc replied. "He's the one who encouraged me to attend the university, and he also got me interested in a special project he's involved in down in Belize. I'll tell you about it later."

For a few moments they walked in silence, and Marc deliberated whether to change the subject, but before he'd come to a conclusion, Grace said, "I suppose they hate me."

"They're not happy," Marc said. "They couldn't understand why they weren't told. They have no other grandchildren." He immediately regretted dumping that bit of information on his mother. Regardless of what she'd done, she was suffering for it, more than she deserved. More than anyone deserved for doing something out of love.