Let It Bree: Let It Bree / Can't Buy Me Louie

Kirk liked Bree’s smile. Her big dimples created the cutest shadows in her cheeks. And when she smiled, her gray eyes twinkled as though they housed little stars.

Plus she was pretty without a dot of makeup. Her face had a clear, rosy freshness about it.

Funny, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Alicia without makeup. Or even what she looked like without makeup. For the two years he’d known her, her face was slathered and painted and God knew what else. She even had colored contacts. If someone were to ask him his fiancée’s eye color, he’d have to say either emerald green or cobalt blue.

Not that makeup was a bad thing. After all, Alicia Hansen was a born-and-bred Cherry Creek girl, from the ultraexclusive section of Denver. Maybe Alicia had the money to preen and primp, but thanks to her family’s wealth, she also used her money connections for good causes, like raising money for research and exhibits at the Museum of Nature and Science. Which was where they’d met when she’d hosted a fund-raiser two years ago. Thanks to Alicia’s efforts, the museum had raised the money to build the current replica of the Minotaur’s labyrinth which was gaining national recognition for its study of ancient mythology.

Yes, he appreciated and even admired Alicia. But most important, the two of them shared a common dream to have roots—a family, children—the kind of roots he’d never had as a kid.

He stared at Bree with her twinkling gray eyes and wild mass of curly brown hair. She was just the opposite of Alicia. Where Alicia was polished, Bree looked wild. Untamed, uncontrollable like the elements. Part wind, part sun, all soul and energy. He’d never met a woman like her.

And maybe it was late, but he wanted to know her just a little more…after all, after tonight and tomorrow, they’d never have the chance to talk again.

“So where’d you go to college?” he asked.

“In Laramie, on a volleyball scholarship. Started out as a psychology major, but after attending a traveling tour of Roman art, I switched majors to art history. Loved ancient art. Those ancient carvings were so raw, so passionate…so unlike anything I’d ever seen growing up in little Chugwater.”

“What did you plan to do with the degree?”

“Escape Chugwater. Travel the world, see all kinds of real ancient art, not just pictures in books and on the Internet.”

He’d never escaped anywhere. Never wanted to. Probably because he’d moved so much as a kid, and traveled over half the globe as a scientist, the last thing he wanted was to escape to somewhere else.

“So,” he said, mulling over her response, “are you escaping Chugwater?”

“Almost did,” she whispered. “Still might.”

She was quiet so long, he figured he’d change the subject. “I love ancient art, myself. Leaf art.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I study ancient fossils of plants, especially the period between sixty to one hundred million years ago.”

She emitted a low whistle. “Now that’s ancient. And I was pretty proud to love first- and second-century art.”

He smiled. “My area of expertise is the K-T boundary. The era when the dinosaurs went extinct.” He paused. “Typically I stop here unless I’m chatting with scientists or other leaf whackers. I’m accustomed to other people’s eyes glazing over about now.”

But Bree’s twinkled. “K-T boundary?” she prompted.

He smiled. “It’s the layer of iridium that indicates that an asteroid—about the size of Denver today—hit the earth, which caused the dinosaurs to go extinct.” Her eyes still twinkled. “So, by excavating fossils from that era, I’m also studying the traces of the K-T boundary and pinpointing when, exactly, the dinosaurs disappeared from the earth.”

“Wow! Very cool!”

He grinned. Alicia never got this excited over his work. “Why, thank you. I think so, too.”

“So, what’s a leaf whacker?”

“We—paleobotanists and anybody else who joins our excavations—whack rocks to discover embedded fossils, which typically contain ancient leaves. Hence, leaf whackers.”

“This K-T boundary…where is it?”

“Sections are all over the globe. The challenge is to find the thread, the link-to-link layers of iridium that prove my theory.”

Her eyes grew wider. “Does that mean you’ve traveled all over the world?”

He nodded. “Many places, that’s for sure.”

She clasped her hands together like a little kid. “You are one lucky guy, you know that?”

“Lucky to love my profession, yes. But my personal dreams are more simple,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen the big world. I want the smaller one. I want roots.”

“Not me!”

“So,” he started, piecing together her dream with her current situation, “when do you plan to see the world?”

“Don’t know. Right now I just need to get back home…”

Her eyes moistened and she turned her head away.

When she stayed that way for several long moments, he got up and headed to the bed. Looking down at her, he reached out, hesitated for a moment, then gently patted her hair. He liked how the silky curls spiraled around his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not sure why he should be sorry, but wanting to comfort her.

“It’s been a long day,” she whispered. She slid him a glance, her gray eyes filled with such a gentle sadness, he wondered what exactly she and her “pet” had gone through. And why.

Were they running from something?

Up to now, he’d bought her story that they’d been left on the side of the road. After all, this was Colorado, cow—and bull—country. But looking into her eyes, clouded with hurt, he knew, just knew, something more was at stake. Not wanting to dig, or upset her further, he simply stroked her hair, comforting her.

Minutes later, her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

4

“THERE IT IS.” Louis turned off the headlights and eased the trailer down a side street off the main drag of Nederland.

“Dere what is?” asked Shorty, leaning closer to the windshield as though that would help him see better.

“In front of us, forty or so feet,” Louie said, jabbing his thumb at the big yellow truck with Nederlander Highlander Ranch in red and blue doughnut-shaped letters on its back doors. “It’s big and yellow and says exactly what that wino said was written on it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louie said between his teeth. “It’s right frickin’ in front of us or are you frickin’ blind?”

“Don’t need to get so sensitive, Lou,” muttered Shorty. “I sees it.”

“Sorry,” muttered Louie, not really meaning it but needing to say something sorta nice so Shorty wouldn’t go all sloppy sad and blow their chance to nab the bull—which meant nabbing a cool half a mil each.

“Hey, that truck’s so yellow,” said Louie, trying to sound super friendly-like, “it’s like followin’ a moving block of butter.”