The Accidental Cowboy

She snatched up Cat. “I’ll be back to clean up the mess,” she mumbled as she hurried from the room. She wasn’t a blusher, but she knew her face was flaming.

Cat yowled and Lavonda loosened her death grip on the animal as she entered the dimness of the barn. It’s where Cat usually hung out with Reese, the miniature donkey. And now that Cat had found her inner killing machine, she could take care of the mice that were eating their weight in grain.

“Cat, stay here,” she told the soccer ball–shaped feline. “Professor McNerdy can’t take you, so you need to hang here, which you like better anyway.” Cat walked away, her tail straight up in the air and swaying slowly in contempt.

The three horses popped their heads over the stalls, hopeful for a treat, and Reese brayed loudly, smacking his stall with a tiny hoof to get some feline love. Cat ignored him and sat licking her paws. The poor miniature donkey didn’t understand that cats did what they wanted, when they wanted, and the more you wanted them to do something the less likely they were to do it.

How long did she need to wait out here until she and the professor could both pretend that she hadn’t felt up his bucking bronc, accidental or not. Awkward with a capital A. She should think about how to make him feel welcome after this disaster. She cared for the property and the animals in exchange for staying rent free at the ranch. Humans were animals, after all, so it was her job to take care of him. She’d get back to writing press releases and taking calls from MSNBC soon enough. She might even be missing the pressure cooker of corporate work.

“Yowl,” Cat said, looking at her accusingly with her slightly crossed Siamese-blue eyes. She nosed an empty food bowl into Lavonda’s foot. Good distraction. She focused on Cat. “If I feed you this time, you promise to take care of the mice and stay away from the professor, right?”

Cat meowed again and batted the food bowl. Lavonda should’ve been the one promising to leave the professor alone. She dug out the plastic container where she kept the cat’s kibble. A big hole had been chewed in it and a mouse looked up from the bottom, holding a piece of food with a mousy laugh.

Chapter Two (#ulink_3dce958e-5ba9-5a7e-bf9d-bdfa9eb67bbc)

“Damn it,” Jones said into his mobile two days after landing at the ranch from hell. “What do you mean you can’t make it for another month?”

“Just what I said,” replied the experienced guide, the one who had his payment in full.

“What about the money?”

“I’ll return it.”

“I had bloody well better see that money back in my account within the week.”

“Seeing as how that account is in England—”

“Scotland.”

“Whatever. It may just take extra time. No reason to blow a gasket.”

“I will expect the funds in the account within the week. I know you know how because you asked for me to electronically transfer the cash in the first place.”

“You see—”

“I don’t want excuses. I expect the money returned. If I must get a solicitor involved—”

“This ain’t Nevada, and I never had to pay for that.”

What was the man babbling about? Then his brain made the connection. “A solicitor is an attorney. I did not mean paying for sex.” Maybe he was fortunate this man could not guide him after all. “What?”

“I said now that I think on it, I’m pretty certain the contract said no refunds.”

“I can’t imagine that would hold up in court, since you are in breach of the contract.”

“Whatever. I can’t take ya.” The line went dead.

What the hell could he do now? He’d suspected there was a problem when he had been unable to reach his allegedly professional guide. He’d made assumptions about the man’s abilities and reliability. He should have done more research, and he would have if this had been one of his usual research trips. So much more than the discovery of a little piece of an academic puzzle was riding on it.

He squinted against the sun and put the mobile back in his pocket. He’d come outside to get a better signal and to ensure there was absolutely no chance Lavonda could overhear him, no matter if she was in her own rooms. He had to be discreet about exactly where he was going and what he was doing. As far as both universities understood, the bulk of his research would investigate the Hohokam and their use of beans as an alternate source of protein, and would not involve looking for a long-lost treasure. Jones could, using a local satnav system, probably go forward with his work. He’d wanted a local guide so he didn’t run afoul of either the US government or the local Native American tribes. His recent string of bad luck had him on edge.

This secret expedition had to end well. In the course of his usual life, Jones would have dismissed the journals he’d found, purportedly from an early-twentieth-century Kincaid home here in Arizona. He wasn’t living his usual life, though. Everything had unraveled when his big find, the one that should have gotten him full status at the university, as well as a chairmanship, had led to a cairn filled with discarded, valueless children’s toys. Unearthing the fabled Kincaid’s Cache with its statuary and gold would redeem him in more ways than one.

If looking for agricultural evidence was the only thing on his agenda, he’d have just called the university for a new guide. He couldn’t afford any extra scrutiny of his expedition, especially from his brother.

“Something wrong?” Lavonda asked, strolling from the back of the house, her head tilted to the side and the bright sun sparking off her sleek fall of hair.

“No,” he said, drawing out the word as his mind turned over potential solutions.

“Hmm...well, you might not want to stand in the sun without a hat. Do you have on sunscreen?” Her wide-eyed gaze scanned him up and down with clinical interest.

“I’m fine.” Not only would he have to rely on his own satnav system if hared off on his own, the guide had promised to bring the transport.

“You leave tomorrow, right? For how long?”

“A change of plans. I won’t be leaving tomorrow.”

“So when will you be going?”

“That is yet to be determined.”

She frowned. “Humph.” It was a little pixie snort. How could he think that was cute, even endearing? Maybe he did need a hat.

“There’s a colleague I must ring,” he lied, to move her along.

“I’m going out to check one of the Hohokam sites. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

He couldn’t decide what she was trying to imply. “Absolutely. What site?”

“One with petroglyphs and a couple of metate corn grinders. Part of my duties as caretaker. I go out and make sure nothing has been damaged or needs stabilization. It’s a restricted area, but there have been problems in the past. I also keep my eyes on the saguaros. The big ones get rustled.”

Did she want him to come with her? Did he want to go? Yes, he decided. It would be better than second-guessing his just-this-minute decision to explore on his own. In fact, going out with her would be a good way to get the lay of the land. “Why don’t I come with you? The metates could be associated with the bean culture.” The more he thought about it, the better this decision became. He could use his own satnav for coordinates if he saw any of the landmarks noted in the journal.

“It’ll be pretty boring, and I’m walking.”

“I’m used to physical activity.”

“Walking in the desert is not tossing trees.”

He ignored her comment. “I’ll need to change footwear and get my lucky hat.”

She sighed heavily. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

Maybe the guide canceling wasn’t part of his curse. Could his luck be changing?

* * *

“WHAT IS THAT?” Jones asked Lavonda, pointing at Reese. The tiny donkey’s long ears drooped and his stubby brush tail flicked at an imaginary fly.