Raiders of the Lost Heart(37)

Which, except for the fact that the move had saved her, was a horrible idea. Because now, with her body pressed against his, he never wanted to let go. As he’d often suspected, her body was soft, molding into his as he held tight. Her breasts, which he’d fantasized about more times than he cared to admit, were wondrously full and pushed into his abdomen. But the most remarkable thing about her was her eyes, and the way they looked at him. The same look she’d given him all those years ago.

She gripped his shirt in her hands, twisting the fabric in tight fists, as her breathing kicked up a notch.

Should I? Dare I?

A crackle came over the walkie-talkie.

“Everything okay? We heard yelling. Over,” Guillermo said.

She cleared her throat and loosened her grip as Ford released her and reached for the walkie-talkie.

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

“All right. Thought we’d check. Over and out.”

Ford avoided eye contact as they resituated themselves.

“Well, that could have been bad,” she said.

“See? I’m not built for adventures,” he said, brushing off his pants again to give himself an opportunity to inspect whether the semi growing underneath them was noticeable. Thank God for all the chunky pockets and flaps on cargo pants.

“All archaeological digs are adventures. Some just have a little more action than others.”

“Coming from someone who chases after thieves and swindles mob bosses, I’d say this is pretty weak sauce.” He tilted his head at her and smiled.

“You’re right. Hence your nickname shall be Dr. Ford Weak Sauce Matthews,” she declared as if she were a royal at high court.

“Badass Mejía and Weak Sauce Matthews. We’re quite the pair.”

Corrie burst out laughing with that damn laugh Ford was coming to love. “Hey, I’d buy that book. The Archaeological Adventures of Badass Mejía and Weak Sauce Matthews. It’s got a nice ring to it,” she said.

“Don’t go marketing it yet. I’d at least like to try to earn a better nickname.”

Well, at least he wasn’t as embarrassed about falling now. She was good at that—taking his thoughts from bad to good. Add it to the list of Corrie’s talents.

From his higher perch atop the rocks, Ford got a better look at their surroundings. Eventually the rocks petered out, but he still couldn’t imagine Chimalli spending his final days here. Perhaps that was the whole point, though. Live out your life in a place where no one would expect to find you.

“Does this look right to you?” he finally asked Corrie.

She winced. “I don’t know. I mean, unless there is another water source up there, I don’t see how they did this every day. Or, I guess, why they would do this every day.”

Damn. She saw it, too.

“We’re almost there, though,” she said, looking at the base of the incline to the bowl. “Might as well check.”

The steep slope also seemed an unlikely everyday trek, but who knew what it looked like from other angles. They started their ascent, digging into the hillside with their hands to pull themselves up. If this ended up being the spot—which was looking more and more doubtful—they’d need to build some temporary stairs because there was no way they could go up and down this hill every day.

“What do you think we’ll find up here?” Ford huffed, trying not to sound too out of breath.

“Well . . . I’m hoping there’s a small mound of dirt and overgrown vegetation, which could be evidence of the remnants of an adobe home. But who knows? If they lived in a stick-and-thatch hut, it might all be gone by now. Destroyed by the weather.”

Soft grunts came from her as she continued to climb, and he had to force himself not to stare at her ass.

“Yeah, that’s what we thought happened at the old place since it was pretty clear there wasn’t going to be an adobe structure.”

Which was true. Their first dig site didn’t contain any remnants of a structure. But it wasn’t until they’d been digging for a month that they’d made that determination.

Ford and Corrie finally reached the top, his heart pounding in anticipation of the ah-ha moment. The interior of the bowl, however, elicited more of a whomp-whomp. Downed trees and dirt that had eroded from the bowl’s edge littered the inside. Besides the lack of any visible evidence of a structure, with the downed trees it would be nearly impossible to dig here without some serious—and expensive—equipment.

Ford might as well have kissed any profit goodbye. But whereas he saw the bowl as a financial disappointment, Corrie seemed to be brokenhearted.

“Dammit,” she muttered.

“Not it?” Ford asked.

“Highly unlikely. I’m not sure it’s even worth going down there to explore.”

“Yeah . . . I don’t want to get a splinter.” He smiled, hoping his awful joke would at least earn him a smile in return.

She snickered and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

Score.

“Let’s check with Jon and Memo to see if they found anything,” she then said.

“Jon and who-the-what-now?”

“Memo. It’s Guillermo’s nickname. Didn’t you know that?”

He blinked. No, he didn’t know that.