Raiders of the Lost Heart(48)

“What?” she asked with a friendly smile, warming his insides and quieting the anxiety in his stomach.

“Nothing. Just wondering how you’re so relaxed right now.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is, Ford. Why not enjoy being out here while we can?”

“？‘It is what it is’？ Those don’t sound like the words of someone who’s been waiting their whole life for this moment.”

“And what moment is that? Spending time with you?” she asked, pulling her hand out of the water and flicking the droplets at him with the most adorable, sexy smile Ford had ever seen.

How could he not smile back?

“Please. Don’t act like I’m not growing on you.” He smirked.

She shrugged again with a sultry batting of her long lashes. “Eh. You’re not as bad as I remember.”

“Thanks for the compliment. In fact, that might actually be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Though, in his humble opinion, the truly nicest thing she’d ever said to him had been his name when she’d been grinding her ass against him this morning.

Her smile started to fade. Uh-oh. Could she read his dirty thoughts?

She closed her eyes, not saying a word.

“Corrie?”

“Shh.”

Jon and Memo turned around, but Ford shook his head, not knowing what was going on. Corrie sat still, turning her head as if listening to something in the wind. Listening to a rumble that hadn’t existed before now. What was that? More rapids? A waterfall?

“This is it,” she finally said, opening her eyes and speaking quickly. “We’re here. Pull over to the side there. Quick!”

The guys immediately shot to attention, guiding the raft to the riverbank. They moved so fast Ford barely had time to contemplate what Corrie had said. This is it. How did she know? How could she tell?

Ford didn’t have an opportunity to question her as she jumped out of the boat, planting her boots firmly in the dirt on the shore. She took several steps forward, then squatted to the ground, placing her hand on the dirt. Her back was to them, but Ford didn’t need to see her face to know what it looked like. She was taking it in. Taking in the earth. The air. Everything around her.

She shot up from her crouched position and set out toward the trees.

“Where are you going?” Ford called out, still pulling gear from the raft.

“Come on!” she called without looking at him.

“Go. We got this,” Memo said, situating the boat.

Ford grabbed his bag and a walkie, then ran through the trees to catch up with her. She jogged as if she knew exactly where she was going despite not having the map.

“Corrie, wait up.”

But she didn’t wait. She kept going. Going right until she reached it.

A slope in the jungle. The bowl.

With little pause, she started climbing. Ford trailed behind, cursing under his breath about her insistence. He clawed at the slope, pulling himself up by roots and trunks. This couldn’t be it. There was no way Chimalli and Yaretzi had gone up and down this treacherous slope every day for water or food or whatever else was out there.

No way this was . . .

“Oh my God, this is it,” Ford said, standing atop the rim of the crater.

Down below, a partially forest-covered adobe structure sat, undisturbed for centuries. Half of the structure was covered in dirt, moss, and vines, hidden from the world. Satellite imagery would have likely missed it. Ford would have likely missed it had it not been for Corrie.

No, if she weren’t here, he would still be digging in that same wrong spot.

“Come on, let’s go down there,” she said, pulling him by the hand.

Now having found the place, they took their time descending into the bowl. Ford took in the surroundings, taking note of what Chimalli’s life must have been like living here. To the right the earth had a gentler slope. Likely the way they’d gone in and out. Trees scattered throughout provided cover from the elements. And with its proximity to the water, this actually would have been a fine place to set down roots.

They tentatively walked up to the structure, careful not to disturb the area. Not without first taking photos and having their proper gear. It would never look like this again. Not once they were done with it. They took in the moment. Staring at the adobe hut for what felt like hours.

“Can you picture it? Chimalli . . . here?” Corrie said, her voice quiet and reserved.

Yes. Yes, he could. A perfect hiding place from the wrath of Moctezuma II and the army he’d abandoned. Far away from the dangers waiting for him—and Yaretzi, if she truly existed—in Tenochtitlán. And away from the sweeping conquest of the Spaniards. It was idyllic, really. Quiet. Secluded. Beautiful.

Safe.

Corrie took a few steps forward, kneeling next to the structure and placing her hand on the worn adobe. She closed her eyes, as if feeling Chimalli’s spirit through the bricks, then opened her eyes and looked right at Ford.

“I’m so happy right now I could cry.” She stared at him with her big, beautiful brown eyes glistening with the threat of tears. “Thank you, Ford. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Ford’s heart swelled—he’d done that. Ford Matthews had made Socorro Mejía so overjoyed that she’d almost cried. But he couldn’t take all the credit.