“Well, I’m taking a few pictures before dinner,” he said, holding up the camera that always accompanied him, “but hopefully we’ll get a chance to talk more later.”
They waited a few moments, ensuring Lance was far enough away, before Corrie turned to Ford. “？‘Old college buddies,’ eh?”
“Look, it’s complicated.”
Corrie burst out with a laugh. “Are you talking about the dig or is that our relationship status?”
Ford tensed. That was one way to put it. But hearing her refer to anything they had as a relationship—whether good or bad—sent a funny feeling roaring through his stomach.
“Come on,” he said, choosing to ignore the bait.
They walked over to the camp, stopping to say hello to various people along the way as they meandered through the trees. Sundays were off days, so most of the crew were relatively clean and showered. At least Corrie wouldn’t be bombarded with the typical aromas of dirt, sweat, and BO that usually lingered in camp. Most of the crew were men, and with only two other women in camp—Sunny, Ford’s sweet but annoyingly perky intern, and Agnes, the sixty-two-year-old chef—the camp often felt more like a fraternity than a top-secret archaeological dig. Agnes chastised the men on a daily basis for their disgusting habits. Sunny, on the other hand, didn’t complain about anything. Not the smells, or the muddy treks to the dig site, or having to share a tent with Agnes—purely their choice, not that he could blame them. Heck, Ford thanked his lucky stars that he had his own tent every single night.
And, as if right on cue, Sunny came bounding out of her tent like an excited ocelot and rushed straight over to meet the new arrival. Corrie froze alongside Ford at the sight of her and recoiled seconds before being assailed by the ball of pure energy that was Sunshine O’Donnell.
“Oh my God, you must be Dr. Mejía! I’ve heard so much about you and I’ve read all your papers,” Sunny said, fervently shaking Corrie’s hand.
Ford snickered to himself at how uncomfortable Corrie looked. He’d never taken Corrie as a “girl’s girl,” or the type to be a fan of bubbly personalities like Sunny’s. Corrie Mejía was far too serious for that sort of poppycock. No, she was driven and focused, and while Corrie had moments of friendliness—hell, she and Ethan had acted like they were practically besties back at the airport—she didn’t seem like the type who had hordes of friends.
She also wasn’t a woman who could successfully hide her true emotions, something Ford knew from firsthand experience.
As Sunny rambled on about one of Corrie’s most recent papers published in Archaeology magazine without taking a single breath—or allowing Corrie to even learn her name—the crease on Corrie’s forehead grew, and she tilted her head. Er . . . this might not end well. A pit started to form in Ford’s stomach. Perhaps he and Ethan should have given her—or, frankly, both of them—a warning. Corrie, about Sunny’s, well, sunny disposition. And Sunny, about Corrie’s . . . lack thereof.
He probably should have held off on their introduction until after Corrie agreed to stay.
Ford waited for it. Waited for Corrie’s inevitable explosion when she had enough nonsense for the day. She opened her mouth, and he readied himself so he could jump in to save Sunny from Corrie. And . . .
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name,” Corrie said, politely cutting Sunny off and smiling.
What the . . . ? Ford glanced at Corrie out of the corner of his eye, scanning her profile. Who is this person and what did she do with Corrie Mejía?
Sunny let go of Corrie’s hand, then pushed her auburn hair behind her ears as she bowed her head with embarrassment. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m Dr. Matthews’s research assistant, Sunshine O’Donnell, but everybody calls me Sunny. Sorry, I get excited sometimes, and when I get excited, I ramble. And when I heard that you were coming, I couldn’t believe it because you’re my idol—no offense, Dr. Matthews,” she said, turning to Ford. “And it’s like my brain thinks I need to tell you everything, because what if I don’t get another chance like this, and oh my God, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
Corrie laughed. Laughed as if she was charmed by Sunny. The old Corrie would have had little tolerance for someone babbling on like Sunny during a lecture. But this person? Ford barely recognized her. He had to admit, Corrie had a great laugh. The sound of it relieved the tension in his body. And it was nice to see an actual smile on that gorgeous face of hers.
“Well, I’ve never had a fan. I’m surprised you even know who I am,” Corrie said with a playfulness to her voice.
“OMG, you’re joking, right? You’re only, like, the most badass archaeologist of modern times. No offense, Dr. Matthews.”
Never mind about that tension. Ford changed his stance as he felt a twang in his neck. No offense? Hearing it for the second time, he started to think maybe he should be offended.
“I mean, you chased that group of thieves in Belize. Stole back that jade necklace from those crooks in Panama City. And then there was that time you outran the jaguar in the Amazon—”
“It was injured,” Ford clarified, and Corrie tossed her head in his direction, the heat from her gaze palpable. Whatever. He’d heard that story, too.
“Whatever. Bad. Ass,” Sunny continued. “You’re like a real-life Lara Croft. And just as hot as she is, too,” she said with a sultry upturn of her lip and waggle of her brow.
Ford snapped his gaze at Sunny. Wait . . . was she . . . flirting with Corrie?
“Wasn’t Lara Croft a tomb raider—aka, not one of us, the good guys?” Ford said, yet again offering his unsolicited opinion. For Pete’s sake, Sunny was acting like Corrie was swinging from vines and jumping out of helicopters.
Though he supposed she was right about that whole hot thing.
“Now, now, Dr. Matthews. We all know you’re impressive, too,” Ethan joked, patting Ford on the head.
Really? Then why didn’t he make the list of Most Badass Archaeologists despite going on well over fifty digs, uncovering that whole set of pictographs in Arizona, and discovering a previously unknown Mayan temple in Guatemala? He deserved a little credit, didn’t he?
“I’m just saying,” Ford said, shrugging Ethan off, “I’m not sure being like Lara Croft should necessarily be taken as a compliment.”
Was he . . . jealous? God, he sounded like an entitled brat. Yet again, his inner douchebag was coming out.
“Well, thank you,” Corrie finally spoke up. “I truly am flattered, despite the comparison. And you’ll have to forgive Ford. He and his namesake aren’t too keen on raiders.”
Ford’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he glared at Corrie.
“Ford? Oh my God, were you named after Harrison Ford, Dr. Matthews?” Sunny asked, shifting her attention to him.
It wasn’t something he liked to advertise—the fact that his parents had, in fact, named him after Harrison Ford. And that their obsession with Harrison and the Indiana Jones movies was what had gotten him into archaeology. But ask any archaeologist born after 1981 whether Indiana Jones was their hero, and not one would say otherwise.