“You really are a dick sometimes, you know that, right?”
“Absolutely. But so are you, you know. Maybe cool it with the animosity. She’s really not bad, once you get to know her. And neither are you.”
Oh, he knew her, all right. That night in the library had revealed a different side of Corrie—and he’d liked it quite a bit. She’d managed to break down his walls. And, in turn, Ford had softened Corrie’s hardened edges. It was quite synergistic when he really thought about it. Too bad he didn’t know how to get them back to that place.
And too bad that side of Corrie was locked away.
“I know. She’s just so . . . so . . .”
“Impressive?”
That was one word for her.
“I was going to say cocky.”
Ethan laughed. “Don’t you think that’s a little too pot calling the kettle black?”
“Hey, I’m not nearly as cocky as she is.”
Ethan patted Ford on the shoulder. “Sure, you’re not. You two, I swear. It’s hilarious that you both think it’s the other one who’s got the problem. You’re unable to acknowledge how similar you actually are.”
Similar? Please.
“Corrie and I are nothing alike. I stick with the facts and the rules. She’s one of those goes-on-instincts kind of people. A plays-by-no-rules archaeologist. And, frankly, she’s a bit reckless.”
“Yet you still sent for her.”
“Yeah, because she’s also fucking brilliant. She might have her weird methods and all, but clearly whatever I’m doing here isn’t working.”
Not that he’d ever been on a job with Corrie, but he’d heard the stories about the spiritual connection she seemed to have with the land. An instinct for where to dig. An understanding of the earth. No one could explain it, but when Corrie Mejía was on an expedition, things always magically worked out, even if there were some mishaps and wild escapades along the way.
After three months into this dig and finding little more than a couple of jagged bits of obsidian, he could use a little dose of that Mejía magic. He’d never flat out told Ethan why he wanted to bring Corrie of all people onto the dig, though he assumed it was obvious. Still, Ethan’s brows raised and his jaw lowered, as if shocked by Ford’s confession.
“Wow. I have to say, I’m surprised to hear you admit that.”
“Believe it or not, Ethan, I do have a little humility. See? Me? Not the cockiest.” Ford smiled, knowing his friend appreciated his humor—and knowing that deep down, Ethan was only looking out for him.
They’d traveled the world together. Been on dozens of digs. He was the best friend Ford had, though lately Ford had been closed off. Ever since his whole life had gotten turned upside down. Sure, he could acknowledge his humility, but not this. Not his fears that he deserved all the crap that had been thrown his way these last few years.
“Well, maybe if you admitted that to Corrie, maybe she’d be a little nicer to you,” Ethan said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“What? Me not being the cockiest?” Ford joked.
“No, you jackass,” Ethan said, smiling and rolling his eyes. “That you think she’s brilliant. I’m sure she’d appreciate your approval.”
Ford brought back his head. “My approval?” He laughed. “I doubt Corrie would be all that impressed with my approval.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ethan said, with suggestion in his voice. Like he knew something he wasn’t telling Ford. “Because maybe you’re not aware, but you’re pretty fucking brilliant, too.”
Ford smiled.
“Aw, you think I’m brilliant,” he joshed while batting his lashes. He’d never dare to admit it, but it was actually quite sweet and probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget we started this conversation by calling each other dicks. Now, come on. I’m starving.”
Chapter
Three
Even if she wasn’t going to stay, Corrie didn’t mind having a little fun getting under Ford’s skin in the meantime. It was easy. All she had to do was open her mouth and bam! Let the battle commence. Though he really was being a baby about the whole Sunny thing. Leave it to Ford to not want anyone else to be in the spotlight. In his world there could only be one shining star.
But even the brightest of stars eventually burned out. Hence why Corrie didn’t care much for pretty shiny things or anything else that inevitably faded. Things like diamond rings. Fresh flowers. Or love. Life was much easier on her own, anyway. No one to answer to. No one to stop her from jetting off to Mexico on three days’ notice. No one to chastise her about her dangerous antics. If she died while trying to outrun a boulder careening through a booby-trapped temple, then at least she’d go doing something she loved. At least she’d go while having an adventure. Prima donnas like Ford who never bent the rules or took a risk for fear of getting hurt . . . well, they’d never understand.
Corrie wandered around the small clearing that held the camp, the rumble of the crew talking while waiting in line for dinner adding to the hoots and chirps of the jungle. Even well after dark, the air temperature had barely dropped. It was definitely gonna be one of those never-feel-fresh digs, always coated in mud, sweat, and a muggy sheen. So how did Ford manage to still look so . . . appetizing?
She shook her head. Why? Why did her mind keep going there? Must have been her stomach talking. She circled back around toward the mess tent. Smelled good. Having a cook flown in was better than most digs, where they shared cooking duties or had nothing but individual camp stoves and dehydrated food pouches. If she never had to eat another packet of rehydrated scrambled eggs with “bacon” in her life, she’d call that a victory.
She walked up to the tent, grabbed a tray, and cycled through the line, loading up with a biscuit, a pat of butter, a small green salad, and a hearty bowl of beef stew.
“You made this all out here?” Corrie asked the cook as she handed her the bowl.
“Sure did. Real food only. None of that freeze-dried or prepackaged crap here,” the cook said, holding her head high. “You must be Dr. Mejía.”
“Corrie.” She reached out her hand for a shake.
“Agnes. Guess we’ll be bunkmates, eh?”
“Oh. Well, I, uh . . . I don’t know.” Corrie glanced around the camp, just now realizing the person-to-tent ratio. Well, damn.
“Well, if you’d rather bunk with those burping, farting, loudmouth boobs, then by all means,” Agnes said, motioning toward the rest of the group—all men aside from Agnes, Sunny, and Corrie. Not that she minded coed sleeping situations, but she was a thirty-five-year-old woman who liked her privacy. She didn’t even want to live with a cat, let alone other people.