In Too Deep (12 page)

“He is not
my Rod.
”

Maria permitted herself a secretive little smile. “As you wish,” she said demurely, but with a glimmer of amusement in her dark, mischievous eyes. “Rod has not always had a happy life. He expects the worst of people. A woman with your enthusiasm, your optimism will be able to see that he loses that mistrust.”

Wondering how Maria had come to know Rod so well, but never doubting for a minute that she did, Cara listened closely to what Maria said. Suddenly she felt weighted down by yet another burden she wasn't sure she could handle. “I can't take responsibility for his outlook,” she protested strenuously.

“Responsibility, no. Only by example, you must show him that not all people are going to hurt him.”

“And what if I do? I can't guarantee that I won't ever hurt him.” Nor, she thought, could he ever promise not to hurt her. In fact, knowing the life-style he'd chosen and her own dissimilar preferences, she thought it unlikely either of them could avoid pain. She ought to speak up and explain that. For some reason she didn't quite understand, she remained silent.

“It is true,” Maria was already saying. “There are no guarantees. But I think the love you feel for him will be enough.”

“I don't—”

Maria laughed away the denial before it could be completed. “You protest too much,
mi querida.
We will leave it for now and see what the Fates decide.”

They joined the men in the work tent. Despite the simplicity of the meal and the primitive surroundings, Cara felt she had never been to a more enjoyable dinner with more entertaining companions. Their diversity of interests kept the conversation and laughter moving at a brisk pace.

For the first time Cara also recognized the signs of the emotions that held Maria and Rafael captive. The subtle, hooded, sensual glances. The frequent brush of fingers. The provocative repartee. She knew, without a doubt, she was in the company of lovers. Maria and Rafael were soul mates in the deepest sense of the word. Their words and minds might clash, but never their hearts. Why, she wondered, had they never wed? Was there a husband lurking in the shadows? A wife?

She glanced at Rod and saw that he was also watching them with a look of envy. His hazel eyes met hers and lingered. Cara felt as though she couldn't quite catch her breath. Heat washed over her. Suddenly she desperately wanted Rod to reach across the table and close his fingers around hers. She wanted the reassurance, the excitement of his touch with that same need she'd experienced only hours earlier. She heard his sharp intake of breath, saw the swift rise of desire in his eyes, then the careful banking of the flame, the retreat. He looked away and the moment was broken.

Cara felt as though she'd been abandoned at the edge of a precipice. Her heart racing, she was glad when Rafael spoke.

“Rod tells me you wish to speak with your father. You may use our radiophone, if you like. Then we will take our tour. Maria says you are most anxious to visit our ruins.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. That would be perfect.” Her excitement at the prospect of speaking to Scottie completely overshadowed her anticipation of exploring the site. It would be wonderful just to hear his voice. Perhaps, if he seemed well enough, she could even ask his advice. She realized anew how very much she'd come to depend on him. For an instant, though, she felt guilty as well. For too many days now her thoughts had been centered on Rod. While she'd missed Scottie and worried about his well-being, he'd suddenly taken second place in her life.

She waited nervously as Rafael put the call through to the hospital. Then Scottie was on the line. Despite the static, his booming voice reassured her that his health was improving daily.

“What the devil's taking so long down there, girl? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, I promise.”

“Then what's happening? I thought you'd be back up here long before now with Rod's scalp as a souvenir.”

She heard Rod chuckle behind her and blushed furiously.

“It's taking a little longer than I expected to get all the information. I should be back soon.”

“Well, why the hell didn't that scoundrel get his report in on time? Tell him I'm not the pushover I once was. I'll fire him if he doesn't shape up.”

Cara laughed. “I think you'd better tell him that yourself.”

Still chuckling, Rod took the phone. “Hey, old man, don't threaten me. How come you're lazing around in bed up there and letting a woman come down here to do your job? Don't you know I blew that deadline just because I thought it would bring you running? I've found a few little cantinas you'd like.”

Cara heard her father's hoot. She also heard the note of genuine fondness in Rod's voice and saw the expression of affection in his eyes as he began to talk about the dam. Her own eyes grew misty and she thought in that moment, listening to the easy rapport and respect between the two men, she could forgive at least a dozen incidents of Rod's arrogance.

She also noted that while Rod's summary was thorough on the surface, he avoided mentioning any hint of danger. She was grateful for his discretion. There was no point in having Scottie worrying about the two of them.

“You take good care of my girl,” Scottie ordered, when Rod had dispensed with the status report on the dam.

“I'll do my best, but she's a trifle independent, Scottie. Couldn't you have done something about that?”

“Giving you a rough time, is she?”

Rod's gaze met hers, held for a heartbeat, then shifted away. “Something like that.”

“Good for her.”

Something in Scottie's tone evidently bothered Rod. Perhaps it was the hopeful note, the teasing hint of paternal expectation. Whatever it was, Cara could see Rod's immediate withdrawal in the slight tightening of his expression.

“Listen, Scottie,” he said in a suddenly brusque, businesslike tone. “I'll have the final report ready for you soon and I'll send it along with Cara.”

With his usual single-minded sense of purpose, Scottie persisted. “Why don't you come on up here yourself? You and Cara deserve a little fun after trekking around in the wilds. Must be hot as blazes down there this time of year. Mosquitos must be hell. And, come to think of it, I wouldn't mind a chance to win back a little of that money you stole from me in our last poker game.”

That drew a faint smile. “And what if I won again? You'd just have another coronary and your daughter'd see me strung up from some balcony over Park Avenue. She already thinks I'm a bad influence on you.”

Silence greeted the bantering remark. “So, that's the way it is, is it?” Scottie replied, sighing softly. There was a puzzling note of regret in his voice.

Rod's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the phone. He avoided the loaded question. “Stay well, old man,” he said and handed the phone back to Cara. Then he left the tent as though the flames of hell were lapping at his heels.

She stared after him, confused by the fleeting expression of panic she'd seen on his face. Hurt, anger and an inexplicable excitement warred for control of her emotions.

“Cara! Where the hell are you? Cara!”

She drew in a deep breath and fought to control her rioting senses. “Sorry, Scottie. Now tell me about you. Are you really getting along okay?”

“I'm fit as a fiddle. The doctors have promised to spring me from this place over the weekend as long as there's somebody around to take care of me.”

“Oh, Scottie, that's wonderful. I'll come right home,” she said before she recalled that she couldn't possibly do that. She was still stranded in this godforsaken place—and not nearly as torn about it as she should be.

“You'll do no such thing. You stay there until the work's done. Besides...” He hesitated, then coughed. There was no mistaking the odd note of nervousness in his voice. “Besides... um... Louise said she'd stay at the apartment until you got back.”

“Why, Scottie, you old devil.”

“Stop with the smart mouth, young lady, I'm a sick man. Her virtue's perfectly safe.”

“I hope not for long.”

“Cara Marie Scott! That's enough from you. I want to know what's happening between you and Rod.”

“Nothing's happening, Scottie.”

“Why not?”

Cara had to laugh at his bewilderment. “Which one of us do you think is irresistible?”

“Stop with the joking, Cara. This is your old man you're talking to.”

“I'm serious. There is nothing happening between Rod Craig and me.”

“I don't believe it, unless...” He sounded as though he were working out a particularly perplexing business problem. “You aren't sitting around down there comparing him with me, are you? I know you had a rough time when I was gone all those years, but I thought you'd put that behind you.”

Cara was astounded and more than a little dismayed by his perceptiveness. “I have, Scottie. I love you. You know that.”

“Then don't make the mistake of throwing away a chance with Rod just because he's behaving the same damn fool way I once did.”

“You're assuming he wants me.”

“Damn right. He'd be an idiot not to, and one thing Rod Craig is not, is an idiot.”

Cara knew if she stayed on the line one minute longer she'd burst into tears. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said hurriedly. “I've got to go. You take very good care of yourself. I love you.”

“I love you, too, princess.”

She stood where she was for several minutes, blinking back tears. When she turned at last, Rod was waiting for her, lounging just inside the tent. Whatever emotion had urged him to flee moments earlier was now under control. If he'd heard what her father said about their relationship, he seemed intent on ignoring it.

“He sounds good,” he said.

“Yes, he does.”

“Rafael and Maria are waiting. Are you ready?”

Relieved that there would be no soul-searching discussion now, she said, “Absolutely.”

* * *

Rafael set a brisk pace as they left the camp and reentered the jungle.

“How far is it?” Cara asked.

Maria smiled. “You are there.”

Cara looked doubtful. “Here?”

Rafael smiled at her confusion. “We have just begun our work. Where we stand right now, we have found evidence of a small structure. See? Here.” He led Cara closer to a mound from which chunks of white rock protruded. It looked no more unusual than any rocky terrain at home.

“This? I don't understand.”

“Come closer.” He removed some more of the dirt that covered the stone, exposing the beginning of a carving. She ran her fingers over the cool surface, traced what appeared to be a headdress. Suddenly she felt stirrings of wonder and excitement.

“It is stucco, like Palenque,” Rafael informed her. “We'd thought it was unique to that ceremonial site, but apparently not. There's also a suggestion of the red paint that they used at Palenque. Perhaps it was the same tribe. We must be exceptionally careful as we work. The stucco is particularly perishable.”

“Where are your workers?”

“About five hundred yards from here. We found what we believe to be a temple similar to the Temple of the Inscriptions at Palenque. They are concentrating their efforts on that first.”

As they walked on, she heard the low murmur of voices before she spotted the ruin. Here the work had progressed far beyond what she'd already seen. The lower level of an impressive structure was slowly and lovingly being revealed. Above were still the layers of dirt and overgrowth of shrubs that would have made the ruin impossible to spot from the air. Below, though, the white stucco surface was a pattern of intricate designs that she was sure told a story, if one only knew the Mayan language.

One of the men separated himself from the group and came to meet them. Tall and slender, he was an extraordinarily handsome young man, his hair a startling blue-black, his features aristocratic. Even with dirt streaking his clothes and his hair in need of a cut, he had a noble, distinguished bearing combined with a devastating magnetism. Cara could envision him on horseback, racing over the grounds of a huge hacienda, then presiding over cocktails by a sparkling pool.

“My assistant, Jorge Melendez,” Rafael said. “This is Señorita Scott, and of course you remember Señor Craig.”

“Of course,” Jorge said, smiling at them. “We are pleased you have come to see our work. May I show you around? Words cannot do this justice. You must see for yourself. You have come at the best time. Sunset bathes this in golden shadows.”

The offer and the hand held out to Cara drew a sharp glance from Rod, but Cara accepted both at once, drawn in by the young man's enthusiasm. He led her closer, warning her to watch her footing. He introduced her to the half dozen other workers, all of whom were eager to explain what they were doing and, in the case of the three Americans, why they had joined the expedition.

Cara was quickly caught up in the feeling of magic that surrounded their efforts. In a softly accented voice, Jorge wove deft images of the past until she could imagine the temple as it once was, the center for religious expression, part of a rich culture just as the Lacandones had described to her.

“You would like to help, perhaps?” Jorge suggested.

“May I?”

“Of course.” He demonstrated how they were clearing away the years of dirt that had accumulated, then left her to work on a small sector. It was slow, tedious work, yet the reward of discovery was unlike anything she'd ever before experienced.

“Having fun?” Rod inquired, breaking her concentration.

When she looked up, he brushed a smudge of dirt from the tip of her nose. His fingers lingered on her cheek. She reached up and held his hand in place as she tried to explain the feelings that were soaring through her.