The Treasure (5 page)

• • •

A gentle hand on her shoulder brought Amelia awake. Opening her eyes, she lifted her head to see Brody standing in the open door of the Land Rover. “Are we there?”

“Yes.”

She sat up to rub her eyes and look around. They were parked inside a hangar with a red and white airplane sitting next to them. Metal shelves sat in the corners and along the walls, overflowing with tools and parts she couldn’t identify. Guy stuff, she thought, trying to clear the fog from her head.

“I fell asleep,” she said, reaching for her purse. “Is this your hangar?”

“Half of it.” Brody helped her climb out of his truck.

“Where’s the rest?” Why did she feel like she’d been sleeping for two days? Her head was hazy, her body numb. She couldn’t have slept long because her clothes were still wet.

“Not important.”

Feeling out of sorts and in need of a shower, she said, “This is … nice.” Though she really wasn’t sure what they were doing there. He said he was taking her to his house, not his hangar. “I like your plane.”

“Come on.”

Hmmm, not so gruff,
Amelia thought, following him across the cement floor toward a wooden staircase that led to an enclosed loft painted the same off-white as the walls. There were two doors beneath the stairs; one door was open to show a bathroom, and the other closed. She was looking forward to a shower and dry clothes.

Brody went up the stairs first, unlocking the door at the top and standing aside to let her in. As she brushed past him, she caught a whiff of his masculine scent. She took a second to breathe it in before she stepped into the rectangular room that was suspended in midair, or seemed so, since it hung off the ceiling.

One large room combined kitchen and living area. It was, in truth, the starkest room she’d ever been in. The kitchen consisted of a row of cupboards with a small sink, stove, and microwave fitted into the wall. Nothing sat on the counter except a coffee pot and a stack of papers. A phone hung on the wall.

In front of sliding glass doors that looked out into the hangar sat a wooden table and chairs. The only other furniture in the room was two black leather recliners, one in the corner and one near the table. Two windows on every wall kept the room from feeling like a cave.

In the very back of the room was a small partition, behind which — she assumed — was the bedroom. Big enough for a bed. Maybe. Like the hangar downstairs, everything was clean and orderly. Then again, there were no personal items anywhere, so there wasn’t much to make a mess of.

Confused, she looked at Brody. “I don’t understand. What is this place?”

“My home.”

“Oh, it’s very nice.” Though she couldn’t imagine living in a space so small. Questions raced through her head she didn’t dare ask. Brody wouldn’t tell her why he lived above a hangar or why there were no personal effects anywhere. No family photos, no knick-knacks, nothing that wasn’t utilitarian. But it raised questions.

Water dripped onto the floor, reminding her she still wore wet clothes. “I’m making a mess on your floor.” She dismissed her curiosity about this mysterious man until another time when he was more open to give her answers. If there was such a time. “And I’m still wearing your jacket.”

“You can shower downstairs.” Brody walked back out the door.

Amelia followed. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her wet boots making squishing sounds on the stairs.

“I’m not being nice,” Brody groused, skipping the last step and leaning inside the bathroom to flip on the light. “You’re dripping all over my floors.”

The fact he didn’t sound all that upset over it had Amelia even more confused. But it was too soon to decide if there was a nice guy buried beneath that tough exterior.

“The door locks from inside,” Brody said.

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Yes, you were. You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Sawyer. You’re not my type.”

Amelia gaped at his retreating back. She couldn’t believe he just said that. Instead of being relieved that a man like him wasn’t interested in her, she was outraged. Granted, she wasn’t beautiful like Caroline or warmly exuberant like Brittany, but she wasn’t unattractive. She was still a woman, damn it. He didn’t need to dismiss her so easily, even if she wasn’t his type.

She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door. With jerky movements, she started to undress, muttering to herself. Her boots bounced off the wall and she tossed his jacket out the door before she slammed it again. His simple statement shouldn’t bother her so much, but it did. What did she care if Brody Kern wasn’t interested in her? She had news for him. He wasn’t her type, either. She preferred gentlemen, not cavemen.

She stripped her clothes off and pulled her hair out of its limp ponytail before stepping into the shower. Ice-cold water hit her and she let out a yelp.

A knock sounded on the door. “Forgot to tell you, the water takes a few minutes to warm,” Brody called.

Huddled, shivering, against the shower wall, Amelia glared at the closed door. Fine time to tell her. There were goose bumps on her goose bumps.

Five minutes later, the water turned warm and she stopped shivering, letting the hot spray ward away her chills that began this morning on the side of the road with Mr. Newton and the guns. She pushed those thoughts away and picked up a bottle of shampoo to wash her hair. Then she scrubbed the mud from her body using Brody’s cedar-scented soap. Now his scent would be on her skin. Damn the man.

When the water started turning cold again, Amelia got out, found a towel in the cupboard outside the shower stall, and quickly dried off. Belatedly, she realized she had no change of clothes. In her rush to get away from Brody, she forgot to get her things out of the Land Rover. She really didn’t want to put her wet clothes back on.

Walking to the door, she reached to unlock it and realized she hadn’t done that either. All her concerns flew right out the window by one simple offhand comment by Brody. Oh, why was she going there again? She wasn’t his type so she had nothing to fear.

Muttering to herself, she cracked the door open and peeked out. The hangar looked deserted. Clutching the towel tightly around her she stepped out the door.

She stubbed her toe on her suitcase. “Ouch,” she muttered. “You are a confusing man, Brody Kern.”

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged dressed in jeans and a scoop neck yellow floral print blouse with an empire waist that Brittany had picked up for her in Italy. She liked it because it was soft and feminine and flowed over her body. It was perfect for her trip since it was sleeveless.

Returning her suitcase to the Land Rover, she took the stairs up to the loft. The door wasn’t closed, so she called out, “Hello?” before walking in. She found him standing at the counter making a pot of coffee. To her surprise, he was grinding the beans himself.

His back was to her and he had changed into faded jeans and T-shirt that molded to his broad shoulders. Her gaze dropped to his backside.

Dear Lord, you could bounce a quarter off those buns.

“Come in, Miss Sawyer.” Brody cast an amused glance over his shoulder. When he cocked a brow, catching her staring, Amelia hastily looked away.

“What should I do with my wet clothes?” she asked, mentally kicking herself for ogling his backside.

“Leave them. I’ll throw them in the wash.” He turned back around to finish grinding the beans, then poured them into the basket of the coffeemaker.

He did laundry, too? Her theories about him just might be wrong. If he kept this up, she might actually start to believe he was civilized.

When she didn’t move, he said, “You can come in.”

Moving inside, she took a seat at the small, square table and tucked a leg beneath her. She rubbed her forehead where a headache was beginning to build. Even after her nap, she felt tired. Still uncomfortable with being caught checking him out, she decided to make conversation. “You know, I don’t feel like I’m hanging from the ceiling. This … your home is very sturdy.”

Brody poured water into the maker. “It’s a loft and it’s built into the wall. Don’t worry. It isn’t going to fall, Miss Sawyer.”

“I wasn’t worried. Are we close to town?”

“A few miles out.”

“I see.”

“I told you I’d keep you safe, Miss Sawyer. Few know where my hangar actually is.”

He turned to lean against the counter, his expression dark, ankles crossed. His comment took her back to men with guns shouting at each other with her in the middle. Her head started to pound with more force.

“So, when you said you’d help me work things out, this is what you meant? Taking me back to your place?”

“That, and driving you to the airport and putting you on a plane first thing in the morning.”

She studied the determined lines of his face. He wasn’t kidding. “I already told you. I am not leaving until I find
Paraíso
.”

Thunderclouds darkened his eyes. “Being held at gunpoint wasn’t enough for you?”

Amelia bristled. “Well, it wasn’t fun, but no harm came to me.”

“Because I showed up before the Torres brothers shot your guide and took the map. And when I say ‘took’ I don’t mean by asking nicely.”

She met his gaze. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you? Because they would have taken whatever they wanted. The map. You. By force.”

Amelia swallowed, not wanting to go back there or think about what could have happened if Brody hadn’t shown up when he did. She’d grown up in a town like Mayberry and now she was in some turbo-charged action flick she was completely unprepared for. But, she’d asked for this, despite her unease, and she would go through with it.

Brody turned away to open the cupboard and pull out two coffee mugs. After he filled them, he carried them to the table and set one in front of her. Amelia wrapped her hands around the black ceramic mug.

“Drink it,” Brody ordered, backing up to lean against the counter again.

Amelia took a sip. “Wow,” she said, taking another sip. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.” They mostly drank tea back home, but Amelia had always secretly preferred coffee. Brit’s teas were great, but in Amelia’s judgment, nothing beat a good cup of strong coffee.

“Did you grow your own beans?” she asked, savoring the rich, smooth liquid.

“Did you forget where you are, Miss Sawyer?” Brody mused, taking a sip from his cup.

“What? Oh, right. South America. Juan Valdez. Well, I must say, this beats a cup of chai any day. But don’t tell my sister I said so.”

“Since I don’t know what chai is, my lips are sealed.”

“It’s black tea. Usually with ginger, cloves, black pepper, nutmeg and cinnamon. I like it with milk and honey. It’s very good for you.”

“Black pepper? I think I’ll stick with coffee,” Brody said with a grimace.

Amelia smiled. “It tastes better than it sounds. If I had to choose between Brit’s tea and your coffee, I’d take the coffee.”

“But don’t tell your sister,” Brody finished for her. Her smile broadened.

“Right. I couldn’t hurt her like that.” Setting her cup down, Amelia noticed Brody watching her. Her smile faded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Brody ignored the question and tossed the rest of his coffee in the sink before he rinsed it down. “You’ve had a long day. You can have my bed tonight.”

“I don’t suppose you have a guest room tucked away somewhere?” she asked, not all that comfortable with sleeping in his bed.

With his back to her, Brody said roughly, “No, what you see is what you get.”

Confused by his turn of mood, Amelia rose to her feet, wondering if there was a double entendre in his words. No, Brody had done nothing but be brutally truthful to her. He was talking about his place, not himself.

Amelia chided herself for reading too much into his words and headed for the back room. It was nothing more than four thin walls, a double bed, table, and a small closet. A clock radio sat on the table; otherwise, the room was bare. Again, no personal touches.

How could Brody live like this? Her decision to go on this trip had caused turmoil among her and her sisters, but she still had them. They were her family and no matter how badly she messed up, they never gave up on her. Suffocated her, if nothing else. Always hovering like mother hens, making sure she didn’t do anything foolish, even though she always did.

Brody, it appeared, had no one. Like he said, what she saw was what she got. So where was his family?

She leaned out the door. “Good night.”

“Amelia?”

Amelia froze. “Yes?”

“Don’t you need your suitcase?”

Her breath escaped in a silent, relieved rush. He was gentle and cared about other people. What was wrong with her, thinking Brody was going to say anything else?

Chiding herself for having fanciful thoughts about a man who blatantly said she wasn’t his type, Amelia answered, “No, I’m fine.” She wasn’t about to go get it out of the Land Rover now that her thoughts had turned traitor.

She closed the door and prepared for bed, more confused than ever.

• • •

Brody stared at the closed door to his bedroom, his jaw clenched tight. With a shake of his head, he strode out of the loft, taking the stairs angrily to the hangar below. What he wanted and what his body wanted were two different things and it was making life with Amelia Sawyer pure hell. Especially when she smiled. And wore those damn sexy clothes that were completely inappropriate for the jungle. They weren’t revealing or overtly erotic, they were … ah, hell. It wasn’t the clothes. It was her. And the sooner he got rid of her, the better. He didn’t need a woman complicating his already complicated life.

“Trouble, my friend?”

Brody looked over to see a dark-skinned man with long, graying hair struggling to lift a box onto the shelf near the door. “Galo, I didn’t know you were here.” He walked over to take the box from him and put it on the top shelf.

“I was on my way back from town. Heard some rumors and decided to check the source.”

Brody rubbed a hand across his forehead. “You heard about the map?”