Ellen James - Forbidden

“You will be. After you’ve been on a dig for a while, you find out things get pretty chummy. It’s the isolation, and all of us being stuck together like this.”

Dana finally gave up on her graph, tossing her clipboard down. “It won’t happen to me,” she declared. “I won’t let it. I’ve had enough of men for a while.”

“This sounds intriguing,” Pat murmured, clasping her arms around her knees. “Let me guess. You’re here to escape a broken heart.”

“Hardly anything so melodramatic.” Dana paused, but something about Pat inspired confidences. Maybe it was just the possibility of shutting her up for a moment. “The truth is,” Dana continued, “I wasted too many years on the wrong man. When I finally woke up to that fact, I got rid of him. And now I’m finally free. Why ruin that?” Just saying the words out loud gave Dana much needed perspective. After all, she’d practically lived with Alan four long years. If she’d been able to get him out of her life, then certainly she could control this very inconvenient attraction to Nick Petrie, a man she’d known only a short while. Nick had certainly made it clear that he wanted to dismiss this attraction between them. The past two days he’d spoken to Dana only when absolutely necessary–and he was outright grouchy whenever they did encounter each other. So obviously the best thing for both of them would be to forget their embrace on the temple steps….

Pat was following her own line of thought. She sighed exuberantly. “I broke up with someone a few months ago myself,” she said. “The whole thing was bad news. One day he’d act like he worshiped me, the next he’d say I drove him nuts…. Go figure.”

Not a difficult scenario for Dana to imagine, not difficult in the least. “Do you mind if we change the subject?” she asked. “I’d just as soon not talk about men.”

“Let’s see,” Pat went on unabashedly. “Tim, Nick, Jarrett…that only leaves Robert. A Frenchman with a beard. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more argumentative person in my life. He challenges everything I say about archaeology, always insisting on relevant facts and empirical evidence to support my ideas. He’s annoying, aggravating, pestering…. Is it any wonder that I’m so in love with the guy?”

This last statement caught Dana completely off guard. In the blink of an eye, the expression on Pat’s face had turned from cocky to defenseless, and suddenly she looked like a very young woman as she knelt there with her topographical map and large spool of string…very young and very vulnerable.

“Why, Pat. Have you told him how you feel?”

“Are you nuts?” Pat exclaimed. “The guy’s a complete mystery to me. I just can’t get a handle on him, no matter how hard I try. I don’t even know if he’s married or single. I don’t know if he’s actually French, for that matter. Wouldn’t you say his accent is a little off?”

“It seems totally natural–nothing overdone about it.”

“That’s just it,” Pat said darkly. “It’s too perfect. Everything about him is perfect…especially the beard. That really does something to me, you know–a man with a beard.” She positioned another marker in the ground and for a few moments actually seemed lost in her own thoughts. The unexpected silence was almost disconcerting as Dana picked up her clipboard again. But then a rustle came from the nearby forest and both Tim and Robert appeared.

“Speak of the devil,” Pat whispered to Dana. Then she called out to the two men in her usual strident manner. “We were just talking about you…both of you, in fact. We were compiling a dossier, so to speak.”

Robert strolled through the clearing, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his crisp khaki pants. He addressed Dana. “Pat is convinced she’ll discover some fascinating secret in all our pasts. Has she been entertaining you with her speculations?”

Dana smiled noncommittally. “You’d be surprised how much work we’ve accomplished this morning.”

“You’re discreet, Ms. Morgan–an admirable virtue.” Robert smiled back at her with a striking glimpse of charm. Dana supposed he was handsome, with his reddish hair, neatly trimmed beard and aristocratic bearing.

Tim, meanwhile, had brought along some fresh mangoes. Without saying a word, he handed the fruit to the others and then moved to sit hunch shouldered in the dirt. Tim was pale complexioned, with a bony, angular frame. There was a rawness to him, as if he hadn’t yet settled into his own body.

“We thought it was time for everyone to take a break,” Robert said, playing the part of host. “We’ve all been working hard, and it’s an exceptionally hot day.” Robert didn’t look as if the heat disturbed him in the least, however. He seemed entirely cool and composed. He even ate his mango with neatness and control, although everyone else had juice dribbling down their chin. Mangoes were notoriously messy fruit–but not for Robert, it seemed.

“What about Jarrett? And Nick?” Dana added before she could stop herself. Here she was, bringing up Nick’s name and wondering about him again.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Dana?” Pat said. “Nick and Jarrett are management. Head honcho and number-two honcho. The rest of us are just the hired help. Now and then they have to make that fact clear to us, so they refuse to socialize.”

“Nick perhaps likes to keep his distance,” Robert observed. “But not Jarrett. He is always amicable.”

“Why is everyone defending Jarrett today?” Pat asked. “He’s not a saint. He can be downright nasty when he chooses.”

“I haven’t seen that,” Dana said, putting in her two cents’ worth. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bravo, Ms. Morgan. We don’t want to encourage Pat. She wishes to believe she is an authority on human nature.”

Pat frowned at him. “I am an observer of human nature. I see things other people miss. Take you, for instance, Robert. I can tell you’re hiding something. You want us to believe you’re some wealthy French businessman, but you won’t even say what business you’re in. If that’s not suspicious, what is?”

Robert seemed to enjoy provoking Pat, and by the looks of things he was particularly adept at it. He smiled again–an economical sort of smile, as if he didn’t believe in wasting too much amusement at one time. “I’ve asked you to believe nothing about me–you draw your own conclusions. Next you’ll accuse me of being the one who hit Jarrett over the head with a rock.”

“Well, it could have been you,” Pat argued. “I mean, you weren’t working here with me the entire morning. You went off by yourself for a while, I recall. And you didn’t tell me where you were going….”

“An obvious sign of guilt. Tell me, Pat. What would be my motive for the attack? If you are such a perspicacious observer, you will have a theory.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“I believe that is what is known as a cop-out, Pat.”

“Oh, stuff a sock in it.”

“I do so enjoy these colloquialisms of yours.”

Dana took another bite of mango, her fingers sticky with juice. She recalled what Pat had just told her about being in love with Robert and tried to picture the two of them actually getting together. Somehow that didn’t seem a likely prospect. It wasn’t just the fact that they were always at odds with each other. They looked nothing alike. Pat was pretty, but she gave a flyaway rumpled impression next to Robert’s elegance. Even her athletic build contrasted with his compactness.

At any rate, Dana felt she’d had enough of listening to the two of them. She moved over to where Tim sat in self-imposed solitude.