the money."
"Then you're an adrenaline junkie."
"And you're a horse lover."
"Con man."
"Pain in the ass."
They'd come to a verbal line neither of them wanted to cross, so they just stood there, inches apart, chests heaving hard enough to bump together. Their eyes met, Tag saw Alex's gaze drop to his mouth, and all his blood rushed south at the same time, leaving him light-headed. He stumbackward, and once his eyes had uncrossed he noticed that Alex wasn't exactly unaffected.
It should have made the situation better, knowing he wasn't the only one feeling… attraction, but Tag was wondering how the hell it had happened.
Alex Scott was clearly the guide he needed, but she could read him like a book. That took away a measure of his control. And pissed him off. Throw lust into that mix and he might as well forget about hanging on to his focus long enough to stay alive, let alone find the treasure. He'd already proven that once tonight; he'd better get a handle on it or they'd both regret it.
"The snowmobile is coming this way," Alex said. "And it's close."
Close enough they could see the headlight cutting through the darkness, and although the person on it was helmeted and dressed for arctic conditions, Alex said, "It's Matt."
Tag hung back, but she led Jackass out of the trees and into the path of the headlights. The sound of the engine throttled back to a throaty rumble, then changed direction slightly, heading their way.
In a few minutes Matt pulled up beside Alex and turned off the sled. "Started out about four a.m." he said. "Couldn't get you on the radio. Got worried. What are you doing out here?"
"The plane didn't come back," Alex said, "but a helicopter showed up and burned down my cabin."
Matt was off the snowmobile, ripping at his gloves, heading straight for Tag.
Alex stepped between them. "It's not his fault," she said to Matt.
"Like hell it's not. You could've been killed."
"So could he."
"My bet is he deserves it."
"Based on what?" Tag said.
Matt glared at Tag, but he spoke to Alex. "Got some information back on him. No record, but he gets around a lot for a guy who's on the up and up."
"Maybe I'm a salesman," Tag said, "maybe I'm a travel agent. Or maybe I just like to see new places."
"Are you finished?" Alex asked him.
"Yeah."
"Then tell him the truth."
"It's none of his business."
Alex smacked him on the arm, which stung since his skin was ice cold. "Fine," he snapped, "I'm looking for the Lost Spaniard."
Just like when he'd told Alex, there was a split second of stunned silence, then Matt threw his head back and laughed.
THE TOWN OF CASTEEL HAD SPREAD ITSELF HAPHAZARDLY along one side of a small valley with a shallow river running through it. The other side of the valley was public grazing land for the livestock owned by the town's residents. Once upon a time that had been a lot of animals. Nowadays not so much—not that the empty grassland had been converted to another use. Tradition was as much a part of the town as the mountains around it, and just as enduring. Being a resident of Casteel required a certain amount of resistance to change.
It also took a special kind of approach to life, eccenbeing a central theme. The place was filled with kooks, Alex thought fondly as they made their way down the final hill toward the bridge at the west end of town, and it didn't say much for her that some of those kooks thought she was strange for living alone up in the hills, communing with animals that could rip her to shreds. But they kept their opinions to themselves. At least when she was around. Discussing her with others, now that was another story. Literally.
Gossip was as much a part of daily activity in Casteel as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. These were simple people, with workdays that often outlasted the sun at both ends of the day. Except for television, there wasn't a whole lot in the way of entertainment to be had in such a small town. Who could blame them for having an
"Then you're an adrenaline junkie."
"And you're a horse lover."
"Con man."
"Pain in the ass."
They'd come to a verbal line neither of them wanted to cross, so they just stood there, inches apart, chests heaving hard enough to bump together. Their eyes met, Tag saw Alex's gaze drop to his mouth, and all his blood rushed south at the same time, leaving him light-headed. He stumbackward, and once his eyes had uncrossed he noticed that Alex wasn't exactly unaffected.
It should have made the situation better, knowing he wasn't the only one feeling… attraction, but Tag was wondering how the hell it had happened.
Alex Scott was clearly the guide he needed, but she could read him like a book. That took away a measure of his control. And pissed him off. Throw lust into that mix and he might as well forget about hanging on to his focus long enough to stay alive, let alone find the treasure. He'd already proven that once tonight; he'd better get a handle on it or they'd both regret it.
"The snowmobile is coming this way," Alex said. "And it's close."
Close enough they could see the headlight cutting through the darkness, and although the person on it was helmeted and dressed for arctic conditions, Alex said, "It's Matt."
Tag hung back, but she led Jackass out of the trees and into the path of the headlights. The sound of the engine throttled back to a throaty rumble, then changed direction slightly, heading their way.
In a few minutes Matt pulled up beside Alex and turned off the sled. "Started out about four a.m." he said. "Couldn't get you on the radio. Got worried. What are you doing out here?"
"The plane didn't come back," Alex said, "but a helicopter showed up and burned down my cabin."
Matt was off the snowmobile, ripping at his gloves, heading straight for Tag.
Alex stepped between them. "It's not his fault," she said to Matt.
"Like hell it's not. You could've been killed."
"So could he."
"My bet is he deserves it."
"Based on what?" Tag said.
Matt glared at Tag, but he spoke to Alex. "Got some information back on him. No record, but he gets around a lot for a guy who's on the up and up."
"Maybe I'm a salesman," Tag said, "maybe I'm a travel agent. Or maybe I just like to see new places."
"Are you finished?" Alex asked him.
"Yeah."
"Then tell him the truth."
"It's none of his business."
Alex smacked him on the arm, which stung since his skin was ice cold. "Fine," he snapped, "I'm looking for the Lost Spaniard."
Just like when he'd told Alex, there was a split second of stunned silence, then Matt threw his head back and laughed.
THE TOWN OF CASTEEL HAD SPREAD ITSELF HAPHAZARDLY along one side of a small valley with a shallow river running through it. The other side of the valley was public grazing land for the livestock owned by the town's residents. Once upon a time that had been a lot of animals. Nowadays not so much—not that the empty grassland had been converted to another use. Tradition was as much a part of the town as the mountains around it, and just as enduring. Being a resident of Casteel required a certain amount of resistance to change.
It also took a special kind of approach to life, eccenbeing a central theme. The place was filled with kooks, Alex thought fondly as they made their way down the final hill toward the bridge at the west end of town, and it didn't say much for her that some of those kooks thought she was strange for living alone up in the hills, communing with animals that could rip her to shreds. But they kept their opinions to themselves. At least when she was around. Discussing her with others, now that was another story. Literally.
Gossip was as much a part of daily activity in Casteel as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. These were simple people, with workdays that often outlasted the sun at both ends of the day. Except for television, there wasn't a whole lot in the way of entertainment to be had in such a small town. Who could blame them for having an
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