Birthright

need more hands.”
    “You’ll have them,” he promised. “The great state of Maryland has given you your first grant on the Antietam Creek Project.”
    “Yeah?” She grabbed his shoulders as the delight burst through her. “Yeah? Leo, you’re my one true love.” She kissed him noisily on the mouth.
    “Speaking of that.” He patted her dirty hands, stepped back. She was too pleased to notice he was putting safe distance between them.
    “We’re going to have to discuss another key member of the team. While we do, I want you to remember we’re allprofessionals, and what we’re doing here could have enormous impact. Before we’re done, this project could involve scientists from all over the world. It’s not about individuals, but about discovery.”
    “I don’t know where you’re going, Leo, but I don’t like how you’re getting there.”
    “Callie . . .” He cleared his throat. “The anthropological significance of this find is every bit as monumental as the archaeological. Therefore, you and the head anthro will need to work together as coheads of the project.”
    “Well, for Christ’s sake, Leo, what am I, a diva?” She pulled the water bottle out of the slot on her belt, drank deep. “I don’t have a problem sharing authority with Nick. I asked for him because I know we work well together.”
    “Yes, well . . .” Leo trailed off at the sound of an approaching engine. And worked up a pained smile as he spotted the new arrivals. “You can’t always get what you want.”
    Shock came first, racing with recognition as she spotted the brawny four-wheeler in demon black, then the ancient pickup truck in a hideous medley of faded red, rusty blue and primer gray pulling a dirty, white travel trailer covered with scratches and dings.
    Painted across the side of the trailer was a snarling Doberman and the name DIGGER .
    Emotions, too many, too mixed, too huge, slammed through her. They choked her throat, twisted her belly, stabbed her heart.
    “Callie . . . before you say anything—”
    “You’re not going to do this.” She had to swallow.
    “It’s done.”
    “Aw, Leo, no. Goddamnit, I asked for Nick.”
    “He’s not available. He’s in South America. The project needs the best, Callie. Graystone’s the best.” Leo nearly stumbled back when she spun toward him. “You know it. Personal business aside, Callie, you know he’s the best. Digger, too. Adding his name to yours greased the grant. I expect you to behave professionally.”
    She showed Leo her teeth. “You can’t always get what you want,” she tossed back.
    She watched him jump out of the four-wheeler. Jacob Graystone, all six feet one and a quarter inches of him. He wore his old brown hat, its brim and crown creased and battered from years of hard wear. His hair, a straight-arrow fall of black, spilled out beneath it. A plain white T-shirt was tucked into the waistband of faded Levi’s. And the body beneath them was prime.
    Long bones, long muscles, all covered in bronzed skin that was a result of working outdoors and the quarter of his heritage that was Apache.
    He turned, and though he wore dark glasses, she knew his eyes were a color caught, rather beautifully, between gray and green.
    He flashed a smile—arrogant, smug, sarcastic. All of which, she thought, fit him to the ground. He had a face too handsome for his own good, or so she’d always thought. Those long bones again, sharp enough to cut diamonds, the straight nose, the firm jaw with the hint of a scar slashed diagonally across it.
    Her pulse began to throb and her temples to pound. Casually, she ran a hand down the chain around her neck, assured herself it was tucked under her shirt.
    “This blows, Leo.”
    “I know it’s not an ideal situation for you, but—”
    “How long have you known he was coming?” Callie demanded.
    This time, it was Leo who swallowed. “A couple of days. I wanted to tell you face-to-face. I didn’t think he’d be here until tomorrow. We need him, Callie. The project needs him.”
    “Fuck it, Leo.” She squared her shoulders as a boxer might before the main event. “Just fuck it.”
    He even walked smugly, she thought now, in that damn cowboy swagger. It had always irritated the hell out of her.
    His companion stepped out of the truck. Stanley Digger Forbes. A hundred and twenty-five pounds of ugly.
    Callie resisted the urge to curl her lip and snarl. Instead,she put her hands on her hips and waited for the