Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Tessa snorts. “It’s a rock penis.”
“It’s Buffalo Dick,” I say, earning another snort of laughter from my equally adolescent partner in crime. “That’s what the Native Americans called it anyway. The white settlers tried to give it a more euphemistic name, but it didn’t stick.”
“White people.” Tessa clucks her tongue. “Why do we have to be so uptight?”
“Puritanical origins, I guess? And it was the 1850s.”
“Even in the 1850s, a dick by any other name is still a dick.” She grins and lifts an imaginary glass. “Here’s to you, Buffalo Dick. Long may you shadow the plains with your erect and noble bearing.”
I laugh. “We can hike up there tomorrow, if you want. There’s a trail. If you’d like a more up close and personal view of the…erection.”
She snorts again, but shakes her head. “Nah, we have treasure to hunt. We should save our hiking legs for the mission, Preston.” She glances up at me, the moonlight caressing her pale face. “Is it okay that we’re still talking about our real lives, while pretending to be treasure hunters?”
“I think anything we say is okay,” I tell her, struck all over again by how beautiful she is. With Tessa it’s more than just her objectively attractive outsides, it’s the way she’s so completely herself, with no apologies. She has nothing to hide and nothing to prove and that’s…sexy as fuck. “It’s our game, after all.”
She smiles. “It is.” She goes quiet, studying the obscene plateau for another beat before she adds in a whisper, “And you’ll really stop to buy Indiana Jones hats tomorrow? If I find a place? You aren’t going to poo poo the fun when the sun’s out and you’re sober?”
“I told you, I’m already sober. And I’m no fun poo-pooer, Lady Gray. If being a family law attorney has taught me anything, it’s that there’s plenty of suffering in the world. Policing the fun is the last thing we need.” I glance to our left, where our closest neighbors—a family of clowns, still in costume—are also out admiring the view. “Even if someone’s idea of fun is putting on creepy white makeup and bringing nightmares to life.”
Tessa chuckles as she takes my hand. “Don’t worry, Preston. I’ll protect you from clowns in the dark.”
I curl my fingers tighter around her softer, smaller ones. “How did you know they’re scarier in the dark?”
“Everything is scarier in the dark,” she says. “Well, almost everything. Come on, let’s start a fire and I’ll bring Freya outside on her leash. She said she wanted to look at the stars with you.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask as we turn back toward the camper, moving through the short grass. “She said that?”
“Well, not in so many words. But when you tackled her at the park, she didn’t bite your face off. That’s a really good sign.”
I smile. “Good. I like good signs. And my face.”
“Me, too,” she murmurs, her hand still in mine, which, for me, is the best sign of all.
Chapter 16
TESSA
Thanks to red wine, I sleep surprisingly well, especially considering Wes is in the bunk right above me, smelling like sexy man and campfire and making me ache to climb up and join him. But the wine works its magic and I’m out cold before I can find the courage to ask if he thinks Preston and Lady Gray should be lovers.
Of course, they shouldn’t!
Things feel good between us for the first time in ages. Having hot, carnal, pull-my-hair-and-talk-dirty-to-me sex is what got us into trouble the first time. We’re clearly better off as friends.
Last night was “just friends,” and it was lovely.
Right… Because you always hold hands with your guy friends and think about how gorgeous they look in the moonlight. You should back out of this role-playing nonsense and rent a solo cabin as soon as you get to the park.
“Oh, hush,” I mutter to the inner voice as Freya sniffs every square inch of the grass behind our camper, dooking urgent warnings about all the animals that were close to our home on wheels last night.
She glances over her shoulder as I speak with a look that asks “are you kidding me?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, love,” I assure her. “I was talking to myself. The voice of reason isn’t going to ruin the fun this time. I’m too excited about hunting Butch Cassidy’s treasure.”
Saying his name aloud is enough to send a delicious shiver of anticipation down my spine. Our research around the campfire last night revealed the suspected resting place of Butch Cassidy’s stash is only a little over an hour from the Arches National Park campground.
Another big bonus? It sounds like the treasure least likely to be cursed.
Butch Cassidy wasn’t a good guy by any stretch of the imagination, but his sins were of the common criminal variety, and he was famous for doing his best to avoid killing people during his robberies. The other treasures were far more problematic. Montezuma was said to have cursed his treasure before he died and the Spanish priest who enslaved the Native Mexicans, forcing them to forge crosses from his stolen gold before he buried it in the desert, surely left an ugly psychic stain on everything he touched.