Page 5 of Welcome to Bone Town
She gives me a confused look, but her shoulders noticeably relax. I remove my hand and she grimaces, tension radiating off her body again.
“Sorry,” she rubs her hands together, “I don’t like flying.”
“I can see that.” Against my better judgement, I offer her my hand. “Here. Squeeze. It’ll help.”
Her fingers wrap around mine, tentatively at first, but when the plane bumps again, she grips me with surprising force. In an unexpected twist, the firm pressure of her hand settles something inside me I didn’t even realize was off-kilter.
Neither of us speak, and the moment the plane skids onto the tarmac, we let go of each other. Dangerous. That was too fucking dangerous. I need to get away from this woman.
A round of claps breaks out, and I resist the urge togroan. Of course it’sthatkind of flight, just the happy little cherry on top of my overstimulated sundae.
As soon as thedingsounds and the seatbelt indicator turns off, I’m up and out of my seat, grabbing my bag from the overhead bin and impatiently waiting for the plane door to open. I need to get away from everyone, but especially Cora. She’s not far behind me, but she can’t keep up with my long stride as I head out to the taxi stand.
Or at least, that’s what I thought. But the little omega has some speed on her, and when I lift my hand to hail a cab, she’s right next to me, a little out of breath. Sweat glistens on her brow from the desert heat, and she’s flushed from our power walk out here.
“We should share a cab to the dig site, right?” Her timid voice shakes me into focus. As much as I want to sayhell no, I need to be nice to Dr. Whitlock. Well, I need to be professional. We’re going to be stuck here for at least a month together, and if Ms. This-is-my-first-dig over here complains, I could face some serious repercussions.
Taking a deep breath, I respond. “Fine.”
The omega looks up at me with her brows raised in surprise, but doesn’t comment. When the cab pulls to a stop at the curb, I grab her bag and mine to throw them in the trunk while she stands there stunned. Walking back around to the side, I gesture to the open cab door. “Well? Are you coming?”
That startles her into action and she scrambles into the back seat. I follow her in and give the cabbie directions. The blood drains from his face when he hearswhere we’re going, but he nods and pulls away from the airport.
It’s only another hour to the site. The drive goes by in a strangely comfortable silence. Maybe now that I’ve accepted my fate of being stuck working with Cora, my anxiety has decided to take a chill pill.
Gravel crunches under the tires as the cab slows to a stop. Wasting no time getting out, a wall of heat and dust blasts into me immediately upon opening the door. Fuck, I forgot what desert digs were like.
After paying the driver, I grab our bags from the trunk, and he zooms away, leaving the two of us staring at base camp. Before us, against the backdrop of the lowering sun, is a sea of off-white canvas tents, some with open flaps whipping in the desert wind, but most of them buttoned up tight to protect their contents from the sand.
Just beyond the tents, there’s a path that leads midway up a sand dune, lined by bright pink marker flags. At the end of the path is a square, taped off area, covered by another tent—this one open on all sides.
The bones.
Eagerness fills me when I realize how close I finally am to them. Keeping hold of both my bag and Cora’s, I swiftly stride to the tent with a yellow flag flying from the top. That would be the headquarters, so to speak, and the most likely place to find someone to check in with.
Lifting the flap and ducking into the tent, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lack of sunlight. Sure enough, there are boxes of files and supplies strewed around the tent, and a large rectangular table in the middle with topographical maps sprawled across it. Alean man is hunched over one of the maps, but he whips his head up when he hears me enter.
He’s wearing jeans and combat boots, plus a long-sleeved black shirt, which seems impractical in the desert heat. A logo for the musical groupKnotty by Natureis stretched across his chest, and I nearly chuckle. Vintage. He’s got dark skin and deep brown eyes, which are magnified by the square-framed glasses sliding down his nose.
He straightens, pushes up his glasses with a friendly smile, and begins to round the table when his gaze darts behind me. Without having to look to confirm, I know Dr. Whitlock has entered from the fresh batch of dust and the sound of coughing. She comes to stand next to me, brushing off her khakis as she does. The other man stops a couple feet from us, and a wide grin spreads across his face.
“You must be Dr. Slate and Dr. Whitlock. My name is Archer Hale. Welcome to Bone Town.”
5
Dr. Slate makes a choking sound and Dr. Whitlock’s eyes widen, though she manages to hold in her mirth and recovers the fastest. “Bone…town?” She asks hesitantly.
One hand rubs the back of my neck as I answer. “Uh, yeah. I know we’re technically in the Ekdoti Sands, but a lot of the guys out here have been calling it Bone Town because the only thing around for miles is sand, and…well, bones.”
“Real mature.” Dr. Slate mutters under his breath. Dr. Whitlock, however, snorts out an unexpected laugh, snagging both my and the other professor’s attention. That sound shouldn’t be attractive, but I find it endearing coming from Dr. Whitlock.
“Sorry! Sorry.” She reins in her amusement. “It’s just thatof coursea bunch of men jumped on the opportunity to give it an inappropriate nickname. Honestly, we shouldbe glad it was bones and not something else, or they would have tried naming it Pound Town.”
Dr. Slate pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s frustrated and trying to tune her out, but I think there’s a hint of a smile hiding under his large hand. We’re toeing the line of professionalism, though, so I need to change the subject. The last thing I want is one of my idols in the field thinking I’m an immature beta with nothing to contribute to this dig.
“I read your last paper on Lunara, Dr. Whitlock. It’s an honor to have you on this project.” I hold out my hand to Dr. Whitlock first, then Dr. Slate. They seem haggard and tired after traveling, but the way they’re both looking around tells me they’re as eager to be here as I am.
“Thank you.” She smiles, but there’s a slight scrunch to her nose like she’s embarrassed by the compliment. I’ve followed the woman’s work for awhile—even seen a talk or two of hers online—so I knew she was attractive. But she’s also surprisingly… cute? There’s not really another word for it. Her cheeks are pink, she’s chewing on her lip, and she keeps stuffing her hands in her pockets, then taking them out, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. It’s adorable. And familiar. She looks about as nervous as I feel.
