Digging Deeper

  Digging Deeper

  Barbara Elsborg

  Archaeologist Beck isn’t expecting much to come out of this summer’s dig. While his colleague spends the summer in Italy, Beck draws the short straw supervising a group of archaeology students excavating on the grounds of Hartington Hall in Yorkshire. Little does Beck realize when he saves a redhead from the attentions of an amorous ram, that this accident-prone female will throw his ordered life into chaos. The last thing Flick needs in her life is a digger, because some secrets are meant to stay buried. Very deep. But Beck is irresistible. She’d love to get him into bed, though after the incident at the swimming pool, the collapsing wall, the snake bite and the unexploded bomb—a hospital bed looks more likely. As their relationship lurches from one disaster to another, Beck has to delve deep to get to the bottom of this irrepressible redhead.

  One thing is clear—you never know quite what you’re going to find when you start digging.

  A Cerridwen Press Publication

  www.cerridwenpress.com

  Digging Deeper

  ISBN 9781419921551

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Digging Deeper Copyright © 2010 Barbara Elsborg

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book Publication April 2010

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®

  DIGGING DEEPER

  Barbara Elsborg

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Armani: GA Modefine S.A. Corporation

  Barbie: Mattel, Inc.

  BMW Z4: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Company Calvin Klein: Calvin Klein Trademark Trust

  Cat Woman: DC comics Inc.

  Cointreau: Cointreau Corporation

  Dictaphone: Dictaphone Corporation New York

  Drambuie: Drambuie Liqueur Company Ltd.

  eBay: eBay Inc Corporation

  Ferrari: Ferrari S.P.A. Joint Stock Company

  Frisbee: Wham-O Inc. Corporation

  Gap: Gap (Apparel), LLC Ltd. Liab. Co.

  Harvey Nick’s: Harvey Nichols and Company Limited

  Ikea: Inter-Ikea Systems B.V. Corporation Netherlands

  Indiana Jones: Lucasfilm Ltd.

  iPod: Apple Inc. Corporation

  James Bond: DANJAQ S.A. Corporation

  Jimmy Choo: J. Choo Limited Co.

  Ken: Mattel, Inc.

  La Perla: La Perla S.R.L. Ltd Liab Co.

  Lada: Satra Motors Inc.

  Land Rover: Land Rover Company UK

  Lexus: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha TA Toyota Motor Corporation Louis Vuitton: Louis Vuitton Malletier Société Anonyme

  Manchester United: Manchester United Ltd.

  Marmite: Marmite Food Extract Co., Ltd.

  Mercedes: DaimlerChrysler AG Corporation

  Missoni: Missoni SPA Joint Stock Co.

  Nicole Farhi: Steven Marks London Limited

  Prada: Prada SA Corporation

  Ralph Lauren: PRL USA Holdings, Inc.

  Rolex: Rolex Watch USA Inc.

  Royal Doulton: Doulton and Co., Ltd.

  Royal Mail: Royal Mail Group Limited

  Tesco: Tesco Stores Limited

  Timberland: Timberland Company

  Versace: Gianni Versace S.P.A. Corporation

  Veuve Clicquot: Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin

  Wedgwood: Wedgwood Public Limited Company

  Wii: Nintendo of America Inc.

  Digging Deeper

  Chapter One

  Cursing under her breath, Flick dropped to her knees in front of a rose bush and leaned forward to check for greenfly. She’d be shocked if she found any. The damn things wouldn’t dare land in this garden, but she’d had her orders. Perfect roses only. Flick gently turned a bud in her fingers and something cold and wet nuzzled up the back of her skirt. She shrieked and thrust out her hands as she lurched forward. Flick managed to save her face from kissing the soil but not the rose head she’d been inspecting. Flick looked back at her assailant and gave a nervous laugh.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Baaaa.”

  “Ah, Baaamuda? Or maybe Baaarhain? Baaanstaple?” She was on a roll now.

  “Baaali? Baaatth?”

  The sheep stared at her as though she were a complete idiot, then turned to the nearest bush and wrapped its lips around one of Celia Hartington’s special white roses. Flick sprang to her feet. “Nooooo. Naughty sheep. Shoo, shoo.”

  She flapped her arms to try to encourage it to gambol toward the field at the bottom of the garden, but her gesturing had the opposite effect and the animal took a few steps in her direction. Flick took several steps back.

  “Go away,” she pleaded.

  Dark demon eyes looked at her in defiance, the mouth went “baaaaa” and another white rose disappeared. Flick winced and then glared at the culprit.

  “Want to be shorn like a poodle? Shorn by a beginner? Or maybe by an old geezer with Parkinson’s? Using dull shears?”

  Another white rose vanished.

  “No! Eat the bloody red ones, can’t you?”

  She stamped her foot, an ineffectual gesture considering she wore delicate strappy sandals and stood on grass. Furthermore, the sheep seemed to take it as a challenge. It banged its hoof on the grass and charged. Flick fled.

  * * * * *

  Alexander Beckett had moved the Yorkshire University Archaeology Department’s minivan to the rear of Hartington Hall at Celia’s request. She’d made her disappointment at the state of the vehicle quite clear. She wanted everyone to know an important dig was about to take place on her property and a rusty minivan looking as 7

  Barbara Elsborg

  though it had barely survived a ram-raid by a tank was not the image she’d been hoping for.

  Earlier that morning in the university car park, the van had stood next to its twin; same age, make and color, same logo on the side, but there the resemblance ended. One vehicle deserved to be on the road, while the van Beck had drawn on a coin toss looked as though it needed to be buried in a junkyard. His colleague, Rich Foster, had smirked and commandeered the smarter vehicle, complete with the best of the archaeology department’s field equipment and five flexible, female undergraduates. In Beck’s view, Rich was now over-compensated for having to drive all the way to Italy. As Beck strolled to the front of Hartington Hall he saw Celia standing with her hands on her generous hips, watching a drama unfold on her lawn. A tall, spiky-haired figure in a bright pink skirt appeared to be dancing with a sheep. The sheep took several s
teps forward and the redhead stepped back. A move to the side was copied too. Beck looked more closely and realized the sheep had something in its mouth. Was that a white rose? The tango, Beck thought and laughed. The redhead advanced and the sheep backed up. There was a bit of foot stamping from each of them. He grinned. The redhead’s legs were very long and the skirt was very short.

  “For goodness sakes. What does she think she’s doing?” Celia crossed her arms.

  “Felicity, stop playing with the sheep.”

  The dance came to an abrupt halt as the four-legged lover decided to pursue his intended with more vigor. The redhead squealed as she sprinted around the lawn, changing direction each time the sheep looked as if he might be catching up.

  “Is that really a rose in its mouth?” Beck asked.

  “It appears to be one of my special roses.” Celia waved her hand in the air.

  “Felicity, stop this at once.”

  Flick felt caught in some surreal nightmare, being chased by a manic sheep with a rose clenched between its teeth. Substitute gorgeous hunk for sheep and Flick would have stopped running, but with no gorgeous hunk in sight, she kept going. Adding to her distress, she’d spotted a peculiar gleam in this creature’s eyes, which made her think romance was not foremost in its mind. But if she was wrong and it was, she needed to run faster.

  She leaped over the rose bushes and shot to the left. The sheep followed. Its breath hit the back of her knees. She’d always thought of sheep as gentle, rather timid balls of fluff, but this one seemed to be under the misapprehension that it was a raging bull. Even worse, it had enough brains to sense her fear and enough cunning to act on it. Somewhere in the periphery of her vision, Flick knew she had an audience. She could hear Lady C shouting and a man laughing. It didn’t sound like Lady C’s husband, Henry. Flick vaulted over a shrub and whizzed around a stone bird bath. The sheep went straight through the shrub and sent the stone bath flying off its pedestal. Flick heard more laughter, glanced toward the house and in that moment’s lapse of 8

  Digging Deeper

  concentration, the sheep finally made contact. She cried out as it butted the back of her knees and sent her sprawling. Then it jumped on her back and stayed there. Ouch.

  “Get off, you fat lump,” she gasped.

  Flick heard clapping and looked up in indignation to see a man running down onto the lawn. He clapped harder and yelled at the sheep, which fled. Of course it did. He was a man.

  “Are you all right?”

  What sort of stupid question was that? Flick spat grass out of her mouth. She’d been flattened by a mad sheep, would no doubt sport a hoof-marked back for months, and he asked if she was all right. Idiot. Flick sat up and looked at him, and every emotion but one rushed out of her at supersonic speed. Hovering over her was the most delicious man she’d ever seen.

  “Yes, fine, thank you,” she whimpered.

  He held out his hand. As their palms touched, a bolt flashed down her arm and through her body. Air rushed out of her lungs. He struggled to pull her upright. Not one of her muscles worked. He wasn’t just dark-eyed and mouthwateringly handsome, but inches taller than her, a huge plus because she was a skyscraper. His hair was straight and dark, almost longer than hers, and he was absolutely, completely and utterly, gorgeous. On the downside, he didn’t seem to be interested in her face, but stared at her hand in bewilderment, as though it was the weirdest thing he’d ever seen. Why, she wondered, then realized she still held on to him. Flick tried to let go and couldn’t. Then she grasped it wasn’t her, but him. He was holding on to her.

  “So you’re the reason I’m here,” he said.

  “What?” Flick croaked. “Are you the police?”

  From the shocked look on his face and the way he loosened his grip a little, she knew she’d got that wrong.

  “You found the fragment of Samian ware.” He stared at her, his face wrinkling in curiosity. “How did you know what it was?”

  Celia panted to their side. “Can’t you do anything right, Felicity? I only asked you to cut a few roses, not terrorize our sheep.”

  Celia tugged at the man’s elbow, and he finally released Flick’s hand. She watched as Celia led him away. He turned and gave her a rueful grin. The face had almost stopped her heart, so what about the rest of him? Not fat, nor thin, just right. A creased white linen shirt hung outside his chinos at one side. Fabulous butt. Narrow hips. Flick lost herself in the moment. And was distracted. A second later, she’d fallen back on her knees and a persistent nose pushed its way between her legs.

  After Beck escaped from Celia, he unloaded all his equipment and stacked it in one of the garages at the Hall. He needed the van empty so he could collect his five students 9

  Barbara Elsborg

  and take them to the house they’d share for the next month. He’d have liked to go and have a word with the redhead and take another look into her fabulous eyes. He especially wanted to ask her why she thought he was the police, but he didn’t have time. Beck drove to Ilkley station, trying to work up some enthusiasm for the monthlong dig. Earlier that morning he and Rich had stood watching five pert bottoms climb into the Italy-bound minivan. His colleague’s smile had been so wide, Beck thought he was in danger of splitting his face.

  “Aren’t you jealous?” he’d murmured in Beck’s ear.

  “No, because I want to keep my job, and you’ll wear yourself out,” Beck replied.

  “And what a way to go. Cheer up. The delectable Dina’s in your group.”

  That hadn’t made Beck feel better. Dina was persistent and determined about entirely the wrong things.

  After the details of the two first-year field trips had been posted on the department notice board, it seemed unlikely many would select Ilkley over Italy. Beck had watched Rich’s list for the dig near Pisa grow longer and longer. Dina wrote and crossed her name out six times on each list. He reckoned if the sheets had stayed up one more day she’d be on her way to Italy. Just his luck.

  Twenty students and two post-grads were taking the easy route to Pisa by air while Rich drove the equipment and the five handpicked female undergrads toward a month of copious sun, alcohol and sex. Oh, and the vague possibility of unearthing a worthwhile artifact between the sunbathing, boozing and bonking. Before he’d seen the redhead, all Beck had to look forward to was a month of decent Yorkshire beer. Now things looked a whole lot brighter, though the drive from York to Ilkley had gone a long way to cheering him up.

  In this part of Yorkshire the landscape rivaled the best Italy could offer—miles of pale limestone walls running in crazy patterns over the land, climbing the sides of hills, following valleys, all linking together to create a mesmerizing patchwork quilt. Contrary to his expectations and the local weather forecast, it wasn’t raining. In fact, no clouds marred the sky, and instead of a tedious three-day journey through France and Italy, Beck’s involved less than an hour of easy driving. The train pulled into the station and Beck spotted his lot at once. Four of them had rucksacks on their backs and the fifth dragged two huge, wheeled cases. That would be Dina. He rubbed his forehead in anticipation of the headache she’d cause. Only one female in the rucksack brigade, Jane, who was almost the exact opposite of Dina. Rounded where Dina was thin, pale where Dina was tanned, and bright where Dina was not. Matt, Ross and Pravit were typical male students; laid-back, scruffy and by the look of it, already drunk. He gave a heavy sigh. Beck’s post-grad assistant, Isobel, would be joining them in a few days. He prayed he could survive this lot until she arrived to whip them into shape.

  10

  Digging Deeper

  All the students were smiling. Beck hoped they were sharing a private joke and not brimming with excitement at the prospect of this dig yielding something to make the TV news. Though Beck had assured Stanley Hunter, the head of the archaeology department, that finds at Ilkley could turn out to be as important as at Castleford. Stanley’s face had lit up like a firework. Beck had told his students the UK dig
offered a unique opportunity for them to contribute to the understanding of Ilkley’s Roman heritage. In fact, Beck thought Hartington land would reveal nothing more enticing than a few modern potshards, courtesy of Ikea.

  Beck was skeptical about the discovery of the piece of Samian ware in one of the Hartington fields and suspected Giles had purchased the fragment of rich, red-brown pottery on eBay. Giles, son and heir of Celia and Henry, and Beck’s best friend from university, had sent him the large fragment in a padded envelope. Beck had been unable to believe what he’d opened, nor Giles’ stupidity in entrusting an eighteen hundred-year old treasure to a layer of bubble wrap and the vagaries of the Royal Mail. It had occurred to Beck that Giles, who’d requested Beck’s attendance at his wedding that summer as best man, might have planted the piece to make sure Beck didn’t swan off to dig in Europe. Still, it had worked.

  A slip of paper enclosed with the pottery had said—“F-for-Felicity found this. She says it’s Samian. So you can dig and be my best man.”

  F-for-Felicity was right. It was Samian. Now Beck had seen this Felicity, he worried Giles was up to his old tricks.

  Beck got out of the van as the five students approached. Dina beamed more broadly when she saw him, and he tried to keep his face neutral and his eyes off her chest. She was about to spill out of her blue top. Designer sunglasses wobbled on her head and bright purple nail polish covered her toes and fingers. Matt and Ross, in addition to their rucksacks, were also carrying bags of the same design as Dina’s cases. The queen had already chosen her servants.

  Beck drove them to the supermarket before heading to the house. As he wandered up and down the aisles, he spotted a familiar pink-skirted figure in the frozen food section. She was twisting around, picking things up and putting them down. Her top was decorated in half-naked men and so tight that as she moved, it appeared as though they writhed all over her chest. Her red-streaked hair looked as wild as if she’d been electrocuted. She had danger written all over her and the sweetest heart-shaped face Beck had ever seen. He moved up behind her.