Crazy is as crazy does . . . : Part 5

Pearl Jinx
by Sandra Hill

(Page 5 of 7)

He walked over to check out one of the pictures.

Then wished he hadn't.

It was a side view of Dr. Cassidy facing some man of obvious Native American heritage. Her long auburn hair was in braids. His black hair was, too, and adorned with a single feather. They both wore Indian ceremonial outfits. His chest was bare. On top she appeared to be nude, as well, except for the numerous bead-and-feather necklaces she wore. On bottom, he sported a loincloth with leather flaps covering his belly and ass. She wore a low-riding, knee-length, fringed leather skirt and beaded moccasins. Her arms were raised, shaking some kind of rattles. He could care less about the man. But her . . . wow! . . . Her side was bare from armpit to hip, exposing a perfect view of the side of one of her breasts.

Not the way I want to be picturing the archaeologist assigned to our project. She'll be talking Indian legends and I'll be thinking, "Wanna come over to my teepee and show me your beads?"

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Are you married?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

He was walking back to the kitchen and waved over his shoulder at the photograph. "Geronimo back there."

She made a tsking sound at the political incorrectness of his remark. "That's Henry Hawk, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania. He's a full-blooded Lenni Lenape Indian. Geronimo was an Apache."

Well, big whoop!

"I'm not topless in the photo, by the way." She grinned, obviously reading his mind. "Lots of people think I am, but I'm wearing a flesh-colored leotard."

That's just great! Ruin a guy's fantasy, why don't you? "Don't you believe in historical accuracy?"

"Yeah, but I was young and naive then. I let the promoter talk me into accuracy once. Turned out that people were watching my jiggling breasts as I danced, instead of learning about Indian rituals. That was the last time they tried that."

Oh, good Lord! Now I add jiggling to my fantasy.

Dr. Cassidy carried the tray out to the deck and motioned for him to move the laptop. While closing the lid, he noticed it contained notes on some Indian mating ritual. He wasn't dumb enough to ask if that's what she and Geronimo were doing in the photograph. Not now. But I'll bet my Navy SEAL Budweiser pin that I hot damn will later.

After three muffins and sipping his second cup of coffee, he leaned back. "That was great, Dr. Cassidy. Thanks."

"You're welcome. The wild berries are smaller, but I think they're sweeter. And please, call me Claire."

He nodded. "So, what were you doing in the woods when you were not camping?" he asked, repeating her words.

"I don't camp in the traditional sense . . . you know, tents and kerosene stoves. I build a wigwam up in the mountains like the Lenni Lenape Indians did and cook over an open fire."

"Alone?" He was picturing her with some guy . . . okay, him . . . bending over the fire. Maybe dancing a little, making those beads and other things jiggle. Then, they'd go into the wigwam, and -

"Usually."

"Huh?"

"I usually go alone. I like the solitude. And I'm able to explore and dig for Indian artifacts at my leisure."

He could understand the solitude part - he was a loner himself - though he liked his fantasy better. "And you planned all along to be back here for the start of the project tomorrow?"

"Of course. I always honor my commitments."

And she couldn't have told me that. Not even one little phone call or e-mail. He decided to hold his tongue. "You're not going to make me fill out those forms, are you?"

She shook her head. "Not all of them. I'll help you, if you're willing."

He liked the fact that she was willing to bend the rules and decided reciprocation was in order. "I'll help you."

"You're staying at the Butterfly Bed & Breakfast?"

Copyright © 2007 by Sandra Hill

About the Author

Sandra Hill is a USA Today, New York Times extended and Waldenbooks bestselling author of fifteen novels and four novellas. All of her books are heavy on humor and sizzle.