Olivia swallowed and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. All she could do was nod her head in agreement.
Connor shut her door and stepped back.
Olivia fumbled with the key, finally got it in the ignition and turned on the car. When she looked out her window, Connor was halfway across the grounds and soon disappeared behind one of the buildings.
Connor returned to the makeshift office, took off his wet jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door. For a moment he shut his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. He shouldn’t have let her go. He should have invited her to...something, whatever it took to keep her with him a bit longer.
He shook his head. Crazy. Losing his grip over some woman that he barely knew? What was that about? His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was a call from Jake.
“Hey, Jake. What’s up?”
“Just checking. The roofers done?”
“Yeah, they left a little while ago. Everything looks good. We should be okay.”
“Great. Listen, me and some of the fellas are in town catching a few beers and the game.”
Connor didn’t make it a habit of hanging out with his crew. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy their company. It was more that he was mindful of crossing the line from employer to friend. But today he didn’t feel like being in his own company. To do that would keep him under the spell of whatever it was that Olivia Gray had cast over him. Maybe a roomful of male testosterone fueled by beer guzzling and cussing, and further incited by the sight of bodies crashing into each other on the field, was what he needed.
“Yeah, yeah, I think I will. Everyone at McCoy’s?”
“Back room.”
Connor chuckled. “A regular party. See you in a few.” He disconnected the call and was actually looking forward to some male bonding.
* * *
By the time Connor arrived at McCoy’s the weather had somewhat cleared. At least the rain had stopped, but it left behind a misty residue that hung waiflike above the town. Connor found a parking spot in the lot behind the bar, then joined the crew inside.
The back room of McCoy’s was about the size of a small classroom. A fifty-inch television was mounted on the paneled wall, wooden circular tables with spindle-backed chairs dotted the plank-wood floor and in the far corner was a jukebox with nothing more current than hits from the eighties.
McCoy’s prided itself on the bare essentials of its establishment. What it lacked in ambience it made up for with some of the best wings, ribs, steaks and burgers this side of the Mississippi, and drinks that could lay you on your ass, not like the watered-down stuff at some of the higher-end restaurants. McCoy’s was a sports pub through and through.
“Connor, over here.” Jake stood and waved him over to a back table.
Connor acknowledged the faces he knew with a lift of his chin as he passed by. The room was in full swing and the one waitress that was assigned to the space had her hands full keeping up with the orders. He made his way around the tables and pulled up a chair.
“First things first,” Connor said as he sat down. “What’s the score and how long will it take to get a drink?”
The table of five laughed heartily and brought Connor up to speed on the game. They were split down the middle between the Giants and the Redskins. There was money and booze on the table. It could go either way. Connor tossed his hat in with the Giants, ordered a bourbon neat and a burger with all the trimmings.
Jake scooted his chair a bit closer. “So how’d it go?” he asked, loud enough for Connor to hear but not their tablemates.
Connor glanced at him over the rim of his glass. “Told you. Fine. We’re good to go for tomorrow.”
“You know I wasn’t talking about the roofers.” His right brow arched.
Connor chuckled. “That went fine, too, or as fine as it could go under the circumstances.”
“To tell you the truth, I kinda thought the two of you would have been together right about now. Although I was hoping not, at least not until her agenda is clear,” he added, with a look that spoke to the last woman on the site. “Didn’t expect you to accept the invite.”
Connor took a sip of his bourbon, let it slowly warm his insides. “You were almost right.” He stared off into the distance. A glimmer of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. “We’ll see,” he said, and tossed back the rest of his drink while dismissing the subject of Olivia Gray.
* * *
Olivia pulled the belt on her robe a bit tighter, turned off the flame beneath the pot of boiling water, then poured it over her chamomile tea bag. She took her cup to the table where she’d spread out her notes. Settling in, she slowly glanced over the pages of documents and the sketches of what was once Dayton Village. She powered on her MacBook and scrolled to the images she’d uploaded earlier. It was still very early in the process but she could barely contain the excitement that bubbled in her veins. There was something different about this, a feeling she had that whatever she uncovered would change her in some way. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, but she couldn’t shake it. She’d done dozens and dozens of these investigative projects, and yes, there was always a level of excitement—anticipation...but...
The picture that she’d shot of Connor leaning against the wall came to life on her computer screen, and her heart jumped in response. There was no doubt that Connor Lawson added another dimension to the work. The idea of working with him over the days and weeks to come felt like sitting at the top of a roller coaster waiting for the crazy thrill ride. Seeing Connor forever captured on film stirred the embers of that first night, when he’d taken her home, kissed her, left her wanting more.
Olivia closed her eyes against the taunt of his hard outline and returned her attention to her notes. One of the first things that she needed to do was photograph the entire site. She would compare those images to the diagrams and then begin her interviews and study the artifacts on the site. Often the tiniest remain would hold a wealth of information. Her pulse quickened at the thought of the treasures that she was sure to uncover. Having Connor Lawson in her peripheral vision was a bonus.
She sipped her tea and flipped through her binder. She stopped on the articles that documented the first family of Dayton Village. According to historical documents, Elijah and Sarah Dayton arrived from Virginia at the turn of the century. Both Elijah and Sarah were born into slavery, a year before the Emancipation. Based on the minimal information at Olivia’s disposal, the couple had several children, all of whom they raised in Dayton Village. Not much more was known about them. At some point others found their way to the village and built new lives there.
Olivia’s thoughts wandered, envisioning the time, the early days when Dayton Village first began, the excitement and uncertainty that must have permeated everything and everyone. She could almost feel the hope of the people who’d come there so many years ago wanting to build a life on the shoulders of freedom. She could only imagine what it must have been like for the thousands of Africans torn from their homeland, doomed to a life of slavery and degradation, to one day be free. It meant different things to so many people. As the legendary conductor Harriet Tubman once said, “I freed hundreds of slaves and could have freed hundreds more if they knew they were slaves.”
That very powerful statement resonated within Olivia like none other. How can people know where they can go, what they can achieve and the possibilities that await, if they don’t know who they are in the world—what was their purpose?
It was not happenstance that of all the professions to choose from, Olivia decided to study anthropology. She was led in that direction because