Sam looked up as Emma came closer. “The superintendent agreed that it sounded like there was enough evidence to warrant a thorough investigation without a court order,” she said.
Nate blew out a breath. “Good. I hate getting court orders. Especially with Judge Tate out of town. The only other judge available gives me a hard time.”
“Getting a court order would have been easy compared to going through a 106 compliance review,” she said. “Believe me, you don’t want to do that.”
From Nate’s mystified expression, Emma had lost him at the 106 compliance review part. “This is a historic site and that means you would be dealing with the historical society,” Sam said. “There would be paperwork involved and a committee who would rule on whether you could dig here.”
“Then I’m doubly blessed,” Nate replied. “As soon as we can get someone to operate the backhoe, we’ll get started.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Um, the superintendent also suggested I should be part of the excavation. She wants me to sift for artifacts in every scoop of dirt shoveled out of the ground.”
Nate crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I’m assuming we can pile the dirt up and don’t have to wait for you to sift it, right?”
“That’ll work,” Emma replied. “We’ll only want to use the backhoe for probably another twelve inches, then we’ll use shovels and finally trowels and a brush.”
Sam bit back a smile at the excitement in Emma’s voice. She was itching to take part in discovering what was buried, and it was hard not to catch her enthusiasm. Hopefully she wouldn’t find a body.
Sam checked his watch. Eleven fifteen. Part of him was relieved that it was time to leave for Port Gibson and the noon meeting with his Ridgeland counterpart. He was getting a little too comfortable being around Emma. It surprised him when another part of him wished he could cancel the meeting and stay on at Mount Locust. Not good.
“See you later,” he said and double-timed it to his SUV, leaving Emma as she surveyed the rest of the cemetery with the GPR machine. He gunned the vehicle out of the parking lot and turned left on the Trace while he calculated the twenty-five miles to Port Gibson against the fifty-mile-an-hour speed limit. Barely enough time, but he set the cruise control on fifty.
Sam made it with minutes to spare, and the meeting with District Ranger Evan McCall went well. Their districts overlapped up around Jackson, and McCall had wanted a face-to-face to work out a schedule for patrolling the area. With Brooke Danvers still at the trial in Jackson and then off tomorrow, Sam was short-staffed, and McCall agreed to take on the bulk of patrolling over the weekend.
When he arrived back at Mount Locust, it was nearly three thirty. The pile of loamy soil deposited beside the hole had grown and the backhoe had been moved a few yards from the site. Someone had erected a tent over the pit, where two NPS maintenance men were shoveling dirt out. A familiar scent tickled his nose. Sassafras. There were several of the trees nearby, and they must have cut into a root. Emma had shed her jacket in the sixty-degree weather and leaned over a contraption made from PVC pipe.
With her unaware of his presence, he took the opportunity to observe her. Her petite frame filled out the ranger uniform very nicely. She’d put her coppery curls up in a ponytail and looked like a teenager. Unexpectedly she looked up and caught him admiring her.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the PVC pipe.
She straightened up, stretching her back. “It’s a shaker screen for sifting dirt. I invested in it after I took archeology classes and had to lug a wooden one to the different sites. Plus, it’s perfect for my height—I don’t have to bend over as far. Still backbreaking, though.” Emma turned to the men. “Hold up a second and let me check the depth.”
She stuck a yardstick in the hole. The depth was thirty-two inches, and she nodded to them. “Let’s get the next six inches, and after that you’re free to leave. I’ll excavate the rest.”
“I don’t remember you taking archeology,” Sam said.
Her face flushed, and he didn’t think it was from the heat. “My last year. Took a forensic one, as well.”
Sam was impressed. He nodded at the mound of dirt. “You’ve been busy, but sifting it will take forever.”
“Can’t be helped.”
He nodded that he understood. “Is Nate back?”
“Yes, but I think he walked over to the inn, or maybe the visitor center.”
It would be dark in another two hours, and at the rate Emma was sifting, she would barely make a dent in the pile. Besides that, the investigation was in his backyard, and he needed to be a part of it. “How about if I help?”
“In those clothes?” She eyed him. “I know you said you wanted to help, but neither of us considered how dirty you would get. You’d never get the stains out or your shoes clean again. But I appreciate your offer.”
“I think I can fix that. Do you have a key for the maintenance building so I can change?”
“You have work clothes?” she asked.
“Yep.” Sam always carried sneakers and a pair of jeans and a T-shirt in his SUV in case he wanted to change out of his uniform.
She fished a ring of keys from her pocket and handed it to him. “It’s the skinny one.”
“Thanks! Be right back.”
He jogged the quarter mile to his SUV, grabbed his clothes, and unlocked the maintenance building. There was an office on either end of the building with a kitchen and bathroom in the middle. The office to his left evidently belonged to the maintenance supervisor—while it was neat, it had none of Emma’s personality in it. A quick look at the other office confirmed his hunch—the oak desk had a photo of Emma with her parents, a cheery flower arrangement sat on the bookcase, and several photos of Mount Locust adorned the walls.
He closed the bathroom door behind him and changed into the jeans and short-sleeved shirt, ruefully realizing a shirt with longer sleeves would have been warmer than the close-fitting T-shirt that hugged his abs. It would have to do since it was the only extra shirt he had.
His heart quickened as he remembered the brief flash of appreciation in Emma’s eyes when he offered to help. Don’t go there. She would only break his heart again.
10
What do you want me to do?” Sam asked.
Heat washed over Emma, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. “Um, uh, I don’t think there’s room for you in the pit, so . . . you want to sift for a while?” She pulled her gaze from his sculpted pecs and pointed to another shaker screen a few yards away. “I can show you how.”
While the two maintenance men continued with their excavation of the pit, Emma unfolded the screen, positioned it near hers, and shoveled dirt in it. “Just rock it back and forth, like I’m doing. Then use your hand to knock what’s left through the holes.” Reaching in her backpack, she pulled out an extra pair of gloves. “These will help protect your hands.”
They worked in silence as Sam got the hang of rocking the screen back and forth. “What do you do when the soil is wet?” he asked.
“Pour water through it,” she said with a grin. “Usually by hooking up a water hose. It’s really messy, though.” He glanced at the dirt on his gloves and shoes and raised an eyebrow. She laughed. “Yep, messier than that.”