“If you say so.” Sam rocked the tray again, and a clump of dirt broke apart, revealing something black embedded in the clod.
“Hold on,” she said, picking it up. “Oh, wow!”
“What is it?”
Her heart kicked into high gear as he stood behind her, peering over her shoulder. Momentarily she enjoyed the warmth his nearness brought. He reached for the clod, and their arms accidentally touched, sending an electrical jolt through her.
Sam brushed the dirt away from the object. “An arrowhead! I’ve never found one that small.”
She drew in a shaky breath and stepped out of his shadow, breaking the connection. “It’s a bird point. Looks like it’s made from obsidian.” She frowned. “But I don’t understand how it got buried this deep . . . unless it fell in when the hole was originally dug.”
“How did it get to Natchez? There isn’t any obsidian around here.”
“Probably traded from tribes either from Ohio or even out West,” she said, looking up. Big mistake.
Emma did not know what was going on with her. True, she’d loved Sam back before . . . reality set in. Before he let her down. If Sam had done what he’d promised, all their lives would have been so different. Get real, girl. It was her fault Ryan had deserted her.
Her jaw clenched. If only she could stop the memories of her last words to her brother. It didn’t matter that Ryan had been the one who made bad choices, that he was the one who didn’t know when to quit drinking. Her words to him must have been the tipping point. Think of something else. Emma shifted toward Sam. He turned, and his smoking gaze turned her knees to water.
“We better get back to work,” she said, jerking her attention away from Sam’s scrutiny and the brown eyes she’d gotten lost in. “But first, let me snap a photo of your arrowhead and put it on Facebook and Instagram.”
“You do that much? Post on social media?”
“Sure. It’s great publicity for the Trace and Mount Locust. I usually do a couple a day.”
Once she had the photos posted, Emma went back to work, very aware of his presence as they sifted the dirt in silence. Just as the sun dropped below the tree line, one of the men said, “It’s quitting time, and I think we’ve dug as deep as you wanted us to.”
Emma wasn’t ready to quit. Just a little deeper and they might discover what was buried here. She grabbed the stick and measured the hole. A little over three feet. It was time to use the trowels. “Thanks, guys. I’ll take it from here.”
As the other two men walked away, Sam said, “I’m going to change.”
After they all left, she busied herself picking out the hand tools she would need and hoped that Sam left with the men. Instead, he returned a few minutes later, dressed in his green-and-gray uniform.
“You ready to leave?”
“You don’t have to stay,” Emma said. “I need to get everything set up for tomorrow, and I’m fine closing up alone—I do it every night.” Still not looking at him, she picked up a hand trowel and set it with the other tools.
He stilled her hands, his touch searing her heart. “You are not staying here by yourself.”
His voice brooked no argument, sending a wave of anger through her. She probably should quit for the day, but Emma didn’t like Sam assuming she would leave when he said so.
Emma jerked her hands away and stepped back, tripping over one of the tent poles. Sam grabbed for her as she tumbled into the hole and landed on her outstretched hand. Sharp pain shot through her wrist. She was barely aware when Sam jumped down next to her. In seconds he scooped her up and set her on the edge of the hole.
“Are you okay?” he asked gruffly.
As much as she wanted to say yes, the knot that popped up on her hand would give her away. That and the wincing every time she moved her fingers. “I think I’ve broken something.”
“Let me see.” He gently examined her wrist. “Can you move your fingers?”
She tried and gasped. “Not without pain.”
“Yeah, you’ve probably broken something. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No! I’ll ice it when I get home.”
“Emma . . .”
“I don’t have time to go to the hospital. I need to wrap things up here.” She pulled her hand away from his. Bad mistake, as pain shot through her wrist. She hugged her hand to her chest, with pain now throbbing with each heartbeat, making her nauseous. “Or maybe not. What time is it?”
He checked his watch. “Almost five. I can take you to the ER and your dad could meet us there.”
“No, don’t call him.” Friday night was when her dad got together with several of his buddies to unwind, something he desperately needed by the end of the week. She wasn’t taking him away from that because of her clumsiness. “Take me to the sports clinic. They should still be open.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Finally, he nodded. “Do you have any ice at the visitor center?”
She tried to think. “No, but there may be some in the kitchen at the maintenance building.”
“Do you want me to carry you?”
In spite of how she hurt, Emma laughed. “It’s my wrist, not my leg,” she said.
“Right. Still . . .”
“Thank you, but I can walk to the office.”
A few painful minutes later, she fished the key from her backpack with her good hand, and he unlocked the door to the building. Gently, he guided her to a chair in the kitchen area. “You sit here.”
A few minutes later, he placed ice wrapped in a towel around her wrist. “Think you can hold it in place?”
“Yes.” The ice gave cooling relief.
“Then if you’re ready . . .”
“Give me time to collect myself.”
“Five minutes, and we need to leave. Otherwise, we might get to the clinic too late,” Sam said and nodded toward her office. “Do you use your office much?”
He was trying to take her mind off the pain. “If I have a volunteer at the visitor center, I come over here and write reports.”
He walked around the kitchen, studying the different photos taken at stops along the Natchez Trace. “Good shots,” he said, and then he cocked his head. “How’s the pain?”
In other words, was she ready to go to the clinic? “Better.”
“Good.” He held the door open for her. “We’ll take my SUV.”
Emma hadn’t even considered that she couldn’t drive. Sam walked her to his vehicle and steadied Emma while she climbed in. It dawned on her that there would be a lot of things she couldn’t do.
Twenty minutes later, Sam held the door open at the Cole Orthopedic Clinic and then filled out her paperwork since she couldn’t use her right hand. “Aw, man,” she said. “I just realized all the paperwork this little accident will take. And with my left hand, no less.” She was in trouble for sure, since anything written with her left hand was illegible.
“I can help you.”
“It’s okay, I—”
“Ms. Winters, come on back,” a nurse said.
“I can go with you, if you’d like.”
Emma hesitated. His presence was comforting, and at least five patients had been called ahead of her. No telling how long she’d be stuck waiting in one of the little cubicles by herself. Why did things have to be so hard? And why did her heart want him to stay? Her head knew better.