Her brown eyes twinkled. “Both. I have so many questions, I’m not sure where to start.”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” One corner of her mouth turned up slightly. “So, Arizona Smith, why don’t you wear a hat?”

Involuntarily, he reached up and touched his bare head. “I don’t need one here. There’s no need to protect myself from the sun.”

“I see. I thought all bush types wore hats. They do in the movies.” Her voice was teasing.

He shook his head. “That’s part of my problem. I wore one nearly all the time. Before.” He grimaced. “That movie. It changed everything. After that my lecture series became more popular. I appreciated that, but I hated the billing. A few places advertised me as a ‘real-life Indiana Jones.’”

“Did your audiences expect you to show up with a bullwhip?”

“You’d be surprised.” He thought about the women who would come to his lectures and sit in the front row. Their adoring gazes had nothing to do with him—who he really was. They were only interested in the persona.

Not like Chloe. He glanced at her. Her stride was long, her posture straight. She was gorgeous. Today she wore her curly red hair pulled back in a braid. She was tall and lean and he wished they were lovers so that he could suggest they stop for an hour or so and make love right here…out in the open.

“Do you have anything in common with Indiana Jones?” she asked.

“Sure. We’re both men. His finds are more spectacular. How can anyone compete with the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail? I think I had better luck with women. We’re both teachers, although none of my students have ever fallen for me.”

“I doubt that,” she said. “I would guess more than three-quarters of your students are female and almost none of them are there because they need the class for their major.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then realized she was right. His classes were predominantly female. “None of them have come on to me.” He held up a hand before she could protest again. “Trust me, I would have noticed that.”

“I’m sure they were working up to it.”

“I hope not. They’re a little young.”

“You’re not all that old.”

“Old enough.”

Old enough to know what he wanted, he thought. It wasn’t just that Chloe was pretty. His attraction to her was as much about the way she made him laugh and her intelligence as it was about her body.

“I assume you know you have a fan club on the Internet,” she said.

He groaned. “I might have known you would find that.”

“You’re not proud?” she teased.

“Of course not. It’s humiliating. These people—”

“Women,” she interrupted. “They’re women, Arizona. I checked the membership directory. We’re talking at least ninety-five percent women.”

“Great. Men, women, Martians, it doesn’t matter. I still don’t get it. I’m not brilliant, I’m tenacious. I’ve studied and I’ve had some luck. Yes, I’ve made a few finds, but I’m not going to change the world. I don’t know what they see in me.”

“Don’t you?” Chloe stopped and looked at him. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or if you’re fishing.”

“I’m not unaware that some people find me physically attractive,” he said formally, wondering if it was possible to sound like more of a jerk than he did.

“Good to know,” she said solemnly.

“You’re teasing me.”

“A little. This is the first time you’ve ever been pompous.”

Pompous? Was that how she saw him? Perfect. He’d sure done a great job charming her. Talk about a crash and burn.

She touched his arm. The light contact seared him all the way down to his knees. His groin ignited. The wanting was as powerful as it was instantaneous.

“I do understand what you’re saying,” she said and dropped her hand to her side. “Who do you consider a hero?”

“Easy question. Joseph Campbell. He wrote several books, but the best known is The Hero of a Thousand Faces. He explored the idea that storytelling is universal to the human condition. All races and cultures have stories about the beginning of the world, the creation of man, stories that tell how boys become men. I was very young when I first read his work. He’s the one who got me interested in the mystic.”

“I’m not discounting his place,” Chloe said. “But what about the things you’ve found? All those treasures might have stayed hidden for generations.”

“Granted, but while I’ve brought some tangible artifacts to light, he explained why we have the dreams we do. I’ve visited my fan club web site. It’s very flattering, but I’m not the hero in that. They’ve created a myth about someone who doesn’t really exist. In my mind, Joseph Campbell is someone who truly is a hero. His ideas changed lives. I know he changed mine.”

He motioned for her to continue walking, then fell into step with her. The air was cool, but the sun warmed them.

“There is a certain amount of fame that comes with some of my discoveries. It’s my least favorite part of what I do. I get through it by reminding myself it’s fleeting. In a couple of weeks no one will care who I am until the next discovery.”

“That sounds cynical, although realistic. Would you rather the world ignored your finds?”

“Good question. The answer is no. I want them to understand and appreciate. I know enough to realize I can’t have one without the other.”

She looked at him. “Why do I suddenly suspect you like it much better in the bush where no one knows who you are and you’re treated like just another visitor?”

“You’d be right. I’ve traveled all over the world. My best memories are of people I’ve connected with, not of standing behind a podium talking to a cheering crowd.”

“So do the women ever throw you their panties?”

He tugged on the end of her braid. “I’m not the kind to kiss and tell.”

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s probably best.”

“So have they shown up in your room unexpectedly?”

“Why this sudden interest in my personal life?” he asked, although he was pleased that she seemed focused on that. He would hate for the attraction to be one-sided.

“Ah, so that was a yes.”

He chuckled. “Yes, once or twice.”

“How was it?”

He thought back. “The first time was in a small village on an island in the South Pacific. I was all of eighteen and the woman was at least thirty. Her husband had died and she was about to remarry someone much older. I think I was her last fling.”

“And?”

“And what? I was a kid. I had no concept of quality, so I made it up in volume. She taught me they weren’t interchangeable.”

“I see. And the second time it happened?”

He drew in a deep breath. “I was on a lecture tour in Europe a couple of years ago. There was a particular young woman who developed a crush on me. I didn’t encourage her at all, in fact I barely knew who she was. One night I came in late and found her waiting for me in my bed.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

“I explained that I was flattered, but not interested. When she wouldn’t leave, I got another room for the night, then in the morning, I changed hotels.”

Chloe burst out laughing. “The most trouble I’ve ever had with the opposite sex is when old man Withers, the seventy-year-old misogynist who takes care of the grounds of the house, calls me a ninny. He calls all women ninnies.”

“Are you going to put that in the article?” he asked. He hadn’t requested that any part of their conversation be off the record. Perhaps he should have. When he was around Chloe he thought of her as a woman first and someone he would like to get to know second. He rarely remembered she was a journalist.

“I’m not out to make you the bad guy,” she said. “I want to show a different side of you and connect that with your work. Neither my editor nor I is interested in a hatchet job.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I find it interesting you’re asking me this after the fact. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not concerned?”

“You’ve just explained that I shouldn’t be.”

They were still walking side by side. Their hands brushed. Without thinking, Arizona laced his fingers with hers. Chloe stumbled a step, but didn’t pull away.

“But how do you know you can trust me?” she asked.

Was it his imagination or was her voice a little breathless? He wanted to know that she was reacting to him the same way he reacted to her. He wanted to know that she felt it, whatever the it was, too.

“Gut instinct,” he said. “I’ve met a lot of people in my life and I’ve learned how to read them.”

Her hand was small but strong. He liked the feel of her next to him like this, walking together on the trail. He found himself eager to show her the site, to explain his world to her. He wanted her to enjoy their time together, to be impressed by him, to think he was nearly as exciting as his image.

“Is there anywhere on this planet you haven’t been?” she asked.

“If you’re talking continents, I haven’t been to Antarctica. Otherwise, I would guess I’ve hit most of the major points.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She gave him a quick, sideways glance. “You can be a little intimidating,” she admitted. “I’ve interviewed fairly powerful people in the past. Government officials, celebrities. You’re the first one who has made me feel like the country mouse come to town for a visit.”

He leaned close. “You don’t look anything like a country mouse. In fact, there’s nothing rodentlike about you at all.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Gently, reluctantly, he thought, although that could just be wishful thinking on his part, she pulled her hand away from his. “Back to business,” she told him. “I have a lot more questions.”

“Ask away.”

“About your travels. From what I’ve been reading, most of them were financed privately. You don’t work with a particular foundation or for a university.”

“That’s true. There’s a rather impressive family trust fund that has paid my expenses. I’ve had opportunities to work for charitable organizations, helping them raise funds. I do that frequently. When I do guest lecture series I tend to donate my fees to the local children’s hospital and women’s shelters. I’ve done specific tours for museums, and then they keep the proceeds.”

“You don’t keep any for yourself?”

“I don’t have to.” At her look of confusion, he shrugged. “My family has a lot of money. I don’t need more so why wouldn’t I give some of it away?” He replayed his last couple of comments in his mind and frowned. “I’m not some do-gooder,” he said. “I was taught it was my place to give back. But don’t make me out to be a saint. I’m very much a man with as many flaws as the next guy.”

“I see.”

Her words didn’t give anything away, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He almost didn’t want to know. Better to imagine she was thinking about being with him, touching him, holding him close. Because that was what he wanted her thinking. He wasn’t willing to explore the realization that it was much easier to deal with Chloe wanting him than her actually liking him.

* * *

THEY STOPPED AROUND one o’clock to take a break. Chloe let her backpack fall to the ground, then rotated her shoulders.

“Cassie warned me it was going to get heavier as we walked, but I didn’t believe her. I see now I was wrong.”

“Sore?” Arizona asked.

“I’ll survive.”

She watched him release his pack as if it weighed nothing. It had to be twice the size of hers, but then he was not only male and stronger, but used to this sort of thing.

The afternoon was warm, but not too hot. She eyed the clear sky. “I thought the Pacific Northwest was known for rain.”

“It is. Looks like we’re going to get lucky.” He hesitated just long enough for her breath to catch. “With the weather.”

“Of course,” she murmured. With the weather. What else? Certainly not with each other. It wasn’t her fault that she found the man wildly attractive. The more she got to know him, the worse it got. It wasn’t enough that he was good-looking. No, he had to be smart, funny and kind as well. She was going to have to be very careful when she wrote her article, or she was going to come off like some teenager with a major crush.

“Ready for lunch?” he asked.

He sat on a fallen log and reached for his backpack. Chloe settled next to him. She had two canteens hanging from her pack. They’d stopped at a rapidly flowing stream about a half hour before and refilled their water supply.

“Here you go.” He handed her two protein bars, a small plastic bag filled with what looked like cut-up dried vegetables and fruit, and an apple.

“Goody, five-star cuisine,” she said as she eyed what was supposed to pass for a meal.

“Don’t wrinkle your nose at me, young lady. There are plenty of vitamins and minerals there, along with enough calories for energy.”