Field Rules

Chapter 1

Olivia Sanchez adjusted the straps of her enormous olive-green backpack. She felt like a giant turtle. Scratch that—she felt like a tiny turtle with an oversized shell. When she’d hoisted the heavy pack off the baggage carousel, the weight had sent her staggering sideways.

Clearly, the pack had been designed for someone who might be classified as “tall,” whereas Olivia measured a mere five foot two. Still, with the backpack on, her messy, dark brown curls pulled into a ponytail, and worn hiking boots covering her feet, she looked ready for adventure. Like a real archaeologist.

True, she had minimal field experience, but when it came to the ancient world, she knew her stuff.

After a final glance in the restroom mirror of the Larnaca International Airport, she gave her ponytail a toss, hoping to convey a sense of bravado. Even if she was thousands of miles from home, she wouldn’t let her anxiety derail her.

That’s right, people. Olivia Sanchez isn’t messing around. She’s a badass archaeologist and doesn’t take shit from anyone.

Then she snorted with laughter. No one would ever mistake her for a badass. She was a doctoral student of classical history at UCLA, most comfortable in the library surrounded by ancient tomes. Not a rugged explorer accustomed to roughing it in the great outdoors.

But at least she looked the part.

She wished she’d had more than two weeks’ notice to prepare for this trip, but the unexpected opportunity was too good to pass up. For the next six weeks, she’d be here in Cyprus, working as a teaching assistant at an archaeological field school. Instead of spending her summer in San Diego, she’d be living on a sun-drenched island in the Eastern Mediterranean.

Not only would this job give her academic resume a boost, but it would also give her a chance to redeem herself for the mistakes she’d made seven years ago on her first—and only—dig, back when she’d been nineteen.

With a little strut, she left the restroom and cleared Customs in the blink of an eye. All that remained was securing a ride. She scrolled through the slew of texts she’d received from her friend and fellow graduate student Frida Gallego, who’d worked in Cyprus last year.

Frida’s last message dampened a little of Olivia’s enthusiasm. Don’t count on getting picked up. Go to the taxi stand outside Arrivals and find a group taxi to the Paphos area.

Despite her friend’s warning, Olivia secretly hoped someone might be waiting for her. Someone with an air-conditioned ride and an ice-cold bottle of water. She headed for the Arrivals area of the Larnaca airport. All around her were brightly dressed tourists and lively families eager for the start of summer vacation. Cheerful tour guides waving bright blue flags waited for their clients. Sadly, no one held up a sign with her name on it.

Bracing herself for the heat, Olivia exited the sliding glass doors. The sweltering temperature and blinding sunshine hit her like a smack upside the head, and the clamoring noise assaulted her senses. Cars pulled up to the curb and honked. People called out to each other in a babble of languages.

With a swell of pride, she recognized three of them. She was fluent in Spanish, thanks to her father’s side of the family, the boisterous Mexican-American Sanchez clan. German was one of the language requirements for a doctorate in Classics. And Greek was a given, seeing as how her graduate research focused on the wine trade in Ancient Greece. Since it was the primary language spoken in the southern half of Cyprus, her fluency put her at an advantage.

At the taxi stand, she took her place in line behind an older couple. As they argued with the dispatcher, their demands escalated into a torrent of foul language.

Countless summers working at El Marinero, her family’s Mexican restaurant, had given Olivia little patience for rude customers. She was about to put the entitled tourists in their place when a sharp whistle grabbed her attention. She whipped her head around and caught sight of a battered green Jeep with a faded ragtop idling in front of the line of taxis.

The driver leaned out of the window and beckoned to her. “Hey, Olivia! Over here!”

Yes. Someone had come to get her.

She stepped out of the taxi line but stopped short when she got a closer look at the driver.

Rick Langston.

She had to be dreaming. She rubbed the grit from her eyes. Considering how little she’d slept on the red-eye from LAX to Athens, followed by the flight from Athens to Larnaca, she might be hallucinating.

“Olivia!”

Shit. It was him.

Her stomach bottomed out, her emotions churning in a stew of shock, anger, and guilt. After seven years apart, she’d never expected to see him again.

She marched up to the curb. “What are you doing here?”

Ignoring the barrage of horns, Rick got out of the Jeep and sauntered over to her.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d been nineteen—a cute, well-built nineteen, but still kind of gangly. A teenager. This was a man. Deeply tanned, broad-shouldered, and seriously ripped. Toss in thick, wavy brown hair, a strong jaw, and killer cheekbones, and the total effect was breathtaking.

But even if he was far hotter than she remembered, he was the last person she needed in her life right now. Given her lack of experience as a field archaeologist, she had enough to deal with. Adding an ex to the mix made everything even more stressful.

Not just any ex, but the guy who’d captured her heart when she’d met him on a dig in Clear Lake, California. A dig that ended so catastrophically she’d never been out in the field again.

Rick crossed his arms, revealing impressive biceps. “Nice to see you, too.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?”

She groaned as the realization hit her. “Please tell me you’re not working at the UC field school.”

“Yep. Up until two hours ago, I thought I was picking up Frida Gallego. Imagine my surprise when I found out you took her place.”

Did he think that was her fault? “That’s not on me. Frida broke her ankle, so I was asked to fill in at the last minute. I wouldn’t have said yes if I’d known you were going to be here.”

He scowled. “What the hell, Olivia? If anyone should be pissed, it’s me. You’re the one who ended things without a word of explanation.”

Guilt slammed into her, twisting her stomach in knots. At the time, she’d been so distraught she believed her decision was justified. Now it just seemed callous. “I’m sorry, but I thought it was the right move. After everything that happened, I…”

“You what?”

She struggled to come up with a decent excuse for ghosting him, but she was too frazzled to think rationally. She shook her head in defeat. “Sorry.”

“Forget it. I’ve moved on.” Rick’s gaze roamed over her. “So, you’re working here? Teaching students about archaeology?”

“Like I said, I’m filling in for Frida.”

“I heard you. But when’s the last time you were on a dig?”

His scornful words brought back the anxiety she’d battled over the last two weeks. Before she could defend herself, one of the taxi drivers yelled at them. She turned around and cursed him out in Greek.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Rick’s lips. “Nice comeback. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Can we talk about it on the drive?” She wiped her forehead. Five minutes in the broiling July sun and she was already sweating. When he didn’t budge, she flashed him her humblest smile. “Please, Rick. All I want to do is offload this pack and crash in that sweet, air-conditioned Jeep of yours. It does have air-conditioning, right?”

“No worries, princess. The AC works just fine.”

“Perfect.” Maybe the drive would give them a chance to talk things out.

A hesitant voice interrupted them. “Excuse me? Rick Langston?” A lanky guy with glasses and shaggy brown hair, wearing a pack similar to hers, stood a few paces away.

“TJ, right?” Rick said. “Good to see you, man.”

TJ grinned. “Dude, I was so pumped when I heard you’d be working this gig. It’s been—what—five years since Tel Dor?” He turned to Olivia. “Rick was a square supervisor at the Tel Dor site in Israel. That was an awesome dig. Seriously hard-core.”

Whatever, bro. Olivia had endured her share of “hard-core” dig stories from the archaeology students at UCLA. The rougher their experiences, the more they liked to boast.

Not that she was jealous or anything.

She pasted on a welcoming expression. “Nice to meet you. I’m Olivia Sanchez.”

“TJ Mayer, Harvard University. I’m here as a lithics expert, focusing on Stone Age settlement patterns in the Eastern Mediterranean. ABD and kicking ass. Not to brag, but I should be done with my doctorate by this time next year. Then I’ll be Dr. Mayer.”

ABD. All but dissertation. She was in the same boat, though less inclined to flaunt her academic status. “That’s great. Congrats.”

After another driver honked at them, Rick pointed to the back of the Jeep. “We’d better head out. Find a place to stow your gear, and hop in.”

She walked with TJ behind the Jeep. The tiny space was crammed full of wooden stakes, buckets, pickaxes, and bales of plastic rope. TJ shrugged off his pack, wedged it between some ropes, and got into the Jeep.

When Olivia tried the same thing, her pack wouldn’t stay put. It thudded onto the road, bringing a plastic bucket with it. She crouched to pick up the bucket, but it rolled under the Jeep. Even when she knelt and stretched out her hand, she couldn’t reach it. She made another attempt to grab the bucket, only to have it roll further away.

Rick’s shadow blocked the sun as he loomed over her. “What’s the holdup?”

She scrambled to face him, heat coursing through her cheeks. From the way he was smirking, he’d enjoyed watching her clamber around on all fours like an idiot. Either that, or he’d been checking out her ass.

“Just get the bucket, will you?” she said.

“My pleasure.” He retrieved it with little effort. Then he hefted her pack—as if it weighed five pounds instead of forty—and crammed it in. “There. All set.”

Did he have to sound so smug about it? “Thanks,” she muttered.

He placed his hand to his ear. “What was that? Didn’t quite hear you.”

She gritted her teeth. “Thank you.”

“No problem. If you need to cool down, there’s water in the Jeep. You’ll need to ride in the back because the passenger seat’s full of supplies.”

Still fuming, she climbed in the back seat next to TJ, grabbed one of the stainless-steel bottles, and chugged the ice-cold water. As she leaned her head against the seat, a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. A quick nap might recharge her batteries, but if she drifted off now, she might snore. Or drool. She’d humiliated herself enough for one day.

Rick pulled away from the curb and exited the terminal area. He zipped through a series of complicated roundabouts, then merged onto the highway. Though he was driving on the left side of the road, he seemed comfortable behind the wheel.

Of course he’s comfortable. Everything comes easy for him.

Not like her. At age twenty-six, she’d worked damn hard to get this far in her academic career. She’d taken out student loans, worked multiple jobs, and applied for every scholarship under the sun. No one had ever handed her anything.

Turning her focus away from Rick, she peered out the window, curious for her first glimpse of Cyprus. Rolling green hills, scraggly brush, and scruffy pine trees dominated the landscape. Atop one of the hills was an array of tall windmills, but they resembled the stark wind turbines she’d seen in the Midwest rather than the iconic old windmills found on the Greek islands. Billboards along the side of the road advertised real estate companies and luxury villas. They passed a highway sign listing the distance in Greek and English. Seventy miles to go.

That gave her a little over an hour to recover from her shock at seeing Rick. Not only was he back in her life, but she’d be working with him for the next six weeks.

Remorse washed over her as she recalled what she’d done to him. After they’d left Clear Lake, she’d cut him off completely. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. But the fallout from their mistakes had been so devastating she wanted to put the whole summer behind her.

That didn’t mean she’d forgotten him. Or the passionate memories they’d made. But if she wanted to succeed at this job, she couldn’t let those memories tempt her into losing control of her emotions again.

She couldn’t let anyone knock her off course.

Not even Rick Langston.

Chapter 2

Picking up Olivia had been a true test of Rick’s patience. Five minutes with her and he wanted to leave her at the airport. Better yet, book her a one-way flight back to California. Sure, he’d caught her off guard, but when she’d first spotted him, she acted like she hated him.

Which was grossly unfair.

She’d been the one who’d ghosted him after they’d been sent home in disgrace from the Clear Lake dig. Now she was treating him like the bad guy?

To think, he’d been looking forward to seeing Frida again. He’d met her two years ago on a dig in Greece. She was a hardworking, hard-partying grad student who loved a good challenge. Rock climbing, scuba diving, spelunking—she was up for all of it.

Why hadn’t she warned him Olivia was taking her place?

Probably because she knew how you’d react.

To say he’d been stunned was putting it mildly. Especially since he hadn’t known about Olivia until two hours ago, when the assistant director had pulled him aside to talk to him. “When you get to the airport, you’ll be picking up Olivia Sanchez instead of Frida Gallego,” he said. “Do you need me to send you her photo? So you’ll know what she looks like?”

Rick had stood there in shocked silence, unable to form a coherent response. Olivia was coming to Cyprus? Today?

Once he’d recovered, he shook his head. “Nah. I can find her.”

Even if seven years had passed, he’d never forget what she looked like. Short, curvy, and gorgeous, with dark brown curls that cascaded past her shoulders. Large, expressive eyes the color of rich chocolate. Olive-toned skin that burned first, then tanned beautifully. A rainbow of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

He’d seen her naked, under the light of a full moon. He knew she loved pistachio ice cream, hated spiders, and had a beautiful singing voice. Like him, her favorite movie was Raiders of the Lost Ark. She’d seen it numerous times and had most of the lines memorized.

Finding her had been easy. Working with her? Another matter entirely.

TJ leaned forward to catch his attention, jolting him back to the present day. “Hey. You were at Berkeley, right?”

“Good memory. Yeah. Graduated four years ago.” Rick had done so much traveling since then he could barely remember what it felt like to be in a real classroom.

“I haven’t seen you at any conferences or caught your name on any publications,” TJ said. “Where are you doing your graduate work?”

There it was. The usual questions. Where are you getting your doctorate? Who’s your adviser? What’s the subject of your dissertation? Rick always got them at the start of any project, especially if it was affiliated with a university. By now, he’d learned to shrug off the judgment.

“I’m not in grad school. This is a job.”

TJ gave a derisive chuckle. “Oh, a shovel bum, eh?”

Rick’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. Though the term didn’t sting as much as it once had, he didn’t appreciate it. He glanced in the rearview mirror to gauge Olivia’s reaction, but her gaze was focused on the scenery outside her window.

“You can’t go far without a graduate degree, you know,” TJ said. “It’s all about making connections—who you know, where you’ve been, that kind of thing.”

Even if Rick had spent the past four years busting his ass in the field, he suspected he wasn’t the type of connection TJ wanted. Not that he gave a damn. He’d worked in projects all over the Mediterranean and was fluent in Greek and Italian. He had his scuba license and had helped uncover the ruins of an underwater shipwreck. But to people obsessed with academia, he was a grunt without a degree.

“Hey, Olivia,” TJ said. “You’re one of the teaching assistants, right?”

“Huh?” she said. “Sorry. I was spacing out. Yeah, I’m here as a TA. I’m getting my doctorate in classical history at UCLA.”

Rick’s ears perked up. Even if he wasn’t thrilled to be working with Olivia, he was curious about her. Clearly, she’d gone the full academic route in her passion for ancient history. But why hadn’t he crossed paths with her sooner? The world of classical archaeology was so insular he should have run into her—or heard of her—at some point in the past four years. He suspected it was because she’d confined her studies to archival research rather than venturing back into the field.

Not that he had any right to judge, but the Olivia he’d known had been passionate about hands-on archaeology. She wouldn’t have traded the adventure of fieldwork for the tedium of poring over musty tomes in some library.

TJ snapped his fingers. “Now I remember where I heard your name. You’re writing a dissertation on the wine trade in Ancient Greece during the Hellenistic era.”

“How’d you know that?” she asked.

“I heard you speak at the AIA meetings in San Francisco last year. Killer presentation. Did I mention I’m at Harvard? I’m working with Dr. Preziosi. He’s phenomenal. Did you go to his talk when you were in San Fran? It was mind-blowing.”

Blah, blah, blah. TJ rambled on about the American Institute of Archaeology meetings, making sure to name-drop every prestigious professor he’d encountered. Naturally, Olivia was familiar with all of them.

Another thirty-five minutes to go. The drive couldn’t end soon enough.

As the city of Limassol came into view, Rick was irked by the proliferation of high-rise buildings under construction. In the short time he’d been away from Cyprus, more condos, luxury villas, and expensive hotels had cropped up on the island. A newly erected billboard advertising Starbucks made his hackles rise. Though he had nothing against the chain, he didn’t want it to crowd out the local coffeehouses.

“Hey, Rick,” TJ said. “Once we get settled, I’m gonna need recs for authentic places to eat. I’ve never set foot inside a McDonald’s or a Starbucks, and I don’t plan to start now. I figured you’d have the inside scoop since you worked here last year.”

“You’ve been here before?” Olivia asked. “What were you working on?”

Her question filled Rick with a twinge of satisfaction. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one who harbored a little curiosity. “I spent a couple of months as a project manager on an archaeological survey for the Department of Antiquities. Most of the time, I was based in Paphos, which isn’t far from where we’ll be working.”

Once Rick passed the turnoff for Limassol, the high-rises were replaced by a sprawling expanse of buildings bearing the familiar, red-tiled roofs so common to the Mediterranean. He imagined how liberating it would feel to drive into the city and drop off TJ at the nearest Intercity bus stop. Maybe if the guy wasn’t around to dominate the conversation, Rick could find out more about Olivia.

For the moment, however, TJ was still holding court. “Whenever I take on a project, I like to know where everyone’s worked to make sure they can hack it. Olivia, where’s the roughest place you’ve ever dug? For me, it would be excavating the ruins at Humayma in the Jordanian desert.”

“Um…fun fact about me.” Olivia’s voice wavered. “I don’t have any field experience. None worth mentioning, at any rate.”

She wasn’t even going to mention Clear Lake? The omission rankled Rick.

“First time in the field, eh?” TJ smirked. “I hope you like rough conditions, because this isn’t going to be a luxury vacation.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “I was hoping for a spa and a heated pool, at minimum.”

“Wait—you thought that?” Before she could reply, TJ burst out laughing. “That was a joke, right? Good one.”

Rick held back a groan. Could the drive be any more excruciating?

For a blessed few minutes, TJ was silent. Rick fiddled with the dials of the Jeep’s ancient radio until he found Viva FM—an English-language station playing a cheesy mix of ’70s and ’80s pop. When “Take A Chance on Me” started up, he wondered if Olivia was itching to sing along. ABBA had always been her go-to on karaoke nights.

TJ’s nasally voice rose above the song’s chorus. “So, Rick, on a scale of one to ten, how rough is this project gonna be? And by ten, I’m talking hard-core, like my experience in Jordan.”

Rick turned down the volume on the radio. “Dunno. Maybe a five?”

“Oh, so there’s running water? And flush toilets? Should be a breeze.”

As TJ regaled them with tales of his desert adventure, Rick stayed quiet, keeping his focus on the road. He could have spouted equally impressive horror stories—he’d been on digs with scorpions, blistering heat, grumpy camels, and droves of mosquitoes—but he was too tired to muster up the effort. His lids drooped as he fought back a yawn. When the Jeep swerved to the left, he shook himself awake.

“Rick? You okay?” Olivia’s voice was laced with concern.

“I’m wiped.” He rubbed his eyes, willing them to stay open.

“You can take a break if you want. We’re not in a hurry, right?”

“I’m supposed to get you back to camp by six. There’s a staff dinner at six thirty.”

Olivia pointed at the turnoff for Pissouri. “Can you take that exit? You could stop and grab some caffeine.”

“Good plan. I need to get gas anyway.” If he brought the Jeep back with less than a quarter tank, he’d get an earful from the assistant director of the field school.

He exited the highway and pulled into the nearest Petrolina station, then turned to face TJ and Olivia. “Do you want anything to drink? It’s on me.”

“Sure,” she said. “Diet Coke, please.”

“I’ll take a Mountain Dew,” TJ said.

“Got it.” Rick eased out of the Jeep and asked the waiting attendant to fill it with gas. Above him, the sky was a brilliant blue, the heat shimmering off the road in waves. He took a deep breath, grateful this was his last round of airport pickups for the day. Though he hated playing the role of errand boy, he’d kept his complaints to himself. In a few days, he’d be out in the field, doing what he loved best.

Olivia climbed out of the Jeep and caught up to him. She smoothed her hair, as though trying to tuck the wayward curls back into her ponytail. “Rick? Just so we’re clear…no one knows about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never told anyone about Clear Lake. Since we didn’t finish the dig, I didn’t put it on my resume. My family knows about it, but otherwise, I don’t talk about it. Ever.”

His earlier irritation returned. Even if they’d screwed up royally, they’d also made some fantastic memories. But she’d chosen to block all of it. “You were that ashamed of what we did?”

Her mouth gaped open. “Weren’t you? We were expelled. I wanted to put it behind me. No one at UCLA knows.”

“Not even Frida?”

“She’s heard the basic story, but I never told her your name.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “No wonder she didn’t warn me.”

“In hindsight, I wish I’d mentioned you, then I could have bailed. Now it’s too late.” She gnawed on her lip. “Anyway, it might be best if we keep the past a secret. I want to come across as professional, and the students might not respect me as much if—”

“If they knew you’d fucked your coworker?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Way to sound like an asshole, Rick.

She flinched as though he’d struck her. “Don’t be a jerk. Besides, we didn’t actually…”

No, but they’d done damn near everything else. And if he recalled correctly, she’d enjoyed it as much as he had. He blew out a long breath, annoyed at himself for reacting so crudely. “Sorry. That was a low blow.”

“It was.” She closed her eyes and released a drawn-out sigh.

Was she remembering? Or trying to stop the memories from returning?

“Anyway, it’s ancient history,” she said. “So, can we please keep things quiet?”

As much as he hated to concede, her request worked in his favor. After his disastrous slipup two months ago, his reputation didn’t need another hit. “Works for me.” He cast a glance over at the Jeep. “We should get going before TJ comes looking for us. He’s probably wondering what the hell’s going on.”

“Do you think if I paid him twenty bucks, he’d shut up? I’m getting a headache.”

“You and me both.” When she laughed, the pressure lifted just a little.

He went inside the station’s convenience store and headed for the refrigerated section. After grabbing three bottles of soda, he joined Olivia at the counter, where she was perusing a small display of tourist trinkets—key chains, sunglasses, magnets, pens, and blue glass charms meant to ward off the evil eye. Off to one side, a small rack held a meager selection of postcards.

He pointed to the rack. “You still collect postcards?”

When she smiled at him, it was like the sun breaking out of the clouds. He’d forgotten how powerful her smile could be. “Yeah. My sister sends me a new one every month.”

“Does she travel for work?”

“Sort of? She’s an Instagram influencer and has a foodie-travel account. Maybe you’ve heard of her? SoFood SoFia?”

“I’m not on Instagram or Facebook. Not a big social media guy. Half the time, I’m working in places where I’m off the grid.” After flipping through the postcards, he found one displaying an ancient Roman amphitheater. He paid for it, along with the gas and the drinks, then passed it to her. “Here you go. This place should be right up your alley.”

She looked over the inscription. “Kourion. Is it nearby?”

“Just outside of Limassol. It’s one of the sites we’ll be visiting during field school.”

“Thanks. And thanks for agreeing to keep things quiet.”

“Sure.” What else could he do? If she didn’t want anyone to know they’d ever met, he’d do his best to play along.

Like she said, their fling was ancient history. It didn’t need to be dug up again.

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