Free Linda Castle by Temple's Prize Page B

spectacles up on her nose and met his unmoving gaze. A strange thing happened to her insides while they stared silently at each other. She couldn’t identify the odd emotion that gripped her. It was very curious that looking at him could cause physical reactions—but it did nonetheless.
    Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth dried out. It was most extraordinary. Constance swallowed hard and managed a thin smile but Temple did not return it. In fact, she could have sworn his dour expression darkened before he spun on his heel and disappeared from her view beyond the rim of the canyon.
    “Remarkable,” she muttered. She did not remember Temple having such a sulky and prickly personality. Her ten-year-old memories of him all involved playful teasing and capricious pranks. It saddened her to think the years had hardened the laughing boy he had once been into the scowling man who now challenged her.
    Constance looked up at the opposite side of the gorge and saw the top of a tent come into view. “Oh dear, this will not do.” She stood and gathered her sketching supplies and tucked the box under her arm. By the time she had managed to climb the natural stairs of the rock path to her side of the canyon she was winded and covered with dust. “Mr. Hughes, you must not do this. Temple will never take me seriously as a competitor if you continue to treat me like a helpless child.”
    Mr. Hughes looked at her with his brows arched high. And then, true to form, he burst out laughing.
    By nightfall Constance was settled at her new camp. She dipped the last bite from one of the tins Mr. Montague had sent. Her dinner had been passable, the smoky attar of the open fire soothing. She sighed and allowed her eyes to linger on the lavender-dusted terrain. With Mr. Hughes gone and Temple across the gorge, she had complete solitude. It was wonderful. Constance closed her eyes and pretended that she was the only human at the gorge.
    Temple stared at the amber glow of Connie’s campfire across the canyon and grew more restless with each passing minute. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the hot cup of coffee.
    It was quiet—the kind of quiet that rattled his nerves and leached away his patience. He hated the silence. When calm descended upon him he was no longer able to push aside his painful memories. Silence was what came with a killing New York blizzard—quiet brought death to poverty-weakened women like his dear mother.
    He swallowed hard and forced himself to sip the hot brew. Control was a thing Temple cherished and worked hard to maintain, but as he sat in the unforgiving hush of the Montana night he could not help but wish he had hired a small crew. Then at least he would have had someone to talk to during the hard hours between dusk and bedtime.
    “But Connie probably wouldn’t like that—she’d say it was unfair, not ethical.” He shook his head and realized he was talking to himself. “I better find those bones in a hurry or I’ll be a babbling fool.”
    Temple stood up and tossed the contents of the cupinto the dying fire. It sputtered for a moment, then a dying hiss accompanied the last stubborn flame as it flickered out. He went into his tent and yanked off his boots. He was not really tired, but he could not bear to sit in the dark and watch Connie’s campfire. At least sleep would block out his memories and if he rose early he would get a jump on Connie. The sooner he found those damned bones, the sooner he could get out of this forlorn place. It never ceased to amaze him that he had fallen in love with a profession that ensured he would spend time alone.
    The morning air was crisp and slightly damp when Constance stretched herself awake. She opened one eye and saw that full dawn was still a half hour away.
    She took off her thin cotton gown while chills danced up her thighs and arms. Shivering against the cold, she slipped into her chemise and sturdy mustardcolored dress. She thrust her stocking-covered