LITMIR.BIZ

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do it that the logical part of his brain had ceased to function.

      He was determined to prove her wrong—or die trying.

      The die-trying possibility was looming ever closer. He set the time capsule down on the next step and collapsed beside it, his heart pounding. Easing out of his sport coat, he let it drop to the stairs.

      A bead of sweat rolled across his forehead, zigzagged between his eyebrows and dropped onto his lashes. His arms were so tired that he couldn’t even lift a hand to brush the drop away.

      “I never should have agreed to let you do this,” Emily said. “I knew that container was far too heavy for you.”

      She stood above him on the second-floor landing. When Brad raised his head, the sweat dropped into his eye, bringing with it the sting of salt. Even with that one eye shut, he could see the “I told you so” look on her face.

      “I’m simply taking a breather.”

      He’d barely had the breath to get the words out. The last thing he wanted to do was lift that damn box again. But with her standing there watching him, he knew he was going to.

      Somehow he got himself back on his feet and picked up the capsule. How he managed to carry it up those last steps and into Emily’s office he had no idea.

      She directed him to set it on the floor beside a walnut desk. As soon as it was in place, he staggered over to the nearest chair and collapsed. He closed his eyes and sucked in air, wondering if he was ever going to feel his arms again or be able to breathe normally.

      Time passed—he had no idea how much and didn’t particularly care. He was just thankful that he wasn’t carrying that damn thing anymore. When his breath started to come in a more normal rhythm, he felt a hand on his arm and opened his eyes to find her beside him.

      “I thought you might like something cold to drink.”

      She was holding out a tall glass of water. Gratefully, he took it from her, and downed the contents in one long gulp. By the time he’d set the empty glass on the table next to him, she’d taken the chair behind the desk.

      The small, exceptionally neat office seemed to be darker than when he’d entered. Glancing around, he noticed that she’d drawn heavy drapes across the windows. A couple of low-wattage lamps were all that now lit the room. They shone off spotless glass shelves and wooden furniture, well carved and built to last.

      The room exuded a pleasing calm, not currently reflected in its owner.

      “Why did you insist on doing that?” she asked.

      He met her eyes. “Weight lifting should be part of everyone’s exercise routine. Builds muscle and bone. Makes you strong. Just ask your doctor.”

      She shook her head. “I realize I should be thanking you for bringing the time capsule up here, but—”

      “You’re welcome.”

      “You could have hurt yourself.”

      The worry in her voice was carefully controlled, but it wasn’t superficial.

      “Nice of you to be concerned about me.”

      Her chin lifted. “I was concerned about our liability insurance. Had you sustained an injury carrying these artifacts belonging to the Historical Society, we could have been held responsible.”

      Her cloak of professional indifference was one he donned often enough to see through. “I wouldn’t have sued for much.”

      Her head shook in frustration. “Dr. Winslow—”

      “Call me Brad.”

      “Are you always this stubborn?”

      “Stubborn? I’m not stubborn. I’m totally pigheaded and obstinate.”

      For a second, a look of overwhelming exasperation claimed her features. Then it vanished and a chuckle—warm and sweet—broke through her lips. The smile that followed was even better.

      “There’s a bathroom down the hall where you can wash up,” she said.

      “I look that grungy, huh?”

      “Try not to break the mirror.”

      He got up and headed for the soap and water. As he gazed at the reflection of his dirt-smudged face over the sink, he was grinning. Yeah, it had been really dumb insisting on carrying that damn capsule.

      But he’d gotten her to smile. That was worth a few sore muscles.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      EMILY SWIPED THE CLUMPS of dirt from Brad’s sport coat with overly energetic strokes of the clothes brush. When he’d all but collapsed on the stairs, her heart had lodged in her throat.

      The man was exactly what he proclaimed himself to be—pigheaded and obstinate.

      But it was hard not to admire a guy who boldly admitted his faults, even when he seemed to revel in them.

      As he reentered the office, his eyes glanced toward his sport coat, which she’d hung on the coatrack. “Thanks.”

      She shrugged and gestured toward the chair in front of her desk.

      As he settled himself he asked, “How well do you know the guy who had the stroke?”

      “Not well. Wayne is one of our senior historians, a longtime friend of Oliver’s. He used to be his accountant at Smithson Pharmaceuticals before they both retired.”

      “Sounded as though Oliver still considers him more of an employee than friend.”

      “That’s Oliver.”

      “So, what do we do first?”

      “You go downstairs to the reception and submit to many accolades while indulging yourself with hors d’oeuvres, which I promise you are delicious if you haven’t tasted them.”

      “What, the accolades or the hors d’oeuvres?”

      She refused to smile. “Both will be, I’m sure.”

      “You’re not coming?”

      “I’ve already had lunch. Besides, schmoozing is not my style.”

      “Not my style, either.”

      “Dr. Winslow, there are a lot of important people downstairs who are going to want to shake your hand and pump you for information about how you knew the skeleton was a hundred years old. You achieved celebrity status today. Go savor your moment in the limelight.”

      “I’ll pass, thanks. So, what’s the best way to go about this document cataloging?”

      His eagerness for the task didn’t sit quite right with Emily. Her suspicions began to resurface.

      “Your offer to help with the skeleton is appreciated,” she said carefully, “but being here when I catalog the contents of the capsule isn’t necessary.”

      “And you’re saying that because…?”

      “Because the chance that something in the documents could lead to the skeleton’s identity is pretty slim. If the mayor at the time had known there was a body being buried with the capsule, he would have said something in the letter he wrote.”

      “How did you know the time capsule was beneath the sundial?”

      “That’s been common knowledge among local historians since the day it was put in the ground. The date the capsule was to be opened was carved on the sundial as well.”

      “Who put the capsule in place?”

      “Leading citizens of the community were given the honor of lowering it by rope into the pit. That large sundial was then set over the pit. They later carved their initials on the stone face.”

      “Makes you wonder how they could

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