Field rules, p.1
Field Rules, page 1
FIELD RULES
ROMANCING THE RUINS #1
CARLA LUNA
MOON MANOR PRESS
CONTENTS
Field Rules
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Also by Carla Luna
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
FIELD RULES
What happens in the field stays in the field. Or does it?
* * *
After the disastrous way her first archaeological dig ended, graduate student Olivia Sanchez abandoned her dreams of working in the field. Now, thanks to a last-minute teaching opportunity in Cyprus, she’ll get another chance to explore ancient history firsthand. This time, failure isn’t an option.
* * *
But digging up the past takes on a whole new meaning when she’s forced to team up with her ex, shovel bum Rick Langston.
* * *
For years, Rick has proven his archaeological skills all over the Mediterranean. But with no graduate degree—and a habit of attracting trouble—his reputation could use a little rehab. All he has to do is play by the rules while he’s in Cyprus, and he’ll secure a coveted recommendation for his next job. Until Olivia resurfaces like a cursed relic from the past.
* * *
Given that their last fling nearly led to their academic ruin, Olivia and Rick can’t afford to repeat their past mistakes. But as they work together under the scorching Mediterranean sun, the heat between them proves impossible to ignore.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Carla Luna
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, contact the author at: carlalunacullen@gmail.com
* * *
First paperback edition: July 2022
* * *
Cover Design: Bailey McGinn
Editing: The Editing Soprano
Proofreading: One Love Editing
ISBN 978-1-7368661-7-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7368661-6-0 (ebook)
* * *
Published by Moon Manor Press
Cedarburg, Wisconsin
carlalunabooks.com
Created with Vellum
For all the girls who dream of being archaeologists.
CHAPTER ONE
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.
Hoping to hide her irritation, 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 TWO
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 was 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.
