“It matters to me.”
“I-I would not presume to tell you where to live nor what career path to take.”
No, of course she wouldn’t, not unless pressed or possibly threatened. He would do neither. “And yet, Eva Inman, I suspect you have very definite thoughts on the matter, for I do believe you know your own mind.”
Her chin lifted quite adorably. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Quite the contrary. I admire a woman with a little pluck.”
A smile played on her lips. “Is it a good offer?”
“Yes, the salary is a bit more than I currently take in, and since I have been here this past month, I find that I rather like country living.”
She studied his face. “So you are going to take it?”
Actually, he was surprised at how strongly he did wish to sign on that confirmation line, but with his uncle to mind, there was no possible way to do so.
“I, em, likely not. And now, if you will excuse me, I have some things to do and think about. I will see you later, Eva,” he mumbled as he turned away, finished with the conversation and with the temptation to leave behind his teaching days.
He would pen a rejection letter later tonight.
It’d only been an hour since she’d last spoken with Bram in the workroom, and yet here she was, tethering her horse out at the worksite. She had been spending an inordinate amount of time with him, which was a mixed blessing. Bram was enjoyable to be around, and she found his insights into Roman antiquities to be educational and entertaining. Part of her wished he would accept that curatorship position. But it also meant time away from Penny, time that would have been spent reading or working on mathematics or history lessons.
Once again she felt that tug-of-war between caring for Penny herself and sending her off to school just like Bram, his uncle, and Mrs. Mortimer all urged her to do. Was she doing the right thing keeping Penny here, or was she being selfish? Was Penny ready to spread her wings and fly away, or would such a big move be traumatic for her at this age?
Sighing, Eva strode to the work tent—where a hundred more questions bombarded her.
Bram paced in front of the field desk, fists clenched at his sides. His jaw clamped so hard, iron cords stood out on his neck. The sight made her own stomach tighten. Whatever had him in such a high dudgeon couldn’t be good.
She stopped just inside the door flap. “I got word from Sinclair you wished to speak with me. What has happened?”
He wheeled about so quickly his coat tails flew wide. “Come see for yourself.”
She followed him—or tried to. His long legs ate up the uneven ground with bigger bites than she could manage. He led her to the farthest edge of the excavation site, where his students each hefted a shovel, digging out sand. Professor Pendleton stood nearby, supervising. Bram stopped abruptly, a low growl in his throat.
Eva peered up at him. “I do not understand. This is where you found the mosaic piece and had planned to see if any more might be discovered. Why did you fill it in with sand?”
“I had nothing to do with filling it in.” His voice was a wire that might snap at any moment.
“Then who did?”
“If I knew, I would throttle the scoundrel!” He threw his hands in the air. “First the ripped tent, then the broken tools, the missing brooch, and now this. What is to be next? A sudden invasion of sandworms devouring everything in their path?”
“Sandworms?” She scrunched her brow. “Is that a thing?”
“No, but it is just as plausible as the catastrophes that have been striking here with regularity. Perhaps Sinclair is right, and these acres truly are cursed. Blast it all!” He paced once again.
She nibbled on a fingernail, concerned, yes, but also a fair amount of relief made breathing easier. Bram wasn’t responsible for this, nor had he likely been for the other mishaps. Judging by the way his heels dug into the dirt and the fierce glower twisting his face, he was genuinely upset about the whole ordeal.
Or he was a consummate actor.
She discarded that thought and stepped toward him. “I shall report this to the constable at once.”
“No.” He faced her, crossing his arms against his chest. “That will mean interviews, paperwork, maybe even a site closure due to safety concerns. I would rather camp out here each night than risk such interruptions.”
“But, Bram, you are already getting interrupted.” She tipped her head at the crew diligently removing the sand.
“I know, and it is maddening!” He kicked a stray rock. “Every time we are on the brink of a breakthrough, something happens. It is like building a sandcastle at the edge of the tide, only to have the waves wash it away. This excavation is crucial. We cannot afford such setbacks!”
