Unearthed

Part One

A fine mist of dust swelled around his booted feet as the bulk of his canvas duffle bag hit the dry earth. All present in the tent looked in his direction save for one. While the others stared at him with curiosity,  she kept her focus on the pitch black orbital cavities of a semi-excavated skull. He said nothing in reply to the numerous silent inquiries. He only waited.

"I am sure that my email was to a Ms. Albright," she stated indifferently. She cautiously brushed away another layer of loosened dirt from around the skull.

"And yet here I am," he answered with a lazy grin. He stood his ground at the opened entrance of the large tent.

With an annoyed sigh, she unfurled her lithe form to her full height of five foot four. Shoulders rolled back and chin high, she finally met his amused eyes with glaring ones of her own. Those pale blue orbs had haunted him for many years, and yet their effect on him in person was profound. His casual façade almost faltered under their scrutiny. Almost.

"Rumor has it that you are in need of a project artist," he said nonchalantly, widening his grin just enough to spark her temper.

When her lips tightened and eyes narrowed, he knew that he had been successful. She was mad that he was there, and he was glad. He would rather she be mad at him then indifferent. That he could not bear.

"Matt, you are not welcome here," she bit out, marching past him and out of the tent.

He followed her, leaving his duffle bag behind, its presence forgotten. She marched her way to what appeared to be her personal tent. Once inside, she whipped around and confronted him just as he entered the canvas enclosure.

"How dare you show up here!" she shot at him vehemently. Hands firmly planted on her hips, she waited for his response.

"I received an email from you stating that you needed a project artist," he countered, coming to stand toe to toe with her in the tight space. He fought back the urge to brush back her unruly hair from her dirt smudged face, but knew better. There was a chance he would not get limb back if he dared to be so bold.

"The email was addressed to a Ms. Matilda Albright, if I am recalling her name correctly," she replied.

Matt shrugged. "Then you must have mistyped the email address. I hardly paid the addressed name any heed. Thought it might be you trying to be clever."

She shoved him hard. So hard that he fell out of the tent, flailing to the ground. The landing was not pleasant, but he recovered quickly. Looking around, he couldn't help but laugh. If it had been her initial purpose to keep their conversation private, that was no longer an option. Those nearby were very much involved with what was occurring before her tent.

"Oh, come on, Mina," he teased, still laughing," it's not my fault that you didn't check who you were sending the email to. Matt and Matilda are close. Damn, auto-send, huh?"

"Her email was Albright1979, so it had nothing to do with the first name," she said with a smirk, standing over him.

"And mine is Albright197," he said, laying back on his elbows and looking up at her with his characteristic lopsided grin. "So you got the number wrong and now you are stuck with me."

"But you are a writer. What good are you to me?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Ah, but you forget that I am a faucet of many talents. Writer, photographer, artist..." he informed her smugly. She knew of his many talents. She had modeled for two of those talents on various occasions. She had also been a subject for his writing, but that had not been nearly as romantic as the others. Actually, it had been quite heartbreaking. A mistake he meant to make right.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you here, Matt?"

He lifted himself to his feet and firmly stood toe to toe with her. He looked deep into her pale blue eyes with all the sincerity he could muster. "I am here to right a wrong, Mina. I am here to help."