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of a towheaded boy who had a scab on one knee, dirt on his chin and the kind of cherubic face that spelled trouble.
    Dolan, in his signature blue shirt and red suspenders, stood directly beside his business sign and was already talking to a woman Callie pegged as the reporter.
    She assumed he was Ronald Dolan because he didn’t look happy.
    The minute he spotted Callie, he broke off and marched toward her.
    “You Dunbrook?”
    “Dr. Callie Dunbrook.” She gave him a full-power smile. Callie had known some men to dissolve into a panting puddle when she used full power. Dolan appeared to be immune.
    “What the hell’s going on here?” He jabbed a finger at her chest, but fortunately for him didn’t make contact.
    “Local TV asked for an interview. I always try to cooperate. Mr. Dolan”—still smiling, she touched his arm as if they were compatriots—“you’re a very lucky man. The archaeological and anthropological communities are never going to forget your name. They’ll be teaching classes about your site for generations. I have a copy of my preliminary report here.”
    She held out a folder. “I’ll be happy to explain anything you don’t understand. I realize some of it’s pretty technical. Has a representative of the National History Museum at the Smithsonian contacted you yet?”
    “What?” He stared at the report as if she were handing him a live snake. “What?”
    “I just want to shake your hand.” She took his, pumped. “And thank you for your part in this incredible discovery.”
    “Now, you listen here—”
    “I’d love to take you, your wife and family out to dinner at the first opportunity.” She kept the smile in place, even boosted it with a couple of flutters of her lashes, while she steamrolled him. “But I’m afraid I’m going to be very busy for the next several weeks. Will you excuse me? I want to get this part over with.”
    She pressed a hand to her heart. “Talking on camera always makes me a little nervous.” She tied up the lie with a quick, breathless laugh. “If you have any questions, any at all about the report or the ones that follow, please ask either myself or Dr. Greenbaum. I’ll be spending most of my time right here, on-site. I won’t be hard to find.”
    He started to bluster again, but she hurried off to introduce herself to the camera crew.
    “Slick,” Lana murmured. “Very slick.”
    “Thanks.” She squatted down and studied the little boy. “Hi. You the reporter?”
    “No.” He giggled, and his mossy-green eyes twinkled with fun. “You’re gonna be on TV. Mommy said I could watch.”
    “Tyler, this is Dr. Dunbrook. She’s the scientist who studies old, old things.”
    “Bones and stuff,” Tyler declared. “Like Indiana Jones. How come you don’t have a whip like he does?”
    “I left it back at the motel.”
    “Okay. Did you ever see a dinosaur?”
    Callie figured he was getting his movies mixed up and winked at him. “I sure have. Dinosaur bones. But they’re not my specialty. I like human bones.” She gave his arm a testing squeeze. “I bet you’ve got some good ones. You have Mom bring you by sometime and I’ll let you dig. Maybe you’ll find some.”
    “Really? Can I? Really? ” Overwhelmed, he danced on his Nikes, tugged on Lana’s hand. “Please?”
    “If Dr. Dunbrook says it’s okay. That’s nice of you,” she said to Callie.
    “I like kids,” Callie said as she rose. “They haven’t learned how to shut down to possibilities. I’m going to get this done.” She ran her hand over his sun-shot hair. “See you later, Ty-Rex.”
    S uzanne Cullen experimented with a new recipe. Her kitchen was equal parts science lab and homey haven. Once she’d baked because she enjoyed it and because it was something a housewife did. She’d often laughed over the suggestions that she open her own bakery.
    She was a wife, then a mother, not a businesswoman. She’d never aspired to a career outside the home.
    Then, she’d