Dream Wedding: Dream Bride / Dream Groom. Susan Mallery

had been a surprisingly long stretch of relatively dry weather, so the ground was only damp underfoot. Towering trees lined the trail. The low-lying plants were bright green. Wildflowers and berry bushes were in full bloom. The air smelled clean and crisp. It was a perfect afternoon.

      He started walking nearly due east.

      “Where are we going?” Chloe asked as she kept pace with him. At this point the trail was wide enough for them to walk side by side.

      “There’s a valley on the other side of this low range,” he said, pointing ahead. “We’ll reach the top of the rise tonight. That will be where we camp. Tomorrow we’ll head into the valley. The site is there. Just curious—was that information for you or the article?”

      Her brown eyes twinkled. “Both. I have so many questions, I’m not sure where to start.”

      “Does it matter?”

      “I suppose not.” One corner of her mouth turned up slightly. “So, Arizona Smith, why don’t you wear a hat?”

      Involuntarily, he reached up and touched his bare head. “I don’t need one here. There’s no need to protect myself from the sun.”

      “I see. I thought all bush types wore hats. They do in the movies.” Her voice was teasing.

      He shook his head. “That’s part of my problem. I wore one nearly all the time. Before.” He grimaced. “That movie. It changed everything. After that my lecture series became more popular. I appreciated that, but I hated the billing. A few places advertised me as a ‘real-life Indiana Jones.’”

      “Did your audiences expect you to show up with a bullwhip?”

      “You’d be surprised.” He thought about the women who would come to his lectures and sit in the front row. Their adoring gazes had nothing to do with him—who he really was. They were only interested in the persona.

      Not like Chloe. He glanced at her. Her stride was long, her posture straight. She was gorgeous. Today she wore her curly red hair pulled back in a braid. She was tall and lean and he wished they were lovers so that he could suggest they stop for an hour or so and make love right here...out in the open.

      “Do you have anything in common with Indiana Jones?” she asked.

      “Sure. We’re both men. His finds are more spectacular. How can anyone compete with the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail? I think I had better luck with women. We’re both teachers, although none of my students have ever fallen for me.”

      “I doubt that,” she said. “I would guess more than three-quarters of your students are female and almost none of them are there because they need the class for their major.”

      He opened his mouth to protest, then realized she was right. His classes were predominantly female. “None of them have come on to me.” He held up a hand before she could protest again. “Trust me, I would have noticed that.”

      “I’m sure they were working up to it.”

      “I hope not. They’re a little young.”

      “You’re not all that old.”

      “Old enough.”

      Old enough to know what he wanted, he thought. It wasn’t just that Chloe was pretty. His attraction to her was as much about the way she made him laugh and her intelligence as it was about her body.

      “I assume you know you have a fan club on the Internet,” she said.

      He groaned. “I might have known you would find that.”

      “You’re not proud?” she teased.

      “Of course not. It’s humiliating. These people—”

      “Women,” she interrupted. “They’re women, Arizona. I checked the membership directory. We’re talking at least ninety-five percent women.”

      “Great. Men, women, Martians, it doesn’t matter. I still don’t get it. I’m not brilliant, I’m tenacious. I’ve studied and I’ve had some luck. Yes, I’ve made a few finds, but I’m not going to change the world. I don’t know what they see in me.”

      “Don’t you?” Chloe stopped and looked at him. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or if you’re fishing.”

      “I’m not unaware that some people find me physically attractive,” he said formally, wondering if it was possible to sound like more of a jerk than he did.

      “Good to know,” she said solemnly.

      “You’re teasing me.”

      “A little. This is the first time you’ve ever been pompous.”

      Pompous? Was that how she saw him? Perfect. He’d sure done a great job charming her. Talk about a crash and burn.

      She touched his arm. The light contact seared him all the way down to his knees. His groin ignited. The wanting was as powerful as it was instantaneous.

      “I do understand what you’re saying,” she said and dropped her hand to her side. “Who do you consider a hero?”

      “Easy question. Joseph Campbell. He wrote several books, but the best known is The Hero of a Thousand Faces. He explored the idea that storytelling is universal to the human condition. All races and cultures have stories about the beginning of the world, the creation of man, stories that tell how boys become men. I was very young when I first read his work. He’s the one who got me interested in the mystic.”

      “I’m not discounting his place,” Chloe said. “But what about the things you’ve found? All those treasures might have stayed hidden for generations.”

      “Granted, but while I’ve brought some tangible artifacts to light, he explained why we have the dreams we do. I’ve visited my fan club web site. It’s very flattering, but I’m not the hero in that. They’ve created a myth about someone who doesn’t really exist. In my mind, Joseph Campbell is someone who truly is a hero. His ideas changed lives. I know he changed mine.”

      He motioned for her to continue walking, then fell into step with her. The air was cool, but the sun warmed them.

      “There is a certain amount of fame that comes with some of my discoveries. It’s my least favorite part of what I do. I get through it by reminding myself it’s fleeting. In a couple of weeks no one will care who I am until the next discovery.”

      “That sounds cynical, although realistic. Would you rather the world ignored your finds?”

      “Good question. The answer is no. I want them to understand and appreciate. I know enough to realize I can’t have one without the other.”

      She looked at him. “Why do I suddenly suspect you like it much better in the bush where no one knows who you are and you’re treated like just another visitor?”

      “You’d be right. I’ve traveled all over the world. My best memories are of people I’ve connected with, not of standing behind a podium talking to a cheering crowd.”

      “So do the women ever throw you their panties?”

      He tugged on the end of her braid. “I’m not the kind to kiss and tell.”

      She laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

      “It’s probably best.”

      “So have they shown up in your room unexpectedly?”

      “Why this sudden interest in my personal life?” he asked, although he was pleased that she seemed focused on that. He would hate for the attraction to be one-sided.

      “Ah, so that was a yes.”

      He chuckled. “Yes, once or twice.”

      “How was it?”

      He thought back. “The first time was