When I told her to stay there, I didn't really expect her to do it. Which is why I gave her a gun. If she's going to go running around trying to get holes put in that pretty little head, I figure she might as well be given the opportunity to put a few holes in someone else. Right?

Sometimes, though, I don't know my own strength. I don't mean that the way it sounds, I mean, I'm not exactly Belzoni the circus strongman here. But I forget that not everyone is built the way I am. In other words, either I overestimated Evelyn, or I underestimated the kick of the gun. Probably both. The thing about Evelyn is that she overestimates herself so often and in so many ways that we all tend to get carried along. After she won the race to Hamunaptra I was convinced she could do just about anything she wanted to.

So when the desert men swarmed our camp like ants with artillery, I didn't even give her a thought until the whole thing was all over. At first I panicked when I saw her lying there. Thought maybe she'd been shot. Then she opened her eyes and moaned a little, and I realized she'd just been knocked ass-over-teacups trying to fire that heavy old elephant gun of mine at the big bad ants.

I picked her up, asked if she was okay, then made sure she was. Her eyes went all soft, looking up at me like I was really something. "Thank you," she said, and I felt a big gaping hollow in my chest where my heart had been just a second ago.

My thumb grazed her mouth, just for a second. She blushed. Not that that meant a damn thing... she blushed at everything. Sometimes I would deliberately swear just to see her go all pink. It was cute. She was cute. A holy terror, but still... she had something. She was different from other women I'd known. Gentler. The world hadn't toughened her up yet, because she'd spent most of her life hiding from it in a book. But she was plenty tough when she needed to be.

A friend of mine in the Legion used to say that women are like dynamite--they look so small and so harmless, until one day you get careless, and then they blow your arm clean off. Well, he didn't say arm, but you get my drift.

Both of us were breathing hard. The Americans babbled on about treasure. My head and hands were suddenly full of Evelyn, but my mouth rattled off some quick one-liner about how desert people value water and not gold. I waited for the very correct Miss Carnahan to go all British and tell me to remove my hands from her person immediately. She didn't. Her little fingernails raked my shirt, like she was falling and trying to hang on. I held her tighter.

Burns suggested we should join forces. Evelyn agreed before I had a chance to say no, and it's hard to argue with a girl when you've got your arms around her.

Hard, but not impossible.

Before I knew it I'd said the wrong thing, and she was walking off back to what was left of our camp.

See, I'm a soldier, from first until last. A fighter. Shoot first, and don't ask any questions. Ever. I've never been too good at talking to members of the fairer sex. I don't understand them most of the time, I can't say what I want to say in front of them because they get offended, and if they frustrate me, which they usually do, I can't even punch them. Which is my usual solution when someone or something pisses me off.

I'll come right out and say it: I didn't like the idea of those smug rat bastard countrymen of mine anywhere near her. That is, until I saw how they acted around her. Like she wasn't even there most of the time. And whenever she started talking Egyptology, they'd just roll their eyes and grin at one another, saying things like, "Yes'm. I'm sure you're right, Miss." I wasn't sure I liked them being patronizing, but I liked it a damn sight better than, say, them trying to look down the front of her dress. In which case I would have had to kill each one of them at least twice.

Burns gave Evelyn his cot, since he and Daniels were going to stay up and keep watch during the night. I didn't think the desert men would come back, but I wanted her to have the cot so I kept my mouth shut. Most of our bedding had been trashed during the fight, and Evelyn's blanket had some ominous dark stains on it. She burned it, got the fire going again that way. I snagged her a new one from the remains of someone's tent. "Here," I told her, holding it out. I'd tried to fold it, but one corner came out longer than all the others. It was a mess anyhow, all full of sand and ashy bits. I felt stupid for even--

"Thank you." She unfolded the blanket, shook it out, and wrapped it around her. "Did you borrow this, too?"

"Sort of, yeah--I didn't want you to be, you know, cold, 'cause all you've got on is that flimsy... and I noticed you were... yeah." Stop talking, O'Connell. Just stop.

She gave me that crooked little smile, the one where her front teeth peek out just a bit. For a second I thought I saw her eyes get soft again. "It was nice of you to think of me."

I grinned and put my hands in my pockets. "No problem. 'S what I'm here for." I had to get out of there before I lost it completely and said something unforgiveably dumb. "Someone should--I'm just--I'm gonna go find your brother."

"Hurry back." She said it in a way that made me want to just grab her and kiss her cross-eyed, but I knew if I did that it would wreck everything. So I did what any good soldier does when he's faced with impossible odds.

I turned tail and ran.

I found Jonathan holed away behind a sand dune with his Glenlivet. "What did you do with my sister?" he demanded, stumbling over those pesky invisible rocks that seem to be everywhere when you're in the bag. Even after only knowing him for a couple of days, I could tell that Jonathan was one of those guys who's in the bag so often all his mail is forwarded there.

"Nothing she'd thank me for, trust me. She's over there. See?" I aimed him at our camp and marched. Double-time.

"Ah, yes, there we are. Evie! Evie, look, I've found O'Connell!"

Evelyn's tone was serious, but her eyes danced. "Oh, good show, Jonathan. We've been looking everywhere for him."

"Tell the blighter to let go of me, won't you?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea, dear," she said mildly. Jonathan hit another invisible rock, grinned, and had a hearty swig from the bottle.

"Save some for us," I told him. I still had him by his collar, so he really had no choice but to listen. I sat him down on the cot next to Evelyn, who wrinkled her nose at me.

"Speak for yourself, O'Connell. I don't drink."

"Right," I said. "Because that would be fun. And you never have any fun."

She looked up from the book she'd been stuck on, glasses dripping off her nose. She knuckled them up and scowled at me, but didn't answer.

"That won't convince her," Jonathan added, after another good long pull. "She knows it's true."

Evelyn ignored him.

"However, O'Connell, don't let's let that stop us from having our fun, eh?" He passed the bottle to me, and I had a belt.

"That's some good shit," I announced.

Sure enough, Evelyn blushed.

Jonathan laughed. "You Americans do have a quaint way of getting to the heart of matters that I rather admire."

I got up and knelt beside Evelyn. "You should have a drink. Settle your nerves a little."

Well, I don't know what was so bad about that. I was only trying to help. But Evelyn looked at me like I'd suggested she strip down to her skivvies and do the dance of the seven veils. (Now there's a thought.) "My nerves are no business of yours, Mister O'Connell," she snapped. "For your information, I'm just fine. Perfectly wonderful, in fact."

I took the book from her hand and turned it right side up. "Of course you are."

She snatched the Glenlivet away from me, and took a swallow so long I thought she was going to drown. Finally she broke for air, gasped, coughed for a while, and made a face. "There. Happy?"

Jonathan leaned across, one hand out. "I'd be happier if you'd just--"

I gave him back the bottle.

It took longer than I'd have thought for Evelyn to start feeling it. She didn't really show any signs of being drunk right away, just sat quietly beside her brother and read her book. I cleaned and reloaded my guns. After a while I noticed she was smiling. When I looked up again she was covering her mouth with her hand. It wasn't too long after that that she started tittering to herself. She hadn't turned a page in about ten minutes.

Jonathan and I exchanged looks. "What's so funny?" I asked.

She squeaked and shook her head. She'd had to take off her glasses, because tears of laughter were running down her cheeks and dripping from the end of her nose.

"Come on, Evie, be a sport." He sat up and grabbed the book from her before she even knew what was happening. He gave it a quick once-over, shrugged, and threw it back.

Evelyn fumbled it, and started laughing even harder at that.

I knew then that she was going to be a very fun drunk.

I picked up the book. "That's mine!" she screamed, and tackled me. Being attacked by a bag of cotton would have hurt more. I pinned her down and sat on her legs while I looked at the book, but she'd lost the page. I let her up and dropped it into her lap.

"All right, I give up. What's the joke?"

She flipped to an illustrated glossary of Egyptian gods and goddesses. "There's this fellow... Min... he's the god of virility, and he's got this enormous--" She was laughing too hard to finish. "This... this enormous..." Even in the firelight, I could see her face going so red she looked sunburnt.

I squinted at the pages for a second before I spotted Min. Not that he was hard to miss, exactly. "Yeah, okay."

"It's so--"

"All right, Evelyn, I get it."

"How... how could any woman possibly--"

Now I was the one blushing.

"My baby sister, ladies and gentlemen," Jonathan chuckled. "Heart as pure as driven snow, but, ye gods, what a dirty little mind she's got on her."

"Sod off, Jonathan." She threw the book at him, and missed by a mile.

"Dear me, Evie, whatever's come over you?"

Evelyn fell back on my bedroll in a fit of giggles. I didn't see any harm in it, so I let her lie there for a while. She just watched the fire and laughed. I was pretty sure she wasn't going to throw up. Too early for that. I figured she was doing me a favour, if anything. Keeping my blanket all toasty for me.

She moved pretty damn fast when I sat down next to her, though. She kind of crab-scuttled back, startled, like it had only just now occurred to her that it wasn't all according to Emily Post for her to be lying in my bed, drunk, with me right there. "Ooooh," she said as she tried to stand up. When she looked over and saw Jonathan asleep on her cot, she said it again, louder.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Easy there. Just wait for everything to stop spinning." I made her put her head between her knees for a second. "You want me to move him? I'll move him." I stood up, but she waved me back down.

"No, no, no. He's fine. I'm fine. I'm not tired. Can I ask you something?"

Why did I have the feeling I would have been better off being hanged in Cairo? "Uh... sure."

"What are you protecting yourself from?"

What? "What?"

After a couple of swipes at me, she got hold of my hand and pointed to my tattoo of the Eye of Horus.

"Oh, right. That." I shrugged. "I don't know, it's just a good luck charm. Hasn't failed me yet." The guy who did it for me told me the symbol would ward off evil spirits. I figured, any port in a storm.

She traced the pattern with her thumb. "Did it hurt? They do it with needles, you know." Just in case I needed a reminder that she was completely blotto.

I smiled. "Yeah, I know. It stings a little."

"I've always wondered what it would be like. Jonathan went to have one done, but he fainted the moment the needle touched him. They had to carry him out. It took cop--" here she hiccupped-- "pardon me... copious applications of gin to revive him." A goofy smile. "So he's got this, this... blue dot--right there." She poked me in the shoulder. Hard. I did it back. Hard. "Hey!" She dropped my hand to rub her arm, looking hurt. "That wasn't very nice, O'Connell."

"Well, if you can handle that, a tattoo's no problem."

"Ooooh," she said. It seemed to be an all-purpose sort of comment.

"I don't have copious applications of gin," I told her, "but there's still about a quarter of a bottle of scotch up for grabs."

Evelyn took the bottle from her brother, drank deeply from it, and offered it to me. I took a sip. I figured drinking from the same bottle was the closest I'd get to kissing her. That wasn't much comfort, if you think of all the other people who'd had their mouths all over it. She put it back. "I borrowed it," she said proudly.

"Now you're catching on."

"So tell me, Mister O'Connell... have you any other protective markings you'd like to show me?"

Whoa. Coming from any other woman on the planet, I'd say that was a come-on. "Got one on my shoulder," I said.

"Let's see."

So I unbuttoned my shirt and eased it down over my right arm. She took a good long look, following the letters with her fingertips like she was reading hieroglyphs. Her other hand moved along the back of my neck, just under my collar. Both hands were soft and very warm. I told myself it was just the cold air that was giving me goosebumps.

"Who's Hazel?" she asked finally. Her breath was hot against my bare skin.

"Just a girl."

She jumped back so fast you'd have thought I was going to bite her. "You know, it's really none of my business," she said.

I shrugged and pulled my sleeve up. I wasn't going to tell her if she didn't want to know.

"Jonathan took my blanket, rotten bugger," she informed me. "Just for that, I think it's time for another drink." After a stiff peg, she sat back down beside me. "Am I the only one who feels a little odd?"

I shook my head.

"So is she waiting for you at home? In America, I mean?"

"Who?" I said it casually. Like I didn't already know.

"Hazel."

"No."

Evelyn actually smiled at that. "No?"

"I was seventeen when I left the States. I was nineteen when I got the tattoo. I wrote to her every week. She never wrote back. Finally I got a telegram inviting me to her wedding."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, how awful!"

"I know, now I have to find another girl named Hazel!"

It took Evelyn a second to figure out I was kidding, and when she finally did she laughed so hard I thought she was going to sprain something. "My middle name is Hazel, you know," she told me.

"Really?"

"No." She flashed a drunken grin. "It's Mary. Isn't that boring?"

I don't know why I agreed. Like I said, I don't know anything about women, and this one had me even more confused than all of the others put together. She glared at me, called me a horrible man, then scrabbled around trying to stand. When I offered her a hand she slapped it away.

Once she figured out she wasn't going anywhere, she wrapped both arms around her knees and just sat there, looking lost. Then she started to cry.

I really hate it when they cry.

"Jeez--Evelyn--I'm sorry..."

"Oh, be quiet," she told me. "This was a horrid idea in the first place, I should never have let you talk me into it... it's all right for you--you--you're a man!"

"Yeah, nice of you to notice."

"Men are supposed to get drunk... get tattoos... get into fights... run off and have adventures... women never get to do anything but stay home and--and knit!"

I moved closer and put my hand on her shoulder. "Come on, that's not true... you're here, aren't you?"

"Only because I can't knit," she sighed. "What help am I going to be if those men come back? I can't even fire a gun without falling over backwards, and I'd be useless if it came to a barehanded fight."

"Well, I can help you there."

She looked up. "Really?"

"Sure. I'll show you what to do if someone attacks you. And... if it's any consolation... my middle name is Paul." Evelyn smiled at that. I reached over and wiped away a tear with my thumb. "Yep, Richard Paul O'Connell. Like watching paint dry, isn't it?"

"Richard? That's nice." She looked down at her hands as she said it. Trying it out. "Richard."

"My friends call me Rick."

"Oh."

I stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Okay, here, put your dukes up."

"My what?"

"Fists. Put your fists up. Make like you're gonna hit me. Like this." I pretended I was going to swing at her, and she fell right over into the sand. Little fists waving in the air. "Hey, okay, I'm not actually--all right, up we go."

Once she was on her feet, I didn't let go right away. Neither did she. And damned if I wasn't blushing for the second time that night. She smiled up at me, and suddenly I was more frightened of this one tiny person than I had been facing down a hangman's noose, or a whole army of desert warriors on horseback. She had more power over me than they ever would, because she could make me do something I'd never done before: surrender completely. And she could do it with just a smile. If she wanted to.

Did she want to?

"Evelyn..." My voice came from deep in the back of my throat. My stomach felt like it was being tickled from the inside. I had no idea what was going to come out the next time I opened my mouth.

She took a step back. "Thank you."

All right, then, that was the way it was going to be. I tensed, raised my hands. "Come on, hit me. Right here."

"But--"

"Don't worry, you won't hurt me."

The laughter disappeared from her eyes when she heard that. She went for me full force, missed entirely, and I caught her and set her straight again. "Ooooh," she said.

We tried it a few times. Finally she collapsed into my arms, giggling. I set her down, suggested maybe it was time for another drink.

"Unlike my brother, sir, I know when to say no," she told me, and had the drink anyway.

"And unlike your brother, miss... you, I just don't get."

She nodded. "I know. You're wondering... what is a place like me doing in a girl like this?"

Right. "Something like that."

"Egypt is in my blood," she said. She took that locket she always wore, showed me pictures. A man in a pith helmet. He had Jonathan's long face, and Evelyn's crooked smile. A woman, dark-skinned and very pretty. Evelyn's eyes smiled up at me. Both young and happy-looking. She explained that her father had been an explorer, and her mother an Egyptian--"and quite an adventurer herself."

I snapped the locket shut for her. "I get your father, and I get your mother. And I get him." I pointed to Jonathan. "But what are you doing here?"

"Ooooh." It was getting so that I could predict these. She wobbled her way to a standing position without my help this time. "Look, I may not be an explorer, or an adventurer, or a treasure-seeker, or a gunfighter, Mister O'Connell... but I am proud of what I am."

"And what's that?"

"I... am a librarian." She dropped down onto her knees. The goofy smile vanished, and her eyes got very, very soft. I felt like she was melting my insides just by looking at me. Another second and I'd just be a puddle in the sand. "And... I am going to kiss you, Mister O'Connell."

"Call me Rick," I said. Partly because I felt like I ought to say something. But mostly just because I wanted her to.

"Rick," she breathed. And moved closer.

I closed my eyes. And waited. Leaned in a little. And waited some more.

In the desert, they have this thing called a ghost rain. Doesn't happen often, but it's really something to see. What happens is, it starts to rain, but the air just above the sand is so hot and so dry that the drops never reach the ground--they just evaporate in mid-air. It's like the sky wants it to rain, but the desert has other plans. This kiss, well, it was the same sort of thing.

Evelyn wanted to plant one on me, but her body had other plans.

I kissed the air where she'd been just a second ago. It was probably for the best, anyhow. A kiss is something you can't really take back. It would have been hard to keep working together after that. And if she had to get plastered to feel the same way about me that I did about her, well, that wouldn't work too well. One boozehound in the Carnahan family was enough.

I tucked her in under my blanket and poked the fire a couple of times before hitting the sack myself. I meant to keep one eye open, just in case, but I fell asleep almost right away. After all, it had been a pretty exhausting day.

Tomorrow would be easier. I had a feeling.