Eternal Journey
A wide-brimmed hat the color of wet sand shielded the archaeologist's eyes from the sun and made it difficult for the cameraman to get a good shot of his face. The man worked steadily and carefully, sifting dirt and picking out what looked like unremarkable shards of pottery, all the while oblivious to the film crew around him.
"Wes, look up once in a while, okay?" Annja Creed stood back far enough so her shadow would not encroach. "We've been over this a few times," she reminded her colleague.
"Yeah, yeah. No worries." The archaeologist tipped his head up and smiled, showing an even row of bright white teeth that contrasted sharply with his well-tanned skin and scruffy beard. He winked at her.
"Ah, sometimes I don't know Christmas from Bourke Street, Miss Creed," he replied. "I get my head into this and I forget all else."
Annja put Wes somewhere between thirty-five and fifty, his hair graying, but his face unlined and his eyes bright. He was dressed in the traditional khaki pants most archaeologists wore, but his shirt was a brilliant lake-blue, new and with sharp creases; he'd worn a new shirt each day of the shoot, and had polished his shoes. He'd stubbornly refuse ... read full excerpt from: Eternal Journey ebook
