Ripleyhasimagined that. But those days are gone—and, like her dad said, they won’t be back.
“This time in your life doesn’t come around twice, Pip,” he told her, carrying her fossilized-seashell collection—girlie enough to be mistaken for decor, she hoped—into her freshman dorm at the University of Eastern Montana. “Make sure you spend it on your own dreams, building something you’ll be proud of forever.”
She wasted her first, best chance at her dreams, at making him proud, at proving his sacrifices weren’t for nothing. She can’t blow another chance.
“The fossil rights at Clever Girl are split between me and Geraldine. I need my half of Beauty’s sale price, and I imagine Geraldine wants to recoup her investment. If a museum wants Beauty, they can buy her.”
He rakes a hand through his hair with a wordless sound of frustration, like he doesn’t understand why anyone would put money over glory. Maybe hecan’tunderstand after the privileged life he’s led. The only trace of hardship on him is the scar on his thigh, like a healed-over tooth mark on a tyrannosaur femur that says it lived to fight another day.
“But…but you’rehere,” he says.
“Usually, yes,” she says dryly. “My territorial range extends as far as Herc. Occasionally I migrate to Bozeman for a change of pace.”
He sighs, impatient. “What I mean to say is, you could have looked for a tyrannosaur.That’s where the real money is. You could have been in Hell Creek, tripping over fossils left and right. You could be working for a company like Black Hills. But you’re out here, where the bones are few and far between, looking forbirds,” he says. “For the thing you love.Still.Do you know how rare that kind of passion is? In my entire career, I’ve met no one who would have persisted the way you have. I have to believe that means something, Ripley. You could be one of the great paleontologists of the twenty-first century.”
“I’m a thief and an opportunist, according to quite a few of your colleagues,” she counters in the calmest voice she can manage.
“Are you? Really?” He turns toward her, dish towel crumpled in his hand. “What happened to you, Ripley? Beyond what I read in the discipline summary from the University of Eastern Montana.”
“Wow,” she says miserably. “That’s public?”
“No. But there are channels.”
“That makes me feelsomuch better.”
“Tell me your side of the story, then. It’s rather unusual that Will Stone never published the theory he claimed you stole, don’t you think? In fact, he never produced anything of that caliber again. It makes me wonder whether, if one chose to dig deeper, one might find he has committed all manner of misdeeds to get where he is.”
Ripley lets out a long breath before speaking. “My lawyer said Will can sue if I defame him. And he already won the disciplinary hearing, so…”
Smithson’s muscles flex far more than is necessary for him to throw the dish towel on the counter. “So it’s true. That bloodywanker,” he says passionately. “He should pray he never breaks down on a country road and my car is the next one to pass by.”
“Whoa. That is, uh, an extremely specific scenario for someone who doesn’t drive.”
He leans forward, hands splayed against the weathered Formica. “What if I could get you funding that secured the academic rights to Beauty foryou,Ripley? What if you and I could reveal the truth about Will? You could come back to your PhD. You could work with the best people, collaborate on the most exciting projects. You could slow down. Take your time instead of pushing yourself so bloody hard. I could find you a placement in a good lab. M-my lab, if necessary.” He looks down, catching his lip between his teeth.
Ripley picks up the last pot. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
His face looks like she drove a silver stake through his heart. “Butwhy?”
Because even if they take Will down, it won’t undo the past three years. Because a grad-school stipend won’t pay her dad’s bills.
“I know you’ve never imagined a life outside academia, but I’ve built somethinggoodhere, Smithson. A company. A community. It shouldn’t be so surprising that I want to keep it.”
“I’ve imagined a life outside academia,” he says, all huffy and affronted. But there’s a wisp of something underneath. Some emotion that, if he weren’t James Smithson, she’d call wistful. Longing, even.
“Okay, but for you it’s a thought exercise,” she says. “For ninety-plus percent of paleontology PhDs, it’s reality. There were four other people in my year at UEM. One is now a children’s librarian. Another is a statistician for an insurance company. The third is”—she shudders theatrically—“aprivate collector.”
He nods thoughtfully. “And the fourth is Will Stone.”
“Yup.” Back then, she hadn’t imagined a future where Will became a professor and her own career went extinct. “My point is, universities train all those students knowing there are no jobs. Then they claim we shouldn’t touch fossils unless we have those jobs. Well, I don’t accept that. So instead of telling me I should be one of your people, how about you try being one of us? Here’s your chance to see how the other ninety percent lives.”
She nudges him aside, dips the last pot in the rinse water, and lays it on the drying pad. “And since you’re one of us for now, I’ll find you a bike you can keep at the site. Geraldine probably has one in the barn somewhere. While you’re here, you can bike anywhere you need to go.”
His startled eyes flick to hers, the central starbursts catching the gold of the sinking sun. “I can drive back with the crew.”
“I’m sure youcan.But you shouldn’t have to if you hate cars.”
“I don’t hate them.” He picks up the towel, folds it precisely in half, and hangs it over the towel bar. “I was in an accident when Iwas younger. Now I prefer nonmotorized transport whenever it’s feasible.”
