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He shrugged. "She's not always in close touch with reality. Too much self-
medicating. Liquor, mostly."
"Oh." Her hands fell to her lap. "I'm sorry. Is she depressive? Bipolar?"
He gave her a funny look. "You know the lingo."
"My bachelor's degree is in sociology. Before I decided to go to seminary, I was
planning on being a therapist."
He grunted one of those all-purpose male grunts that can mean anything
and slid his fish off onto his leaf-plate. "The water bag is right next to you. Drink.
You need at least a gallon of water a day."
She made a face, but picked up the bag and swallowed quickly.
Darkness had closed in while they ate and talked. The cheerful dance of their
little fire was the only light now, and the air felt chilly after the day's heat. She
hugged her knees closer and wished she didn't like him so much. Wanting him
was bad enough. Discovering she liked him, too, made her feel even more of a
fool.
At least he was talking to her again. He'd been silent for hours after that kiss.
Not that she blamed him. He'd saved her life at great risk to his own, and she'd all
but called him a killer.
He wasn't a killer, not in the sense most people meant the word. Yet he had
killed. And that bothered her no, it went deeper than that. It troubled her soul.
Why? He'd done it to save her life, and his&
Oh, she thought. Oh, yes. Because of her, a man was dead. He'd died at Michael's
hand. Michael was the link between her and violent death. Just like Dan, who had
died because of her & no, what was she thinking? He'd died because he'd been in
the wrong place at the wrong time. Hadn't she worked that out for herself slowly,
painfully, over the last two years?
Nothing made sense. Not her thoughts, not her feelings. Maybe she shouldn't
try to sort things out, anyway. A relationship with Michael could go nowhere, and
she couldn't indulge in a brief physical relationship. Of course, no one would ever
know&
The whispery thought shamed her but wasn't hard to answer. She would know.
She tried to pray, to seek guidance, but couldn't hold her thoughts together. They
were scattering, drifting away&
"Hey. You're falling asleep sitting up. Better make a trip to the bushes before
you nod off."
A.J.'s head jerked up. She blinked. "Right."
She didn't go far. The night was dark, the rustlings in the bushes scary. When
she came back, he had his pants down and was spreading ointment on his leg. She
averted her eyes quickly, moving to their bed. "How's your leg?"
"It'll feel better when I've been off it a few hours." He rewound the bandage.
"Go ahead and lie down. I'll take care of the fire when I get back."
He took his gun with him. She didn't think it was a conscious decision; keeping
his gun handy was automatic.
How different they were. How totally, unbridgeably different.
A.J. stretched out with a sigh, fully dressed except for her shoes and socks.
Probably, she thought, if she weren't so tired she'd be vastly uncomfortable. As it
was, her eyelids drifted down the moment she was horizontal.
She barely woke when he joined her. His body curved around hers, big and
warm and solid. He pulled the lightweight cover over them both, and rested his
arm on her waist. She breathed in his scent, feeling safe, mildly aroused. And
guilty.
Her eyes opened onto the darkness. "Michael?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
She was nearly asleep again before she heard him whisper, "So am I."
The ground was hard. The woman he held was soft. Between the fire in his leg
and the one in his groin, Michael didn't hold out much hope of sleep.
But she was asleep. Soundly, peacefully asleep. That baffled him. The exertions
of the last day and night had been enough to make stone feel as comfortable as a
feather bed & but she'd curled into him so trustingly. That's what didn't make
sense.
He'd made it clear he wanted her. She'd made it clear she didn't want him. Oh,
on a physical level, she did. He wished he could take some satisfaction from that
truth, but he couldn't. Not when it was him she rejected his actions, his choices,
his career. His life.
Yet she was snuggled up as warm and cozy as if they'd slept together for years.
As if she trusted him completely. What was a man supposed to make of that?
Women were always a mystery on some level, he supposed. Maybe it was the
estrogen-testosterone thing one flavor of hormones produced a vastly different
chemical cocktail from the other.
Still, for all her mysterious femaleness, Alyssa would have made a good soldier,
he thought, trying to find a comfortable position for his throbbing leg. She had
what it took dedication, compassion, humor. And guts. A woman with the sheer,
ballsy courage it had taken to refuse to be rescued unless they took the nun with
them wouldn't flinch at other unpleasant necessities, like sharing a blanket with
him.
But courage didn't banish fear. It might triumph over it, but couldn't erase it.
And there was no fear in the warm body he held.
The night was black and restless, filled with small sounds. Brush rustled. A
breeze plucked at the leaves overhead, and from off in the distance came the howl
of some night-roamer. The pain in his leg was strong, a vicious red presence
dulling his mind. The woman in his arms slept on, her breathing easy and slow.
Her hair tickled his chin. It smelled good, he thought fuzzily. She smelled good.
Funny how soothing it was to breathe in her scent as his eyes closed & did she
like the way he smelled? Pheromones, he thought fuzzily. Maybe there were trust
pheromones as well as sexual pheromones, some mysterious alchemy of scent
that could make a woman fall peacefully asleep in the arms of a man whose kiss
repelled her.
He was still puzzling over that when exhaustion dragged him gently into
oblivion.
Shortly before dawn, it started to rain. It was Alyssa who remembered their
footwear. She bolted upright and dashed to the extinct campfire.
"How wet are they?" he asked, holding the blanket up so she could climb under
it again with his boots, her shoes and their socks.
"Not bad."
She sounded a bit breathless. Maybe that was because of her sudden
movement. Or maybe she was noticing all the things he was noticing, like how
perfectly they fit, snuggled close together beneath the silver cover. And how much
his body appreciated the round shape of her rump, tucked up against him.
The leafy canopy overhead filtered the rain; it reached them only in stray
drops, a cold trickle here and there. She shifted. Her movement had an immediate
and enthusiastic effect on his body which he didn't think she could have missed.
"Luke 12:6 and 7," she said in a disgruntled voice.
He stiffened. "And your meaning is?"
"He keeps track of every sparrow but He doesn't promise to keep them dry."
His laugh surprised him almost as much as she had. "We'll dry off eventually,"
he said. "Once it stops raining."
The rain faded to a drizzle about the time the road petered out into a trail, and
dried up completely by midmorning. It was dim and green and warm beneath the
canopy, an enormous plant-womb brimming with life. The rain forest was
supposed to be home to sloths, anteaters, tapirs, armadillos, peccaries, and deer.
The only wildlife they saw that morning had six or eight legs.
They didn't find any fruit, either. A.J. was feeling hollow all the way to her toes
when they spotted the village at noon.
"I will not let you steal from those people," she whispered fiercely.
About one hundred meters below them, barely visible through the trunks of
giant trees, lay a ragged cluster of huts in a narrow valley. The five huts probably
belonged to colonos who, desperate for land, had chopped down or burned off
enough of the forest giants to clear the small fields they worked communally. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
He shrugged. "She's not always in close touch with reality. Too much self-
medicating. Liquor, mostly."
"Oh." Her hands fell to her lap. "I'm sorry. Is she depressive? Bipolar?"
He gave her a funny look. "You know the lingo."
"My bachelor's degree is in sociology. Before I decided to go to seminary, I was
planning on being a therapist."
He grunted one of those all-purpose male grunts that can mean anything
and slid his fish off onto his leaf-plate. "The water bag is right next to you. Drink.
You need at least a gallon of water a day."
She made a face, but picked up the bag and swallowed quickly.
Darkness had closed in while they ate and talked. The cheerful dance of their
little fire was the only light now, and the air felt chilly after the day's heat. She
hugged her knees closer and wished she didn't like him so much. Wanting him
was bad enough. Discovering she liked him, too, made her feel even more of a
fool.
At least he was talking to her again. He'd been silent for hours after that kiss.
Not that she blamed him. He'd saved her life at great risk to his own, and she'd all
but called him a killer.
He wasn't a killer, not in the sense most people meant the word. Yet he had
killed. And that bothered her no, it went deeper than that. It troubled her soul.
Why? He'd done it to save her life, and his&
Oh, she thought. Oh, yes. Because of her, a man was dead. He'd died at Michael's
hand. Michael was the link between her and violent death. Just like Dan, who had
died because of her & no, what was she thinking? He'd died because he'd been in
the wrong place at the wrong time. Hadn't she worked that out for herself slowly,
painfully, over the last two years?
Nothing made sense. Not her thoughts, not her feelings. Maybe she shouldn't
try to sort things out, anyway. A relationship with Michael could go nowhere, and
she couldn't indulge in a brief physical relationship. Of course, no one would ever
know&
The whispery thought shamed her but wasn't hard to answer. She would know.
She tried to pray, to seek guidance, but couldn't hold her thoughts together. They
were scattering, drifting away&
"Hey. You're falling asleep sitting up. Better make a trip to the bushes before
you nod off."
A.J.'s head jerked up. She blinked. "Right."
She didn't go far. The night was dark, the rustlings in the bushes scary. When
she came back, he had his pants down and was spreading ointment on his leg. She
averted her eyes quickly, moving to their bed. "How's your leg?"
"It'll feel better when I've been off it a few hours." He rewound the bandage.
"Go ahead and lie down. I'll take care of the fire when I get back."
He took his gun with him. She didn't think it was a conscious decision; keeping
his gun handy was automatic.
How different they were. How totally, unbridgeably different.
A.J. stretched out with a sigh, fully dressed except for her shoes and socks.
Probably, she thought, if she weren't so tired she'd be vastly uncomfortable. As it
was, her eyelids drifted down the moment she was horizontal.
She barely woke when he joined her. His body curved around hers, big and
warm and solid. He pulled the lightweight cover over them both, and rested his
arm on her waist. She breathed in his scent, feeling safe, mildly aroused. And
guilty.
Her eyes opened onto the darkness. "Michael?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
She was nearly asleep again before she heard him whisper, "So am I."
The ground was hard. The woman he held was soft. Between the fire in his leg
and the one in his groin, Michael didn't hold out much hope of sleep.
But she was asleep. Soundly, peacefully asleep. That baffled him. The exertions
of the last day and night had been enough to make stone feel as comfortable as a
feather bed & but she'd curled into him so trustingly. That's what didn't make
sense.
He'd made it clear he wanted her. She'd made it clear she didn't want him. Oh,
on a physical level, she did. He wished he could take some satisfaction from that
truth, but he couldn't. Not when it was him she rejected his actions, his choices,
his career. His life.
Yet she was snuggled up as warm and cozy as if they'd slept together for years.
As if she trusted him completely. What was a man supposed to make of that?
Women were always a mystery on some level, he supposed. Maybe it was the
estrogen-testosterone thing one flavor of hormones produced a vastly different
chemical cocktail from the other.
Still, for all her mysterious femaleness, Alyssa would have made a good soldier,
he thought, trying to find a comfortable position for his throbbing leg. She had
what it took dedication, compassion, humor. And guts. A woman with the sheer,
ballsy courage it had taken to refuse to be rescued unless they took the nun with
them wouldn't flinch at other unpleasant necessities, like sharing a blanket with
him.
But courage didn't banish fear. It might triumph over it, but couldn't erase it.
And there was no fear in the warm body he held.
The night was black and restless, filled with small sounds. Brush rustled. A
breeze plucked at the leaves overhead, and from off in the distance came the howl
of some night-roamer. The pain in his leg was strong, a vicious red presence
dulling his mind. The woman in his arms slept on, her breathing easy and slow.
Her hair tickled his chin. It smelled good, he thought fuzzily. She smelled good.
Funny how soothing it was to breathe in her scent as his eyes closed & did she
like the way he smelled? Pheromones, he thought fuzzily. Maybe there were trust
pheromones as well as sexual pheromones, some mysterious alchemy of scent
that could make a woman fall peacefully asleep in the arms of a man whose kiss
repelled her.
He was still puzzling over that when exhaustion dragged him gently into
oblivion.
Shortly before dawn, it started to rain. It was Alyssa who remembered their
footwear. She bolted upright and dashed to the extinct campfire.
"How wet are they?" he asked, holding the blanket up so she could climb under
it again with his boots, her shoes and their socks.
"Not bad."
She sounded a bit breathless. Maybe that was because of her sudden
movement. Or maybe she was noticing all the things he was noticing, like how
perfectly they fit, snuggled close together beneath the silver cover. And how much
his body appreciated the round shape of her rump, tucked up against him.
The leafy canopy overhead filtered the rain; it reached them only in stray
drops, a cold trickle here and there. She shifted. Her movement had an immediate
and enthusiastic effect on his body which he didn't think she could have missed.
"Luke 12:6 and 7," she said in a disgruntled voice.
He stiffened. "And your meaning is?"
"He keeps track of every sparrow but He doesn't promise to keep them dry."
His laugh surprised him almost as much as she had. "We'll dry off eventually,"
he said. "Once it stops raining."
The rain faded to a drizzle about the time the road petered out into a trail, and
dried up completely by midmorning. It was dim and green and warm beneath the
canopy, an enormous plant-womb brimming with life. The rain forest was
supposed to be home to sloths, anteaters, tapirs, armadillos, peccaries, and deer.
The only wildlife they saw that morning had six or eight legs.
They didn't find any fruit, either. A.J. was feeling hollow all the way to her toes
when they spotted the village at noon.
"I will not let you steal from those people," she whispered fiercely.
About one hundred meters below them, barely visible through the trunks of
giant trees, lay a ragged cluster of huts in a narrow valley. The five huts probably
belonged to colonos who, desperate for land, had chopped down or burned off
enough of the forest giants to clear the small fields they worked communally. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]