Anguish gripped Tess. She’d picked up the phone so many times to call Gib, to ask for help. But he was still mending and healing himself. She refused to add herself as a burden to Gib’s already transformed life. And Pete—Tess gave a little cry and felt the pain in her heart. She loved Pete, and she needed him desperately. But he wasn’t here. Tess worried about him—he could be killed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was alone. Abandoned. Was this how Pete had felt as a child? Tess didn’t know why she felt so confused, so unable to cope with American society. Nothing was right, and the only thing that could make it right was Pete’s presence. He gave her hope and strength. But he was in Vietnam….
Perhaps if I go to Mexico, I’ll stabilize and I’ll be okay. And then I can go home once I’m well. Or could she? Tess was no longer sure, not even about Gib, who had always been there for her.
Why am I feeling so alone? So cut off? I can’t stop crying. The nightmares won’t leave me alone. I die inside at every little sound…. I’m going crazy…. There’s no hope for me….
*
“You’re taking R and R Stateside?” Army Lieutenant Barnard asked Pete as they stood in line to get on the freedom bird, a Continental jet, at Tan Son Nhut air base.
Pete was dressed in his tan uniform, a small leather satchel in hand. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Man, you could go to Hong Kong, Japan or Hawaii. Why Stateside? You only got a week, buddy.”
“Got some business there,” Pete said grimly and turned away, not wanting to discuss his reason any further with the army officer. It had been a month since he’d last seen Tess. Gib hadn’t been able to locate her, despite hiring a detective. There had been many false hopes raised. Over time, Pete’s love and concern for Tess grew. Instinctively, he knew that if he could find Tess, he could coax her back no matter where or why she was hiding. One week was all he had to find Tess. A lousy seven days. He would rent a car at the Midland airstrip when he landed. Pete prayed Gib and Dany would have good news about Tess.
As Pete took his seat on the huge jet, his nerves jangled. The last month of combat had changed him—forever. He’d already had two birds shot out from under him. His hands shook uncontrollably at times. He’d spilled more than one drink on himself at the O club after a bad mission. Sitting down, Pete strapped himself in and pushed the satchel beneath the seat in front of him. Closing his eyes, he lay back, sleep taking over almost immediately. It was going to be a long flight home. Home to try to find Tess.
*
Tess felt the potent tequila start to numb her tongue, then her mouth, throat and finally the mass of raw, unstable feelings that kept her gut knotted. She sat alone outside a Mexican cantina late at night, drinking the liquor to try to prevent the terrifying nightmares that so often awakened her when she finally stumbled home. She lifted another shot glass of the clear liquor to her lips and tipped back her head. One more shot, and she knew that she would go to sleep and not relive the dreams.
Tess hated herself for her weakness, but she was unable to fight it any other way. The last month had been quicksand, and she felt like she was drowning more and more every day. The only way she kept her sanity was by helping José and his family of twelve. She cared for the children and washed clothes down at the Rio Grande; they fed her a meager portion of their food in return. Tess was grateful that neither José or Luna, his wife, asked her about her past.
Miserably, Tess looked down at her hands. They were red, rough and callused, the nails chipped and in dire need of care. Her clothes needed to be washed, and so did her hair. Tess knew she should care about herself, but the feeling of shame held her frozen into immobility until even the simple tasks of daily life seemed like overwhelming obstacles to her.
In her fogged brain, Tess thought of Pete. Her heart cried out for him, but her head shouted that she was no longer deserving of him. Look at what she had sunk to. Look at her. A Third-World refugee herself. Besides, if Pete really loved her, he’d come for her, and he hadn’t. Time had lost all meaning. Why had she trusted Pete in the first place? Believed that he’d loved her? He was just like Eric—walking away from her after he’d gotten what he wanted….
*
“This might help you,” Gib offered Pete. He passed a piece of paper across the dining-room table to him. “I got this information late last night and couldn’t wait to give it to you.”
Gib’s voice was emotionally charged, hope burning in his eyes. Rubbing his jaw tiredly, Pete focused on the detective’s latest report. He’d arrived at the ranch minutes earlier via a rented car. To his right sat Dany, Gib’s obviously pregnant wife. He was happy for them, happy that their terrible, individual tragedies had ended in a mutual love that had sustained them through some trying times. They’d both lost so much. Blinking his burning eyes, Pete read the short paragraph, a report from the Hispanic investigator, Manuel Ortega, hired to try to track down Tess. His heartbeat tripled and he gasped.
“He found Tess? She’s in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico?”
“Yes,” Gib said excitedly, bringing out a map of Texas and Mexico. With Dany’s help, they opened it on the round maple table. Gib pointed to the area. “Take a look, Pete. Ciudad Juárez sits on the other side of the Rio Grande—across from El Paso, Texas.”
“What the hell is she doing there?” Pete muttered, studying the map intently.
“I don’t know. I talked to Ortega yesterday afternoon on the phone. He spotted Tess at a cantina as he went around with her photo asking bartenders if they’d seen or heard of her. Later, he followed her, and she ended up at a cardboard hut. Apparently she’s living there with a Mexican family. He doesn’t know much more. He only found her late yesterday and hasn’t had time to investigate further. My guess is that she’s helping the poor the way she did in Nam. Maybe she feels safe doing that. I don’t know.” Gib handed him a small manila envelope. “This arrived earlier this morning by special courier. Ortega got pictures of Tess. You’d better prepare yourself, Pete….”
Pete quickly opened the folder. There were three black-and-white photos of Tess. “My God—” His heart slammed against his ribs. The photos had been taken from quite a distance, but Pete recognized Tess. She was gaunt, almost like a skeleton, her eyes sunken and lifeless. In one photo, she was sitting outside a cardboard shack with a poor Mexican family, a little baby on her lap. Tess was wearing old, castoff clothes. At the second photo, Pete winced.
“She’s drinking?” He glanced up sharply at Gib, who shrugged.
“Tess never drank that I know of.” He gestured unhappily to the photo. “But the proof’s pretty conclusive.”
The photo showed Tess sitting outside a bar at a wooden table, with a quart of liquor and a glass in front of her.
Gib’s voice grew raspy. “That isn’t like Tess. None of this is like her.”
“She’s running,” Pete whispered. The last picture showed Tess down at the Rio Grande washing clothes with the children, who obviously had made her a part of their family.
Gib sat back and glanced over at Dany, then Pete. “I don’t understand her behavior. Tess was so solid, so stable before she went to Vietnam.”
Jerking his gaze up from the photos, Pete asked, “When is this world gonna wake up to the fact that she and people in a wartime situation get battle fatigue?”
Wearily, Gib gave him a confused look. “You’ve mentioned that phrase before. What the hell are you talking about?”
“There are a lot of symptoms, Gib. I’m no doctor, but I can tell that Tess has combat fatigue. It messes with a person’s mind and emotions. You’ve seen it in our guys: they get anxious, irritable and depressed. They go through a roller coaster of emotions. You can’t tell me you haven’t had some nightmares after coming home,” Pete added. “Or that you jump when a car backfires. Those are all symptoms.”
“Sure, I have those reactions.” Gib rubbed his chin in thought. “And I’ve seen those things in the men.” He looked up at Pete, his face drawn with sadness. “Tess wa
s in a form of combat over there, too. God, why didn’t I realize that until just now?”
Pete hurt for Gib, who had always prided himself on his sensitivity to the people he managed as a squadron leader. “I wouldn’t have recognized it either if I hadn’t seen Tess under stress in those villages of hers, Gib. I saw her swing like a pendulum, and that made me aware there was something going wrong in her.” He opened his hands. “Maybe Tess didn’t experience combat directly, but she was in situations just as dangerous as those we were in. Tess could have been kidnapped at any second, and she knew that. Or she could’ve been hit by a sniper’s round in those damned rice paddies she insisted on traipsing around in,” he said with disgust. Pete shook his head and dropped the photos on the table. His mouth compressed. “I’m going after her.”
Dany reached out and gripped his arm. “May we come with you?”
He rose, feeling the fatigue of the seemingly endless two-day flight. Struggling to be diplomatic, Pete said, “I think the condition Tess is in tells us how bad off she is.” When Gib met and held his stare, Pete knew Tess’s brother understood what he was trying to say. “No, if it’s all right with both of you, I’ll go alone.”
Dany got to her feet. “Let me at least have our maid draw you a bath and get some clean clothes for you to wear.”
Pete was grateful for Dany’s wise counsel. “Sounds good, Dany. If you’ll contact Ortega and tell him I’ll meet him at the motel, he can led me to where Tess is staying in Juárez.” Not one moment of his time was going to be spent without Tess if he could help it. It was one o’clock in the afternoon now. With any luck, Pete figured he could be in the border town of El Paso by early evening. Perhaps he could intercept Tess by nightfall. Perhaps.
*
“There she is,” the Mexican investigator, Manuel Ortega, said in a low voice. They stood at the corner of the cantina in the darkness so that Tess couldn’t see them. “This is where she comes sometimes, to the El Toro Bar. I talked to the bartender earlier today, and he said that table is hers. She likes to be alone. If anyone comes over and tries to talk to her, she ignores them and they go away.”
His mouth dry, Pete nodded. “Thanks, Manuel. I’ll take over from here.” He’d rented a car at the airport and followed the investigator across the border. The cantina was in the seedy, poor section of Ciudad Juárez. From the corner of the adobe building, Pete knew Tess couldn’t see them. His heart hurt, his eyes burned with fatigue and he felt like crying.
“You sure, Seńor? She might not want to come back.”
“I’m sure. Just get us a room over at that motel where you’re staying in El Paso, okay?”
“Si, Seńor.”
Pete waited until the investigator had left. There were a couple of bare electric bulbs inside the bar, shedding dim light outside the establishment. The bar had no door, and brassy Mexican music blared from inside. Pete watched as poorly clothed farmers in bare feet walked in and out of the establishment. No one seemed to pay any attention to Tess, who sat at the wooden picnic table farthest away from the door, against the building. She was covered in shadow, and his mouth quirked. He remembered talking to Tess about shadows once.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Pete forced himself to move forward. Tess had her brow pressed against her left hand, a drink in the other. She was staring blankly down at the rough-hewn tabletop. Her red hair was in dire need of a brushing and combing. Pete poignantly recalled when he’d brushed Tess’s hair in her hut in Nam—how much it had meant to him, helping to open his walled heart.
Tess’s clothes were of thin, faded cotton, the blouse oversized and the pants rolled up to her ankles. She wore a pair of leather thongs on her feet. The odor of cigarettes mingling with alcohol assailed his nostrils as he passed the entrance of the cantina. As Pete quietly approached, his heart pounded erratically in his chest. What would she do? Would she run? Scream? Hate him? God, he’d never felt as vulnerable as he did right now. He slowed to a halt opposite her.
“Tess?” Her name came out in a bare whisper. At first, Pete didn’t think she’d heard him, but then she slowly raised her head from her hand. Her once sparkling emerald eyes looked dark and dull.
Unconsciously, Pete tensed and held his breath as she gazed up at him. Did she remember him at all?
Tess frowned and shook her head, as if she were seeing things. “…Pete?” And then she slowly sat up. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered in disbelief, her eyes widening.
He released his jammed breath. “It’s me, Tess. And this is no nightmare. This is real. I’m real.” Pete moved slowly. He didn’t want to frighten her. She appeared shaken and highly unstable. As he sat down opposite her, he realized she was drunker than hell. Pete glanced at the bottle of tequila and then back at her. He ached for Tess, understanding all too well why she was drinking.
Blinking, Tess sat up. Her mind moved in a fog of confusion. Surely she was dreaming. One of those crazy, unreal dreams where Pete came to visit her when she needed him most. And each time, Tess woke herself up screaming, drenched in sweat, trying to forget the screams from the firefight at the Villard plantation. Pete slowly extended his hand toward Tess. She stared at the proffered hand, recalling its strength, its gentleness.
“Go on, touch me. I’m real, Tess.”
His voice was low, off-key. Tess’s heart picked up in beat, and she fought against the hope blossoming in her heart. His shadowed face was grim, but his eyes were soft with invitation. “No,” she protested weakly. “This is just another dream…. You aren’t real. You can’t be.”
Pete’s fingers closed around her hand on the glass. Tension vibrated through every particle of his being in that instant. “I’m real,” he rasped. “And I’m here to take you home, Tess.”
His touch galvanized her spinning senses. Tess felt the warmth and strength of his hand around hers, felt the vibrating care in his voice and saw the undisguised concern in his azure eyes. She sat very still and closed her eyes. Just his touch stabilized her careening world. “You are real….”
Pete forced himself to sit very still. He watched a flood of emotions cross her pale features, and felt her fingers tentatively begin to move across his, as if to convince herself she was awake. “We’ve all been worried for you, Tess. Gib and Dany hired an investigator to find you.” His fingers gripped hers, and she opened her eyes, awash with tears. “They want you to come home and live with them at the ranch. So do I.”
“You…they want me back? After what I did?”
His smile was tender. “Honey, when you love someone, it doesn’t stop no matter what happens.” Pete released her hand and stood up. He walked around the table. “We want you back, Tess. Will you come home with me?”
A shudder worked through Tess. She pushed the glass away and eased off the bench. Dizziness swept through her, and she automatically put her hand out to grab Pete’s, afraid she was going to fall. Instead, he whispered her name, opened his arms and swept her into a tight, hard embrace.
Pete heard Tess give a little cry as she sagged against him. The odor of alcohol mixed with those of her unwashed body and unkempt clothes. “Don’t run,” he appealed as he eased his grip. “I love you, Tess. God, I love you. I’m going to take you home. I’m going to take care of you, honey, I promise.”
Tess sobbed once, her face buried against the folds of Pete’s crisp cotton shirt. He was real. This was real. Pete was really here. Her dreams, always crushed by the weight of her devastating nightmares, had been answered. Somehow, Pete and her family had found her. Somehow, he knew she was in trouble. Tess could smell the masculine scent of him, the spicy shaving lotion and the cleanliness of the clothes he wore. Too drunk to talk coherently, she stopped fighting and sank heavily against him, semiconscious.
“Hold on, honey,” Pete quavered as he felt Tess go limp in his arms, surrendering to his superior strength. As he looked down at her ravaged features, tears leaked into his eyes. Tess had run as far as she could and hidden as best she could from the str
ess of Nam. As he gently gathered her up, he was alarmed by her loss of weight. A few of the Mexicans drinking at the bar looked out from the door with curiosity written on their faces, but they said nothing as he carried Tess to the car.
*
Sunlight poured through the partially opened motel drapes, waking Tess. She groaned and turned over on her back to escape the bright, blinding light, lifting her arm to shade her closed eyes. A man’s hand caught and gently held her fingers. Tess sucked in a breath and jerked her eyes open. The act cost her dearly, and she winced, the pain pounding unrelentingly through her head.
“Take it easy,” Pete advised quietly, holding her soiled hand in his. He sat on the edge of the double bed facing Tess. Earlier, he’d gotten up, taken a quick shower and changed into clean clothes, a short-sleeved white shirt and jeans. The night before, he’d brought Tess across the border and to the motel room reserved by Manuel Ortega. After calling Gib to reassure him that his sister was safe, Pete had slept off and on through the night in a chair beside her bed. Tess had woken up several times last night, screamed and then drifted back to sleep. Did she remember him holding and quieting her during those times? Whenever he’d held Tess, she had stopped whimpering and flailing around, had grown still, and had rested against him as she spiraled back into that hell she slept in. Looking into her eyes now, Pete’s hope grew. He could see life there again, no longer clouded by alcohol.
“I—I didn’t dream you,” Tess croaked. She felt the strength of Pete’s hand around her own tighten in response.
He managed a slight, self-deprecating smile, the corners of his mouth barely turning upward. “I’m no dream, honey. Maybe someone’s idea of a nightmare, but I’m sure as hell not a dream. I’m here in the flesh.”
Tess’s mind refused to work and she struggled to sit up. Pete released her hand. She looked around as she slowly eased over to sit on the edge of the bed, confused. “Where?”
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