by Mia Sheridan
There were trails and dirt roads in some areas, and in others we had to move through dense trees, creating our own path. I followed behind Thomas, keeping his pace. I was breathing harshly, sweat pooling between my breasts and sliding down my back, whereas he hadn't even broken a light sweat.
Just when I thought I was going to die, he'd stop so suddenly I'd almost run into his back. I tried to act nonchalant, but each time he told me it was time for a water break, I was so thankful, I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes. He'd hand me the canteen he carried and I'd drink the water slowly, trying to drag out our rest time as long as I could. And then we'd continue on, the sky eventually dimming as the sun lowered.
When Thomas stopped suddenly again, I did run into him, letting out a startled gasp as my front collided with his solid back. "Oomph," I said, disoriented. I'd been walking in some strange trance, tuned inward, only halfway aware of anything around me.
Thomas turned, steadying me. "We'll camp here."
I almost groaned with relief, but held it back, simply nodding. I lowered myself gingerly to a rock a few steps away, attempting not to grimace, looking at the area he'd chosen. It was in a copse of trees, but there was an open area mostly clear of brush and a few rocks scattered here and there. It was cool and serene, with shafts of muted light filtering through the leaves overhead. As my heartbeat slowed, and the blood no longer rushed in my ears, the soft swish of swaying branches and the chatter of birds penetrated my exhausted mind.
Through a gap in the trees, I could see that the sun had almost completely dipped below the horizon. I took out my cell phone and saw I had no reception. I'd sent Christina a quick text as we'd left Rionegro that morning and she'd texted back to be careful and that she loved me. Apparently that would be the last communication I would send until . . . well, until I could.
Thomas took off his backpack and sat on a rock across from me. He uncapped the canteen and brought it to his mouth, tilting his head back and watching me as he drank. His throat moved rhythmically as he swallowed, and the sight seemed intimate for some reason. Uncomfortable, I looked away. "You want to take your pack off?"
I met his eyes, nodding, as he screwed the cap back on the canteen. "I will. I just need a minute."
He stared at me for a few beats, his eyes moving from my feet to my face, seeming to assess my condition. His expression remained enigmatic. "You did good today."
"Thanks." I pulled myself up, moving slowly, my muscles crying out to have to exert the smallest effort after they'd just been getting a break. I took a step and couldn't help the wince that accompanied the rubbing of one of my blisters. I couldn't even pinpoint where the blisters were anymore. It felt as if both feet had been rubbed raw. "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back."
Thomas stood, taking the few steps, his expression suddenly tense and angry. "Sit down. Let me see your feet."
I shook my head. "I just have a few blisters. They'll be better by morning. I feel fine."
"Like hell. Sit down," he commanded again, and though I didn't appreciate the tone in his voice, I followed his order anyway, sinking back down on the rock.
Thomas squatted in front of me, removing both shoes and peeling my socks off as I winced again. He turned my feet one way and then the other, swearing under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me about this hours ago?"
"You told me not to complain."
He stared at me, his expression stern, but those frosty gray eyes seeming to warm minutely. Like a ray of sunshine hitting a cold slab of stone. "I meant don't complain about small shit. You must have been in pain for miles."
"I handled it," I muttered.
"I see that." He stood, grabbed his backpack, and removed a first aid kit from the front pocket. "I'll treat your blisters and bandage them and give you some Tylenol. We can slow it down tomorrow."
"That's not—"
"I make the rules, remember?" His gaze was sharp as he glanced at me.
I crossed my arms. "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, working not to roll my eyes. I turned my head, but when I stole a quick glance, I saw one side of his lips quirk up. As quickly as it was there, it was gone and then he got to work on my ravaged feet.
Hours later, after a dinner of spaghetti that came in a small brown package, and a bottle of water, I stretched my tired body onto the lightweight sleeping bag I'd bought. It folded into a bag so small it fit in the palm of my hand. Thomas had brought something similar and he stretched out a short distance from me, his hands behind his head the way they'd been the night before.
The waxing moon was yellow and bright, and I could see a slip of skin as his T-shirt pulled upward with his movement. I felt a buzzing in my blood and looked away, forcing myself to bring to mind Alec's handsome face, remembering the way his sandy-blond hair would fall over his forehead and I'd brush it back. What had it felt like? I could barely remember anymore. It made my heart clench with sorrow. Loss.
I turned on my side toward Thomas, my eyes growing heavy even though I'd lain down only moments before. For some reason I felt like I needed to justify this trip right then—maybe not even to Thomas, maybe just to myself. Thomas had no idea I was feeling guilty for noticing his physical attractiveness when I was risking so much for another man. But I did, and it was causing me to feel sad and sort of desperate. It made me feel as if I should be questioning things, and it was too late for that. I'd lived and breathed every question possible since Alec had disappeared. No, I'd made my choice, I was here, in a makeshift camp, backpacking through a foreign country, and I had to see this plan through. There was really no alternative because Thomas was headed to Palomino with or without me, and I knew he wouldn’t turn back because his client's feet were beginning to get cold. Again.
"I told you I was adopted," I said and though Thomas didn't move, I knew he was listening. He remained still, his arms bent behind his head as he stared at the bright moon. "My records were sealed but I have this memory . . ." I curled my arm under my cheek and pictured that shabby room, envisioned the little girl who sat in the corner crying, snot smeared across her cheeks. She'd smelled like urine, and I knew she’d wet her pants. "I had a sister—she was younger I think, or at least that's the impression I have, though I don't know by how much. I . . . I took the meanness—that's what I remember thinking of it as—when there was a man around, one of our mother's boyfriends I guess. I remember my little sister crying, and I remember trying to figure out what to do because it had been a couple of days since our mom had come home. I remember being hungry. I remember that feeling." I was quiet for a moment as I recalled that vague misty pain deep in my gut. "So much of it is so . . . hazy, so riddled with holes, and I don't know if they're memories or dreams I manufactured in my own mind. I can't tell one from the other. I was so, so young. But I do remember the feeling of . . . being a team, of wanting not only to take care of myself, but of knowing I had to take care of her, too, because we were family. I remember that feeling of purpose." Love.
I paused for a brief moment. "Alec is an orphan like me," I said softly. "He lost his parents when he was young and I am . . . was . . . am all he has." I closed my eyes as I gathered my thoughts. "Still, I know there's a good chance that Alec left me. Looking back now, I see things that maybe I should have paid more attention to. Things . . . well anyway," I said, knowing that was a whole other conversation, one I hadn't even fully had with myself yet and wasn't prepared to do with someone else, "I know chances are good that if I find Alec in Palomino, he won't be especially ecstatic to see me. I'm prepared for that." I think. I opened my eyes and saw that, although Thomas was in the same position, he'd turned his head to look at me. Even from several feet away, I could feel the intensity of those unusual eyes boring into me, seeing into me.
"I was abandoned once," I whispered. "I lost my sister, and my mother, and maybe my mother wasn't a good person, maybe she had made a whole slew of bad choices, but I still feel that loss—even now—and I wonder if she had been given a chance, some help, if maybe s
he could have turned things around." I paused again. "Maybe Alec made some bad choices as well, maybe he messed up and he got scared and ran. But maybe he needs to be reassured that everyone deserves a second chance and that I will stick by him and we will face those problems together because that's what family does. I won't abandon him, because I know what that feels like, and I refuse to do it to someone else. And if it turns out that I am a fool, then at least I'll be a fool who has closure. At least I'll know I fought."
My final words drifted away as my eyes closed and my tired body and my troubled mind began giving in to the call of rest. Just before I faded away, I heard Thomas say quietly, "He's the fool, Livvy."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thomas
I'd been out of the military for six years, and I still usually slept like a soldier—easy to fall asleep and easy to wake, but I hadn't fallen asleep easily the night before. Her words had repeated in my mind. I will stick by him and we will face those problems together because that's what family does. Jesus. The woman was a fool. But damned if my heart hadn't softened because she was a sweet, loyal fool, and maybe that meant she wasn't a fool at all. Shit. I could not afford to feel sympathy—and a grudging respect—for Livvy Barton. That was the kind of thing that would have me second guessing my choices, and it was too late for that. Plus, it wasn't really about Livvy. None of this was about soft, sweet, foolhardy Livvy, and I had to remind myself of that.
I woke her, watching her face as those big blue eyes blinked up at me, watching as recognition came into her expression. She looked startled for a moment and then sat up quickly, smoothing her hair back. She didn't speak, didn't ask what time it was, she just got up and began rolling her sleeping bag up. Little soldier. I smiled to myself as I turned to find a private place to take a piss.
Truth was, she'd impressed the hell out of me the day before. I'd been stewing on things, kind of irritated and pissed that the look she'd given me when I'd taught her the take-down move had complicated things in my mind, and I hadn't considered her enough. Or maybe I'd almost wanted to cause her to feel discomfort. Maybe I'd kept up the breakneck pace because part of me wanted to punish her. Goddamn, was I really that much of a bastard?
But Livvy hadn't uttered a peep even though she’d been dripping with sweat, her face bright red, and her feet practically raw. There weren't many men who would have continued on without at least a complaint, or a few choice words slung in my direction.
When I came out of the woods, Livvy was zipping her backpack closed. Her hair was pulled back, and she'd put her sleeping bag completely away. She gave me a fleeting smile. "Can I use some of the water to brush my teeth?"
I nodded. "Yeah, but just a little. Those two bottles are all we have left until we get to the town a few hours in front of us."
Once we were both cleaned up, packed, and had eaten a power bar and drank a little water, we started walking again. This time, I adopted a slower pace though Livvy assured me several times her feet felt fine. Fine wasn't possible. I had plenty of firsthand knowledge about injuries—I'd experienced about everything from blisters to broken bones—and I knew how quickly things healed. Still, hopefully with the salve I'd applied and the thick bandages, they were only mildly uncomfortable.
Morning spilled through the jungle, tendrils of light meeting dew-heavy leaves. Shadows shifted and sparkled and the hush of night turned into the chorus of day: rustling leaves, chattering birds, croaking frogs, and a hundred other sounds that meant the forest had woken.
The air was so clean and sweet, I swore I could drink it if I tilted my head back and opened my mouth. The loamy scent of soil and the sweet smell of tropical plants and flowers met my nose as we walked.
"Colombia has the best coffee in the world and there's not a drop to drink," I heard Livvy mutter mournfully. "It's truly painful."
I chuckled. "Don't think about it and it won't hurt so bad."
"Don't you drink coffee?"
I shrugged. "If it's around. But I never know where I'm going to wake up or what's going to be available. Wouldn't be wise in my business to become dependent on anything."
She was quiet for a moment as she appeared to ponder that. "Not even people?"
"Especially not people."
She shot me a look filled with . . . what? Sympathy? Before I could discern exactly what was in her face, she turned away, looking in the opposite direction to where cotton fields rose in the distance.
I stopped and pulled out the canteen I'd poured the rest of the water into and took a swig, handing it to Livvy. She took it, drinking deeply and staring off into the vista before us. "Two months ago, I was sipping champagne as I watched my bridesmaids get their dresses altered, and now I'm drinking from a canteen in the middle of a jungle with . . . you."
My eyes met hers. Her expression was kind of wistful, kind of sad. "Where'd you expect to be right now?" I asked, regretting the words that had fallen from my lips. I didn't need to hear any more of Livvy's personal thoughts, none of her hopes or dreams.
She took a deep breath. "I should be in Hawaii with Alec right now, sipping a tropical drink on a sun-drenched beach."
Her honeymoon. He really was an idiot. "Life throws curveballs, huh?"
Her gaze lingered on mine. "I'd say," she murmured. She tilted her head. "How do you get used to it?"
"Used to what?"
"The constant change. Not waking up in the same place every day. Never knowing what's going to happen next."
"I like it that way."
She studied me another moment. "We're so different, aren't we?"
"Yeah. We are Livvy." I paused for a moment. "Anyway," I started walking and she did too, "I can't offer you a beach or a tropical drink, but I've got the sun-drenched part covered." I squinted up at the bright Colombian sun.
Behind me, I heard the soft sound of her laughter, and I liked it more than I wanted to. "Something's better than nothing."
Was it? I supposed it depended what that something was.
As we rounded a bend, I suddenly heard the very faint echo of . . . something ahead of us, moving closer. I turned to Livvy who had come to a halt when I had, and I put one finger to my lips. Quiet. Her brow furrowed, the smile she'd been wearing disappearing from her face. She obviously hadn't heard anything, but I had, and I trusted my ability to pick up sounds that didn't fit the environment. Taking Livvy's hand, I led her behind a grouping of trees and thick brush off the path and pulled her against me.
I could feel the beating of her heart against my own—quickened like her breath—though her lips were parted so she was expelling the air in her lungs silently. Good girl. And I could smell her, that light, fresh fragrance she'd worn when I met her in that bar, but now there was the warm scent of feminine sweat underlying that. And it turned me on, sending a bolt of arousal through my blood, hardening my dick so it was pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of my pants. Fuck. A groan moved inside my chest.
I should've turned my head so I wasn't breathing her in so intensely. I should've. But I didn't. I leaned closer because I couldn't fucking help myself, inhaling more of her as we stood frozen together, waiting.
Twenty seconds later, voices became discernible. Men's voices, laughter, and the loud crunch of footsteps. Livvy froze against me. Instinctively, my left arm came around her, holding her more solidly to my chest, her warm breath against my T-shirt, her heart beating a staccato rhythm as we waited in silence for the men to pass. With my right hand, I held the gun at the small of my back, ready to draw it immediately should I need to. I was confident it wouldn't be necessary—the men were making no effort to be quiet, a band of disorganized delinquents at worst, and I had every reason to believe they'd walk right past us. Unless one of them decided to take a piss behind the exact tree we were concealed behind, which wasn't very likely.
I listened to what they were saying as their laughter grew louder, their voices clearer, chatting raucously in Spanish. My muscles tightened when I realized what they were talk
ing about. Sick motherfuckers. For a moment, their voices were seemingly right next to us and I smelled tobacco smoke and the stink of unwashed bodies before they moved away, their noise fading as we continued to stand hidden by the brush, our bodies flush.
Livvy had begun shaking, and I pulled her even closer, the intense need to protect her almost overwhelming me. The men's voices faded, and after a minute their laughter was only a memory, but Livvy didn't let go of me. I didn't let go of her either, moving my focus back to the feel of her heat against me, the soft, delicate press of her body, her scent. She gripped my T-shirt and turned her face into my chest, continuing to shake. I didn't speak, didn't really know what to do to soothe her, but the unfamiliar need filled me and so I ran my hand over her hair, down her back, up, then down again. I wondered if her reaction was because of the men who had passed us, or if this was bigger. Had anyone held her since her fiancé disappeared? Who had comforted her when she realized the man she was going to marry had likely betrayed her? She was strong, I realized that now, but a person couldn't be strong all the time.
The birds tittered in the trees, a breeze ruffled the leaves, and Livvy's shaking eventually stopped, her heartrate calming as she sagged against me. Finally, her grip on my T-shirt loosened, and she peeked up at me, her gaze locking with mine. "Were you . . . petting me?" she whispered.
I froze and whatever appeared on my face caused her eyes to widen. "No," she said, placing her hand on my chest. "I . . . I liked it. It was nice. Thank you. I'm sorry, I—" She shook her head, wincing slightly.