by Tina Beckett
He’d spent the rest of the day hanging mosquito netting around all of the patients’ beds and caring for the ones who were the farthest away from his ex-wife.
Now, if he could just convince himself she really was his ex, he’d be just peachy.
* * *
Only two days into the outbreak and she was dog-tired. And hot.
So terribly hot. And now they were up to twenty patients, rather than fourteen.
The tiny house was still stifling, although Ben had figured out a way to combine fans with periodic jets of fine mist that reminded Tracy of the produce sections she’d seen at US supermarkets. It did help, but still…the place could never be deemed “cool.”
Then again, it never really cooled off in this part of the world. Tracy had become soft, working in Sao Paulo for much of the year. The sticky heat that blanketed the equator—a place where seasons didn’t exist—was unrelenting, reaching into every nook and cranny.
It had to be just as hard for Ben, who worked in an air-conditioned office nowadays, rather than doing fieldwork like he’d done when they’d met.
They’d administered a therapeutic dose of antibiotics into all their patients, but they were already seeing the truth of that narrow window of treatment. The patients who’d been diagnosed after help arrived and given antibiotics immediately were doing better than those who had already been ill when they’d arrived.
The statistics held true, with the sickest of their patients continuing their downward spiral. Still, they had to keep trying, so they stayed their course, using either IV antibiotics, intramuscular injections or, for those who could tolerate it, oral doses. Two more had died since their arrival, but at least Ben had ordered those awful marks above the beds to be scrubbed clean.
Amazingly, Daniel—although gravely ill—was still hanging in there.
She glanced over at Ben, who was injecting his next patient, squeezing the woman’s hand and offering her an encouraging smile that she couldn’t actually see—because of his mask—but the crinkling at the corners of his eyes gave him away. Oh, how Tracy had loved seeing those happy little lines go to work.
He put the syringe into the medical waste container they’d set up, and Tracy reminded herself to check on the supply of disposable needles. He caught her looking at him from her place beside Daniel’s bed and made his way over to her. She tensed, just as she’d done every time they’d had to interact.
“Why don’t you take a quick nap?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay. Besides, I’ve had more sleep than you have.”
Something she would know, as she’d heard him get up in the middle of the night and leave their room both nights they’d been in there. Maybe he was as restless as she was.
Well, whose fault was that? He’d been the one who’d insisted they stay together, which had made things incredibly awkward with Pedro.
And there were no real beds, so it wasn’t a matter of her getting the bed while he slept on a pallet on the floor. No, all the workers had been assigned military hammocks, the residents’ original hammocks having been confiscated, along with most of their fabric or upholstered possessions. Once some of the patients recovered, they’d have the added hardship of knowing many of their household clothes and belongings were long gone. Destroyed for the good of the village.
Tracy, for once, had agreed with the decision when Ben told her about it.
In addition to the bed situation, there wasn’t much privacy to be had anywhere in the town. Showers had been set up in a clearing and the stinging smell of strong disinfectant soap had become an all-too-familiar fragrance around the compound. But even that couldn’t totally vanquish the warm masculine scent that greeted her each night from the neighboring hammock where Ben lay.
Hanging side by side, the two hammocks were slung on three hooks, sharing one at the lower end, while the two upper ends branched apart onto two separate hooks, so that the hammocks formed a V. Knowing their feet were almost touching each and every night had been part of the reason for her sleeplessness.
So she’d lain awake for hours, despite her growing fatigue, until Ben—like he’d done the previous two nights—had slipped from his bed and out of the room. Only then had she finally been able to close her eyes and relax.
Ben looked like he was about to press his point about her taking a nap when the front door to the house banged open and a fierce argument carried through to where they were standing.
What in the name of…?
Both she and Ben moved quickly into the hallway, not wanting someone to be inadvertently exposed to the sickroom. They found one of the military police who’d been assigned to enforcing the quarantine arguing with a young girl who was around six years old. Tear tracks marked the dust on either side of the child’s face, and her feet—clad only in flip-flops—were caked with dirt.
“What’s going on?” Ben asked in Portuguese.
“She insists on speaking with a doctor, even though I’ve explained she can’t go in there.”
Tracy moved forward. “It’s okay. I’ll go outside with her.”
“Tracy.” Ben put a hand on her arm, stopping her.
She sent him a look that she hoped conveyed her irritation. “Someone has to talk to her. Better me than them.” She aimed a thumb at the poor soldier.
“You need to at least take off your gear before you go out there.”
“I will.” She spoke softly to the child, telling her it was okay, that she’d be out in a minute. The girl nodded, the wobbling of her chin as she turned to go wrenching at Tracy’s heart.
Ben caught the eye of one of the military doctors and told him they’d be back in a few minutes. They both stripped off their protective gear in the clean area and scrubbed with antibiotic soap. Tracy used her forearm to swipe at her damp forehead, frowning when Ben lifted a hand toward her. She took a quick step back.
“You have suds.” He pointed to his own forehead.
She reached up and dabbed it away herself, avoiding his eyes, then pushed through the screen door at the back of the house. They made their way round to the front and the little girl rushed toward them. Ben stepped in front of Tracy, causing her to give a sigh of exasperation. “Ben, please. She’s not going to hurt anyone.”
Moving around him, she knelt in front of the child. “What’s your name?”
“Miriam.”
Tracy wanted to gently wipe a smudge on the little girl’s forehead, much as Ben had tried to do with her a second ago, but she was too afraid of spreading germs at this point to touch anyone outside the village. “Okay, Miriam. What did you want to tell us?”
“You are doctors?”
“Yes. We both are. It’s okay. Is someone sick?”
The girl clasped her hands in front of her and nodded. “My mami. She has been ill for two days, but told me not to tell anyone. But now…” Her voice broke on a low sob. “But now she does not wake up, even when I try to feed her broth.”
“Where is she?”
“At my house. But it is a long way from here.”
The first twinge of alarm filtered up her back. “How far?”
“The next village.”
Horrified, Tracy stood in a rush and grabbed Ben’s hand, her wide eyes on his. “Could it have spread beyond Sao Joao dos Rios?”
No! They’d been so careful, no one had been allowed to leave the village once the military had arrived.
But before that?”
His fingers closed around hers, giving them a quick squeeze, then addressed the child, whose small forehead was now scrunched in distress. “Was your mother coughing?”
“Yes. She said it was just a cold, but I am afraid…” She motioned around the quarantined village. “We have heard what happened here. They say the military is shooting anyone who is sick. I had to sneak past them to find you.”
Tracy’s heart clenched. She knew how suspicious some of these towns were of government officials. But those fears only helped spread sickness and diseas
e. Because people who were afraid tended to hide things from those who could help them.
Like Tracy had when she’d left Ben four years ago?
No, it wasn’t the same thing at all. She forced a smile to her lips, knowing it probably looked anything but reassuring. “No one is shooting anyone.”
“Will you come and help my mother, then?”
Tracy glanced at the house, where one of the military police watched them closely. Would they let her travel to the village or would they insist on sending someone else? It was a tough call. She didn’t want to risk spreading anything, but the more people involved, the more places the disease could be carried. “Yes, honey, I will.”
When she tried to move towards the guard, Ben clamped down on her hand. “What do you think you’re doing, Tracy?” he murmured, sending a whisper of air across her cheek that made her shiver.
“You heard her. Her mother is sick.”
“You could end up making things worse for everyone.”
The shiver turned to ice in her veins. Those words were too close to the message he’d sent with the military four years ago. Her brows went up and she looked pointedly at the guard behind them. “I’m going, whether you approve or not. You could always send your little friends after me. You seem to be quite good at doing that.”
“Come on, Tracy. You know why I sent them. You were carrying our child.”
She did know—and maybe she’d been foolish to travel alone, but she’d been just six weeks along and she’d already had her yellow fever shot. She also knew her reason for taking off that week had had little to do with the village and everything to do with the results of her test. Even so, the blinding humiliation of seeing those uniformed officials set foot on that beach—and knowing her husband had been behind their presence—still stung.
They glared at each other. The last thing she needed to do right now was antagonize him further. She forced her voice to soften. “Please, try to understand. I have to check on her mother. My job is part of what keeps me going.”
“Keeps you going?”
That last phrase had slipped out before she realized it. Leave it to Ben to catch it as it flew by.
“I mean, my job is important to me, that’s all.”
His gaze raked her face, and she held her breath, hoping the raw fear that slithered up her throat wasn’t visible. Breaking eye contact, he glanced down at the girl, whose terror was much more on the surface. “Fine. We’ll both go. But we need to take precautions. We’re on antibiotics, so I’m not worried about us, but I also don’t want us carrying anything back that way.”
Was that why he’d been worried? Maybe she’d misjudged him.
“What about Miriam?” She kept her voice just as low, switching to English to make it harder for the little girl to understand what she was saying. “They may not let her leave Sao Joao dos Rios, now that she’s been exposed.”
“I know. I’ll talk to the guard and get her started on antibiotics.”
Poor girl, she had no idea that by trying to get help for her mother she might become a virtual prisoner. And if the worst came to the worst, and her mother had the deadly disease, she might never see her again.
A familiar pang went through Tracy’s chest. Her mother had died while Tracy had been here in Brazil. Six months after she and Ben had married, in fact. Her mother had had no idea she was sick during the wedding rehearsal or as they’d planned what should have been a happy occasion. But then she’d been diagnosed a few weeks after the ceremony. She’d died months later.
Squaring her shoulders, she went through the motions of going with Ben to talk to the guard, who in turn had to make a phone call up his chain of command. An hour later, she, Ben, and four military personnel were on their way to the next village. Ben had his arm around her in the backseat of the four-wheel drive to help steady her as they hit pothole after pothole, the scarred tract rarely seeing much in the way of motor vehicles.
Loaded to the gills with medical equipment, as well as Ben’s lab stuff, she leaned against him, allowing him to pull her even closer as she prayed that whatever they found would not be as bad as she feared.
* * *
“Bronchitis,” Ben declared.
Tracy almost laughed aloud as a giddy sense of relief swept over her. “Are you sure?”
Ben sat behind the house on a low three-legged stool, studying the last of the slides through his microscope.
“I don’t see any sign of plague bacteria. And she’s awake now. No fever or symptoms other than some thick congestion in her chest.” He leaned back and looked at her. “She probably kept going until she was literally worn out, which was why Miriam couldn’t wake her up. Regardless, we don’t have a case of the plague here.”
“Thank God.” Her legs threatened to give out, and she had to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder to brace herself.
He glanced up at her, concern in his eyes. “Hey, sit down before you fall down.” Before she realized what he was doing, he’d pulled her onto his left knee.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “There’s nowhere else to sit.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. About you sending the military after me.”
“Don’t worry about it. You were upset.”
She blinked. He’d just given her absolution. Whether it was for sins of the past or sins of the present was immaterial right now—not when the blood was thickening in her veins, the air around her turning crystal clear with secret knowledge.
The sudden sound of his breath being let out and the way his arm tightened around her back were her undoing. All she could think about was that she owed him a huge “thank you.” Before she could stop herself, she looped her arms around his neck and leaned forward to kiss him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HER LIPS GRAZED his cheek.
Ben wasn’t at all sure how it happened. First she was apologizing then her mouth was on his skin. The instant it happened, something from the past surged inside him, and he brushed aside the gesture in favor of something a little more personal. If she was going to kiss him, he was going to make damned sure it counted. Using his free hand to cup her head, he eased her round until she faced him.
He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the parted lips, glittering eyes…an expression he knew all too well. He lowered his head, an inner shout of exultation going off in his skull when she didn’t flinch away but met him halfway.
Their lips connected, and it was as if a match had been struck in the presence of gasoline fumes. They both went up in flames.
A low moan slid between them. One that most certainly hadn’t come from him. Taking that as a signal to continue, his fingers lifted and tunneled deep into her hair, the damp moisture of her scalp feeling cool against his overheated skin.
Ignoring the microscope and slides, he shifted her legs sideways until they rested between his, without breaking contact with her mouth for even a second.
The change in position pressed her thigh against his already tightening flesh, which was pure torture—made him want to push back to increase the contact. He forced himself to remain still instead, although it just about killed him. It had been four years since he’d held this woman in his arms, and he wasn’t about to blow it by doing anything that would have her leaping from his lap in a panic. Realistically, he knew they weren’t going to have sex behind the house of an ill woman, but he could take a minute or two to drink his fill of her.
Only, he’d never really get his fill. Would always want more than she was willing to give.
He licked along the seam of her mouth, asking for permission. She granted it without a word, opening to him. He went deep, his hand tightening in her hair as he tipped her head sideways seeking to find the best angle possible. She wiggled closer, taking him almost to the brink before he got himself back under control.
He gave a hard swallow. Slow.
Exploring the heat and warmth he found between her lips, he tried to rememorize everything and real
ized he didn’t need to. Because he’d forgotten nothing. Not the taste of her, not the shivers he could wring from her by using his teeth in addition to his tongue.
And when he could no longer contain his low groan, her fingers came up and tangled in his hair. He could feel the battle going on within her and fought against his own need to control the situation, letting her lead instead.
Unfortunately, she took that as a signal to pull back, her breath coming in husky snatches of sound that he found erotic beyond belief.
She took a couple more quick gulps before attempting to talk.
“Ben,” she whispered, her mouth still against his. “What are we doing here?”
In spite of himself, he smiled. “I thought that was fairly obvious.”
“Mmm.” The hum of sound drove him crazy, just like it always had. “This is a mistake. You know it is.”
“I know.” He bit her lower lip, sucking on the soft flesh before releasing it with a growl. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it, though. Or that you didn’t either.”
“I know.” No arguments, no denying that she felt the same. Just an acknowledgement of what was obvious to both of them.
It had been an incredibly long week, and all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, make slow, satisfying love and then go to sleep still trapped inside her. Just like they used to.
But he knew that was the exhaustion talking. Not to mention that thing wedged against her hip, which was busy shouting out commands he was doing his best to ignore.
Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.
Tracy leaned her forehead against his and gave a drawn-out sigh. “We need to get back to the other village if this one is in the clear.”
She heaved one more sigh, before climbing to her feet, looking anywhere but at his lap, which was probably smart. “I’m sure we’re both so tired we’re not thinking straight. We’ll regret this once we’ve had some sleep.”
She might, but he wouldn’t. Not even if he slept as long as Rip Van Winkle. He’d still wake up and want to kiss her all over again.
He closed his eyes for a long moment then started undoing his equipment without a word.