by JoAnn Ross
"Who in the world is Santos Xiu?"
Sam pointed at the tall, regal-looking man walking toward him. "Him."
A moment later, Davina was stunned to see the two men embracing like long-lost brothers. They conversed eagerly in an Indian dialect she could not comprehend, but from the nods and approving glances thrown her way by Santos Xiu, she discerned that at least part of their conversation concerned her.
"Santos is an old friend of mine. He sent these guys out to find us," Sam explained. "We're invited to dinner."
Davina was confused. Did that mean that their captors were now their hosts? "What kind of friend uses guns to extend his invitation?"
Sam shrugged. "The jungle's a tough place; it's better to stay on your guard. But now that everything's settled, it'll be okay."
As if to confirm his statement, the elderly Indian barked an order to the guards. Sam's pistol was immediately returned.
"I think I've aged a hundred years," Davina complained as Santos led them to his home.
"Don't feel like the Lone Ranger."
Now that she was fairly well assured she was not going to die—not today, at any rate—Davina allowed herself the pleasure of looking around the small group of huts. She had the feeling she'd stumbled back in time at least a thousand years. As she turned the corner and almost walked into a large wooden cage, she gasped, instinctively clutching Sam's arm.
"What's that?"
"A jaguar."
"I know that," she complained. "I want to know what it's doing here."
Davina was forced to wait impatiently while Sam exchanged a few words with Santos. "It's for tomorrow's ceremonies," Sam said at length. "You see, Santos is an h-men, a priest who serves the old Mayan gods. One of his grandchildren is possessed by an evil spirit, so tomorrow they're going to sacrifice the jaguar to exorcise the spirit, then sell the jaguar pelt for a tidy profit."
Davina glanced at the silent priest. The Oriental cast of his features bespoke his Asian forebears, and his eyes, as they stared back at her, were oddly remote. But she had not missed the flicker of emotion in those dark eyes when he had answered Sam's question. The man was obviously as concerned about his grandchild as any grandfather residing in the United States would have been.
"Please tell him that I hope the child will recover," she said softly.
Sam's look was openly admiring. "You are just one surprise after the other, lady," he murmured. "I'm beginning to wonder if anything can rattle you."
Oh, you can, Sam McGee, she answered silently as he turned back to Santos, relaying her words. Every time you look at me that way. As Sam translated, the elderly man's smile gave Davina his appreciation for her good wishes.
They were led to a tiny house that consisted of sticks lashed together. The high thatched roof was designed to provide insulation against the oppressive heat. As they entered, Davina's sweeping gaze took in the furnishings: a water drum, two low stone benches, a low table, and in the center of the room, a firepit with a grinding mill for corn. A pair of hammocks were attached to the beams.
Waving his hand as if to invite them to make themselves at home, the elderly priest studied Davina briefly, said something to Sam, bowed formally, then left them alone.
"Santos said we should rest before the festivities," Sam translated. "His daughter will come for us in an hour or so."
"What did he say about me?"
Sam rubbed his chin. "It's a little complicated to explain."
"Try," she suggested.
"All right," Sam said with a sigh of resignation. "He also said that he was honored to meet Sam McGee's new wife."
Davina stared at him. "Wife? Where did he get that idea?"
"What did you want me to tell him—that you've hired me to find the lost city of Naj Taxim?"
Davina's chin came up a fraction. "At least that would have been the truth."
Irritation flickered in the depths of his eyes, turning them a brilliant, dangerous gold. "If I'd told Santos that, the first thing that would have happened is that he'd have laughed us both right out of here."
"Of course, a tall tale like that is too good not to spread, so before tomorrow morning, every Indian, poacher, rebel, and monkey in the jungle would have known precisely what we're doing here. Is that what you really want, Davina?"
Davina acknowledged his point with a brief nod. "I suppose you did do the right thing, after all," she said. "So what did you tell him we were doing?"
Sam grinned. "I told him we were on our honeymoon and wanted to get away from all our friends."
Davina laughed, as she was supposed to. Try as she might, she couldn't stay mad at him.
As Davina took part in the festivities, she couldn't help thinking how fortunate she was to be able to have such an experience. The village had maintained many of its ancestral customs, so once again she felt as if she had stepped backward in time. Even the exuberant baseball game she was encouraged to join in with Sam only echoed an ancient enthusiasm that was witnessed by ball courts in virtually every Mayan city. Like their ancestors, the modern-day Maya were passionate ball players, and more than one heated argument ensued after a questionable call.
"Thank God the losers aren't put to death these days," Sam muttered, after striking out in the bottom of the ninth inning, an act that forfeited the game to their opponents. The brief flare of ill will that had arisen during the game disintegrated as the players toasted one another's efforts.
The sense of community, of mutual interdependence, was evident among the villagers. When Davina questioned the reason for the mountain of lime at the edge of the village, the women, speaking through Sam, explained that it was easier to grind corn into meal after first soaking it in lime and water. The villagers worked together, they told her, heating chunks of limestone in order to pulverize them; and the great mound of lime was available to all.
By the time she had shared in a dinner of pork, chicken, tortillas and a thick bean soup, Davina had begun to experience a feeling of kinship with Santos Xiu's people.
"This sure beats sleeping on the ground," Sam said as he stretched out on one of the hammocks after they had returned to the house.
"You probably won't feel that way when you roll out onto the floor."
"It's not as tricky as it looks."
Dubiously, she allowed him to coax her onto the woven hammock. "It really is comfortable," she allowed.
Sam put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her against him. "I've got one back in Calderitas. Believe me, down here they're a lot cooler and more comfortable than any bed."
He brushed his lips against hers. "Not that any bed is going to stay cool too long with you in it," he added with a rakish grin.
Davina snuggled happily into his arms, and for a time they remained silent, contented simply to be together. "I like your friends," she said after a time.
"They sure liked you. Especially the kids. They were hanging on to you like a bunch of baby opossums."
Davina smiled at the memory. "I like children."
Taking care not to tilt the hammock, Sam leaned up on one elbow in order to look down into Davina's face. The moonlight streamed through the thatched roof, providing sufficient illumination for him to see the way her eyes had softened at the idea of children.
"I suppose you and your professor plan to have a few little archaeologists running around the house," he said offhandedly.
Davina was surprised at the mention of Brad. Despite the fact that she had seen her father's assistant only a little over two weeks ago, it seemed as if her relationship with Bradford Stevenson had taken place in another lifetime. She couldn't resist a slight, regretful sigh.
"Davina?" Sam brushed an errant strand of hair off her cheek. "Have I ventured into forbidden territory?"
He could feel her backing away from him emotionally and wondered why in the hell the good professor had let Davina get away. The first thing he was going to do, once they had returned to civilization, was send old Bradford Stevenson a c
ase of the cantina's best whiskey.
Davina waited a moment to speak, trying to gather her thoughts so she could explain coherently. "No," she said quietly, "it's a logical enough question, especially at my age."
He brushed his lips against her hair. "And an ancient old age it is, too, sweetheart. My God, I don't know why I'm wasting my time with a woman of such advanced years."
She managed a smile. "To tell the truth, I don't think I would have ever married Brad, so the fact that he didn't want children is probably a moot point."
"But you did. Want children," he added.
Davina swallowed the lump in her throat. What on earth was the matter with her? She never got overly emotional, but here she was, on the verge of breaking down into tears just because she was single, childless, and her biological clock seemed to be ticking faster every day.
Taking a deep breath, she assured herself that it was only the stress of this trip. Once she returned home to Boston, her life would settle down into its comfortable if admittedly predictable routine, and she would look back in awe at the depth and range of emotions she had experienced over such a brief period of time.
"Of course I'd like children," she managed to say calmly. "I think most women would. But if it turns out that I'm not destined to be a mother, it certainly won't be the end of the world."
"Not every woman wants children," Sam corrected quietly. "Melanie sure as hell didn't."
She was surprised by the raw emotion that flashed across his moon-shadowed face. "Is that why you got a divorce?" she asked cautiously.
"When you get a divorce," Sam said slowly, carefully, "I don't think there's ever one single reason."
He knew that this was the time to tell Davina about Palmer Kirkland—to confess about his part in the Amazon disaster—but he couldn't quite force the words from his mouth. Instead, he opted for middle ground.
He leaned back, drawing her into his arms as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "I have two brothers," he began quietly. "Michael is three years older and a banker in Philadelphia; James is my younger brother—God, he must be thirty-five now," Sam said, the surprise evident in his voice. "Anyway, the last I heard, he was a financial reporter for the Washington Post."
"The last you heard?" Davina's voice was softly persuasive.
"I haven't exactly kept in touch."
"Oh." She waited for Sam to elaborate, but when he remained silent, she dared press a bit further. "Are your parents still alive?"
"Yeah, or at least they were five years ago. Mom was on the faculty of the Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts and Dad had just retired when I came down here."
"Retired from what?"
"Insurance."
"He sold insurance?"
"In a way," Sam said reluctantly, wondering what had got him started on this family saga in the first place. "Actually, he owned a company. He sold it and now he's donating his time working as an industry counselor to small businesses."
Davina turned her head to stare at him. "He owned an insurance company? A whole company?"
Sam shrugged. "It wasn't that big a company."
"Good heavens," she breathed, "you must be very rich, Sam McGee." Now she was dying to know what he was doing down here, living the impoverished life of an expatriate American.
"My family's wealthy," he corrected.
From his grim tone, Davina wondered if Sam could possibly have been disinherited. She was about to tell him that it wouldn't matter, that it wouldn't change her feelings for him in the slightest, when he tightened his arms around her and crushed his mouth hard against hers.
There was passion in the heated kiss, but there was a fierce, unbridled desperation, as well. If talking about his family was so painful to him, Davina swore never to bring it up again. Dragging her fingers through his hair, she forgot about his parents, her father, Brad, her reasons for coming to the Yucatan. She clung to him, luxuriating in the feel of the hard male body pressed against her. Had any man's arms ever felt so right?
Tomorrow morning, Sam told himself, he'd have to begin planning again. He'd have to worry about keeping Davina safe; he'd have to prepare to handle her grief when and if they discovered proof of her father's death. And, most difficult of all, he would have to begin accepting the idea of her returning to Boston. Where she belonged. Without him.
Yes, tomorrow he would have to think of all those things. But not tonight, he decided. Not this one perfect night.
It was sometime in the middle of the night when Davina awoke, needing to visit the bathroom facilities a few yards from the house. Nothing about the night sounds of the jungle was very inviting, and she hated the idea of going out there alone. But she also didn't want to wake Sam. Despite her attempt to keep up with him, Davina was well aware that she was proving a burden to him on this exploration.
He set up the camp every night, did most of the cooking, was constantly cutting back vines for her, helping her over fallen trees, and of course there had been that fiasco with the escoba palm. To Davina's surprise, Sam hadn't offered a word of criticism; instead he'd patiently pulled the thorns out one at a time, covered the wounds with a thick salve, all the while offering encouraging, gentle reassurance.
Sam definitely needed his sleep, Davina decided. Besides, it was only a short run. And the villagers were certainly friendly enough. What could happen?
She was halfway to the privy when a low, threatening growl caught her attention. As she realized that she would have to pass the caged jaguar, Davina's blood ran a little colder, but she took a deep, calming breath and continued on.
She was on her way back to the little house, mentally patting herself on the back for accomplishing her solo excursion, when she came face-to-face with him: the man Sam believed tried to kill her by pushing her into the Sacred Cenote—the one she had imagined following them all this time. She opened her mouth to scream, but the threatening sight of the machete in his hand caused the scream to die in her throat.
"Who are you?" she whispered through lips that had gone suddenly dry. "What do you want?"
Those heavily hooded midnight eyes that she had not been able to dismiss entirely from her mind flashed dangerously as the silent Indian approached. His face had been painted with bold streaks of crimson and yellow that served to accentuate his high cheekbones and cruel mouth. Although he said not a word, Davina knew that Sam had been right all along. For whatever reason, this man was determined that she not reach Naj Taxim alive.
"Take one more step, and machete or no machete, I'll scream for help," she warned.
As he raised his arm, the metal blade of the weapon gleamed silver in the slanting moonlight. Davina quickly ducked out of the arc of the machete's vicious stroke before realizing that the blade had not been meant for her. With one deft slash, the Indian had cut the rope on the jaguar's slatted cage and just as quickly ripped open the door.
A pair of gleaming yellow eyes emerged from the darkened shadows as the animal instantly took advantage of the opportunity to make his escape. Not wanting to do anything to startle the jaguar, Davina covered her mouth to keep from screaming.
As the jaguar approached slowly, stealthily, Davina's initial instinct was to run. Frantically she looked around, trying to judge the distance to the nearest building. It was much too far. There seemed to be no escape. If she did try to run, the beast would give chase and be on top of her before she could make ten yards.
There was an outside chance that if she called for Sam, he could shoot it before it could get to her. But Davina didn't think the odds of that happening were much better than with the first choice.
She began cautiously backing away, inch by inch. Unfortunately the jaguar's forward progress seemed to be speeding up. "No," she whispered. "Please go away. Please."
The only response from the huge yellow cat was a continuous low growl that sounded for all the world like an amplified purr. Davina was beginning to think that she might have a chance, when she tripped on an abandoned baseball bat an
d fell backward onto the moist ground. The sudden movement was all the jungle cat was waiting for. He was only a few inches away when she heard Sam shout.
"Davina! Roll out of the way!" A moment later an explosion shattered the night air.
Sam cursed as the pistol jammed. Angered by the bullet now lodged in his shoulder, the jaguar spun around, his gleaming amber eyes flashing hatred as he leaped toward the unwelcome intruder. Replacing the clip, Sam managed to get a second shot off just as the cat sprang toward him, hitting him full in the chest before falling dead to the ground.
Davina stared down at the now lifeless jaguar, as if unable to believe he was really dead. Then she looked around for her attacker, not surprised to discover that once again he had melded into the black, tangled jungle. When she finally turned her grateful gaze to Sam, Davina gasped at the sight of his bloody shirt.
"Oh, my God, you're hurt!" Forgetting her earlier fright, she was on her feet in seconds.
Sam glanced down at his arm. Now that she'd mentioned it, it was beginning to hurt like hell. "It's just a scratch. His claws must've gotten me on the way down."
"You've already proved that you're a hero, Sam," Davina said as she hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. "You don't have to be such a stoic one besides."
The gunshots had drawn a crowd, and as Sam began explaining to the excited villagers exactly what had occurred, Davina ducked into the house to get the first-aid kit. When she would have doused the long, angry gouges with antiseptic, Sam caught her hand, forestalling her nursing attempts.
"Santos sent his daughter for some herbs. They'll be fine."
She shot him a frustrated look. "Really, Sam McGee, if you think I'm going to entrust your life to some Mayan witch doctor, you've got to be crazy."
"Santos knows what he's doing," Sam insisted. "Besides, it's his village. Think what it'd do to his reputation if I refused his treatment."
She ground her teeth, furious at his damnable obstinacy. "Think what it will do to your arm if you get blood poisoning," she shot back. "Or will you then let Dr. Santos amputate it with his magic machete?"