by Susan Kelley
Callie ordered her body to relax despite the press of Joe’s chest against her arm. His feet brushed hers, and his knee bumped into her thigh as he adjusted his position. She thought about turning away from him but didn’t want to turn her back to him. She now saw the ridiculous nature of her earlier fears. The sleeping arrangements left no room to stretch let alone to do anything requiring disrobing and vigorous movements.
Riba’s breathed settled into the even rhythms of sleep and why not? The previous days of dread, inadequate food and water and then trudging through the sand compounded the fatigue expected of a new mother.
But Callie couldn’t sleep. Now while his breath stirred her hair. She sought conversation to distract her from the stirrings of attraction.
“Why do you help us?” The question formed the heart of her distrust. What payment of recompense would the marines eventually expect or demand?
“You are civilians.” Joe’s spoke with the wary, hesitant quality she’d noticed earlier. He obviously recognized the words but he seemed to take time to interpret them and form his answers.
“Civilians?”
“The primary duty given to the Interplanetary Marines is the protection of civilians.”
“You feel you have a duty to protect us?”
“Yes.”
Could their actions really be so unselfish? Callie tested her hope that her staff might be safe while in the care of these soldiers. “Duty is important to you?”
“Duty is all there is.”
“No,” Callie said even though he gave the answer she wanted. She turned her head toward him and found his face closer than she’d expected. “There’s much more to life than duty.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, before he rolled to his back. His arm and thigh pressed tight against hers. “What more is there for such as me, Lady Callie?”
All the vicious things Yalo had said about their rescuers and Callie’s own harsh words rose in her thoughts. What indeed was there for such as Joe? He closed his eyes and fell asleep within a few breaths.
Callie stared at him and wondered if a soul swirled inside the angelic, warrior body? Was there more depth to the man than his incredible physical presence and an ingrained sense of duty? On what scale did one measure a man constructed so unnaturally?
* * * *
Something woke Callie. She burrowed closer to the heat against her front. It moved. She opened her eyes and saw an expanse of smooth, bare skin. A steady thumping beneath her ear sung of life and strength. Joe.
Sally whimpered, the sound that had awakened Callie. Joe held his breath and his heart pounded faster. Sally quieted, and he relaxed.
Callie lifted her head off his chest so she could look at him, wondering when she’d shifted to such an intimate position. Her legs tangled with his, and her hips pressed against him.
Joe stared over her head at Riba. Callie had only seen minute traces of emotion on his face before and struggled to decipher what she saw now. Wonder? Disbelief?
Callie could hear the baby suckling and surely Joe could see Riba’s breast as she fed her daughter. No lust gleamed in his eyes. After a while Sally burped and Riba made a soft sound of amusement.
Joe shifted, his legs pushed hers from between his as he tried to move away. But he had no place to go.
Callie laid her head back on his shoulder and reclaimed the tiny amount of open space between them. He was warm. She was tired. Trust was a worry for the morrow. Again he held his breath for a moment. He carefully wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer.
Sleep tugged at her, muddling her thoughts. She slid one of her legs back over him so her thigh brushed against his abdomen. She slid into a comfortable blackness of slumber and wondered dreamily why he’d brought one of his guns to bed. It made such a hard lump on his belly.
The Marine’s Heiress
By
Susan Kelley
Chapter One
Recon Marine Vin trusted his disguise to fool the target and risked getting close to her. He folded down the hood of his jacket, concentrating to make the motion casual rather than careful. His fingers brushed against the curls touching his collar. Adjustment to his longer hairstyle eluded him, but it helped him blend into the prey’s habitat.
“What will you have, sir?” His prey looked at him with instinctive wariness.
Vin had prepared for such a question when he planned his approach. “Cold tea and hot biscuits, please.” He’d heard other customers in the café make the exact request.
The woman smiled faintly and lifted her eyebrow. She turned away and strode through a curtained doorway, her small heeled boots tapping a rapid rhythm on the wood floor. A whiff of fresh baked bread trailed behind her and lingered near the table he occupied.
Of the dozen tables crowding the eating area built into the side of the trading post, only two others held customers. Vin assessed them again, though he’d observed and evaluated them as no threat earlier. One older man sat by himself and stared into his tea mug. Two young women leaned toward each other across the short expanse of another table, whispering words they probably thought private. Vin heard their bold opinions of him.
“He’s too pretty to be single,” one girl said around a giggle.
“He’s alone, isn’t he? A married man would bring along his wife.”
The past six months had taught Vin a bit about civilians. The two girls meant nothing with their silly words. Women found his appearance attractive everywhere he went. The more he ignored the attention directed at him, the greater their efforts to gain his notice. He wondered why civilians cared so much for physical beauty instead of the important qualities needed to survive on the wilderness worlds outside the protection and laws of the Galactic Ministry.
Low voices carried to Vin from beyond the curtain along with the soft clatter of metal pans. The homey sounds and scents of baking brought him little comfort. Instead his lean belly tightened with an old grief.
His target swept out through the curtain. The blue cloth snagged for a moment on the mass of curly blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. The thick mane fought against the wide band she had tied around it to keep it out of her face. The woman balanced a tray laden with a clay pot, matching mug and a platter of steaming biscuits. With a deft twist of her wrist, she shifted the tray to one hand and used her other to set the items in front of Vin.
“Would you like syrup for your tea, sir?”
Her gaze shocked him into speechlessness. He’d expected to see the evil and cruelty known as part of her bloodline. Instead, the dark brown depths reminded him of the thick, creamy drink brewed from cocoa beans. Did sweetness warm her eyes or guile?
“You’re new to Hovel Port?” She gave him no chance to answer. “We get few travelers passing through and there’s little enough work for those settled here. Do you need a place to stay? Moe lets out rooms if you have trade credits. Why are you here?”
Panic rose in Vin, not fear of a physical threat, but worry that his confusion would destroy his thin camouflage and expose his true nature. “I’m looking for … work.” He’d almost said you.
A thin line appeared between her eyes and her mouth turned down. “Vannie Green does the hiring.”
“He owns the entire town?” Vin had scouted the settlement from the cover of the jungle for three days before making contact today. He hadn’t noticed a boss-like man.
The woman laughed and inspired a twinge in Vin’s middle again. He’d learned what emotions harmonized to create the light sound. Nothing cruel marked her amusement, but he understood she was laughing at something he said. He reran his words through his mind, searching for his mistake.
“Vannie only owns part of this building.” Her smile grew. “He’s our unelected leader, kind of like our mayor. If you want a job, you have to speak with him.”
Vin hadn’t planned further than getting a closer look at the woman. She hadn’t exited the walled confines of the village, at least not during the time he’d watched
her. He’d learned the concept of a job. “I can perform a variety of jobs.”
She held out her hand. “Emma Jones. Welcome to Hovel Port. It’s hard work making a living here.”
He folded his fingers around her small, delicate hand. The calluses on his fingers and palms pressed into the soft smooth warmth of her skin. He hadn’t touched a woman since Yalo. Their gender was so fragile.
“Your name?” Her mouth quirked into a smile that drew and trapped his gaze.
“Vin Smith.” He’d chosen a name common to many men. Every settlement and planet he’d searched in pursuit of this woman had men named Smith among the population. He stood, remembering more polite behavior expected of men.
She held her ground, looking up at him from her diminutive height. The top of her head rose slightly higher than his chin. He couldn’t tell if the scent tickling his senses wafted from the hot biscuits or her warm skin. She laughed and sparkles danced in her eyes. “Smith?”
“I’ll meet this Vannie,” Vin said to cover up his confusion. A job would keep him near her.
“He’ll be in soon. He eats his evening meal here every day.” She flashed another smile at him and then retreated behind the curtain.
Vin took his seat again and poured tea into his mug. He studied the biscuits and decided they were meant to be eaten with his hand. The first bite dissolved on his tongue and flooded his mouth with the sweetness of sugar and vanilla. He didn’t recognize the flour used in the confection. Nor could he remember tasting anything so delicious. He finished the first biscuit in two bites and then noticed the curtain twitched.
The target spied on him. Vin sat back in his chair, affecting the slouch common to men at ease. He’d practiced in front of a mirror, though he wondered how people found the sloppy posture comfortable. Picking up the teapot, he looked under his lashes toward the kitchen.
Emma. He’d acquired the target and now would set the role she would play for him. Bait.
* * * *
Emma watched the stranger from the safety of the kitchen. He seemed an odd one but small colonies like theirs often drew misfits. Hovel Port had fortunately not had anyone bring trouble or violence with them.
She turned away to tend her cooking. Men, mostly the single ones, would drift in throughout the evening. Their demanding lives of digging and sifting through the river for dregs washed down from the silver mine left them too tired to cook for themselves. Most of the men had lived here for years, fiercely proud of their freedom from any government control. The small settlement drew no notice and made a perfect place for Emma.
The stranger stayed on her mind. His cold gray eyes stood out in his tanned face. Despite his attire and the hair curled around his collar, he reeked of military origins. His body hummed with the suppressed energy of a man on the edge of violence.
Her former career had introduced her to men like him. Men who had survived their time in battle but returned to society with scars both physical and emotional. Her job in the psychiatric medical corps had brought her in daily contact with veterans and active military members as they battled their nightmares. More ghosts than most swirled in the frozen gaze of the man sitting so awkwardly at the small table.
She turned the heat back on the oven holding the evening’s offering of chopped vegetables, goat cheese, wild hen and her own combination of native herbs. The dinner rolls sat in their greased pans, ready to be shoved in alongside the casseroles. Her hands worked while her thoughts returned again and again to Vin Smith. There seemed nothing former military about Vin’s manner.
“Seems drier than usual,” Moe Hall huffed out as he entered the rear door of the kitchens. He set the basket of red potatoes he’d brought along on the work table and swiped at his brow with his thick forearm. Moe owned the café and split the earnings with Emma. Though he helped as much as he could in the kitchen, chopping, serving and washing dishes, he left the cooking to her.
“You say that every ten-day.” Emma checked the solar clock near the only window and decided to put the rolls in. The men always finished early on the ten-day. The rains would move in with the dark and stay throughout the day tomorrow, meaning no work. No work meant more customers eating at the café during the daylight hours. “I might need more potatoes for tomorrow.”
Moe sighed and shook his head, but a smile played on his lips. He appreciated the extra money the eleventh day rain brought. “I’ll get more after we serve the dinner crowd.”
“We have a stranger in today,” Emma said.
Moe scowled and went to the curtain. The big man didn’t resemble a shopkeeper with his thick arms and deep chest. He towered over Emma and most of the men in Hovel Port appeared as boys next to him. Making no attempt to hide his perusal, he lifted the edge of the curtain. “Don’t like his looks.”
Emma smiled. Moe never liked the looks of a stranger and would keep a sharp eye on Vin.
Moe picked up a stack of plates and walked out into the dining area. He sent glares toward Vin as he set two plates on each table. Emma followed him, adding forks and knives to each setting.
“You staying for dinner?” Moe demanded as they came to Vin’s table.
Vin swept an evaluating gaze over Moe. “I will stay to meet Vannie Green.”
“You’re looking for work then?” Moe set a plate before Vin with obvious reluctance. “What are your skills?”
Vin’s gaze slid to Emma and then back to Moe. “I’ll tell Vannie Green.”
Emma saw Moe’s shoulders stiffen and ducked around him. She gently set the utensils on Vin’s plate. “He should be here soon. Moe, will you help me with the water pitchers?”
Moe hesitated, his eyes narrowed at Vin.
Vin rose to his feet and turned toward the door, the move quick and fluid. Tension flowed from him to engulf Emma.
“What the hell?” Moe sputtered.
Then Emma heard the excited shouts of men out on the street. She knew what it meant and ran toward the door.
Vin snagged her arm, stopping her more with the shock of his action than his grip. He moved in front of her. “Stay back.” He went out through the door.
The cold command of his voice stopped her for a heartbeat, but then she chased after him.
He paused on the wooden walkway, staring down the narrow street at the band of men hurrying toward them.
Emma dodged around him and ran the few steps to her surgery door. She pushed the door open to the long narrow room. Once it had served as a schoolroom but a newer larger building housed the school on the south edge of town for the last three quarters of a year. Only Vannie and Moe knew she’d financed the building of it.
The lights sputtered once but steadied to bathe the shining surgical table and three clean beds with a white glare. She hadn’t seen whom the miners carried toward her, but their haste signaled the urgency. Two ten-days ago, she’d lost her first patient since coming to Hovel Port. She hoped they were bringing her a simple broken leg or a smashed hand, common injuries with their work.
“Easy there, don’t bump his head on the door frame,” Vannie directed as he backed through the doorway. He supported a corner of a canvas tarp along with three other men. They somehow all squeezed through with Vin trailing behind.
Vannie counted to three and then they lifted together. Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs as she took in the injuries. The same as last time. Both of the man’s legs were nearly amputated. Like most of the workers, the victim wore short pants to wade in the river and pan for silver. Blood colored his lower legs from half way down his shins to his toes so it appeared he wore crimson stockings.
The victim moaned and drew Emma’s stare up to his face. Russ Little. A lump of cold horror filled her belly. Russ and his wife, Jenny, had welcomed Emma when she first arrived in Hovel Port and invited her to live with them until she found her own residence. She’d stayed with them for three months until the surgery had become livable.
“Same as last time,” Vannie said between gasps. He wiped his brow,
leaving a red streak to mix with the sweat. “He stepped into some shallow, muddy water and the trap got him. Nearly drowned before we could free him.”
Emma turned away to gather her supplies. She needed three tries to fit the key into the medicine cabinet. What she saw inside it deepened her despair. She gathered two bags of saline to replace the fluid Russ desperately needed.
“I’ll start that while you get whatever you need ready.”
A bag fell from her hand but Vin caught it before it hit the floor. He stood so close she could feel his heat on her cold skin.
“Are you a doctor?” Hope filled Emma. A military medic, experienced with battlefield wounds, could make this case different than the last one.
“No, but I know how to start an IV.” Vin reached past her and grabbed a precious, sterile needle out of the cabinet along with a packaged alcohol prep. He carried it over to Russ’ side without waiting for her permission.
Emma glanced at Russ’ pale face. There wasn’t time to waste on questions or turning away unexpected help. She took out another key and hurried to the small refrigerator that held antibiotics. Not only did the murky stream pose a danger of infection but the steel trap could carry contamination. Behind her she would hear Vannie ushering the other men out of the door.
When she returned to the table, Vin had the IV running into Russ’ arm. He tore strips of tape and secured the line so Russ’ thrashing couldn’t knock it loose.
Emma drew a dose of antibiotics into a syringe and shot it into the IV line.
Vin gathered nearly all of her gauze and set it within reach on the edges of the table. He frowned down at the wounds. Someone had wrapped pieces of shirts around each leg but the rough bandages only slowed the bleeding. The cloth would need to be cut off, something that would restart the severe bleeding.
“Do you have antibiotic powder for in the wounds?” Vin asked.
His even tone calmed Emma’s racing heart so her mind could conquer her emotions. She understood her emotions in a way most people didn’t and now used her training to funnel her fear into determination. “I don’t. That’s why I started the antibiotic first. I have to hope the bleeding washed the wounds clean.”