by Jill Barnett
About ten minutes later he stopped and offered her some water. She drank it this time, then handed him back the canteen. He looked at her, an odd expression on his face.
You haven’t been eating more of those berries, have you?”
Now, Lollie had a philosophy, one she’d used with her brothers many times over. If a man asked you a “you haven’t” question he really meant “Surely you couldn’t be so stupid as to have done such a thing.” She figured that when males were being so arrogantly condescending and superior as to ask a question in those words and that tone, they didn’t deserve to be told the truth. So she evaded the question.
“You don’t think I’d do that, do you?” She brought her hand to her neck to emphasize her horror that he could even suggest such a thing. This technique worked well with her brothers, except Jed. He never asked questions, he just started hollering.
Sam searched for her face a moment longer, as if trying to determine the truth. Then he shook his head, clipped the canteen in place, and told her to follow him.
She did, trotting along behind him, watching his back with rapt attention while she fingered the berries in her pocket. Guilt kept her from eating any, though, at least for the first half hour.
“Are you sure you haven’t been eating any more of those berries?”
Lollie swallowed the three in her mouth, then answered his question with one of her own. “Why?”
“Uh, no special reason.” He had a strained look; then he coughed a few times, turning his back to her—which of course didn’t bother her since she found it so fascinating—and finished filling the canteen from a trickle of fresh water that ran down a rocky hillside.
“How much farther is this camp?”
“Another day. See that small mountain?”
She nodded, although her definition of “small” was obviously different from his.
“Once we get past it we’ll be closer. Ready?” She nodded, smiling with her mouth closed so he couldn’t tell she’d eaten two more.
He stared at her for a long minute. That caused her a bit of worry, until she remembered there was no way he could see those berries. They were well on their merry way to her stomach.
She grinned. So did he; then he elbowed past her, holding back a brace of branches for her.
For the next few hours they moved through jungle. They crossed two shallow streams; neither came up past her waist. They crawled through bushes so thick that it took what seemed to be a half hour to move a hundred feet. Lollie didn’t mind too much. While Sam was hard at work cutting their path, she managed to pluck plenty of berries.
They came upon another palm and bamboo forest, and Lollie, feeling fortified, asked Sam if she could use the machete.
He came to a dead halt, turned, and gave her one of those “are you crazy” male looks.
“No.”
“I don’t see why not,” she complained, her nose almost buried in his chest, because he’d stopped so suddenly. “I don’t have anything else to do, except smell . . . us.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“You’re not exactly a peach blossom yourself.”
“I said us!” She rammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You won’t let me do anything. I can’t talk. I can’t sing. I can’t even hum! I’m bored and filthy, and I need something to occupy my mind.”
Sam swatted a mosquito on his neck. He pulled his hand away and held it out to her. “Here, might be a little snug, but this ought to occupy it just fine.”
She narrowed her eyes, giving him her imitation of Madame Devereaux’s best glare. He just continued to look pleased with himself.
“You probably think I can’t do it, don’t you?” He crossed his arms, not answering her at all.
“Well, for your information, I have been watching you wield that knife for days. Hack and crack, hack and crack. Anyone can do that, including me.” She waited to see if he’d accept her challenge.
He handed her the knife, donning a sly smile of inflated male arrogance, and he walked over to lean against a tree, acting as if he had a long, long wait.
She’d show him how long. She hacked at the thick palms. The knife didn’t even cut them. Staring at the blade for a curious moment, she tried to figure out what she’d done wrong. She swung again. The fronds bent but didn’t break, didn’t crack, and didn’t fall to the ground as they had for Sam.
“Anyone can do it, huh?”
She stiffened at his baiting, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around. Instead she grabbed the palm in one hand, gripped the knife firmly in the other, and hacked until she finally managed to saw the frond from the palm tree.
It took about five minutes.
“Nice work, Lollipop. At this rate we should reach the camp in . . . let’s see . . . late August?”
She glared up at him, blowing a hank of tangled wet hair out of her eyes. That did it! She turned back to face the palms, gripping the knife in her right hand, just as he did. Then she raised it as high as she could. One huge deep breath and then she closed her eyes and ripped the knife down and around in a half circle, just like Sam had, but she threw her whole body weight into swinging that machete.
She whirled with it.
It slipped from her hand.
Her eyes flew open.
“Shit!”
Still stunned, she gaped at Sam, then followed his gaze, up, up, up . . . .
Like a soaring eagle the knife sailed through the air, then descended. Sam barreled past her, thrashing through the brush in the direction of their only machete. Lollie followed as fast as she could.
By the time she broke into a small clearing, Sam was standing as still as a hickory tree on a summer day. His neck, however, was a purplish red, and his fists clenched over and over at his sides. He looked up. So did she.
There, wedged into a cluster of green coconuts, was the knife. The tree was a good thirty feet high.
Slowly he turned. “Anyone can do that,” he mimicked through a mean smile that made him look as if he wanted to tear trees apart, limb by limb. He stepped toward her.
“It looked so easy,” she whispered, stepping back. “It really did.”
“You do realize that’s our only machete, don’t you?” He took another step.
She nodded, unable to decide if maybe she should turn and run. She opted for an apology. “I’m sorry.”
She looked at the other two knives that hung from his belt. They were smaller; one was not much bigger than a carving knife. “Couldn’t you use one of those?” She pointed toward them.
He took a deep, labored breath. “They won’t cut through jungle or bamboo.” He paused, meaningfully. “They will cut through your clothes, though, and this one”—his hand rested on the smaller sheath—”will cut a white southern throat easily enough.”
“It’s not all my fault. You let me have it, remember?”
“I’ll let you have it, all right.” He took two more menacing steps toward her.
Too late she realized that trying to split the blame was not a good thing to do, especially with a frustrated man who still had two knives.
“I ought to make you climb up there and get that knife.” Lollie looked up at the tree, way, way up. Her stomach lurched. Suddenly her head felt light and she raised her hand to her forehead. “I don’t feel very well.”
He started counting again, then muttered something about “all those berries.”
Chicken gizzards! He knew. She had been so sure about sneaking them, always making sure his back was turned and he was busy hacking away before she’d eaten them. There had been those two times he’d turned around while she was still chewing, but she’d swallowed so quickly. Oh, well, she’d been found out, so she might as well use e fruit to her advantage. She delved into her pocket and held out a handful of berries. “Since you figured it out, here, have some.”
“I’m not that stupid.” He shrugged out of the pack and put :t and the rifle against another tree. “Stay by these and don
’t move” With that pronouncement he strode to the coconut palm to pulled off his boots.
“Are you really gonna climb all the way up there?”
He unsheathed the small knife. “How the hell else am I going to get the machete?”
“Maybe it would fall down it you threw something at it.
“You’re too heavy.”
She’d have loved to throw her shoes at him again, but one more glance at the knife told her she’d thrown enough things for a while.
He placed the knife between his teeth and straddled the tree, pulling himself up the scarred gray palm bark like a logger shimmying up a Carolina pine.
She watched him, her breath slowing as he moved higher and higher up the tree. Its base was sturdy and thick, but the higher Sam got, the thinner the trunk was. His movements slowed. Every time he pulled himself upward, the tree would bend, a little more and a little more, until it was arched like a rainbow. Within a few minutes he reached the coconuts. He wrapped one arm around the trunk and tried to grab the knife. His arms weren’t long enough. He looked down, and Lollie could almost hear him swear.
He seemed to do a lot of swearing. An occasional “damn” slipped from her lately, often preceding the word “Yankee.” That was pretty mild compared to the language her brothers used when they didn’t know she was around. Actually, she’d learned some real humdingers, but she would never use them. Ladies didn’t swear. Lord knew she had reason enough to swear. Besides which being a lady in this jungle had its drawbacks, and if the truth were told, Lollie had always hated those silly rules. A coconut thudded to the ground like a falling rock, giving her attention back to Sam. She could see him pull small knife from his teeth. Hanging on with one a leaned out and sawed at some more coconuts, eat dropping like the last.
Sunlight broke through the clouds and beamed though the ceiling of treetops. She shaded her eyes with her hand. Sam still couldn’t reach the machete.
“Lollie! Can you hear me?”
“Yes!”
“I’m going to cut this whole bunch, so stay back. The knife’s going to come down with them!”
“Okay!” she shouted, then turned to stand in safety behind a banyan tree. She stopped when she thought she heard him say something else, something about he’d be damned if he’d lose the money now, after earning every last dime. It didn’t make sense to her, so she figured the machete must have had something to do with his job at the camp. She moved around behind the tree.
A moment of silence hung in the air, and then the coconuts pounded to the ground louder than horses’ hooves, the machete falling out to lie a couple of inches from the mound of green coconuts.
Lollie figured it was safe, so she walked toward the knife, but her eyes were still on Sam, who slid down the trunk in a quick minute.
“You got it!” She smiled.
He just gave her one of those male looks that said “of course I got it.” He walked past her, picked up the machete, and examined it with a practiced eye.
“Is it okay?”
He checked the edge, then grunted. “It’s fine.” She breathed a quick but very quiet sigh of relief.
He turned and kicked a coconut away from the bunch, then hunkered down beside it. He raised the knife and slammed it downward, cleaving the coconut in two. He handed her half. “Here drink this. We might as well not waste it.”
Lollie took the green, bowl-like shell and looked inside. Though the outside was bright green, another hard brown hairy shell lay within. Inside that was a rim of white nut meat. A small amount of milky, sweet-smelling liquid pooled inside. She watched Sam lift his half to his mouth and drink. Slowly she did the same.
Her dulled taste buds almost exploded. The liquid was strong with the flavor of coconut, a delicacy she’d had only in small flakes on special desserts or in rare holiday macaroons. It was as wonderful as those berries and she drank some more, until she could feel the heat of Sam’s gaze. She lowered the shell from her mouth, licking the juice she could feel clinging to her upper lip. He looked away, digging his small knife into the white meat inside the shell.
He must still be mad at me, she thought, drinking down more of the juice and watching him cut some coconut.
As if drawn by her stare he looked up. He stared for a long moment, then looked at the coconut and jabbed the knife into the shell.
She winced.
He withdrew the knife. A hunk of coconut meat was poised on its sharp end, and he handed it to her. “Here. Taste this.”
She plucked it off the knife tip and took a small bite. It was tougher than an apple, but not nearly as bad as the jerky, and the flavor was smooth and rich and exotic. She smiled at Sam and bit off some more.
He stared at her for a long, puzzling time, during which the air got thicker and steamier. Then he quickly tossed his coconut into the bushes, straightened, and strode over to where the pack and rifle were, his stiff back to her.
“I’m sorry about the machete.”
He slung on the pack and rifle and grunted as he turned. “Forget it.”
She finished the coconut and gave the shell a look of longing. “Can we take the rest of the coconuts with us? They really taste fine.” She watched him hopefully.
“I’m not going to lug those coconuts, and the pack, and the rifle, and you through this jungle.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I’ll carry them.”
His snort of laughter hit her like a slap in the face, which made her all that much more determined to show him she could do it.
“I can carry them . . . well, not all of them, but that small bunch couldn’t be too heavy. I can strap them to my back, the way you do with that pack. Besides, we’ll be using them up along the way.”
He gave her a long, thoughtful look, then walked over to the bunch of coconuts and lifted them by the thick green stem, testing their weight. He withdrew the machete and sliced two more off, then put them back down. He removed the pack and knelt down, opening it and pulling out some rope.
After a few minutes’ work, he had a rope sling attached to the nuts, and he stood, holding them out to her. “They’re all yours.”
She grinned and joined him.
“Turn around.”
She did, and he slid the rope slings up her arms until they were secure over her shoulders.
“Turn,” he ordered.
She did.
“Now pull your arms back so your elbows touch the coconuts.”
She did. Now her shoulders were arched back, her chest out. She waited for his next command.
Nothing happened.
She looked at him. His gaze was on her chest. It roved slowly upward until he was looking her in the eyes.
After a minute he smiled then asked, “Is that too heavy?”
“No.” She moved her shoulders a bit, and he shook the ropes. It wasn’t too heavy, and even if it had been, she wouldn’t have cared, because the flavor of that juice still lingered in her mouth and she wanted more.
“You’re sure? The more you walk the heavier that’s going to feel.”
“I know,” she assured him. “I’m fine. If it gets too heavy I’ll tell you, all right?”
“Just remember, I’m not carrying it.”
She heaved a sigh. “Fine.”
“I just want it clear from the start. Okay?”
“Okay.” She watched him pick up the pack and rifle, and they moved on, Lollie feeling right proud.
Her pockets were filled with berries, and those wonderful coconuts were tied to her back. The journey couldn’t be so bad now.
Besides the freshness and flavor of their new food, Lollie finally had something to do, something she didn’t have to depend on Sam for. So off she went, marching along behind him, her stomach full and her thirst quenched, coconuts bobbing on her small, straight back, and her eyes focused on Sam and all that intriguing, massive muscle.
Chapter 11
Sam couldn’t believe it. The Lollipop was holding her own. No whining, no humming, an
d the biggest surprise, no stumbling. Of course he’d slowed down some, knowing that the camp was now within a day’s walk, and there’d been no sign of the Spanish—another surprise.
He glanced back over his shoulder. She was fairly close behind, paying attention to where she walked, the reason she wasn’t keeling over every five minutes like a felled oak.
Instead of staring up, ogling her surroundings, as she had before, she now watched the ground, stepping over vines and weaving her way through thick bushes with her shorter skirt pulled tightly around her so it wouldn’t catch.
Turning to look ahead of them, he checked the grade of the trail. For the last few minutes they’d been walking up a slight rise, and a few hundred yards ahead stood a jagged, rocky hill. The trail cut up and through the steep face, weaving its way to the top, where lush leafy vines fell like green curtains over the edge of the rock rim. To the right, a small waterfall, one of many that cascaded from the tall granite plateaus of the high jungle, rushed down the slick rock surface, which was tinted a deep, dark purple-gray that made the froth of the water appear whiter and the rich green of the plants even more vibrant, alive.
He watched Lollie make her way up the grade, slower, from the extra weight of the coconuts. If they rested here, they could eat one of the nuts, making her load lighter. Part of him wanted to take them from her, but something about her attitude stopped him. She seemed pleased to have a job to do, something for which she was responsible. He didn’t want to take that away from her, partly because it seemed so important to her and partly because it kept her manageable, and—there was a God—quiet.
“We’ll rest here.” He leaned his rifle against a tree, unhooked his knife, and crouched down, waiting for her to drop her coconut load. She did, then sagged down against a tree and hugged her knees to her chest. Sam cut off a coconut and split it open. They drank the milk, and then he carved out the meat and handed her a huge hunk.
“We have to go over that hill ahead,” he said between bites of his own. “It’ll be pretty steep climbing. You might want to lighten your load.”