Just a Kiss Away

by Jill Barnett

  “You know a bottle never pulled a man out of a hole.”

  Sam scowled at Jim. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I know you. You’ve got trouble.”

  Sam lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged down a few burning gulps. “Just what is this remarkable revelation you’ve come to?”

  “Woman trouble.”

  “That woman is trouble all right. In four more days she’ll be back with her daddy and out of my hair.”

  “Then why are you swilling that stuff?”

  “I’m celebrating.”

  “And I’m the angel Gabriel,” Jim muttered.

  “Since when have you become my keeper?”

  “Since you’ve been acting like you needed one.”

  Sam slammed one booted foot on the seat of the chair next to him and stared at the opening in the top of the whiskey bottle. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

  “Nope, unless I slink over to Lollie’s room and give her a thrill before she leaves.”

  Sam’s booted foot hit the floor. “You touch her and I swear—” He stopped, realizing he’d given himself away.

  “What?” Jim gave him a knowing smile.

  “Nothing. Just stay away from her.”

  Jim whistled something that sounded a lot like the Wedding March.

  “Shut up.”

  Jim did, but smiled as he poured himself a drink, then leaned back in his own chair, silently watching Sam over the rim of his glass. There was a distinct gleam in Cassidy’s green eyes, the same gleam the vampire snake had worn when it cornered Sam.

  He didn’t like it, so he drank from the bottle again; then he wouldn’t have to look at Jim.

  “Is she really that hot inside?”

  Sam spit whiskey a good three feet, coughed, pinned Jim with a one-eyed stare that had brought others to their knees, and said, “I’m going to kill that bird.”

  Laughing, Jim reached out and clapped him on the back.

  “Come on, Sam old buddy, where’s your sense of humor.”

  “I lost it the minute you got that mouthy bird.”

  “Right. You lost it the minute you let that little blond bit with the voice like molasses get to you.”

  Sam grunted. After a few minutes he said, “Even if what you say were true”—Sam held up a hand when his friend rolled his eyes—”which it’s not, it doesn’t matter anyway, because tomorrow I’m taking her back to her internationally esteemed daddy.”

  “This is a side of you I’ve never seen.” Jim reached out and poured himself another.

  “What?” Sam barked.

  “Jealousy.”

  “Me? Jealous? Shit . . .”

  “You just sounded as if you were jealous. Of her father.”

  “I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my life. For one thing, there’s never been anything I wanted enough to feel jealous.”

  “Deny it all you want, but I’ve still got a black eye to prove it.”

  “Jealousy is for fools and dreamers.” Sam swilled some more whiskey. “They’re the only ones who are stupid enough to want something they can never have. I’m neither a fool nor a dreamer. I learned that lesson as a kid.”

  “I think you want something you think you can’t have, and it’s that woman.”

  “You can think whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean you’re right.” Sam lifted the bottle to his lips again. He supposed he’d have to admit that he did want her physically, but then, they’d been forced together since that day in the marketplace, so his reaction to her was just some failing on his part, like that impulse he felt to protect her. There had to be something he could do to overcome that weakness and change that urge. She must be one of those women who could make a man feel things he didn’t want to. Some women could do that, although until now he’d never met one. He must be getting old or something. And he wasn’t jealous.

  The best plan was to take her back where she belonged, and then he’d never have to worry about Lollie LaRue again. The sooner they left, the sooner he could get rid of her and get on with his job here. That was what was important.

  He had to finish up here and then go back to the States for a while. Someplace quiet, where he could get his mind and body functioning on a normal level again. Maybe he’d go to San Francisco or maybe the Northwest. Yeah, Seattle might do. It was the farthest U.S. point from South Carolina.

  The rumble of thunder woke Lollie. She sat up at the noise. It was either thunder or a large elephant. Whatever it was, the wooden walls almost shook from its noise. With the suddenness of a hurricane wind, and with almost the same force, the bungalow door blew open. A dark form fell across the threshold.

  Lollie screamed.

  “Shhh!”

  “Sam!” she gasped.

  His dark form sat up, and though she couldn’t see his face she knew he was looking at her. “Christ, you’ve got to stop screaming, Lollipop.” He shook his head. “My ears can’t take it.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Standing up.” He got to his knees, then wobbled to his full height, weaving a little.

  “I meant what are you doing here? It’s late.”

  “I came to tell you we’re leaving tomorrow morning. Early. First thing.”

  “Already?”

  He shut the door and shuffled toward the cot. “What’s wrong, Miss Lah-Roo? Don’t you want to see your little old daddy?”

  “Of course I do. I just thought I’d have more time to get ready.”

  “We have to take the mountain road. The rainy season will start soon.”

  “What does the mountain road have to do with the rains?”

  “Floods.”

  “Oh, I see.” At least she thought she might see. He wasn’t making himself too clear. “Is that all?”

  “Yeah.” He belched.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Me? Drink? Why would I do that?” He leaned close enough that the fumes brought tears to her eyes.

  “You are drunk!”

  “Hurrah!” He applauded. “Give this woman a college diploma! Her mind is amazing!” He waved a hand at an imaginary audience in the dark room.

  “I think you should leave.”

  “I knew I smelled smoke.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Thinking.” He fell onto the cot right next to her. “It’s hard work, isn’t it?”

  “Sam! Get off here!”

  “Stop thinking, just feel. It’s so much easier.” His mouth came at her, and she dodged it, turning back just as his face hit the cot.

  She tried to scoot out the other side but his arm clamped over her.

  “Un-un-unnn.” His breath hit her ear. “Thought you’d get away from me, didn’t you?” His leg clamped over hers.

  “Sam, stop it!” She dodged his face again, but before she could determine his intention his hands clamped on to her breasts.

  “You’re not flat, Lollie.”

  “Don’t!” She tried to pry his hands off her.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me? I just paid you a compliment. A kiss’ll do.” His mouth closed over hers.

  She turned her head, breaking contact with his seeking mouth. “Don’t do this, Sam. Please.” Her voice cracked. He scared her, acting like this, liquor on his breath and his hands and mouth willing to take what he wanted.

  He stopped and looked down at her, shook his head as if he needed to clear it, then looked at her again, only this time she felt as if he really saw her. He pushed up from the cot and stood there. She thought for a minute he might apologize, but he didn’t. He stood there; then he rubbed a hand across his mouth and turned. He staggered to the door and jerked it open. “We’re leaving early. Be ready.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Did you hear me?” he barked, his back to her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He stepped through the doorway, then stopped again. “One more thing.”
/>   “What?”

  “I’m not jealous. I’ve never been jealous. I never will be jealous.” And he slammed the door closed.

  Chapter 21

  With the bright orange dawn came a scattering of dark clouds, rain-dark clouds, as Sam had been reminding Lollie. He’d been barking orders at her since the moment he’d beaten on the door and told her to get up, bellowing that he didn’t have all damn day. He told her again about the mountain road, which probably meant he didn’t remember last night. He made more sense this morning. He said the road was safe from the Spanish patrols. It was longer, but it was a safer trek to the town of Santa Cruz, the meeting spot with her father.

  She supposed she should have been anxious for that meeting, but much had happened since that day when she’d paced her room waiting for her father. Gone was her pink dress, the one she’d taken such time and trouble to duplicate from the portrait. Gone was the perfectly curled blond hair, and gone were the shoes with the beaded rosettes. Gone also was the girl who’d felt as if that meeting would be the most important event in her life.

  She looked down at her clothes, the black canvas shirt, pants, and heavy boots. That girl was gone all right. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and the girl who stared back. She still had blond hair, but it was shorter, barely reaching her shoulders. Her face was battered from the explosion. Her lips were no longer swollen, but the bruises and a faint scratch or two were still detectable. And she hobbled around on a pair bamboo crutches.

  This was Eulalie Grace LaRue. Her brothers would just die!

  And her father, what would he think?

  It didn’t really matter what he thought. She was sick and tired of trying to please a father she didn’t even know, tired of trying to get respect from the men around her. Her brothers might shelter her, but the truth of the matter was that they just didn’t think her able to take care of herself. They didn’t respect her. She wondered if men ever thought of women as capable. Somehow she doubted it, and Sam was a fine example of that blatant lack of respect. Falling down drunk on her cot, for Pete’s sake.

  The one thing she’d decided, lying there in the dark and staring at the door Sam had slammed, was that she would no longer try to be what she thought men wanted. It hadn’t done her a bit good up to now. She’d always tried so hard to get approval, yet not one man had ever given it to her. It seemed that the harder she tried, the more she messed things up.

  She’d fought for her brothers’ approval and gotten a pat on her little blond head, and she’d been all but locked away in her own little ivory tower. She’d wanted her father’s approval, but he’d never bothered to come home long enough to give her a chance to earn it. And she’d spent all that time waiting, only to face disappointment after disappointment. She’d wanted Sam’s approval too, but she’d gotten only his scorn.

  Well, not anymore. In the dark of that lonely bungalow she’d made a decision. She was going to control some of the things in her life. She was sick and tired of men telling what she needed to do, when she needed to leave, what she was supposed to be. Her future actions might not bring her male approval, but she would feel that she had some control over her own life. Then maybe she wouldn’t care what men thought.

  Let them wait for her for a change. And the first male to wait for her was Sam.

  Gomez had come to get her twice, claiming Sam had demanded that she come now. She hadn’t, but instead used the crutches to hobble over to the cot, sat down, laying the crutches across her lap, and she’d then counted to one thousand. It felt so good that she’d gone and done it all over again.

  Nine hundred and ninety-eight . . . She smiled, imagining Sam’s scowling face as he paced. Nine hundred and ninety-nine . . . She licked her index finger and drew an imaginary line in the air. One thousand . . . and one for me!

  She stood, picked up a small pouch of peanuts from the cot, and tied it to the belt loops on her pants. Then she positioned the crutches and made her way out of the bungalow, slowly moving across the camp toward the men’s barracks. She passed the bungalows, went through the gate, and entered the jungle. She still had one more thing to do before she left.

  Sam turned away from Jim and the group of soldiers who were putting a new roof on the cooking hut. Each time a hammer hit a wooden peg or a nail—about once every two seconds—Sam’s teeth rang. He walked the hundred yards or so to the cart they’d take up the mountain road. He moved past the spare carabao tied to the back of the cart, and he checked the wheels for the thousandth time. Stopping near the rear axle, he bent over to look at it—a monumental mistake. Pain shot through his head, across his forehead, and into his temples, which throbbed as if the veins inside were pumping rotgut whiskey through it, a whole quart at a time.

  He winced and straightened very slowly, just in time to see the woman responsible for his headache. Lollie LaRue hobbled forward on her crutches, smiling prouder than Grant at Appomattox. She had troops, too, eight plump fighting cocks, or at least what used to be fighting cocks, high-stepping along behind her like ducklings with their mama.

  The hammering stopped, and the camp dwindled to complete quiet. Squinting against the morning sun, Sam turned toward the men. Slowly, one by one, they came down from the roof, following Jim, who had come to stand beside Sam. Every man there wore the look of someone who’d just been konked over the head.

  She stopped a few feet away. Her chin went up, her blue eyes glowed with ignorant pride, and she said, “I brought the men back their birds. See?” She gestured toward the roosters, which had turned like a well-trained regiment and now stood in a line beside her.

  Sam heard Jim’s snort of laughter, and he frowned, looked down for a moment, then rubbed his hand over his pounding forehead. He was counting. By the time he looked up again, the entire camp had gathered nearby, all of them still wearing that same dumbfounded look.

  “Well?” she said in a voice tinged with impatience. “Who belongs to whom?”

  He was just about to tell her she belonged in Belleview when Gomez stepped forward and pointed at the white and black cock in the middle of the line. “That one’s mine.”

  “Claudette?” She turned toward the bird.

  Sam groaned. She’d named them.

  “She’s just the sweetest thing. You know at first she was a real pecker.”

  Jim barked out a laugh.

  She looked at him, frowning. She didn’t have a clue as to why Jim had laughed. Sam shook his head.

  She rambled on, “She must have bitten my hand three or four times. But she doesn’t do that now.” She joined Gomez, took something that looked like a peanut from a pouch at her waist, braced herself on one crutch, and bent down. “Here, Claudette . . .”

  The bird flapped once, trotted over to her outstretched hand, plucked off the peanut, and ate it. Lollie dug into her pants pocket and held out her hand. “Take these. She just loves those nuts.”

  The peanuts spilled into Gomez’s outstretched hand. “Now squat down,” Lollie instructed. “Go on.”

  Gomez squatted.

  “Now, put your arm out.”

  He did, and the cock hopped up on it, then waddled up to his shoulder, and perched there, like Medusa.

  Lollie turned her chin up and smiled so brightly that Sam felt the urge to squint again.

  “Now then, who belongs to Reba?” she asked, pointing to the bantam cock at the end of the line.

  Jim leaned close to Sam and out of the corner of his mouth said, “She’s given them all women’s names.”

  “So I noticed.” Sam watched her talk to each of the owners, explaining the foibles of each cock and how she’d managed to lure them from their hiding places. She rambled on about how she hadn’t known how she’d get them to go back to their cages so she’d taught them to follow her by leaving a trail of peanuts.

  Each time she said something, Jim made caustic comments under his breath. Sam’d had enough, and he turned around to check the supplies in the cart.

  By the tim
e he’d cataloged everything, she’d finished, said good-bye to each of the men, and hobbled over to talk to Jim. Sam walked up just as she thanked Jim for God only knew what.

  She turned to Sam and smiled. “I fixed everything with the men.”

  She’d fixed everything all right. She’d managed to tame a whole group of fighting cocks. He’d have bet if roosters could talk, she’d have taught them to say “please” and “thank you,” too. He’d never met anyone like Lollie LaRue, and if luck was on his side, he never would again. There couldn’t be two of them in the world; otherwise mankind wouldn’t have lasted this long.

  He looked at her, dressed in soldiers’ clothes, not a stitch of Calhoun pink anywhere on her person, half of her hair burned off, her white skin bruised, and her smile bright. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d whined her way through the jungle. Two weeks ago he would have told her exactly how she looked and what a stupid thing she’d done with those birds, but now, with that smile on her bruised face and the joy in her voice, he couldn’t tell her.

  And he didn’t like that.

  “Get the lead out. I haven’t got all damn day!” He turned and walked toward the front carabao and stood there waiting for her.

  She hobbled over to the cart, and he remembered her ankle. Stomping back to her he swung her into his arms and plopped her into the cart, then tossed the crutches up. Without a backward glance, he went back to the carabao.

  “I’ll be back in a week,” he said to Jim and then started to leave.

  “Wait!” Lollie called out.

  Sam turned, wondering what the hell she’d forgotten now. She’d just spent ten minutes saying goodbye to every single man in the camp.

  Jim smiled, then whistled. That stupid mynah bird flapped down from a nearby tree and perched on Lollie’s head. “Awk! Sam’s here! Get a shovel!”

  “All right, I’m ready now,” she informed him, reaching up to give the bird a treat.

  Sam stood there for a frozen moment.