Protecting His Own

by Lindsay McKenna

  “You know,” he began softly, “my mother is the diametric opposite of you.”

  Sam smiled at him. She hungered for this kind of intimate conversation with him. Her heart soared with anticipation. How badly she wanted to know about Roc, the man. “You sound puzzled about that.”

  “In a way.” He hitched one shoulder upward. To his left, a group of families huddled around a fire, cooking whatever they had found to feed themselves.

  “You mentioned she was weak before, that she had depression?”

  “Has it even now,” he admitted unhappily.

  “Does she have a job? Or does she stay at home?”

  “When they married, my father made it clear he wanted her at home to take care of him—and me. He made enough money and then some for her to do that. They met in Philadelphia and after they married, he moved to Maine, where he’d been born.”

  “But did your mom want to stay at home?”

  “She had her bridge club, the social circuit, the parties. She was part of the Philadelphia mainline. Blue-blooded, upper crust…whatever you want to call it.”

  Hearing the distaste in his tone, she said, “It doesn’t sound like you wanted that sort of lifestyle.” Sam had had no idea that Roc’s father was rich.

  “I hated it. My uncle practically raised me, up in Maine. Every chance I got, I went to his house and stayed. My mother came from old money. My father was new money. His computer company is called Starling. You’ve heard of it?”

  “Sure I have. Wow. That’s really something, Roc. Your dad started it?”

  “Yep, Starling Software.”

  “And you were a little geek?” she teased with a smile.

  “Not really. I loved being out-of-doors. My uncle was a hunter and a fisherman. That’s what I loved doing most. I didn’t like computers.”

  “Why?”

  “I like the quiet of the woods. Instead of the hypocrisy of the social scene, which my mother excelled at, I preferred a babbling brook talking to me.”

  She saw his lips thin. They’d left the residential section and were making their way down a wide avenue that would eventually lead them to HQ which she could see in the distance.

  “So you didn’t get along with your mother?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You sound unhappy about that.”

  “She’s weak, Sam. She’s a rug that everyone walks on.” Roc glanced toward Sam. “Not like you. You wouldn’t let anyone roll over you.”

  “No, not if I could help it,” she said, frowning. “Maybe your mother is trapped in a lifestyle she really doesn’t want. Did she like the forest, too?”

  “Yeah, our house in Maine is her handiwork. Every chance she got, she was out there planting flowers, bushes and trees, to make it look like a greenhouse.”

  “That’s wonderful. She has a connection with the earth, then.” Sam gave him a kind look. “It sounds like, in some ways, you really are more like her than your dad. You love nature like she does.”

  “Yes I do. My dad’s a head tripper, and I’m not. I mean, he’s a brilliant man and I respect him for that, but I’m nothing like him.”

  “And you don’t like the shadow of your mother’s so-called weakness hanging over you, even though you’re like her in some respects?”

  Sam saw his eyes flare with surprise and then sadness. “Bingo. Nobody says you don’t shoot from the hip.”

  “That’s the kind of person I am. What you see is what you get, Roc.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah, that’s one of many things that intrigues me about you. You’re strong. Independent. Outspoken.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about ‘outspoken,’” Sam countered. “If a man speaks out, that’s fine. But if a woman tells you what’s on her mind, then men consider it ‘outspoken.’ I don’t like that double standard. I never stood for it, Roc. I won’t now, either.”

  “Touché,” he grumbled. “You got me by the throat on that one.”

  Opening her hands, Sam said, “Your mom doesn’t speak out, right?”

  “Right. She’s hard-pressed to make any kind of decision. She looks to my dad to do that for her. It’s like she hasn’t got a life of her own. She’s doing what everyone else expects of her, but not what she wants to do.”

  “What I hear you saying is that she’s trapped and doesn’t have the strength to speak up with her own voice and do what she wants in life.”

  “Yeah…”

  “And it doesn’t sit well with you. Why?”

  Roc rubbed his chin. “My dad is like a bulldozer.”

  “No kidding…”

  Giving her a sharp glance, he asked, “How would you know that?”

  “An educated guess. When a married woman is mired in deep depression, there’s often a man dominating her. In our society, women are taught to be shadows, to be seen and not heard. If she was raised in a blue-blood world, I’m sure all that was conditioned in her from the time she was a little girl. Many times women don’t have a clue as to who they really are, what they are capable of doing or how to go about fulfilling their dreams. It sounds like your mother is caught in the web of her family heritage.”

  “She once told me she was really angry, and I was shocked by that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve never seen her angry. Not ever.”

  “Well,” Sam said lightly, “in my experience as a doctor, depression is nothing more than a disguise for latent rage that has never been expressed. Many women get trapped like this. They don’t know how to voice their anger because their mothers never showed them.”

  Roc grinned. “Your mother musta taught you.”

  Sam laughed. “You think?”

  “I’ll never forget that day in E.R. with you. You were madder than a wet hen standing out in a thunderstorm, as Sergeant Simmons would say. I guess I was shocked by your anger. I didn’t expect it.”

  “Well, you were coming at me full bore, gloves off. Do you think I was going to take your bare-knuckle brawl lying down?” Sam’s smile turned to a wolflike grin. Roc had the good grace to smile in response. “Looking back on it now, and knowing you as I do, yeah, I had it coming. In spades. I was way outta line. And—” he gave her a level look “—I was wrong. And I apologize.”

  It took a real man, in Sam’s opinion, to admit a mistake and to apologize. “I accept your apology, Roc. You’re not the ogre I thought you were, either.”

  He preened a little. “No?”

  “No. But you’re so full of yourself, Gunnison.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “I can’t help it, good doctor. You just seemed to bring out the best and worst in me.”

  Sam wanted, at that moment, to stop and throw herself into his arms. For the first time, she’d heard Roc really, truly laugh. It changed his entire face. Before, he’d been so sad and confused when he talked about his mother. Now she could see that marine-officer confidence flooding back into him. He was incredibly handsome, she admitted to herself—and desirable.

  For so long, Brad had been the focus of her grieving. Not a day went by in that first year when she didn’t long for him, for conversations such as she was having now with Roc. In the second year, her heart began to mend, and days could go by without her thinking of him. And then Roc had crashed into her life. Big. Bad. Bold. And terribly human in a way Sam really didn’t think she could ever find in another man.

  “We’re almost home,” he said. The terrain had flattened out, the ruined shopping center off to their left. Roc noticed that a lot more tents were up, and more marines were milling about. “Looks like that Super Stallion delivered us a lot more of everything.”

  Sam heard the excitement in his voice as he looked toward the growing tent city they called home. Rousing herself out of her reverie, she said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to fill her tub with hot water and just soak.”

  “Go for it.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got to get together with
Quinn and go over the day’s events. I know he’s had his men out scouting for Diablo. I want to see where he’s at with it.” Scowling, Roc added, “I wouldn’t put it past them to attack us.”

  “They’d be stupid to try. This camp is bristling with marines and firepower now.”

  Shaking his head, he gave Sam a dark look. “They’d do it just to keep us off balance. No, I don’t trust them for a second. And the hair on the back of my neck is crawling.”

  “What does that mean?” Sam followed him between two rows of tents. In the distance, she saw at least forty more marines in formation, with an officer giving them orders. There were at least twenty more tents set up than there had been this morning. The change was amazing.

  Roc halted in front of HQ. “My neck hair stands up when danger is close. I learned a long time ago to pay attention to it.”

  “Well, come hell or high water, I’m going to find Kerry, get that hot bath and then hit the sack. I’m totaled.”

  How badly he wanted to reach out and graze her cheek. Roc didn’t dare under the circumstances. “Yeah, go get cleaned up, Sleeping Beauty. You deserve that hot bath. Soak for both of us, will you?”

  “Will I see you later?” Sam blurted out.

  Roc shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to…but I have to see what’s cooking with Diablo.” Then he cocked his head and gave her a one-cornered smile. “Why? Are you telling me you’d like my company later?”

  “Well…I was wondering if we could meet at the chow hall, say in an hour?” Sam looked at her watch.

  “I’ll try, sweetheart. But no promises.”

  Sam understood. She saw his eyes darken with yearning—for her. Heart thumping in her chest, she forced herself to walk away. Every time she looked at Roc’s mouth, she chastised herself for not taking the lead and kissing him this morning. As she walked toward Kerry’s tent, Sam felt happier than ever before. Her step was so light that she felt as if she was no longer walking on broken-up asphalt and dirt. Somehow, Roc was opening her heart once more, and it left her thrilled and frightened. Like Brad, he was in the Marine Corps. Roc’s job as a Recon made his career even more dangerous than Brad’s. And look what had happened to her fiancé….

  Chapter 11

  “Sam? Sam, wake up….”

  Kerry Chelton’s voice cut through Sam’s dreams, dragging her awake. “Uhh….”

  “Hey, you gotta get out of this tub. The water’s getting cool.” Kerry grabbed the towel hanging on the cot next to the tub. She smiled sympathetically as Sam pushed herself up into a sitting position. Sam must have been so tired that she’d dozed off as soon as she sank into the relaxing hot water.

  Sam looked around the washroom, trying to wake up. Gripping the edge of the tub with both hands, she looked up at Kerry, who was grinning.

  “What time is it?” Her voice was scratchy.

  “Twenty-two hundred hours.”

  “Oh, dear…” Sam pushed herself to her feet as Kerry brought over the huge green towel for her to wrap up in. Even though there was an electric heater spewing warmth into the tent, the space was still chilly. Climbing out, her feet wetting the unpainted plywood, she muttered, “I fell asleep. I’m sorry….”

  “Don’t be,” Kerry said. “Roc was the one who got worried. I guess you two were gonna meet at the chow tent?”

  Rubbing her face and still trying to wake up, Sam groaned. “Oh, jeez…yes, I remember we talked about it.”

  “You’re exhausted,” Kerry counseled gently, “so take it easy. I’ll be right back. Roc’s waiting outside. He was worried about you.”

  “Tell him I’m sorry, will you?”

  Kerry gave her a slight smile. “Oh, I think he’s gonna wait for you to come out and tell him yourself.”

  Quickly drying off, Sam nodded. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute….”

  “You bet.” Kerry disappeared outside the tent flap and zipped it back up to keep in the heat.

  Muttering to herself, Sam pulled on a clean but wrinkled pair of navy-blue slacks, a light blue, long-sleeved blouse, a dark blue cardigan and then sat down and reached for her boots. After pulling on thick socks, she quickly slid her feet into her boots and tied them up. She had washed her hair, and it was still damp, hanging in thick strands around her face. Roc had gone to meet her at the chow hall, after all. Why had she fallen asleep? Embarrassed, she unzipped the tent and stepped out.

  Weak light from bulbs powered by generators spread across the tent city. Instantly, Sam spotted Roc, who stood nearby. There was worry in his eyes—and welcome. Compressing her lips, Sam hurried down to where he stood. His M-16 was slung over his left shoulder. He never seemed to be without a weapon.

  “Roc…I’m so sorry….”

  “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t sure I could make it to the chow hall until the last minute, anyway.” He smiled. Seeing how drowsy her eyes looked, he added, “That hot bath made you sleepy, didn’t it?”

  Groaning, Sam nodded. “I was out like a light. I remember washing my hair, lying back and I was gone.” She touched her wet hair.

  “Come on, I’ve got a tray of food waiting for you at your tent. I had one of the navy chefs rustle it up and wrap it in foil to keep it warm.”

  Turning, she fell into step with him. “That was so sweet of you! Thank you…” She noticed more marine guards on sentry duty. With the Super Stallion bringing in thirty-five more marines, the HQ area was now well protected, she thought. “Have you eaten?”

  “No. When you didn’t show up, I figured you were taking a long, luxurious bath in the washroom tent, so I waited.”

  “Oh, dear…Well, I muffed that one, didn’t I?”

  “You only had about three hours of sleep last night,” he said wryly. “Why wouldn’t you knock off first chance you got?”

  “You look chipper.”

  “Marines are tougher than navy squids.”

  Chortling, Sam stopped at her tent and unzipped it. “Come on in.” She moved into the warm space, glad of the heater inside.

  Closing up the tent again, Roc put his rifle down near the entrance.

  “Oh!” Sam gasped as she stood inside the tent beside him.

  “Yeah…a real bed.” It was a twin-size bed furnished with dark green wool blankets and a pillow.

  Shocked, Sam saw an aluminum tray sitting on it. She saw a second one nearby. “Wow…this is great! We had cots before. Come and sit down….” She wriggled out of her coat and placed it on the dresser opposite.

  “I found out from Quinn that a second Super Stallion came in with a load of furniture for the staff here. It included beds. The cots are being sent out to the first medevac site, which is already set up and in operation.”

  Pleased, Sam sat down and picked up her tray. Removing the foil, she saw aluminum flatware. When Roc sat down nearby, she smiled at him. “This is like Christmas. And hot food…” She dug hungrily into the fragrant beef stew.

  Roc smiled and uncovered his own tray, which he set on his lap. All was right with Sam. They were alone. He was exhausted, but just being with her made him feel energized and happy. They ate in a companionable silence. Roc had also brought coffee in a thermos and poured them each a cup after their meal.

  Sam sighed and put her tray down on the plywood floor near her feet. “Thanks, Roc. You are taking such great care of me…not that I deserve it. I really intended to head over to the chow hall.”

  “This is better,” he told her, sipping his coffee.

  Sam held the white ceramic mug between her fingers, relishing the warmth. Then she sighed and met his dark blue eyes. “You know,” she began haltingly, “I come from a very different life than you did.”

  “Tell me about it?” As tired as he was, Roc was starving for intimate conversation with Sam. He saw the dark smudges beneath her beautiful, wide eyes. There was a special bond between them, more and more evident every time they were together. He’d tried to explain it away with logic, but had failed. It defied l
ogic. His heart, however, was wide-open toward Sam, and his feelings for her growing more fervent by the moment. At his age, he knew better than to act on them. Sam wasn’t the kind of woman who could be pushed around, cajoled or forced into intimacy with a man. No, she had to have trust in him, Roc knew. Trust took time. He at least wanted her to know that he cared for her, and he was looking for ways to communicate that to her. Judging from the grateful expression on her face when she’d seen the tray of food in her tent, she had gotten the message loud and clear.

  “My dad died when I was nine. He drove trucks, the big eighteen-wheelers, for a living.” She grimaced and set her coffee cup on her knees, gazing at the opposite wall. “He was the greatest, Roc. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be.”

  “I’m sorry you lost him so young. He sounds like the kind of dad I wished I had.”

  Nodding, Sam whispered, “My dad loved me just the way I was. Maybe that’s why I grew up so cocky and confident. I always believed I could be a doctor.” She tilted her head and held Roc’s warm, narrowed gaze. She enjoyed having this time alone with him. “My mother was a registered nurse. I was an only kid, too. From the time I could remember, I wanted to help heal people. My mother let me read some of her old college textbooks when I was around eight years old.” Sam laughed. “Not that I understood physiology or anatomy, but it fed my hunger to be a doctor.”

  “And what did your dad think about that?”

  “He thought it was great. He’d be gone a week at a time, but when he got back, on weekends usually, he’d take me hiking, which I dearly love to do. My mother would come, too, and she’d bring a botanical field guide with her. We’d spend a day out in the hills and mountains of Montana, near Whitefish, looking for medicinal herbs. When we’d find one, my mom would sit us down and read from the biology book about it, and then tell us what prescription drug used today had been derived from that plant.”