Not His Wedding! (Silhouette Reissued)

by Suzanne Simms

  “Maybe he didn’t know.”

  “Now what do we do?”

  “Go back to the camp and wait until daylight. We’ll never find her in the dark.”

  “I think my hand’s bleeding,” whined the wounded gorilla.

  “Ah, shut up!” snapped his companion.

  “But it’s my trigger finger.”

  “Big deal. You never could shoot straight, anyway.”

  The two men were still arguing as they took off down the main street of Port Manya. A few minutes later they disappeared from sight.

  Diana attempted to speak.

  Ross raised his finger to his lips. “Shh…”

  Five minutes passed.

  Ten.

  Fifteen.

  Finally he straightened, and Diana attempted to stand up alongside him. Her legs were still shaking. Her knees gave way beneath her weight. Without a word, Ross took her into his arms and held her. He held her close. He held her as if he would never let her go.

  She finally stopped trembling.

  His face was only an inch from hers. He whispered against her mouth, “Are you all right now?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll carefully make our way back to the hotel, but stick to the shadows. Understand?”

  She nodded her head again.

  They moved from shadow to shadow until they reached the bottom step of the verandah. Then they made a dash for the open door. Ross closed it after them and flattened himself against the wall, pulling Diana behind him as though he would shield her with his body if necessary.

  He peered around a corner of the window, then announced, “I think they’re gone for now.”

  “For now?”

  “They’ll be back,” he said in dead earnest.

  “When?”

  “You heard them. Daylight.”

  Diana was scared stiff. “What will we do?”

  “You—we—have to get out of here tonight.”

  “Where will we go?”

  Ross shook his head. “I don’t know yet. We’ve got a few things to take care of first.”

  “What things?”

  “I’ll explain while you pack.” He hustled her back up the flight of stairs to the honeymoon suite.

  They paused in the doorway. The mosquito netting was in a torn heap on the floor. The pillows and bed covers were strewn haphazardly about the room, and the mattress was half off the bed.

  “Looks like you put up quite a fight,” commented Ross.

  “I tried. The odds were against me, of course. It was two to one.”

  “What did you do to the guy who complained he was bleeding?”

  Diana’s eyes blazed. “I bit him.”

  Ross cleared his throat. “Pack one small bag. Take only what is absolutely necessary.” His face was drawn in deep lines of concentration. “I’m going downstairs to find Simon Ha.”

  “Simon Ha?”

  “I’ll need something to barter with for food and water.”

  Diana quickly dumped her jewelry out onto the dresser. She picked out several rings, a pair of gold hoops, a brooch done in semiprecious stones.

  “What about this?” suggested Ross, indicating the gold charm bracelet on her wrist.

  “No. Not that. It was a birthday present from Yale. He would never forgive me if I sold it.”

  Ross shrugged and opened the closet door. He began to rifle through her expensive designer dresses, picking out one or two in the brightest colors and a pair of flashy high heels.

  “What are you doing with my clothes?”

  “I need something to trade with Lola.”

  “Lola?”

  He turned and eyed her from head to toe. “You need a pair of sensible walking shoes and something practical to wear. There isn’t a damn thing in this closet that will be useful to you where we’re going.”

  “But that dress cost me five hundred dollars,” she softly wailed as he yanked it from the hanger.

  Ross speared her with his eyes. “How much is your life worth to you, Diana?”

  She snapped her mouth shut. “Take this one, as well. It’s a good color for Lola,” she said, grabbing another expensive outfit from the wardrobe.

  Arms full, Ross paused in the doorway. “This time keep the door locked. I’ll be back in a half hour. Maybe less. Be ready to put on the clothes I bring you. And remember only pack what you can carry.”

  “Right.”

  “You’d better bring the rest of your jewelry. We may need it to barter for food and supplies, depending on how long we’re out there.”

  Diana didn’t want to ask, but, in the end, she did, “Out where?”

  “We’re on the run, baby.”

  “The run?”

  “We’re heading into the jungle.”

  Nine

  They’d been on the run all night, and Diana hadn’t complained once. Not a word. Not a sigh. Not a gripe or a grumble. Not a moan or groan of self-pity.

  Ross was amazed.

  She had to be hot, or tired, or hungry. Probably all three. He knew he was.

  The strap of her carryon bag was digging into her shoulder; he could tell by the way she shifted the weight from one arm to the other every now and then.

  Her feet must hurt. Her legs must ache. Every muscle in her body must be screaming for relief. He was pushing her harder than she had ever been pushed before in her entire life. Yet she was keeping up with him, and without a word of complaint.

  He turned his head and said just loud enough to be heard, “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “How do the boots feel?”

  “Fine.”

  Lola, the singer and sometime barmaid at the Hotel Paraiso, hadn’t owned any suitable walking shoes, so he’d had to barter for a pair of men’s work boots from Simon Ha. One of the few pair on the island, according to the hotelier, since most residents of Port Manya went barefoot.

  “They are genuine leather,” Simon had claimed as he drove up the already exorbitant asking price. “Excellent workmanship. Brought all the way from Mindanao by my eldest son.”

  Ross had taken the boots. He’d had no choice.

  They weren’t an exact fit—there was an inch or two of old newspaper stuffed into the toe of each one—but they sure beat the alternative: Diana’s skimpy three-inch-high imported Italian heels.

  Lola had been more than willing to trade a blouse, a jacket and a pair of faded jeans for the designer dresses. Of course, the singer was barely five feet tall. Consequently the jeans hit Diana about midcalf. The difference had to be made up with a pair of Ross’s socks that reached well above her knees. You didn’t go into the jungle at night with bare legs, with bare skin, with bare anything. Not if you were smart.

  Ross hadn’t explained why.

  Diana had wisely not asked. There were times when ignorance was bliss.

  He wasn’t particularly eager to go into details about the necklace-length centipedes; the ants as long as a man’s finger; the poisonous spiders; the snakes, especially the giant pythons and the cobras; the pagil, a species of jungle boar with a nasty temper; or the purported fifty-six varieties of bats that inhabited the caves on some of these islands. Not to mention the countless nameless creatures that slithered along the jungle floor, and the mosquitoes that could eat you alive.

  While they were having dinner together at the Manila Hotel, Ross remembered warning Diana that if she stayed in this part of the world, the veneer of civilization would be stripped away and she would be exposed for who and what she was. It happened to everyone sooner or later.

  Perhaps what he was seeing now was the real Diana Winsted. She wore no makeup. Her hair was pulled back into a single utilitarian ponytail, and there was an old Detroit Tigers baseball cap pulled down over her eyes.

  She’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as they left the honeymoon suite earlier that night. Much to Ross’s astonishment, she had shown no reaction. She hadn’t said a solitary word, just turned and wa
lked out the door.

  Maybe he had been wrong about her. Maybe he had misjudged her. Maybe Diana wasn’t the silly, helpless, useless debutante he had dubbed her in the beginning.

  Maybe she was more than just another pretty face and a great pair of legs.

  She was turning out to be a good sport. A genuine trouper. A fierce fighter. In fact, one hell of a woman. She had managed to outwit and escape from the two gorillas who had attacked her in their hotel room.

  Ross still blamed himself for that fiasco. He should have known the hired henchmen looking for Yale Grimmer would have a description of Diana, too.

  She stuck out like a sore thumb.

  How many young, beautiful blondes were there on Port Manya?

  But, dammit, last night had been untenable! He had found himself wanting to make love to a woman he couldn’t stand. A woman he despised. A woman who drove him crazy. A woman who was engaged to marry another man. A woman he wanted so goddamn much he could literally taste his own desire!

  Diana Winsted had become an itch that he desperately needed to scratch.

  At first, Ross assumed it was the simple fact that he had been celibate for so long. After all, sex had been out of the question for months. He’d been in and out of one hellhole after another. He had seen poverty, disease and despair. He had seen things that made him sick, that made him weep, that made him mad.

  He had also been warmly welcomed by kind, gentle, generous people who knew nothing about him, who asked no questions and expected no answers. He had learned their languages, honored their customs and kept to himself.

  For the past six months he had been on a quest, a quest to find out what kind of man he was, a quest for self-understanding, self-knowledge, wisdom. He had not been interested in proving his sexual prowess.

  Until now.

  Ross glanced back at the woman trudging along behind him. “Do you want to stop and rest for five minutes?”

  Diana lifted her chin. Her eyes were hidden beneath the brim of the baseball cap, but there was a steely determination in her voice. “How long until dawn?”

  “An hour. Maybe less.”

  “Do you think those two men will follow us as soon as it’s daylight?”

  He wasn’t going to lie to her. “Yes.”

  “Will they be able to track us?”

  “Probably.”

  “How far is it to Simon’s hideout?”

  “Another couple of miles. But it will be rough going.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t want to stop for a rest.”

  They kept going.

  The dark of night was gradually replaced by the gray light of dawn. An early-morning mist hung over the jungle, giving it a surreal appearance. There was that one hushed moment between night and day, a time of utter peace and quiet.

  The two of them paused and took it in. Neither spoke.

  They passed a rushing waterfall, held their kerchiefs under the cool water and retied them around their necks.

  Soon after, the rains came. They were both soaked to the skin in less than a minute. Hell, it made no difference; they were already drenched with perspiration.

  The rain stopped. The sun came out, and the steam rose from the jungle floor.

  Ross stopped and took his bearings. “We’re nearly there.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Simon said, ‘go past the first waterfall, the mangrove swamp with its hundreds of varieties of flowers—’ ” he indicated the brakish waterhole behind them filled with rare and exotic orchids “ ‘—to the wild banana grove. From there you will see the tall forest of lauan, also called Philippine mahogany, in front of you. Go straight into the forest for sixty paces and you will see a tree trunk bearing my mark. Then you will know that you are there.’ ”

  “Did Simon Ha draw you a map?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how—?”

  Ross pointed to his forehead. “I can see it clearly. It’s all up here.”

  “I’m impressed.” Apparently Diana wasn’t being entirely facetious. “Another of your engineering skills?”

  “Partly.”

  The path widened. Side by side they made their way toward the forest of lauan trees.

  “How did Simon come to learn of this hideout?” Diana inquired as they hiked along.

  Ross untied the kerchief from around his neck and mopped his brow. “Apparently it’s been a carefully guarded village secret for many years.”

  “How many years?

  “The family of Simon Ha and a number of others hid here from the enemy during the Second World War when their troops landed briefly on Port Manya.”

  Her eyes grew round as saucers. “But that would have been nearly fifty years ago.”

  Ross nodded his head. “Even before that, Simon said the villagers used the forest to conceal their wives and daughters whenever pirates stopped on the island to replenish their supplies of food and water.”

  “They hid their women from the marauders.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How does Simon know the hideout is still here?”

  Ross began to silently count the number of paces into the trees. “The villagers consider it a sacred trust. Twice a year a small expedition journeys here to pray to the forest gods and make whatever repairs are necessary.”

  “That is an absolutely amazing story.”

  “But a true one.”

  Golden brown eyes were turned on him, and a voice filled with conviction said, “But a true one.”

  “Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty.” Ross stopped in the center of a small clearing and announced, “We’re here.”

  Diana spun around in a circle. “But where? I don’t see any hideout.”

  “It wouldn’t be much of a hideout if you could,” Ross shot back, his tanned face dissolving into a smile.

  “There’s nothing here but trees. Are you sure you have the right place?”

  Ross took Diana gently by the elbow and guided her to one huge specimen in particular. The tree measured a good five feet in diameter and soared one hundred feet and more into the forest canopy overhead. There was a barely discernible notch carved into the bark.

  “Simon’s mark.”

  “Simon’s mark,” she repeated, reaching out to trace it with her fingertip.

  Ross dropped his knapsack to the forest floor and took out a length of thick, sturdy rope. He tied one end securely around his waist and made a large loop with the other.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll have to go first. Once I’ve reached the hideout, I’ll lower the hemp ladder so you can climb up.”

  “Climb up?”

  Ross frowned and inquired, “You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good.”

  Diana put her hand out and placed it lightly on his arm. “Ross, exactly where is Simon’s hideout?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He put his head back and gazed up into the treetops. “It’s up there, sweetheart. Up where the trees meet the sky.”

  Ten

  “It’s a tree house,” Diana exclaimed as they stood on the sturdy wooden platform built among the thick lauan branches that were bigger around than a man.

  Ross hoisted his knapsack from the forest floor below. It was the last of their belongings and supplies to be transported to the hideout. “I guess you could call it that.”

  Diana carefully peered over a leafy railing. “But you can’t see a thing from down there.”

  Untying the canvas knapsack, Ross began to loop the length of rope into a coil. “Camouflage—that’s the whole idea.”

  “This place is like something out of Swiss Family Robinson,” she said with great delight, forgetting for a moment the danger that had driven the two of them out into the night and toward this jungle sanctuary.

  “I doubt if the islanders who originally built the
hideout had ever read Wyss’s book,” he observed.

  “Probably not.”

  But it didn’t matter. Diana was determined to enjoy this rare glimpse of a wondrous world she had never seen before—and would, undoubtedly, never see again.

  “Look, Ross,” she whispered, pointing out a brilliantly colored exotic bird that had flown down to perch on a nearby tree limb. She could almost reach out and touch it.

  “Kind of makes you feel like Adam and Eve, doesn’t it?” he said with a crooked smile. “Or maybe Tarzan and Jane would be more apropos.” Then he was all business again. “Let’s take an inventory of what we’ve got available to us up here and make our plans accordingly.”

  Despite a weariness that went right down to her bones, Diana gave him a crisp salute, snapped the heels of her too-large boots together and, with a “yessir,” followed Ross on an inspection of the facilities.

  “One thatched-roof sleeping hut,” he said, ducking his head and stepping momentarily into the small shelter. “Mats woven from the leaves of the buri palm. Spears and fishing rods made from the palma brava. Two tambô grass brooms.” He turned and handed one to her.

  Diana stared at it. “What’s this for?”

  “Sweeping.”

  “Sweeping?”

  “As in cleaning out any critters that might be taking a nap in our sleeping hut.”

  A shiver raced down her spine, but Diana replied, “Right. Cleaning out critters.”

  Ross went down on his haunches and examined a stack of metal boxes neatly piled in one corner of the shelter. He flipped open a lid. “American army rations.”

  She peered over one of his shoulders. “American army rations here?”

  “Black market,” he told her by way of an explanation. “Not exactly gourmet dining, but certainly edible.” Ross snapped the box shut again.

  They found an amazing assortment of other devices in the treetop hideout, including a chamber pot behind a bamboo privacy screen and a makeshift shower rigged up under a contraption that collected rain water.

  “All the comforts of home,” Ross said as they finished their tour.

  Only it wasn’t home, of course, Diana thought with sober realization. They weren’t playing Tarzan of the jungle and Jane for the fun of it. This wasn’t a game. The men who had tried to kidnap her in their hotel room last night had meant business. Serious business.