by Laurie Lewis
Eyes that celebrated victory a moment earlier now darkened. His hand came up, jabbing a finger near her face. “You know nothing about my country and people. We are diverse, from many nations, many political ideologies, many religions—Muslim, Christian, those who believe the old ways.” He leaned in close and snarled. “Do not presume to know what is best for us.”
She held her breath, regretting her words. A few seconds felt like an hour, and then he called to his two companions searching the plane.
“Come. Get Aristide. It’s time to go.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the men in the plane raise a piece of paper and call for the leader. She recognized it as a page from one of the brochures. A sheen of sweat spread over her body as the leader reached through the open hatch to retrieve the document. If he read the word “pump” in the text, she and Michael would be in danger again.
The leader’s eyes moved across the page when a siren sounded and a red glow appeared from down the road.
“Des soldat!” growled the leader as he tossed the paper to the ground. “Allez! Allez!”
He and his colleagues filled their arms with tablets, which they juggled on their run to a battered truck parked near the terminal.
During the rebels’ chaotic retreat, Michael ran to Olivia, placing his body between her and the rebels.
“Michael, that rebel was about to read the customs manifest. Those soldiers just saved us.”
“Not the soldiers,” smiled Michael. He pointed toward the light and sound show. “Look.”
A Jeep rounded a bend in the road with only one passenger—a driver—but off to the side of the road, in the brush, two men watched the rebels’ truck speed away from the light and siren blare. When they stood up, Olivia recognized them immediately. Buddy leapt in the air and cheered while Hudson broke from the cover, heading her way in a dead run.
Breathless and pale with worry, he stopped mere feet from her as his eyes surveyed her condition. Olivia’s voice cracked, and without a word, he scooped her into his arms and pressed her close, burying his face in her hair. She heard no words other than the graveled repeat of her name, and the shuddering breaths of relief rushing past her ear.
Olivia returned the embrace, tightening her arms around Hudson, feeling once more that she was made to fit this very man. The enormity of the risk she had taken flooded upon her, and she wet Hudson’s shoulders with tears of relief. Hudson pulled back, his mouth still agape, worry still visible in the creases of his face and in his shining eyes. He framed her face in his hands, brushing her hair back. His lips trembled as his thumbs traced along her jaw. “I lost you once. I’d never survive losing you again.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sor—”
“I love you,” he muttered in a breathless rush. Further speech was silenced as Hudson’s hungry mouth pressed over hers. His pounding heart throbbed against her, its steady rhythm quieting the shaking of her body, replacing it with peace and security. Her arms moved up his back, preventing his escape. This time, her thoughts were consumed with only one man—Hudson Bauer.
The kiss ended, but the need to connect remained. Cheek to cheek, brow to brow, Olivia finally said the words she’d travelled thousands of miles to say. “I love you. I never stopped.” His arms reached for her again, and she settled in against him like a second skin. “I have so much to tell you. I know all about Arena Corp and the money. Thank you for always looking out for me.”
“Every day. Always.”
She pulled back again to meet his love-filled eyes. “I finally put all the pieces together. I found your proposal book. That’s what you went back to Portland to get the night—” Her eyes lowered in shame, then rose again, pleading, earnest, to meet Hudson’s. “Jeff stole from it that night in the apartment. He said and did all the right things, but it was your words and ideas I fell in love with, not his. He told me you were moving on without us. I should have trusted you, but I let my fears overrule my heart. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”
He kissed her head. “That’s all in the past. What you did today …” His eyes closed and his head shook as if he were reliving a nightmare. When he reopened them, they shone as he stared into hers. “Did I push you to this? Did I make you feel you needed to prove something to me?”
Beads of sweat streaked down Hudson’s face, leaving trails along his cheeks. She reached a dirt-stained hand up and pressed it there. “I needed to prove something to myself. There’s so much more I need to tell you.”
“We have time. All the time in the world.”
Hudson pulled her hand away and placed a knee-weakening kiss in her palm that overwhelmed her remaining strength. She slumped into the arm wrapped protectively around her as his lips found hers again in a soft kiss that deepened moment by moment. His hand released hers to rest against the plane as he leaned their bodies back, pressing into the privacy found in the crook between the wing and fuselage. Olivia felt his heart beat against hers, their every breath timed to their salty kisses.
At last, they were as one, as it was always meant to be.
24
The last embers of the previous evening’s fire had burned to hot ash, their glow in the gray of dawn casting shadows across Olivia’s sleeping face as she rested in Hudson’s arms. Lifting his head from the sleeping bag, he gazed down at her and smiled as a newfound contentment radiated through him. He pulled her closer, and she rustled as his hand slid down her sleeve to intertwine his fingers with hers. Every inch of him hungered to touch her, to immerse in the wonder her love brought him. But nothing short of the original dream of making her his wife would satisfy. There was time. They would take things slowly. He would follow her lead.
She stirred and opened her eyes. “Good morning.”
He welcomed her with a lingering kiss. “This was worth waiting eight years for.”
“As soon as I found my peace, all I wanted was you. You’re the reason I moved to New York.”
His face slackened. “That’s what you were trying to tell me back at the office that last day. And I … I rushed away. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” She pressed her finger over his lips. “You were worried about your parents. I understood. What matters to you, matters to me. That’s why I’m here. I want to be with you when your dream comes true.”
* * *
Only seven tribal leaders out of the twelve Hudson had contacted agreed to come to the designated location for the test. They had been collected in two U.N. vehicles with armed guards in each. Olivia was standing by Hudson’s side as Michael and Buddy drove up in the lead escort vehicle.
“I have to tell you, mate, I didn’t believe it would work.”
“What?” asked Liv.
“That slick trick Hud used on those rebels to rescue you. See, they’re mercenaries of a sort. They put President Ouattara in power in exchange for twenty thousand dollars each, which they were never paid. Now they're fighting the very government they infiltrated and put in place. Hud banked on the hope they wouldn't want to be arrested and have their fates determined by their former friends in the government.”
“And the innocent citizens get caught in the middle,” added Michael Lath.
Buddy nodded in agreement. “Lucky for all of us, Hud here had the bullhorn, flares, and siren alarm the foremen use to clear workers from an area before a detonation. He hoped the rebels would think the feds were the on their trail. Smart man! I’ll never doubt him again.”
Olivia looked into his eyes. “Neither will I.”
“We’d be wise to make this quick,” warned Michael, as he exited his Jeep. “We were watched as we made our way here.”
“Agreed,” said Hudson. He squeezed Olivia’s hand and smiled. “A kiss for luck?”
Their lips met as the first armored U.N. vehicle arrived, and seven nervous leaders stepped out, scanning the perimeter. Olivia studied Hudson’s face and saw the worry tingeing his excitement. “You don’t need luck. All four tests have proven successfu
l.”
“These men have risked everything on my promises, and we’re going into an untested dry riverbed today.”
“You’re Hudson Bauer. You make miracles happen. I believe in you.”
He held her with his eyes, expressing love in that moment with greater impact than any spoken words. “Do you have any idea how grateful I am that you’re here?” he whispered, with a final squeeze of her hand.
She blushed as warmth radiated through every limb. “Go greet your guests.”
As he stepped toward the convoy’s passengers, his hand slipped beyond her reach. She missed his closeness instantly. Her eyes shone as the man who could buy and sell small nations graciously deferred to each of the courageous leaders.
She marveled at how their lives had been cosmically altered by a few miscalculated hours, unspoken words, and misplaced fears. Yet, here they were. Somehow, heaven had righted what fools had made wrong.
His patience and gentleness gave her confidence as they each navigated what was, in truth, their first experiences with love. And this was love, where smiles warmed her as deeply as kisses. Where a gentle touch both satisfied and stirred. As if hearing her heart, he turned and reached a hand back encouraging her to join him and his guests.
The tribal leaders’ wary eyes gave way to smiles as they acknowledged Olivia. Hudson graciously led the way while Michael, who would serve as the interpreter, deferred to one particular leader who Olivia assumed was held in greater esteem than the rest. The leaders took their places at the edge of a dried depression that ran through barren land. A few scrubby plants poked through the baked earth, but the elevated banks were the only clues that this was once a thriving riverbed. The barren spot seemed like worthless land, but the presence of Buddy and the armed U.N. security detail proved how crucial this spot was at that moment.
Hudson entered the bed and carefully drove eighteen inches of narrow pipe into the crust. “The pump only works with this experimental solar battery.” He paused as Michael translated his words into French and two African dialects for their guests. “This is a prototype, and we are hurrying to manufacture more.” Again, he paused for the translations. Then he placed his ear over the top of the pipe to listen. Disappointed, he withdrew the metal pipe and inserted it again a few feet to the left. Again, he listened for what Olivia knew was the change in sound he expected when the pipe hit underground water. The third test site also failed.
Several of the local leaders crested the riverbank, searching the scrub growth yards from Hudson’s position. After a few moments, one of them looked up and smiled, calling to Hudson.
“He wants you to try there,” Michael translated.
Hudson nodded and offered the pipe to the leader who pointed at a particular plant, gesturing about the length of its deep taproot. Hudson bowed slightly at the waist and stepped back, asking the man to proceed. After a few moments, the pipe was inserted, and one by one, the leaders listened to the sound within the pipe, and smiled. They then gestured to Hudson, who listened and smiled with equal pleasure.
Olivia clapped and nearly cried with relief. As Hudson attached the lunchbox-sized solar battery and pump assembly to the pipe, Olivia recalled what the rebel had said, that these well-meaning Americans should not assume that they know Africa and her people. Clearly, the leaders proved today that their knowledge could not be underestimated.
Once the pump was secure and the switch turned on, the motor began to rumble. Within a few seconds, brown water spurted from the pump, followed a minute later by clearer water, filling a small bucket from which the men began ladling.
A cheer sounded from one, while others looked on in measured respect. Olivia watched Hudson’s reaction as his eyes moved to the last man, the leader held in the greatest regard by his colleagues. Quiet filled the circle as the bucket was passed to him. He drained the ladle before replacing it in the bucket. His lips smacked loudly, and a smile spread across his face as he uttered two short French phrases.
Again, Michael provided the translation. “The water is sweet. The pump is good.”
The other Bauer Group men whooped and smacked Hudson on the back. The flow continued until the bucket was filled several times, at which point Hudson stopped the pump to preserve the precious fluid. As Michael continued answering questions, Hudson left the circle of chattering men and set his eyes on Olivia. With arms spread, he scooped her against him and swung her around.
“You did it! Sweet water!” she said. “Your great-grandmother would be so proud of you.”
Hudson set her down and brushed her hair back from her face. “She would have loved you.”
“Thanks for waiting for me to figure things out.”
“You were worth waiting for, however long it took.”
Olivia squeezed his hands. “We need to celebrate.”
Hudson scanned the barren perimeter and smiled. “We don’t have a lot of options out here in the desert.” He tightened his arms around her. “What did you have in mind?”
Her eyes shone as she looked directly into his. “There’s a book I’ve been dying to have you read to me.”
Several seconds passed, and then a smile brightened his entire face. “You brought it? The P³?”
She nodded. “I kept it when I moved out of the beach house. I think you’re going to like the way the story ends.”
Hudson’s hands cupped her face as he moved within a breath of her. His eyes studied hers as he brushed an almost imperceptible kiss over her lips and whispered, “The sequel should be even better.”
Liv nestled into him, claiming the spot nearest his heart. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Acknowledgments
When Christine Dymock and I met at a writers’ conference two years ago, I had no idea she was the owner of Gelato Books, or that I’d be invited to leave my four-hundred-page comfort zone to take a stab at a romance novella for her Destination Billionaires series. It has proven to be an absolute blast. Thanks so much for this new opportunity, Christina! I’ve loved it!
Many thanks to a patient hubby and family for not getting too frustrated at me when I slip away from a conversation to jot down thought I dare not forget. Thanks, Tom, for supporting my addiction to the written word, and for understanding that I’m happiest when I’ve got a good story in the works. Love you, Honey! And many thanks to my children by marriage and birth—Tom and Krista, Adam and Brittany, Amanda and Nick, Josh and Sidney, and all my cute grandchildren—Tommy, Keira, Christian, Brady, Avery, Desmond, Chase, Wes, Noah and Kenzie, for helping me find beauty and joy in even the simplest moments. I love you all.
Son Adam, daughter-in-law Brittany, and my cute grandkids—Chase, Noah, and Kenzie—introduced me to the beautiful Oregon coastline. I had “Sweet Water” plotted out by the time we left Short Sands Beach. Thank you guys, for great memories and views that inspired this book.
I’m blessed with a great support squad. I love my critique ladies—Elizabeth Petty Bentley, Sarah Lee, Lisa Swinton, and Lisa Rector, whose feedback and ideas fueled me during this project. Great thanks go to my Willowsport Crew of beta readers: Christine Clark, Mary Beth Cook, Emma Davis, Pam Dove, Diane Ferguson, Shauna Joesten, Laura Lewis, Kathy McQueeny, Khadra Michaelson, Chantal Preuninger, June Nair, Cyndy Packer, Suzann Schonberger, Jennifer Starkey, Norma Wahlquist, Heather Watson. Their feedback was immensely helpful in smoothing out potholes in the story. Thank you, ladies. You are incredible!
Most importantly, I would like to acknowledge two women and the work they do, for inspiring the humanitarian aspects of “Sweet Water.”
Hudson refers to the AMAR foundation on page eight of the book. A dear friend introduced me to this foundation a few years ago, and I was privileged to meet the chairwoman of AMAR, Baroness Nicholson of Winterbourne, while assisting at a reception in her honor near Washington D.C. AMAR provides health care and education to families living in war zones or in areas of civil disorder and disruption. Ninety percent of all donations go directly to helping the people
AMAR serves. When so many of us feel helpless to make a difference, here is a safe, trustworthy way we can all help. Click http://bit.ly/1z8Cx2q and enter AMAR to make a donation.
The nuns and orphans mentioned in “Sweet Water” are based on an actual convent in The Ivory Coast of Africa. Another friend, Dr. Melei Lath, introduced me to her sister, Mother Eugenie, the Mother Superior of The Fraternité Monastique Des Soeurs de Jesus-Euchariste. These nuns support themselves and use their earnings to protect and educate orphans left alone as a result of disease and war. Their great hope is that they will someday be in a position to build a proper orphanage where they can protect the children from rebels. You can see photos of Mother Eugenie, her nuns, and some of the children, on my website. Please consider donating to her work here: https://www.gofundme.com/soeurs-de-jesus-euchariste
Lastly, I thank you, my readers, for embracing “Sweet Water” and my other novels. You are the reason I write. Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
Please consider signing up for my newsletter at http://www.laurielclewis.com/newsletter, and follow me on social media to get updates on the release of my newest book, a political suspense novel, currently titled “The Shell Game,” set for a summer 2017 release. Here’s an excerpt from chapter one:
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