The Other Half of Your Heart

by Janis Susan May

  “Like marriage?”

  “Like marriage.”

  Dave made another rude sound.

  “And what do you have against marriage?”

  “Nothing. With the right woman, I might like the idea.”

  “Another criminal, maybe? Or would you prefer a kidnapper? You could raise a whole passel of pickpockets.”

  Dave spoke slowly and carefully, as if to a small and not-too-bright child. “Buck Tarrant will never marry you, Miss Waters. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be doing you any favors.”

  “That’s a dreadful thing to say! What makes you think you know...?”

  “And you know it too, Miss Waters, Miss Oh-so-cool Waters!” His voice changed, slowing and deepening in a way that made Cara catch her breath. “How could a real man be so close to you and keep himself from touching you?”

  Dave’s free hand rose and gently stroked Cara’s face, leaving a trail of unseen fire in its wake. It stroked her cheek and cupped her chin as the ball of his thumb gently outlined the fullness of her lips.

  “Don’t...”

  “Oh, Cara... How could he be this close to you and not have to touch you here...” Dave’s other hand slid down her shoulder and then further, barely touching, arousing, stirring. “... and here...”

  Cara had never felt such a rush of feeling. Against her body, Dave’s touch was fire, then ice, velvet, then steel. This was the touch of desire, of pure longing. All her senses were heightened by fatigue and fear.

  This was too sweet, too painful to be borne. Her eyes closed and visions of her love rose in her heart as her heart began to pound and her body stirred with a physical desire she had never known before. No wonder Buck had put off the physical consummation of their love... if desire were this strong...

  “…and kiss you...” Bandages and hurts forgotten, Dave pulled Cara against him, binding her to him with a grip of iron, delighting as she melted against him. His lips claimed hers as his tongue probed the sweet depths of her mouth, releasing her only when the need for air became imperative.

  Cara lay limp in a daze of fulfillment, her whole being as aglow as the rising tropical sun outside her closed lids. “Buck... darling...” she murmured softly, trying vainly to hang onto the transcendent feeling, then cried out as the arms which had just cradled her so tenderly flung her back against the unforgiving metal dash.

  “You are either a pervert or a fool.” Dave spat out the words like little pointed slivers of ice as he shoved her aside and savagely grabbed the wires beneath the dash. “In either case, I’m sorry for you!”

  Dazed and disoriented by being jerked so rudely from delicious fantasy to cruel reality, Cara glared at him with pure hatred. “How dare you! How dare you!” As far as ripostes went, it was, as she knew, worse than weak, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “I’m just crazy, I guess,” Dave snarled as the engine coughed and came to life.

  “You beast! You’re the pervert! You’re the one who’s causing all of this, you kidnapper, you criminal...” To her horror Cara burst into tears.

  Dave gave her a long stare that would have withered grass, then slammed the jeep into reverse. “All I can say is you have a very peculiar set of morals. You and Tarrant probably deserve each other.”

  Cara didn’t dare say anything; she could only hold tightly to the lurching jeep and keep her mouth pinched shut for fear of snapping off her tongue. This morning there was none of the careful creeping through the jungle of the night before; except for isolated dapples of light leaking through the leaves, it was still dim beneath the hovering trees, but Dave pushed the jeep forward with no regard for the rough ground.

  They were following a rough scratch through the jungle barely wide enough to accommodate the jeep, but not wide enough to keep the lower branches from lashing inside and striking them like small whips. Cara couldn’t decide if this were a primitive road or the dry bed of a vanished river, and at the moment, cowering beneath raised a raised arm to protect her face and eyes and hanging on for dear life, she didn’t really care. All she wanted was for this horrible nightmare to be over!

  Buck...

  If only Buck were here!

  Another time, another place, Cara would have forgotten her pride and wept. Now she didn’t have the time or the energy. The jeep lurched and tossed, bouncing Cara about roughly and almost flinging her out altogether. One particularly vicious bump broke her stranglehold grip on the roller bar and sent her smashing against Dave. Even under such circumstances, the contact between them was electric, which angered Cara even more, though she couldn’t say whether it was directed more at Dave or herself.

  “Slow down!” she snarled through carefully gritted teeth.

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to spend any more time with me than you had to,” Dave replied in a nasty tone, but he did take his foot off the accelerator.

  “I don’t.” Cara disentangled herself from him and renewed her death grip on the seat. “I just want to live to see you rot in prison!”

  Amazingly, Dave laughed. “You are really something, Miss Waters.”

  Cara noticed that it was back to ‘Miss Waters’ now instead of that single, breathy ‘Cara’. That irritated her too, and she didn’t know why.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Would you believe I don’t have the foggiest idea?”

  “Great!”

  “Perhaps you would like to take over?”

  Cara gave him a blistering glance, which he noticed but ignored. “Oh, when I think of what I would like to do to you...!”

  “I think you’ve already done enough, Miss Waters.” Dave’s voice was strangely bitter. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be looking forward to getting back to civilization. You must know what’s going to happen. And I wouldn’t count on Tarrant coming to your rescue, either.”

  Staring, Cara decided the man had to be mad; that was the only possibility that made sense. “You’re crazy,” she murmured, but he paid no attention.

  The so-called road doubled back on itself, seeming to end abruptly in a sharp wall of dirt. For a moment, Cara thought they were going to stop, but to her horror Dave pressed down the accelerator, flinging them forward. The jeep stood almost straight up on its back tires, then shuddered and seemed to leap upward.

  Cara’s scream was as loud as the engine’s, and both stopped abruptly when they came to a shuddering stop on the smooth asphalt of a modern four-lane highway.

  Dave Burkhart swore violently.

  Chapter Five

  Cara hurt all over. Like the rest of her, the bandage on her injured foot was soaked with sweat, which burned her abraded skin like fire. That was the worst, but her entire body ached as if she had been beaten with a stick. Being flung bodily into the nearest ditch both times a vehicle had rumbled down the road had left her feeling bruised from head to toe. The thing that infuriated her the most, however, was that she was once more tied up like an untrained dog.

  “Come on!”

  The original rope was gone, left somewhere on Arvisu property, but there had been a substitute in the jeep. He had rescued it before sending the jeep bouncing noisily down a rock-strewn ravine. This rope was coarser than the other, and chafed the delicate skin of her wrist every time Dave yanked on it.

  “I’m going as fast as I can!”

  Scowling, Dave jerked the rope once more, this time more strongly. “We’ve discussed this, Miss Waters...”

  “If you wanted to make time, you shouldn’t have ditched the jeep!” Cara stood her ground, then angrily grabbed the rope in both hands and yanked as hard as she could, not caring if it made him angry or not. She was childishly disappointed that not only did he not fall over, he hardly seemed to notice it.

  He glared at her. “After the Arvisus have reported it stolen? Every cop between here and the border will be looking for that jeep, and they won’t be friendly to American tourists!”

  “So what’s your grand plan now? Do you intend to wal
k me to death?”

  “Don’t tempt me! You must be some sort of bad luck charm, Miss Waters. I can only hope that you affect Tarrant the same way!”

  Cara stared at him with unconcealed loathing. How could she ever have thought him attractive, let alone allowed him to touch her?

  “No.”

  “What?” Dave asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I am hot, I am tired, I am hungry and thirsty, and I am not going another step until you tell me exactly what is going on here. Who are you? Why do you hate Buck so much? Why are you doing this to me?” Cara made herself stop talking. She was starting to sound hysterical and, worse, she could feel herself starting to become hysterical.

  “Oh, give it over, Miss Waters! Now come on!”

  Cara held fast to the rope. “No.”

  This time Dave really looked at her, then slowly started walking toward her, pulling hand over hand along the rope, cautiously, as if approaching a wild and unpredictable animal. “Now listen to me...”

  “No! Not until you explain to me!”

  He was standing in front of her now, so close that only a breath separated them. In spite of the heat and her own discomfort and the complete bizarreness of the entire situation, Cara was amazed to find herself still drawn to him by a force as inevitable as gravity. She had to force herself to remember that this man was a dangerous criminal no matter what kind of magnetic aura he exuded.

  “I don’t understand you...”

  “Well, then,” Cara snapped, “we’re even, because I haven’t understood anything about you since you kidnapped me!”

  The gaze from his blue eyes seemed to caress her face like cool water. His expression was quizzical, almost as if he had never seen her before. Her heart began to thud from an emotion that she quickly classified as fear.

  “Don’t you hit me!” she squealed, cringing in spite of herself.

  “I have no intention of hitting you, Miss Waters...”

  He would have said more, but Cara stepped backwards, breaking the moment. She must be getting heatstroke; she felt hot, cold, and swimmy-headed all at the same time. “Then tell me,” she said with a mouth that felt stiff and dry, “what is going on here?”

  Dave’s attention shifted abruptly. Cara knew what that sudden, tense alertness meant even before she heard the clattering roar of a motor not far beyond the bend of the road. She also knew what was coming next and planted her feet firmly on the asphalt.

  “No! That’s a ride out of here! You are not going to throw me in that ditch again!”

  Her captor’s suddenly harsh expression spoke eloquently of what he would like to do with her. His voice, though, was mild. “It’s too late anyway. I just hope they’re friendly. The Arvisus aren’t likely to let us out of their hands again.”

  His very restraint made Cara shiver. Even though she would have gladly run then, there was no time. The rattletrap truck was in view and then screeching to a halt beside them.

  Cara was amazed that it ran at all. It had started life a couple of generations ago as a common American pickup; now it seemed to be little more than a collection of rust spots and paint chips propelled down the highway on next to transparent tires.

  “Hola!” said the chubby driver with a gap-toothed grin. “Quieren ayuda?”

  “Yes, we do need help, I mean, si...” Dave answered with obvious relief and then said something in hesitant Spanish.

  The man grinned, nodded, then gestured toward the door. His wife smiled and nodded as well, scooting closer to her husband on the cracked plastic seat.

  Dave’s hand closed painfully around Cara’s as he solicitously walked her around to the other side of the truck. “Stay quiet if you want to get out of this alive,” he whispered in her ear, then began to chatter to their hosts in his marginal Spanish.

  He continued long after they squeezed into the front seat with the driver and his equally ample wife. About the same age as the Arvisus, the couple was almost an exact opposite to that sleek pair in every other way. Overweight, shabbily dressed, and apparently unconcerned that their gray hair showed, they were unquestionably middle-aged farmers who were not too well off. Without knowing why Cara immediately felt a trust toward them that she had never felt toward the Arvisus.

  At least, she did until they started to give her pitying glances. Apparently her kidnapper had not been shy about giving them the ‘jeep accident and crazy wife’ story. Or maybe he had made up a fresh one for the occasion. What she wouldn’t give to speak Spanish!

  Cara choked back a hard bubble of laughter. On the plane, Buck had assured her that in Puerto Vallarta everyone spoke English!

  “Are you all right?” Dave asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

  Of course, Cara thought, even if these people didn’t speak English they could hear. He would want to appear kind and concerned toward his poor crazy wife!

  “Yes. I’m just hot and thirsty and tired... and I want to go home!” Cara replied, squeezing off the words as much from the fear of incipient tears as from the sudden and insistent pressure of his hand on her shoulder.

  The truck was a small one; Cara had to sit on Dave’s bony lap. Spitefully she hoped her weight was putting his legs to sleep.

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said softly in a curiously sad voice.

  “Pobrecita,” said the woman and gave Cara a tender pat.

  If only she could speak English! Cara thought despairingly. This woman she could talk to, this kind-eyed woman would help her, she knew it! If only one of them spoke the same language as the other...

  Buck, Cara’s heart cried, where are you?

  With a tenderness Cara would never have believed, Dave extended a fingertip and lifted one of two sparkling tears from her cheeks. “You’re worn out,” he murmured.

  “I am not,” Cara lied valiantly. “I’m angry...”

  Dave pulled her head down to his shoulder and wrapped both arms around her in a gesture that, despite the skyrocketing heat and humidity, Cara found oddly comforting. He smelled of sweat, greenery, and oil from the jeep, and something else that must be simply him. Although he had to be as tired as she, he felt solid beneath Cara’s weary body and the cage of his arms was somehow protective. Two more tears oozed from her eyes as she fought to keep a legion of their duplicates under control.

  “Well, then, you can be just as angry when you’re rested...”

  The older couple was saying something in soft Spanish, but Cara didn’t even bother to listen. She just reclined in the gentle embrace of the man who had kidnapped her and simply existed without thinking.

  “Wake up... we’re here.” Dave’s voice was soft in her ear.

  With a start, Cara realized she must have dozed, for suddenly they were stopped in a large open area. Sleepily she made herself look around. A small shed-like affair of sticks at one end, a square building made of cinderblocks at the other and the pervading scent of animals over all.

  “Where,” she asked fuzzily, “is here?”

  “Apparently the Fonsecas, our rescuers, are people of some standing in this part of the country. This is their ranch.”

  It took some contortions, but finally they were out of the truck. Cara was stiff and cramped while Dave hobbled about like a crippled old man. Cara was now enough recovered to wish spitefully that his legs were completely numb and that his recovery would be long and uncomfortable.

  Apparently, what passed for ‘standing’ and ‘ranch’ were quite different from what Cara was used to. She almost said so, too, until she decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. It didn’t move and she didn’t have to walk through the jungle any more.

  Cara stared down at her wrist. Once more, the rope had vanished, but now Buck’s big silver bracelet completely covered the chafed red area. That annoyed Cara; she wanted it to stand out, so she could wave it under Dave Burkhart’s nose. Maybe these people didn’t understand English, but surely they could understand abuse...

  Señora Fonseca whirled into ac
tion the moment her fat little feet touched the ground. Shouting a great deal of machine-gun fast Spanish, the plump little lady wrapped surprisingly strong arms around Cara and whisked her toward the house.

  The stolid cinderblock house was much less grand than the Arvisus’, but it was much more welcoming. Once again, Cara found herself stripped and whisked into a tub, this time an enormous tin basin in a stark, unfurnished room. The señora herself lifted off Cara’s soiled and torn dress and then poured water over her as she stood in the tub. If she had been asked, Cara would have said the first thing she wanted was a meal, but the splash of cool water over her hot, sun-kissed skin was seductively pleasurable.

  Despite her experience in the Arvisu household, Cara couldn’t feel comfortable about taking a semi-public bath. She was grateful for the señora’s help, bucket bathing seemed to be an art in itself, but the way the señora kept shouting for things and the way young women, presumably (hopefully!) her daughters repeatedly popped in and out, bearing soap and water and towels, both alarmed and annoyed her.

  “Ay, pobrecita!” the señora said as she at last swathed Cara in a large thin towel. “You are bitten bad.”

  “Yes, it seems the local bugs... You speak English!”

  The señora’s dark, deep-set eyes twinkled. “Yes, I do.”

  “But in the truck... you and your husband spoke only Spanish...” Frantically Cara tried to remember what she and Dave had said in English and, if so, how it could affect things.

  “Ay, it is true.” She shrugged ample shoulders, then smiled secretively. “My Alejandro does not like me to speak English.”

  Cara felt as if she were going down the rabbit hole again. “Why on earth not?”

  The señora took another towel and roughly dried Cara’s hair, exclaiming over its shining coppery color. “Because he cannot. You see, I worked as a housekeeper in Puerto Vallarta before I met Alejandro. I learned English there. Alejandro was here, working the land. He had no opportunity to learn.”