Man with a Mission

by McKenna, Lindsay

  The train jerked and started. It slowly began to leave Agua Caliente. Very quickly, it clickety-clacked into the jungle, following the Urubamba. Jake watched as Ana gently fingered the alpaca scarf with her lean, graceful hand. Knowing this wasn’t the time or place to speak of their mission, he decided to ask her personal questions instead. Anyone eavesdropping would not be any the wiser.

  “So, you come from a Que’ro family? A family of healers?”

  Ana enjoyed his strength and warmth against her. It was a good thing Jake couldn’t read her mind, because she was absorbing his very male energy into herself and her heart. How she missed talking with a man! She hadn’t realized how much until now. Before, she’d had Roberto, whom she met at least once a month for a weekend down in Lima, and they would chatter like two parrots to one another about so many things. Ana was now beginning to understand just how much she missed him. And when she saw the burning sincerity in Jake’s pale blue eyes, she knew she would lap up each moment of his attention like a cat being served a warm saucer of milk.

  “My mother’s family has owned land in Rainbow Valley for generations. They are campesinos, farmers, close to the land and to Pachamama.”

  “Pachamama?”

  She smiled fondly. “Peruvian for Mother Earth. My people have a mystical and spiritual connection to all of nature.” Ana pointed upward at the green hills. “In a little while, you will see a beautiful apu, a mountain with a living spirit who resides in it. We believe that the apus are powerful guardians and keepers of our ways. Each morning, I was taught to take three perfectly formed dried coca leaves and blow into them, to honor our local apus. I would then bury the coca leaves in the soft, warm earth. It is called the Andean way, today. And it’s about honoring Mother Earth, all of nature—living in sync with them, not against them.”

  “It sounds like your people have a very spiritual tie to the earth.” He saw the passion in her eyes as she spoke of what she believed in. Jake could almost see Ana sliding her long, slender fingers into the warmth of the dark, fertile earth. Just that thought sent heat tunneling through his lower body. How he’d like to be touched like that. The thought was unbidden. Moist. Full of promise. Frowning, he wondered what spell Ana was casting over him.

  “Is this your first time to Peru, Jake?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see…. The people who farm are known as campesinos, as I said. I come from such stock, although my father is a very rich businessman, an art collector and dealer. He met my mother when he was in the Rainbow Valley looking for woven textiles to put in his galleries in Cusco and Lima.” Ana lifted her chalina and said softly, “He fell in love with my mother’s beautiful weaving ability, but even more with her. They called her the Inkan princess because she was so beautiful. All the campesinos said that she would one day give her chalina to a very rich lord. Her beauty was such that in the old days of the Inka empire, a woman like her would be taken to Cusco, to the main temple, to marry a nobleman.”

  Fingering the scarf gently, Ana said, “It’s such a beautiful story that I love to tell it. My father bought every blanket my mother had ever woven. He came back every month on the pretense of seeing how she was coming on future textiles for his galleries. Here in Peru, when a man wants to court a woman and she has not given him her chalina, he may come and serenade her with song. My father, Eduardo, played the charango, an Andean mandolin made of wood, and he would sing to her as she wove on the porch of her home.

  “And, over a year’s time, with visits each month, my father would talk endless hours with my mother about so many, many things. He was a city dweller, and she was tied to Pachamama and the ways of her people. He respected her for that and didn’t want to change her at all. One day, when he arrived, he brought her a doll.” Ana’s eyes sparkled as she looked over at Jake, who was hanging on every huskily spoken word.

  Surprised, he said, “A doll? A man brings the woman he loves a doll?”

  Ana laughed, her teeth white and even. “It’s a special doll, Jake. Around the doll’s neck was a letter with all his credentials written down on it. He told of his heritage, his family, of his financial worth, of what he owned and most of all, how he felt toward my mother. The man speaks of love in that letter, and what he will do to always honor the woman he loves, care for her and their children. He writes of his dream, his hope, for their future.”

  “Well? What happened when your mother saw the doll?”

  Ana grinned. “My mother was not one to fall head over heels for anyone. She’s a very practical person. You see—” Ana gestured toward the window and the hills covered in jungle growth above them “—if you are a campesino, you are hard-working, practical and sensible. My mother took the doll, thanked him and told him to go away. That he could come back in a month if he wanted.”

  “The poor guy,” Jake murmured. “That was a little heavy-handed, wasn’t it? He’d come all the way from Cusco with this doll? And he’d probably written his heart out on that paper and she just airily told him to take a walk?”

  Chuckling indulgently, Ana whispered wickedly, “She wasn’t turning him down, Jake. It is part of the elaborate ceremony, the dance between two people. She was testing his mettle, his desire to really be serious and responsible toward her. If he came back, then that would tell her of his commitment to her.”

  “Obviously, he came back.”

  Ana’s smile widened and her eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes. And I was the result.” She patted her heart region gently. “A very much loved gift to them.”

  “You have any other sisters and brothers?”

  “No, I’m an only child. My mother wished for more, but as a laykka, she had a dream, and in it, a female Apu spirit told her that her creation energy would be funneled into helping cure the sick and ailing. This she understood, so she was complete with me.”

  “And your father? I’ll bet he dotes on you.”

  Nodding her head, she whispered, “I love them both, so very much. I really honor my dad, who came and lived at my mother’s family home. He ran his businesses from Rainbow Valley because in his letter to my mother, he swore to never take her from the land that had created her. He saw how very much she was attached to Pachamama and he in no way wanted her unhappy. He knew she’d never survive in a city environment. I love him so much for that.”

  “So, you grew up a farm girl?” Jake smiled, thinking of her as a young girl planting and harvesting crops seasonally in Rainbow Valley. He could see the earthiness in Ana. He felt it. She was hotly sensual, a quality radiating from her like the sun that gave life to all things. He liked the softness of her expression as he asked the question. The gentle rocking of the train car created a comforting motion, almost like being in someone’s arms.

  “My hands were in the earth, my head in the sky, as my mother used to say.”

  “And where did you get this urge to fly?” Jake wondered.

  Her eyes grew merry. “I’ll tell you a story you probably won’t believe, but it’s true. When I was three years old I remember running through the freshly dug furrows of our fields where the campesinos were working, my arms outstretched, trying to ‘fly.’ Well, one day I ran to the end of the field, which had yet to be plowed by our oxen. My mother was out with the rest of the women, feeding the men at lunchtime when it happened.” Ana’s voice grew low with emotion.

  “Out of nowhere, four condors landed only a few feet away from me. I remember this incident. And I remember my mother walking slowly and quietly up to where I was standing and gawking at these huge, beautiful birds. She leaned down and whispered to me to talk to them. I remember waving my arms and saying, ‘I want to fly! I want to fly with you!”’

  Jake grinned. “Incredible. Do condors usually land that close to people?”

  “No.” Ana laughed. “Just the opposite. They live in the high, craggy and inaccessible spots deep in the Andes, where no people can reach them. They avoid humans.”

  “Then this was important?” Jake guessed.

>   Closing her eyes and leaning back against the dark green, plastic seat, Ana sighed. “Oh, yes, very important. My mother, being a laykka, understood its importance. As soon as I said ‘I want to fly,’ the four condors took off after lumbering quite a distance and flapping their wings. It’s very hard for them to land on flat earth and then to take off from it. Usually, they’ll land on a high crag, leap off it and float on the updrafts created. I stood there crying as they left, and my mother picked me up and held me. She said I would learn to fly like them, that although my heart belonged to Pachamama, my spirit belonged to the condors, the guardians of the air.”

  Ana pulled out a leather thong from beneath her T-shirt, on one end of which was a small golden disk. In a lowered tone, she told him, “In here is part of the feather of the condor that was left behind from their visit with me. My mother picked up the feather, bought the locket and placed it inside. She told me it was my medicine, my protection, and to never be without it.”

  “And you wear it to this day?”

  “Always.” Ana slanted a glance at his serious face as she slipped the locket back beneath her T-shirt. “You don’t look at me like I’m loco. Crazy. Why? Most norteamericanos would roll their eyes and call what I just told you ridiculous, say that it couldn’t happen.”

  Shrugging, Jake studied her thoughtful, upturned face. Her eyes were so warm and alive, the color of rich, recently turned soil. “Maybe because I’m a farmboy from Iowa? My parents have a huge corn and soybean farm, and I grew up with dirt under my nails just like you did.” He watched her eyes widen beautifully. His heart wrenched. There was such an incredible array of emotions that raced across Ana’s vulnerable features, and he could read each one. He was amazed at her openness and accessibility. And then it struck him that Ana trusted him. Deeply. Shaken by that discovery, he found himself wanting to open up to her more, too. But could he? Did he dare? No, he was afraid to because of his hurting, scarred past. Besides, he had to hold back. Had to remember he had been teamed up with her to complete a mission he didn’t think she—or any woman—was capable of.

  “You are a campesino at heart!” Ana whispered, sitting up. She slid her fingers through her loose black hair and turned toward him, one leg beneath her and her knee pressed up against his massive, jean-clad thigh. “How wonderful! What are the chances I would ever meet a man like you? This is incredible!”

  Warming beneath her appreciation, her effusive, ebullient joy, Jake avoided her awestruck gaze. When he felt her hands on his left arm, a wild, unbidden energy and heat moved up his shoulder and into his chest, finally reaching his opening heart. No matter what he did, he could not remain immune to Ana. She was so childlike in her innocence toward him, and toward life in general. And that was what drew him dangerously to her. She trusted him without reserve. She shouldn’t.

  “Whoa,” he cautioned, holding up his hand. “Don’t read too much into this, okay?”

  “Why not?” Ana pouted provocatively as she saw his discomfort over her touching him. Wisely, she released his thick, hard-muscled arm and sat back in the seat to observe Jake more closely. She saw desire in his eyes—for her. Ana felt it flow into her heart and lift her wafting spirits. So why was Jake backing off? Why did she feel him retreating in a panic? She had no answers. Patience was not her strong point, yet she knew she had to practice it with this norteamericano.

  “Because…” he began in a strained tone.

  She laughed softly. “I’m scaring you. Okay, I’ll back off.”

  He met her teasing look. Feeling sheepish, Jake muttered, “You read minds, too?”

  “No, but I’d like to think I’m sensitive to facial expressions and body language.”

  “Touché.”

  Jake almost said the words: You’re too soft, too beautiful for this mission. Somehow, he swallowed them, but a lump remained in his throat.

  Chapter Four

  Once off the train, Ana enthusiastically greeted the station master in Quechua. She and Jake were the only people to get off at Kilometer 88. Jake couldn’t make out a word she was saying as she disappeared into the small rock hut with a thatched roof behind the train master, an old man who was bent over, probably from carrying very heavy loads all his life.

  Jake looked around him. Directly across the tracks and down a steep, grassy embankment was a swinging rope bridge across the wild Urubamba River. The roar of the water filled the area. The day was growing to a close, the sun sinking behind the mountains. Turning, he could see the whitish-gray stones on the other side of the river and figured this path must be the Inka Trail system.

  “Jake?” Ana called. “Come here. Come and get your trail pack.”

  Turning, he saw her carrying two large packs on solid aluminum frames. Surprised, he took one. “Where did you get these?”

  She smiled and hefted one forty-pound pack across her shoulders, shifting it across her hips to tighten the belt around her waist. “My friend here, Macedo, is the leader of a nearby village. He is responsible for taking care of this stop on the train route. When I get a chance, I like to hike the trail, to get back to nature after flying in an Apache all the time.” She adjusted the thick shoulder pads and settled them against her body, giving Jake a brief smile. “Usually, one of my women friends goes with me, so we keep two packs here for any time off we get for a little R and R. Which isn’t often.” She turned and graciously thanked Macedo, who bowed a number of times to her.

  Arranging her colorful scarf around her neck, Ana straightened and breathed in the moist, pure air. “It’s so beautiful here,” she murmured. Giving Jake an impish look, she added, “And I’m glad to share it with you. Are you about ready to cross that rickety old bridge?”

  Jake nodded, but felt hesitant. He had strapped on the second large pack, which held a rolled-up sleeping bag and, he was sure, other items for camping. Looking up at the sky, he noticed stormy clouds were beginning to gather. “Yeah, I am. Think it’s going to rain?”

  “You can count on it. We’re in the mountains, at eight thousand feet, and weather here turns on a dime.” Ana brushed past him, leaped off the concrete block that was the station platform, to the gravel and rails. Jake followed.

  The bridge was made of thick white hemp, handwoven to provide access across the roaring, frothing Urubamba. Ana stopped short of the bridge and dug into her pocket. She produced some dried green leaves in a plastic bag. Holding them up as Jake came to her shoulder, she said, “These are coca leaves. I’m going to make an offering and pray to the apus and the river nust’a—goddess—for a safe crossing.”

  Jake nodded. He had no problem with her belief system and he watched, fascinated, as Ana chose three perfectly formed, dried leaves and arranged them like a small fan between her thumb and index finger. Turning, she faced the mountain, which was hidden by the hills, and held the leaves to her lips and blew gently on them. Then she turned to the four points of the compass and did the same thing. Bending down, she dug into the moist, rich earth and buried the leaves. Patting the soil gently, as a mother would her child, she stood and smiled at him.

  “The Quechuan people live with nature. We are a part of it, not separated like many other people are. I said prayers and asked for a safe crossing, and also honored the apus so that our journey would be swift and sure.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Jake murmured as he watched the clouds above them thicken, twist and become pregnant with rain. Ana quickly moved onto the rope bridge, her hands grasping the rope sides to steady herself. She moved like a nimble deer on the hand-cut wooden planks that served as steps across the chasm below. When Jake stepped onto it, he discovered just how unsteady it was. Ana had made it look easy. However, thanks to his ranger training, he was used to negotiating tricky obstacles like this, and in no time he was at her side.

  Ana smiled triumphantly at him. “You’re an old hand at this, Jake.”

  He grudgingly warmed beneath the dazzling look in her shining eyes. Ana made him feel strong and good about being a ma
n. She made him feel like he was walking on air when she gave him that artless, enthusiastic smile of hers. “Thanks. You’re no slouch yourself.” And she wasn’t—but that didn’t mean she could help him. Ana might be useful on this part of the mission, but not when it came to the kind of dangers they would encounter in rescuing Tal.

  Chuckling, Ana scrambled up the well-trodden path to the white brick road, the Inka Trail. “I was born and raised here, remember? This is familiar territory to me.”

  As he made his way to the trail and stood at her side, she said, “Welcome to the internationally famous Inka Trail. You’re treading where Inka runners have passed for nearly a thousand years.” She tapped her foot on the smooth, white-gray stones, which had been perfectly set against one another to make a seamless path.

  Jake looked both ways along the curving, sloping trail, which was surrounded by tall, stately eucalyptus trees. The various hues of the green and silver leaves were beautiful. “I like history,” Jake told her. “If we can learn from what happened in the past, we’re better off.”

  “Mmm, a philosopher, too,” Ana said with a gleam in her eyes as she took his hand and tugged on it. “Come on, I’d like to get started before it starts to pour. We’ll try to spend the night at Pacamayo. It’s a large, well-situated camp. We’ll probably run into a lot of tourista groups there, but I don’t want to try to hike Abra de Huarmhuanusca—Dead Woman’s Pass—today.”