by Julie Miller
Until this trip.
Until running up against the enigmatic wall of Hawk Echohawk and his strange, beautiful ways.
She didn't know herself anymore. Had she hit some sort of midlife crisis? Her experience with Walter had left her feeling embarrassingly ancient and past the point of being of any use to anybody. Looking back on the miserable end to that relationship, she could blame her desperate need to make this journey on him. She'd wanted a final fling to prove to herself that her lonely life hadn't been wasted.
But could her needs justify what she had done to those five girls? Hawk had said this was a mistake from the very beginning, and she hadn't listened.
She was listening now.
Sarah sighed, the frustrated sound echoing deeply in her chest. Picking up her lightened backpack and canteen, she slung them over her shoulder and gave one final look at everything she was leaving behind. She couldn't afford to be the old Sarah any longer.
She needed to be more like that mother bear in Hawk's vision. His odd words had given her strength. They had touched a part of her imagination, and struck her with a rightness that felt like a memory. As he spoke, it had felt like a dream coming back to her.
Sarah shook her head, displeased with herself for allowing such wistful imaginings. When had her dreams ever come true? Those fanciful urges of her quiet heart had only brought her trouble, time and again.
She needed to be more like Hawk. Focused. Alert. Wise about people.
She needed to leave the old Sarah behind and be strong enough and smart enough to help get those girls home. Comfort and familiarity had no place on their daunting hike back to El Espanto.
Girding herself in a show of strength, she shut down the rising flood of doubt inside her and turned to join the others.
Hawk paced restlessly, anxious for Sarah to join them at the fire pit. The others were packed and ready to go, a young but indomitable brigade. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in trust and cooperation and sheer determination.
His first trip to Tenebrosa had been in the company of savvy, highly trained Marine Corps intelligence operatives, each bringing his individual talents to the elite group. He supposed Sarah's girls had their own unique talents, too.
Denise, their leader. Andrea, a storehouse of knowledge. Lyndsay, the risk-taker, the emotional one unafraid to take action. Lynnette formed the heart of the group, providing that nameless cohesion that bonded them into a single unit. Colleen was most like him, intuitive about the needs of others, quietly doing what needed to be done. Even Raul, with his altered loyalties and newfound idealism, fit in as the rebel joining their fight.
And Sarah… she was the commanding officer every soldier wished he had, the teacher who taught more than facts. She helped them understand themselves and their world. She molded them into confident, caring human beings with a respect for themselves and others. Then she quietly stepped back and allowed her students to shine for themselves.
Like the mother bear, who nurtured her cubs and defended them with a vengeance until they could take care of themselves.
Only he remained the outcast, without a niche to fit into the group—except when Sarah dropped her ladylike reserve and reached out to him. Then he felt connected. For those few brief moments, first in the jungle, and then in the lagoon, he felt that he had a purpose here. That he belonged.
But belonging was just an illusion, wasn't it? To some extent, he belonged to many different worlds. Soldier. Friend. Counselor. Pawnee. A man of the earth. A man of the spirit world.
But there was not one place where all the elements that made him who he was were accepted as a whole. Not one place where some element of him wasn't resented, used, questioned or loathed.
Not one place.
Except with Sarah.
Sweet, brave, gentle Sarah, full of surprises, and frightened of all he wanted from her. Of all she wanted for herself. Gritty courage aside, she was a lady through and through. She was a woman who needed courtship, who should be led gently to the discoveries of loving. She deserved a storybook marriage with a successful, three-piece-suit kind of guy, not a brief, coarse, passionate affair in the tropics with a used-up shadow man like himself.
Still, it felt good to belong. Like a parched man in the desert of loneliness, he basked in her rare, glorious smiles, and found soul-nurturing sustenance in the gift of her kisses. The ultimate acceptance he would find buried deep inside her was a tribute too far out of reach for a man so alien to her world.
Besides, he had come to Tenebrosa for a different kind of healing. He wanted closure for the unexplained mistakes of his past. The one time when it had counted most, his abilities had failed him. That truth would have to stay hidden for now. He had a larger responsibility on his hands, because not seeing Sarah and the others safely home would be a failure he refused to live with.
Wasting time wishing for things that could never be would only distract him from what needed to be done. He buried his feelings, hardened his resolve, and gave up his pacing.
He strode straight to Sarah's tent. "Damn it, schoolmarm, what's taking you so long?"
The flap opened and Sarah materialized right in front of him, looking so small and fragile and delicate that he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from pulling her into his arms. Her chin was bowed below its normal regal tilt, but she lifted her beseeching golden gaze to his and whispered quietly, "I need to ask you a favor."
The tremor in her voice and the pull of her eyes threatened to undermine his resolve to stay emotionally unattached. Fighting off the desire to stop and give the lady whatever she asked, when he knew damn well they should have been on the road an hour ago, he made his own voice tighten to a clipped growl. "We'll never get ten yards, much less ten miles, down the road at this rate. What do you want?"
She tipped up her chin and leaned back as if his harshness surprised her. The glimmer of fear surrounding her ebbed in a swirl of amber confusion. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, her familiar blue aura asserted itself as she summoned her courage.
Reaching behind her, she pulled out her braid and held it up to him like an offering. "I want you to cut my hair."
Hawk glanced from the determination in her eyes to the beautiful twist of Kodiak brown in her hand. "Not your hair."
Her focus followed his and she looked at the braid as though she held a poisonous snake in her hand. "It won't dry like this, and it will be hot and heavy to wear while we're hiking. Just as you said before we left the airport in Kansas City." Her breath caught in a tiny little gasp. "And he… he… "
Suddenly Hawk remembered de Vega's hands groping Sarah, and the way he'd combed his grubby fingers through her hair. With a matching catch of his own breath, Hawk lifted the braid from her hand. He'd counseled women who had been abused by their spouses, but never a woman who'd been victimized by a crime the way Sarah had. Dealing with her emotional wounds required a different kind of strategy than he could give her, especially since his reaction to her request was male and territorial, and not at all detached, the way he'd promised himself earlier.
But he supposed the nearest therapist or crisis center lay across the Bay of Yucatan in mainland Mexico. And since he had no books or colleagues to consult, he had to rely on his instincts. Those instincts said to give Sarah what she wanted. Despite how the color of her hair had drawn him like the symbol in his vision. Despite the old-fashioned ladylike quality its length gave her. Despite its sensuous beauty when it had floated around them both in the water and he had caressed its silky texture between his hands.
"I don't know if I can," he murmured aloud, torn between the impulse to wipe de Vega's touch from her and his desire to preserve a thing of beauty.
"I'm not asking you."
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and forced his gaze to meet hers. He recognized the determination in the gold-green depths and realized that no matter how he argued, he would bow to her will in this.
He nodded slowly and unsnappe
d the sheath on his vest. "Turn around."
Her rallying spirit eased his doubts only momentarily. With her back to him, she tucked her chin to her chest, exposing the creamy length of her neck. Hawk swallowed hard, feeling like an executioner about to slaughter an innocent. He twisted her hair twice around his left hand and pulled it taut. He laid the knife against the braid and stopped, entranced by the shiny glints reflected in the smooth steel blade.
She must have sensed his hesitation. "Do it."
He balked at her command, knowing he could hack it like a vine in one or two sure strokes. But that would be too cruel, too much like cutting into Sarah herself.
"Hawk, please."
The breathy plea reached all the way to his soul. Hawk was a master of self-control, but something about this shy woman's bravery shamed him. Her resilient strength in the face of unending obstacles made him wonder why he, too, refused to take more chances.
He should be in charge here, and yet he found himself once again unable to deny her need. Clenching his jaw, he began sawing back and forth through her hair. With each stroke, damp strands popped loose, and, freed from the weight of the heavy braid, they kinked into tiny loose curls that sprang away from his hands.
When he finished, Sarah patted the back of her neck as if checking the tenderness of a wound. Hawk muttered an apology and stepped back, mourning the loss he held in his hand.
"I have some manicure scissors in my pack. I'll have one of the girls trim it up a little more evenly.” Hawk barely heard her as she turned and spoke. “Thank you for… everything."
The shyness of her voice pulled his attention back to her. Before he could refute her misplaced gratitude, she flattened her palm against his chest for balance and leaned in on tiptoe to press a chaste kiss to the square jut of his jaw.
Then she ducked her head and scooted past him to the others.
Hawk stood mute, absorbing the tantalizing sensation of her soft lips against his sun-roughened skin. He could still feel the whispery pressure of her hand and hear the demure awkwardness in her voice.
"Ten minutes, schoolmarm!" he yelled over his shoulder. "And then we hit the road."
Hawk barked the order in an automatic attempt to distance himself from the inexplicable warmth that suffused him. That quick kiss probably had cost her more than any other physical contact they'd shared, because she had initiated it. That tiny risk of kindness eased a hurtful place inside him. It soothed his guilt and reminded him of his own strength.
And it made him realize how vulnerable he was. How deeply that quiet, bossy stick of a woman had insinuated herself into his life in just a few short days.
At the same time, he realized how utterly impossible it would be for them to become anything more than friends or lovers, and how a deeply buried part of him wanted all that and more from Sarah. But back in Marysville, Kansas, when she was surrounded by familiar people and familiar things, she wouldn't want him for anything. She wouldn't need him.
She would be polite. Hawk could picture Sarah treating him with the same gracious patience that she had used with Kensit after the town meeting. Her family background wouldn't allow her to be anything less than courteous. But a cool, polite brush-off was still a brush-off.
She wouldn't need him at all in the real world.
And caring about the woman, one way or the other, admiring her courage, liking—no, going out of his mind with—her touch, and memorizing endearing little traits, like a shy stammer or a twist of her fingers or a dazzling smile, would only lead to trouble. Hell, it already had.
She clouded his judgment, altered his priorities. Made him care about things he had no right caring about.
Hawk looked down at the braid in his hand and remembered the symbols in his vision. He had no doubt now that Sarah was the Kodiak, and the girls her cubs. The world freezing and turning to gray could loosely be interpreted in her momentary and understandable breakdown after de Vega's attack. Something in her past made her heartsick, yet Sarah continued to fight as valiantly as the mother bear.
What he couldn't yet understand was the oblivion when the world in his vision had shattered and collapsed all around them. Were Sarah and the girls doomed to that unacceptable fate? Hawk would die himself before allowing that to happen.
Or was that shattered world his destiny? The price he had to pay for caring?
He couldn't escape Otis Peace Hands's dire warning that Hawk must save the bear in order to save his own life. He wondered how Sarah could possibly save him. She knew little about survival skills, next to nothing about the jungle, and nil about criminals. Otis must have misinterpreted the dream. Surely he meant that Sarah would die without him.
But then he thought of his silly, softening reaction to that innocent kiss, and how her gentle touch and selfless concern in the jungle had totally freed him from Meczaquatl's control. The braid in his hand seemed to glow with heat.
There was something more at work here. Something still beyond his understanding, something not yet under his control.
Hawk wasn't a man to take chances. Purposefully pushing aside any inklings of sentimentality, he pulled two strands of Sarah's hair from the braid, wound them into a tiny knot and snapped them inside a pocket on his vest. He'd add them to his medicine pouch when he sought his next vision.
He'd keep them as a reminder of what they might have shared.
He tossed the braid on the cot inside her tent, then patted the pocket of his vest.
He might not understand it, but he couldn't ignore an omen.
On the other hand, he'd do his damnedest to ignore his feelings for Sarah McCormick.
It was a matter of survival.
His.
Four hundred fifty-two, four hundred fifty-three…
"Hold up."
Sarah halted, as ordered. Four hundred fifty-four steps since Hawk's last words, and that had been a terse Eyes right to warn them to give wide berth to the snake wrapped around a tree limb that hung out over the road.
What was wrong with him? Was he in jungle mode? Was this the soldier in him taking charge of their survival? Didn't he realize these were children, not troops he was commanding? Taciturn, mysterious exterior aside, he had shown her he was a deeply spiritual, compassionate man. What had happened?
What had she done to make him withdraw into caustic silence like this? Maybe her going wacko had turned him off to any kind feelings he had toward her. But his kiss had come after that, hadn't it? When he was talking about his vision?
Maybe that explained his mood. He had shared something intensely personal with her, and now he regretted it. She'd listened to his story as if hearing the soothing words of a prayer. But maybe Hawk hadn't intended them that way. Perhaps he had only been doing what needed to be done to comfort her.
Perhaps her misinterpretation of his help had embarrassed him. He was trying to be a good friend, and she…
She felt the temperature of her already hot skin rise, nearly suffocating her. Sarah opened her mouth and sucked in a deep breath.
You're nothing remarkable. Not terribly pretty. And sexy?
Walter had said she was lucky he'd shown an interest in her. Lucky that he'd found other qualities to like about her. Like her bank account and her family lineage.
She'd been lucky to have his attentions. It had taken her far too long to realize just how insincere Walter had been. Why should Hawk be any different from any other man?
She'd be a fool to interpret Hawk's actions as anything other than friendship. Or anything more than what an experienced man like him was willing to do to ensure their survival.
She might be slow to learn about men, but she was no fool.
Hiking the road had actually proved to be an easier trip than riding over it in the back of a truck had been. The ruts that had jarred Sarah's bones into putty en route to Las Lagumas now served as a clear path back to El Espanto.
But nothing else was easy about this hike. With the break, she eased out of her pack, twisting to a
void brushing the sore skin at the back of her neck, which hadn't seen direct sunlight in nearly fifteen years. She rubbed at the front of her right shoulder and rotated her arm, working out the stiffness there. She might be used to walking for exercise, but she wasn't used to carrying a pack.
And with the excess humidity, she'd discovered that one of the drawbacks to having short hair was its tendency to frizz and fly around her face. The wispy ends tickled her chin and stuck to the perspiration on her forehead. She pushed the annoying curls away from her temples and tried to figure out what Hawk was studying in the mud at the side of the road.
"What is it?" questioned Lynnette.
The youngest member of their group had stayed on Hawk's heels for the past three miles. The others trailed along in single file while Sarah brought up the rear. Hawk had commanded her to holler if anyone straggled too far behind, but it was Sarah's intention to adjust her pace so that none of the girls would feel they were holding the group back.
Raul shrugged out of the radio pack and opened the jug of water he carried. "Is it all right if we have a drink?" he asked Hawk.
For a moment, Sarah didn't think he'd heard the boy. Hawk stood and stared down the embankment through the trees. The girls crowded in behind Raul, panting in deep breaths of hot air, waiting for Hawk's answer.
Sarah herself was about to repeat the question when Hawk whipped his head around. "Three swallows apiece. Drop your packs and rest for fifteen minutes. I want to check something out."
The thumps of packs, teens and supplies hitting the ground sounded like a drum roll. Only Lynnette seemed inclined to follow Hawk into the trees. Sarah hurried and caught Lynnette's arm, pulling her back.
"Do what he says. You need to keep up your strength."
The girl looked at Sarah, then reluctantly nodded. Andrea held out her canteen to share, and Lynnette took it and sat down beside her friend.
When Sarah turned around, Hawk had already dropped out of sight down the steep incline. But she saw a clear trail where the undergrowth had been crushed and trail markers had been gouged into the sides of some of the tree trunks