"I think Simon will have more on his mind than just wenching.” Shamon nudged Heddam. “Or should I rephrase that to, Simon has a certain wench on his mind."
"I think the second phrase is the correct one.” Heddam nodded seriously.
Simon sent him a rude gesture.
"Oh, I think we struck a nerve,” Heddam observed with a smug grin.
Knowing he was going to be in for more teasing during the rest of the week, Simon simply grinned back. It was exactly what he had done to his other friends, and he was a firm believer in that if you couldn't take it, you didn't give it.
Then a thought struck him. He was under no illusions that something nasty was brewing, and Tyron could very well be involved. He was responsible for his crew, and to ask them to stay here ... The wisest move would be to fly out of here—
"Uh-oh.” Aamun sighed. “Look at his face."
"Don't even think it,” Heddam warned.
Simon looked at them. “I have no right to ask you all to stay for the remainder of the week if trouble—"
"You're staying, we're staying,” Shamon said firmly.
"But—"
"What ‘tis with you men who fall in love?” Heddam threw up his hands in disgust. “One minute we're all in danger but having fun, and the next thing, you suddenly start getting all noble!” He turned to Shamon. “If that ever happens to me, you have my permission to boot me up the arse."
"I'd do that for no reason at all, if you wanted me to,” Shamon replied. “But you're right. Every time one of us falls for a wench, we go through this big spiel about loyalty and not feeling right and we shouldn't risk our friends’ lives, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."
Aamun was grinning widely at Simon, who was shaking his head slowly in resignation. “Give up, Simon. We've all been in this situation before. We'll stay until the wench is out of trouble, or you decide we go. No recriminations, no excuses. We've faced danger before and survived—hell, many times. Makes life interesting."
"Aye,” Mikal agreed. “'Tis something expected of us all. Right?"
The rest of the traders nodded.
"Thanks,” Simon said.
"Aye, well, enough of that.” Shamon shifted uncomfortably. “This soppy business makes me uneasy."
Aamun smiled sweetly. “Mayhap you should go and contact the pirates when you're finished then, just to get your mind off things."
Now it was Shamon who sent him a rude gesture.
Smiling, Simon left the dining cabin. He was almost to his own when a sudden thought occurred to him.
His friends thought he was in love? Stopping in the corridor, he blinked. What made them think that? What made them ... What made you drag the medic aboard? What made you do more than you had to, to channel communications and scanners? You could have done that without shifting from the settlement. You didn't have to go to the battle site.
You only had one thing on your mind, and that was Des's safety.
Was that love? Oh, hell...
Slowly Simon entered his cabin. He was attracted to Des, aye, but in love with her? He didn't know. He hadn't really thought about it.
Come on, be honest with yourself, Simon. In the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror. When you knew she was in danger, you wanted to be by her side. When you knew she was fighting for her life, and you weren't with her, you almost cried. And when she begged you to take her precious pets, you didn't think twice.
But was that love? He studied himself in the mirror.
He wasn't sure. Sighing, he splashed water on his face and dried it with one of the fluffy towels on a hook beside it.
Deciding it was too big a problem to worry about now, he switched on the viscomm in his cabin, but couldn't get contact with Sabra. She obviously wasn't home, so he left a message before trying the Intergalactic Peace Ship. The steely-eyed security officer there informed Simon that a message would be left for Sabra, but her whereabouts was unable to be given out.
That didn't surprise Simon at all. The IPS Security were an unknown force that kept the Lawful Sector safe at all costs. Their comings and goings were known only to a select few, and he doubted that even some of the Intergalactic Peace Council really knew what the Security did—or wanted to. They were almost a law unto themselves. They disappeared and reappeared in all sorts of trouble areas, and areas not considered trouble areas. They often came, dealt with a problem, and left without anyone even knowing they'd been.
Simon wondered how Cam, his friend and the husband of Sabra, could stand not knowing where his wife was from day to day. One day he just might have to talk to him about it, especially if his attraction to Des did turn out to be more...
His musings were interrupted by Shamon's voice coming over the intercom. “Simon, Emory from the Enforcers Building wants to speak to you."
Fearing that mayhap Des had taken a turn for the worse, Simon leaned one hand on the desk and switched on the viscomm with the other.
Emory's serious face appeared. “Simon."
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong is the Boss."
"She's ill?” Simon straightened sharply. “I'll be right there."
"No!” Amusement glinted in the peacekeeper's eyes. “No, she's as fine as she can be, but we're needing a favor."
"Des wants a favor?” Simon's brows rose in surprise.
"Not Des. Us. Moresby is having a hell of a time keeping her in bed. She's worried about her lycats, and is insisting she needs to feed them."
"What? The wench wants to get out of her sickbed?"
"She's not strong enough. Seeing as how you were the one she wanted to have them if something happened to her, it's obvious she trusts you with them. And if we tried to feed them, they'd take our arms off."
"Chels and Fuzz?"
"Yeah.” Emory grimaced. “I wouldn't blame you if you refuse. It's a bloody nightmare mission."
Relief went through Simon. “No problem. I'll go now."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Nay. Her lycats are beautiful. Of course I'll go feed them."
"They'll rip your arms off."
"We've already met.” Simon grinned.
"And you left with your arms intact?"
"Aye."
"No wonder you were her first choice to have them."
"How is Des?” Simon took the opportunity to ask, knowing that her own peacekeepers would have the right to more knowledge of her well-being than he would. “Is she all right?"
"Right as she can be. She has synthetic blood going into her, and all of them are having IV fluids. In fact, none of them are being released tonight, or tomorrow, if he has his way.” Emory grinned. “You should have heard him lording it over her, until she told him he could shove his synthetic blood up his behind if he didn't stop telling her what she could and couldn't do."
Aye, Simon could just imagine Des and the abrasive medic going at each other.
"You can tell they share the same blood.” Emory laughed.
"They do?” Simon was surprised.
"Oh yeah. That's why he had no fear of telling her that if she didn't keep her foul mouth closed, he was going to tranquilize her. She threatened to lock him up and throw away the key.” Hilarity shone in Emory's eyes. “It was a sight worth seeing, I can tell you."
"I'm sorry I missed it. Des seems to have a few relatives in the settlement."
Emory's face lost all expression. “Only a few."
It was obviously a subject the peacekeeper didn't feel comfortable discussing. Fair enough. Simon could, respect that.
"Tell Des I'll feed and water her pets until she gets home again."
Emory nodded. “She'll rest better knowing that. Thanks."
The viscomm flicked off as Emory cut the connection.
At least the lass was out of danger, and if she was well enough to argue with the medic, ‘twas a good sign for her recovery.
After informing Shamon where he was going, Simon left the ship and strode across the open area to Des's home. Th
e walk was refreshing, the scent of rain still in the air, but the afternoon sun drying out the puddles.
This time he approached her home with more than just idle curiosity. Now he really looked at it. Large, stone, with a stone wall around it. It was plain, serviceable, yet inside was so clean and spacious, like a small paradise with the garden built inside a courtyard. No one would ever guess the peace and tranquility that resided within the stone walls.
Going up the steps and entering her home felt ridiculously like coming home, and Simon was struck anew by the faint scent of flowers and fresh air.
But he didn't forget the hybrid lycats. As soon as he turned the corner into the living area, the big tabby met him at the corner with a hiss, her ears flat on her head and a ridge on her back.
Seven
Simon stopped walking. “Hey, lykitty."
A second snarling made him look cautiously towards the big armchair where Chels was slowly getting down from the cushion, his eyes alert for any sudden movements.
"'Tis all right, Chels, Fuzz,” Simon said quietly. “Your mother is unwell, and I'm here to look after you until she returns."
Speaking quietly and reassuringly, Simon stayed still as the big lycats sniffed his legs. It didn't take long for them to remember him, for Chels gave his hand a sudden lick, and Fuzz bumped her head against his leg and purred.
Smiling, he stroked them slowly at first, then more briskly when they purred even louder.
"Fine, let's get you big lykitties something to eat."
They followed him into the kitchen, meowing plaintively. Sitting by the table, they watched him with big eyes while he opened the cooler and looked at the plate of thawed out raw meat. Another was on the shelf just under it.
"I'd say ‘tis your meal,” he told the lycats.
Chels yawned and Fuzz licked her lips.
Seeing the two large china bowls sitting clean and dry on the sink, Simon surmised that they were the feeding bowls of the lycats, and put the meat into the bowls. About to place them onto the floor, he saw that Chels was already halfway through the living area and Fuzz was watching him eagerly from near the kitchen bench.
"I take it your mother doesn't feed you in the kitchen?” Still holding the bowls, Simon crossed the room to where Chels was standing in the paved area of the courtyard beneath the small overhanging verandah that prevented rain from entering the open living area.
Stepping out into the garden, Simon saw the big bowl of water near the wall, and he placed the two bowls of meat next to it. The lycats soon cleaned the bowls of every scrap of meat, then Fuzz proceeded to go back inside and curl up on the armchair, washing herself elegantly. Chels laid down on the paving and started washing his paws.
Looking up, Simon saw clear sky. No wonder Des had such freedom to leave her home so open, with the invisible space shield around it, no one but herself and anyone she chose could enter. ‘Twas really a haven.
Picking up the bowls, he took them back into the kitchen and washed and dried them, placing them on the sink where he'd found them.
Leaning back against the bench, he looked around leisurely. The house was a reflection of the wench who occupied it. Hard and unassuming on the outside, beautiful on the inside. Des showed no feminine attributes in her demeanor or attitudes when outside her home, but he'd seen the feminine side of her, the seductress ... His gaze fell on the table. Oh aye, the seductress.
He still found it hard to believe what had happened, and since the events of the morning, it seemed like almost days ago, but just the sight of the table and the flowery scent permeating the air brought it back in sharp clarity.
Heat flashed into his groin, and Simon shook his head. Just the memory of what she'd done was enough to make him start getting an erection. Meanwhile, the lass was lying in the medical clinic, injured and worried about her pets. While he stood here getting a hard-on.
But suns above, who could blame him?
Simon, you are sick. He started for the door. Lucky, but sick. He was grinning when he left the house, ensuring the door was firmly secured behind him. Stopping by the Enforcer Building, he told a relieved Emory that the lycats were fed and he could reassure Des that her beloved pets were happy and safe. Only then did he return to the trade ship.
* * * *
Feeling like crap, aching and sore, Des glared at Moresby. “I'm going home, and you're telling no one who doesn't need to know."
"You should stay here another night."
"I've been here for two days. That's enough."
He scowled. “Your men—"
"That's different. I lay down the orders and they have to follow them. Tough titties for them. They stay until you give the all clear to go home."
"And what about you?” He followed her limping progress through the dimly lit clinic. “Damn it, Desdemona, you're not infallible!"
"Look, I just want the peace and quiet of my own home, all right?"
"And who's going to look after you?"
"I'll be fine on my own. I'll just sleep and rest. After all, you did say there was nothing wrong with me that a good rest won't fix."
"I meant that you'd be resting here.” Exasperated, he jammed his hands on his ample hips. “Don't be so damned stubborn!"
Opening the door, Des nodded to Chas, who was waiting in the main waiting room of the clinic.
"You're as stubborn as your father, Des! He won't listen to anything I say, either!” Moresby stomped through into the waiting room after her. “You even needed my help just to get dressed!"
"Trust me, getting my clothes off won't be a problem."
Chas looked at her pale face. “Uh ... Boss, maybe you should stay another—"
"Just get me home."
"You don't look too good."
"I've been shot to shit, Chas, what do you think I should look like?” She glared at him. “Now, are you driving me home, or do I walk there myself?"
"You wouldn't make it,” he replied bluntly.
"Don't get smart with me, Chas. I might not look good, but I can still knock you on your arse."
He looked at Moresby in resignation. “Any painkillers? Extra instructions?"
Disgruntled, Moresby handed him a bottle of liquid. “Half a ml of this three times a day in water will keep the pain at bay. And she's to return in three days so that I can assess the healing process of her wounds."
All Des wanted was to go home. She hated the smell of antiseptic, the sounds and smells of a clinic. Home to her garden and pets, where she could really relax and recover was all she craved. Her knees were trembling, but in the dimness no one could see. All she had to do was keep up the façade until she got behind closed doors, then in the privacy of her own home she could groan and moan and fall asleep in her own bed, curled up with the comforting presence of Chels and Fuzz.
"Are you coming or what?” she demanded of Chas. “Or are we going to stand here listening to Moresby belt his gums until I go deaf?"
"Ungrateful little biddy,” Moresby muttered.
"Bullying old man."
They looked at each other, and a sudden grin tugged at Moresby's mouth. “You take care, Desdemona. You need me for anything—and I mean anything—you get on the viscomm, all right?"
"Yeah. Thanks.” Pausing, uneasy when it came to expressing her real feelings, Des added, “Thanks. Really."
"Suns, I bet that hurt to say."
"You have no idea."
In mutual understanding and respect, they nodded to each other. To anyone who didn't know them, there appeared to be deep dislike between them, but to the few who knew them well, they could see below the abrasiveness to the affection they had for each other.
Chas ushered Des out into the dark street to the pursuit craft and ensured she got in without too much trouble. He hovered over her in concern, and when she finally threatened to rip his head off, he grinned and went around to the pilot's side.
He took the pursuit craft right up to the porch of her home, so she only had to walk a
few steps up to the porch and then the door.
"I should see you inside,” he began.
About to get out, Des looked at him seriously. “Chas, I'll be fine. Honestly. Stop worrying."
"You shouldn't be by yourself."
"It's exactly what I want. Besides, I have Chels and Fuzz, so I'm not technically alone.” Slowly and painfully, she got out of the pursuit craft.
"You'll contact me if you need anything?” Chas was still peering worriedly at out her.
"I promise.” She smiled slightly at him. “I never did get to thank you all for what you did for me, Aiken, Marcel and Orde."
A blush crept up his cheeks. “Just doing our job, Boss."
"Yeah.” She understood his discomfort, for she wasn't one to take gratitude well herself. “Just wanted you to know. You and the other men."
"They sort of figured it out when you had that huge cake sent across to the Enforcer Building.” Chas grinned.
"You all deserved it.” She straightened and started up the steps slowly. “Now stop wasting my time and go and earn your pay."
"Whatever you say, Boss.” Laughing, he pulled the pursuit craft away from the house, rose enough to go above the wall and headed back to the settlement.
Still keeping rigid control Des opened the door and walked carefully inside. The soft hall light came on immediately and the flowery scent of her plants hit her immediately, taking away the antiseptic smell of the clinic.
"I'm home!” she called, shutting the door securely behind her.
Home. Sweet, sweet home.
Chels and Fuzz came bounding around the corner of the corridor, purring madly at the sight of her. They almost knocked her over with their rubbing, and she had to bite her lips against the pain in her injured leg as Fuzz bumped against it, but for her, it was a small price to pay.
This was her haven. Her home. And Chels and Fuzz were part of her family.
Wearily, allowing her straight shoulders to relax, she walked into the living area, but before she allowed herself to relax, she moved into the kitchen. She knew the lycats had been fed by Simon earlier in the day, for another message had come from Emory. Two days in a row, twice a day, the Daamen trader had come and fed her lycats. It was the only reason why she'd stayed the two days and the night at the clinic.
Heart of a Peacekeeper Page 17