A Kiss of Adventure (21 page)

Again his heart turned over in his chest. Mary McHugh had said Tillie would make her home with the man she chose. He was starting to see that “home” could be anywhere, as long as things were right between the woman and the man. Did he want to be that man in Tillie’s life? Her one love? Her home? Well, something was making his chest ache and his eyes burn.

“Now what?” she asked. She sat against the side of the truck bed, her legs folded and her hands in her lap. “We wait it out?”

“Pretend you’re stuck in an elevator.”

He hunkered down beside her. If he was ever going to work things out with this woman, if he had any hope of finding out what made her tick, he had to use this time. This chance.

“Tell me everything I need to know about Tillie Thornton,” he said.

“We already did that on the steamer.”

“There’s a lot I still don’t know.”

“Anything you don’t know, I probably don’t want to talk about.”

“How about Arthur?” He jumped into the middle of it with both feet. “You planning to marry him? You’re a loyal woman. I imagine he promised you home, security, children. A future you can count on.”

“I’m not going to marry Arthur.”

Relief washed through him like rain on desert soil. “When I threw you into the Land Rover, you thought you would. What changed your mind?”

She stretched out her legs and stared at the toes of her boots for a long time. “You,” she said finally.

“You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“I’m not sure how happy I
can
be over all this. I know Arthur isn’t right for me. You said some things that helped me see that.”

“So, what is right?”

“If I knew that I’d tell you.”

“What about me and you?”

She looked up at the swaying oil lantern with its wobbly flame. “I feel like that lamp sometimes. Like I’m just a tiny flame, a flicker of spirit in a great big desert. In spite of my concerns, I’ve loved the thrills of this adventure up the Niger. But I know I’m not strong enough to go on waging a crusade the way you do.”

“I’m on a crusade?”

Her eyes clouded. “We’re not on the same team.”

“I didn’t know you saw this as a game.”

“It’s not that. I’m talking about bigger things.” She ran her fingers through the sand that had sifted into the corner of the truck. “When I have a chance to stop running and I look at my life, I realize it’s not the Tuareg or the amulet or the treasure that matter. They’re insignificant.”

“What matters, Tillie?” he asked, but he already knew her answer.

“Our hearts. What we believe in. What we’re devoted to.” He could tell as she spoke the words what they cost her. Her voice was low, heavy, as though weighed down with an enormous weight. She raised her eyes to meet his, and the pain he saw there startled him. “You’re not a believer, Graeme. I am. That makes us as different as sand and water. Even when you mix those two, very little can grow. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s barren and miserable. When the sun beats down, the water evaporates just like that. When the wind hits, the sand blows everywhere. In the end, there’s nothing left.”

He sat back, looking away from her, staring at the side of the truck. “Sounds desolate.”

“It would be. Eventually.”

He could feel her looking at him. Waiting.

He had nothing to say.

If he did what he wanted—took her in his arms, held her, kissed her—he might make her believe anything was possible. He might even convince her she was wrong. Paint dreams of a future she couldn’t resist. Teach her to betray her heart.

But he had lived too long in the desert she’d described. He was sand. Empty. Barren. If she came to him, he would drink her dry. Use her up. Leave her nothing but a mist. He wouldn’t do it on purpose. It would just happen because of who he was. And who she was.

She was a believer. She had faith in an almighty God. Hope. Love. She bathed in these things. Everything in her life was washed in the water of her beliefs. And she held that living water out to him like the Holy Grail. Beckoning, beckoning. Just one taste. Just a sip and he’d be washed, too. Clean of his past. A new man.

He closed his eyes, regret sharp and bitter. Could he believe it? He had done so many things. So much wrong. He was sand. Could that possibly change? “I guess you think I’m a lost cause.”

“Anyone who’s lost can be found. Anyone who’s blind can see. Anyone who’s willing to let his old self die can be born again. All it takes is surrender.”

“It takes faith. I’ve never believed in anything I couldn’t see or touch, Tillie. Even if God didn’t abandon the world, he’s still just some ephemeral spirit floating around.”

“A spirit who was made human in the body of Jesus Christ.”

“A guy who died on a cross.” He shook his head. “Even if you buy the idea that Jesus came to life again, you’re still dealing with a spirit—not with somebody you can touch.”

“He touches
me
, Graeme. His Spirit lives inside me. Even when I’m struggling—and believe me, I do—I have no doubt his power is real. I can feel that. I can rely on it. My faith is based on what I see and feel in my own life.”

“I see it in you, Tillie.” His chest felt tight. “But I don’t see it in me.”

She brushed a finger under her eye. “Sand and water. They don’t belong together.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Bedtime, then?” Her voice sounded small, trembling. Had his stoniness made her cry?

She was crawling over to her pallet. It was all he could do to keep from stopping her and taking her in his arms. Did she hurt the way he did? Did she care more than she could admit?

He slid onto his own bed. “If I could change things, I would,” he said into the darkness. “But I can’t change my past. I can’t change who I am.”

“Graeme . . .” Her voice cracked, as though her throat were dry from overuse. “Graeme, you—”

Before she could finish what she’d started to say, a blast of wind slammed the truck like an iron fist. The lantern rocked and its tiny flame blew out, plunging them into darkness. The truck shivered, rocked, swayed.

“Graeme!”

Clearly disoriented, Tillie flailed out. He caught her hand and pulled her across the gap between them.

“It’s okay, Tillie,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

TWELVE

Sand and wind continued to buffet the truck, making it rock like a toy boat in a bathtub. Tillie lay stiff in Graeme’s arms. The storm was more frightening to her than the
amenoukal
and his broadsword, she realized. In that arena she had been a player; now she was nothing but a prop. She felt vulnerable. Fragile. Anything could happen to her.

Dear Lord . . .

Her prayer ran out of words. Instead her heart groaned its message. Fear. Turmoil. The storm. Graeme. Graeme more than anything. Why did she have to reject him? She wanted him. Lord, she wanted him.

“Tillie, can you hear me?” His voice in her ear was low.

“Yes,” she whispered. She looked over her shoulder at the smooth line of his bare shoulder.

“I’m going to try to light the lantern.”

The muscles moved under his skin as he rose to a crouch. She sat up and watched the outline of his hand move out across the darkness and strike a match. Turning his back to her, he lifted the glass chimney and lit the wick. She let her focus wander over his tousled mane of hair as it fell down his neck and lay softly forward over the curve of his ear. His profile was lit by the gentle yellow glow that cast deep shadows in the hollow of his cheek and beneath the razor-straight line of his jaw.

He adjusted the wick to a low, steady flame. She studied his broad back with its long ridge that ran into the curved waist of his khaki trousers. She traced the lean, hard lines of his legs that tapered into the leather boots he always wore. Her eyes felt full of him.

This man, this Graeme, was the man she loved. He was the one she wanted forever.

She loved him for his strength, his bravery, his sense of adventure. She loved him for that silly grin, and those flashing blue-green eyes, and that ready tease. She loved him for his quick mind, his gentle nature, his easy laughter. And she loved him for the pain he had known, pain that had given him sensitivity and depth. He was impulsive, unpredictable. She felt that these few days with Graeme had been packed with more excitement than she’d known in her whole life.

Graeme knelt beside Tillie again and slipped his arm around her shoulders. She saw that his eyes had gone deep and soft.

“You can relax,” he said. “We’ll be all right.”

“It sounds so angry.”

“Be glad you’re not a Targui. They’re weathering this thing in their tents.” The air inside the truck was close, but their insulation held. “It’s good to hold you, Tillie. I’ve missed you. When I’m with you, my life feels complete. And that scares me. I don’t have a lot of security to offer you. My life’s not stable. I doubt it ever will be. I don’t want it to be. I want the life I’m living right now. The adventure, the peaks of excitement, are what make life worthwhile.”

“The Mungo Park life.”

“That’s right.”

“Mungo Park left Ailie back in Scotland.”

“I never thought a woman would be a part of my life. When you grow up like I did, with the kind of father I had, you doubt your ability to build a family.”

“Even though it’s what you want most in the world.”

He was silent a long time. She imagined him taking her words, weighing them.

“Even
if
it’s what I want most in the world.” He shook his head. “I know I’m not a prize catch, but these days I can’t imagine myself going on without having you around.”

“Partners in adventure.”

“More than that.” He turned her to face him and gripped her shoulders. “The only security I can promise is myself. I’ll be with you, Tillie. As long as you’ll have me, I won’t leave you.”

She closed her eyes. His commitment had not come easily; his vow was no idle promise. This was a man who had distanced himself from people for many years. His pledge to her would not be broken.

Graeme opened his eyes and stared into the blackness. Breathing hard, his hands clammy, he fought away his dream of the Tuareg
amenoukal
. The man had been dragging Tillie behind him across a dune, her limp feet making two parallel lines like Land Rover tracks. He had run after them, following the tracks, but the sand had begun to billow and blow and erase the path faster than he could run. He was losing her. Losing her.

He raked his fingers through his damp hair. Never had he seen such total absence of light. Was he awake or asleep? Still dreaming? Tillie’s arm lay curled on her lap, her fingers resting against his hand. He touched their tips—soft, warm, real.

His movement stirred her. “Graeme?” She reached up and laid her hand on his face. “Oh, it’s you. Thank goodness.”

He held her to his chest, buried his face in her hair, tangled his fingers in its waves. “I dreamed you were gone. Tillie, I swear if I’d known there was going to be this much danger . . . I never would have . . .”

“You didn’t know what was going to happen to us any more than I did.” She brushed the hair from his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be okay.”

“We’ve got to figure some way to get the
amenoukal
off our backs. We’ve got to get this treasure thing out of our lives. I never wanted it to become so threatening.”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. Nothing would be okay until she was safe. He pressed her head against his chest. Outside, the sandstorm raged on like a lion trapped in a cage.

“Do you hear that sound?” Tillie’s voice was low.

“What sound?”

“That wailing noise. I wonder if it’s the
djenoun
.”

“The what?”

“The
djenoun
. Khatty told me the
djenoun
are the people of the empty places. The people of the night. She said they make that strange droning noise. The Tuareg are afraid of the
djenoun
.”

He relaxed a little. “Sounds like your basic bogeyman story to me.”

“I guess so. Did I tell you Khatty made up a beautiful poem about you? She called you the son of a waran.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a compliment.”

She laughed. “The waran is the Egyptian monitor lizard. For some reason, the Tuareg honor it. I think Khatty meant it as a term of praise. She says you’re a terribly brave man for going up against the
amenoukal
on my behalf.”

“It’s a toss-up as to which of us has rescued the other more often.” As the memory of his dream faded, he felt his muscles unknot. “Khatty’s special to you, isn’t she?”

“In a strange way. If we’d been born in the same culture, we might have been friends. Maybe even good friends. We understand each other’s minds. In spite of Khatty’s haughtiness, she’s easy to like. She’s intense. She cares. But you should have seen her bossing her servants around. And the food. Ever tasted camel’s milk?”

“Sure. Right now that sounds almost good. Are you hungry?”

“Thirsty.”

“It’s the lack of moisture in the air. My eyes feel like they’re full of sand. Probably are. Come on, let’s see what we can find to eat.”

Graeme fumbled around in the darkness until he found the matches and lantern. Their cave filled with soft light as the tiny lamp came to life. He filled two small plastic cups with water and handed one to Tillie. The water was cool as it ran down his parched throat and settled in his empty stomach.

Tillie looked around their makeshift home. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s holding up pretty well.”

There were growing piles of sand in each corner and along the perimeter of the truck bed. Occasionally more sand would sift down from the ceiling and scatter across the blankets.

“Maybe it’s good we’re here in the middle of the desert,” she said. “At least we’re safe and we can rest.” She looked into his eyes. “Are we safe, Graeme?”

“From the
amenoukal
? He’d never find us in this.”

“From the storm. Do you think it’s burying us?”

He reached out and thumped the canvas with his fist. There was a dull thud. “It gives a little. I don’t think we’re in too deep. I’m a little concerned about the roof, though.”

“If it caves in—” She stopped abruptly. Listened. Sudden silence settled over the truck. “What’s going on?”

“Storm’s over.”

“Just like that?”

The wind had gone all at once, as though a giant hand had covered its source. The truck stopped shuddering, and Graeme realized it was resting at an odd angle in the sand. Muted light filtered through the patchwork of sheets and blankets. A gentle glow settled on the piles of sand along the metal floor.

“I’m scared to move,” Tillie whispered. “Like if I do, the wind will start up again.”

Instead, a new sound took the place of the wind. A rushing, splattering noise. Water.

“It’s raining, Graeme.”

“Come on, Tillie-girl. Let’s get out of this sandbox.”

They pulled down the sheets covering the canvas flap, brushed back mounds of sand, and wrenched open the gritty tailgate catch. Graeme gave the gate a shove, and it fell with a clang.

“Graeme, look!” Tillie’s voice was hushed.

He straightened beside her. Their world had completely changed. From a dry, barren plain with scrub grass and low bushes, the landscape had become nothing but desert as far as the eye could see. Dunes rolled to the horizon. Rain cascaded like buckets dumped from heaven. And the smell . . . clean, fresh, wet.

He bounded out of the truck and slogged to the top of the nearest dune. Warm rain washed over him. He shook his head and sand flew out of his hair. His dry, parched skin soaked up the moisture. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and tasted the raindrops.

“Graeme!” Tillie waved from the top of another dune. Her hair streamed down her shoulders, her shirt and trousers stuck to her skin, her feet sank into the sand. She started to laugh. “I feel like a sponge.”

“You look like a sponge.”

In answer, she sprinted toward him and threw her arms around him. “I love this crazy place!” She threw back her head and gave a gurgling chuckle as the rain ran down her throat.

Graeme lifted her into his arms and swung her around and around until they fell dizzily onto the sand. Rolling down the dune, they tumbled over until they lay gasping with laughter. When he reached for her, she rolled away and sprang to her feet. She raced up another dune and waved her arms like a cheerleader gone mad.

“Come back here!” he shouted, trotting after her.

“Catch me!” She shrieked as he lunged, missed, and rolled back down the dune. Holding her stomach with laughter at the sight of him lying spread-eagled on the sand, Tillie turned and ran to the top of another dune. “Hey, lazybones! You can do better than that.”

Graeme was on his feet and halfway up the hill before she could move. She took off like a gazelle, all arms and legs, dashing down the dune.

“No, no, no!” she cried.

It was too late. His arms went around her waist. She struggled, but he held her tight.

“Yes, yes, yes.” His mouth covered hers. “Always say yes to me, Tillie-girl.”

For a moment he believed she was his, completely and wholly. But then she drew back and lifted her eyes to the sky. “It’s clearing already.”

“I’d stay here forever with you. Just like this.”

She grinned. “We’d be mummies by this afternoon if we did that. The sun is after me already.”

The moment was over. Her shield of resistance was back in place. She wouldn’t come closer; her heart held her back.

“Let’s see if we can get that monster of a truck going again.” When he relaxed his arms, she moved away. He watched in fascination as she brushed the sand from her clothes. “You keep that up, and we’ll never get to Timbuktu.”

She blushed from her neck to the roots of her hair. “I’ll get to Timbuktu with or without you.” Turning, she started back toward the truck. “The secret is in my amulet, and I’m going to figure it out.”

“Sure you want to?”

“Positive.”

Graeme stepped over to the truck and kicked at a tire half-buried in sand.

“Can we get it out?” she asked.

“Maybe. The sand is wet enough to give us some traction if we hurry. But that’s not the real problem.” He looked up and scanned the horizon. “The road is gone.”

She frowned. Here and there a sign of what might be the rutted track emerged from the sand, but it looked impossible to follow. “Any ideas?”