Commando (4 page)

“I grew up on a small farm in a valley where my dad made a living for us by growing pears. We had a huge orchard, and my two sisters and I worked with him when we didn’t have school. Dad was a real philosopher. He saw everything in terms of seasonal changes, the earth being alive, and respecting the environment. We never dumped oil on the ground, threw away a battery in the woods or put fertilizer on the soil. Instead, we had a couple of cows for milk, three horses because we kids liked to ride, and plenty of rabbits and chickens for food. He used to compost all the garbage from our household and spread it through the orchard twice a year as fertilizer. Dad had the finest pears in Oregon.”

“You said ‘Mother Earth,’” Shah growled, uncomfortable.

Jake nodded, placing his hands on his knees. He saw the curiosity burning in her eyes and realized he’d struck a responsive chord in Shah. Jake hadn’t felt so excited in years. Shah was a challenge, yet he sensed a fierce, caring passion lurking just beneath her prickly exterior. She had a passion for living life, Jake realized, and that excited him as little had since Bess’s and the children’s deaths.

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you Native American?”

“No, just a combination of Irish, Dutch and English.”

“Then why did you use that term?”

“Because my parents always spoke about the planet that way.”

Shah sat back, trying to gauge whether Randolph was giving her a line or was really telling her the truth. “Oh…” she murmured.

Pleased that Shah was softening toward him, Jake continued in his rumbling voice. “I think Mom might have had a little Native American in her. Cherokee, maybe, somewhere a long ways back.”

“Then that would give you some Native American blood.”

Chuckling, Jake held up his hand. “Darlin’, I’m about as white as a man can get. No, if I’ve got a drop of Cherokee in me, it’s so washed out that it wouldn’t matter.”

Shah pointedly ignored the endearment that rolled off his tongue. It had felt like a cat licking her hand. “But it does,” she said fervently. “It’s a gene type. Even if you have just a drop of Cherokee blood, it would be enough. Genes have memory, and it’s possible that your Cherokee gene is a dominant gene, which would give you an understanding that our planet is more than just a planet. She’s alive. She communicates, and she breathes, just like us.”

There was such burning hope in her eyes that Jake couldn’t bring himself to argue with her. Then again, she was a biologist, and she knew all about genes and such, so she could be right. If that meant something important and vital to Shah, then Jake was willing to go along with her logic. “Well, I feel what matters is what we do on a daily basis,” he demurred.

“Your walk is your talk. That’s a Lakota saying.” Thrilled that she was actually communicating with him, Jake heaved an inner sigh of relief. The gold in Shah’s eyes danced with sunlight now, as if she’d met a brother of like mind. However, Jake didn’t want to be her brother. Far from it.

“Lakota?” he asked, fighting back his less-than-professional thoughts.

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“Whites call us Sioux, but that’s an Iroquois word that means ‘enemy.’ We call ourselves Lakota, Nakota and Dakota. There are three separate tribes, depending upon where you were born and the heritage passed down through your family. My mother is Santee, and that’s Lakota.”

“I see.” Jake smiled. “I like learning these things.”

“In Brazil,” Shah went on enthusiastically, “the people are a combination of Portuguese, African and native. Brazil is a melting pot, and they certainly don’t worry what color you are. And on top of that, the largest concentration of Japanese outside of Japan live in SÃo Paulo. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“I like Brazil because of that. You aren’t judged on your skin color down here.” Shah held out her hand. “My skin looks tan in comparison to yours. But a Brazilian wouldn’t care.”

“You have golden skin,” Jake told her. Her skin was a dusky color, and he wondered what it would be like to lightly explore its texture—to slide his fingertips along her arm. The thought was so powerful that Jake was stunned into silence. There was such innocence to Shah, to her simplified outlook on life in general.

Heat fled into Shah’s face, and she looked away from his kind gray eyes, momentarily embarrassed by her reaction to his statement. “Well,” she muttered, more defensively, “you know what I’m saying. Lakota people judge others by their walk being their talk.”

“It’s a good philosophy,” Jake said, meaning it. “So why don’t you let me prove myself to you the same way?”

Shah frowned. “What do you mean?” Why did she have the feeling that behind this man’s dangerous looks there was a steel-trap mind?

With a lazy shrug of his shoulders, Jake said, “I’ve already told you the truth about why I’m here. I accept that you don’t want to go home. So why don’t you let me be your bodyguard? It’s obvious you need one, with Hernandez around.”

Getting up, Shah began to pace nervously back and forth. “No!”

“I can’t go home,” Jake told her reasonably, opening his hands. “Your father has paid me for a month’s worth of work down here. I’m not the type to gyp someone out of work they’ve already paid me to do.”

“You should have been a lawyer,” Shah charged heatedly.

“Thanks. Was that a compliment?”

“You know it wasn’t!”

His grin was broad and forgiving. “Calm down, Shah. I’m not your enemy. If I was, why didn’t I side with Hernandez earlier? You know, I took a hell of a risk by entering that lopsided fray. If your father really wants you out of here, I could have stood aside and let Hernandez do his dirty deed.”

Halting, Shah ruminated over his observation. She eyed him intently, the silence thickening in the lab. “Why should I believe you?” she asked him heatedly.

He held her golden gaze. He could see that she was fraught with indecision. Everything was so tenuous between them, and Jake had never wanted anyone’s trust more. He wanted this woman’s trust so badly he could taste it. “You’re right,” he told her quietly. “If your father has had others try to kidnap you, then you’ve got reason to be paranoid. But I can’t prove myself to you except on a minute-by-minute basis, Shah. You’ll have to be the judge and jury on whether I’m for real or not.”

“I hate men like you!” she gritted out. “They say all the right things. You confuse me!”

“Truth is never confusing.”

“Actions are a far better barometer of whether someone’s lying,” Shah snapped. Worriedly she paced some more. “I don’t need you around. I’ve got enough responsibilities, Randolph. Tomorrow morning I’m going to take my video camera and canoe down the river. I’ll make a landing on the parcel where Hernandez has a permit to cut down the rain forest trees. I need that film for the television station that’s funding my work.”

“Let me go along, then.”

She stopped pacing and wrapped her arms against her chest. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you could throw my video equipment into the river and—”

“I wouldn’t do that, Shah,” he told her sincerely. “I know you’re jumpy about my presence, but I can’t go home.” He didn’t want to, either. Shah fascinated him. She was an amalgam of fire, spirit and passion—all linked with innocence.

“Pai Jose said I could stay at the mission,” Jake told her in a soothing tone, “and I’ll do that. He said you live in the village. Let’s take this relationship of ours one day at a time. I’ll be your gofer. I’ll do whatever little odd jobs or piddly tasks come up.” Looking around, he added, “And judging from the way this lab looks, you need about five biology assistants helping you.” Indeed, there were at least a hundred plant specimens in open plastic bags on the four tables. “I’m a pretty quick learner. Just see me as your right-hand man for a month.”

Shah sat down, weary as never before. She didn’t know what to do or say. Her heart was pleading with her to believe Randolph, while her head was screaming nonstop that he was lying, despite that roughened tone of his voice that sent a tremor of some undefined longing through her. And his eyes! She sighed. The man could melt icebergs with those eyes of his. There was such seemingly sincere gentleness contained in them that Shah had the ridiculous urge to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her.

Of all things! Shah berated herself. Men meant hurt, that was all. Lies and hurt, and not necessarily in that order. Randolph was too smooth, and far too intelligent, and Shah felt she’d more than met her mental match.

“We have a lot in common,” Jake said, breaking the brittle silence. “I probably have Indian blood, however little it might be. My parents raised my family to respect Mother Earth.” He gave her an imploring look, because her face mirrored her indecision. “What do you say? A day at a time? Let my walk be my talk?”

She glared at him. “A day at a time? Randolph, I’m going to be monitoring your every move one minute at a time.”

“No problem.”

Pointing to his gun and knife, Shah acidly added, “And these weapons stay with me!”

“Fine.”

The man was infuriating! He was unlike any man she’d ever met. He didn’t try to argue with her or belittle her decisions. “Just who are you?” Shah asked irritably, sliding off the stool. She holstered her gun, picked up his weapons and stalked around the table. Jerking open the door, she turned and added, “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Just leave me alone, Randolph, and we’ll get along fine. Stay up here with Pai Jose. The Great Spirit knows, he needs all the help he can get. He’d love to have a hardworking American around for thirty days.”

She was gone. As Jake looked around, the lab suddenly seemed darker. Shah reminded him of blinding sunlight; her presence was riveting and undeniable. Rising slowly to his feet, he rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants. A slight smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. Well, their first skirmish had ended in a decided victory for him. As he ambled out of the lab and quietly closed the door behind him, Jake whistled softly. Yes, the world was suddenly looking brighter. Shah was like sunshine on water; scintillating, ever-changing. There was an underlying tenderness to her, too. He hadn’t been wrong about her earthiness, either—not judging from all the plants and flowers in the lab, and her work to catalog them and save the valuable information for the world at large.

Shah Travers had many fine qualities, Jake decided as he walked over to the mission. His duffel bag was gone, carried inside by Red Feather, the Tucanos boy who worked with Pai Jose. He stopped in the center of the small yard enclosed by the mission buildings and looked around. The profusion of color, the songs of the birds and the many scents mingling in the humid air made Jake smile broadly. The Amazon could be a cruel killer, he knew. But right now, the area was clothed in a raiment of beauty, because Shah Travers cared—deeply, passionately—for something outside of herself.

Whistling merrily, Jake decided to take a walk around the place. His mercenary side was always close at hand. He didn’t trust Hernandez. Although he didn’t know the local politics, he wanted to map out the village for his own satisfaction. He felt naked without his knife and pistol, but he was convinced that sooner or later Shah would trust him enough to give the weapons back.

But first things first. Reconnoitering the village like the recon marine he had once been was at the top of his list. Were these Indians friendly? Were they used to white men? Or would they use blowgun arrows tipped with deadly curare to kill him? There was a lot to discover, Jake conceded with a frown. Maybe the Tucanos accepted Shah because she carried native blood in her veins. Maybe Pai Jose was allowed to stay here because of his unceasing humanitarian work with them. He wasn’t sure at all.

The dangers of the Amazon were many and real. Jake knew that from his other missions, although he’d never before spent so much time in the rain forest. On guard, he tucked away the warm feelings lingering in his heart regarding Shah. He was astonished by those emotions, because for the past four years he’d felt nothing, numbed by the loss of his family. Shah’s unexpected entrance into his life had been responsible for that change. But what was he going to do about it? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything right now.

The Tucanos village was a long, haphazard affair that hugged the dry, cracked bank of the Amazon River. At first, Jake was jumpy about the Indians, but soon he had fifteen children following him as if he were the pied piper. The few men present were the old ones, and the women were busy working over their cooking pots. The younger men were probably out hunting during the daylight hours. They were a handsome people, Jake conceded, short but with robust bodies and clean features. Everywhere he walked, the old men and women would look up and stare at him, and some would give him a shy smile. He did the same.

The thatched huts were circular and varied in diameter, depending, Jake supposed, on the number of people living in them. Fires were kept outside of the homes, and Jake spotted woven mats placed on the dirt floor in several of them. The Tucanos people were primitive, without many civilized amenities. There was no electricity, except for what was produced by a gasoline-fed generator that Pai Jose kept behind the small infirmary next to the church. Jake doubted the old priest used it often—perhaps only when light was needed at night for a surgery.

Jake saw that he was coming to the end of the village. One small thatched hut with a dried brown palm-leaf roof sat off by itself. The huts were placed among the tall trees to take advantage of the shade. He slowed, and was about to turn around when he saw Shah emerge from the more isolated hut. Not wanting another confrontation with her, he started to turn, but it was too late.

Shah caught sight of Randolph, walking near her hut. “What are you doing? Snooping around?” she challenged as she walked toward the riverbank, where her dugout canoe was beached. She felt upset to see that Randolph was still around, still so close. Somehow, she hadn’t wanted him to know where she was living.

“I was looking around.” Jake shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled down at the assembled children in faded cotton shorts who trailed after him. He, too, moved toward the canoe. “It’s an old marine habit,” he offered.

“Marine?” And then Shah chastised herself for her curiosity. Randolph looked military, she acknowledged. Still, despite his size and his craggy features, she simply didn’t feel threatened by him. Unable to understand why, she became angry with herself. She stopped at the canoe. Bento, her Tucanos helper, had found six new orchids along one of the lesser-used channels and brought them back for her to identify. But they had to be properly cared for if she was to try to find out what species they were. She had taught the Indian to place the plants in moist palm-fiber baskets to keep them safe and alive.

Jake stopped at the bow of the canoe and watched as she got down on her knees to gently and carefully gather up a multipetaled yellow flower. Perhaps conversation would ease the scowl on her broad brow.

“I was in the Marine Corps for sixteen years before I joined Perseus,” he explained.

Shah glanced up. His towering figure was back-lit by the sun. The shadows deepened the harshness of his features, which would have been frightening if not for his boyish expression. She placed the orchid in a large plastic bag.

“You’re a warrior, then.” Somehow that fitted him. Shah couldn’t picture him in a suit and tie.

He nodded. “Yeah, we saw ourselves as that. Your people were known as warriors, too.”

Shah gently lifted the orchid and set it outside the canoe. She took a rusty tin can and walked to the river for water.

“The Lakota recognize that men
and
women can be warriors. It isn’t gender-related.”

“I didn’t know that.”

She gave him a dark look, then knelt down, her knees bracketing the orchid. Pouring water around the roots, she muttered, “Nowadays every woman has to be a warrior, to stand up and be counted, because we’re the only ones who can save Mother Earth.” She lifted her chin, challenge in her low voice. “It’s the men who have polluted, poisoned and ruined our Earth in the name of greed, politics and self-oriented policies.”

Jake looked up at the slow-moving Amazon. The muddy river’s surface was like glass. He considered Shah’s impassioned words. Looking back down at her, he realized she was waiting for his reaction.
Good.
He sensed her interest in him; he desperately needed to cultivate that fragile trust.

“I wouldn’t disagree with you, Shah. Men have been raping Mother Earth for centuries. Everything’s coming due now, though. It’s payback time.”

“
Rape
is the right word,” she muttered, closing the plastic bag around the orchid’s stem. She glanced at him, surprised that he agreed with her. Perhaps he was just stringing her along, trying to get her to believe he was really on her side. She was standing, ready to lift the heavy container, when Jake came forward.

“Here, let me carry that for you.” He saw her golden eyes flare with surprise. Taking the plant container, he said, “I’m a great gofer. Tell me where you want this plant.”

Stunned, Shah jerked her hands away from the container as he slid his large, scarred hands around its circumference. “Well, I…in my hut. I was going to try to look up these species before night fell.” She dusted off her hands.

Jake walked toward her hut. It would give him the excuse he needed to see her living conditions—and to see how vulnerable her hut might be to attack. Shah hurried and caught up with him. There was a bright red cotton cloth over the front of the door, and she pulled it aside for him.

“Just set it next to the other ones,” she told him, pointing to the far wall.

“This orchid smells great,” Jake said as he bent low to enter the hut. Obviously it had been built for the short Tucanos people, not for tall Americans.

“I think it’s a Mormodes orchid, but I’m not sure,” Shah murmured as she followed him into the hut. He was so large! In fairness to him, though, the hut was one of the smallest made by the Tucanos—the type usually meant for an elderly person—and Shah had taken it because of that fact. She didn’t want the generous Tucanos people giving up one of their family-size huts just for one person.

Jake’s gaze took in the entire hut as he settled the flowering plant next to others against the wall. There was a wonderful scent of orchids mingled with the dry odor of the grass and palm leaves that made up the hut. He noted that a stack of flower identification books, all wrapped in plastic to protect them from the humidity and rain, sat nearby. Furnishings were sparse. Jake straightened to his full height. A grass mat that seemed to serve as Shah’s bed lay on the dry dirt floor, topped by a light cotton blanket and a small pillow. Cooking utensils were near the door, for use over the open fire outside the hut. A woven trunk made of palm fiber was the only actual article of furniture.

“Nice place.”

“If you like camping out,” Shah said, moving back out through the door. She tried to calm her pounding heart. Was it because of Randolph’s nearness?
Impossible.

With a rumbling chuckle, Jake followed her. “I was a recon marine most of the time I was in the corps, and your hut is like a palace compared to what we had out in the bush.”

“What do you mean?” Shah wished she could put a clamp on her mouth. Curiosity had been a catalyst throughout her life—too often landing her in hot water. Randolph was an enigma to her, and she tried to rationalize her curiosity about him: after all, if she knew more about him, she might be able to make a final decision on whether he was friend or enemy.

Jake ambled down the bank with her toward the canoe.

“Recons are dropped behind enemy lines to gather needed information on troop movements, stuff like that,” he explained. “We would sleep in trees, hide on the ground and generally be unseen while we collected the data we needed for the Intelligence boys.”

Shah was impressed but didn’t say anything, afraid her curiosity would be viewed as interest. But wasn’t it? She tried to ignore her questioning heart. “I can get these other orchids,” she protested.

“No way. I watched what you did. Why don’t you go do something more important?”

Torn, Shah watched him take out the next flowering orchid. She was constantly amazed by the counterpoint of Randolph’s size to his obvious gentleness. He picked up the orchid as if it were a vulnerable infant—surprising in such a big, hairy bear of a man. She tried to ignore his blatant male sensuality, the dark hair of his chest peeking out from the khaki shirt open at his throat. His arms were darkly sprinkled with hair, too. Shah swallowed convulsively. Despite his size, he wasn’t overweight. No, he reminded her of a man who was not only in his physical prime, but in the best of condition, too.

“Oh, all right.” Shah watched as several Tucanos children followed Jake to the canoe. They watched him with solemn brown eyes, and she smiled. She loved the Tucanos, who had welcomed her as one of their own. Once they’d found out that she was an “Indian,” too, she’d been adopted by the chief of the village—a great honor.

“Do you like children?” Shah raised her hand to her mouth. Now where had that come from?

Jake frowned, hesitated and drew the next orchid, a purple one, out of the canoe. “Yeah, I like the little rug rats.”

“Rug rats?” Alarm entered her voice.

“That’s an old Marine Corps term for kids. It’s an affectionate term, not a bad one,” he assured her as he put the water into the plastic bag that would keep the root system from drying out.

Shah saw his partial smile slip, and when he looked up at her she detected darkness in his gray eyes. There was an incredible sadness that settled around him, and it was overwhelming to her. She was highly intuitive, and had always had an ability to sense a person’s real feelings. Her heart went out to him. “Kids mean a lot to you, don’t they?” she pressed softly.

With a sigh, Jake gathered up the orchid. As he turned and met Shah’s serious gaze, something old and hurting broke loose in his heart. “Well, I…” It was those golden eyes swimming with unshed tears that shook him. Why should she show such compassion for him? She was unaware of his past, of his family’s tragic death. He stood there stupidly staring down at her, absorbing her understanding like a plant starved for water. The seconds eddied and halted around them, and Jake felt ensnared within the unspoken emotional web that surrounded him like an embrace.

Shaken by her unexpected understanding, he dipped his head and frowned. “Where do you want this orchid? Next to the others?” he demanded gruffly.

Shah swallowed convulsively. What had just happened? It felt as if they both had been suddenly surrounded by heightened and unexpected emotions. But the mesmerizing feeling had evaporated when Jake became gruff. Blinking, Shah stammered, “In—in my hut, with the rest…”

It hurt to feel, to think. Jake felt himself rebuilding old walls to defend his grieving heart. Adding to the hurt, the Indian children followed him like happy, playful puppies as he retrieved the rest of the orchids for Shah. He was grateful that she seemed aware that children were a sensitive topic for him. His mouth dry, tears burning the back of his eyes, he placed the last orchid on the floor of the hut.

Shah was outside, crouched over a small cooking fire, her tripod and kettle suspended above the coals. Giving him a quick glance, she went back to stirring the contents with a stick. Her heart beat faster as he approached. Suddenly shaky for no reason, Shah refused to look up at him.

“Are you psychic or something?” he demanded.

A small smile touched Shah’s mouth, and she forced herself to look up at him. What she saw tore at her heart. There was such raw anguish in Randolph’s eyes that she nearly cried out for him, for the pain he carried like a living thing within him. The Indian children had gathered around them. One small girl tucked herself beneath Shah’s arm and leaned her small head against her shoulder.

“I’m intuitive,” she admitted, and hugged the little girl fiercely, letting her know that she loved her.

Jake considered Shah with a renewed intensity. The little Indian girl looked as if she belonged to Shah. Both of them had shining black hair, brown eyes and golden skin. The child, no more than six years old, put her fingers in her mouth and smiled shyly up at him. It hurt to breathe in that moment, because the girl’s expression resembled that of his eldest daughter, Katie, bringing back a flood of wonderful memories—and torment.

Without a word, Jake spun around and stalked away.

Nonplussed, Shah watched him leave. She had seen the questions in his eyes about her intuition. But she had also seen the devastation and bleakness in their depths. Slowly rising to her full height, Shah continued to hold the little girl close. Gently she ran her hand across the girl’s long black hair and sighed. What was going on between her and Randolph? It was crazy, she decided finally. Daylight was fading quickly, and in its wake the sky had turned pale lavender and gold. Patting the little girl’s shoulder, Shah asked her to stir the fish stew she had made. She needed to get to the identification books to find out if these orchids had been officially discovered before the light failed entirely.

Jake couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back, his hands behind his head, in the austere mission room, which resembled a boxcar in size and shape. The palm-thatched door was open to allow what little cross-breeze there was from his open window. The cot wasn’t long enough for him, but it didn’t make much difference. The boards beneath him were covered by a thin, lumpy mattress that had seen too many years of service. All the night sounds—the calls of the howler monkeys, the insects buzzing outside the open window—provided a soothing chorus to Jake’s frayed nerves.

Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Shah’s lovely face, her large eyes filled with tears, struck at his wounded heart. After four years he’d thought that most of the loss was behind him, but that one poignant moment when Shah held the little girl in her arms had struck at him with savage intensity. With a sigh, he stared up at the wooden ceiling. If not for the quarter moon low in the night sky, the place would have been plunged into a darkness so inky that he wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face.