Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors) (7 page)

“Helpless.”

“Helpless! I’ll have you know I’ve been on my own for years and have done very well.” 

“Yes, back where you come from you probably have,” he admitted, “but here you’re totally out of your element.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Ever since she had walked into the Grand Hotel and he had helped her with the desk clerk, she had been dependent on him—something that was as alien to her as the environment she was in, the situation she was in, and the man she was with.

“I’m not a hero, Sam. I don’t make a habit of rescuing people.”

“Then why did you rescue me yesterday at the hotel? You could have ignored my predicament with the desk clerk.”

He remained quiet, kneading the coiled muscles of his neck and shoulder. "I’m stiff from sleeping on the floor," he finally said as though she hadn’t asked him a question.

Which means he doesn’t want to answer me.
“Why, Brock?”

“For the life of me I don’t know,” he finally said with a wry smile. “Let’s just chalk it up to helping a fellow American.” He spared her a quick, probing look. “A pretty one at that.”

Samantha blushed and averted her gaze. Finally she got up the courage to lean close to the side window and look down. A few hundred feet below was a blanket of green extending as far as she could see. Occasionally a brown ribbon of water or a flight of some vividly colored birds broke the green. Sprinkled among the green were the golden canopies of vochysia trees, often two hundred feet across. On the plane to Brazil, she’d spent her time reading everything she could on the country.

When Brock pointed to a waterfall below, Samantha was reminded of her nightmare the night before as she watched the churning water plunge into the ravine. Leaving the relative civilization of Manaus behind and entering the world of the primitive, hostile jungle made her nightmare come back in full force. She began to wonder if she would ever see New Orleans—or even Manaus—again. She shivered.

“You can’t be cold. It must be ninety degrees.”

She was surprised that Brock was so attuned to her every movement. There was nothing casual about the man. He was always keenly alert even when he seemed relaxed.

“That waterfall reminded me of my dream.”

“Believe me, I would never motion for you to jump into a raging river right before a waterfall.”

“It seemed so real.”

“Dreams often are. Forget it. That waterfall back there is the closest you’ll come to seeing one. But to be totally honest, I have to say I’ve found anything is possible in the jungle.”

"Gee, thanks for that reassurance."

Again his gaze captured hers. "I won’t sugar coat anything." 

For a brief moment, his regard trapped hers and held it hostage. Her throat went dry, and she finally dragged her attention to the window again.

“Everything looks the same to me, green. How can you tell where you’re going?” she asked to change the subject.

“By certain landmarks, usually rivers, sometimes mountain ranges.”

“How long have you been in the Amazon?” 

“Long enough.”

“Where are you from?”

“Houston.”

“Oh, that’s not too far from where I live in New Orleans.”

“Practically neighbors,” he said, giving her a brief smile before again falling silent.

Samantha got the impression he wasn’t one for small talk or he didn’t like the subject—himself. She supposed when a person traveled in the jungle he got out of the habit of conversing to pass the time.

Over two hours later and several failed attempts to discover more about Brock, Samantha saw the clearing and mission come into view. Brock circled once, then started his descent toward the small strip of jungle that had been cleared for a runway.

As they landed, Samantha forced herself to keep her eyes open. She wished she hadn’t. The wheels hit ground, but they continued racing toward the end of the runway and the wall of green trees. It seemed minutes, rather than seconds, later before the plane started to slow down. Samantha was sure they were going to crash into the jungle, and for the hundredth time she wondered what insanity had prompted her to come to the Amazon.

Two feet from the wall of trees they came to a stop. Samantha released her death grip on the seat at the same time as her bottled breath. She tore her gaze from the jungle in front of the plane to look at Brock. That familiar silver flash in his eyes made her simmer.

“Short runway,” he commented offhandedly as he prepared to leave the plane. “Some guy over there wasn’t as lucky.”

Samantha looked toward the place he indicated and gasped. Not far from them was a plane that had collided into the wall of trees. Vines were beginning to grow around it, and she realized the jungle would soon absorb the foreign object.

“I didn’t want to tell you earlier that the landing can be tricky at these places. Usually the bare minimum of runway is cleared and kept in some kind of condition for planes to use.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, wiping the sweat from her forehead and neck with a handkerchief. She wasn’t sure if it was from the heat or her nerves, but her blouse was soaking wet.

As they were climbing down from the plane, Samantha saw another plane parked to the side of the runway. Then she noticed a priest walking toward them. 

Brock tossed down their bags and hopped off the wing to greet the man.

“I’m Father Carlos.” He offered his hand to Brock.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Father.” Brock shook the older man’s hand. “I’m Brock Slader, and this is Samantha Prince.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Samantha placed her hand in the priest’s. As they shook hands, she felt uncomfortable under Father Carlos’ intent gaze. It must be the after effects from the landing, she decided, her legs still feeling wobbly on solid ground.

“What can I do for you?” Father Carlos asked.

“We need a place to stay for the night,” Brock said, cutting in before Samantha could ask about her brother.

“Of course. You are welcome to use Para Mission for as long as you like. We don’t get very many Americans here. Father Paul will be thrilled to see fellow countrymen.” He began to walk toward the compound. “You must freshen up for dinner and join us. I want to know the latest from the United States. We hear so little out here in the jungle.”

“Why didn’t you let me ask about Mark?” Samantha whispered while Father Carlos paused to say something to a native.

“Not yet. Patience.”

Samantha was shown to her room in a house in the center of the compound, obviously used by Father Carlos. Brock and the priest left her to settle in. 

As Samantha was freshening up, she wondered where Brock was staying, her nerves wound tight. She supposed from the anticipation and excitement.

There was a basin of water that she used to sponge herself off, and by the time she had changed into her other shirt, she did feel a little better. The sun had set rapidly while she had been cleaning up and the air was cooler as she went in search of Brock and Father Carlos.

She found them in the living room. They both stood as she entered and both appraised her as she walked over to a chair. In Brock’s eyes there was a look of male appreciation. Father Carlos’s gaze held a calculated shrewdness. It was obvious he was wondering why a woman like her would be in the Amazon. She was wondering the very same thing.

“As I was telling Mr. Slader here, we don’t get many visitors this way. What brings you to the mission?” Father Carlos asked Samantha.

Remembering what Brock had said about not mentioning her brother yet, Samantha couldn’t think of a good lie to tell Father Carlos.

Brock interceded, saying, “Samantha is a zoologist studying the anaconda. We’re flying back to Manaus tomorrow.”

“Have you been successful, Miss Prince?” 

“Yes,” she murmured. Studying snakes? Of all the creatures in the jungle for Brock to come up with, the anaconda was certainly the last one she would have picked. Why couldn’t it have been the beautiful, sleek jaguar? She would even have settled for the capybara, the largest rodent in the world. Samantha hated snakes.

Father Carlos stood and excused himself for a moment.

“I can’t even abide a small garter snake, let alone a snake over twenty feet long,” Samantha said the second the priest had left.

Brock laughed. “Sorry. That was the first thing I came up with.”

“Where are you staying?”

His look dimmed the light in Brock’s eyes. “In the house next door. I’d hoped we would be in the same place, but Father Carlos told me he and another priest from the United States, the Father Paul he spoke of, stay in this house. According to him, there’s one room here and one where I’m to stay. It could be worse. We could be in a hammock outside or in a grass-thatched hut.”

None of the options were ideal, but then what could she expect in a jungle? “Do you think I should ask him about Mark now?”

“No,” came the instant reply.

“Maybe Mark has been back here or maybe he’s here now.”

“The less anyone knows the better. If Mark was here, Father Carlos would have surely said something about another American being here, especially with the same last name.” 

Brock’s vehemence puzzled Samantha. She started to protest, but just then Father Carlos returned with the same native he had talked to earlier. Her eyes grew round and her mouth dropped open. The man was carrying an anaconda at least eight feet long.

“I regret that he’s only a baby, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy examining him nonetheless, Miss Prince.”

Father Carlos waved the native forward, and Samantha pressed herself as far as she could into the chair, wishing she could somehow disappear. As the man towered above her with the thick, long snake wrapped about him, waiting for her to do something, she shot Brock a killing look.

He could hardly contain his amusement. Did anything nonplus that man? She would love to discover something that got under his skin.

“Miss Prince, is something wrong?” Father Carlos asked.

“Oh, no. I’m just speechless you have such a beautiful specimen.” She hoped that sounded enough like a zoologist to appease the priest. 

“Feel free to hold him.”

She had known he was going to say that. As it was, the snake was too close for her already.

She swallowed several times and tried to think of a way out of this mess. She desperately glanced over at Brock for help, but he was too busy looking somewhere else. Chicken. She moistened her parched throat.

She forced herself to rise and reach out to touch the snake, all the time making sure her face didn’t express the disgust and fear churning her stomach. She was surprised the skin felt dry, not wet or slimy, as it looked. A little braver, she stroked the anaconda, once, then twice, and felt her courage increase.

But when the native thrust the snake into her arms, she nearly screamed and backed away. The chair and the puzzled look on Father Carlos’ face, however, stopped her.

Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she gingerly took the snake and it immediately began coiling itself around her arm, moving slowly up it—toward her neck. Had she come thousands of miles to be strangled to death by a snake?

Something in her expression must have triggered a spark of chivalry in Brock, for he interrupted her “examination” of the snake to take the anaconda from her, muttering something to the effect that he would love to look at it too. She gladly gave the snake to Brock.

With ease he handled the long snake, and Samantha was beginning to think nothing frightened the man. The anaconda was completely wrapped around him and he actually looked as if he was enjoying it.

When an Indian woman came to the doorway, Father Carlos announced, “Ah, I see our dinner is ready.”

The native took the snake away, and such relief trembled through Samantha that she knew she would have collapsed if Brock hadn’t been there to support her with an arm about her waist. She wanted to hit him for having put her into the situation in the first place, and she wanted to hug him for having rescued her from it. It seemed her feelings for Brock were always at odds.

Over dinner Samantha told Father Carlos the latest news from the United States and steered the conversation as far away from snakes and zoology as possible. Halfway through dinner they were joined by Father Paul, who was new to the mission, having arrived only recently, Father Carlos told Brock and Samantha.

Throughout the rest of the dinner Samantha often caught Father Paul’s eyes on her. He made her feel uneasy, as if she were the specimen and he the zoologist. There was something about the second priest that bothered her. Maybe it was the faint odor of tobacco emitting from his clothes. She didn’t like the smell at all.

When dinner was over, she was glad that Brock suggested they retire early for the night. He escorted her to her room.

“I’d invite you in for coffee, but I think our hosts might frown upon that. Father Paul kept giving me looks all through dinner. Do you suppose he doesn’t approve of us traveling together, unmarried?” Samantha was trying to appear light and unconcerned, but her stomach was twisted into a huge knot. She really wished that Brock weren’t a house away.

“We’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Brock, I…”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing." She had almost asked him to spend the night in her room again—on the floor. But she had no right to ask him just because she was uncomfortable and edgy. She couldn’t even tell him why, because she didn’t know why she felt that way herself. Probably because everything was so different from what she was used to.

“Well, I guess this is good night then,” he murmured, leaning closer, his hand braced against the wall next to her head.

“Yes, I guess it is.” Her words came out in a breathless rush. His mouth was only inches from hers, and she wanted him to kiss her again.

“We have to get up early,” he whispered, lifting both hands to gently touch her throat slowly, deliberately. His eyes seemed absorbed in the movement of his fingertips as they stroked her sensitive skin, pausing to graze the hollow at the base of her throat.

Her pulse rate jumped alarmingly. His gaze whipped back to hers, as though they both were startled by her intense reaction to his caresses. Some new and indefinable tension laced the air between them.