Her Last Line of Defense (13 page)

“Right.”

“But I saw a commercial on TV for a charity that helps fix babies like that.” Her smooth brow furrowed in confusion. “Why didn’t her family bring her to the mission? Dr. Schmidt would have made arrangements for her to be treated.”

Luc shook his head. “I don’t know. She was all alone when I found her. I even thought that maybe because of her condition she’d been left to die. Some tribes believe disabled children are unfit to live.”

She gasped. “And you took her with you.” She knew him well.

“What else could I do?” He’d woven a sling of vines and leaves to carry the black-haired girl against his chest. She had stared at him with dark, hazy eyes, amazingly accepting of the total stranger who was carrying her through thick jungle. “I purified water for her and crushed some berries, but…” He shrugged helplessly. He’d even boiled some snake meat, but snake broth and berry juice were no food for a newborn.

“And she died.” Claire’s voice was full of sorrow.

“Oui.”
His throat caught. “She had newborn jaundice—comes from not having enough mother’s milk. In her case, not any. She got more and more yellow until, well…” He was horrified to hear a sob tear loose. From him. What the hell? Green Berets weren’t supposed to cry.

Claire gathered him into her arms, rocking him as if he were the baby. She kissed his forehead and hugged him. “You did your best, Luc. No wonder you hate San Lucas de la Selva—you saw the absolute worst of it.”

He sat up and hastily wiped his cheeks, grateful for the dim light. “Life is cheap there. Maybe a tribe could have kept that baby alive long enough to get her to the mission or the military base, but luck was not on her side.
C’est tout.
That’s all.”

She rolled to her side, empathizing with her mother, who must have run into similar disturbing situations. Naively, Claire thought people would come to the mission in a situation like that. After fifty years of coexistence, the tribes surely knew the mission offered medical care.

She also grudgingly admitted to herself that she owed her father an apology. He had tried to talk to her about the realities of life and death in the Amazon, but she had thought he exaggerated in order to discourage her.

But Luc’s experience was a cold wake-up. If she went, she would need that same wake-up. If? She bit her lip. Was she chickening out? Fear of leaving her comfy existence, or the realization that being with Luc was becoming more and more important every hour they spent together?

It seemed impossible they had only know each other for a week. She’d dated her couple previous boyfriends for months and never felt this way about any of them. Of course, few men could measure up to Luc.

She let her mind wander to what might happen if she did cancel her plans. Would Luc even want to further their relationship? He’d never indicated that their rustic interlude was anything more than temporary. They hadn’t even exchanged phone number or e-mail addresses.

His sleepy drawl surprised her. “I can practically hear the wheels turnin’ in your head.” He rolled to his side and draped his arm over her. “Sorry I told you that sad tale—ain’t never told no one but Olie and my team. Don’t you worry about it.”

But she did worry. She closed her eyes as he unexpectedly kissed the top of her head.
“Fais do-do, cher.”

Claire’s lips pulled into a small smile. Maybe she would
“fais do-do,”
or “go nighty-night.” If there was one thing Luc’s training had taught her, it was to sleep when she could.

It broke her heart, too. All day, she’d had nothing but time to think about cheap life and easy death in the Amazon. What a fool she had been to think she could do anything. She wasn’t even strong enough to listen to his story, much less live it.

She dropped her gear next to the tent. It could shatter for all she cared.

“Drink some water, Claire.”

She ignored Luc. What did he care if she drank water or not? He was the one trying to run her into the ground. She crawled onto the bedding, not bothering to check it for bugs or animals.

“Get up.” He stood over her, his arms crossed his chest.

“Buzz off.” Why wasn’t he even sweating?

“Get up, Claire.” His black brows drew into a deep vee.

“No, Luc, this is too hard.”

“What?” His eyebrows slammed together.

“I’ve had enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Enough training. I’ll never need to do any of this. I promise I’ll never go off on my own. I’ll always have somebody around to help me.” She flopped onto her back and rested her forearm across her eyes. She squeaked as he tossed her over his shoulder. “Hey, put me down!”

“You ever gon’ take a boat ride in San Lucas? Take a plane ride? Boats sink and planes crash. Then what you gon’ do?” He stalked toward the watering hole.

Oh, no, he wouldn’t. He did. “Luc!” Her scream was cut off as she hit the cold spring water and sank.

She sputtered to the surface. “You bully! You creep! You—you bastard!”

He squatted at the bank, unimpressed with her insults. “Who are you, Claire Cook? You some put-upon Southern Belle on your faintin’ couch? You some Blanche Dubois? Well, this ain’t no cheap dinner theatre production of
A Streetcar Named Desire.
This is goddamn real life and death here.”

“Luc!” She wiped water out of her face, treading water in her boots.

He made no attempt to help her, his jaw tight and black eyes cold. “I’ve told you this before but it’s not sinking in—you cannot depend on strangers. You cannot depend on anyone but yourself. Not me, not yo’ papa, not some native dude wandering by who needs a new girlfriend. There is no such thing as the kindness of strangers in the jungle. You save yourself, or you die.”

“Why are you being so mean? I tried to learn everything you taught me.” She hauled herself out of the spring and sat on a log, water running off her in streams. She hoped it disguised the tears starting to run down her face.

Luc stood, looming over her. “Nobody can teach you mental toughness. You have to learn that for yourself. You have to dig deep, not think or hope, but know that you can survive. The jungle either accepts you or spits you out. It spits out the weak-minded ones.”

She glared at him. “I am strong-minded! I’m leaving the country, I’m even leaving the continent. Would a weak-minded person do that?”

“You’re going to your mother’s hometown. Running to everyone who knew her and will take care of you to honor her memory. Not much of a gamble, is it?”

“Shut up!” Claire leaped to her feet. “At least I’m doing something, learning new things, risking myself. What do you do? You have your job and your teammates, and that’s it. I bet they have somebody to go home to at night, but not you. Nobody to care for you, nobody you have to care about. I bet the last person you cared for was that poor little baby, wasn’t it?”

Throughout her tirade he had kept a blank expression except for a minute flinch at her last question. “That’s right, Claire. I am a weak, damaged man who can’t let anyone into his life. Now can we finish your training, or do you want to die in the jungle?”

She stared at him. It was impossible to dent his iron will. Well, it was about time she grew an iron will of her own. “I will not die in the jungle. I will learn all you can teach me, and I will go out and live a true life instead of chasing after death.” With that parting shot, she turned her back to him and walked into the woods.

He sat down at the water’s edge and stared into its green depths. Yes, he did. He brought death to the enemies of the United States of America, thereby bringing life to the regular soldiers and civilians who would not become their victims. It was a difficult balance, especially considering his extensive medical training—to shoot with one hand and heal with the other.

But the only deaths he regretted were baby Angélique and T-Bone. During T-Bone’s memorial service, the unit chaplain had quoted Psalm 121, the soldier’s Psalm. “‘The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night,’” he murmured.

He opened his canteen and splashed some water on his face. It was still his job to make sure nothing smote Claire.

She rolled over and put her arm over him. “Sorry I said all that awful stuff today.”

“S’ okay,
cher
.” He tucked her hand into his and kissed her fingers. “I wasn’t real kind, either.”

“Can’t even imagine that. First your friend, then a baby. My mother died peacefully in my arms—that was a blessing at the end.” She yawned. “After the funeral was the first time in months we’d been able to take a breath. And of course we felt guilty about that.”

Luc blinked. T-Bone had died in his arms, too, but not peacefully. By the time Luc struggled back to so-called civilization, he’d needed several weeks to recover from various parasitic and bacterial infections and regain his weight and strength. Then he’d rejoined his team. Had he ever been able to take a breath? No, but he’d sure felt the guilt.

“Did your friend leave a family behind?”

“Yeah. A wife and three little kids.”

Claire was silent for so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. “Love is a risk no matter who you love.”

“Your mama must have been a real special lady to have raised you so well.”

“Thank you, Luc.” She kissed his shoulder. “You would have liked her. She would have understood what you went through in the jungle.”

“
Cher
, I don’t even understand what I went through in the jungle.” It was the first time he’d admitted that to anyone, even himself.

She rested her cheek on his shoulder blade. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

He didn’t know if it was her calm, sweet voice or the fact she’d called him “sweetheart,” but something broke inside him. “Being in Special Forces, you train to be part of your A-team, part of your group, part of something bigger. You always ask yourself what you can do to help the team. When we were attacked, the worst thing was that I wound up alone. I’m not used to that with six sisters.” He tried to joke.

“Yes, I know.”

“And the baby was company, but then she wasn’t.” He didn’t trust himself to say anything more. “So I was alone again. We talk about it, you know. What it would be like to be taken captive, put in isolation. I was free to move, free to find food and water, but I started to wonder if I’d ever get out.”

“What did you do about that?”

He grimaced, glad she couldn’t see his face. “I talked to myself the whole damn time. Carried on long conversations with myself. Not out loud, in my head.”

“So you hate being alone but you don’t want anyone close to you, either.”

“Sounds almost as crazy as my talking to myself, doesn’t it?”

“I talk to myself all the time. ‘What should I do to-day? What should I wear?’ Heck, I even pretend my mom is there sometimes and I ask her what I should do.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Her breath was warm and soft on his cheek, just like the woman herself. He was a man who faced problems head on, but he couldn’t face the idea of leaving her.

“I get lonely, too, Luc. Even when I’m around hundreds of people at a party or at the mall, I look at everybody and wonder how I can be so alone. But with you, Luc, I never feel alone,” she whispered. “Even if you’re off in the woods doing whatever you need to do, I know you’re there for me, and all I have to do is call your name.”

Luc swallowed hard. “I know what you mean, Claire.” It was as close as he could get to admitting how she affected him. “It is kind of nice coming back to camp and having you kiss me hello.”

“Would that be so terrible to have when you finished your assignments? Having someone meet your plane and kiss you hello?”

It didn’t sound terrible, it sounded wonderful. But only if it was Claire. Disembarking and seeing her beautiful face light up as she spotted him, laughing out loud as they ran toward each other and kissing as if they could never stop. Then speeding home to jump into bed, not coming up for air for days. It was a deeper and more secret fantasy than any sexual ones he dared admit. “Some of the guys have that.” They had sweet chubby babies and kids who waved American flags and screamed when they spotted their papas.

“But not you.”

The image of black-haired, brown-eyed
bébés
in Claire’s arms popped like a soap bubble. “No, Claire, not me.” Silence grew between them, not the comfortable silence they enjoyed together. “If it makes any difference, I’ve never had that. If I ever could, it would be with you.”

Hot tears leaked into his T-shirt. Oh, no, she was crying. He rolled over and scooped her into his arms. “Don’t cry, Claire. I’m a bastard who doesn’t deserve even one drop of your tears.”

“Oh, Luc, don’t say that. You’re good, honest, decent. A real hero for people to look up to.”

His hand froze as he stroked her hair. A hero for people to look up to? He had just swept this girl away from her well-meaning father, brought her out to the woods to push her through harsh conditions, and now she was talking about him as if he were some kind of hero? He’d been accused of arrogance before, but this took the cake.

His own throat clogged and he could only press her face against him as she sobbed. What the hell was wrong with him? Thank God he was taking her back tomorrow before he wrecked her even more.

She quieted after several minutes, worn out from her emotional and physical exhaustion.

“Go to sleep, Claire.” He kissed the top of her sweet-smelling head.

She gave a shuddering sigh. “Okay, Luc.” She yawned. “Love you.”

His eyes flew wide in shock as she subsided into sleep. Love? Love? She didn’t say that…she couldn’t believe that—it was impossible. She didn’t really know him. He was a beat-up, worn-out soldier who didn’t deserve a woman like her.

He’d deliver her back to her father, back to her quiet, peaceful life. Back to the life where she could forget Luc Boudreaux and find a man who was worthy of the jewel that was Claire Cook.