Just a Kiss Away (13 page)

“Thank you, thank you,” she mumbled around a cough.

They made it to the bank, and Sam crawled out first, then dragged Lollie up and into the bushes. She kept moaning and groaning. Too loud.

“Shut up or you’re going to get us killed.

She did clam up, but too late. A Mauser bullet whizzed over his head, lodging in a nearby tree with a dull thud. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes grew wide.

Sam knew that look. He lunged at her. Three more bullets whizzed past them.

Naturally she screamed.

Her own heart beat at the same speed. His breath, hotter and damper than the air around them, brushed her ear. The sensation sent a rush of odd chills through her. This place was hot, humid, dank, not a place for gooseflesh. Again his breath hit her ear, and again she felt the chills. She shivered. His breath stopped. She could feel his gaze on the back of her head as sure as if she were staring at him instead of at the brown-gray stone of the ledge. The heat from that look chased away those odd chills. But the moment passed and soon they both breathed normally again, as normally as two people could when they were an instant away from death.

Sweat seeped from her skin, mingling with the odor of murky river water and the gamy scent of their bodies, male and female, too long unwashed. But dulling that musk was the odd smell of the jungle—the tinge of strong wet earth, a hint of exotic flowers, and green. In the deep jungle, even the green of the plants smelled. Oddly enough, it smelled clean.

A sound caught her attention. She listened closely, holding her breath. Knives splintered bamboo. She stiffened. Leaves and bushes rustled. His body pressed down. A dull squish of boots slogged in the mud. The soldiers were so close she could hear them whisper, and it scared her held breath right past her gag. They stood right below the ledge, so close she’d have sworn they were taking aim.

Her lungs screamed for air, so she fought hard to breathe slowly, sure that they could hear her very breath.

There was a shout.

Lollie closed her eyes tightly, fighting the urge to scream, waiting for the bullet.

Forced human silence weighted the air.

They both stopped breathing.

The screech of a bird high in the trees cracked the quiet. Whispering seeped into the air. Leaves crackled, plants rustled, both signaling the frantic sound of men running—away.

She sagged with relief, letting her forehead fall on her hands. She breathed again. So did Sam. They lay there for the longest time, not moving, only breathing, and still listening for the absolute silence that proved the soldiers were gone.

But each second brought her attention away from sound. She was aware now of Sam’s weight, the hard muscles that held her still, aware that the dampness of their clothes was no shield against his solid muscle and her softness. Their bodies were as hot as steam from a vat. She swallowed, yearning to move her head—an intense need she could barely control. For some inexplicable reason she wanted to see Sam’s face, see his look.

Then his weight shifted and he knelt next to her. His hands closed over her shoulders, and he pulled her to her knees before him. Her wish was granted. His gaze met hers. After wishing for this barely a minute before, it was the strangest thing. She couldn’t see clearly. His features were blurred. She averted her eyes, only then realizing there were tears spilling from them. They were tears of fear, a result of the danger she’d just experienced and the fear of some odd link to this hard man.

His hand touched her head, streaking a trail of fire across her clammy skin, then sliding through her wet hair, the pads of his fingers burning every inch they touched. She waited, shaking inside from a mixture of emotions she’d never before felt. His hands stopped at the knot of the gag. He untied it and it fell unnoticed to her lap.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden touch of air on the chafed corners of her mouth. They burned. Closing her eyes, she willed away the soreness, finally opened them when she felt a soothing cool touch dab at one burning corner of her mouth.

“Press this against it.” He doused the gag with fresh water from the canteen and handed it to her. He recapped the canteen.

She continued to stare at him, trying to understand what she felt. After a confusing moment she gave up.

He hooked the canteen back on his belt, adjusted the rifle strap over the shoulder, then looked up. “Let’s go.”

With that command, he jumped down from the ledge and held his hands up to help her. She glanced at the rag, wondering what to do with it.

“Come on, let’s go!”

She sat down on the ledge and barely got situated before his large hands gripped her waist and lifted her off the rock. She braced her hands on his shoulders, the gag still clutched in one tight fist. He set her on the ground, gently for a change, and glanced at the rag. The devil grinned.

She could tell exactly what he was thinking. He thought gagging her was funny. She wanted to throw the thing at him, but didn’t. She intended to keep it, so he couldn’t use it on her again. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of gagging her. She wouldn’t scream. At least she’d try not to.

“We’ll go west,” he told her, readjusting his pack. She moved on until his swearing stopped her.

“I said
west.”
He grabbed her arm and jerked in another direction.

She looked up at the sun but couldn’t see it for the dense growth. “That was west,” she argued.

“South.”

“I thought it was west.”

“That’s what I get for asking you to think,” he said .

“Look.” She stopped and rammed her hands onto her hips. “You told me to go west. I went in the direction I thought was west. If you have a problem with that, then just point next time.”

His gaze locked on her right hand; the gag was still clutched in her fist. She quickly crammed the wet rag down the front of her gown. His gaze locked on her chest. She crossed her arms and stared back until he finally shrugged and moved past her. She watched him for a minute, deciding if she even wanted to follow him. She looked around her at the dense dark jungle with its odd sounds and rustlings. Something crackled from her left. A trilling sound echoed from overhead. She looked up. A black and red snake slithered on a branch above her head.

She ran to catch up with Sam, looking over her shoulder and above her every step of the way. She finally managed to get about five feet behind him.

“Get the lead out!” he shouted over his shoulder, holding back a thick palm frond and gesturing to her to precede him. She did, and he let go of the branch. It whacked her in the backside.

She stopped. He walked right past her, and she scowled at his back, then scurried along, her heels catching on an occasional ground vine. He moved fast and was well ahead of her again. She thought she heard something. “Sam!” She scurried to catch up with him. “Sam!”

He stopped. “What?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That rattling sound.”

“Yeah. I thought it was your head.” He turned and started walking again.

She heard it again and looked up. A huge frog with a bright red-orange head looked down at her, blew out its cheeks, rattled, and flew to another tree. A
flying frog?
She ran to catch up with Sam again.

Finally, after long minutes of silence, she asked, “Where are we all going?” She stumbled, grabbed a branch, and almost fell.

“Back to the river.”

She worked her hand free of the sticky leaves. “Why?” He hacked at a thick bush and grunted something that sounded like “Because I’m a damn fool.”

“I didn’t hear you,” she said, out of breath from running to catch up with him. In desperation, she grabbed hold of his belt, figuring it was the only way she’d be able to keep up.

“Where are we going?” she repeated.

He stopped, and she slammed into his back, losing her grip on the belt. Slowly he turned, scowling down at her with his devil’s eye. “To get you back to your
daddy.”

“Oh.” She brightened, hope making her stand a little straighter.

“And out of my hair.” He turned and stomped on.

“Keep down and keep quiet.”
Sam soundlessly worked his way through the thick bushes. Wincing, he stopped, then shook his head with disgust. She moved along behind him, stirring more leaves and branches than a herd of wild boar. He turned and watched her, unable to believe she could make that much noise with her mouth shut.

Hunched over, she tried to put that stupid little shoe back on. When she finally did, she turned and stuck her arms through the bushes as if trying to swim her way out.

Her skirt caught on a branch. She mumbled something. Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the stringy trunk of a monkeypod tree. She turned and fidgeted with her dress for a few seconds. The whole bush shook. Then she grabbed the dress into two tight fists and pulled. The sound of rending fabric filled the air just before she crashed into the base of the bush. He expected a scream or at least a cry, but she didn’t utter a single sound.

Sam looked closer, shaking his head when he saw her lips move.

With a shake of her skirts, she ducked and tried to work her way through the thick fire bushes. Now her hair was caught. She scowled at the branches, reached up, and twisted hard, breaking them from the trunk of the bush. They flopped like collapsed antlers down the side of her empty blond head.

Swimming through the bushes, she made it about two feet farther. Then a branch scraped her arm. She sucked in a sizzling breath of pain that sounded like a doused campfire. Sam pushed away from the tree and closed the short distance between them. He grabbed her and hauled her out of the bushes.