Once a Warrior (31 page)

There was death in the delta. Swift and vicious and tragic, it bided its time on a maze of rivers and streams and canals. But now, late in the golden afternoon, there was a simple joy in survival.

Small villages, where people lived in shacks-on-stilts to protect themselves from the flooding that accompanied the monsoon rains, dotted the river’s banks. A smell of charcoal drifted from a nearby bamboo fishing boat. Those food-bearing trees that hadn’t been defoliated by napalm bombs were heavy with coconuts and mangoes and bananas.  

“It’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

Cat was watching a group of laughing children who were taking turns sliding down the back of a big gray water buffalo soaking itself in the shallows of the river. There were three boys and two girls, none of whom appeared to be older than nine or ten, and they were having a ball. Sitting in wooden lawn chairs on the bank, out of reach of the sun’s last glaring rays, their recently bathed mothers kept a careful eye on their offspring as they gossiped and giggled amongst themselves.

She turned back to Cain and saw by the smile that curved his lips that he’d been observing the pastoral scene as well. “To look at those children playing, you’d never know they were living in a war zone.”   

He frowned as it suddenly struck him that there were no male villagers in sight. This was, after all, the time of day when entire families—fathers included—came down to the river from the rice paddies to wash off the sweat and the grime of their day’s labors before taking their evening meal. But seeing not a single man among the bathers told him they were either sleeping off their killing spree from the night before or getting rested up to launch a new one tonight.  

“By this time next year,” he cautioned her, “those kids will probably be killing Americans.”

“Maybe the war will be over by then,” she said optimistically, and went back to watching them at play.

“Yeah, right. And maybe General George Armstrong Custer will come back to share a peace pipe with Ho Chi Minh.”   

Ignoring his sarcastic comeback, Cat smiled yet again when a young Vietnamese woman lifted her baby out of a basket to carry him into the river. Then she wanted to cry when she saw that the baby had no legs. She turned her head away, wondering if her heart could stand any more of these terrible blows.    

“My parents rarely talked about their war.”  She looked down at her feet, which were bare. They’d swollen in the heat and humidity, so she’d kicked off her sandals. Her pantyhose were riddled with runs—which would have made them fodder for the trash had she been at home—but she didn’t even consider removing them now. “They both told me at separate times, though, that what bothered them most was seeing children hurt.”    

Cain heard the sadness in her voice and wanted to reach over and put his arm around her shoulders. But he kept his mind on the mission, his eye on the river and his hands to himself. “Children always suffer the worst in a war—whether it’s from food shortages or disease or the loss of a parent.” 

“My mother’s grandfather was a doctor, and she told me about helping him treat a little boy whose house had been bombed by the Germans.”  As she spoke, Cat watched a stork with about a six-foot wingspan swooping along the riverbank looking for a place to land.

“He was burned?”  Cain knew that, as painful as it was for her, she needed to talk about the baby she’d just seen. Otherwise, it would fester inside her like an infected wound. The hell of it was, he thought, she was going to be seeing a lot worse before this was over.

“Yes, terribly.”      

“Did he live?”

“He lived, but . . .” She sighed and shook her head.

“But what?”

“Poor baby, he’d lost his sight.” 

Cat didn’t even stop to think about what she was saying. She just blurted it out. Embarrassment, hot as the sun, climbed her cheeks as she looked over at Cain, trying to gauge his reaction. She wished the deck would open up and swallow her when she saw the defensive set of his jaw.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she murmured, with a catch of undiluted emotion in the words.

“You didn’t.”  But his voice sliced through hers like a razor.        

She reached over and laid her hand on his forearm, ignoring the way his muscles knotted beneath her touch. “Were you in an accident?”

He couldn’t tell her how high he’d been flying when he’d lost his eye, so he nodded curtly and said, “Yes.”

Cat got the message. Subject closed. Over and out. Move on to something else. Before she could make another stupid blunder, she retracted her hand and searched for a more suitable topic of conversation. She finally latched onto food, which seemed like neutral territory. 

“What shall we have for dinner?” she asked. “Bologna and cheese or . . . bologna and cheese?”

Cain relaxed his tense posture when she pulled back. Her gentle touch had gotten to him as nothing else could. She was the cleanest, most decent thing that had come into his life in longer than he could remember. And for just a minute there, he’d been tempted to let her see the man behind the mask.

“How about grilled shrimp?” he suggested.

She gaped at him. “Grilled—”

“With fried rice, of course.”

“Fried—”

“And for dessert”—he kissed his fingers like a gourmand—“grapefruit sorbet.”  

“It sounds wonderful.”  Her stomach growled in agreement. “But just where, pray tell, are we going to find a feast like that?”

He cut the boat’s engine and pointed. “A couple of klicks that way.” 

Cat looked around them then and saw that Cain had put into a small, peaceful cove. Behind her was a lush peninsula that appeared oddly untouched by war. Grapefruit trees reached for the sunset-red sky and velvety green plants that she couldn’t even begin to name grew in their shade. Orange firecracker flowers flourished in rich soil cooled by the river.

“Where are we?” she asked him.

He doffed his hat and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Put your shoes back on and I’ll show you.”  

Fear feathered down her spine as she stared into the dense growth behind the lovely plants. The longer she looked, the darker and more dangerous it appeared. It was a jungle out there. A jungle full of the kinds of creepy, crawly things that gave people nightmares.  

“What’s a klick?”

“A kilometer.”

“Two klicks . . .” She did the math in her head. “That’s a little over a mile.”

“Maybe it’s only one,” he temporized as she began backing away from him. 

“You go eat shrimp,” she encouraged him in a high, strained voice. “I’ll stay here and have a sandwich.” 

He started to tease her about chickening out on him, until he saw the distress signals flickering in her eyes. Then he hastened to assure her, “There’s nothing in there that will hurt you.”

“No leeches?”

“You’re wearing pantyhose.”

“Bugs?”

“A few mosquitoes, maybe, but you’ve got on repellent.”

“Snakes?”

“I have a gun and a knife.”

She paled drastically as her imagination began running wild. “I can’t go into that jungle, Cain.”

“Listen to me, Cat,” he began, his gaze softening.

“No!”  She all but sobbed the word. “I hate bugs!  I hate snakes!  I hate—”

He caught her shoulders and shook her gently. “Stop that.”  

But terror had her in its clutches now. “I hate you!”

“I can handle that.”

“I mean it!” 

His face was grim as he looked at her. She’d stood up to so much without turning a hair that he hadn’t expected her to fall apart like this. But she was becoming more frantic by the minute, and they were running out of daylight.  “Cat, please—”        

“I despise you!”  Tears dripped down her cheeks as she jerked free of him. Panic rose in her at the thought of what could be waiting out there in the wilderness. She tore off her hat and sent it sailing across the deck. “And I hate this horrible place!”

Since reason wasn’t working, Cain weighed his other options. He could slap her. Not real hard, but hard enough to bring her back to her senses. Or he could break his vow and take her in his arms.

He decided on the latter, pulling her close and hugging her tight. “We’ve come this far together,” he whispered into the fiery curtain of her hair. “Now let’s get off this goddamn boat and go the rest of the way.”

“I hate the dark,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t know why, but I always have.”

“It’s sunny on the other side.”

She let out a shaky breath. “And I hate being alone.”

He gave in for an instant and pressed his lips into her hair. “I’m here.” 

Cat buried her face against his broad chest and burrowed in. He smelled of sweat and man and strength, and she wanted him to hold her forever. She wanted him to keep her safe. To protect her from the dangers that lurked in the jungle and the awful surprise that she suddenly sensed lay just beyond the— 

She stiffened in his arms and asked achingly, “This has something to do with Johnny, doesn’t it?”

Cain would have given his good eye at that moment to be able to reply with an unqualified “No.”  But that would be a lie. And after all the hell she’d gone through to get here, she deserved the truth.

“Yes.”  His throat felt like raw meat when he answered her. “This has everything to do with Johnny.”

“Is his”—she couldn’t bring herself to say the word
body
—“Is he there?”

He tightened his embrace, knowing what it had cost her to ask. “No.”

“Then why should I—”

“Because”—it came to Cain like a bolt out of the blue, the answer that had been eluding him ever since she’d showed him that letter—“Johnny wanted you to.”

She swallowed hard. “You think so?”

“I know so.”  He didn’t have time to explain it to her, not yet, but it made perfect sense to him now.

She stepped back on legs that felt as brittle as sticks and clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking. As hard as she willed it, though, she couldn’t stop her chin from trembling. “Okay, I’m”—when her voice threatened to break, she drew in a fortifying breath—“ready.”

He didn’t smile, but there was a faint softening of his hard features. “Let’s do it.” 

While she went down to get her purse and the can of mosquito repellent, he pulled his T-shirt back on and tucked a couple of cigarillos behind his ear. He locked the hatch doors when she came back up and pocketed the keys. Then he flipped a rope ladder over the rail.     

Cat forced her mind to go blank as she followed Cain down the rungs and into the thigh-high water. Refused to think about what it was that brushed against her leg when she began wading toward shore. Ignored the mud that oozed up over the soles of her sandals and squished between her toes.

At the edge of the jungle, he stopped and looked back at her. “I can’t cut us a path because I don’t want to leave a trail.”

“I understand,” she said woodenly.

“Grab hold of my belt and hang on tight.”

Like a robot, Cat did as he ordered.

Cain wished there were a better way to do this. “And keep your eyes on my back at all times.”

She shivered and looked away from him, telling him that she wasn’t quite as immune as she appeared. He reached back, cupped her chin in his hand and brought her head around. Then he kissed her hard and quick for luck before leading her into the jungle. .

A triple canopy of trees closed out the light, enveloping Cat in the heart of a darkness that utterly terrified her. But she had Cain to hold onto, and that’s exactly what she did. She kept a death grip on his belt loop and her eyes trained on the solid shadow of his back.

Vines snatched at her hair like living fingers. She shook them off. Creatures stirred and birds squawked, causing her pulse to race and her breath to heave. Something cold slithered past her feet. Gnarled tree roots tried to trip her up. She stumbled, but she didn’t fall. The sharp-bladed undergrowth slashed at her legs. She stayed the course.

“I made it!” was all she could manage when she saw the light change. She gulped out a sob as it brightened and dropped to her knees in the grass.
Real
grass, she marveled, soft and shimmering velvety green in the late-day rays of the sun.

Cain sat down beside her and began unlacing his boots. He yanked them and his socks off. Then he rolled up the legs of his jeans, took the can of mosquito repellent out of her purse and started hosing himself down. 

“Don’t look,” he warned her just a tad too late.

“Oh, my God!”  Cat placed a hand over her mouth to keep from retching when she saw the leeches, big and blue, that were falling off of him in droves.

“I should have grabbed a pair of your pantyhose for me, I guess.”  He got to his feet and unbuckled his belt, then undid the top button of his jeans. 

“You, uh . . .” She stammered a bit when he reached for the second button. “You have leeches in . . . there, too?”

His silver-and-steel eye twinkled mischievously in the gathering twilight. “And I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Neither was she. Her bra and panties were still hanging damply in the bathroom on the boat. Cat ducked her head and saw that the front of her black pajama top was clinging to her breasts, outlining their small but firm shape. Her eyes swung back up in time to catch Cain looking at her, and her cheeks turned a warm pink at the realization that his gaze had followed hers down.

She surged to her feet and turned her back. “Tell me when you’re done.”

While she waited for him to finish spraying the leeches, Cat studied the two-story white-stucco villa that crowned the small hill they still had to climb. It was, in a word, breathtaking. Pink coralvine splashed its arches and violet bougainvillea climbed its walls. Tamarind trees, their limbs as graceful as those of a ballerina, shaded the terrace and the gardens.      

“All done,” Cain announced.

She nodded at the house. “Who lives there?”

“Come on.”  He extended his hand. “I’ll introduce you.”

“An old French planter?” she guessed as she tagged after him.

“Nope.”

“A government official?”

His long legs ate up the ground, forcing her to walk faster than usual. “Wrong again.”