Once a Warrior (35 page)

“How awful!”

“It wasn’t quite the ‘Romeo and Juliet’ tragedy you’re imagining.”

No matter that Cain was stoic about it, Cat was steamed enough for the both of them. “But they loved each other.”

“That they did.”  He took another sip of coffee before he went on. “They fled to America—to California—just before the Japanese overran China, and I was born on—of all thing—Pearl Harbor Day. Then, while my father was in the Pacific fighting the ‘Yellow Peril,’ my mother and I were interned in one of the concentration camps the government had set up to ‘protect’ its precious
Mayflower
descendants from enemy aliens.”

“That sounds dangerously close to what the Germans were doing to the Jews at the time.”

“Except we were in America, not Europe.”

She pushed her coffee away, sickened to the core now by what he was telling her. “And your mother was Chinese, not—”

Bitterness curled the edges of his mouth. “My mother had yellow skin and slanted eyes, and in the home of the free and the land of the bigoted, that was enough to render her a threat to democracy.”

“Your father must have been furious.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She frowned. “Yet he went on to fight and die in Korea.”

His eye turned to gray iron. “He was a soldier. Flying B-52s was his job.”

“Is he buried in California?”

“They never recovered his body.”

She managed to keep the pain from showing on her face, but her throat worked convulsively. “And your mother—”

“Died a broken woman when I was eleven,” he supplied shortly.

From the bedroom came the whimpering sound of the baby waking.

Cat sprang to her feet, having heard all she could stand. “I’ll get him.”

“He’ll need another dose of his medicine.”

She canted her head. “How much should I give him?”

“I’ll show you.”  Cain set his cup down and picked up the penicillin container.

By the time Sister Simone came downstairs, trailed by a dozen sleepy-eyed children, the baby was wearing a dry diaper. He’d also been medicated and fed. Propped up against a pillow and gnawing on his fist, in fact, he looked as contented as a little Buddha.

The nun eyed Cain’s bulging backpack containing a sheet, extra diapers and clean sacques and bottles of formula sitting on the bed. A square of mosquito netting lay atop the pack. Then she looked at Cat, who had changed back into her pantyhose, sandals and the black pajamas one of the other nuns had thoughtfully laundered for her.

“You’re leaving.” 

“Yes.”

Cain stooped to pick up a little girl with tightly curled brown hair who had lifted her arms to him. He settled her on his hip and she laid her head trustingly on his shoulder. It was all Cat could do not to cry when several of the other children raised their arms in supplication. They were starving—not for food, but for affection. And as sweet and caring as the nuns were, there simply weren’t enough loving arms and empty laps to go around.

“I unloaded the boat last night.”  He gently patted the little girl’s back as he spoke to Sister Simone. “The powdered milk and the rest of your supplies are hidden in the roots of that same tree I’ve used before.” 

“Our gardener will bring them up to the house.”  Sister Simone reached down and ruffled the hair of a toddler with round green eyes who was clinging to the skirt of her habit with one hand and sucking the thumb of the other.

Cat’s eyes smarted with a fresh batch of tears when Cain set the little girl down and picked up a boy who’d been badly burned—when the orphanage was bombed, perhaps?—and who now carried the scars from his face to his feet.

“I don’t know when I’ll get back,” he said as he bounced the little boy on his hip. “I need to go north again, and—”

“We’ll get by,” Sister Simone assured him as the little girl turned and raised her thin arms to her in silent appeal.

Her heart on the verge of breaking, Cat knelt and opened her own arms to enfold as many of the other children as she could. She was rewarded for her effort with hugs and kisses and giggles that made her wish she had the means to take all of them with her. But she didn’t, and there was no sense in lamenting what could never be.

“Are you ready?” 

Cat released the children and looked up at Cain. He was holding the baby now, and as the children stepped back solemnly, she rose and said in a voice that was close to cracking, “I guess so.”

He handed her the baby, then bent to kiss Sister Simone on both cheeks.

The nun hugged him fiercely, then turned and smiled down at the baby. She cupped his little face with a loving hand and whispered, “
Adieu, mon petit ange
.”

“He really is a little angel, isn’t he?” Cat replied with maternal pride.

Sister Simone smiled serenely. “He’s a miracle in the midst of war.”

“I’ll write to you—” Cat began.

“
Di-di mau
,” Cain snapped as he slid his arms through the straps of the backpack.

She glanced at him, perplexed. “Excuse me?”

He gave her the polite translation. “Get moving.”

Cat forced herself not to look back as she followed Cain to the front door. It was time to take Johnny’s baby—no,
her
baby—home. But as she stepped outside and, through shimmering eyes, saw the sun rising against a vivid red sky, she knew the forlorn faces of the children she was leaving behind would haunt her forever.

CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN

At the edge of the jungle, Cain arranged the mosquito netting over her head like a bridal veil so that half of it hung down her back. But just before he covered her face, his gaze speared into hers. “Now your only job is to hold on to the baby.”

Cat tightened her arms and tried to wipe the thought of what lay ahead of her out of her mind. “I’ve got him.”      

She was terrified. He could see it in her white face, her fragile eyes. Yet somehow she’d found the inner strength to still her trembling lips and lift her chin in that characteristic gesture. Thinking only to reassure her that everything would be all right, he bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers.

This kiss wasn’t hard and quick like the one he’d given her for luck the evening before. No, this kiss was so tender and so thorough that it drove Cat’s fears to the farthest recesses of her mind. Cain’s tongue delved deeply into the receptive warmth of her mouth, bathing her body with liquid heat. He didn’t physically touch her anywhere else because he was still holding the netting, but he could have been caressing her throat, teasing her nipples, parting the secret folds between her thighs, for she was tingling in all those places.

Instinctively, her hand came up to cradle the baby’s head against her breasts. In that moment, with her hand trapped between them, she had the best of both worlds. Her new son. And the man she wished had fathered him.   

Cain knew that if he didn’t pull back, now, he’d never be able to survive without her. He had no idea how it had happened. How the simple comfort he’d meant to offer had grown into something so huge and primal and hot. As he eased out of the kiss, he only knew that he wanted her in the worst way.

And that it was folly of the highest caliber.

Fighting to regain both his breath and his sanity, he dropped the netting over her face. He told himself that the kiss was a mistake he wouldn’t make again as he tied the material securely around her slender waist and tucked the ends up under the knot. But once she was all trussed up, he couldn’t resist squeezing her shoulders with his hands and asking her gruffly, “You okay?” 

Even though she knew better, Cat blamed the salty perspiration that was trickling down her forehead for making her eyes sting. Maybe it was too soon for her to be attracted to another man. Maybe not. But she had opened her heart to him, urged him to take it, and had felt his own heart racing to accept before he’d ruthlessly snapped his control back in place. Crushed, she angled her chin and forced her lips to curve into a smile. “I’m fine.”

It took a vicious twist of will on his part to ignore that wounded look in her eyes behind the veil, the echo of pain in her voice. So what if she made him feel clean and innocent again?  Made him forget that there was anything or anyone on the planet except the two of them?  So what if she had reached in and clamped a hand on his heart?  It wasn’t fair to either of them to let this go any farther than it already had. Because the more he wanted her, the more he needed her, the more difficult it would be to let her walk away.

“Let’s go.”  He looped his arms around her and, together, they moved forward.

Cat’s second trip through the jungle seemed to go not only smoother but also faster than the first. Oh, there were still vines and roots and creepy things that hissed and slithered and crawled. But she was too busy holding tight to the little miracle in her arms to worry about anything happening to herself. And with Cain at her side, despite the emotional distance he’d put between them, she felt safer than she’d ever felt in her life.  

“We’re almost there,” he said when they reached the river.

She let out a sigh of relief on hearing that. “Thank heavens.” 

He untied the netting he had wrapped her and the baby in, wadded it into a ball and stuck it in his pocket. Then he scooped her up into his arms and started wading out to the boat. He’d left the ladder hanging from the rail the night before, but she couldn’t figure out how they were going to accomplish their reboarding without getting the baby wet.

“Grab the ladder with one hand,” he said when her feet were secure on the bottom rung, “then give the baby to me.”

As soon as she’d climbed up the ladder and over the rail, she reached down and took the baby from him so he could do the same.

“We did it!” Cat crowed as she covered the baby’s face with kisses.

Basking in the attention, he gurgled. 

“If you two lovebirds will excuse me . . .” Cain removed the pack from his back, then reached into the purse she was wearing Pancho Villa style and took out the can of mosquito repellent. He walked toward the hatch like he had an army of red ants in his pants. Only it was leeches, not ants, that were worming around in there. “I’ve got a little problem I need to take care of.”

While he was gone, she carried the baby into the wheelhouse to get him out of the sun. He had no fever now and his coloring was so much better than it had been the night before, but he was beginning to fuss and she didn’t know whether that meant he needed a clean diaper or he wanted a bottle. She took the sheet out of the backpack and spread it on the floor to change him. Then just to be on the safe side, she fed him.

“I’m new at this mothering stuff, pal,” she explained as she lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his back to burp him. “So you’ll just have to put up with me until I learn the ropes.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time you gave him a name?”  Cain was standing in the doorway wearing a pair of dry jeans. He was shirtless, but his slicked-back wet hair and smooth jaw told her he’d showered and shaved while he was below.

That made her think of the bra and panties she’d left hanging in the head. And that made her blush. To hide the hot color that was climbing her cheeks, she shifted the baby to the crook of her arm and smiled down at him.

He grinned up at her, but Cat was pretty sure it was just gas. Still, she took the opportunity to waggle his cute little nose and stroke his cheek. “What is this?”  Now she was positive he smiled. “Men against women?”         

“It’s going to be us against the Cong if we don’t get a move on.”  Cain’s statement was a grim reminder that all wasn’t sweetness and light.

Her face was pinched with anxiety as she looked up at him. “Should I take the baby down to the cabin?”

“Use that sheet to make him a pallet on the floor,” he suggested. “Maybe the motion of the boat will rock him to sleep.”

“Come on, Horatio.”  Cat gave the baby a quick squeeze before she handed him up to Cain and got to her feet. She tucked her hair, which was damp with sweat, behind her ears. “It’s naptime.”

“Horatio?”

“It’s only temporary, until I can think of a permanent name.” 

“Frankly, my dear,” Cain said in his best Clark Gable voice, “I think he looks like a Fletcher.”

She laughed when the baby grabbed her finger. “How about Flipper?”

“Flipper Brown.”  He pretended to mull that over, then nodded. “Not bad.”

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Cat cooed.

“Handsome,” Cain corrected.

“And so alert!”

“Coordinated, too.”

The baby grinned again, and the two adults standing over him smiled at each other, becoming enmeshed in the illusion that they were proud new parents. That’s all it was, though—an illusion. Because the woman had no legal claim on him yet and the man never would.

“Well, I’d better raise the anchor . . .” Cain came to his senses first, his smile vanishing like smoke as he relinquished the baby.

Cat took him and, clutching his tiny body tightly, backed out of the wheelhouse. “I’ll go below and make him . . .”

“Don’t forget the sheet.”

“Oh”—she stooped to scoop it up—“right.”

He stepped around her. “I’ll open the hatch doors for you.”

“Yes . . . thanks.”  Cat started down the first step, but the sheet she’d carelessly thrown over her shoulder had somehow gotten coiled around one of her ankles. 

“Don’t fall.”  Cain caught her arm to steady her, his firm touch scorching her skin through the thin cotton sleeve of her pajamas.

But he was too late. She’d already fallen. Not down the hatch, of course, but it was almost as devastating as if she had. Because she’d fallen in love with him. And it had literally knocked the wind out of her.

“No . . .” She looked up into his worried gray gaze with a helpless mixture of wonder and despair. “I won’t fall.”

Wrenching her arm from his grasp then, she fled down to the cabin as if an entire company of Viet Cong guerrillas was hot on her heels.

* * * *

Cain was just lighting a cigarillo when he heard Cat come topside. He took a drag, then blew a plume of smoke toward the wheelhouse ceiling. Thunderheads were building in the north, presaging a stormy night in Saigon, but here the sun still beamed hot and brilliant in the sky. And ahead, the river was calm and as gently curved as the woman who was making her way across the deck.