Secret Soldier (2 page)

He overwhelmed her in every way: his size, his good looks, his incredible blue eyes. He looked somewhat swarthier up close, his face covered by the beginnings of a beard, a shade or two darker than his hair. And yet, even that could not detract from the perfect lines of his strong, masculine face. His smile radiated charisma, as his body radiated power.

“I’m Gerald Thornton from the Barnsley Foundation.”

Her annoyance at a stranger making himself at home in her hut evaporated as fast as water from desert sand. He was bringing money that would save countless orphans. She lowered her bundle onto the already cluttered dirt floor and shook his hand, twice as large as her own, feeling swallowed up both by his presence and his touch. She pulled back abruptly and looked away, then back at his confident smile, trying to figure out what about him made her feel skittish. It wasn’t like her to be so easily intimidated.
Ignore the man, focus on the business.

“Does that mean I received the grant?” She drew up her eyebrows, trying to act surprised. No sense getting Lilly into trouble by letting on that her friend had leaked the news weeks ago.

His smile widened, his tanned face crinkling into laugh lines around his vibrant blue eyes and super masculine mouth. “You’ve got it. Congratulations!”

“Thank you. I’m stunned. And thank you for coming all this way.” She certainly hadn’t expected that.

“No trouble at all, Dr. DiMatteo. Bringing good news is always a pleasure.”

She liked his voice. Not the kind of deep baritone that resonated in the chest, like Anthony’s, the voice she had fallen in love with so much that she had ignored the rest for too long. Gerald’s tone was friendly, straightforward, with a hint of smile in it. It matched the everpresent grin on his face. He was the most handsome man she’d ever met, despite the beginnings of a beard. She’d never been attracted to facial hair, but on him it looked good—gave him a little edge.

She wanted to ask him how many days he was staying, whether he could drive her to Rahmara to the bank to deposit the check so she wouldn’t have to wait until next week’s market to take the truck to town. But since he had just gotten there, it seemed rude to ask when he would be leaving. He had to be exhausted from the trip from New York City.

“Do you normally deliver the awards? I was under the impression I’d be notified by phone.” She had checked her voice mail at home from Rahmara, but there were no messages from the foundation.

He unzipped a black leather case and pulled out a camera. “I’m going to record your entire adventure. For promotional purposes.” The smile he flashed her was lethal.

She barely noticed. The words
entire adventure
echoed in her head and revived her forgotten headache. He was going to stay with her indefinitely? The ten-by-ten mud hut seemed to close in on her. She should have known the whole thing was too good to be true. No such thing as a free lunch.

He couldn’t stay. She had plenty of things to do. Her project of rehabilitating war orphans was barely off the ground. No time to baby-sit some city boy. And he was a real charmer just what she didn’t need. If he as much as looked at a woman in the village, they’d both be kicked out. Or worse. What she needed was to come up with a nice polite way to say no.

“Listen, mind if I crash?” He flashed her a disarming smile that would have been enough to give any woman palpitations. “Jet lag is catching up with me.”

She flushed with embarrassment. He’d caught her so off guard, she’d forgotten even the most basic courtesies. Hadn’t even offered him a glass of water yet. Inconvenience or not, he had traveled halfway around the world to reach her. “Would you like a drink or something to eat?”

“Thanks. I think I’m okay for now. More tired than anything.” He settled onto his sleeping bag with fluid, precise motions.

He was well-built, handsome as sin, with that largerthan-life quality of rock stars. He definitely looked as if he belonged in front of the camera rather than behind it. What an earth was she going to do with him?

“Good night, then.” She tried to adjust to the thought of him sleeping within arm’s reach to her. Right. That would take more than a few seconds.

She stepped outside, needing a little distance, and watched the kids who still seemed enamored with the Jeep. They were her number-one priority. She would deal with the man inside her hut somehow. Shouldn’t be that hard to come up with an excuse that would send him back.

Zaki hobbled toward her on his makeshift crutch, stumbling as it sank into the sand but catching himself in time. The bruises on his face had faded quite a bit since she’d first seen him. Because of his disability, he’d often been more successful with begging than the others, which resulted in being beaten up regularly when the bigger boys came to take his food away. She had stopped that by making it clear that any meals she gave were contingent on no more fighting. The boys took her seriously.

Zaki smiled as he greeted her. His cheeks were filling out. She smiled back. This was what she was here to do, not pose for the camera. She would talk to the kids, discuss tasks for tomorrow, give out as much food as she could and think of a polite way to get rid of Gerald in the morning. She didn’t like the idea of someone looking over her shoulder twenty-four hours a day. And her instant physical attraction to him made her like the man even less.

ABIGAIL OPENED HER eyes, then closed them again against the bright light that streamed through the small windows. People were talking outside. She had slept longer than usual, having spent half the night awake, wondering about what to do with Gerald.

He was still sleeping. She sat up. Should she wake him? No rush. Might as well let him get enough rest before she told him he couldn’t stay. He had a long drive and an even longer plane ride ahead of him.

Someone outside called out a greeting.

Gerald’s eyes popped open and focused on herdeep mountain pools of sparkling blue crystal.

She cleared her throat. “We have visitors,” she said, then stood without looking at him again.

She covered her hair before stepping outside to see who it was and what they wanted. Gerald came right behind her. They’d slept fully dressed.

The mullah stood in front of her hut with a handful of men. Probably checking out the new arrival. He’d done the same thing to her.

“Assalamuh alaikum,”
the mullah said to Gerald, and she was about to translate the greeting peace be upon you-when Gerald responded in fluent Arabic. Better than hers.

She struggled to catch his words as he invited the mullah into her hut and apologized that he didn’t have any
qahwa
ready to offer him. No coffee meant she was definitely failing as a hostess.

The men who had come with the mullah looked over the brand-new Jeep with more reserve than the children had the day before but with just as much curiosity. None of them so much as glanced at her. She wished she could go inside and find out what was going on, but of course women did not sit in conference with the men. The best she could do was eavesdrop.

She could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, the exchanging of pleasantries, a discussion on the greatness of the Prophet Muhammad-may peace be upon him-then laments on the persistent drought. She only understood about every third word, but it was enough to get the general idea. The mullah asked if she was Gerald’s wife, if they were related. Gerald told him they were working together and explained about the foundation. Then there was a heated discussion, too fast to understand, although, from the change in his tone of voice, it seemed Gerald was on the defensive.

A half hour passed by before the mullah stepped outside, followed by Gerald.

“He says we can’t live together if we’re not related or married.”

Right. In the surprise of his arrival, she had forgotten all about that. It solved her problem just fine. Looked like the mullah was going to do her dirty work for her and kick Gerald out. Much better than if she had told him to leave. The Barnsley Foundation was giving her a substantial amount of money. No sense in stepping on any toes.

She did her best to look dismayed, and to her surprise, found that she did feel a little sorry for him. If his job was as important to him as hers was to her, he must be disappointed.

“You could probably get a place in Rahmara and come out here every couple of days to film.” She could handle an hour or so a week. He could get his documentary without invading her personal space and getting on her nerves.

“That’s not an option.”

Flexible he was not. “You could build yourself a mud hut,” she said just to spite him, but he seemed to take her seriously.

“Even if I didn’t live with you, we would still be working closely together. We’d still be alone a lot.”

He was right. It would be best if he left. “Maybe filming the project is not a good idea. I mean, under the circumstances. And it’s bound to be a diversion, which I can scarcely afford.”

“Without the Barnsley Foundation, you couldn’t afford the project at all.”

Would they withdraw the funds if she refused to cooperate with the documentary? Was that what he was hinting at?

Diplomacy was what she needed, not an outright confrontation. She had to show him some deference, at least until the money was in her bank account. “What do you recommend?”

“Marriage.”

“Very funny.”

“It will allow us to work together. We can get divorced as soon as we’re back in the States. If it means saving countless children from starvation, I’m willing to do it.” His piercing blue eyes pinned her down.

And of course, after that last line, she couldn’t very well say
she
wasn’t. Still. “I believe in the sanctity of marriage,” she said, as a good Catholic girl should.

“Having a man around could make things infinitely easier for you.” He flashed her a smile that was the devil’s own.

He was right. Getting things done was hard almost to the point of impossible,, as most men refused to talk to her due to her gender. Her project would move twice as fast with Gerald’s language skills and his ability to relate to the villagers.

But she couldn’t get married like this. If her mother found out, she would need resuscitation. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You will have to return.”

“You don’t understand. You living as a single woman on your own made the mullah nervous. You were setting a bad example, corrupting morals. He only let you stay in the first place because you told him you were bringing foreign money into the village. The more prosperous the village, the more prestige he has.”

“So? I’ll still bring the money. The grant is not tied to you being here, is it?” Diplomacy aside, she had to know where she stood.

“It’s gone past that. He asked me if I was willing to marry you and I said yes.”

“And I say no.”

“Technically, you don’t really get a say, although I’m prepared to respect your wishes. But if you challenge the mullah’s authority like this, I doubt he’ll let you stay.” He looked away.

Why did she have a feeling there was more? “And?”

“You spent a night with a man who’s not your husband. They can stone you for that here.”

“That’s ridiculous. Beharrain has a modem court system. Stoning has been illegal for years.”

“In theory, yes. To make the country more acceptable to western sensibilities and attract more foreign aid. But reforms take a long time to take root, especially in outlying areas like this. In this village, the mullah’s word is law, and I’m telling you, he’s
a very
old-fashioned man.”

Abigail stared at the dust at her feet, unwilling to look at the two men who had so swiftly arranged her fate. She didn’t want to get married. She especially didn’t want to get married to pretty-boy Gerald Thornton. But staying single wasn’t her main objective. Saving children was. And if she had to sacrifice some personal preferences to achieve her goals, then so be it. It was temporary.

“Fine.” she said. “Can he marry us?”

“Probably not. We’re not Muslims. But he wants it done before nightfall.”

“Great. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s not a priest in sight.”

“I bet the U.S. Embassy at Rahmara has a justice of the peace.”

The man seemed to have an answer for everything, didn’t he? She gave him the evil eye, but nodded.

Gerald translated for the mullah and the man responded at length, speaking too rapidly for her to understand.

“What did he say?”

“He’s going to get one of the village elders to come with us as a witness and his widowed sister as your chaperone.”

For crying out loud.
She seethed in silence as Gerald and the mullah said their ceremonial goodbyes. Unbelievable. She backed away, into the sanctuary of her hut. How did this happen? Her life had turned beyond ridiculous in a blink of an eye. Thanks to Gerald Thornton. She sank to her mattress, unable to think; then, after a moment, she stood again. She couldn’t afford to fall apart.

She had to get ready for her wedding.

“I DO,” SPIKE said, grateful that they weren’t really getting married, that the woman next to him was pledging eternal love and faithfulness to Gerald Thornton, a man who didn’t exist outside a fake passport.