Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar

by Lindsay McKenna

  Chapter 4

  Despite her extreme fatigue, Ann was wide awake as Mike drove the heavily loaded van from the airport to one of the poorest sections of Lima. She tried to minimize in her mind the power and influence of his hot, melting caresses, but it was impossible. It was almost as if her lips were still tingling from his branding, unexpected kiss. She tried concentrating on the road ahead of them, noticing that Mike avoided most of the major freeways and took smaller streets. He probably knew this city like the back of his hand. Even more, Ann was aware of his heightened state of alertness. He was behaving like a soldier out in the bush rather than a man driving in the relative safety of a city. It didn’t make sense and she wondered what dangers lay ahead of them.

  One thing for sure, Mike was right about Lima. The city was set like a crown jewel on verdant green slopes and surrounded by the raw beauty of the Andes, which towered like a backdrop in the distance. The day was sunny, the sky a soft blue, and Ann found herself enjoying her first views of the city.

  “Lima reminds me of Buenos Aires,” she said to Mike, as he turned down a dirt road that led into a poor section, what he called a barrio.

  Nodding, Mike divided his attention between driving and watching for enemies. He was on his own turf now, and the drug lords had hundreds of spies throughout the city looking for him, trying to pin him down so that a hit squad could corner and murder him.

  “Lima and Buenos Aires are a lot alike,” he said, distracted. “Plenty of trees, bushes and flowers all over the place.”

  “Nothing like New York City?”

  He grinned tightly. “That place…”

  “For once we agree on something,” she teased. Moments later, the scenery changed as they crept down the dirt road, which was rutted with deep furrows where tires had chewed into the soil. The winter rains had left the area in a quagmire as usual, and the city certainly wasn’t going to waste money on asphalt paving in a barrio. Houston’s gaze was restless, his awareness acute. His eyes were scanning their surroundings like radar. Ann felt uncomfortable. Or more to the point, endangered. By what? Whom?

  When Mike saw her brows dip, he tried to lighten the feeling of tension in the truck. “Hang around and you might decide I’m not the bad hombre you think I am.” He winked at her and delivered a boyish smile in her direction to ease the concern he saw in her eyes. “I’ve got six weeks to change your mind.” He scowled inwardly. What was he saying? He was loco, he decided. There was no way to have a relationship with Ann. Though he’d always known that, the truth of it hit home as he drove through the city. He couldn’t place her in that kind of danger. He simply couldn’t. The price was too high for her—and for himself.

  Ann slanted a lingering glance in his direction. Houston had taken off his sport coat and rolled up the sleeves of the white cotton shirt he wore revealing his strong, massive forearms which were covered with dark hair. The window was open, allowing the spring air to circulate in the van, mixed with the scents of fires and food cooking in pots in the nearby village. “Where are we now?” she asked, sitting up and rearranging the seat belt across her shoulder.

  “This is the barrio our clinic serves,” Houston said with a scowl. “My home away from home.”

  “Where do you live the rest of the time?”

  “Anywhere in Peru where I can find the drug lords first before they find me and my men,” he answered grimly. “Usually I stay at the BOQ—barracks officers’ quarters—up near the capital when I come in off a mission.” He took a beeper from his belt and looked at it. “Matter of fact, they know I’m here. I’ve already got five phone calls to make as soon as we get this stuff to the clinic.” He snapped the beeper back onto his belt.

  Ann shook her head as she surveyed the neighborhood. Most of the ramshackle houses were little more than corrugated tin held up with bits of wood, with cardboard as siding. Huge families crowded the doorways as Ann and Mike slowly drove by. “No one should live in these conditions,” she murmured. “The city at least ought to put sanitary sewage systems into a place like this. So many children will die of infections from drinking water from open cesspools.”

  “You’ve got the general idea.”

  She heard the tightness in Houston’s voice and studied the hard set of his mouth. As they drove deeper into the barrio, living conditions deteriorated accordingly. People were thin and hungry looking, their dark brown faces pinched. They were wrapped in rags and threadbare clothing to try and keep warm. As Mike drove, more and more people greeted him, calling out and lifting their hands in welcome. He called back, often by name, and waved in return.

  “It seems like everyone here knows you.”

  “Just about.”

  “Because of the clinic?”

  “Yeah, mostly. Sister Dominique goes around once a week and makes house calls. She carries her homeopathic kit from house to house, family to family, doing what she can.” He shook his head. “Oftentimes it’s not enough.”

  “Hopeless?”

  “No,” Mike said, making a slow turn to the left, down another very narrow street lined with cardboard shacks and crowded with people. “Never hopeless.” He grinned suddenly. “I hold out hope for the hopeless, Ann, or I wouldn’t be down here doing this stuff. No, the clinic makes a difference.”

  Ann admired his commitment to improving the sad conditions. “Can’t governmental agencies help you?”

  “They won’t,” he said, gesturing toward a redbrick church ahead, its gleaming white spire thrusting above the mire of human habitations. “Peruvians in Lima don’t view Indians as human. We’re animals to them. Big, dumb brutes to be used as pack animals, is all.”

  Frowning, Ann said, “You said you were Yaqui?”

  “My mother’s part Yaqui, from Central America, and part Quechua Indian. She was born in Peru, but her family moved north to Mexico when she was six years old.”

  “How did your mother meet your father?”

  “When you get me good and drunk sometime, I’ll tell you,” Mike told her with a grin.

  He braked the van and turned at the redbrick church, which was surrounded by a white picket fence. Despite the mud, filth and poverty of the neighborhood, the Catholic church was spotlessly clean, with no trash littering the well-kept green lawn. The church stood out like a sore thumb in the dirty barrio, but Ann supposed it was a symbol of hope. A beacon of sorts. When he drove the van to the rear of the church, she saw a one-story brick addition to the building.

  “That’s the clinic,” Mike told her proudly, slowing down. Putting the van into Reverse, he backed up to the open gate of the picket fence. “Sisters Dominique and Gabriella live here. They’re the ones who are in the trenches every day, keeping the clinic doors open for the people.”

  Ann saw at least fifteen mothers with children standing patiently in line outside the doors. Her heart broke as she noticed their lined, worried faces. Some carried babies in thin blankets, pressed tightly to them; others had crying children who clung to their colorful skirts. They were all Indians, Ann observed.

  Houston turned off the van and set the brake. He glanced over at Ann. The devastation in her exhausted eyes spoke eloquently of how deeply moved she was by the horrible conditions the Indians lived in. She was easily touched, he was discovering, and it said something about her he’d already known intuitively. Still, he wondered how she would fit in with the nuns here, and he worried that the cool demeanor Ann had displayed toward him when they’d worked together on the ranch might put the nuns off. “The two little old nuns are French. They’re from Marseilles, and they’re saints, as far as I’m concerned. They’ve been ministering to the poor since they came here in their twenties. They’re in their seventies now and should’ve retired a long time ago, but they’re like horses in a harness—it’s all they know and they have hearts as big as Lima. They speak French and Spanish and some English.”

  He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and gave Ann a measuring look. “I know how you reacted to me off a
nd on for eight weeks up in Arizona. They don’t need a norteamericana coming in here and telling them what to do. They’re homeopaths, not medical doctors. If you don’t know anything about homeopathy, try to suspend your disbelief about it, watch them work and watch what happens to the patients they serve before you make any judgment about it, okay?”

  Ann met and held his searching gaze. Because she’d kept him at a distance until now, he probably thought she would carry on that way here. “You’re remembering my attitude toward you in Arizona and predicting that I’ll treat everyone at this clinic the same way?”

  Mike castigated himself. “There are times when I wish I had more diplomacy, but lack of sleep is making me a little more blunt than usual.” He opened his hands over the wheel in a helpless gesture. “I owe you an apology.”

  Ann accepted his apology—the second one to come from him since they’d traded parries on the plane. “Look,” she said, sighing wearily, “I understand your being wary. I know I haven’t been easy to get along with. But let’s just forget our personal feelings about one another, shall we? I have a commitment to honor in Morgan’s name for the next six weeks. In a clinic situation or a hospital environment, I’m not the ice queen you think I am. So don’t be concerned that I’ll ride roughshod over two old nuns. I’ve got better things to do with my time than pick at them or complain about what type of medicine they practice. No, I don’t know a lot about homeopathy. But it obviously works or they wouldn’t have been using it here for fifty years, would they?” But despite her assurances to Mike, Ann knew she would have to make an effort to suspend some of her rational approaches and training. Her medical background was different from a homeopathic practitioner’s. This was another situation in which she would have to yield her scientific bent to a more mysterious, even mystical kind of medicine. If she was going to survive these six weeks, she understood that she had to adjust to Mike’s world, and that included the nuns’ medical procedures.

  Mike saw Ann struggling to not be hurt by his request. That said a lot about her. She was confident and didn’t let her ego get in the way of better judgment. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of being close-minded. It’s just that I know a lot of conventional medicine types in the medical field who look down their nose at homeopathy. Hell, the clinic was so poor financially that we couldn’t afford to buy the prescription drugs we needed, so homeopathic meds took up the slack instead.”

  “I’ll stand back and let them run the show,” Ann promised. “I’m here to assist. All right?”

  Satisfied, Mike nodded. “I just don’t want any misunderstandings, Ann. God knows, I’m going to be busier than a one-armed paper hanger this next week. I don’t have time to come down here and put out brushfires between you and my grannies, that’s all.” And then he smiled and held her warming gaze. “Otherwise, I think they’ll fall in love with you.”

  She smiled tiredly in return. “Thank you for your brutal honesty, Major. I generally don’t cause ‘brushfires.’ I’m in the habit of putting them out.”

  “Touché,” he murmured with a sour smile. “Okay, let’s go inside….”

  “Mon petit chou!”

  Mike halted just inside the door. Sister Gabby, who was holding her stethoscope on the chest of a baby being held by a young mother, called out in welcome. She raised her soft, frizzy white head, her brown eyes sparkling.

  “Mon petit chou, you are home!” she cried. “Oh! How long it has been! We missed you!” Patting the baby with her paper-thin hand, she bustled forward putting the stethoscope around her neck. Then, she threw open her arms and hugged Mike with a fierceness that always surprised him. Sister Gabby was four feet eleven inches tall—a dwarf in comparison to him. Yet she was strong. Very strong for her age. And she was a giant in his eyes, towering over everyone with her warm heart, her grace.

  He gently embraced the nun, dropping into French. “Grandma Gabby, I have great news. Look who I brought with me. This is Dr. Ann Parsons from the States. She’s a trained emergency-room physician and she’s going to assist you and Granny Dominique for the next six weeks.” Mike eased the nun around, praying that Ann would smile.

  To his relief, as he brought the two together for introductions, Mike saw Ann’s exhaustion melt away before him, leaving a warm, radiant woman whose blue-gray eyes shone with incredible happiness as she reached out and gently enclosed the old nun’s hand between her own, and greeted her in flawless, beautiful French.

  “Sister Gabriella, I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from Major Houston, here. It’s a great honor to meet you.”

  “Ah, call me Sister Gabby, please.” The nun directed a beaming smile up at Mike, who had draped a protective arm around her thin, hunched shoulders. “This young one, the one we call ‘my little cabbage,’ is the true saint around here. And we are so glad to have your help, Dr. Parsons! The Lord knows that we can use a medical doctor of your experience around here, eh?”

  Ann smiled pleasantly and released the nun’s hand, noticing her dark blue habit which did not cover her silver hair, and the gold crucifix that lay against her thin chest. Although the nun was in her seventies, Ann saw that her aging face was strong and beautiful. And Gabby’s adoring gaze never left Houston’s. There was no denying the love and admiration the old nun had for the army officer.

  “‘Mon petit chou’?” Ann inquired sweetly, looking directly at Houston, who promptly avoided her inquiring gaze. “Is that the major’s name?” Her smile grew as she watched Mike become highly uncomfortable. She knew it was an often-used endearment in France for someone who was precious and beloved. She just found it a little hard to picture big Mike Houston being called a “little cabbage.” There was nothing little about this man.

  Tittering, Sister Gabby said, “Oh, yes. You know—” she wagged her finger up at Mike “—when this young army officer came to us a decade ago with the offer to build us a small clinic to help the poor, we knew a miracle had walked into our lives. Michael is named after the archangel, the destroyer. But he was an answer to our prayers, believe me! Do you know that he built this clinic by hand, brick by brick, over a year’s time? Instead of destroying, he built.”

  “Granny…” Mike protested, “I really don’t think Dr. Parsons wants to hear the history—”

  “Sure I do,” Ann answered, smiling softly as she devoted her full attention back to the tiny nun. “So, he built this clinic for you?” She was enjoying Houston’s obvious embarrassment as he shifted from one foot to another, his hands behind his back. Let him squirm. It was good for his soul.

  “Ah, yes! He had only the help of the poor who live around our church. Every day he would come here from his dangerous duties and roll up his sleeves—” she pinched his massive biceps with pride “—and he would lay brick! He talked the Lima government out of the old brick and he raised money for the concrete. He was a one-man army! That is when Sister Dominique and I decided to give him a nickname. Now, you know his other name,” Gabby said in a conspiratorial tone, “but that doesn’t really tell of what lies in his heart. So we decided to call him ‘my little cabbage’ because that’s what he was to us, to our people and to the poor we serve—so very precious and beloved by all of us.” She reached up, her parchment-colored hand patting Mike’s barrel chest. “Beneath this shirt beats a heart of gold, Dr. Parsons. His generosity, his care of the poor is so great! But his heart is even more large and giving!”

  “Granny!” Mike protested. “I really don’t think we have time to talk pleasantries right now, do you? Dr. Parsons will get bored hearing about me. While I get some help unloading supplies from the van, why don’t you introduce her to Sister Dominique?”

  Ann chuckled to herself. She liked watching the old woman ruffle Mike’s feathers, she decided, as Sister Gabby caught her hand and led her down the narrow hall to another room in the clinic.

  “Ah, yes, of course, mon petit chou. Time is short! I know you cannot stay long. It is dangerous for you to be too long in one place, eh? Ye
s, come, come, Dr. Parsons….”

  Ann glanced over her shoulder at Houston. He had relief written all over his features. As she proceeded down the narrow hall she saw four different examination rooms. They were pitifully equipped, she realized. The tiny nun moved quickly, switching from French to Spanish as she stuck her head in each of the rooms to tell the awaiting patients that she’d be back in just a moment.

  The last room in the clinic was actually an office of sorts. It was the smallest space, and there was a badly dented metal desk in the center of it with another nun in a blue habit seated behind it. Her white hair was cut very short and her wire-rimmed glasses were perched on her very fine, thin nose as she dug through a huge, teetering pile of papers.

  “I swear, Gabriella,” she muttered without looking up, “we must get these homeopathic cases into the files! I am looking for Juan’s records. I do not remember what homeopathic remedy we gave him six weeks ago! I must find it!”

  “Tut, tut, Dominique,” Gabby said, tapping her smartly on the shoulder. “We have a visitor, a medical doctor who is going to help us for six weeks! Dr. Ann Parsons is from the United States. Meet Sister Dominique.”

  “Eh?” Dominique looked up, her pinched face very wrinkled. Her gray eyes narrowed as she looked Ann up and down. Placing her hands on her hips, she said, “Well, a real medical doctor? How did this happen?” Then she suddenly grinned, and Ann saw that all her front upper teeth were missing.

  Sister Dominique’s handshake was surprisingly strong. Ann smiled. “Major Houston was partly responsible for getting me to volunteer.” She released Dominique’s hand. “It looks like you could use a file clerk in here?” she added, eyeing the cabinets, which were partially open with all kinds of files sticking out of them.