In the Arms of a Hero

by Beverly Barton

  After only a few sips the man stiffened, then went limp. Victoria checked his pulse. He was dead. She gently closed his eyes, then eased his head onto the deck.

  “Do you need any help?” she called to Quinn.

  He looked up from his examination of Chico’s wound. “Bring the whiskey with you,” was all he said.

  “Is Franco dead?” Chico asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid he is,” Victoria told him as she handed Quinn the whiskey bottle.

  Victoria leaned against the railing, letting the night breeze cool her face and body. A full moon illuminated the murky water beneath them and the dense jungle that surrounded them. Vine-covered trees lined the banks of the winding Rio Blanco. Cascades of greenery swayed gently, their silhouettes dark and foreboding.

  A pair of screeching macaws, their long tails drooping behind them, flew from one bank to the other. An ant shrike cried out from the jungle.

  “Time to go to our cabin.” Quinn slipped her hand into his. “We both need some sleep before the captain puts us ashore near Delicias early in the morning.”

  “How early?” she asked.

  “Probably around two-thirty or three,” he said. “We go from Delicias up Mt. Simona to El Prado, where my plane is waiting for us.”

  “If all goes as planned, you should have me back in Texas by tomorrow night, shouldn’t you?” She fought the urge to jerk her hand free of his, but knew that if she hoped to escape, it was best to cooperate with her kidnapper.

  “If all goes as planned.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on. After the day we’ve had, we could both use some rest.”

  She allowed him to lead her down the stairs, below deck and straight to the smallest of the three tiny cabins. Inside the closet-size room, stacked bunks hugged one wall, leaving an open space of only a few feet on the other side.

  “Sorry that there’s no facilities in the cabin for a bath,” Quinn said.

  “I can take a bath when I get home to the Double Crown.”

  “Your old man’s ranch is really something,” Quinn said. “It’s like a small kingdom.”

  She smiled coyly. Being friendly with Quinn should set him at ease, perhaps convince him that she had finally accepted defeat and wouldn’t give him any more trouble. She wanted him off guard. He needed to relax just enough to allow her to leave the cabin without his being aware that she was gone. She would have to wait until he was asleep, then she would speak privately with the captain. If she could persuade him to set her ashore at the nearest village, surely she could find someone willing to help her get back to Palmira.

  “Is that why you call me princess, because my father’s ranch is like a kingdom unto itself?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” He surveyed her from head to toe. “You take the top bunk.”

  She forced herself to continue smiling, although she realized he wanted her in the top bunk because it would be more difficult for her to crawl down and get out the door without his hearing her. All right, so getting away from him later would be more difficult. So be it. She could be as quiet as a mouse if necessary. When he awoke several hours from now, he’d have no idea she wasn’t still asleep in the bunk above him.

  “Sure thing.” She lifted her foot to place it on the first rung of the wooden ladder.

  “Need any help?”

  Before she could reply, he placed the open palm of his big hand flat against her buttock, then gave her a shove. She gasped at the intimate contact. Hurriedly, she scooted into the bunk and laid her head on the rumpled pillow. Her rear end tingled where Quinn had touched her. Get over it, she told herself. Quinn was the first man who’d ever touched her that way who didn’t think of her as either a kid sister or just one of the boys. Quinn’s touch, no matter how innocent, had possessed a sensual quality. At first contact, it had seemed as if her were caressing her.

  Now, why would Quinn McCoy be attracted to you? a little voice asked. You’re hardly the type who drives men wild with passion. All your life, you’ve been a tomboy and none of the guys you’ve been around ever treated you like a woman.

  Then she remembered. The man likes money. And my father has millions. He told me himself that money is the only thing that’s ever mattered to him.

  Quinn sat on the edge of the bunk. His back and shoulders ached. He had the beginnings of a rotten headache. But he didn’t dare fall sound asleep. If he knew Ms. Fortune, and he believed he did, she would make a run for it, straight to the captain, the minute she thought he was asleep.

  Why couldn’t the fool woman get it through her head that Palmira—actually anywhere on Santo Bonisto—was the last place on earth she needed to be?

  He could tie her to the bunk, he supposed, but a part of him actually liked the idea of chasing her down and bringing her back to the cabin. What he really wanted to do was to give her a good spanking. He figured that was what was wrong with her now. She’d probably grown up without the least bit of discipline. Rich parents usually let their kids get away with murder.

  Victoria might have outsmarted the men in her life up to now. Or perhaps she had used feminine persuasion to get what she wanted. But not this time. There was no way he was going to allow her to return to Palmira. She might be willing to risk her life to fulfill her promises to the locals, but he wasn’t willing to let her take that risk. The only promise he’d made was to Ryan Fortune. A promise that he’d do his best to bring Victoria home to Texas.

  Quinn stretched out on the bunk. His feet dangled off the end. His shoulders were broader than the bunk, so he turned sideways to make room. Every muscle in his body screamed. He was tired, sleepy, and sore from head to toe. He longed for a good night’s rest.

  If he feigned sleep too soon, she was bound to become suspicious and probably wouldn’t make her move. He had no choice but to bide his time before he allowed her to slip out of the cabin and make a mad dash straight to the captain. Even if for some reason he didn’t catch her before she cornered Captain Martinez, her pleas would fall on deaf ears. When he’d borrowed the whiskey earlier that evening, he’d made arrangements with the captain. Money talked. And at present, despite Ms. Fortune’s wealth, she didn’t have a dime to her name. But Quinn did. And wasn’t it ironic that the money belonged to daddy?

  Quinn grinned. He was actually looking forward to chasing Victoria and subduing her. She was sure to put up a fight, since she had to know this would be her last chance to escape. By morning they’d be on their way to the U.S. He had seen glimpses of the hellcat inside Victoria, and just the thought of her spitting and clawing at him aroused him. He couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to make her purr.

  Minutes ticked by. Quinn shuffled around in the bunk, letting her know he was having difficulty resting. She, on the other hand, didn’t move, barely breathed. She’s waiting, he thought. Waiting patiently for him to fall asleep.

  After nearly and hour Quinn moaned, then quieted. Within minutes he was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He lowered the volume of his snores, enough so he could hear her when she climbed out of the top bunk. He didn’t have long to wait. Within five minutes she eased down onto the floor and hovered over him, checking to make sure he was really asleep. He continued the mock snoring until he heard the cabin door open and close.

  Taking his time, he maneuvered his big frame out of the lower bunk, then stood and stretched. Should he allow her to make it all the way to Captain Martinez or should he cut her off at the pass? Either way, she was going to be fighting mad.

  When he opened the cabin door, he found the narrow hallway empty. Only the old boat’s creaking and the hum of the engine disturbed the eerie quiet. He climbed the steps to the deck and glanced toward the cockpit. There she was, halfway to the captain. After losing all but one of his crew—and that man was recovering from a bullet wound—Martinez had little choice but to pilot the boat himself tonight.

  Quinn crept along behind her, waiting for the right moment to grab her. He wasn’t sure what alerted her to his presence,
but somehow she sensed he was behind her. She turned sharply. Her mouth opened on a silent cry.

  “Going somewhere, princess?” he asked.

  “I thought you were asleep!”

  “I snore sometimes when I’m awake.” Grinning, he took a step toward her.

  She backed away from him. “You knew all along that I’d make a break for it once you were asleep. You let me think I had a chance of escaping.”

  “Call me devious.” He moved closer to her. When she backed against the rail, he reached out for her.

  She scooted down the railing, avoiding his touch. “I’ve got a few other choice words I’d like to call you.”

  When he reached for her again, she slapped at his hands. Just as she lifted her foot to kick him, she slipped. She lost her balance and fell backward over the railing. Her body hit the water with a resounding splash. Sputtering with fury, she screeched at Quinn.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she told him. “Help me before the crocodiles eat me!”

  “Hang on,” he told her, then hailed the captain.

  Quinn dove overboard, then swam over to her. When he pulled her to him, she didn’t resist. The captain lowered a rope. He and two of the male passengers pulled first Victoria and then Quinn aboard the Evita. All the passengers, including the children, watched as the two soaking wet Americans were hauled onto deck.

  “Sorry about all the fuss,” Quinn said. “My wife and I were taking a moonlight stroll on deck and she just lost her balance.”

  The men all laughed and the women smiled demurely. The wide-eyed children seemed dazed by all the excitement.

  Quinn clasped Victoria’s upper arm and guided her down the steps and back to their cabin. After slamming the door shut, he locked it. She stood in the middle of the tiny room and glowered at him.

  “Why couldn’t you just let me go? I planned to hide out somewhere until the rebels left Palmira. I’d have found someone to help me, to hide me out until then.”

  “You’re plum loco. Do you know that?”

  “Isn’t two hundred and fifty thousand dollars enough for you?” She pulled her shirt from under the waistband of her pants, then twisted the river water out of the material. “Do you have to have the entire half million? For once in your life, do something for the right reason, not for the money.”

  Quinn unbuttoned his shirt, removed it and hung it on the frame of the bunk bed. “You’ve got it wrong. If I make it back to the U.S. alive, your father pays me the other quarter million, whether I bring you back or not.”

  Victoria found herself gaping at Quinn’s muscular chest. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen partially undressed men before. After all, she had a father and three brothers and cousins, and there had been ranch hands galore on the Double Crown. Not to mention all the men she’d treated as a nurse.

  “You’ll get the whole amount whether or not you return with me in tow?” She couldn’t seem to move her gaze from his chest up to his face. “Then I don’t understand what difference it makes to you.”

  Quinn removed his boots and socks, then unzipped his pants. Victoria’s gaze moved downward. Her eyes widened. Quinn tugged off his wet pants and hung them on the opposite side of the bunk bed.

  “You might want to turn your head, unless you’d like to see everything,” he told her.

  She whirled around, turning her back to him. “You didn’t answer my question. If you’ll get your money with or without me, why won’t you let me go?”

  Quinn rummaged through his backpack, pulled out his one change of briefs, then slipped into them. The only other clothing he’d packed was a T-shirt, which he lifted up into his hand.

  “You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

  “I’ll be all right,” she said stubbornly. No way was she going to strip with him right there in the room with her.

  “All I’ve got dry is a clean T-shirt,” he told her. “I’ll leave it here on the bottom bunk, then I’ll wait outside the door until you’ve changed. And I’d appreciate your hurrying. I wouldn’t want to give any of the other women aboard this tugboat a thrill.”

  She stood stiffly, her back still to him as water dripped off her hair and clothing and puddled around her feet.

  “If you’re not changed when I come back through that door, I’ll strip you myself!”

  She spun around just in time to see him leave. She eyed the white T-shirt lying on the lower bunk. She had no choice but to follow his instructions, unless she wanted him to remove her clothes for her. The very thought of Quinn McCoy putting his hands on her sent shivers racing through Victoria’s wet, chilled body.

  As she hurriedly undressed, she caught herself eyeing the closed door, wondering how long Quinn would wait before returning to the cabin. She tossed the wet clothes on the floor, picked up the T-shirt and pulled it over her head. It was too large, of course. The hem struck her midthigh. But she didn’t feel quite as naked as she’d thought she would.

  He knocked on the door, then entered to find her stretched up on tiptoe to reach the frame of the top bunk, where she was hanging her shirt. Quinn took a good long look at her shapely legs. Allowing his gaze to travel upward, he noted the firmness of her behind barely hidden under his T-shirt. He liked what he saw.

  Victoria turned to face him and gasped aloud when she realized that he wore nothing except a pair of cotton briefs that did very little to conceal. Forcing her gaze upward, she caught him staring at her breasts. She glanced down and noticed that her peaked nipples were clearly visible through the thin T-shirt. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her breasts.

  Quinn closed and locked the cabin door, then took a couple of steps toward Victoria. “My T-shirt looks good on you. Mighty good.”

  “Don’t you have anything else you can put on?” she asked him, trying desperately not to lower her gaze.

  “Nope. I’m afraid not. I didn’t pack for a vacation, you know. Does my state of undress bother you?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just that… Oh, nothing!”

  Quinn removed a small vial from his backpack, unscrewed the lid and took a hefty swig of the liquor inside. “Rot gut,” he told her. “My own particular brand.” He held out the vial to her. “Here, princess, drink a little of this.”

  “I don’t need—”

  He shoved the vial in her face. “Drink a little or I’ll pour it down you. It’ll calm your nerves, warm your belly and maybe help you rest a little.”

  Hesitantly she accepted the silver vial, then lifted it to her lips and drank. She strangled on the strong liquor as it burned a path from her throat to her stomach. Quinn laughed when she coughed several times and held the vial out for him to take.

  Her cheeks flushed pink. Her green eyes sparkled with a mist of tears. The dozens of tiny freckles that sprinkled her nose and upper cheeks seemed to have been hand painted with coppery gold dust.

  Quinn shook his head to dislodge such fanciful notions. Where the hell had that thought come from? He never got sentimental over a woman. Any woman. Certainly not one he’d been hired to protect.

  Quinn grabbed the vial, then shoved it into the backpack. “Better turn in. It won’t be long before we reach Delicias.”

  She nodded agreement, then climbed up into the top bunk. Quinn stretched out in the lower bunk and wished the damn thing was longer and wider.

  They lay there quietly for several minutes. He could hear her breathing and suspected she could hear him. He’d bet money neither of them would get any sleep. Something was going on between them—something he didn’t like. He hadn’t let a woman get to him on a personal level since he’d been a stupid kid, who thought with a particular part of his male anatomy instead of his brain.

  “Quinn?”

  “What?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so harsh.

  “You never did answer my question.”

  “What question?” He turned sideways, trying to arrange a comfortable position for his aching body.

  “Why are y
ou determined to take me back to Texas, if my father’s going to pay you the full half million even if you don’t bring me back with you?”

  “Let’s just say that when I’m hired to do a job, I do it.”

  “Is that the only reason?” She stared up at the ceiling, her heartbeat erratic as she waited for his reply.

  “What other reason could there be?” He socked his fist into the small, lumpy pillow beneath his head.

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe…”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Don’t go thinking it’s anything personal,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as her. “I wouldn’t leave any woman to the likes of Esteban and his men. I’ve seen what animals like that can do to a woman. And it’s not a pretty sight.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. And that’s the problem. You have no idea.” Quinn’s body tensed at the thought of any man putting his hands on Victoria, of some rebel soldier brutalizing her. “But believe me, princess, as long as there’s breath in my body, nobody’s going to touch you.”

  Except me.

  Four

  Quinn and Victoria arrived in Delicias before dawn. The small village lay less than a mile from the Rio Blanco. The bright moonlight illuminated the narrow dirt path leading from the riverbank, making their trek an easy one.

  Quinn had rested, but hadn’t slept during the night. He suspected Victoria had done the same. She hadn’t protested or complained when he’d roused her for their departure. He guessed that she wasn’t the type of woman who whined and griped about her circumstances, a rarity for someone as wealthy as she was. In his experience, he’d found that spoiled rich girls were usually first-class bitches.

  “Looks like the whole village is still asleep.” Victoria inspected the area, which was comprised of about a dozen thatch-roofed dwellings. “Do you have to contact someone here or are we simply passing through?”

  “We’re passing through,” Quinn told her. “The fewer people who know our whereabouts the better.”

  “Do you think you can find your way up the mountain in the dark?”