In the Arms of a Hero

by Beverly Barton

“Be very careful along here,” Quinn said. “There’s a hundred-foot drop to your right.” He grabbed hold of a tree root protruding from the mountainside. “Use the trees and the roots to help balance yourself.”

  Victoria held her breath, then followed Quinn, obeying his instructions as they maneuvered the deadly incline. With each passing day, each passing hour, each passing moment, she admired Quinn more and more. His expertise had gotten her this far and she didn’t doubt that it would get her all the way to Gurabo and then safely home to Texas.

  She could hardly wait to see her father. To thank him. And to thank Sam Waterman, too, for recommending Quinn to her father. She’d have to tell her father that he had more than gotten his money’s worth from the mercenary he’d hired to rescue her.

  The farther they descended Mt. Simona, the more the angle of the slopes leveled out. The forest floor cleared somewhat and tall trees, including several blue mahoe, towered above them.

  She breathed a sigh of relief to finally be able to walk without clutching to tree roots while praying not to lose her footing. Quinn stopped abruptly, prompting her to halt. Were they going to take a break? she hoped. The hazardous climb along the mountain ridge had taken a lot out of her. She could use a few minutes of down time before they trudged on toward the river.

  Suddenly, Quinn grabbed her, and shoved her to the ground as he dropped down on his belly. A sniper shot quickly ended her brief moment of relaxation.

  Where were the shots coming from and who was firing on them? she wondered. Rebel troops? Or possibly Nationalist soldiers?

  “Follow me,” Quinn ordered. “And keep your head down.”

  They crawled, then rolled, trampling the underbrush and smashing through a thicket. Bullets sailed over their heads and zipped alongside their bodies.

  “Over there.” Quinn nodded to the grove of mountain guava trees. “My guess is there’s at least four of them. Maybe five.”

  “Five!” she cried out softly.

  “You’re going to have to keep them occupied, while I go around behind them,” he said. “Do you think you can do that?”

  “I don’t know…I—I… Yes, I can do it.” Victoria swallowed her fear. “I have to, don’t I?”

  He nodded, then leaned over and kissed her on the head. “Start returning their fire the minute I leave. Hopefully, they didn’t notice we both had weapons and they’ll think only one of us has a rifle.”

  On her belly in the grass, the butt of the M-1 resting on her shoulder, Victoria took aim and began firing into the grove of guava trees. A loud yelp and then a crash told her that she’d hit someone. Her heart stopped beating for a split second at the thought that she, a nurse trained to save lives, might have just ended one.

  But this wasn’t a hospital or a clinic. This was the jungle. Those men firing at her had no qualms about killing her. And if she didn’t keep a steady stream of bullets heading toward the enemy, it would lessen Quinn’s chances of sneaking up on them from behind.

  She tried not to think about Quinn either killing or being killed. The thought of losing Quinn was unbearable.

  Creeping through the forest, Quinn circled around to the back of the five men he could now make out plainly through the high grass and dense brush. One man lay on the ground bleeding. Victoria’s gunfire must have hit him. She was probably over there feeling all kinds of guilt for having taken another human being’s life. That was the kind of person she was.

  He was sure, if she had anything to say about the situation, she would prefer for him to take these men hostage. But that wasn’t an option. Four men to guard on their journey to Gurabo would be suicide. And if he tied them up—if he could find enough rope—and left them here, another ragtag group of roaming soldiers might stumble across them and free them. Then Esteban and Xavier would have a damn good idea where he and Victoria were and they’d be sure to send out troops to follow their path. No, this was definitely a “kill or be killed” scenario.

  Putting aside the mental debate, Quinn removed the scope from his backpack, attached it to his rifle and then used the backpack as support for the M-16. With deadly precision and experience, he aimed his weapon. Unaware of the danger behind them, the soldiers continued firing at Victoria. Quinn took the rebels by surprise. Methodically, in rapid-fire motion, he mowed them down, while only the last two were able to return fire. Within minutes the battle was over, Quinn the easy victor.

  Nausea rose in his stomach. Bile burned a trail up his esophagus and into his throat. He was a trained professional who’d never enjoyed killing, but he always did what had to be done. It had been years since he’d gone into combat and killed, years that had chiseled away at his ability to kill without regret.

  After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he grabbed his rifle, draped it over his right shoulder and picked up his backpack. Across the clearing, still hidden in the thicket, Victoria continued firing. He crept through the forest, retracing his steps. Slinging the backpack over his left shoulder, he listened to the echoes of Victoria’s last shots. Apparently she realized that the rebel troops were no longer attacking.

  Quinn dreaded seeing the look in her eyes when she realized that he’d killed the other four men. He didn’t want her to see him as a ruthless killer, but could someone like Victoria—a healer—understand his reasons for wiping out the ragtag group of soldiers? For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he cared what she thought of him. Never before had a woman’s opinion of him mattered one way or the other.

  Pausing when he saw her lying on the ground, still on her belly, her hands glued to the M-1, he realized she was too scared to move.

  “Victoria?”

  She wheeled around and aimed the rifle directly at him. “Quinn?” Her gaze traveled the length of his body, from head to toe, then she studied the expression on his face. “You’re all right.” She lowered her rifle.

  “Yeah, honey, I’m okay. How about you?”

  She looked as scared as a green recruit during his first battle. But as the trouper he knew her to be, she’d done what he’d asked of her and kept the rebel soldiers occupied while he’d positioned himself for the attack.

  “The soldiers?” she asked.

  “They’re all dead.”

  “All of them?”

  “There were five.”

  “I—I killed one of them, didn’t I?” She struggled to her feet, then dropped the M-1 to the ground. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

  “Remember, this is war and in war it’s either kill or be killed,” Quinn reminded her. “What you did and what I did, saved our lives.”

  “I understand.” With her shoulders slumped and her head bowed, she dropped to her knees. She gasped in large gulps of air, then let out a loud, mournful cry.

  Quinn couldn’t get to her fast enough. He’d known the aftermath was going to be rough on her, had known she’d be consumed with guilt and sorrow. When he took her in his arms, she clung to him and sobbed uncontrollably against his chest. He allowed her a few minutes to release the tension, then he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to face him.

  “We can’t hang around here…in case there are any more soldiers nearby.” When she only stared at him with glazed eyes, he shook her gently. “The exchange of gunfire would have alerted anyone in the area. We should get going. Now.”

  “But what about those men? Aren’t we going to bury them?” Her misty green eyes pleaded.

  Squeezing her shoulders, he shook his head. “We can’t take the time. We need to keep moving.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re right.”

  He picked up the M-1, handed it to her and then cupped her chin with his hand. “You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

  She nodded. “I’m glad I didn’t see them—the soldiers we killed.”

  “Don’t think about them. Concentrate on something else,” he told her. “Think about being home with your family. Keep your mind focused on returning to the Double Crown Ranch and how good it’ll be
to see your father again.”

  Taking her hand, Quinn guided her for several yards, back onto the downward trail. When he released her hand, she fell into step behind him. They continued descending the eastern ridge of Mt. Simona at an accelerated pace, Victoria forcing herself to keep up with Quinn. She knew why he forged ahead in such a frenzy. They had to stay one step ahead of any rebels who might have heard the gunplay and could at this very moment be tracking them.

  A good two hours later Quinn slowed his pace, then halted briefly and glanced back at her. “How are you holding up? Do you think you can make it a few more miles before resting?”

  With her lungs aching, her feet sore and her legs crying out for rest, she forced a smile, nodded and said, “A few more miles.”

  He took in her brightly flushed cheeks, her heaving chest and heard the breathlessness in her voice. Victoria couldn’t go another yard, let alone a few more miles. Despite being in good condition, better than most women under similar circumstances, she didn’t have the stamina to keep up with him.

  “I’m thirsty,” he said as he walked toward her. Before he reached her, he took off his backpack and removed his canteen. “We’ll take our break now.”

  “No, please, Quinn, don’t stop because of me. I told you that I can make it a few more miles.”

  He held the canteen up to her lips. “Shut up and drink.”

  She guzzled down the tepid water. When she finished, Quinn poured a handful into his palm, then splashed it on her face. With the tips of his fingers, he wiped off the excess. He removed her knapsack and dropped it beside his on the ground.

  “Five minutes and then we head out again,” he told her as he sat and crossed one leg under the other. “Come on down.” He grasped her wrist and tugged her onto his lap.

  When she fell into the cradle of his legs, she grabbed at thin air, then circled his neck with her arms and stared wide-eyed into his smiling face. “I’m sorry that I’m slowing us down. I’m doing the best I can, but—”

  He placed his index finger across her lips. “You’re doing great, princess. I know you’re giving it everything you’ve got. Nobody could ask for a better partner under these circumstances.”

  “You really mean that, don’t you?” Sighing, she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I need to rest for just a minute.” Quinn was so good to her, she thought. He was taking care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself. She loved the feeling of protection she found in his arms.

  Sitting there on the damp earth, a South American forest and a full-blown civil war surrounding them, Quinn held Victoria. Moments ticked by in complete silence, only the distinct, muted sounds of the jungle permeating the air. Ten minutes passed without either of them saying a word. Quinn wondered if she had fallen asleep. But when he shifted his legs, she stirred to life and lifted her head to look at him.

  “We’ve been here too long, haven’t we?” she asked.

  He checked his watch. “Less than fifteen minutes.”

  Leaving the nest of his embrace was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done, but she had no choice. Quinn had indulged her weakness long enough. She forced herself to stand.

  “I’ll be all right now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Within minutes they resumed their positions and continued on toward the Rio Gurabo. The sun beamed bright and hot, its rays filtering through the gradually thinning canopy of tree branches as the terrain leveled off even more.

  Quinn heard water flowing, and when he turned to tell Victoria that a stream was close by, she smiled at him.

  “I hear it, too,” she said. “I don’t suppose we can stop for a bath?”

  “We can stop only long enough to eat a bite and wash off,” he told her. “Once we reach the Rio Gurabo, you can dive in and take a bath.”

  “Fair enough. I suppose I can wait a few more hours.”

  “Maybe less,” he said. “If my estimations are correct, we’re only about an hour from the river.”

  “Hooray and hallelujah.”

  With perspiration dampening their skin and exhaustion playing havoc with every muscle in their bodies, they accelerated their pace, heading toward the sound of the water.

  Knowing how she longed to wash off, even if just her face and hands, Quinn moved aside to allow Victoria to reach the shallow, almost dry stream first. No doubt the source of this small stream was some underground spring, he thought, as was the source of most streams on Santo Bonisto. He decided that while Victoria enjoyed the cool spring water, he’d rummage in his backpack to see what food supplies they had left and to check the map again.

  Victoria couldn’t wait to wade in the stream, to bend and fill her hands with water and maybe even douse her head, if she could find a spot that was deep enough. With her thoughts focused on being able to wash away some of the dirt and grime from her body, she didn’t pay any attention to the soil that separated the streambed from the bank. Suddenly, without any warning, the ground beneath her feet rippled and shifted.

  What the heck was going on?

  Within two seconds she sank to her waist in a liquid quagmire. Don’t panic! Don’t panic! Oh, God, help me!

  “Quinn!”

  He jerked around at the sound of his name, then seeing what had happened, rushed toward Victoria. “Damn!”

  “Do something. Quick. Before I drown in this stuff.”

  “Try to stay calm,” he said. “I’ll get you out.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Hell! You’ve got on your backpack and you’re wearing boots, so the weight from those are dragging you down,” he told her. “Look, honey, do exactly what I tell you to do. Dump your rifle and then see if you can loosen your backpack. You need to get rid of all the extra weight you can.”

  She eased the rifle from her shoulder, then watched as it disappeared into the quagmire. When she loosened the straps of her backpack, it slid off her back and down into the murky depths.

  “Good girl,” Quinn called to her. “Now, lie back and distribute your weight evenly over the surface.”

  “Lie back? Are you kidding?”

  “Trust me, Victoria. I know how to deal with quicksand.”

  Quicksand! She’d been afraid that’s what she’d fallen into. And just when she’d thought nothing else could happen, that they might have gotten lucky. “I trust you, Quinn.” I trust you with my life, she added silently. Immediately she lay back and began floating.

  “Whatever you do, don’t struggle. Slowly and carefully pull your legs free. Take deep breaths, honey. Filling your lungs with air will make you more buoyant.”

  She sucked in deep breaths, while Quinn tested the ground at the edge of the streambed. When he figured out where the quicksand began, he braced his feet on solid ground, then employed the “safe” function on his M-16 and held the rifle out to her. “See if you can grab hold.”

  She reached out, but her fingertips couldn’t quite reach the rifle butt. She tried again. Her fingertips brushed the butt, but slid off quickly.

  “Try again,” he told her.

  When she reached out a third time, her nails scraped the end of butt. She clawed into it, but couldn’t hold on tightly enough.

  “Don’t exhaust yourself.” He lifted the rifle. “Rest for a couple of seconds before you try again.”

  “Am I going to drown in this stuff?” She didn’t want to die buried in quicksand.

  “No, you’re not going to drown. It’ll just take a while to get you out. Believe me, you’ll laugh about this experience later.”

  “I doubt that!”

  “Come on, let’s try again.” He held out the rifle butt to her.

  Her fingers gripped the edge. Holding on with dear life, she dragged herself by slow degrees through the runny quicksand until she was able to grab hold securely.

  “I’ve got it!” she yelled.

  “Hang on.” Quinn cautiously reeled her in, careful not to lose his footing and fall in himself.

/>   Walking backward as he inched her out of the slush, Quinn grinned. When she stepped onto firm ground, she released the rifle butt and sank to her knees. Quinn chuckled. She jerked her head up and glowered at him.

  “What’s so damn funny?” she demanded.

  “You are, princess. You should see yourself.”

  With slime dripping off of her from head to toe, she rose from the ground and tramped toward Quinn. He started backing up in an effort to avoid her attack. She hurled herself into him full-force, almost knocking him over, but he grabbed her shoulders and steadied them both. Mud from her clothes stuck to his. Muck clung to her and then to him when she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  Looking up at him with devilment in her eyes, she said, “Now you’re almost as filthy as I am.”

  “What we both need is a good bath. And I think I know just the place.”

  Her eyes widened with hope. “Where?”

  “I checked the map while you were falling waist-deep into the bog and I’d say we’re less than three miles from the Rio Gurabo.”

  “Don’t kid me. I don’t think I could take it.”

  “I’m not kidding.” He shoved her away, then raked the top layer of mud and muck from his clothes.

  “What are you waiting for? Lead the way!”

  Quinn surveyed her from the top of her grimy hair, down her wet, grubby body to her mud-caked feet. She was a sorry sight, but even this way, he found her immensely appealing. What the hell was wrong with him? How was it possible that regardless of the way she looked, he thought she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen?

  While she waited impatiently, trying to wring some of the muck from her hair and clothes, Quinn gathered up his backpack, strapped it on and slung the M-16 over his shoulder.

  “Don’t go jumping in as soon as we get there,” he said. “Let me check out the area first.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Immediately, Victoria fell into step behind him once more, while visions of the Rio Gurabo danced in her head. Three more miles and she could take a bath. Three more miles and they’d be only a few hours from Gurabo. A few hours from the American embassy. A few hours from a plane ride home.