by JoAnn Durgin
He’s here less than half an hour, and I’m already a fool for him.
No other man had ever affected her this way, and she could stand to be a little less obvious. When Eliot was around, her best intentions were often scattered and left in the dust.
Eliot was almost of even height with their six-foot-five TeamWork leader—all lean, solid muscle with wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered to slim hips. Marta had seen enough male swimmers in her competition years to recognize a man who worked out and took care of his body. Eliot obviously kept himself physically fit, but, unlike a lot of men, he didn’t seem overly conscious or arrogant about it. The prospect of spending two uninterrupted weeks in close proximity with him was exciting yet intimidating.
She might be out of practice with flirting, but she couldn’t ignore the signs when a man was interested. No doubt about it, Eliot was interested. And she couldn’t stop staring at him. Talk about carrying a torch. At the end of this project, they’d either hate each other or be wildly in love…or somewhere in between.
Marta startled when Eliot stopped walking, lingering behind the others. He grinned over one shoulder in her direction, making her pulse jump. How she detested it that she couldn’t see his eyes because of those sunglasses.
“Coming, Marta? You’re dawdling.” Eliot’s tone was teasing, playful. He had a very attractive dimple on the right side of his mouth that surfaced when he was amused. However, it was currently camouflaged beneath his facial stubble. Not that she minded the scruff, but she’d grown rather accustomed to that dimple.
“I’m going over some things in my mind,” she said. “No need to wait. You go on ahead.”
“And leave you out here as fair game for wild beasts and creepy crawlies? I don’t think so.”
Even though she knew he was teasing, Marta shuddered. “Thanks for the image although I appreciate your protective instincts. Are you offering to be my bodyguard for the duration of this mission?”
“If that’s what you’d like.” His grin grew wider and the dimple made its welcome appearance. “Are these important things you’re pondering on this glorious Monday afternoon?”
“My, someone’s awfully cheery. Always a good thing,” she assured him. “If you consider helping Lexa and Winnie compile the list of groceries, sure.” No way would she give him the satisfaction of admitting her true thoughts.
“Food is critical to our well-being in a camp like this, especially when we’ll be doing a lot of manual labor. Got to keep our strength up. So, yeah, I’d say it’s important. When did you arrive in New Mexico?” He waited until she was beside him and then paced his steps with hers. She appreciated his consideration since he could so easily outdistance her.
“A few hours ago. Gayle and I drove together from Houston. We started out yesterday and stayed overnight in the Amarillo area.”
“Sounds like you were just ahead of me on the highway then.”
“Trust me, I would have remembered that white tank if you’d passed us on the highway. Although”—she shot him a wry grin—“a few Texas state troopers flew past us in pursuit of someone in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area.”
“Good try. You won’t catch me getting any tickets.”
“By the way, I’m assuming your personalized license plate stands for Wanderlust?”
He laughed heartily. “Ah, you broke my code.”
She mock gasped. “May it never be! You can’t tell me you don’t push that white tank to its speed limits on the open road. Or maybe you do, but you have connections with law enforcement officials?”
“I’ll never admit to a thing.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” What the man said was true. For one thing, she didn’t even know where he lived except to assume it was in Texas since his vehicle sported a Lone Star license plate. Maybe he was a guy who lived in a sparsely furnished apartment since he was rarely home and poured most of his money into his Hummer. She’d known a few guys like that. Could be he needed that tank for his personal safety. Or, it could be that her overactive imagination running rampant, which it sometimes tended to do, especially when it concerned the man walking beside her.
“And I didn’t necessarily buy the tank—as you call it—for speed.”
“Will you let me drive it sometime?” She mock sighed like she imagined a Hummer groupie would do. “I’d like to know what it feels like sitting behind the wheel of such a powerful vehicle.”
Eliot chuckled. “I’m sure it can be arranged. At least out here in the wide open spaces, you’re not likely to hit anything.”
“Except you. Look out since there are lots of trees around the campsite. Tall, thick ones with broad bases. I’m a very safe driver, I’ll have you know.” Marta gestured to his duffel bag. “Hand over one of those bags, will you? I feel sort of useless here.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
She laughed. “Time for a truce.”
When she reached for the strap on his bag, Eliot tightened his hold. “I’ve got it, thanks. You were the best part of the welcoming committee—no offense to Sam or Lexa—so I wouldn’t call that useless.” She felt his gaze on her as they walked. “Besides, I like keeping company with you. I meant what I said. You really do look great, Marta. Terrific. Better than ever.”
“Thanks. And you seem…taller.” Although pleased, she was a bit flustered by his compliments. “Did you grow a couple of inches since I last saw you?” He towered over her. Of course, the last time she’d seen him, she’d worn five-inch heels and an evening gown, not athletic shoes, casual shorts, and a TeamWork T-shirt.
“No, I’m not any taller. And before you can ask, I’m not wearing lifts in my boots. No enhancements needed. I’ve been this same height since I was fifteen. Maybe you’re shrinking?”
She scrunched her nose. “Bite your tongue. It took me fourteen years to reach this height.” At five-foot-seven inches tall, she stood solidly in the middle of the TeamWork women.
“Life’s treating you well?”
“I can’t complain. Keeping busy with Doyle-Clarke Catering.” Since Eliot wouldn’t relinquish any of the bags, Marta pushed her hands down into the pockets of her shorts. “How about you?”
“Been hectic. This mission is a refreshing change. Slower paced.” A sigh escaped his lips as he lifted his face to the sun. “Right now, that sounds really good. It’s peaceful out here. Nothing like the fresh air and being out in the open spaces, is there?”
“It’s a bit remote for my liking. For a short-term project, it’s a nice change from the city.”
“Remote or not, this environment suits you.”
Tilting her head, Marta surveyed him as they walked. “You know, Eliot, I’m not sure how to take all these compliments from you.”
The corners of his mouth tipped. “Accept them, that’s how.”
“Been a little starved for female companionship lately?” Although they sometimes teased each other mercilessly, she was completely comfortable with Eliot. In a way, they both thrived on it, especially when they started slinging it back and forth. Never put-down insults, but fun, flirty taunts that energized them both.
His deep, throaty chuckle emerged. How she’d missed it.
“No, but digging a little deeper here”—Eliot moved ahead and turned to face her, walking backwards, not missing a step—“no other woman is like you, Marta.”
What was that supposed to mean? She was glad when he turned to face the front again. “Have you been away from home a lot in the past few months?”
“You could say that.”
They both fell silent as they walked. What could she ask that he could answer? Whatever he did for a living was top secret. Not that the members of their close-knit TeamWork crew hadn’t bandied about theories. Some of their ideas had potential but others were preposterous. It had been suggested that he was a member of the CIA, FBI, or some other governmental agency. Or a branch of the military, maybe even special ops. The man didn’t drawl and he possessed no re
adily identifiable accent, not even a hint of a regional dialect. And did he really speak multiple languages? He might not be forthcoming with information—either by necessity or choice—but Eliot had never lied or purposely misled her.
“How long has it been since we last saw each other?”
Eliot’s question interrupted Marta’s musing. Stealing a glance at him, she marveled how he wasn’t in the least bit winded under his heavy load. She pretended to consider her response although the answer was on the tip of her tongue. Not that she’d been counting.
“I believe it was at the TeamWork banquet in Houston when they honored Sam last March.”
Eliot nodded. “That was a fun night and a well-deserved honor for Sam.”
“Yes, it was. It was great to see everyone dressed in their formal wear for a change. The event got you in a tuxedo, anyway. I wasn’t sure it was possible.” He’d been debonair and dashing, the most handsome man in the room.
“You must have conveniently forgotten that I was a groomsman in Kevin and Rebekah’s wedding.”
He’s right. “I must be slipping. Score one for your powers of recall.”
His lips upturned. “I remember that slinky lavender number you wore at the banquet. That gown earned you a lot of male attention.”
Marta gasped. “Excuse me? My gown was not slinky. I don’t do slinky. It was…shimmery.” Wearing that floor-length evening gown—the most expensive, gorgeous dress she’d ever owned—made her feel like a princess, at least for a few hours. Being in Eliot’s arms for their one dance together had fueled more than a few daydreams. Who knew Eliot could dance as if it was second nature? The man was a fascinating contradiction in any number of ways.
“Call it what you want but it was appealing, brought out the color of your eyes, and highlighted your femininity.” Amusement tinged his words. “Does that sound better?”
“Not sure, but there’s a difference between shimmery and slinky. To be clear, I didn’t wear it to make men notice me. I wore it to—”
“Make you feel pretty? Like a woman?” Eliot chuckled under his breath. “I can’t believe I can make a woman like you blush, and I’m sure it hasn’t been all that long since a man complimented you.”
He’d be wrong there. It’d been so long she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t about to ask what he meant with the woman like you comment. Hopefully it had more to with confidence than anything else. “You darted off from the ballroom that night without saying good-bye.” Let him think what he wanted about that statement. She only hoped she hadn’t sounded pouty since she detested that particular quality in other women.
“Sorry about that. It couldn’t be helped.” His grin faded, his tone no longer teased.
“Well, you’re here now and that’s the main thing. I hope you don’t have to rush off and leave our mission.”
“I don’t plan on it. I’m on my own time.”
Relief rushed through her. “Glad to hear it. Nice of you to take your personal days here instead of on some tropical island beach.” If he’d chosen the latter option, she wondered if he’d be alone. No sense in going down that particular rabbit trail.
“The truth, Marta? There’s no place I’d rather be for the next two weeks. Serving the Lord with my TeamWork family? It keeps me going. I’ve been anticipating this mission for a long time.”
Since there had been delays in this mission in Albuquerque, she’d been pleasantly surprised he’d been able to make it fit into his schedule.
“I make time for the things, and the people, that are most important in my life,” he said.
Could the man read her mind? When she stole a glance his way, Marta glimpsed the set of his jaw. Eliot amazed her with his dedication to TeamWork and his seemingly relentless energy. When did he take time off for himself? Let down his guard and completely relax? Did he ever date? Had he ever been involved in a long-term romantic relationship?
And there you go again. Maybe she should embrace her fascination with the man once and for all. The all-too-familiar fear surfaced. She’d already experienced the pain of losing two important men in her life. As great as Eliot was, why risk her heart?
Because Eliot might just be worth it.
A sleek private jet soared overhead. Squinting into the sky, Marta smiled when she recognized the plane, and especially when she spied the landing gear. “Thank you, Lord. That’s Landon’s new plane, Madelyn II.”
“Ah, right.” Stopping beside her, Eliot tilted his head upward. “I hear Warnick’s increased his flying for TeamWork projects these days.”
“That’s what I understand. His flying and publishing Sam’s marriage and family life books keep him busy.” Marta turned to him. “I think it’d be good to stop and pray for them. Right now.” After Landon’s crash landing outside Houston the weekend of the mini-TeamWork reunion in February 2004, Marta knew Eliot would understand her spur-of-the-moment prayer request.
“Excellent idea. Let’s do it.” After lowering the bags to the ground, Eliot clasped her hands in his much larger ones. “Lord, we pray for your guiding hand on Landon and safety as he lands the plane. As we begin this mission, we ask that you continue to bless our efforts. Be with Sam and Lexa as they lead the group, and keep all of us healthy and open to the possibilities you bring our way.”
Puzzling over what Eliot meant by possibilities, Marta focused on the words of her own prayer. “Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing the members of our TeamWork family to us safely.” Pausing a moment, she squeezed his hands when she heard the landing gear squeal. A few tears slipped down her cheeks and she let them go.
“Lord, help us to be a good testimony to the One Nation congregation and also to be witnesses of your love to Felipe. Thank you for Dean’s faithfulness in bringing him here. I pray that we can walk away from this mission with our bonds of friendship strengthened and a renewed understanding of how great you are. We ask these things in the name of our precious Savior. Amen.”
“Amen.” Leaning close, surprising her, Eliot planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “You bless me with your spontaneity.” With a quick swipe of his thumb on her cheek, he absorbed the moisture from her tears before she could wipe them away. After gathering the bags again, he offered her one of the smallest ones.
“Thanks.” Pulling the strap over her head, Marta positioned it cross-wise over her body. “Eliot, answer something for me. Why do guys call each other by their last names, like when you called Landon by his last name just now? My brothers do it, too. I’ve always wondered about it but never asked them. Is that some kind of macho guy thing?”
They continued walking. “Don’t really know except that it comes naturally. Generic to our gender, I guess. If you prefer, you can call me Marchand and I’ll call you Holcomb. Don’t want you to feel left out, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? “As long as you’re not implying I’m masculine.”
He laughed. “Considering our conversation of the past few minutes, I seriously doubt you have cause to question my feelings on that subject.”
Warmth flooded Marta’s cheeks. At the same time, she caught Eliot’s wince as he repositioned his sunglasses. She stopped walking and he followed suit. Turning to face him, she raised one hand but then let it drop to her side.
“What’s on your mind?” he said. “We need to get to the camp sometime this afternoon.”
“In a minute. Do me a favor and take off your sunglasses.”
“Why?” His brows arched behind the upper rim of his shades.
Reaching into the pocket of her shorts, Marta whipped out her sunglasses. She settled them in place along with a dose of defiance as she lifted her chin.
The corners of Eliot’s mouth quirked. “Right. First we pray, and now you’re playing me?” He shook his head.
“Stop being so defensive already.” Blowing out a breath, Marta stared into the distance and moved one hand to her hip. What to do with this man? “I’m concerned about you, Eliot. Surely you know that.”
His forehead furrowed in a deep frown. After taking another step forward, he then did an abrupt about face before striding back to her. “Since you’re curious, why don’t you do the honors?” He crossed his arms over that broad chest, enhancing his muscles to the point of distraction. “Have at it.”
Relieved when Eliot didn’t turn away or step back to avoid her touch, Marta carefully lowered the sunglasses and pulled them away from his face. Unfortunately, her suspicions had been correct. The skin beneath his left eye looked ghastly. She inhaled a quick breath. Based on the rainbow of colors—purple, blue, and yellow—at least his bruised skin appeared to be healing. She’d never seen such a whopper of a shiner and her two older brothers had sported more than their fair share through the years.
“Oh, Eliot.” As soon as the words slipped past her lips, Marta knew they were a mistake. He started to position the glasses on his face again, but she stopped him with one hand on his arm. “Does it hurt? Can you at least tell me that much?”
He grunted. “No, it doesn’t hurt. It just looks like it does.”
“The guy who did this had a solid right hook, and I’m sure it did hurt. Once upon a time.”
“I don’t live in a ‘once upon a time’ world, Marta.” If only this man would let down his guard long enough to allow her emotional access to his life. That was something that he’d been reluctant—or unwilling—to reveal. She preferred to believe it was more a matter of being unable to tell her for whatever reason.
“You know what I mean.” Marta gently ran her fingertips over his smooth, tanned skin close to the affected area. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Eliot’s deep brown eyes settled on hers. Such soulful eyes. Those eyes held a story she hoped to hear one day. He covered her fingers with one large, warm hand. “Doesn’t matter much now, does it? All I can tell you is the other guy’s nose looks a lot worse than my eye.”
