Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors)

by Margaret Daley

  “Those poor wives.”

  “As I’ve traveled the world, I’ve seen many cruel things done by one human being to another, often condoned by the society they lived in. That’s a part of a ‘book’ I would like to skip over, but it’s an integral part of the whole and not easily taken out.”

  She frowned. “And as you said, you aren’t someone who likes to rescue damsels in distress.”

  His eyes hardened. “I don’t like to use force. There are ways to change people’s beliefs quietly, subtly. I’ve learned the hard way that force can often backfire on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I once interfered in a fight between a husband and wife in another part of the Amazon. I ended up narrowly escaping with my life and she was exiled from the tribe. I provided for her and she lives at a mission, but she wants to live with her people. But because of me, she can’t. She didn’t appreciate my help. The women must be reeducated as well as the men before anything can be done.”

  “You can’t tell me women enjoy being beaten.”

  “No, but they don’t know anything else. Remember, these tribes are very isolated and civilization is just starting to touch them.”

  “Thank the Lord for at least that.”

  “In the long run it will destroy the Indians and their culture if it keeps up the way it’s going. Their population is quickly dwindling. Their ways, some good ones, are totally different from ours. They aren’t used to our common illnesses. What we can weather often kills them. Nothing’s black or white. There are always gray areas. Advancement is usually a good thing, but it might kill them.”

  Samantha peered at the chief and his warriors and saw them in a different light. They knew the forest and respected it. But their ways were dying. What would their children have to face? Would the people who came to the jungle in the future understand this complex environment? Would they care as the Indians did?

  When they had finished eating their breakfast, the Indians offered to help Brock and Samantha portage around the waterfall before heading back to their village. The natives moved quickly and sure-footedly through the dense jungle. Samantha had a hard time keeping up with them. Brock bridged the distance between her and the Indians.

  At the bottom of the falls, the Indians put the raft into the river and tied the rope to a tree trunk. Then they bade Brock and Samantha good-bye. Their appearance had disturbed her, and yet for an hour Brock and she had not been alone in the jungle. In a strange way the Indians had made the forest seem less foreign to her. They were people trying to survive in the world just like everyone else, even if she didn’t agree with all their ways.

  In the raft again, Brock and Samantha began the long journey down the river, the miles a monotonous repetition of the day before. The sudden, occasional rainstorms forced them to the bank of the river to seek shelter under the overhanging trees. Then when the storm passed as suddenly as it appeared, they continued as before, in silence.

  Near noon Samantha decided to end the silence. “Have you always been on your own doing what you’re doing now?”

  “Lady, do you always ask so many personal questions?”

  “I love unraveling a good mystery.”

  “Is there any type of book you don’t like?”

  “A bad one,” she countered with a laugh.

  He continued to paddle, and she thought about pounding on his back to get his attention. Just when she’d decided that, yet again, he wasn’t going to answer her, he replied, “I used to work for a large oil company in Houston. At the age of thirty I developed an ulcer. That was when I decided I wasn’t cut out to work for anyone else. I love to travel, so I took off to see the world, hoping to make enough money to live on along the way.”

  Listening to Brock, Samantha realized he was a wanderer while she was a homebody. She liked security. Brock thrived on living each day with no real regard for tomorrow, like her brother. She loved Mark, but she didn’t understand him. “Don’t you worry about where your next meal will come from?”

  “Nope. I always manage.”

  “What about your future? Retirement? Roth IRAs?”

  “For eight years I played the corporate game, and it was taking its toll on my health. I could have stayed in the game and had a heart attack at forty or I could change the way I lived. I opted for the latter. I don’t worry about my future. It’s useless to worry about the unknown. Wasted energy.”

  When the sun was almost directly overhead, they stopped for their siesta and lunch. This time there was no debate about Samantha taking a nap. She was exhausted, not having slept well for days.

  Brock slung her hammock. “We’ll stop early for the night. I’m going to try my hand at hunting.”

  He was so close that Samantha found herself reaching out and touching his arm. Part of her was shocked at her boldness; part of her was thrilled.

  He laid his hand over hers and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip, then her palm. Gently tugging her to him, he took her mouth in a deep mating that rocked her to her core.

  When he pulled away, he whispered, “Get some sleep this time, Sam,” then moved to sling his own hammock.

  Frustrated, she sank down into her hammock, going over all the reasons she shouldn’t fall in love with Brock Slader. The fact that he was an unemployed geologist with wanderlust in his blood was right up there.

  * * *

  Samantha awakened before Brock, feeling the grime and dirt of traveling. She dug into her canvas bag for her compact mirror and the makeup that she had tossed into it. There was no rule that said she couldn’t at least keep up appearances as best as she could under the primitive circumstances.

  She longed for a manicure and pedicure as well as a facial and shampoo. When she returned to New Orleans, she was going to treat herself to the works. But at the moment all she could do was put on some foundation, powder, and lipstick after she washed up in the river.

  On the beach at the river’s edge she sat on her haunches and splashed water all over her face and neck. She studied the river and thought about taking a dip to wash the sweat off her body.

  “Go ahead. I think the water is okay here.”

  She twisted about to find Brock only a few feet behind her. “How did you know I was thinking about taking a bath?”

  “Because the same thing crossed my mind. When you’re roughing it, it’s nice to practice a few civilized things—like a bath, a shave.” Brock rubbed his hand across his several days’ growth of beard.

  “You know, what I’d really like to do is wash my clothes.”

  “You brought two shirts. Wash the one you have on and it will dry in the sun quickly.”

  “How? Believe it or not I didn’t bring along detergent in my bag. I don’t even have a bar of soap.”

  “Beat your clothes against those rocks over there. It’s an old practice that will do for now. And if you want to wash your pants, I’ll lend you my shirt to wear while you do both. It’s big enough for propriety’s sake.”

  She flashed him a smile that was both shy and appreciative. “We can afford the delay?”

  “We’ll take it.” He squatted down beside her at the river’s edge and dipped his hands into the water, then splashed it over his face and neck. “I know what a shock the jungle has been to you. And I know it hasn’t been easy, so a few pleasantries are important.”

  “Thanks.”

  He turned his head to stare into her eyes. For a few moments their gazes embraced, each trying to look deep inside the other. She thought of herself as an open book, whereas Brock was a book that had to be read slowly and reread many times before a person understood everything.

  A bird shrieked, breaking the hypnotic spell, and Samantha quickly stood, flustered by the feelings that Brock so easily evoked in her.

  She started to walk back toward her hammock, deciding a bath and wash wouldn’t be wise, when Brock called out, “I promise to keep my distance, Sam. The beach i
s perfect for wading into the water for a bath as well as cleaning your clothes. This may be one of the few opportunities to do either.”

  Glancing back at the river, she released a long breath. “Okay.”

  Brock shrugged out of his white cotton shirt and offered it to Samantha. But she didn’t take a step toward him. For a long moment, the breadth of his chest and his well-conditioned muscles transfixed her. They conveyed a sense of strength and power, and yet she knew of Brock’s gentleness when he held her so tenderly against his chest.

  Her gaze moved up from his trim waist to his broad shoulders to his mouth, curved in a sexy smile. She was more worried about her keeping the distance.

  “I’ll turn around while you undress.”

  His smile captured her full attention; the meaning of his words didn’t register.

  He had to take the few steps between them and place his shirt in her hand. When he turned his back, Samantha finally moved, hurriedly stripping out of her dirty clothes and slipping into his oversized shirt. His smell tantalized her senses, making her strongly aware of how alone she and Brock were and threatening to wipe away all strength to resist this attraction she felt toward him.

  “I’m through,” she murmured when she had finished securing the last button on his shirt.

  He slowly faced her, dressed only in his pants. She stood a foot from him, dressed only in his shirt, her clothes lying in a pile at her feet. As they stared at each other, Samantha’s breath caught, and her blood rushed through her body like the wind through the trees.

  He was everything she had always thought she didn’t want in a man, and yet she was drawn to him as she had never been to any other man. She didn’t understand these feelings deep inside her. She didn’t understand herself anymore. Before she had always thought she had a good idea of what she wanted from life, how she felt, but now, everything was changing.

  It would be so easy to take the one step toward him, Samantha realized. But emotionally she was torn in two. She wanted him, and yet she knew how dangerous that would be. She needed to cling to civilization because he was beginning to sway her toward her wild, untamed surroundings. The adventures she’d read about were stretching out before her with Brock as her guide.

  She looked away, quickly picked up her clothes, and started for the river. She took her frustration out on her clothes, beating them against the rocks until she wasn’t sure they would hold together when she put them back on. She avoided looking at Brock because never in her life had her willpower been so lacking. She had always prided herself on her strong willpower, but as with so many things in the last week, she was discovering that was changing too.

  Samantha decided to bathe as best she could at the water’s edge, since all she had ever mastered was the dog paddle. She spread her clothes out to dry in the hot sun, then straightened.

  Her gaze was immediately drawn to Brock, who was shaving without the benefit of a mirror. She watched him scrape the lather off one side of his face. He did it, as he did everything else, with an ease and naturalness that spoke of his self-confidence.

  “I have a small compact mirror you can use,” Samantha said.

  “Will you hold it for me?”

  “How did you manage when you traveled in the jungle before?” She held the mirror up before him, trying to ignore the quickening of her heartbeat.

  “I always let my beard grow.”

  “Then why not now?”

  He paused, his razor suspended in midair. “Because I saw your red skin after I kissed you.”

  He began to shave again, but shocked by his answer, she dropped her hand to her side. He nicked himself with the straightedge.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  She touched his cheek to wipe away the spot of blood, but he seized her hand and held it flat against his face. She felt the smoothness of cleanly shaved skin and the warmth that radiated from him.

  “We both know it won’t be the last time we kiss.”

  She wanted to deny his words, but she couldn’t. He only spoke the truth.

  “I’ve seen you fighting what’s between us. Give in to your feelings for once.”

  “Feelings! What’s between us is pure lust.” She yanked her hand from his grasp and thrust the mirror at him. “Manage by yourself.”

  As she stalked off toward the river, she heard his laughter. Fuming, she went farther into the water than she normally would. The river suddenly dropped off and she found herself submerged. She came up fighting, and instinctively started to dog-paddle the few feet to shallow water.

  Embarrassed at his perception, angry at his male confidence, and confused by her conflicting emotions, Samantha started “washing” herself, aware of his wet shirt clinging to the outline of her body.

  When she was through, she sat on a rock with her compact mirror between her knees and began to apply her makeup, wincing when she spied the new crop of freckles on her nose. As she was putting on a light foundation, she wondered if she was losing her mind. Applying makeup in the middle of nowhere? And yet, it had become important, not because Brock was a yard away—he had seen her at her worst—but because it was one of the few links to her other life, to civilization thousands of miles away.

  After she had completed that task, she undid the bun on top of her head and brushed her hair until it was completely dried. She was tempted to leave it down, remembering Brock’s comment, but for practical reasons she put her hair back up in a bun. Obviously she wasn’t totally losing her mind.

  By the time they were ready to begin their journey down the river again, Samantha’s clothes were dry, and she gladly gave Brock his shirt back, wishing she could distance herself emotionally and physically from him as easily as shedding his shirt. At least now she felt cleaner and more refreshed, though she knew it wouldn’t last. For a short time she was the old Samantha Prince, bookstore owner from New Orleans.

  Back on the river silence reigned between them, and Samantha went back to counting the different birds she saw as well as the different trees along the shore. The repetition was lulling her to sleep when a sharp movement jarred her awake. She opened her eyes to find the water churning and rushing around the raft. They had entered some rapids. All the movies and TV shows she’d seen with people challenging the rapids flashed into her mind.

  “What do I do?” she asked, battling the fear threatening to take over.

  “Hang on.”

  She did, but she was vulnerably conscious of the fact that neither of them had a life preserver. Her gaze riveted on Brock as he fought to keep the raft from smashing into the rocks or turning over. The fear she had tried to hold at bay crammed her throat, constricted her breathing.

  She could see the end of the rapids when the raft seemed to be lifted right out of the water. It came down on one side, tossing her out like unwanted baggage. Water engulfed her, pulling her down into the black depths of the river.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rushing.

  Tumbling.

  Thrashing the water, Samantha fought for a decent breath. Instead water rushed in with the panic clutching her.

  Then warmth enveloped her. She was sinking into the sweet sensations of a dark void when rough hands pressed down on her chest. Fingers pried her lips apart and an insistent mouth breathed into hers.

  “Live! Sam, live!”

  She was seized by a violent fit of coughing. Wrenched from the blissful darkness and peace that was beckoning her, she pushed at the rough hands, wanting to return to the black void.

  “That’s my girl. Fight.”

  She turned her face away from the insistent mouth as she coughed up river water. The rough hands took her into a gentle embrace, and she slowly eased her eyelids open against the glare of an intense sun. She felt as though a truck had mowed her down, and somehow she had managed to survive the collision.

  “Thank God you’re alive, Samantha. Are you hurt?”

  Suddenly everything came back to her. She
had gone overboard while they had been riding the rapids. She had been drowning when…

  “Sam?” Brock pulled back to look down at her.

  She attempted a smile and thought she had never seen such a wonderful sight as Brock’s face. “Let’s put it this way. I know I’m alive. Every part of my body is telling me just how alive I am.”

  Brock laughed and hugged her to him, more tightly this time. “It’s so good to hear you talking. For a minute there I didn’t think I would. You certainly gave me a scare I don’t wish to relive anytime soon.”

  “It’ll be a while before I’ll attempt that ride again, but I think I’m okay.”

  His hands ran down her arms, then the rest of her, caressing her as they moved over every inch of her body. “I don’t think you broke anything.”

  “Just checking?” She pushed away, filled with an intense desire to laugh for the sheer pleasure of having faced death and made it through relatively unscathed, although tomorrow she’d probably be bruised and sore.

  “Someone has to.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled.

  “And you elected yourself?”

  “Guilty as charged.” He tilted his head in a slight, mocking nod.

  For the first time Samantha took a look around to see where they were. The rapids ended about a hundred feet upstream and they were sitting on an outcropping of rocks with trees on one side and the river on the other. The noise of the rapids in the background underscored in Samantha’s mind the frequent stillness of the world they had entered.

  “Where’s the raft?”

  Brock frowned.

  “Mark’s book! It’s in my bag in the raft!” Panic replaced the languor she had begun to feel after that hair-raising ride.

  “Calm down. The raft is tied up below the rock, but there’s a hole in the side. It’s losing air. We won’t be able to use it anymore.”