Her heart filled with quiet joy, seeing the wry look he gave her. “I’m finding my way with my heart, Mike. I need time…but I know you will give me the time I need to keep sorting through everything.” Khat searched his hooded look.
“You have all the time you want,” he promised thickly. “I wasn’t going to mention the dream I had for us, Angel, but your aunt brought it up.” He smiled.
“Aunt Leeda isn’t known for her diplomacy. But I think you got that part pretty quickly.”
“No kidding,” Mike muttered, releasing her and giving her a wicked grin. “Kind of reminds me a lot of you.”
“Now,” Khat said, giving him a playful look, “you know where it comes from.” She tried to steady herself with the idea that Mike was serious about wanting to marry her. All her life, she had prepared herself to be alone because of her scars and shameful past. There was so much going on that Khat couldn’t adjust fast enough.
Mike led her into the barn. Together they removed the tarp over the packhorse’s panniers. They unloaded the goods from each one. Khat wanted to spend the rest of her day giving a medical clinic to those who would come to Aunt Leeda’s home. They would stand in line for hours to receive help. Mike would be her bodyguard, always watchful, always alert. No village, especially along the border, was ever safe.
*
LEEDA INVITED MIKE to tea after Khat had wrapped up her medical clinic. She was having tea with more of her relatives, who were begging her to visit them at another home in the village. He went one way, she went the other.
Mike had removed his hajii gear and put it in the barn with the horses. Wearing his SEAL uniform and all his gear, he knocked on the door of Leeda’s home.
“Come in,” she invited.
Mike took off his black baseball cap and entered. The house smelled of spices, of lamb cooking. The woman was now dressed in a dark burgundy robe, a pink scarf over her red hair. Mike could see that when Leeda was younger, she had probably been quite beautiful. This time, she led him into another room, the window open to draw in fresh air. A small red Persian rug was spread out, a silver tray darkened with ages of tea use, delicate white cups with small honey cakes on a dish in the center of it. He knew from experience this was a formal sit-down. Leeda was going to unmercifully grill him.
He leaned his rifle against the nearby wall, close enough to grab if he needed it. Mike sat so he faced the entrance to the room. Leeda handed him the dish with the honey cakes. He thanked her, taking only one and giving it back to her.
“You have caused a great deal of excitement by coming to our village,” she murmured, pouring him tea and setting the cup in front of him. She poured tea for herself, sitting on several cushions at the other end of the rug.
“I was hoping we could come and go quietly,” Mike said with a slight smile, tasting the honey cake. It was hand-milled grain with sweet, wild honey mixed with raisins, and it tasted good. Leeda had probably made them specially for this interrogation.
“My niece, as you can tell, is highly regarded here among all families.” Leeda sipped her tea, her gaze never leaving his face.
“She is greatly loved,” Mike agreed, wiping his fingers on his trousers after finishing off the honey cake.
“You are not of our tribe.”
He felt the invisible arrow go straight to his heart. “No, I’m not. But love doesn’t see tribes, color of a person’s skin or even countries,” he countered, watching her frown.
“I was hoping she would find favor with a young man here over time,” she said, breaking a honey cake open and eating a piece of it.
“She’s been here five years,” Mike pointed out mildly. He saw the woman’s deeply tanned face wrinkle in thought.
“And she favors you.”
He nodded once, waiting to see where she was going with it.
“Do you love her, Mike Tarik?”
The fervency of her question caught him completely off guard. Leeda’s eyes were narrowed and intense upon him. “I do, with all of my heart,” he answered quietly, placing his hand against his chest. Now he was beginning to see where Khat got that passionate snow leopard fierceness. It was clearly genetic.
“Then,” Leeda said more formally, “you know there is a dowry involved? You cannot just walk in here, claiming my niece’s hand without offering a dowry.”
Mike realized that Leeda has accepted him as husband material. His heart soared wildly with joy, but he didn’t let it show. Already, they’d moved on to the horse haggling over the dowry. Shocked and scrambling, he was elated with the aunt’s blessing, but drawing a blank on dowry. God, he hadn’t even thought that far ahead!
“What would you like?” Mike asked, on the defense.
Leeda touched her heart with her hand. “That you love my niece as much as we love her. Love is not something that can be bought or sold.”
Again, Mike was thrown off guard. Normally, money, horses, goats and cows were the demand for a dowry. Leeda’s passionate-looking green eyes were moist, and he heard a wobble in her husky, strong voice. It was then he realized why Khat had considered this her home. Her family. Fierce Leeda was a mother snow leopard guarding her family without apology. “You’re right,” he whispered, giving her a kind look. “I love your niece with my life. I would give my life for her.” He set the tea down and opened his hands. “She saved my life. I would never do less than that for her. I can’t prove to you how much I love her, but with every breath I take, I’m grateful Khat is a part of my life.”
“And do you intend to take her away from us? Will we never see her again?”
Mike frowned. “I would make every effort to bring her over here to see you and the family whenever she wanted. I have no intention of tearing Khat away from you.”
“But you will live in America,” Leeda said bitterly. “And then we are forgotten.”
Mike shook his head. “Leeda, my blood is Saudi. I understand about family and tribe. My father makes a journey home every year to visit his relatives and friends. When I wasn’t in the navy, I would always accompany him and so would my American-born mother. I think I understand your concerns better than most, don’t you?”
She pursed her lips, staring at him as if he were her enemy for a long time before speaking. “You cannot know how my heart feels about this. I’ve worried for my niece every night for the past five years.” She dabbed the tears from her eyes with a white linen handkerchief that she drew from her pocket. “Khatereh has been tortured. I’m sure you know that?”
“I do,” he said, grim.
“I know her father has disowned her. But Khatereh does not know that. She thinks I’m illiterate, but I am not. I got my stupid brother’s letter.” She threw up her hands and groused, “What is wrong with that brother of mine, I do not know! He makes me angry! If he were here, I’d whip him so he could understand what his daughter suffered through because of his idiot decision!”
Mike believed it. This was a woman warrior sitting with him, not some cowed Afghan wife. “His words have harmed her a great deal. It’s another wound to her heart,” Mike grated.
“So you see what I see? That is good.” She picked up her cup of tea and drained it.
“Does your whole family know she’s been disowned?”
Shaking her head, Leeda snarled, “When I received Jaleel’s letter, I wept for Khatereh and hated him for doing it to her. I ripped up the letter and burned it! A few of our family can read, but not many.” She raised a fist into the air. “I read but I cannot write. If I could, I would have sent him back a letter that would explode into flames the moment he opened it up to read it.”
Mike nodded, hiding his smile, seeing the rage in the woman’s eyes, her bitterness toward her brother, Khat’s father. “I would like you to help me, Leeda,” he said in a low tone. “Khat is torn between staying here for the winter or coming back to the States with me. She’s underweight, she doesn’t sleep well and she’s in danger all the time up in the mountains. I would like you to talk
to her, tell her it’s all right to come home with me.”
Mouth turning in, Leeda whispered, “You and I are on the same side. We both want Khatereh to heal. She’s never healed from the torture and her father disowning her. I believe you do love her. I see it in your eyes. I hear it in your voice. I will miss her, of course, but it’s more important she go with you. At least your love will help her to heal over time.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Khat asked her aunt Leeda one morning after everyone had left for the fields for the day. She sat with her aunt in the room with the red Persian rug across the floor.
“I think it will be good for your heart and soul to go with Mike Tarik,” she said somberly. Sipping the tea, she gave Khat a kindly look. “You’ve not taken care of yourself, child. You have given your blood and nearly lost your life so many times for your family and village. At some point you must withdraw and heal.”
Frowning, Khat digested Leeda’s gentle words. “I am tired,” she admitted, pushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“But you are happy, eh? I see the way this man who holds your heart looks at you. My beloved husband looked at me the same way, and I thank Allah I had twenty-five good years with him. It isn’t often a woman is blessed to meet a man who loves and respects her.”
“I love Mike,” Khat whispered, sipping her tea. “Lately, he’s been my anchor. I’ve been flying apart at the seams.”
“You need rest,” Leeda flatly stated, frowning. “We have all benefitted from your presence, but now, it’s time for you to walk another path.”
Tears gathered in Khat’s eyes as she looked around the humble abode. “I—I’ll miss all of you so much, Aunt Leeda. You gave me love, and you welcomed me when I felt so alone.” Abandoned. “I’ll miss having tea with you in the early morning and talking about life, about your wonderful stories…” She wiped her cheek, seeing her aunt’s face droop with sadness. Khat felt her heart grieving, and she hadn’t even left yet.
“Mike will help you make a new home.” Leeda gave a flourish of her hand. “Sit down and agree to have tea together. Talk. It is a good thing for a husband and wife to talk daily with one another. You are going home where you were born, Khatereh. Your spirit belongs in America, not here.”
“But my blood has called me here, Aunt.”
“Yes, I understand that call. It’s there to remind us of our homeland, of our spirit. Our true roots for generations. And you know you’ll always be welcome here. Always.”
Nodding, Khat wiped more tears away. “Lately, I’ve become such a sop. I cry so much.”
“You didn’t cry for four years after your torture,” Leeda reminded her. “This man has opened your heart. He’s allowing you to grieve and weep for what was taken from you. When you are emptied out, he will replace that emptiness with his love for you.” She wagged a worn finger at her. “Love heals all. Never forget that, Niece.”
*
AS MIKE RODE with Khat under cover of darkness two nights later, leaving Dur Babba, it was misting rain. The September weather was moody, and rain could quickly turn to snow. The horses plodded across the plain toward the fourteen-thousand-foot mountain that could be seen through their NVGs, a grainy green color.
Mike rode at her side, their legs touching occasionally as the horses plodded along. She had cried, holding on to her aunt as if she were being ripped from a mooring that had been keeping her alive. Mike reached out, gripping her hand and squeezing it gently and then releasing it. He wondered if she was still crying silently. He was unable to tell.
While Khat was saying goodbye to all her relatives, he’d gotten a radio call from Mac back at Bravo. The weather was setting in, and he told them to be careful. When weather lowered in the mountains, only Apaches had thermal imaging capability and even then, it was iffy. Fog, rain and snow were in the weather picture for the next three days. They’d have to lie low and wait it out in the cave. And then, they had another five to seven days of mapping and then they could return to Bravo.
It bothered him that no orders had come down from General Stevenson. Khat’s orders should be changed. She should be given light duty or better, sent home to the States to recuperate. He’d miss her, but she’d be safe. And in a few more months, his platoon would rotate home.
The mist hid them, and that was good. Not many Taliban would be out on a miserably cold night like this. Soon enough, they’d be climbing a steep slope, heading up a goat path for another of Khat’s homes. Mike looked forward to holding her in his arms at night. While at the village, men slept with men and women slept with women. He’d missed the hell out of her.
*
“THE SUN IS OUT, finally,” Khat muttered, lifting her head from his shoulder. In the waterfall cave, sunlight streaked through the opening, a radiant shaft illuminating the cave and their area. It had taken them three days to get back, due to mist, rain, fog and snow. It was early September, and the mountain weather was fickle. It had taken them ten more days to map the rest of the area because of the inclement weather hanging around. The sun coming out meant they could begin their journey back to Bravo and make it in two days, not three or four.
Mike grunted and said, “I’m going to be glad to get some decent food.” He’d lost weight.
Khat laughed and stood up, naked. She stretched fitfully and walked over and picked up a clean olive-green T-shirt, pulling it over her head.
“The view is beautiful from here,” he told her, hands behind his head. As she pulled the T-shirt over her loose hair, she made a funny face.
“Do you ever not think of sex?” she muttered, grinning.
“Not with you around, I don’t.” He was hard already. And they had a lot of packing to do to get out by nightfall. She had the longest, most beautiful legs he’d ever seen on a woman. Her thighs were perfection, molded and taut from so much riding for so many years. When she pulled on her panties and then her trousers, he decided it was time to get his clothes on.
“I wish,” Khat muttered, sitting down and pulling on a pair of thick green wool socks and then her boots, “that I could stay here. Why does the master chief want me to come in?”
Mike shrugged as he got dressed. “I don’t know.” He gave her a patient look. “Wouldn’t you usually leave the mountains about this time and go down to Dur Babba to sit out the winter?”
Shrugging, she said, “I try to stay up here as late as I can. The Taliban use the trails until there’s six feet of snow stopping them. That’s when I leave.” She tied her laces and stood up, going over to take care of the nickering horses.
Mike said nothing. He wasn’t going to stir up an argument with her on this. Khat said she’d come in. There were a lot of things to work out with General Stevenson. He knew she would be at Bravo for at least a little while. According to Mac, her original orders were to fly Stateside on October 1 of every year and not return to her op until April 1 of the next year. Curious if the chief had heard from General Stevenson, he prepared their breakfast, another MRE.
He watched Khat as she brushed each horse as they ate. Their coats were getting shaggy due to the colder weather. Her hair was still loose around her shoulders, a red shawl letting the world know she was one hell of a warrior. He was glad to have met Jaleel’s family because he understood so much more about Khat.
He smiled a little, happier than he’d ever been. In time, Khat was going to marry him, and he still couldn’t believe it. Mike wanted to make sure that Mac knew about it. There were papers to be prepared for her and him to sign. He would write her down as the person who would receive everything he owned in life if he was killed, including the insurance policy. It wasn’t a very happy thing to think about but in their business, it was a reality.
“Don’t you want real eggs and bacon back at Bravo?” he teased.
Khat took a mane comb and pulled it down through Mina’s long, thick black mane. “Yes.” She saw him grinning at her. He was more than ready to get back to civilization and giv
e that wooden saddle away. He might be a SEAL, but he hated riding in that creaky, uncomfortable saddle. Splinters in the butt and thighs were common. He was going to be happy to be patrolling on foot or being dropped by helo at night from now on. “I wonder if they’ll have pumpkin pie at the chow hall?”
“It’s that time of year,” he said. “Why? You a squash person, too?”
Laughing softly, Khat patted the horses and put her tack tools away in a small box. Rubbing her hands down the thighs of her trousers, she walked back to him. “I love the holidays. I’m into overkill.” She knelt down and took the heated MRE from him and let it cool a bit. “When I was little, my mother, Glenna, would make all kinds of Thanksgiving cookies. I used to help her.” Khat laughed fondly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very good at putting frosting on them, though. I’d dip my finger into the bowl and eat a lot of it when I could get away with it.”
Mike joined her with his MRE, their knees almost touching one another. “Your father didn’t insist on a Muslim way of life for you?”
“No. My mother is spiritual. My father is Muslim, and he’s devout, but I guess they agreed long before I was born, to not force me into one religion or another. I got to make my own choice.”
“So you took after your mother?”
“I’m spiritual, not religious,” she said between bites. “You?”
“Same way. My parents didn’t push me one way or another.”
“I guess I feel most at peace out in the open air,” Khat murmured. “I love to sit with my back up against a tree, see fog move silently through a meadow…”
“Where do your parents live?”
“San Francisco. My father is part of a very successful engineering firm there. My mom loves the Muir Woods giant redwood trees. She would take me up to a park nearby, and we’d walk through them. I always thought it was a perfect place for a church of sorts. It was so calm and healing in that grove of redwoods.”
“And you carry that memory with you to this day,” Mike said, watching her face become pensive. “Maybe you’ll take me up to Muir Woods? I’d like to experience it with you.”
Taking Fire Page 27
