Just a Kiss Away

by Jill Barnett

  She shook her skirts with an indignant snap, and a few pieces of wire bounced onto the ground while others recoiled outward, then sprang back like broken guitar strings. “Well, I should think so. Of course I suppose you need all this . . . this prison fence to keep your hostages.” She waved her hand around, and it caught on a piece of wire, pulling her hair. She winced and jerked it out of her hair, frowning at the blond wad of hair that hung from the wire.

  Andres stiffened. “Hostages? I do not understand.” He looked from Lollie back to Sam, his face shocked.

  Good work, Bonifacio. A little exaggerated for my taste, but still good work. Sam smiled.

  She tossed the wire over her shoulder. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean you have to treat me as if I’m stupid. I heard him.” She glared at Sam, raising an accusing finger and waving it around his face.

  He never took his gaze from hers, but smiled. “What was that?”

  Her jaw jutted out like a mule just before it kicks. “You told your friend that you intended to get paid for me, and when he asked how much, you said it was up to you.” She turned her accusing finger on Bonifacio.

  Andres laughed and shook his head as if this whole thing was some great joke. Sam joined him. Her shoulders went back, and her chin went up in pure indignation. She wanted to hit them. Sam could read it in her icy eyes.

  “There has been a big mistake, Miss LaRue. Sam was talking about his reward for bringing you to the safety of this camp.” Andres smiled.

  She eyed both men with the same wary look that Little Red Riding Hood must have worn when she looked at the wolf in her grandmother’s bed. Sam and Andres exchanged a scheming look.

  “We are very close with the United States government,” Andres told her. “I have already sent a note to your father telling him that you are safe, thanks to Sam, and that he will be bringing you back to Manila as soon as we can ensure your safe return.”

  She was very quiet, then tore her gaze away from his commander and looked at Sam.

  He smiled as innocently as a one-eyed mercenary could. She watched him, then crossed her barb-scraped arms and said, “How do I know that?”

  She was learning. Not bad, he thought, watching her with a glimmer of respect.

  Andres lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I cannot prove that I sent the note.”

  “Can you prove that you have ties with my government?” She raised her chin a notch.

  Two good questions, Sam thought. Amazing.

  “Ah, now, that I can prove.” Andres picked up a torch and placed it near the sandbag wall. “See this?” He pointed to some writing on the bag.

  Lollie walked over and looked. Sam knew it said “U.S. Army issue, property of the United States of America.” He had bought them from a supply officer out of the Presidio in San Francisco, a man who, for the right price, would supply him with anything that belonged to the army. However, she wouldn’t know that.

  She read the print and straightened, still watching both men as if she could determine the truth from their faces.

  Andres slid his jacket off, hunkered down near the torch, and turned the coat inside out. “Look, read this.”

  She leaned over and read aloud, “ Property of the United States Army.’ “

  He slapped his knife and sheath down next to it, pointing to the words stamped into the leather sheath.

  “ ‘Property of the United States Army,’ “ she repeated.

  “Gomez! Come here.” Andres called the man over. “Hold out those wire cutters so she can see them.”

  She leaned over and read, “ ‘Property of the United States Army.’ ”

  “Do you still doubt we are backed by the U.S.?” Bonifacio asked.

  She gave him a full smile and sighed—a good windy one—with relief, then slapped a hand on her chest. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. This whole thing has been such a trial.” She gave Sam a pointed look.

  Bonifacio shot him a look of warning. “Sam has some . . . some rough edges, Miss LaRue, but he is a fine soldier, a man you can trust with your life. I would always feel safe with him at my flank. I am sure he only did what he had to keep you both alive.”

  She made a choked noise of disbelief, which irritated the hell out of Sam. His hands itched.

  “Miss LaRue, Sam will be escorting you back to your family just as soon as I can make the arrangements.”

  “I’d prefer someone else, please,” she said, just as if she were ordering a meal.

  “Unfortunately, that is not possible. He is the most qualified. He is an American, like you, and is the best man for the job. I am afraid you two will just have to tolerate each other. I have many men, but none I would trust as much as him.”

  Sam gave her a gloating smile.

  “Also, he has volunteered.”

  His smile faded. Volunteered, my ass. He gave his commander a look that said as much and received another warning look.

  Lollie still stood there. Then she sighed. “I guess we have no choice.” She picked a piece of wire off her dress. “You could apologize. You weren’t very nice to me, you know.”

  He would not apologize. “I saved your pampered southern butt.”

  “That’s what I mean!” Nose and chin up, she turned to his commander, presenting Sam with her stiff back. “He also called me a pain in the . . . well, you know.”

  “Ass. You were a pain in the ass,” Sam repeated, ignoring his commander. “And you still are.”

  “Quiet! Both of you!” Bonifacio shouted.

  “But—” Lollie and Sam spoke at the same time.

  “Not one word.” Bonifacio held up his hands, then shook his head. “I think you two have just been through too much together the last few days. I changed my mind.” He looked at Sam. “Maybe a little time apart would help.”

  “Thank you, God,” Sam mumbled just loud enough for them to hear.

  She gasped and turned toward him, glaring like a bulldog.

  His commander pinned him with a look that said Sam had pushed too far. After a long silence he said, “On second thought, maybe you should settle this together.” His look dared Sam to comment.

  He didn’t; he cursed his sharp tongue instead. This woman drove him to do the stupidest things.

  Bonifacio gave her a quick bow. “I must get back. Our cause is in jeopardy, and I will be very busy. I have placed you in Sam’s competent care. Remember, you both made it here in one piece. I am sure you will be able to resolve your differences over the next few days.” He looked at her. “It is the best for your welfare. I will talk to you, Miss LaRue, as soon as we hear from your father.” He gave Sam a curt nod, turned, and disappeared into the dark camp.

  Chapter 14

  Lollie pulled the thread taut, bit it in two, and placed the needle and thread on the table next to her cot. She held the black pants up. The waist looked much smaller. Standing, she pulled the pants on over the new underwear she’d been given—men’s underwear in a small size.

  The drawers and the sleeveless undershirt were made of cotton—new and U.S. government issued. As small as they were, they were still too big for her. The shirt gaped under her arms, and the drawers stayed up only because of the drawstring at the waist. She slid the long sleeves of the stiff black canvas shirt on, and they fell over her hands as if weighted. She rolled the sleeves up, not an easy task, since the other cuff kept falling down and getting in her way.

  Finally she managed to get the sleeves to stay up near her elbows. The roll of sleeve was so tight it pinched her skin, but at least they were out of the way. She shoved the long shirttails into the pants and pushed the pants buttons through the holes.

  The pants were a little tight, but that was much better than before. She looked over her shoulder to see how they fit. She ran her hands down the side seams, which were now thicker where she’d folded them over and sewed them together, using the only sewing technique she’d mastered at school—the embroidery locking stitch. She just hoped they’d hold. />
  It felt odd, wearing pants instead of the heavy petticoats and dresses she’d always worn, and even different from the skimpy, ragged dress she’d worn through the jungle. She glanced down at her legs, outlined by the pants. The fabric was especially tight across her fanny and hipbones. Maybe they fit a bit too well. She supposed she could rip out a seam and redo it, but she really didn’t feel like it, since sewing had never been her favorite pastime. She had mastered only embroidery—her initials, flowers, and such.

  She wondered why certain duties were always associated with women, ladies in particular. Madame Devereaux had been so strict about what a lady did and didn’t do. In Lollie’s mind, very few of the do’s were fun. Dancing was something she liked, but ladies had to wait around for the men to deign to ask them. That was another stupid rule no doubt invented by the superior males in history. It rated down there on the sense scale with that ladylike-appetite business—stupid, really stupid.

  Another entertainment was riding, although she’d been denied access to the more spirited horses by her brother Harrison, who thought she was helpless. He’d have looked helpless, too, if he’d been forced to ride almost sideways on a slippery leather saddle, one knee hooked around the sidesaddle pommel. How anyone could be expected to stay on a horse in that position was beyond her. And she never had managed to stay on even once.

  It galled her that men seemed to feel that their sole purpose on this earth was to tell women what to do, then save them from the consequences. Seemed like a futile exercise.

  But it was a man’s world, ruled and run by men, at least her world always had been. It consisted of five brothers who relished telling her what to do and then did whatever they pleased. A father who never bothered with her and still wasn’t rushing to meet his daughter. Now she was stuck in a camp full of men, soldiers, and one Yankee in particular who had strong opinions, the social graces of a mule, and the tact and finesse of a cannon blast.

  Sam was an odd man. Hardheaded. She thought of his refusal to apologize. Rude. He called her some awful things. Yet there was something about him that intrigued her. She wondered if maybe it was just the differences in their lives, if maybe she was drawn to Sam Forester because she’d never known anyone quite like him.

  The few men she’d known socially were gentlemen of the South, male perfection from the tops of their well-groomed heads to the toes of their polished boots. They had manners, grace, and a finely bred handsomeness. Sam was handsome, in a rough way. In her mind she pictured his face as it had been the first time she’d really looked at him in that alley. Some bell had chimed deep inside her, as if warning her away. It had frightened her at the time. Now it intrigued her, for with all of their fine manners and perfectly groomed good looks none—not even one—of the men back home had ever made her swimmy-headed.

  Sam did.

  He had a powerful lot of pride, maybe even more than a Charlestonian, which was probably way too much for any one person. She thought of the time she’d tried to give him her food. That pride had been there in full force.

  His talk was gruff, purposely so, and he swore enough to meet the devil tomorrow face to face. He was a little mysterious and very dangerous. She wondered if the slums had done that to him or if it was caused by something else—his eye, maybe? Sam Forester was no gentleman, and yet . . . there was something. As much as he shouted to the world that she was a burden to him, he’d never abandoned her, not once. She sighed, wondering what that meant and telling herself not to read too much into it.

  Placing her chin on her hand, she surveyed the small room for the hundredth time. It was barren. The wooden floor was made of some rough, almost splintery wood. The walls were painted, but the color, if it could be called a color, was flat gray. There were two wooden chairs, one of carved oak with only one arm and a wobbling leg, the other painted a deep green. Imagine painting anything on this island green. As if there wasn’t enough green here already.

  But the color was tolerable; the holes in the caned seat were not. She’d made the mistake of sitting in that chair when Sam dragged her to this room and tossed some bedding on the bed, along with the clean clothes. She had been intent on watching him stomp around the room like one of those water buffalo, and she’d flopped into the closest chair to be more comfortable while he vented his anger. Her fanny had sunk straight to the rungs, her knees pinned against her chest. She couldn’t have moved if someone had lit a fire under her. Swearing the room blue, he had yanked her out.

  Embarrassed at the memory, she plopped down on the hard cot and stared at the thick red socks lying next to a pair of leather boots with a ton of eyelets and laces. The brown leather was rock-hard and uncreased, so she figured they were brand-new, although as hard as they were, she doubted anyone, even the soldier for whom they were intended, could ever wear a crease in them. Obviously they were men’s boots, but they looked small enough to fit her and she wondered where he’d gotten them.

  With a quick shrug of who knows and who cares, she pulled on the socks and slipped into the boots, then tied them and stood to test the fit. She walked forward, the heavy boots pounding like horses’ hooves on the wooden floor.

  For the next few minutes she tromped around the small room, trying to get used to walking in the heavy shoes. Satisfied she could walk without keeling over, she decided to explore the camp, unable to take the confinement any longer. Quick as a blink she’d walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside, just as Jim Cassidy walked around the corner less than three feet from her. At least she assumed it was Jim Cassidy since that big black bird was perched on his shoulder.

  The man was very tall, not as muscular as Sam, and his hair wasn’t slicked back as it had been before. It was a deep dark blond, with light streaks at the top and gray at his temples. He had very dark brows, which made his blond hair look even lighter. His face was tanned and angular, and without the ash smeared on it, he was absolutely the handsomest man Lollie had ever seen. She just stood there gawking.

  “Halt, Jim! Hen at three o’clock!” The bird flapped its wings twice and peered around its master’s shoulder to pin her with its curious yellow eyes.

  Jim stopped. “Well, well, the carnivore.”

  Lollie felt her face flush.

  “Broken any eardrums lately?” he said, smiling while he gave her a look she could pour on pancakes.

  She ignored his words, because something else had her attention—his eyes. She had the strangest feeling that this man’s green eyes could see right through her clothes. He prowled toward her. She backed up until her backside smacked against the doorframe.

  He stepped closer. “You look a little lost.” He placed one hand on the doorjamb and leaned his head down until it was barely two inches from hers. His eyes never blinked, never fluttered, just seemed to scorch her. He had long, thick, dark eyelashes and light green eyes that held a hard, earthy knowledge that she had no wish to know. This man was canned fire.

  After a few seconds that seemed like hot hours, he whispered, “How about I help you find yourself. I’ll even let you”—he cupped her chin in his hand and stroked it with his thumb slowly—”bite.”

  “Oh, my Gawd!” She ducked under his arm and looked frantically around, then yelled as loud as she could, “Saaaam!”

  The bird squawked and flew to the eave, screeching. “Raaaape! Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!”

  At the same time Jim straightened. “Damn woman! Where’d you learn to yell like that?” He shook his head as if to stop the ringing.

  Sam rounded the corner at a full run.

  Lollie flew into his chest, wrapping her arms around him like a wisteria on wrought iron.

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  “Huh?” Jim shook his head.

  “Sam’s here! He’s full of it! Get a shovel!” the bird cried from its perch above them.

  Three more men ran around the corner. Two held machetes and another a huge, wide-barreled gun. Lollie took a deep breath and looked at the three men. The o
ne with the huge gun pointed it right at her. She gasped and practically climbed onto Sam, looking up at him while she tried to speak. “I . . . he . . . we . . .” and she burst into tears.

  “Shit! Cassidy, you ass.”

  “What’d you say?” Jim frowned as if in pain.

  “Sam’s an ass! Sam’s an ass!”

  “I’m going to kill that bird,” Sam muttered. “Stop crying, Lollie. He’s not going to hurt you.”

  She cried even harder, unable to stop herself until Sam finally put his hard arms around her. Her tears tapered to small sniffles almost the second she felt the warmth of his arms and his hand gently rubbing her back. He had the most comforting chest.

  “This one’s off limits.”

  “I can’t hear you. What’d you say?” Jim blinked.

  “Keep away from her!” Sam shouted so loud Lollie jumped. Then she turned within the circle of his arms and looked at Jim.

  He looked at them, his gaze going from her to Sam. “Ah, I see.” He gave Lollie an annoyed stare. “I can’t hear, but I see. It’s real plain.”

  “Just what the hell do you see?” Sam’s bellow echoed above her.

  “It’s all right, Sammy old boy. I won’t trespass on your property.” He grinned.

  “Sam’s bought the farm!” crowed the bird, and Jim snorted with laughter.

  Lollie looked up at Sam at the same instant he looked at her, his face a mask of pure horror. His arms left her so fast it was as if her skin had turned to fire. He stepped back two strides, putting plenty of distance between them. She was instantly cold.

  “I don’t want her, Cassidy. I’m stuck with her until I can get her back to her daddy, unharmed.” He looked at her as if she were quicksand and then turned his angry gaze toward his friend.

  Her heart sank. She felt humiliated that he could be so public about his lack of regard for her, and she was hurt that once again a man didn’t want her around. She swallowed to fight back the burn of her silly tears.