by Brynne Asher
Gabe has made quick work of his chores and is tossing his broom out the door when I return. He gives me a tight look before stepping aside to make room for me.
Going straight to my bag, I dig around and find my hand sanitizer and a bottle of water. After washing my hands, I take a much-needed drink. I did everything I could not to touch it while we were walking, I had a feeling I might need it later.
I offer it to Gabe. “Thirsty? It’s all I have but we can share.”
He looks from the water to me before taking the bottle without a word. He takes a sip and hands it back. “You should probably conserve that. You never know.”
I’m not sure if that’s his way of telling me he doesn’t think we’ll find our way out anytime soon, but I do my best not to think about that. I reach back in my bag and pull out my cucumber and mint facial towelettes and do my best to pretend we’re not lost, that we’ll find our way out, and eventually get home.
When I think about home, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. We were supposed to fly out first thing in the morning and I’d arranged to fly straight to Wilmington instead of Indianapolis. I spoke to my grandmother’s house manager this morning and it’s important—now more than ever—that I get home.
I hear a grunt and my eyes snap open as I’m wiping the sweat away from my neck and chest. Gabe is standing across the small shack, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at me.
“Do you want one?” I offer.
He sighs and even though we’re surrounded by shadows from the setting sun, I can tell his face is tight and his voice is gruff. “I’m good.”
I try not to roll my eyes as I throw the used towelette back into my bag before digging to the bottom. When I turn to him, I decide to make the best of things because this could be my chance to finally win him over.
Taking a big breath, I hold out my hands and offer him a smile. “Peanut M&M’s, trail mix, or a granola bar?”
His frown deepens. “What are you, Mary Poppins or something? Is there a lamp in there, too?”
I tip my head and drop my hands, holding the only food I have with me. “You’re a Mary Poppins fan?”
“Hardly.” He drops his arms and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I have four older sisters and was forced to watch all kinds of shit I didn’t want to when I was little.”
The thought of big, tough Gabriel Blackburn with the interesting scar on his hand watching classic musicals as a young boy makes me smile, even while lost in a Central American rainforest.
“What?” he bites.
“Nothing.” I smile bigger and try again. “I know you have dietary restrictions, but this is all I have. Can you eat any of this? Lunch was a long time ago.”
He crosses his arms again and I realize I’ve never seen him so uneasy. He’s probably eight inches taller than I am and built like a brick house. I’m barely five-five and, even in my heels, he dwarfs me. I’m so used to his commanding presence, I find it odd that he looks so uncomfortable in his own skin. “Why would you assume I have dietary restrictions?”
This confuses me. “Because every time I bring treats into the office to share, you’ve never touched them. Not once. I assumed you had an egg allergy or eat gluten free or you’re a vegan or something. Who knows, maybe you eat paleo? Why else wouldn’t you want cookies and brownies and cake?”
He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m not vegan and I don’t have any food issues.”
“Oh.” Well, then. I guess that just means he really doesn’t like me. The stress from the day is beginning to bear down and the need to sit and take my shoes off is overwhelming. I toss the package of M&M’s at him and he moves with quick precision to catch it. “Here. I hear a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Oh, but you already know that, don’t you?”
I sit on the dingy, wooden floor and, when I lean back against the wall, I bite back a moan from getting off my feet. When I reach down to unbuckle my sandals from around my ankles and pull them off, I wince.
“Holy shit,” he mutters and moves closer to look at my feet.
I knew I was wearing blisters but I didn’t think they’d be this bad. These wedges were comfortable in the store, but hiking through the rainforest in them? No way.
Gabe reaches down and tips my ankle to get a closer look. “You should have told me to slow down. I was surprised you kept up as well as you did in these shoes.”
“It’s fine.” I brush him off and yank at the hem of my dress to pull it down my thighs since he’s squatting at my feet.
“I’ll be right back.” Gabe stands and starts for the door.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“I’ll be gone two minutes.” He looks back. “Don’t you dare come out unless I scream bloody murder.”
My face falls. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s also not funny to tease me about watching Mary Poppins when I was forced to by my sisters who weren’t above using cruel and unusual punishment before I was big enough to kick their asses.”
He turns to leave again and I can’t help yelling after him, “If you could sing the Supercalifragilistic song and click your heels together, I could use a fruity rum drink with a happy umbrella stuck in the top.”
I’m not sure, but over the hum of the bugs and other creepy sounds in the rainforest, I swear I hear him laugh.
I didn’t think Gabriel Blackburn knew how to laugh.
I didn’t think it was even possible for him to smile.
Even so, I hope he hurries the heck up.
Chapter 5
I’m Touching Her
Gabriel Blackburn
“Ouch.”
I’m touching her again.
She moans, but not in a good way.
Not the word or noises a man hopes to conjure in the woman he’s been obsessing over for months.
“It stings.”
Yeah. Those aren’t good words, either.
“It doesn’t sting,” I argue, just for the sake of something to say. I’m sure it stings like hell.
“How do you know? Did you walk for hours in heels through the rainforest? No, you’re a man. You get to wear sensible shoes all the time. What are you putting on me anyway?”
“Arrowroot,” I mutter as I use my pocket knife to slice off another piece of the plant. It took me all of a minute to find some after I took a piss. “It’s native to South America and the Caribbean, and I thought I saw some earlier. It can be applied as an ointment. Aloe would be better but arrowroot can be used in a pinch. It’s also a natural cure for colic and can be used as a mild laxative.” I look at her and go on. “Should you have a problem with that.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m good. I’ll stick with the ointment, thank you very much.” She winces and tries to pull her delicious leg out of my grasp, but I hold tight to her calf. “How do you know all this?”
I let go and move around to her other foot where she’s worn blisters through and some have started bleeding. “I was in the Army.”
“Really?”
I’m crouched by her feet, trying to see her sores through the dimming light. We can’t afford to use up what battery life we have left in our phones. I don’t let her go but look up her bare legs to her curvy figure and find her face, shadowed by the darkness. “Really. Is that so hard to believe?”
She shrugs and her perfect pink lips tip on one side. “Given your love for musicals, it might be a tad bit shocking.”
I give her my best glare.
“Oklahoma?” she asks.
I frown. “I’m not from Oklahoma.”
This time she smiles so big I can see it through the dim light. “No. The musical. Do you like it? Maybe you’re a South Pacific kind of guy given your service to our country.” I ignore her and go back to work on her feet. “West Side Story? The Sound of Music? Fiddler on the Roof?”
“‘Even a poor man is entitled to some happiness,’” I quote before I blow on her little toe that’s mangled with an ugly blister
and feel goosebumps crawl up her bare leg. I lean back but don’t take my hand off her ankle. “My mother taught theatre at my high school. And before you ask, the answer is no. I never got into it, but I did have to sit through every play she ever put on until I left for college.”
Her face softens. “Well, that’s a side of you I never imagined. Gabe Blackburn—a reluctant bystander of the arts.”
“Does it feel any better?” I ask, ignoring her last comment.
“Yes. Thank you.”
I move and sit next to her, leaving a good twelve inches between us. Since I’m in hell, I might as well sit close enough where I could touch her even if I know I shouldn’t. It’s the universe teasing me—tempting me—with the woman I’ve done everything possible to stay away from. I lean my head back on the wall and pretend I’m not stuck in hell—or Nicaragua—wondering what I did to deserve such torture.
I’m a good business owner. My employees are compensated well above industry average. I give them more vacation time than most and I’m generous when it comes to bonuses. Everyone has choices when it comes to careers and I do everything I can to make my company one of the most sought after to work for. I don’t mind offering six weeks of vacation to everyone because when they’re at work, they’re beasts. My increasing bottom line and market share over the last five years is all the proof I need. I might be a workaholic but it’s all I know. I visit my parents regularly. I’m philanthropic. I donate blood. And I do my best not to hit squirrels when they run out in front of my car.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I’ve done to deserve this torment.
Of course, she keeps talking, her perfect soft voice making me hungry in a way that has nothing to do with the pains in my stomach. “What did you do in the Army? And I’m not trying to make small talk—it would be great if you could reassure me by telling me you’ve been trained to find your way out of the middle of nowhere.”
I take a breath and feel around on the floor beside me until I find the package of M&M’s. Tearing open the top, I shake a few into my hand before holding out the package for her. She still hasn’t eaten anything. When she takes the package, brushing my hand with her fingers, I give her my condensed bio. “Went to West Point and majored in IT. When I did my time in the Army, I started as an officer, but applied for Ranger school and got in.”
Every minute move she makes hits me like a roar. Her breathing, chewing, the crinkling of the candy wrapper.
She clears her throat. “I guess if I’m going to be lost in Central America, I’m lucky to have you.”
Her glowing praise doesn’t match her tone—worried and tight with stress. “We’ll find our way out, Lillian. I promise.”
“Do you always carry a gun?”
“Not always. But when I’m here, yes.”
She shifts and when she goes on, I can tell she’s turned to face me in the dark. “We flew commercial. How did you get a gun?”
I roll my head toward her voice. “Sergio. I’ve contracted with him on previous trips and he always provides me a weapon. He knows my background. He was always solid in the past. I’m not sure what happened today.”
She fidgets, rustling in the dark, the floorboards creaking under her. Even through the sounds of the forest, I hear her sniff.
“Lillian?”
She sniffs again.
My voice becomes demanding. “Lillian.”
“I’m sorry.” Her sweet voice is shaky and, fuck me, I think she might be crying. “Sergio was a sweet man. I got to know him over the last week and even though he spoke English, he was chattier in his native language. He had a family—a wife and two small children.” She sniffs even louder and lets out a choked sob, apologizing again. “I’m sorry. I think it’s all finally sinking in. He showed me pictures of his kids—they’re so small. His family lost him and they probably don’t even know it yet.” Another two sobs escape, tearing through my insides like a jagged knife. I hear her start to move when she mutters, “I need a tissue.”
I reach for her and find her bare bicep, wrapping my hand all the way around it. “Wait. Don’t get up. You’ll get your sores infected.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m a mess. I need to blow my nose.”
I find myself doing something I know I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s being around her so much over the past week, or being stranded together, or sharing this awful fucking experience, but I can’t sit here, listen to her cry, and not touch her. “Come here.”
She argues as she cries. “No, I’m fine. I’ll get myself together—I promise. I just need to blow my nose.”
“You can use my shirt.” I shift to put my arm around her stiff body, pulling her into my chest for no reason other than I must be a masochist, because if the twelve inches separating us was torture, this will be the end of me. I undo the top three buttons of my shirt to loosen it. “Here, wipe your face. Feel free to blow your nose, it’s not like we aren’t filthy anyway.”
She continues to cry and her voice raises an octave. “I’m not going to blow my nose on your shirt.”
I wrap my other arm around her and snake my hand into her hair, lowering my voice. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened today.”
This makes her cry harder. Dammit, I’m shit with words.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and press my face into her soft hair. “Sergio was a good man. Today took us all by surprise. I promise to find Sergio’s family and do something for them. I don’t know what, but something.”
Another few sobs escape as she nods against my chest, fisting my shirt to her face.
“Shh,” I whisper into her hair. “I promise I’ll get you out of here. You’ll be okay. Don’t think about Sergio right now.”
She nods and we don’t say anything more about Sergio or being lost in Central America or musicals. As we sit here listening to the symphony of the jungle, Lillian starts to relax and gives me her weight.
Just when I think she’s asleep and I’m forcing myself to think of dead cats instead of the woman in my arms, she whispers, “Gabe?”
“Hmm?” I lean my head back on the wall and close my eyes. She wipes her eyes on my shirt again and I’m pretty sure her nose, too.
“How did you get the scar on your hand?”
I pull in a big breath. “Afghanistan. We got trapped in a shelter and were trying to dig our way out when a grenade was thrown in.”
She tenses in my arms and says nothing for many moments.
“Thank you for being sweet,” she whispers. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
Hell.
As long as I’m here, I might as well settle in and enjoy it.
I pull her tighter to me. “You’re welcome.”
Chapter 6
You Snore
Lillian Burkette
Growling.
I blink my eyes open and hear it again. Thank goodness it isn’t from some rainforest animal, but rather from a stomach. A stomach that must be behind me because all I see are long male legs stretched in front of me.
I push up on my hands and realize I’m lying on the hard floor, using Gabe’s lap as a pillow. Pulling my hand up to rub my neck, I turn around to find him gazing at me, still slouched against the wall.
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
His blue eyes are piercing and I take a moment to appreciate his messy man-waves as he shakes his head. “Not as well as you. You sleep like the dead.”
I frown. “I do not.”
His eyes widen. “Lillian, it stormed.”
My frown deepens. “It did?”
“Yeah. I laid you on the floor, went out to collect as much rainwater as I could in what few containers I could find. Then I patched a small leak in the roof, so I moved you over a few feet so you weren’t lying in a puddle of water. Later, I put your head in my lap so you didn’t get a neck ache. You don’t remember any of that?”
I lick my dry lips, wondering how much water he collected because I’m not only hungry but
also parched. Then I promptly lie, “I remember some of it.”
I sit here amazed as a smirk appears on Gabe Blackburn’s lush lips—the first I’ve ever seen. It does incredible things to his way-past five-o’clock-shadowed face and reminds me of last night in the dark when he was sweet at a time he absolutely didn’t need to be. And how I fell asleep in his arms…
He shakes his head, that smirk deepening as he stands quickly, towering over me. “You’re a liar and you snore.”
I bring my hand up to my mouth. “No. I snored?”
He squats near my feet and touches me again, inspecting my blisters. “Yeah. You snored. It’s quite satisfying to find something about you that isn’t perfect. How are your feet?”
I yank at the hem of my dress. “They’re okay, but I don’t know how fast I’ll be able to walk today. I’d cut off my little toe for a pair of flip-flops.”
“I promise to go slow. There’s no need to go home without all ten of your pink-painted toes. I’ll find some more arrowroot and we’ll pad the blisters with some of your tissues. Maybe that will help.” Gabe stands and holds a hand out for me. He pulls me up and my body complains about sleeping on a wooden floor as I stretch. He hands me a bowl of water. “Here. Drink up.”
I take the old bowl. “I assume this has been deemed safe to drink by Army Ranger training standards?”
“I dropped sand in it and it sunk. Without a water testing kit, that’s the best I could do.”
I look down into the bowl. “Floating sand is bad?”
“Very bad.” He lifts his chin for me to drink. “Come on. We need to make use of the daylight. I doubt we’ll luck out and find shelter in the forest two nights in a row.”
I sigh and put the bowl to my lips. It’s not exactly filtered but it’s refreshing and I gulp it down, not even worrying about the sand at the bottom.
Yesterday I watched six people get killed—five of them by my boss in order to save us. Today must be better, right?
