Rory (In the Company of Snipers Book 6)

by Irish Winters

  When he awoke, Ember and Nima sat opposite him in the boxcar, chatting quietly. By the looks of it, they’d been awake for a while. Ember was playing pat-a-cake with Nima, but Nima didn’t look to be enjoying it as much as Ember. A bottle of water stood in front of them and an empty yogurt cup. Light streamed through the open door. He lay there watching the happy scene.

  It took a few minutes before it dawned on him. The boxcar had turned north. Jumping to his feet, he went straight to the door. Residential neighborhoods whizzed by now instead of fields and trees. Horns sounded beyond concrete walls marked with bold, boxy colors of graffiti. Another train roared past, headed in the opposite direction.

  “Good morning,” Ember said calmly when the noise diminished.

  He brushed a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, wondering where they were. “Morning.”

  “You have your choice: yogurt or the last of the salad. I saved some of each.” She held up a bottle of water, which he promptly took. She seemed shy, maybe a little embarrassed, probably because she’d woken up in his arms.

  “Thanks. This will do.” He sat with them.

  “You should eat. You need to keep your strength up.”

  “How’s the leg?”

  “Not bad. Whatever you gave me did the trick.”

  “Ibuprofen and amoxicillin. Let me get you some more.” He reached for his backpack.

  “Do you always carry antibiotics with you?”

  “It’s an old habit. I always pack the basic things a soldier needs to treat his own wounds. Stuff like a good antibiotic, gauze, bandages, things like that.” He shrugged. “It’s a soldier thing. Learned it in the Corps.”

  She smiled. “I always carry a thumb drive. It’s a techie thing. Learned it in the Navy.”

  He stared out the door. “When the train stops, we need to hightail it out of the rail yard. Do you think you can walk?”

  “You bet. I’ve been thinking. If you’ve still got our old clothes, we could use our dress shirts for new bandages, and maybe I could get my dress slacks back on. I mean, these ratty old jeans kind of stand out.” She tugged at the ripped denim.

  “You want to do that now?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  Rory rummaged through the backpack until he found both of their dress shirts and her slacks. Before they started, he gave Ember four more Advil. He took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

  The first problem was the damp towel he’d covered her wound with the night before. He expected it to have stuck to the damaged skin beneath it. It wasn’t. “Good thinking. You’ve already dampened the bandage, haven’t you?”

  “I thought if I soaked it, it would loosen right up.”

  She scrunched her nose the minute he touched her leg. He pulled the towel gently off and winced. Her leg was scary red.

  “Wow,” she exclaimed as she took in the sight of her massive injury. “Now it hurts.”

  “Don’t look at it then. Let’s get it re-wrapped and get you to the nearest hospital the first chance we get.”

  Her eyes fixed on his face. “I used to have a dragon tattoo there. He had black wings and green eyes. Like mine.”

  Rory grimaced at the raw patch of thigh muscle. If there was any ink left, it was more troll than magic.

  “I used up all the ointment last night. I also carry a small can of antiseptic spray, but it won’t work on a wound this size. Besides, it would sting like crazy.” He ripped her dress shirt neatly into four long pieces of cloth. After he soaked them with a bottle of water, he laid them gently over the wound and used the remaining strips as ties. He tied it as snug as he dared. “Better?”

  “I guess.”

  He could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t better. The pain was back. “Are you sure you want to change pants now?”

  She smiled weakly. “Might as well get it over with. I can’t go train-hopping looking like this. What will people say?” Her attempt at humor fell flat. Neither of them could laugh at what she was going through.

  “Let’s get you on your feet.” Rory helped her up, his arm firmly around her waist, her arm tight around his neck. For as tall as she was, she was an easy armful. He balanced her backside against the wooden freight box. It didn’t have a lid, but it made a handy if narrow seat.

  “Hand me my pants. And now...” She waved him off. “Go play with Nima. I can do this next part by myself. And don’t turn around. No fair peeking.”

  He did, but he was afraid to release her. She was shaking so hard. He kept an ear tuned to the grunting and fumbling behind him just in case she needed him. She whined. That meant she was either pulling her jeans down over her wounded thigh or trying to.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow,” she muttered. Some bumps and another groan.

  He wanted to help. It would go easier with two people, but he stayed with Nima like he was told. Not once did he turn around to look. The little girl watched him with such serious eyes, but he was too focused on the noise behind him to pay attention to her.

  A sad voice reached out to him. She sounded exhausted. “Uh, Rory?”

  He didn’t look. “Yes?”

  “I, umm, need some help.”

  “May I turn around now?”

  “Uh, huh.” There she stood with her jeans off and the black slacks draped modestly over her bare legs. Trembling and out of breath, her hair hung in a crimped fluff over her eyes. She blew it off her face as she panted. “These are too tight now. I can’t get my fat leg into them.”

  He scrambled for the backpack and pulled his dress slacks out. “These might be a little big, but they’ll go over your leg easier. I’ll loan you my belt to hold them up.”

  “This is just great.”

  “May I help?”

  “Uh, huh.” She dropped her too small slacks to the floor, and as quickly as he could, Rory pulled his slacks up and over her bandaged leg. She whined when the fabric moved over the makeshift bandage, but she didn’t let go of his shoulders. He secured his belt through the loops and buckled it. “Good?”

  She smoothed her hair out of her eyes again. “Yes. I need to sit down.”

  He scooped her off her feet. Her breath hitched. His own heart flip-flopped at the feel of her in his arms. Fragile. Never in a hundred years would he have used that adjective until now. He set her gently beside Nima. The little girl instantly snuggled into Ember’s side.

  Ember’s teeth chattered. “Whew. First I’m hot. Then I’m cold. Not good.”

  He knew the minute he’d touched her. She had a fever. He located the Advil and amoxicillin and doubled the dose of both. After she downed the pills, he went to the door, both hands in his hair in total frustration at the helplessness of their situation. They had to get off the train, but there was nothing to be done. He came back to sit by Ember. The moment he put his arm around her, she leaned into his shoulder.

  “We’re getting you to a doctor the minute we stop,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Good idea. I’m tired.”

  “Then sleep. I’ll take care of Nima while you rest.”

  Two sad blue eyes skewered him from Ember’s other side.

  “Come here, Nima. Mama Ember’s not feeling real good right now. Come sit with me.”

  She stepped carefully around Ember and climbed onto his lap. “Everything will be fine. We’ll take Mama Ember to a doctor, and pretty soon she’ll be dancing on tables again.”

  He could feel Ember smile against his neck.

  “That will be the day,” she whispered.

  “I intend to collect,” he teased.

  “Sure. Sure. You don’t like naked ladies, remember?”

  “I’ll make an exception.”

  Ember didn’t respond, but Nima patted his cheek for attention. He was almost afraid to look into her eyes, but he did. “Whatcha need, Nima?”

  “Drink?” she asked innocently.

  “You need some water? Here.” He reached for the bag with the last few water bottles in it. But Nima got up and pulled it
closer. She handed him a bottle of water.

  “You. Water,” she said calmly.

  “Thank you.” He pulled the youngster back onto his lap.

  She patted his chest again, still watching with wide eyes. “’Kay?”

  “Yes, Nima. Everything is going to be all right.”

  I hope.

  Eleven

  Ember lay heavy in Rory’s arms, definitely not her finest hour. Sick, ugly, and to top it off, her co-worker had helped her change her pants. Ugh. Just what every girl wants. Not. And it had been darned hard getting those tight jeans down over her big butt and injured thigh, too.

  Waking up in his arms earlier was bad enough. Yes, she’d been nicely covered, but she’d also felt much more sensually comfortable than a wounded woman should. And wiggling out from under his arms without waking him took every last one of her feminine resources, never mind the fact that he’d clutched her right breast in his sleep. Or that his breath felt deliciously warm in her ear. Or that one specific body part of his had a mind of its own.

  When he’d growled, she thought she’d disturbed him, but he’d only rearranged that handsome body of his and huffed back to sleep. Could this operation get anymore bizarre? One minute they were biting each other’s heads off, the next they’re cuddled like lovers?

  And now they were all but cuddled again. Gradually, the raw feeling in her leg subsided. She didn’t move away from Rory this time, though. No. She needed all the comfort she could find, and lying in his arms was her happy place. Besides, he smelled good. Without thinking, she sniffed a tear back. He noticed.

  “How’re you feeling?” He smoothed a very gentle hand over her cheek. He’d pulled her almost entirely on top of his body, trying to keep her leg off the dirty floor.

  “Almost ready to buff ceilings,” she chuckled weakly. “How about you?”

  “I’ve had better days.”

  “Like when?” She needed positive reinforcement right now. One of his stories about Tyler would fit the bill.

  He obliged. “Like the first time I saw you at the office. But you only had eyes for Todd back then.”

  Wow. Double zing.

  “Remember when Harley put salt in Mother’s sugar bowl?” he asked.

  She smiled. Junior Agent Harley Mortimer. Fake Texas drawl. Outrageous hair that looked uncombed no matter what product he tried. And a heart as big as the New York state he hailed from. The man lived to tease and Mother made an easy target.

  “And I’ve never seen a better Santa Claus than Mark.”

  Another good memory. Junior Agent Mark Houston had made the fatal mistake of calling Alex sir. The next thing he knew, he was volunteered for the big red suit. But Mark was a good sport and ended up being the best Santa. The look on David’s youngest son’s face when Santa promised him a new bike for Christmas was precious, but the surprise on David’s face? Priceless.

  “Your turn.” Rory smoothed a hand gently over her hair. “Let’s hear some of your good memories for a change.”

  “I’d rather listen to you.”

  “Aw, come on. Just one?” He still had a tease in his voice. “I told you my favorite memory.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. Tyler.”

  “Oh, right.” She stalled.

  Rory didn’t ask again, but he had opened up with her. Guilt prodded. Since he’d taken a risk, she did, too. “You already know about Todd Chandler. He and I were close, I guess you could say. Anyway, I kind of fell off the deep end after he died. Got most of my tattoos then.”

  The silence stretched. Maybe talking about Todd wasn’t such a good idea. It certainly didn’t qualify as a good memory, not the way it ended. She gulped. “But my best day was when my dad left my mom.”

  “What?”

  “Umm. Yeah. The house was quiet all of a sudden. It was—nice.”

  “How old were you?” His question was filled with disbelief.

  “Ten.” Oh, the memories this story dragged up.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  That was definitely one thing she didn’t want to talk about, but apparently her mouth did because all of a sudden it developed loose lips. “I can still hear them fighting. A lot. I never figured why they got married in the first place. Maybe that was my fault, because my mother got pregnant with me. I don’t know, but they were awful mean to each other. They used to say the nastiest things.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “Not physically.” She shivered, maybe from the fever, maybe from the memories. It felt like yesterday. “One time my dad came home early and mom was drinking and he was screaming. Called her a lot of filthy names. She called him just as many.”

  Rory’s hand gently massaged the nape of her neck while her crazy mouth kept on spilling the beans. “He said he couldn’t stand looking at her ugly face anymore, so he got in his car to go back to work. It was May. The lilacs were in blossom....” She stopped talking. Lilacs stopped being beautiful that day. Everything did.

  Rory didn’t make a sound, the only reason she continued. “He ran over my dog when he backed out of the driveway.” Yeah. Childhood sucked.

  The strong heartbeat beneath her ear kept her talking. “He got out of his car screaming at my mom because the dumb dog got in his way, and he was going to be late. Taffy was flopping all over. I couldn’t make him hold still. He kept looking at me like he was begging me to, ‘Please make it stop hurting. Please save me.’ But I couldn’t.”

  All of a sudden she was ten years old again and holding that poor Cocker Spaniel in her arms, him bleeding all over her. Taffy whined and panted right up to the end, and all she’d wanted was for someone to please come save him, but she couldn’t leave him to run and ask for help. He didn’t last long, just long enough to—leave.

  Dad screamed away in his ugly car. Mom never even came out of the house to see what had happened. Not that she was in any condition to help anyway. But Ember sat alone on her front lawn crying until the light left Taffy’s sweet brown eyes. She’d never seen anything die before. Poor Taffy. He was her only friend, her only buddy, the one she snuggled with when the fighting and name-calling got bad. He’d lived simply to follow her around with his sappy smile. The things and people she’d loved had been leaving her ever since.

  Rory’s arms tightened around her. “You poor little girl.”

  She wanted to push away, but the tears started in earnest, so she buried her face in his shirt instead, hoping he wouldn’t see. That’s the last thing she was, a poor little girl. She was a brat. A slut. An ugly freak! She wasn’t born; she was hatched. Only a blind man could want her, and then only after he got rip-roaring drunk.

  How fast her mother’s mean words flooded back, the scab of a lifetime ripped off again. She was too tall, her boobs were too big, and she had zits from here to eternity. Her mother was right. No one could possibly love her. Loving Todd was a mistake. All it did was get him killed.

  Rory rummaged through the backpack and soon she felt tissues against her nose. “Here. Blow.”

  So she did. He held another tissue for her. “One more time.”

  She did as she was told. And then she heard the sweetest words she’d never heard before. “You’re beautiful the way you are. Don’t ever change.” He rocked her, his hand in her hair as he held her head under his chin. “And some day you will see yourself the way I see you. Because all I see is a beautiful woman who’ll make the best mother in the world some day. You’re a good girl, Ember.”

  Obviously, he needed glasses.

  She could barely see by then. Her hateful wish leaked out along with the tears. “No. You’re wrong. I won’t be a mother. Not if I have to be like my mother.”

  “Then don’t. Be you. You’re strong. Heck, you’ve already proved that. You just jumped onboard a moving train.”

  “Yeah, well that didn’t work out too good, did it?”

  “And you saved me and Nima back in the cornfield,” he persisted.

  Well, okay. Mayb
e she was a little stronger than she felt right now.

  He tipped her face up, his eyes the deepest blue. A girl could get lost in there. Or drown. His lips were so close she could almost taste them. That was never going to happen. What she had with Todd was a rare surprise she’d not seen coming. Lightning didn’t strike twice in the same place.

  Rory leaned in. She closed her eyes and—

  “Go to sleep,” he murmured against her forehead. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some rest.”

  She swallowed her pride, the foolish notion he might have kissed her along with it. She tried to push out of his arms, but he easily held her. Too weak to resist, Ember gave up and wallowed, feeling ten-year-old sorry for herself. Not her usual forte. She was tougher than this, just not today.

  Memories swirled like autumn leaves in the wind. One minute she was on fire in the desert, the next freezing in the chill of winter. Rory wiped her face gently and rocked her to the rhythm of the train. She listened to him tell Nima the story of the three little pigs. Nima laughed and clapped her hands like she always did.

  That little girl was just plain odd. Sweet, but way different than other kids. Too quiet. When she did speak, she said the darndest things. Maybe it was the language barrier. Maybe not. She didn’t even babble in Chinese or Tibetan or whatever language she should be speaking in. Shouldn’t all little kids be jabberboxes like Tyler? If he had Attention Deficit Disorder, what did Nima have? What was the opposite of ADD?

  Ember stared, too tired to think and make sense at the same time. Nima looked like any other four-year-old, her plump little apple cheeks rosy, her eyes bright with childish glee. But then she turned to Ember as if she knew she was being watched. Her brows furrowed. Her countenance changed. The little girl was gone. A soothing command spoken in a very adult voice that sounded, no, felt, like it was centuries old, pierced Ember’s feverish mind. Sleep. Heal. Now.

  “Who are you?” Ember muttered thickly.