Alanna shook the water off her raincoat after stepping inside. Her throat constricted as she looked up to see Colonel Breckenridge, studying her from where he was standing. He tilted his chin, appraising her thoroughly. The radioman at the desk looked up, calling his name, and he turned away from Alanna’s glare.
She waited until, he was done and then walked over to him, gripping her briefcase tightly in her hand. “I hate to bother you, Colonel, but I need a place to get cleaned up and sleep tonight. “Where are the facilities?”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t your friend the commissioner tell you? There are none.” He shook his head, amusement evident in his shadowy gray eyes. “I told you to stay in the capital. Up here it’s blankets, sleeping bags, or just huddling up into a corner on the dirt floor of a thatched hut. Take your pick.”
She gave him a stricken look. “No water? No bathing facilities?”
“No. I tried to tell you before, this is out in the middle of nowhere. We don’t cater to civilians or anyone unessential to the rescue efforts. What little water we have is being chlorinated for use by the injured we’re receiving off the mountain. Press people and other such personnel have to fend for themselves. There’s a barrel of fresh rainwater right outside the door. You might get your hands and face washed there….”
Alanna felt anger coiling inside her. “I’ll bet you just love these conditions.”
Matt shrugged, walking back to a makeshift desk composed of wood crates that had official-looking papers strewn around on the top of it. “I’ve had my share of sleeping in jungles,” he agreed amiably, “but I prefer a bed when I can get one.”
She stood helplessly in front of him. “When is the next flight back to San Jose then?”
“There isn’t any. I told you earlier that we’re socked in with unseasonable fog conditions. I can’t lift a chopper to get to the village, much less to the capital. Everything is at a damn standstill at this moment.”
She pursed her lips, the anger draining from her. She was so incredibly tired she felt dizzy. Her feet ached, and she could feel the grit of the soil between her foot and the sole of her ruined shoes. Six years at a university did not prepare one for this, and she felt bitterness toward Senator Thornton. He should have planned this expedition with less haste.
“Look,” he said, more gently, “there’s a side room over there where I sleep. It’s a wood floor, and it will keep most of the insects from biting you. I’ll give you half my blankets, and you can use my sleeping bag as a mattress. There’s a basin of water in there and a towel.”
It sounded heavenly, and Alanna raised her head, meeting his gaze. She felt an inexplicable warmth radiating from him, and she responded to his friendly overture. “You’re serious?”
Matt smiled tiredly. “I told you before, I don’t say or do anything I don’t mean.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, suddenly distrustful, remembering the senator’s words of warning.
“Do you think the military is without a heart, Miss McIntire? That I can’t take pity on people that are less well off than I am? You look bushed, and I have a weak spot in my heart for women anyway. So, if you want to share my room for tonight, you’re welcome. Simple as that.”
She gave him a measuring stare. There was nothing simple about this man, her instincts told her. She tried to probe beyond the honesty expressed in his face and voice. “What do you mean ‘share’ your bedroom?”
He shrugged lazily, picking up several papers and perusing them. “What do you want it to mean?” he retorted coolly.
“Damn you!” she hissed under her breath, her eyes blazing with the green fire of anger. “I have no intention of sleeping with you!”
“You could do a lot worse. Besides, with the temperature dropping like it is, it’s going to get awfully cold before morning. Two bodies make more heat than one. It’s simple logic.”
“You’re out of your mind, Colonel! I wouldn’t sleep with you if hell froze over!”
He seemed to enjoy her explosive tirade, smiling as she stood there trembling visibly with fury. “Too bad,” he murmured, putting the papers back down. “But since you can’t stand the military and hate the sight of me, I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble sharing the same floor, Miss McIntire. I like to think that the women I sleep with look forward to the experience, and I don’t feel like getting my throat slit by you. Rest assured, we’ll have a line of demarcation between us tonight. Fair enough?”
Alanna drew in a deep breath, still distrusting that glint in his gray eyes. “Marines have a reputation as far as women go,” she accused.
“That we enjoy them? I can’t deny one word of it. Go get cleaned up, and quit looking like I’m going to pounce on you or something.”
She felt human again after she got cleaned up with the aid of a small bar of soap and Colonel Breckenridge’s olive green washcloth and towel. Taking her small suitcase, she pulled out a set of well-worn jeans and her only pair of socks and canvas shoes. The room was quiet except for the constant chatter of the radio transmissions drifting through the thin wooden door. She turned her back away from it, slipping off the damp blouse and bra, drawing a thin sweater over her head. It would be just like him to come in unannounced, she thought. God, how he provoked her! She hated his cool logic and his constant sniping at the political people she worked for.
His “bed” was a sad-looking affair. Alanna left him one green blanket and took the other one and the sleeping bag. She placed them strategically in the corner opposite his huge pack and the remaining rumpled blanket. Taking a mirror out of her purse, she tried to decide what to do with her drying hair.
She noticed dark circles beginning to appear beneath her large green eyes and touched one hesitantly. She was exhausted, although fighting with the Colonel seemed to increase her adrenaline, and the cold water had washed away some of her tiredness. Trying to make the best of the situation, she sat cross-legged on the floor and patiently parted her long hair, then wove the strands into two thick braids, tying the ends off with rubber bands she carried in her purse. Her stomach growled, and she looked up toward the door, frowning. Where could she get something to eat? Groaning, she got up, realizing she would have to talk to Colonel Breckenridge, again. Trying to put a choke chain on her temper, she slipped out the door and walked over to the desk where he sat.
For an instant, Alanna felt her heart tighten with compassion for him. He was resting his head in one hand, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he studied a map in front of him. Gone was the mask that he seemed to hide beneath. Instead, the lines of weariness were accented at the corners of his narrowed eyes and around his mouth. He sat up, inhaling deeply as she quietly approached him. His eyes flared briefly with an unknown emotion as he took in her form.
“I didn’t know you could work miracles,” he murmured, putting the compass on the map.
“What do you mean?” She sounded defensive again. Damn. She was beginning to understand that if she lost her temper with him, it only made communicating more difficult. Alanna tried to compose herself and forced a smile she did not feel.
“You look like the girl back home,” he commented, motioning toward her braids. “A farm girl from Iowa or some small Midwest town. None of that better-than-thou Washington stamp on you any longer.”
“You mean less sophisticated?” she asked, restless beneath his hungry look.
“No, you still have class. That would show through no matter what you did or did not wear.”
Alanna blushed scarlet, and she automatically touched her cheek, put off balance by his unexpected, brusque compliments. “Colonel—”
“You’re very pretty when you blush, Alanna. Feel better now that you’ve got on some dry clothes?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She cleared her throat, nervously shifting her feet. “I’m afraid to even ask if there’s food available up here. Is there?”
“If you’re a refugee from the village or part of the relief effort, yes. There’s
a small chow hall in operation at the end hut on the northern perimeter of the base.”
“But I’m not a refugee, am I?” she growled back, understanding his faultless logic.
“In a sense you are. Thrown completely out of your element into a set of circumstances that you’re unprepared for.”
“I’m not some poor, lost waif! If you’ll just tell me where I can buy some food…”
“Right now, with supplies running low, there isn’t any amount of money that will buy food.”
She raised her eyes skyward in reaction. “What do I have to do to get some food!” she asked tightly. “Would it go better if I begged?”
Matt shook his head. “You wouldn’t make a very convincing beggar, lady.” He slowly rose, as if stiff. He flexed his right shoulder in a rotating motion, frowning.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she blurted out, before she could stop her concern from expressing itself.
“Hmm? No. Old wound. It gets cranky when the weather is damp and cold.” He studied her. “It’s nice of you to care, though. That’s a new twist for a political dove from D.C.”
Alanna seethed inwardly, gritting her teeth. “God, you’re so distrustful of my every action!”
Matt laughed, picking up his poncho and shrugging into it. “I have a hard time trusting any politician. Were you born a liberal, I wonder?”
“Don’t make fun of what I believe in, Colonel. I won’t change my views or ideas for food or shelter. Just because you’re a born soldier, that doesn’t give you the right to be rude to me.”
“Maybe you’re right. I owe you an apology. Why don’t you go settle down, and I’ll rummage around the chow hall and get something to eat for both of us. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Anyway, we need to get some food into you so you won’t look so damn skinny.”
Alanna grudgingly admitted he was right on one point: she was skinny. It was a result of the long hours she put in at the senator’s office. Trudging back to the small, barren room, she pulled the blanket over her shoulders and lay down on the inviting sleeping bag. Rolling the other blanket into a makeshift pillow, she closed her eyes for just a moment. Her thoughts spiraled around Matt Breckenridge. Despite their arguments, she found herself inexorably drawn to him. He was nothing like Paul. Just the opposite in fact. Paul was so distant, so detached that she doubted he knew what it was to lose his temper. And she had never lost hers in those years either. Now, with this Marine officer, it was like the Fourth of July every time they got within ten feet of one another. Paul had taught her to control her emotions. But Matt Breckenridge actually seemed to enjoy her outbursts. She sighed loudly, utterly confused and drained by the day’s events. She didn’t mean to, but she plunged into a deep, healing sleep almost immediately.
Chapter Three
Alanna moaned, partially aware of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake. She rolled over on her back, sleepily opening her eyes. Matt Breckenridge’s concerned face came into view in the darkness. She frowned, almost frightened by the shadows that played across his strong, masculine face as he watched her.
“Uh,” she groaned, slowly moving up into a sitting position, “what time is it?”
“Twenty-one hundred, or 9 p.m. to you civilians,” he said with a half-smile. He rested back on his haunches, frowning. “You all right? You look pale as hell.”
Alanna sleepily rubbed her eyes, pulling the blanket around her for warmth. The room seemed damper and colder as she looked around. A small kerosene lantern sat in the corner, giving off a weak semblance of light to the room and an odor that made her wrinkle her nose. “Yes—I’m fine. Just terribly tired.”
“So it’s true what they say about Senator Thornton, then. He works his people likes slaves.”
It was a statement. Not a question. Groggy and too weary to throw up her usual barriers of defense, she said, “I already put in seventy hours this week. Usually it’s only sixty.”
He shook his head slowly. “No wonder you’re underweight. Don’t you have anyone who takes care of you?”
A knot formed in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a moment. “I can take care of myself.”
“Well, you need someone to help you expend all that energy you have,” he answered gruffly, getting to his feet.
Alanna yawned, still wrapped in the euphoric embrace of awakening. The Colonel seemed infinitely more gentle now, and she felt herself relaxing for the first time since they had met. His booted feet sounded hollowly against the floor boards as he stopped and squatted back down in front of her. “Here’s dinner,” he said, handing her a Marine Corps issue mess kit. “When I got back, you were sleeping like there was no tomorrow. I decided that you needed sleep more than food. It’s cold but palatable.”
She took the lightweight metal plate, staring at the heaping amount of food piled on it. “There’s so much!” she protested softly, giving him a stricken look. “I don’t want to take food from the survivors.”
He sat down by her, pulling up one leg and wrapping his arms about it, giving her an odd, searching look. “You’re sincere, aren’t you?”
She set the plate down on her lap. “Yes. Of course.”
“Good. It becomes you. Maybe you’re not the typical Hill politico after all. And don’t worry, I didn’t pull this food out of the starving mouth of some refugee. Now be quiet and eat.”
Occasionally she glanced up at him as she wolfed down the food. It consisted of refried beans, corn mush, and a small piece of fried Spam, but it tasted delicious. To her own surprise, she ate every morsel. “I guess the mountain air improves the appetite,” she offered sheepishly.
He took the plate, setting it by his side, and met her smile. In the gloom, he looked haggard and drawn, and Alanna wondered how long it had been since he had slept. “How are things going?” she inquired.
“Let’s put it this way, Murphy’s law hasn’t got anything on us at the moment,” he commented wryly.
Alanna laughed gently. “The axiom about ‘if anything can go wrong it will’?”
“Yes. And there’s an extension to that law: ‘nothing is ever so bad that it can’t get worse,’ and that’s exactly where we’re at right now.” He rubbed his forehead in consternation, staring off into the bleakness. “The fog is thickening, and the chief meteorologist in San Jose is projecting that it’s going to hang around for two more days before we get some clearing.”
Alanna crossed her legs, resting her arms on her thighs. “But you mentioned you were trucking up the supplies earlier.”
“The trucks can only go so far and so fast. With choppers we can zip in and out, pick up the worst injuries, and have them down here for initial medical help in no time. I’ve got ten cases that require surgery, and now they’re going to have to be carried over five miles on a stretcher to the jeeps, then bounced over these mountain roads to the hospital. Or, I can leave them up there waiting, and they might die during the night.” He glanced over at her, his eyes broadcasting his undisguised concern. “Truck or auto is no way to transport people who need emergency medical treatment. They can die of shock in a matter of hours.”
“You sound as if you know a great deal about it.”
He shrugged, staring back into the darkness. “I’m a paramedic.”
“I didn’t know Marine officers practiced medicine,” she commented, looking at him in a different light. The senator had always accused Breckenridge of being a bloody warmonger after a high body count. This was the second time that Alanna saw that claim refuted. He was an engineer who built structures and a paramedic who saved lives.
Matt shut his eyes, resting his head on his arm. “I was in a special contingent of the Marine Corps.”
“What was that?”
“Recons.”
Alanna felt genuine compassion flood her breast. He seemed so drained. In the pallid light, his skin looked taut and washed out. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with them.”
“Most people aren’t. It’s a special branch of the
Marine Corps that is molded into a crack surveillance unit to penetrate behind enemy lines. The reconnaisance information gained can be very important when our troops have to engage the enemy. We recorded troop movements for a period of five to ten days and then helicoptered out to the safety of our own lines. In a way, Recons save the lives of many men.”
She shivered. “It sounds awfully dangerous.”
“It can be.”
“Is that why you became a paramedic, then?”
“Each member of the Recon team had to be a specialist in some field. I picked the medical end.” He raised his head, rubbing his face slowly. “At least there was some honor in trying to save a life instead of having to take one.”
She looked at him strangely, wondering at the softness in his voice. “I don’t understand.”
He smiled almost bashfully. “I delivered six babies while I was over in Nam. It sort of made up for the rest of it…. It gave me a clean feeling. Bringing life into the world instead of only watching it being taken.”
“You delivered babies?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Alanna withheld her comment. It was a cruel one that he didn’t deserve. He met her gaze fully, assessing her silently.
“You wonder how a trained soldier like me can revel in giving life rather than taking it, don’t you?”
She trembled inwardly, suddenly tearing her gaze away from his weary features. How frighteningly honest he was. And how accepting he was of her less than compassionate view of him. It had to hurt him to see the way she stereotyped him because of the career he had chosen. Her brows drew downward, and she refused to answer, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. The moments lengthened uncomfortably between them, and she licked her lips.
“Does—doesn’t it bother you that people are repelled by your profession?”
“It used to when I was younger. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been through so much in such a short period of time, it’s easy to separate what’s really important in living and what is not.”
Captive of Fate Page 3
