by Dana Marton
She still had trouble believing that they had a schoolhouse. Her jaw had dropped when she’d first seen it three months ago as she arrived back to Tukatar. In contrast to her fears that the boys had dispersed and she would have to start all over again, they’d all been there and then some. Grinning with excitement, they had told her how a few weeks before, a truckload of U.S. soldiers had arrived and put up the schoolhouse and the teacher’s hut in a single day before leaving.
She had her hut back. With a real door.
Since the schoolhouse lent prestige to the village, the mullah had been pleased. The villagers rallied around her, convinced by the changes and feeling sorry over the loss of her husband. Small gifts arrived, an old blanket here and there, another water jug. Nothing terribly valuable, but each item needed and infinitely useful.
She used her grant money for books and food. Some of the farmers began to pay the boys in produce for their help, so food was becoming less and less of an issue. Seeing her dreams slowly become reality felt surreal and humbling at the same time. She had so many plans to take things even further, help even more people, she scarcely knew where to start.
Keeping busy had been her salvation. It kept her mind from other things that brought nothing but heartache, kept her from dwelling on the one hole in her life that would never be filled.
She put away the chalk and dusted off her hands. “Have I ever told you about this fantasy I had about Mrs. Mootsky in the third grade?”
The familiar voice startled her. She swallowed the wave of exhilaration mixed with panic that rose inside, turned around slowly.
Spike stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders silhouetted in the sunlight. He was tall and handsome, a dream. She’d forgotten how good-looking he was with out bruises. All the feelings she’d ever had for him rushed her—respect, admiration, love. Yes, love. Still there, stronger than ever. Nothing hard changed in her heart. Unfortunately, nothing changed on the outside, either. They were still who they were, with no possibility of a happy ending between them. He shouldn’t have come. She wasn’t sure she would survive having her heart broken again.
“Hi.” She didn’t step closer.
“Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” He walked toward her.
“I’ve been away. There was this situation I was sent to bring under control.”
“That’s okay. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I do.” He was just a few feet from her now. “They told me you made a full recovery.”
“Good as new. Are you here on another mission?”
She glanced away and back, aware of him—his eyes, his smile, his scent. His presence tingled across her skin. “Sorry, you probably can’t tell me. It’s okay.”
“I’m here on leave.”
Her heart raced ahead. Hearts were foolish that way-they never seemed to run out of hope, not even when it led them tumbling into ruin.
“I missed you.” He stopped within arm’s reach. She stepped back. She couldn’t look at him. Her gaze settled on his hands as they reached for her.
“Please, don’t.” Her voice came out weak, a plea.
He moved forward and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her fingers. “I had a lot of time to think. And I—truth is, I don’t think I can make it through the rest of my life without you.”
Deep inside, wariness mixed with surprise. She did look at him then, but could no longer see him from the tears pooling in her eyes. Two fat drops rolled down her face.
He brushed them away with the back of his hand. “Abigail?”
“You want the impossible,” she said, wishing it weren’t so. Then self-preservation kicked in and she pulled away. “It could never work, don’t you see? We’d just end up hurting each other. We can’t have a normal relationship. There’s no sense in torturing each other.”
She had to be sensible, sane. Having him walk out of her life once nearly stole the soul out of her. She couldn’t go through that again.
He took her hands back, pressed them together gently and kissed them. “Do you want normal?”
Of course. Didn’t she? Didn’t everyone? But then, why was she here, instead of living in the suburbs somewhere, planting geraniums in front of a picket fence? . No. She-didn’t want normal. She wanted to make a difference. She wanted to do whatever that took.
Like him.
She shook her head, her tears spilling over again.
He smiled and melted her heart. “Thank God. Because I don’t have any ‘normal.’ I only have this.”
He pulled her to him and held her tightly, kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. And, at last, she was home. As long as she was in his arms, she was home, no matter if in a makeshift schoolhouse in the Middle East, or in the desert, or in the U.S. She was home when she was with him.
“I can’t offer you big family dinners at grandma’s dining room table,” he said. “The best I can offer is sharing my meal-ready-to-eat packages over a campfire. Do you have any idea how bad those MREs taste?”
“My family does big dinners. We can always visit them if you get in the mood for crazy.”
“Actually, right now I’m dying to get you alone someplace where kids don’t walk in and out without notice,” he said.
She smiled. Though she was still trying to process that he was back and what it all meant, she followed him outside across the short distance to her hut. His duffel bag was leaning against the wall. He picked it up and brought it inside.
“How long are you staying?” she asked,as she closed the door behind them.
“As long as I can.”
And that was how it would always be. But was that enough? She searched his eyes. His arms sneaked around her waist. And she could see it—a life that included him. Yes, it was enough. It was more than she had hoped for in her wildest dreams.
“It’s a tough job. I won’t be doing it forever. I’m thinking another couple of years, maybe. Then you’ll probably be kicking me out of the house or hut or tent or whatever, telling me to get a hobby because I’m getting on your nerves.” He grinned wide.
That sounded like heaven. She brushed her lips against his. He didn’t need more of an invitation than that. He kissed her gently, with the promise of many years of tenderness to come.
“There’s only one thing I ask,” he said when, after a long time, they pulled apart.
She lifted her eyebrows, not trusting herself to speak. “Next time we’re in the U.S. together, I want us to get married again. I want you to forget Gerald Thornton. I want you to be Mrs. Jack Logan.”
“Is that a proposal?” She smiled, filled with boundless joy.
“It’s a direct command.” He schooled his face into a semblance of a serious expression. “Technically, since I was supposed to be your recruiter, I outrank you.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” She laughed and threw her arms around his neck.
“Good.” His eyes darkened as he lowered his head. “I hate having to deal with insubordination. It’s always such a mess.”
“I’d never be so brazen,” she teased him.
“You’re the most brazen woman I know,” he said, and claimed her lips.
And it was as if the floodgates had broken open. Urgency washed over them both. He caught her as they tumbled onto’ her mattress, awash in mindless passion.
He covered every inch of her face in kisses, then her neck, before lifting the abayah over her head, followed by her dress and pants.
“I liked it better when you were going without a bra,” he said as he freed her from it. His hot, wet tongue on her nipple sent ripples of pleasure through her body.
“I’m not that attached to the practice.” She gasped out the words. “I could let it go.”
“Good.’ He suckled on the nipple gently at first, then with more power. “You have no idea how many sleepless nights I spent fantasizing about this.”
It was good to know she wasn’t the only one pathetically turning and tos
sing with insomnia week after week. “How many?”
“Every single one since I saw you last.”
She voiced her deepest fear. “I thought you forgot about me.”
He moved up to look into her eyes, his gaze intense. “How could I forget my heart?”
Her breath caught in her throat at his words, as the rich timbre of has voice poured over her. She drank it up like fresh water, dying of thirst after having been lost in the desert of his absence forever. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
He pulled back a little, his expression growing somber. “After we got you back to the Air Force base, I was there when you came out of surgery. You were all bandaged up, bruised, white as death. And the only thing I could think of was how much better off you would have been if you’d never met me.” He swallowed. “Truth is, I could have come back sooner. It damn near drove me crazy not to. I know your life would be better without me. A hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure—”
“No, never say that.” She put her palms on each side of his face. “Don’t ever think it.”
His lips stretched into a rueful grin. “How many times did you have to face mortal danger before you met me?”
What kind of a question was that? “When I was in Uganda I had heatstroke.”
“Okay, so once in your entire life.”
She wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, but he put a finger over her lips to silence her.
“Do you realize that while we were together, your life was in danger at least once a day? The bandits, the firebomb, the Hareb house, the terrorist camp. Should I go on?”
“It was hardly your fault that the bandits attacked us on the way home from Rahmara.”
“If I didn’t manipulate you into having to marry me, you wouldn’t have had to go to Rahmara.”
She needed a moment to process that. “You wanted us to get married?”
“I wanted you in a situation where you couldn’t simply walk away from me or tell me you weren’t doing the documentary and send me home. I knew you would have no other choice once I spent the night.”
It seemed like a million years, ago. “I don’t care.”
“How can you not care? I lied to you every step of the way, I manipulated you, I put your life at risk. Can you forgive all that?”
“I’m not saying I wasn’t madwhen I first figured it out, but I was there at the camp. I know why you did what you did. I don’t know what I would have done given the same situation. Perhaps I would have done the same.”
He searched her face. “And if I have to leave and can’t tell you why, if I go missing for months at a time, can you live with that?”
“I’ll have to. Because I know I can’t live without you.” She pulled his head down to her.
He kissed her with a fierceness that took her breath away. Then after the first crushing wave of passion, he slowed, tasted her more leisurely, explored her body with his hands. His lips moved down her chin, her neck, between her breasts, looping around them in concentric circles until he found one nipple, then the other.
She arched her back, pleasure shooting through her, beat gathering between her legs, need building, tension tightening. He kissed a trail down her belly, around her belly button, then lower. His fingers parted her flesh and opened her most secret part to his tongue. She moaned his name.
He licked, nibbled, l4Ved. He brought her to the edge then sent her over in extravagant fireworks of pleasure until she lay before him depleted, her bones feeling soft, as if melted.
“I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he murmured against her lips.
“I love you, too.” She kissed him.
And then he entered her, moving forward slowly, inch by inch, driving her mad, filling her all the way. She lifted her hips and began to move against him. His eyelids lowered. She felt the pressure build, higher and higher, until they soared together in the sky.
An eternity passed before they came down and lay spent in each other’s arms. Then slowly, she became aware of an odd noise coming from the roof, the sound of a flock of birds pecking. No, not birds. Rain.
“I’ve heard of people making the earth move when they make love, but us,” Spike murmured as he nuzzled her hair, “we opened the heavens.”
Yeah. She smiled. They sure did.
Epilogue
Spike pulled on the rope, making sure the palm branches were on tight. Almost done. From the ladder he was standing on, he could see the dozen or so new huts in what the people of Tukatar were calling the youth quarter. The people were proud of their growing village. The huts, built for the older boys who now came regularly to Abigail for schooling, were to give them a start in life. With a home, eventually they could hope to attain a wife. No father would give his daughter to a man without property.
The thought of this many new families starting, the lives Abigail’s project would turn around, filled him with pride for his wife. She had only been here a year and look what she had accomplished. She was really something. Sometimes he wondered what on earth he’d done to deserve her, but he was happy as hell she thought he did.
He reached for the next branch, whistling. The walkie-talkie crackled in his pocket so he picked that up instead.
“I think the baby is coming.” Abigail’s voice came through with a fair amount of static.
He almost dropped the walkie-talkie. “Are you sure?”
“I can feel the head.” She sounded somewhat tart.
“Uh—” Panic filled him so swiftly and completely, he wasn’t sure he could climb off the ladder. Then his muscles went on autopilot and he moved faster than he had ever moved before, barely registering the curious glances his mad rush elicited.
“Am I too late?” He flew through the door, barely catching a glimpse of her panting, her face covered in sweat, before the outraged midwives pushed him out.
He went straight to the window. “I should have taken you back to the States.”
“I’m fine,” she said, sounding fairly normal.
The contraction must have passed. He searched his brain for all the things he’d learned from reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting three times, but his mind had gone blank. Thank God for the midwives.
He paced, unable to stay still. “You should have called as soon as it started.”
Her response was a deep groan.
He peeked in the window, but couldn’t see anything past the women. Then Abigail screamed. Oh, hell. Nothing and nobody could have kept him from her side. He made it through the door just in time to see the baby’s head slip out and stood rooted to the spot as the shoulders came free with the next push and one of the women pulled his little girl into the world.
He blinked his tears away as he knelt by their side, took Abigail’s hand and kissed it. “Are you okay?”
She was smiling from ear to ear, her eyes on the small bundle in her arms. “What should we name you, my little angel?” she whispered.
“How about Kate, after your sister?”
At that, the baby opened the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen, and let out a squeal that attested to healthy lungs.
He laughed, his heart spilling over with joy. “I think she approves.”
Abigail was smiling and crying at the same time. “I think she does.” She turned to him. “I love you.”
His throat constricted. “I love you, too.” Then before he could kiss her, the midwives succeeded in chasing him out again, telling him that she needed rest and that they needed time to clean her and the baby up.
Stunned, that’s what he was. Shell-shocked. He had a family. The best family in the world. He wouldn’t have traded their little hut for all the riches of the universe. This was where he belonged.
His cell phone rang, but in his daze, the sound took a while to register. He pushed the button, mumbled a hello.
“I’m calling to let you know you should have a delivery today from t
he Air Force base. Your wife’s family asked to get a package to you and the boys and I added a few things to it. Hope everything is going well,” Colonel Wilson said.
“Thank you, sir.” He was about to share his good news, but the Colonel went on.
“Good. Rodriguez said it better be a girl. His son is going to need a girlfriend in a couple years.”
“It’s definitely a girl, sir.” The prettiest little girl ever born. His chest swelled with fatherly pride. “But you can tell Rodriguez the boy will have to get through me first.”
Copyright
ISBN 0-373-22821-X
SECRET SOLDIER
Copyright © 2005 by Marta Dana
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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