Page 11 of Vaquero
“Yes,” he replied quickly, wishing he could sit down before he fell down. “I’m here to exfil you and the children out of Brazil as soon as we get everyone ready. How many more?”
Her head jerked a short quick affirmative, like she might have just appreciated his answer. “Seven back at camp. Four adults. Three more kids.”
Fourteen, total. That was doable. He nodded back. “Then let’s move.”
“Well, okay.” She hesitated, her hands rummaging under that uncomfortable sarape. “But first…” She pulled a bulky package from beneath that confounded blanket she wore. No wonder she was sweating. She held that package for Julio to hurry up and take it as she ordered, “I’ve got to round up everyone else. Can you hold onto…?”
He reached both hands to accept whatever she offered, but—
Madre de Dios.She’d just handed Julio the tiniest child he’d ever seen. “What... what do you want me to do with this? Err, him?” he asked, his hands trembling under the weight of a one or two-year-old, very thin, very sick little boy.
“Sit down, for one thing,” she ordered. “Don’t drop him. Put him inside your shirt. Skin to skin. He’s sweaty and he’s sick. He’ll get a chill. Hurry for Pete’s sake, Juarez. He needs your body’s heat to keep him warm.”
I can do that.If there were one thing Julio knew how to do, it was to obey orders. Quickly. Unbuttoning the top buttons of his cotton shirt, he very gently maneuvered the emaciated body against his broad chest, extra carefully, so he didn’t bend the boy’s arms or legs or hurt him in the process of hiding him.But he needs me? Are you sure?
“What’s wrong with him? What’s his name?” Names were important. They breached barriers when spoken. They created bonds when heard. They gave people back their identities, and this little guy looked like he very much needed to be recognized. To be seen.
“That’s Dominic, Dom for short,” she called across the way where she was now checking the other children, speaking softly to them, and telling them they’d be okay. “He’s always been small for his age, and he’s been sick all his life. Might have worms or some other parasite, the local doctor’s not sure. But being in Oz’s possession the last couple weeks didn’t do him any good.”
“How old is he?” The kid was no baby. But he was so, so small.
“Three. You gonna be okay, tough guy?” she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Man, this woman gave no quarter. Push. Push. Push.
“Yes, ma’am.”I can do this. I can help this boy.Julio folded his legs and sat. He wanted to ask if Dom was dying. How long had he been in the orphanage, and why,Dios!Why had Oz taken one so small?
But the woman was over-the-top caustic, and none of those things mattered. Julio’d already made up his mind. Dominic wasn’t going to die. Not on Julio’s watch. Not worms or parasites, hell, not even Orlando Zapata would end this boy’s life. Not anymore. Oz might think he could, damn him, but Julio had a bullet with the bastard’s name on it. Just let him try.
The little guy’s lashes fluttered. His eyes opened, and Julio fell into two pools of the weakest, watered-down coffee he’d ever seen. If color were an indicator of one’s life force, this little guy’s was ebbing. “Hey there,” Julio whispered extra-softly so he didn’t frighten Dominic. “Want to go for a ride back to your place? With me? It would be my pleasure, and I’ll be very careful nothing happens to you.”
Dom never made a sound. Just closed his eyes and relaxed, his cheek pressed against Julio’s skin. So relaxed and so still, for a second Julio’s heart skidded to a stop. “Please live,” he breathed into the baby’s dirty, weary face. “Don’t give up, Dom. I can save you this time. I know I can, but you have to want to live. Please. Choose life.”Don’t be like Bianca or Tomas. Please fight. Give me another chance. Let me do this one thing.
The floodgate of awful, fragile memories crashed open. Sweet vignettes of Bianca holding Tomas when he’d been a wiggling, wet newborn. When he’d woken during thunderstorms at night and cried for his daddy as a one-year-old. He’d always been so little and helpless. So fragile. So much more like his high-strung mother instead of his headstrong Navy father. So much like this dainty, feeble boy whose chest, even now, lifted and lowered as if each breath were his last. As if living were too, too hard.
“Promise me, little one. Promise me that you will try,” Julio murmured, his heart breaking all over again for the treasure and curse now laying against it. He swallowed hard. Could this child be what had brought him to this part of the world? Could God be that cruel? That wise? Was Dom the reason Julio still lived? But what if he failed this time, too? What if he’d sinned too much and couldn’t save Tomas this time, either?Err, Dominic. Julio meant Dominic, not Tomas. Was he losing his mind?
Lord… Padre… Enough! Forgive me already!Julio cried silently.I’m not like You. I’m not good enough.When he lowered his sweaty head, he found himself surrounded by five more children, all brown-skinned like him. All silently studying him with wide-eyed curiosity. All except brave Pepe. His fingers were still fisted and his back was stiff.
He’s just like me. He holds a grudge.
Julio dashed his free hand over his eyes, steeled his softer side, and gave the woman standing behind the kids his best Navy stare. “What?” he asked as if she hadn’t caught him in the middle of a private, pity party. As if she weren’t looking at him with the same wonder as her kids.
She offered a firm handshake over the head of a skinny, dark-haired, little girl. “I’m Meg, by the way. Good to meet you, Julio Juarez. And no, I don’t have to call any senator to put my faith in you. I trust you. You former Army?”
Damn, she had the most expressive green eyes. The color itself signified life, and life was good, and… shit. His mind seemed incapable of mustering up anything since the sick little boy she’d handed off had molded his feverish body against Julio’s belly and chest. Julio didn’t dare square his shoulders for fear that that might stretch his shirt too tight and upset the fragile peace of this uniquely painful, but tender, moment. It’d been so long since he’d held a child in his arms, but to have this tiny body snuggled against his heart, precisely where Tomas had once lain, was the toughest best thing that had happened to Julio in a long time.
“No, ma’am. Navy.” He gave her hand a firm, albeit quick squeeze before he dropped his hand and cupped the tiny bottom of the child inside his shirt. Dom’s backside was more bones that buttocks. What was wrong with him? “You wouldn’t happen to know where Corporal Duncan is, or if he survived the fight back at the orphanage, would you? Did you work with him?”What kind of jerk is he to leave you out here alone with a bunch of helpless little ones?
Julio was on unfamiliar territory. Emotional territory. It had to stop. He was only here to save Duncan, this woman, and everyone associated with the orphanage, not to father these kids, any of them. Though he very much wanted to care for Dom. This was all he’d ever wanted,familia.
But this was just one of many black op missions. When it was done, there’d be others. Other people to save. Other demons to end. He’d never see these kids again.
Eyes on the mission, Juarez. Only the mission. Save the kids. Save the girl. Get the hell out of these woods and find a way to end Oz. He’s the goal. Not this brash woman and not some former Army nobody who obviously has no problem deserting women and children.
Yet, even as Julio schooled his judgment, an irrepressible charm lit Meg’s face like sunrise in the middle of the day. Tremendously vibrant laugh lines bracketed her brilliant green eyes. For the first time in years, sunlight, so bright that it hurt, broke through the shadows in Julio’s dark, ravaged soul. Or maybe that radiant glow arcing over the forest was just a rainbow. The illusion that the sun was brighter could’ve been caused by clouds clearing the sky. That had to be why the forest seemed somehow greener. Only it wasn’t. The glow warming his insides definitely emanated from this woman.
“That’s me! I’m Duncan!” she squealed with all the enthusiasm of a kid at Christmas, as she stabbed a thumb into her chest. “Used to be Corporal Meg Duncan. Not Megan. Sure as heck not Nutmeg. Just Meg. You’re here to save me! How do you like them apples, Juarez?”
¡Ay, caramba!Julio could barely catch a breath. This ferocious woman was Corporal Duncan? Somehow, that changed everything.
“Julio,” he dared to breathe. “Please. Call me Julio.”
