Page 15 of Vaquero
Chapter Five
He couldn’t stop watching Meg Duncan. Eying the emerald glint in her pretty eyes. Wishing she’d smile at him instead of sneering. She’d taken a bowl and sat alongside Pepe on that wobbly log, but she wasn’t eating. Not that Julio wanted her to hurry up and wolf down her stew. He could wait, and besides, she needed more rest and food than he did. That was apparent.
Meg had grown pale since they’d arrived in this poor excuse for a camp. Her limp was more pronounced. He’d like to know how she’d gotten injured, but he’d never ask. He wasn’t staying much longer. The end of this journey lay elsewhere.
But why’d she keep glaring at him? He was no monster. Did she have blisters or something? Had she twisted her ankle? Was that why she limped? That actually made sense. She’d rescued these kids from the mine. Was she hurt and too stubborn to ask for help?
Mrs. Brunner seemed friendly enough. Everyone was, even Pepe now that Julio had made it clear he was a valued team member. That was all it took to get the kid on his side. Trust. It might seem like an insignificant thing to most leaders, but Julio had seen intangibles like courage and trust move mountains and save lives. He’d seen it dash across minefields to rescue brothers and sisters caught in enemy crossfire. He’d seen it drop out of the sky with a K-9 working dog strapped to its chest and land in the middle of unholy hellfire and brimstone. He’d seen it work miracles, on the field and off. So why didn’t Duncan trust him?
Julio was not the bad guy here. How could she not understand that?
“Thought you could use something to eat. You’re a big man. You must be hungry,” Craig said as he offered a tin bowl filled to the brim with steaming stew from the aluminum stockpot balanced on rocks that formed the firepit. “Hold this while I make a table for you and bring some bread. I’m the official baker around here, you know.”
Julio would’ve offered some trite comment about the weather, but Craig was gone and back before he knew it. The table ended up being nothing more than a plastic tray Craig balanced on two thick, round branches he laid parallel to each other on the ground nearest Julio. It might not be perfect, but it worked, and it wasn’t wobbly. Then he retrieved a tall plastic mug of something that resembled orange juice from the dining area and scooped two thick slices of buttered bread from his wife’s tin plate as he passed by. Taking the bowl from Julio, he set it where Julio could easily ladle a hefty spoonful of stew up to his mouth without spilling it.
“Thank you, sir,” Julio said respectfully, not wanting to disturb baby Dom, but growing more concerned that the little guy was sleeping too much. He needed to wake up and eat. Even just a spoonful. At least take a sip of that orange drink. But Dom seemed content to sleep his life away.
Folding his long legs, Craig took up a spot on the ground near Julio, both men facing the children, Marta, and Meg. Fernando and Joseph were the quiet ones. Both Brazilians, they kept to themselves, sitting away from the others while they ate and conversed in low tones of Portuguese. Julio knew they were worried that Oz and his men would soon track them down and destroy this camp as well as everyone in it. That was the first thing they’d asked him in broken English when he’d arrived. Craig had interpreted for them. How quickly would USA resources arrive? Would they come by helicopter or on land? Why was he the only one here now?
But now Julio wondered why Oz’s mine was deserted? What had he done to the slaves he’d kidnapped, the adults and children? Were they all in danger? If so, Julio was going to require more than a lightning-quick exfil. He’d need boots on the ground. SEALs.
“She does well for a recovering stroke patient, doesn’t she?” Craig asked with the slightest German accent coloring his question, but with plenty of pride.
He and Marta were the old couple in the nursery rhyme, Jack Sprat, come to life. Craig stood around six feet tall and was as thin as a rail, while Marta didn’t look like she’d missed many meals. Not that Julio would ever voice his opinion. There was a saying among SEALs that opinions were like assholes. Everyone had one, but no one needed to see it. Or hear it.
“Your wife’s a hard worker,” Julio agreed, patting the little soldier beneath his shirt, wishing Dom would wake up before Julio was forced to wake him. The boy needed nourishment.
“Not Marta. Miss Duncan. It’s her I am speaking of.”
“Meg?”She had a stroke?
Craig nodded, his eyes still set on the ladies. “Yes, I’m sorry to say. Working in the orphanage was hard for her when she first arrived. She had two canes then. Had a hard time making it through a full day. I thought for sure she’d give up and go back to the States. Good hell, man. Where are my manners? That’s what she’s missing. Her cane.Scheisse!It must’ve burned in the fire.”
“When?” Julio asked, studying Meg differently now. A stroke would certainly explain why the left side of her face drooped the tiniest bit. Not bad, though, just enough for him to have misjudged her for thinking she scowled, when she might not have done that at all.
Yet, as he glanced at her now, it was clear to see how some facial paralysis limited her smile. It wasn’t as wide or deep on her left side. When she buttered a slice of bread, she seemed to have difficulty getting the fingers on her left hand to cooperate and lift the slice off the flat tabletop to hand it to Maria. Yet she’d never asked for help nor drawn attention to her limitation. She kept on keeping on. Might sound insignificant, but that can-do attitude made the difference between guys who rang out of BUD/S and those who wore the trident.
“A year before she showed up here. I think, anyway. You’ll have to ask Marta. She has a better memory for personal details than I do. I just know Meg took charge the second she showed up.”
“When was that?” Julio asked, keeping his voice low and emotionless.
“’Bout a year ago. I remember the day she marched into camp. The kids loved her on sight, and she loved them. Meg can make a friend out of a rock, I swear. But she was still having trouble walking then. She needed more rest, not that she didn’t do more than her share. Not Meg. Despite her handicap, she set to organizing learning games for the little ones the day after she arrived. In the next couple weeks, she taught them to fish with nothing but a string, and how to clean and cook what they caught. Taught the older ones how to shoot. Even showed them how to make something called a tandoori oven out of clay pots. You ever heard of such a thing? I sat in on that lesson. Had to. She was making these kids smarter than me.” Craig chuckled loudly at that, the sound of his mirth a pleasant distraction that woke Dom. The little guy stirred.
“Hey there,” Julio said softly as he peeled his shirt back to check on his new little buddy.
Dom stared up at him, as weak as ever, but finally acting interested instead of simply lethargic. No smile. Just bleary-eyed curiosity.
“You need to eat something, buddy,” Julio murmured, keeping his voice soft and low.
Dom had the too-big eyes, the hollowed cheeks, and the long arms and legs of a starving child. Like the rest of the children, his head had been shaved.
Craig handed a bit of the buttered bread over Julio’s arm. “For the tyke. It’s fresh. Churned the butter myself.”
“Where did you get the cream?” Julio needed to know.
Craig’s voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s like this. I sneak into the castle at night and I milk the king’s cows while no one’s looking.”
Julio had nothing to say to that wild story.
