Page 21 of Vaquero
Chapter Eight
Meg watched Julio steel his heart along with that firm, stern chin of his. The warm spark hidden deep inside his melted dark-chocolate eyes went flat, then cold. It was as if all life had been sucked out of him. At the mention of Charlie Brown coming with the Night Stalkers, he’d turned from the tender man who’d brought sweet Dominic back from the grave into the emotionless automaton she’d met at first contact. Once again, Julio reeked of the despair she’d been familiar with not long ago. The one called death wish.
That was what had first brought her to Brazil, her own private death wish. The sure knowledge that a disabled American woman alone in the Highlands of Brazil might not last long. That, at least somehow, she could go down fighting for something worth dying for, instead of wallowing in a puddle of self-pity back in that tidy home on Walnut Street, USA.
That was all she’d wanted then. To feel alive one more time. To live like she had on her last deployment, the only time she’d been in combat. There was no better high on earth than the high of covering her brothers’ and sisters’ backsides when all hell broke loose. Neither were there any better friends than the family who fought shoulder to shoulder with you. She’d wanted to be that fierce woman again.
They’d been tracking a small ISIL team of murderers that day. Turned a corner and ran into fifty more armed terrorists. Meg’s RTO, her radio man, requested immediate Air Force cover. But until that A-10 Warthog showed up with its lethal ‘brrrrt-t-t-t-t-t’, Meg and her squad had been trapped in the fight of their lives.
Two friends died that day. But her squad had made certain ISIL paid for it. Killed dozens of Mohammed Whoever’s bloodthirsty,wanna-die-and-go-to-Allah-so-I-can-fuck-all-those-virginssoldiers. But that single battle stood as the worst and best of her entire life. Fighting for something bigger and nobler than one’s self tended to change a soldier’s perspective. She would’ve given her life to save her squad that day. She’d do the same for these orphans now.
And for Julio.
Meg refused to let this seemingly emotionless man simply pass through her life like the São Francisco River passed through Minas Gerais. Now that she’d tasted his lips, she wanted the rest of him. Julio might have kept his tongue sealed behind that veritable wall of solitude he packed with him, but she’d felt more than just anguished heat behind that chaste kiss. His body had most definitely responded, and she’d sensed a gentle man beneath that stoic mask. Whatever had happened in his life, it must have been wickedly tragic. But everyone deserved a second chance at happiness. She intended to make sure he got one.
Even now, facing this stubborn man with his back turned to her like a wall, she saw him for who he was. Alone. Arrogant enough to think he didn’t need anyone. Sullen. Over-confident, too. But before he walked out of her life, she meant him to know he’d made a difference. That what he’d done by coming alone to face Zapata on his turf, counted. That whatever Julio did next, she would be waiting for him when he returned.
“I need to talk with you before you leave,” she told those heavily muscled shoulders and the stubborn shaved neck holding up one damned hard head.
He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Me?”
“You see anyone else around?” She gave him her chin, signaling this was not a request.
Their eyes locked, just like she’d meant them to. He blinked, but shook her demand off. The stubborn man swung his bag up on his shoulder.
“I don’t have time,” he told her simply. Quietly. Too quietly for a man leaving on what could very well be a suicide mission.
That was what irked Meg the most. Everything Julio did was so damned deliberate and steady. Except for that kiss, not once had he over-reacted or gotten angry. In fact, he had yet to express any emotion other than stoicism sprinkled with intermittent tenderness for Dom.
Julio seemed to be made of steel and stone, but she knew better. There was a heart beating in that magnificent chest. She’d heard it when the explosion ripped over them, when he’d pressed her ear to said chest. He hadn’t had to do that. She was just some foreign aid-worker. She meant nothing to him.
Yet he’d reached for her, and that simple act had spoken volumes. He’d known darned well the damage a concussive sound wave caused a person’s eardrums. It might’ve been an automatic reaction on his part, but it had given her an unexpected insight. The steadyker-thumpof the humble man’s heart had been louder than Oz’s attempt at violent destruction—if that’s what that explosion was.
Yet this taciturn, steadfast, stubborn warrior was even now prepared to go into combat, to kill and possibly die for his country. For her. Alone. Darn his noble ass.
She refused to let him walk away. Not from Meg Duncan. She’d lost enough friends in her short Army career. This hard-headed man would not be another.
Climbing to her feet, she ordered, “Make time, Juarez. This is important. Marta, please take Dom for me. See if he’ll eat more bread, but dip it in orange juice first. He seems to like that.”
“It’s easier for him to swallow,” Julio explained quietly, as usual.
“Come here, little one. Sweet baby of mine,” Marta crooned as she settled Dom against her shoulder. “I will feed you, but I cannot give you a bath until we are out of here. You’ll have to be stinky a little while longer, ya?”
Julio faced Meg by then. She stuck her chin at him and ground out, “Privately. Now.”
He shrugged indifferently. “You’ve got two minutes.”
That’d work. Wriggling out of her sarape, Meg tossed it back onto the table, then walked past Julio on her way to the five boulders that made up Giant’s Toes. They’d have privacy in the bushes between here and there.
“I’ll be right back, Marta,” she called over her shoulder. “Check everyone’s ears, Craig. Please make sure our kids are ready to travel when I get back.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” he replied with customary cheerfulness.
Joseph and Fernando were already attending to the kids. This wouldn’t take long.
It took seconds to walk out of sight. Another second for Meg to make sure no one could see her when she spun on the balls of her feet, holding her arms out to catch herself in case she fell down. Recovering stroke patients were not known for agility or speed. She allowed one more second to make sure she was balanced.
Julio had gone stock still by then, probably wondering what she was doing.
