Make Mine a Marine (39 page)

Suddenly Hawk remembered de Vega's hands groping Sarah, and the way he'd combed his grubby fingers through her hair. With a matching catch of his own breath, Hawk lifted the braid from her hand. He'd counseled women who had been abused by their spouses, but never a woman who'd been victimized by a crime the way Sarah had. Dealing with her emotional wounds required a different kind of strategy than he could give her, especially since his reaction to her request was male and territorial, and not at all detached, the way he'd promised himself earlier.

But he supposed the nearest therapist or crisis center lay across the Bay of Yucatan in mainland Mexico. And since he had no books or colleagues to consult, he had to rely on his instincts. Those instincts said to give Sarah what she wanted. Despite how the color of her hair had drawn him like the symbol in his vision. Despite the old-fashioned ladylike quality its length gave her. Despite its sensuous beauty when it had floated around them both in the water and he had caressed its silky texture between his hands.

"I don't know if I can," he murmured aloud, torn between the impulse to wipe de Vega's touch from her and his desire to preserve a thing of beauty.

"I'm not
asking
you."

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and forced his gaze to meet hers. He recognized the determination in the gold-green depths and realized that no matter how he argued, he would bow to her will in this.

He nodded slowly and unsnapped the sheath on his vest. "Turn around."

Her rallying spirit eased his doubts only momentarily. With her back to him, she tucked her chin to her chest, exposing the creamy length of her neck. Hawk swallowed hard, feeling like an executioner about to slaughter an innocent. He twisted her hair twice around his left hand and pulled it taut. He laid the knife against the braid and stopped, entranced by the shiny glints reflected in the smooth steel blade.

She must have sensed his hesitation. "Do it."

He balked at her command, knowing he could hack it like a vine in one or two sure strokes. But that would be too cruel, too much like cutting into Sarah herself.

"Hawk, please."

The breathy plea reached all the way to his soul. Hawk was a master of self-control, but something about this shy woman's bravery shamed him. Her resilient strength in the face of unending obstacles made him wonder why he, too, refused to take more chances.

He should be in charge here, and yet he found himself once again unable to deny her need. Clenching his jaw, he began sawing back and forth through her hair. With each stroke, damp strands popped loose, and, freed from the weight of the heavy braid, they kinked into tiny loose curls that sprang away from his hands.

When he finished, Sarah patted the back of her neck as if checking the tenderness of a wound. Hawk muttered an apology and stepped back, mourning the loss he held in his hand.

"I have some manicure scissors in my pack.  I'll have one of the girls trim it up a little more evenly.”  Hawk barely heard her as she turned and spoke.  “Thank you for… everything."

The shyness of her voice pulled his attention back to her. Before he could refute her misplaced gratitude, she flattened her palm against his chest for balance and leaned in on tiptoe to press a chaste kiss to the square jut of his jaw.

Then she ducked her head and scooted past him to the others.

Hawk stood mute, absorbing the tantalizing sensation of her soft lips against his sun-roughened skin. He could still feel the whispery pressure of her hand and hear the demure awkwardness in her voice.

"Ten minutes, schoolmarm!" he yelled over his shoulder. "And then we hit the road."

Hawk barked the order in an automatic attempt to distance himself from the inexplicable warmth that suffused him. That quick kiss probably had cost her more than any other physical contact they'd shared, because she had initiated it. That tiny risk of kindness eased a hurtful place inside him. It soothed his guilt and reminded him of his own strength.

And it made him realize how vulnerable he was. How deeply that quiet, bossy stick of a woman had insinuated herself into his life in just a few short days.

At the same time, he realized how utterly impossible it would be for them to become anything more than friends or lovers, and how a deeply buried part of him wanted all that and more from Sarah. But back in Marysville, Kansas, when she was surrounded by familiar people and familiar things, she wouldn't want him for anything. She wouldn't need him.

She would be polite. Hawk could picture Sarah treating him with the same gracious patience that she had used with Kensit after the town meeting. Her family background wouldn't allow her to be anything less than courteous. But a cool, polite brush-off was still a brush-off.

She wouldn't need him at all in the real world.

And caring about the woman, one way or the other, admiring her courage, liking—no, going out of his mind with—her touch, and memorizing endearing little traits, like a shy stammer or a twist of her fingers or a dazzling smile, would only lead to trouble. Hell, it already had.

She clouded his judgment, altered his priorities. Made him care about things he had no right caring about.

Hawk looked down at the braid in his hand and remembered the symbols in his vision. He had no doubt now that Sarah was the Kodiak, and the girls her cubs. The world freezing and turning to gray could loosely be interpreted in her momentary and understandable breakdown after de Vega's attack. Something in her past made her heartsick, yet Sarah continued to fight as valiantly as the mother bear.

What he couldn't yet understand was the oblivion when the world in his vision had shattered and collapsed all around them. Were Sarah and the girls doomed to that unacceptable fate? Hawk would die himself before allowing that to happen.

Or was that shattered world
his
destiny? The price he had to pay for caring?

He couldn't escape Otis Peace Hands's dire warning that Hawk must save the bear in order to save his own life. He wondered how Sarah could possibly save him. She knew little about survival skills, next to nothing about the jungle, and nil about criminals. Otis must have misinterpreted the dream. Surely he meant that Sarah would die without
him
.

But then he thought of his silly, softening reaction to that innocent kiss, and how her gentle touch and selfless concern in the jungle had totally freed him from Meczaquatl's control. The braid in his hand seemed to glow with heat.

There was something more at work here. Something still beyond his understanding, something not yet under his control.

Hawk wasn't a man to take chances. Purposefully pushing aside any inklings of sentimentality, he pulled two strands of Sarah's hair from the braid, wound them into a tiny knot and snapped them inside a pocket on his vest. He'd add them to his medicine pouch when he sought his next vision.

He'd keep them as a reminder of what they might have shared.

He tossed the braid on the cot inside her tent, then patted the pocket of his vest.

He might not understand it, but he couldn't ignore an omen.

On the other hand, he'd do his damnedest to ignore his feelings for Sarah McCormick.

It was a matter of survival.

His.

Four hundred fifty-two, four hundred fifty-three…

"Hold up."

Sarah halted, as ordered. Four hundred fifty-four steps since Hawk's last words, and that had been a terse
Eyes right
to warn them to give wide berth to the snake wrapped around a tree limb that hung out over the road.

What was wrong with him? Was he in jungle mode? Was this the soldier in him taking charge of their survival? Didn't he realize these were children, not troops he was commanding? Taciturn, mysterious exterior aside, he had shown her he was a deeply spiritual, compassionate man. What had happened?

What had she done to make him withdraw into caustic silence like this? Maybe her going wacko had turned him off to any kind feelings he had toward her. But his kiss had come after that, hadn't it? When he was talking about his vision?

Maybe that explained his mood. He had shared something intensely personal with her, and now he regretted it. She'd listened to his story as if hearing the soothing words of a prayer. But maybe Hawk hadn't intended them that way.  Perhaps he had only been doing what needed to be done to comfort her.

Perhaps her misinterpretation of his help had embarrassed him. He was trying to be a good friend, and she…

She felt the temperature of her already hot skin rise, nearly suffocating her. Sarah opened her mouth and sucked in a deep breath.

You're nothing remarkable. Not terribly pretty. And sexy?

Walter had said she was lucky he'd shown an interest in her. Lucky that he'd found other qualities to like about her. Like her bank account and her family lineage.

She'd been
lucky
to have his attentions. It had taken her far too long to realize just how insincere Walter had been. Why should Hawk be any different from any other man?

She'd be a fool to interpret Hawk's actions as anything other than friendship. Or anything more than what an experienced man like him was willing to do to ensure their survival.

She might be slow to learn about men, but she was no fool.

Hiking the road had actually proved to be an easier trip than riding over it in the back of a truck had been. The ruts that had jarred Sarah's bones into putty en route to Las Lagumas now served as a clear path back to El Espanto.

But nothing else was easy about this hike. With the break, she eased out of her pack, twisting to avoid brushing the sore skin at the back of her neck, which hadn't seen direct sunlight in nearly fifteen years. She rubbed at the front of her right shoulder and rotated her arm, working out the stiffness there. She might be used to walking for exercise, but she wasn't used to carrying a pack.

And with the excess humidity, she'd discovered that one of the drawbacks to having short hair was its tendency to frizz and fly around her face. The wispy ends tickled her chin and stuck to the perspiration on her forehead. She pushed the annoying curls away from her temples and tried to figure out what Hawk was studying in the mud at the side of the road.

"What is it?" questioned Lynnette.

The youngest member of their group had stayed on Hawk's heels for the past three miles. The others trailed along in single file while Sarah brought up the rear. Hawk had commanded her to holler if anyone straggled too far behind, but it was Sarah's intention to adjust her pace so that none of the girls would feel they were holding the group back.

Raul shrugged out of the radio pack and opened the jug of water he carried. "Is it all right if we have a drink?" he asked Hawk.

For a moment, Sarah didn't think he'd heard the boy. Hawk stood and stared down the embankment through the trees. The girls crowded in behind Raul, panting in deep breaths of hot air, waiting for Hawk's answer.

Sarah herself was about to repeat the question when Hawk whipped his head around. "Three swallows apiece. Drop your packs and rest for fifteen minutes. I want to check something out."

The thumps of packs, teens and supplies hitting the ground sounded like a drum roll. Only Lynnette seemed inclined to follow Hawk into the trees. Sarah hurried and caught Lynnette's arm, pulling her back.

"Do what he says. You need to keep up your strength."

The girl looked at Sarah, then reluctantly nodded. Andrea held out her canteen to share, and Lynnette took it and sat down beside her friend.

When Sarah turned around, Hawk had already dropped out of sight down the steep incline. But she saw a clear trail where the undergrowth had been crushed and trail markers had been gouged into the sides of some of the tree trunks

Swelling with pride, Sarah noted that the girls hadn't complained once about the heat or the pace. But glancing over at them, she couldn't help but notice their slumped shoulders, some of them heaving to catch their breath. Denise and Colleen had already stretched out with their heads resting on their packs.

Whatever Hawk's grievance with her might be, he didn't need to take it out on the girls by pushing them so hard.

"You guys stay together," she said, hoping to buy them some more rest time. "I'll find out what's going on."

Tucking a bothersome curl behind her ear, Sarah stepped across a decaying fallen tree and started down the hill. At first she used the trunks and branches for handholds on her way down. But then the slope became rocky and dropped off sharply, and recent rains had turned the mud and crumpled greenery into a slick mock-up of an amusement park ride. She planted her boot against an exposed root, but slipped on the wet surface and plopped down hard on her bottom.

Sarah lost her grip and went flying down Mother Nature's slide. She grabbed at handfuls of ferns and roots, but her momentum ripped them out of the earth and tilted her sideways.

"Hawk!" She hollered his name, crashed into a tree root, tumbled head over heels and watched her world spin out of control. In one last effort to right herself, she stuck out her feet, planted her heels and straightened. She would have flipped over face-first into the mud, but she slammed into warm, solid man first.