Morgan's Rescue (36 page)

     
"I love you, Pilar. I never stopped loving you through all those years."

     
With a little sob, she sat up, her hand pressed to her lips. "Y-you never stopped loving me?"

     
Culver crouched, one hand on her thigh, the other on the arm of the rocking chair.
"Never."

     
"I have hurt so many people," Pilar whispered brokenly, and she covered her face with her hand, beginning to weep in earnest.

     
"Come here," Culver whispered roughly as he drew her out of the rocking chair and into his arms. Careful not to jar her wounded arm, he brought her fully against him and held her. The sounds coming from deep within her reminded him of the cries of a wounded animal. Pilar shook in his arms with each ragged sob. All Culver could do was hold her, rest his cheek against her hair and rock her gently in his arms. He felt the pain of the load she'd carried alone for so long. Guilt ate at him. She shouldn't have borne so much by herself. Culver shook his head. He'd been young, irresponsible and foolish. And look how much it had wounded Pilar—the only woman he'd ever truly loved. Could she forgive him? Could Rane? Bitterness coated his mouth as he held her shaking form.

     
Little by little, her sobs abated, and finally Pilar leaned against him. He took her full weight and kissed her hair. "I never knew I'd be sent back down here, Pilar, but I'm glad as hell now that I was."

     
Wiping her cheek with trembling fingers, Pilar said in a wobbly voice, "I was in shock when Hector told me I would be working with you." She eased away just enough to meet his warm gaze. "I was so scared, Culver—afraid you'd realize my secret. I died inside when you first saw Rane. I thought you might see the resemblance and prayed that you wouldn't."

     
Nodding, he ran his thumb lightly across her arched eyebrow and cupped his hand against her cheek. "You don't have to be
afraid
any more,
mi querida.
It's no longer a burden you carry alone. I'll help you shoulder the load from now on."

     
Relief swept through Pilar. The moments spun between them as her mind cart wheeled over so many options. "I'm worried for Rane. She grew up thinking Fernando was her father. . . ."

     
"Shh, one step at a time, sweetheart," he said huskily, drawing her against him. "First I want you to get your strength back. We'll stay in Tarapoto until then. Then we'll go back to the village. Rane is old enough to understand some things, Pilar. We'll let her know that I'm her father and that I had to go away for a very long time, and that Fernando agreed to take care of her in my absence." He stroked her hair gently. "When she's older and can understand more, she'll know the whole truth of the situation."

     
Closing her eyes, Pilar pressed her face into his shirt. His arms were shoring her up, nurturing her. "I'm so tired,
mi querido.
So tired. . . ."

     
Culver kissed her hair. "I know you are, sweetheart. Come on, I want you to go back to bed and rest. I'll be here. I won't leave you. . . ."

     
P
ilar stood at the entrance to their hut and watched as Aurelia took Rane's small hand. Today she was going to take her great-granddaughter deep into the jungle to begin teaching her about the herbs that could save lives. All those who walked the medicine path were taught from an early age about such things, and Pilar was grateful Rane would have the chances that she had not.

     
Eight weeks had passed since her release from the hospital. Culver and she had been married by a priest in Tarapoto before leaving for the village. She gazed at the plain gold wedding band on her finger, still not daring to believe Culver was her husband. It was a dream she'd had for so long that she still didn't quite trust it to be real. Aurelia's wise care and the love of Culver and her daughter had worked miracles on Pilar's healing process. Moving her shoulder a bit, she could feel stiffness, but it was no longer painful.

     
The morning was cool without being cold, the fog suspended like white gauze between the second and third canopies of trees. The village was just awakening, the timid light of early dawn making the fog glow like a radiant ceiling above the huts. The calls of the birds announced the break of day, their music enlivening everything around them.

     
Pilar stood absorbing the beauty of her home. The younger men were already in the fields above the village, working with hoes or shovels, while the wives and widows hovered around cooking pots. The children were just coming awake, their sleepy faces evident as they stumbled from their huts, rubbing their eyes. Dogs barked and played among the pigs, chickens and noisy roosters.

     
Pilar recalled that sometime in the night, Culver had left her and gone outside. Then Rane had come in from her own room and had snuggled into her arms on the thick floor mat. Had Pilar dreamed that Culver had then come back, kissed her on the brow and whispered he'd be back later? With a sigh, she savored the quiet joy she'd experienced ever since Culver had returned fully to their lives.

     
Each day, he went with Grandfather Alvaro to the fields, to work with the men. He left very early in the morning, when it was still cool, and returned around noon to eat lunch. Then it was siesta time—they spent the hot, muggy afternoon snoozing outdoors in hammocks until early evening, when the heat dissipated. Culver then would sit with the men of the village, drinking a locally made beer, telling stories, laughing and talking about the events that made up the fabric of their lives.

     
Yes, it was a good life, Pilar thought. Culver would return to their hut for the evening meal, to eat with her and Rane. They always talked about the day's events in detail during dinner. Rane had accepted Culver as her father far more easily than Pilar had ever thought possible. Perhaps it was because Culver made sure his daughter was with him every day, in some way, and he listened carefully to her youthful, bubbly talk.

     
Fernando, Pilar realized now, had cheated Rane of much. Culver was not only interested in what Rane had to say, but he talked with her at length, respectfully, as if her ideas and thoughts truly counted. Fernando, bless him, had never held such conversations with Rane. Despite his love for her, she'd been a mere child to him, therefore incapable of serious discussions or worth the time it would take to answer the many questions she asked about things that caught her curiosity and attention. Culver, on the other hand, took great pains to explain carefully when she asked him a question. Pilar did not fault Fernando, for he'd been an old man, his heart giving him many problems. She'd understood when Fernando would wave his hand and
ask
Rane to leave him alone, for her daughter was an impetuous, terribly curious child.

     
But now Pilar's heart swelled with quiet happiness as she moved out to the cooking pot. Culver had already made a grain cereal and added water and honey to it. A blackened kettle was set high above the coals of the fire. The dish was fragrant, and Pilar stirred it gently with a wooden spoon. Her thoughts drifted back over the past eight weeks. Each night had been beautiful to look forward to. The people of the village had built them a three-room hut, so that Rane had her own room, she and Culver had a bedroom and they shared the main room, where they ate and welcomed their many visitors. When Culver had driven her back to the village, the entire population had stood waiting to greet them.

     
Pilar had cried as her grandparents embraced her. Rane had clung to her, her slender arms wrapped tightly around Pilar's skirt, her small head pressed against her mother. Culver had stood back, tears in his eyes. Pilar hadn't expected a new home, or the warm, heartfelt welcome she received. The hut was completely furnished with the items they needed to set up a household, and the generosity of the people made her weep with gratitude. And each night, Culver would put Rane to bed, tell her a story, kiss her on the brow, then come to their bedroom.

     
How Pilar looked forward to that. Because her wound was still mending, he would not love her. She understood, but she reveled in the feel of his powerful arms about her, drawing her gently against him. And she waited in sweet anticipation for his mouth to settle on hers. How badly she wanted to love him fully!

     
Pilar was so caught up in her heated thoughts of Culver holding her and kissing her that she did not hear his approach. However, her other sense—the jaguar medicine within her—felt his presence. She was sitting on a log near the cooking pot, the bowl of cereal in her hand, when she felt him arrive. Her brain told her that was silly, since Culver would be out in the fields at this time of day.

     
But as she lifted her head, her eyes met his. He stood a little off to one side, watching her, tenderness in his eyes. The expression sent a thrill through her.
Pilar felt heat suffuse her heart, then streak downward like jagged lightning hurled from the sky into Mother Earth.
The look in his eyes told her of his love, of his burning need of her—in all ways. He was dressed in a loose, white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. In his hand was a hoe. The jeans he wore were threadbare, outlining his magnificent lower body. Like all the men, he wore thick leather sandals to protect his feet, and she could see he had been in the fields by the dark soil clinging to his feet.

     
His gaze touched her, silent yet evocative. Slowly lowering the bowl to the log, Pilar watched his mouth curve slightly in greeting. When Culver walked, he reminded her of the silent jaguar, who owned the jungle on his own terms. Culver possessed an incredible masculine grace, and the eight weeks of hard field work had somehow brought a level of relaxation to his movements. Where before he'd been tight, almost rigid in his walk, now there was a fluidity about him that was beautiful to watch.

     
"I thought you were in the fields," she said a little breathlessly as he approached.

     
Culver placed the hoe against the side of the hut. "I was."

     
Pilar's mouth curved as he came and sat down next to her. "Are you not feeling well?" She searched his face, darkly tanned from the sun that shone brightly on the slopes above the village, where the terraced fields lay.
So much of the tension that had been in Culver's expression had disappeared.
Although his face remained as rugged as the granite
Andes
, at the same time it mirrored a relaxed quality.

     
"I feel great." Culver studied Pilar in the warm silence that hummed between them. She had braided her thick hair as she did every morning. Then at night, he would unbraid it and brush out the silky strands. It was a special time for them. "We're going somewhere," he said enigmatically. "Aurelia has packed us a lunch." He reached over and caressed Pilar's cheek. "All I need is you."

     
Surprised, she gazed up into his light blue eyes and saw amusement in them—and longing. Her skin tingled deliciously where he'd barely grazed her cheek. "Where are we going?"

     
Culver's mouth stretched. "Now, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

     
Her lips parted. "What about Rane?"

     
"Aurelia is taking care of her all day. They know we won't be back until dusk."

     
Pilar studied him. "You have planned this carefully, haven't you,
mi querido?
" She saw Culver flush.

     
"Somewhat…" he managed to say, trying not to smile.

     
A deep, throbbing sensation began in her lower body. The look he was giving her was one a man gives his woman when he wants to love her—fully.
Without reserve.
Without regret.
She felt a secret heat coiling tightly within her as she began to understand. "You are taking me somewhere that is private?"

     
"Very private."

     
"I see…"

     
"I think you're beginning to." He flashed
her a
slight smile. "Don Alvaro told me about this place."