Recon Marines III: The Marine's Doctor (38 page)

* * * *

“
I feel like I’m going to
suffocate,” Riba said.

“
Yalo said there’s a
sophisticated ventilation system to keep the oxygen levels high
enough.” Callie slid in the sleeping sack beside Riba. Sally
sprawled in satiated slumber on her mother’s chest. “I don’t like
these cramped quarters either, but we’ll be warm.”

Callie snuggled as close to Riba as
she could, but how would even a lean marine like Joe fit in the bit
of space left? The same, thin material as the soldiers’ uniforms
had been used to construct the bags. A small mechanical unit
attached to the head of the sack as Vin had explained. He would
cover all but the hose venting the air unit right before the sun
set and trap the heat of the white sand around them.

“
I hope Sally sleeps
through tonight,” Riba said.

Before Callie could add her wish for
the same, Joe lifted the edge of the bag. He slid in beside her,
his body brushing along her length. He’d taken his boots off and
pulled his shirt over his head before reclining flat beside
her.

“
Ready, Vin.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Callie caught a glimpse of Yalo and
Vin before Joe sealed the sack with some type of clever zipper. Joe
reached over Callie’s head and switched on the ventilation unit as
the hot, heavy sand dropped on their legs.

The sack inflated along its length and
lifted the weight of the sand off of them. The top of the bag
expanded to nearly a foot above their bodies. The air circulated
like a light breeze across their faces and alleviated some of the
claustrophobic feeling of being buried. A soft glow from the air
unit added to the comfort.

Joe settled on his side facing her. He
lifted his shirt in front of her face and offered it to Riba. “Take
this. It will get much colder later.”

“
Thank you.” Riba took the
shirt and wrapped it around Sally. She tucked the edges around the
baby as if it were a blanket of fine organic wool instead of a
shirt smelling of warm male.

Callie ordered her body to relax
despite the press of Joe’s chest against her arm. His feet brushed
hers, and his knee bumped into her thigh as he adjusted his
position. She thought about turning away from him but didn’t want
to turn her back to him. She now saw the ridiculous nature of her
earlier fears. The sleeping arrangements left no room to stretch
let alone to do anything requiring disrobing and vigorous
movements.

Riba’s breathed settled into the even
rhythms of sleep and why not? The previous days of dread,
inadequate food and water and then trudging through the sand
compounded the fatigue expected of a new mother.

But Callie couldn’t sleep. Now while
his breath stirred her hair. She sought conversation to distract
her from the stirrings of attraction.

“
Why do you help us?” The
question formed the heart of her distrust. What payment of
recompense would the marines eventually expect or
demand?

“
You are civilians.” Joe’s
spoke with the wary, hesitant quality she’d noticed earlier. He
obviously recognized the words but he seemed to take time to
interpret them and form his answers.

“
Civilians?”

“
The primary duty given to
the Interplanetary Marines is the protection of
civilians.”

“
You feel you have a duty
to protect us?”

“
Yes.”

Could their actions really be so
unselfish? Callie tested her hope that her staff might be safe
while in the care of these soldiers. “Duty is important to
you?”

“
Duty is all there
is.”

“
No,” Callie said even
though he gave the answer she wanted. She turned her head toward
him and found his face closer than she’d expected. “There’s much
more to life than duty.”

His gaze dropped to her lips, before
he rolled to his back. His arm and thigh pressed tight against
hers. “What more is there for such as me, Lady Callie?”

All the vicious things Yalo had said
about their rescuers and Callie’s own harsh words rose in her
thoughts. What indeed was there for such as Joe? He closed his eyes
and fell asleep within a few breaths.

Callie stared at him and wondered if a
soul swirled inside the angelic, warrior body? Was there more depth
to the man than his incredible physical presence and an ingrained
sense of duty? On what scale did one measure a man constructed so
unnaturally?

* * * *

Something woke Callie. She burrowed
closer to the heat against her front. It moved. She opened her eyes
and saw an expanse of smooth, bare skin. A steady thumping beneath
her ear sung of life and strength. Joe.

Sally whimpered, the sound that had
awakened Callie. Joe held his breath and his heart pounded faster.
Sally quieted, and he relaxed.

Callie lifted her head off his chest
so she could look at him, wondering when she’d shifted to such an
intimate position. Her legs tangled with his, and her hips pressed
against him.

Joe stared over her head at Riba.
Callie had only seen minute traces of emotion on his face before
and struggled to decipher what she saw now. Wonder?
Disbelief?

Callie could hear the baby suckling
and surely Joe could see Riba’s breast as she fed her daughter. No
lust gleamed in his eyes. After a while Sally burped and Riba made
a soft sound of amusement.

Joe shifted, his legs pushed hers from
between his as he tried to move away. But he had no place to
go.

Callie laid her head back on his
shoulder and reclaimed the tiny amount of open space between them.
He was warm. She was tired. Trust was a worry for the morrow. Again
he held his breath for a moment. He carefully wrapped his arm
around her and pulled her closer.

Sleep tugged at her, muddling her
thoughts. She slid one of her legs back over him so her thigh
brushed against his abdomen. She slid into a comfortable blackness
of slumber and wondered dreamily why he’d brought one of his guns
to bed. It made such a hard lump on his belly.

The Marine’s
Heiress

By

Susan Kelley

Chapter One

Recon Marine Vin trusted his disguise
to fool the target and risked getting close to her. He folded down
the hood of his jacket, concentrating to make the motion casual
rather than careful. His fingers brushed against the curls touching
his collar. Adjustment to his longer hairstyle eluded him, but it
helped him blend into the prey’s habitat.

“
What will you have, sir?”
His prey looked at him with instinctive wariness.

Vin had prepared for such a question
when he planned his approach. “Cold tea and hot biscuits, please.”
He’d heard other customers in the café make the exact
request.

The woman smiled faintly and lifted
her eyebrow. She turned away and strode through a curtained
doorway, her small heeled boots tapping a rapid rhythm on the wood
floor. A whiff of fresh baked bread trailed behind her and lingered
near the table he occupied.

Of the dozen tables crowding the
eating area built into the side of the trading post, only two
others held customers. Vin assessed them again, though he’d
observed and evaluated them as no threat earlier. One older man sat
by himself and stared into his tea mug. Two young women leaned
toward each other across the short expanse of another table,
whispering words they probably thought private. Vin heard their
bold opinions of him.

“
He’s too pretty to be
single,” one girl said around a giggle.

“
He’s alone, isn’t he? A
married man would bring along his wife.”

The past six months had taught Vin a
bit about civilians. The two girls meant nothing with their silly
words. Women found his appearance attractive everywhere he went.
The more he ignored the attention directed at him, the greater
their efforts to gain his notice. He wondered why civilians cared
so much for physical beauty instead of the important qualities
needed to survive on the wilderness worlds outside the protection
and laws of the Galactic Ministry.

Low voices carried to Vin from beyond
the curtain along with the soft clatter of metal pans. The homey
sounds and scents of baking brought him little comfort. Instead his
lean belly tightened with an old grief.

His target swept out through the
curtain. The blue cloth snagged for a moment on the mass of curly
blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. The thick mane fought
against the wide band she had tied around it to keep it out of her
face. The woman balanced a tray laden with a clay pot, matching mug
and a platter of steaming biscuits. With a deft twist of her wrist,
she shifted the tray to one hand and used her other to set the
items in front of Vin.

“
Would you like syrup for
your tea, sir?”

Her gaze shocked him into
speechlessness. He’d expected to see the evil and cruelty known as
part of her bloodline. Instead, the dark brown depths reminded him
of the thick, creamy drink brewed from cocoa beans. Did sweetness
warm her eyes or guile?

“
You’re new to Hovel
Port?” She gave him no chance to answer. “We get few travelers
passing through and there’s little enough work for those settled
here. Do you need a place to stay? Moe lets out rooms if you have
trade credits. Why are you here?”

Panic rose in Vin, not fear of a
physical threat, but worry that his confusion would destroy his
thin camouflage and expose his true nature. “I’m looking for …
work.” He’d almost said you.

A thin line appeared between her eyes
and her mouth turned down. “Vannie Green does the
hiring.”

“
He owns the entire town?”
Vin had scouted the settlement from the cover of the jungle for
three days before making contact today. He hadn’t noticed a
boss-like man.

The woman laughed and inspired a
twinge in Vin’s middle again. He’d learned what emotions harmonized
to create the light sound. Nothing cruel marked her amusement, but
he understood she was laughing at something he said. He reran his
words through his mind, searching for his mistake.

“
Vannie only owns part of
this building.” Her smile grew. “He’s our unelected leader, kind of
like our mayor. If you want a job, you have to speak with
him.”

Vin hadn’t planned further than
getting a closer look at the woman. She hadn’t exited the walled
confines of the village, at least not during the time he’d watched
her. He’d learned the concept of a job. “I can perform a variety of
jobs.”

She held out her hand. “Emma Jones.
Welcome to Hovel Port. It’s hard work making a living
here.”

He folded his fingers around her
small, delicate hand. The calluses on his fingers and palms pressed
into the soft smooth warmth of her skin. He hadn’t touched a woman
since Yalo. Their gender was so fragile.

“
Your name?” Her mouth
quirked into a smile that drew and trapped his gaze.

“
Vin Smith.” He’d chosen a
name common to many men. Every settlement and planet he’d searched
in pursuit of this woman had men named Smith among the population.
He stood, remembering more polite behavior expected of
men.

She held her ground, looking up at him
from her diminutive height. The top of her head rose slightly
higher than his chin. He couldn’t tell if the scent tickling his
senses wafted from the hot biscuits or her warm skin. She laughed
and sparkles danced in her eyes. “Smith?”

“
I’ll meet this Vannie,”
Vin said to cover up his confusion. A job would keep him near
her.

“
He’ll be in soon. He eats
his evening meal here every day.” She flashed another smile at him
and then retreated behind the curtain.

Vin took his seat again and poured tea
into his mug. He studied the biscuits and decided they were meant
to be eaten with his hand. The first bite dissolved on his tongue
and flooded his mouth with the sweetness of sugar and vanilla. He
didn’t recognize the flour used in the confection. Nor could he
remember tasting anything so delicious. He finished the first
biscuit in two bites and then noticed the curtain
twitched.

The target spied on him. Vin sat back
in his chair, affecting the slouch common to men at ease. He’d
practiced in front of a mirror, though he wondered how people found
the sloppy posture comfortable. Picking up the teapot, he looked
under his lashes toward the kitchen.

Emma. He’d acquired the target and now
would set the role she would play for him. Bait.

* * * *

Emma watched the stranger from the
safety of the kitchen. He seemed an odd one but small colonies like
theirs often drew misfits. Hovel Port had fortunately not had
anyone bring trouble or violence with them.

She turned away to tend her cooking.
Men, mostly the single ones, would drift in throughout the evening.
Their demanding lives of digging and sifting through the river for
dregs washed down from the silver mine left them too tired to cook
for themselves. Most of the men had lived here for years, fiercely
proud of their freedom from any government control. The small
settlement drew no notice and made a perfect place for
Emma.