River of Desire: A Romantic Action Adventure/Thriller (6 page)

“
Sounds like you still have resentment toward him.” 

“
The only feeling I have is disgust,” she spat out. “He betrayed my mother and he abandoned me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead to me.”

“
He hurt you.”

“
I was young and vulnerable, but I’m older now. I’ve developed a tough skin. No one will ever hurt me like that again.”

* * *

Leah’s words tore into Dylan with the precision of the chisel’s blade. Did she mean she would never allow another man close to her? And why did that matter to him? He ran his fingers along the edge of the fracture. A little more sanding and it would be sleek enough to fill. “Is your father’s rejection the real reason that you’re so determined to find your grandfather?”

She jerked her head up. “I don’t understand the connection.”

“Maybe your grandfather will accept you?”

“
That’s ridiculous. I can’t replace my father and I’m not looking for a substitute. I only want to know the truth.” She paused, “Look at this,” and pointed to an obvious tear in the raft’s seam.

He moved to within hugging distance of her, but restrained his sudden and unexpected urge to take her into his arms. He gazed over her shoulder. “There’s our problem. If you don’t mind washing the mud out of the seam and drying it, I’ll patch it.”

She took a towel, wet one side and scrubbed at the crack. “Since I’ve been spilling my guts out to you, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”    

Not one to speak of himself, his internal armor snapped into place. “What’s that?”

“You said in our first meeting that you had done your bit for humanity. I’m just wondering what you meant.”

Damn. He should have known better than to open that can of worms. His jaw tensed. Maybe he could deflect her from her line of questioning, but he knew better. As a reporter, she’d naturally be persistent. If persistence is what it took to make a good journalist, Leah must be an ace. “I was raised on a ranch in Texas, not far from Amarillo. My mother is a Mexican-American immigrant, my father was a ranch hand. We didn’t have much money.

“When I graduated high school, my only way out of that God-forsaken place was to join the Army. As a ranger, I was stationed in Somalia in the early 90s as part of a force sent to protect the people from feuding tribal warlords.”

“
I remember that.”

“
It was toward the end of my tour of duty. I left the Army just after my stint in Somalia.”

She laid aside the towel. Most of the mud had been removed. “Why did that leave you so bitter?”

The question he least wanted to answer now hung between them like a flashing neon light. It couldn’t just be ignored. He levered his legs in a defiant stance. “I would rather not discuss this right now, okay? I don’t really know you well enough.”

She gave him a warm smile. “Don’t know me that well. We’ve slept together in the jungle for three nights. Doesn’t that qualify for knowing me well enough?”

What could he say to dissuade her? “We’d have to have slept in the same bed for that one,” he said to shut her up, but it only served to stir his imagination.

She raised both arms in a gesture of acquiescence. “If it’s that private, I guess I’ll never learn it.”

“No,” he said rather dejectedly, “you probably won’t.”

* * *

In the middle of the night, Leah woke with a pressing need to void. Warm and comfortably curled in her sleeping bag, she resisted rising until she could no longer stand it. She quickly slipped on her shoes and blundered from the tent with a dim flashlight to a spot away from the campsite. 

Afterwards, she made her way carefully back toward the tent, when something suddenly struck her right ankle with so much force she lost her balance and fell to one side. Pain shot up her leg as if a branding iron had been applied. She screamed as much out of surprise as anguish.

In the fallen flashlight’s dull beam, she caught a glimpse of a snake slithering away. Her stomach knotted at the sight. She swallowed repeatedly to fight the nausea that threatened to overtake her.

Dylan was instantly at her side, almost stumbling over her. “What’s the matter?”

“Snake...” was all she could gasp before the pain rendered her speechless.

Dylan bent down, grabbed her flashlight, and scanned for the puncture marks on her ankle. “Damn. Snakes are rarely out at night. You must have disturbed its hiding place.”

Fear and shock caused her to shake.

Dylan placed an arm around her. “Shhh,” he said soothingly to calm her. “Try not to be too alarmed. I know something about snakebites and can treat them. Stay calm.”

Calm? He had to be kidding. She had been bitten by a ferocious, possibly lethal creature, and he expected her not to react? That’s like asking the Pope not to pray. Still, his encircling arm reassured her. She trusted him. If he could make clutches out of coat hangers, perhaps he could cure snakebites.

Dylan released her. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. I need to get some alcohol and a knife.”

Alone, she wrapped her arms around herself to stop her shivers. In the absolute darkness, every sound was magnified. A nearby cricket’s sudden croak startled her. A movement in the grass set her on edge. She forced back tears of terror and pain. A rustle in the brush would have panicked her if Dylan’s rough hand hadn’t clasped her arm.

He handed her a flask. “Better take a stiff shot of this. You’ll need it.” A knife blade flashed in front of the flashlight.

“Are you going to cut me?” Leah had gotten her voice back at the right moment.

He momentarily gripped her hand. “Just a quick lancing. I must draw out as much venom as possible. Down a shot of booze.”

The image of the knife sinking into her made her take a large gulp, then a second and a third until a warm, fuzzy feeling settled over her.

He handed her the flashlight. “Point it there and keep it steady.”

Just as she had imagined, the blade bit into her ankle and she had to stifle a wail, the pain so intense, the edges of her consciousness faded and darkened.

The flashlight slipped from her hand, but he scooped it up, bent over her and sucked on the wound. She heard rather than saw him spit venom mixed with blood onto the ground. The ankle throbbed with the steady pang of a tooth being drilled.

He grasped her hands. “Stay right here where you are until I find a Jergon Sacha plant. They’re all over this area. The natives use the tuber to treat poisonous bites. I’ll be right back.”

Leaves crunched under his feet and he disappeared into the night, leaving her with only the flashlight’s faint glow for security. He was gone for what seemed an eternity and she trembled at the thought he too had been attacked by the snake. When he finally returned, she let out a sigh of relief.

He bent over and wrapped her ankle in leaves and gauze. “For the rest of the night, I’ll stay in the tent with you.”

The flush of alcohol had made the ache in her ankle more bearable. Before she knew what he intended, he lifted her into his arms.

She protested and squirmed, but the more she did, the tighter he held her. “I can walk. I can…”

“
Trust me to handle this. I don’t want you to put any pressure on that ankle.” He carried her into the tent and lowered her to the bag. Once down, he helped her into her sleeping bag before he ducked down beside her. “Rest. I’ll be right here.”

In Leah’s alcohol haze, Dylan looked like a guardian angel to her. So he was an angel with an attitude, what did that matter? He was her only hope, her salvation. She couldn’t stand to see him sit there in the increasingly cold night air. “Want to join me in my sleeping bag?”

Her request met silence, but a moment later, he crawled in next to her. The friction of his bare leg against hers heated up the sleeping bag. Until that moment, it hadn’t registered that his sleeping attire consisted only of a long flannel shirt over jockeys.

“
Are you okay?” he asked.

“
Just woozy, but feeling little pain right now, thank you. How about you?”

“
You’re the patient, not me.” He unexpectedly wrapped her in his arms. “Now get some rest. It’ll soon be dawn.”

She relaxed against him. The manly smell of earth and fire emanating from his skin soothed her, at the same time it sent a strange sensation skittering along her nerve endings. His strong arms held her in a secure embrace. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind filled with the shimmery image of his naked, muscular body pressed against hers.

* * *

In the first dim dawn light, Dylan held Leah close to his chest and listened to her breathe softly through slack mouth. Holding her during the night had rekindled his memory of holding a dying Jason. He couldn’t allow Leah to meet the same fate as his friend, couldn’t fail her, too. By her brave reaction the night before, she had proven herself a worthy companion. He had to do what he could to save her.  

He leaned over and gently shook her. “I need to look at that bite.” He touched Leah’s forehead with his lips, then drew her leg gently from the bag. With gauze unwound, the ankle looked swollen, fiery red. It seared, hot to the touch. A scarlet ribbon ran up her calf.

Desperation seized Dylan. If he didn’t do something soon, the poisoned blood would travel too far. He might not be able to reverse the damage. She had most likely been stricken by a South American pit viper, the
Barba Amarilla
or, as the local’s called it, Yellow Beard because of its strange markings. An innocent name for a creature that caused more jungle deaths than any other snake. He had to act quickly.

He rewrapped her ankle, but when he tucked it back into the sleeping bag, she groaned. The sound reverberated in his head like the screech of brakes in a car accident. He had better do something soon. Since he hadn’t been able to find the real medicinal plant in the dark, the leaves he had used the night before were useless, except to calm Leah’s anxiety. He had better find it now.

When he crawled from the tent, hazy light barely touched the treetops. From their supplies, he extracted an empty jam jar, which he had intended to pack out of the jungle. He tucked it into his backpack next to his jungle knife.

Making his way through the trees, he didn’t spot one Jergon Sacha.
Damn, we would pick a place where they don’t grow
. 

There was sure to be plants downstream. He ran to the river, hooked the small motor onto the raft’s rear to maximize speed, and pushed off shore.

At an inlet, he jumped ashore to search for the plant, but didn’t have any luck.

Back in the raft, he scanned the horizon, hoping to spot an outcropping. He didn’t want to go too far and leave her alone too long, but what choice did he have? At a second stop, he sprinted through trees, slipping over muddy roots in his path.

But still no Jergon Sacha.

He almost sped past a small island, before he spied a row of Jergon Sacha among palms. Nearly overcome with relief, he moored the raft and ran to the spot. Before he reached the plants, he noticed a thick tide of traveling ants emerging from an anthill at their base. He hesitated for only a moment before using a stick to scare away the ants and dig up the tubers.

While he dug, fire ants returned to cover his hands and arms, nibbling at his skin. He ignored a flame that ignited both hands then insinuated itself into his flannel shirt. He tried to cope by gritting his teeth against the burning pain and thinking about Leah. Her need overshadowed any discomfort he might experience.

When he finally reached the root, he scratched around to free it from the dirt. Wrestling the pack from his back, he grabbed the jar and knife. With the knife blade, he plied the tuber free from the ground and cut pieces of it to place in the jar. When he had accumulated all he thought he needed, he plucked as many young leaves as he could and stuck them into his pocket. Through his clothes, his skin blazed with fiery ant bites, his head reeled from their poison. After knocking as many ants off his skin and clothes as he could, he rushed back toward the raft.

* * *

Half-asleep, Leah shifted in distress and twisted her leg. The searing pain jolted her awake.

Sunlight lit the tent’s top. Her heart raced unnaturally. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and why. When she touched her ankle, a spasm flew up her leg. She tried to move, but agony paralyzed her.

“
Dylan?” she called and waited for his reply. “Dylan?” she raised her voice, but there was still no response.

In panic, she yelled at the top of her voice, “Dylan, where the hell are you?”

But no one answered.

Panicked, she crawled to the tent’s open flap and looked about at the empty campsite, her eyes alighting on the missing raft. Where could Dylan have gone so early? She scanned the area furiously searching for a sign of him.

As the significance of what she saw sunk into her muddled, desperate mind, it suddenly became clear-the bastard had abandoned her to die. Of course. What did she expect? He was no different from her father, or most of the men she had known. When the going got tough, they got going.