To Love a Man (11 page)

“Did you send them away?” Lisa asked eagerly. It was good to know that Sam believed her, and it would be even better to know that the men who attacked her had left the camp.

Sam looked surprised. “I need them,” he said, as if this explained everything.

“You mean that you’re going to let them stay here, in this camp, after . . . after. . .” Her voice failed her.

“I told you, I need them.” He sounded mildly impatient.

“But what if they . . . they . . .?” Her voice faltered, and she chewed anxiously on her lower lip without being aware that she was doing so.

“Try it again?” Sam finished for her. “Don’t worry, they won’t. I spent this morning putting the fear of God into them.”

Lisa had to smile at that. “The fear of you, you mean.”

Sam grinned. “You could put it that way.”

“But I really would feel better if they weren’t around. Can’t you fire them, or whatever it is you do?” Her eyes, as she raised them to Sam’s, were shadowed with remembered fear. He looked at her, his eyes running almost unwillingly over the tousled mass of ash-blond hair, the creamy skin of her face, which had been kissed to gold by the sun, the wide green eyes, and the soft, tremulous mouth. She looked femininely defenseless—which was a joke. She was about as helpless as a she-cat. Then Sam’s gaze moved down to the livid black-and-yellow bruises that marred the long column of her throat, and he mentally corrected himself. She was out of her element in this man’s world of war; for the moment, she needed his protection. But he was willing to bet a considerable sum that, on her own ground with her own female weapons, she was as devastating as a bazooka at twenty feet.

“I can’t ‘fire’ them,” he explained with more patience than he had shown previously. “We’re here to do a job, and Lutz and Brady—however offensive they may have made themselves to you—are a vital part of this team. They are not expendable. None of my men are. I don’t think you realize what a sacrifice it is for me to leave Riley hanging around the camp all day. I can’t spare anyone else on your account.”

Lisa was taken aback by this forthright speech. She had been so sure, now that he knew for certain that those animals had tried to rape her, that he would get rid of them. Apparently his “need” was more important than her safety. A measure of hostility showed in her eyes as she looked at him.

“I see,” she said coolly.

“Good.” The single word was brisk. “Now, if you’ll stay put, I have some ointment that will make those bruises feel better. Hang on.”

With that he turned and left the tent. Lisa stared after him, a mixture of anger and chagrin on her face. She was largely silent when he returned with the ointment, smoothed it impersonally into her throat, and went on about his business. It was only after he had left her again that Lisa realized she was suffering from a strong sense of injustice. He had admitted that she had been telling the truth all along. She had been right, he had been wrong. At the very least, she thought resentfully, he owed her an apology!

Lisa saw very little of Sam over the next three days. She shared his tent, and that was about all. He was gone from dawn to long after night had fallen. When he finally came in, he was so tired that he fell into bed with scarcely more than a grunt in her direction. Whatever the “job” he was engaged in involved, he was working hard at it. Lisa passed quite a bit of time speculating on what act or acts of skulduggery he and his men might be perpetrating. But when she had dropped a broad hint to Riley for information, he had told her meaningfully that he—or she—who knows least lives longest. Lisa took the hint, and forbore to ask any more questions.

Boredom was her primary complaint. There was absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to read, no television, no radio—at least none that played music—nothing. She managed to scrounge up a paper and pencil after much effort, and passed some hours attempting to set down what had befallen her in a fashion that the
Star
could use. If she could ever get it to them, which seemed more and more doubtful. But when she reread what she had written, she nearly cringed. In every other line was a mention of Sam. She tried leaving him out of it, but without describing how he had rescued and cared for her—not to mention the other things he had done to and for her—she was left with a hole in her story big enough to drive a jeep through. And when she put him back in, the whole thing was too highly personal. Annoyed, she ripped her efforts into confetti and returned to glaring at inoffensive rocks. Grace and the
Star
would just have to live without her literary efforts—at least until she was home again.

There wasn’t even anyone to talk to. Sam was gone all day, and so were the rest of the men—not that she objected to
that
—except Riley. And having a conversation with Riley was like pulling hens’ teeth. He followed her around the camp like a surly little dog, uttering growls in response to her few conversational overtures. Lisa knew that only Sam’s direct orders made him act as her bodyguard-cum-jailer; left to himself, he wouldn’t give a damn if she was strung up by her toes and had the flesh peeled from her body millimeter by square millimeter. She finally decided that his demeanor was nothing personal: he disliked all women. But she sensed that he felt an extra dollop of resentment toward her. Clearly he considered it a waste of his time and talents to spend his days playing nursemaid to a woman who he thought was no better than she should be and had no business being where she was, in any case.

In desperation, Lisa took to cooking. There wasn’t much that could be done with the canned goo Riley reluctantly described as C-rations, but she tried. From the dehydrated eggs she fashioned an elegant-looking omelet, and was so pleased with the effect that she offered to share it with Riley. He snorted, but took a bite, which he chewed silently for perhaps a second before spitting it on the ground. Lisa was a trifle daunted. When she tasted it herself, she had to admit that it was not exactly haute cuisine, but it was certainly better than the horrible scrambled eggs that were the staple of Riley’s limited repertoire of menus. And if she cooked her own meals, at least she knew that everything that went into them was clean. Watching Riley’s casual disregard for sanitation, she marveled that the men didn’t come down with food poisoning at the very least. For a moment she considered cooking for Sam—and of course the other men—but then, with a toss of her head, she decided against it. She wasn’t going to wait on him—them! But she continued to cook her own meals and doggedly ate most of what she prepared.

Living with Sam and yet not really living with him was bad for her disposition, Lisa acknowledged silently on the morning of the fourth day since he had blackmailed her into moving in with him. During that time he had made no move that could even remotely be classified as a pass; Lisa hated to admit it, but she was piqued. He undressed and dressed in front of her as casually as if he had been doing it for years. She ostentatiously averted her face, but she couldn’t help the awareness of him that occasionally ran through her body like an electric shock. Since he was out of the tent so much, she had no need to worry about privacy for her own toilette. Not that she needed to worry about it in any case. She could have been a bundle of old rags for all the notice he took of her, she told herself waspishly. If she stripped stark naked in front of him she doubted that he would even notice, so intent was he on whatever work had brought him to Rhodesia. And if he did notice, she concluded with a darkling look in her eye, it would probably be only to tell her to get dressed before she caught a cold; he couldn’t spare the time to nurse her.

Lisa’s attitude toward Sam cooled until, if he had been aware of anything except the task at hand, a single glance from her would have given him frostbite. He wasn’t even conscious of her displeasure. Lisa knew this, and the knowledge made her long to slam something satisfyingly unyielding against his thick skull. At least then she would have his attention!

Early that afternoon, Lisa perched moodily on a rock near the perimeter of the camp while Riley squatted nearby. He was fiddling with the interior of a malfunctioning two-way radio and hadn’t said a word for the past couple of hours. Lisa flashed him a resentful glance, then turned her attention back to watching the birds that wheeled and cried overhead. It was a beautiful, cloudless day in the middle of October, which was the start of Rhodesia’s summer; the sun was hot and the sky was as blue as Sam’s eyes. As soon as she made the comparison, Lisa was annoyed at herself. The color of the dratted man’s eyes meant less than nothing to her, she told herself crossly. She had just used the simile because it was apt.

A jeep rattled into camp, causing her to turn her head with an expression of mingled interest and apprehension. When she recognized Sam as the driver of the vehicle, surprise took over. What was he doing back at the camp at this hour? she wondered bemusedly. He usually didn’t return until long past dark. . . .

Riley had stood up at the approach of the jeep, and now as Sam brought it to a smooth halt some twenty feet away he walked toward it. Lisa hesitated a moment, then followed his example as Sam unwound his long body from the driver’s seat and got out.

“Trouble?” Riley asked as he approached. Lisa was amused and also a little amazed to see him perk up like an alert terrier.

Sam shook his head reassuringly. “No,” he said, his eyes flickering past Riley to touch on Lisa before moving back again. “You’re needed now. I want you to decide where to set those charges.”

Riley nodded as if he understood this incomprehensible statement perfectly. Then he jerked his head back toward Lisa.

“What about her?” he asked.

Sam looked at Lisa again. She returned his glance with a haughty tilt of her chin.

“I’ll see to her—for this afternoon,” he said, his attention totally focused on Lisa as she came to a halt just a few paces away. “After that, we’ll see. You’ll be needed from here on out.” This last remark was addressed to Riley again.

The smaller man nodded once more. “Do you want me to take the jeep?”

Sam shook his head. “Take the spare. I may need this one.”

“Okay.” Riley loped off. Lisa was left alone with Sam.

“What was all that about?” Her tone was cool. One corner of Sam’s mouth quirked upward in a tantalizing little smile.

“Isn’t there a saying about curiosity killing . . . ?” His voice trailed off as Lisa gave him an annoyed look.

“Oh, honestly,” she said crossly. “I don’t see why you’re so mysterious. I don’t give a damn what you’re doing here. And even if I knew, there’s certainly no one to tell!”

“Honey, believe me, the less you know, the better off you are,” Sam said seriously. Then: “Besides, I never trust lady journalists. As soon as they know something and can tell it, they do.”

Lisa didn’t deign to reply to this, which she realized was designed to annoy her. Instead she favored Sam with an icy stare. Maddeningly, he chuckled.

“Not glad to see me?” he taunted.

Lisa snorted in a very unladylike way. “Not particularly.”

Sam’s grin widened. He took a step toward Lisa, his eyes twinkling in a way that would have made her heart beat faster—if she were still susceptible to his particular brand of charm, which she emphatically was not!

“I presume you have a reason for being here?” Lisa asked coolly, holding her ground. Sam stopped his teasing advance, folding his arms on his chest and regarding her quizzically.

“You presume right,” he drawled. Then, as Lisa said nothing, waiting for him to expand on this theme, he reached down and withdrew a deadly-looking pistol from where it was tucked into his belt. Lisa’s eyes widened to enormous green pools as she looked from the weapon to his face and back again.

“What . . . ?” she stuttered, alarm beginning to curl inside her. Perhaps he had decided that it would be easier all around to kill her. He was a soldier, after all; he must have killed dozens—no, hundreds. . . .

“Don’t panic,” he advised dryly, seeing the color drain from her cheeks. “You’re perfectly safe. If I had wanted to get rid of you, I would have done it days ago. You’re a nuisance, I admit, but I feel a kind of twisted responsibility for you now.”

This hardly flattering speech had the effect of reassuring Lisa completely. Whatever else he might have done, Sam had never physically harmed her. In fact, he had saved her life more than once.

She acknowledged his remarks with an apologetic little half-smile. Sam accepted the implied apology with a nod, then turned his attention to the pistol once more.

“Have you ever used one of these?” he asked, weighing the weapon idly in his hand. Lisa stared at it, fascinated. Its gleaming black shape looked so horribly right in Sam’s bronzed, totally masculine hand. . . .

“Of course not,” she answered, still a little off balance by the continued presence of the gun. “When would I ever have had reason to use a gun?”

From her tone she might have been saying
snake.
Sam smiled.

“Pistol,” he corrected absently. “Oh, I don’t know. I had the idea that rich girls generally went fox hunting, or something.”

“For heaven’s sake, you don’t
shoot
the fox!” Lisa stared at him, unsure if he was teasing. “Anyway, I hate guns. They should be banned.”

“Is that right?” Sam looked amused.

Lisa stared at him coldly. If there was one political issue she felt strongly about, it was gun control. She felt that a lot more people would live to a ripe old age if the government would just step in and ban the deadly things.

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, I’m sorry to make you go against your principles, ma’am, but you’re going to have to learn to use one.”

Lisa could feel her muscles tense in instinctive resistance. “Why?” she asked warily.

“Because I can’t spare Riley any longer to wet-nurse you,” he said, his eyes meeting hers squarely. “Because I can’t watch after you myself. Because after today you’re going to have to stay here in this camp all by yourself. And because I can’t guarantee that some man won’t come along and try to finish up where Lutz and Brady left off.”