Torrid Nights (10 page)

The road site quickly became a quagmire of heavy machinery sunk into the ooze of the clay-based soil. Mackenna stood with her supervisors overlooking the section of road where the soil and gravel had been washed away. Sully remained at her side throughout the torturous day. Her crew had become a troop of ragamuffins with mud caking their boots and trousers. Tiredly, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, studying the wretched situation. She turned to her road engineer, Frank Bevans. “As soon as the road gets a little firmer, let’s get that new gravel up here so we can start moving machinery again.”

Bevans nodded, his mouth set. “It will probably mean the difference between finishing this project or watching the last miles of highway wash into the ocean.”

Mackenna smiled painfully. “Let’s go for the whole nine yards, Frank. Order your men at the gravel quarry to begin bringing the trucks up.”

Sully stayed at her side as Bevans made his way down the muddy slope to the truck parked below. “Haven’t you done enough for one day, girl?” he asked, raising one eyebrow and watching her closely.

“No, I haven’t stopped the damn monsoon rains from coming. And to top it off, they’re a week early. Damn!”

Sully grinned crookedly. “I think you’re afraid Hampton is gonna come down here and raise holy hell because of the weather.”

Suddenly, Mackenna felt incredibly tired. She wanted nothing more than to fall back onto her cot and into blissful sleep. The very mention of Brock’s name caused a chill reaction in her chest. “I think he’s a figment of our imagination,” she managed drily. “This is the first time I’ve known a boss to visit a lagging project only once, and then disappear forever.”

Sully smiled gently. “You convinced him you had everything under control, Mac. That’s why he ain’t come back.”

She rubbed the back of her aching neck. A hot bath would feel absolutely divine, but out here such thoughts were only a tortured dream. “I wonder…”

“It was clear he had a respect for you.” Sully’s eyes held a devilish glint. “Matter of fact, all the boys had bets going as to which one of you would win out.”

Mackenna glanced over at Sully. “Who did you bet on?”

“A real tough Irishwoman.”

She laughed, resting momentarily against his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get back to camp.”

Rummaging around in her makeshift quarters later, Mackenna mulled over Sully’s last comment. “A real tough Irishwoman,” her chief mechanic had said. Sitting dejectedly on her canvas cot she unlaced her boots. Tough? Hardly. Why did the fact that one supervised workers and machinery imply toughness? No, she wasn’t tough at all. Rubbing her eyes, Mackenna rested her head against her hands. Right now, the weight of the world was bearing down on her, and she wanted out from under it.

Stretching out on the cot, Mackenna drew a blanket up over her fully clothed body. Too exhausted to undress, she closed her eyes. Pictures flashed before her: happy times with Brock. She shivered, unsure whether it was from the cold seeping into her flesh or from her usual reaction to thoughts of Brock. His face was so memorable. Such a strong, fine face carved by the myriad emotions that had forced him to retreat inside himself, to hide.

Sully woke her the next morning. Mackenna opened her eyes slowly and realized she was too weak to get up. The mechanic took her temperature, then swore softly.

“Malaria. Again,” he stated heavily. “I knew it was just a matter of time. You’re working yourself to death, Mac.”

Mackenna managed a grimace. “I don’t have anything better to do. Just get me some antibiotics and some more chloroquine.”

But within twenty-four agonizing hours, Mackenna had grown rapidly worse. Sully came in every hour to check on her. Each time, he took her pulse and temperature.

“I’d guess you picked up the Plasmodium falciparum variety. Know what that is? Well, you should. It’s one of the worst strains there is, gal. You treat it with Fansidar. And we don’t have any of that.”

Worried, he scratched his head. “That rain ain’t stopped since you fell sick, Mac. I’ve been trying to raise help on the truck radio, but we’re down in a damn valley, and the radio waves are blocked. I can’t get you out of here. If the chloroquine won’t control it, you’re in trouble.”

Mackenna felt her stomach knot. She knew very well that the falciparum strain was the deadliest form of malaria. It was totally resistant to the antimalarial drug the crew had been taking daily. Even the powerful new drug, Fansidar, was having only mixed success in the fight against an outbreak of the disease in Thailand. She had to get to a hospital. If she couldn’t get the Fansidar, she was almost certain to sustain kidney damage. And meanwhile, her immune system would weaken to the point where other dreaded diseases like black-water fever could easily develop. The full implications sank in as Mackenna stared at Sully.

“Every forty-eight hours I’ll be going through a cycle, then,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m afraid so, Mac. It looks like you really picked yourself a winner this time around.”

She managed a weak smile, reaching out to touch Sully’s wrinkled hand. “Then we just have to hang on and pray that the weather clears enough so a truck can get through and transport me to the hospital.”

He stared at her. “Mac, do you know how many hospitals on Java can treat this type of malaria? Two. And both are at the other end of the island. I don’t want to scare you, but I think you’d better know the facts. I’ve sent Kepi back to the last village we passed. He’s carrying a radio with him. With some luck we might raise an airport and get a helicopter to come out here to pick you up. Time’s not on your side on this one, but I’m trying every possible way to get help.”

“Listen, I may not be coherent much longer. I’ve seen plenty of malaria cases, and I know that the weaker I get, the less intelligible I’ll become. Tell Frank he’s in charge, Sully. And I’m leaving you in charge of the foremen. Get one of the other men to come in here and look out for me. I want you to stay on the project. Do you hear me? I appreciate your being here, but at this point you’re too valuable to spend your time babysitting with me. Promise me you’ll help Frank. He’s young, and this is his first project. He’ll need your support, Sully.” She reached out, gripping his hand. “Promise me?”

He stared at her, his mouth set. “Mac, I’ve never disobeyed an order you’ve given me, because you always made sense. This is one time I can’t do it, though I’ll get Frank to take over, but no one except me is going to stay here and take care of you. Falciparum can fell the strongest man in two days. I’ve seen it happen. And you’re already underweight and tired. I ain’t gonna leave you, Mac. Not until help comes. You understand that? There’s some things in this world that are more important than a road, and you’re one of ‘em. Hampton and his road can go to hell in a handbasket, Mac. I’m taking time out to get you to a hospital. So you stay there like a good little girl, and we’ll get along fine. Understand?”

Mackenna stared up at him, realizing his eyes were growing as teary as her own. “Okay,” she whispered, swallowing hard.

Sully smiled. “That’s more like it. You’re strong and bullheaded, but at least you got an ounce or two of sense. Feel like eating something? You want to keep your strength up, Mac.”

Before she could answer, another chill began. Mackenna lapsed into delirium. “Brock!” she screamed. And then she didn’t remember any more.

“I don’t care if you have to kick that pompous bastard out of the top floor of the hospital, you do it.”

Mackenna frowned, moving her head slightly. She was warm once again. Slowly, one by one, she moved her fingers
. Still alive
, she thought vaguely, wondering at the source of the deep, growling voice that seemed to be coming from inside her head.

“We’ve got the hospital and they refuse to send a chopper in this monsoon rain.”

Mackenna listened to Sully’s strained voice. Or was she dreaming? The form by her bedside moved slightly. “If that bastard wants to stay alive, you tell him to get that chopper airborne.”

“Okay, okay.”

She felt incredibly weak, and it took a concentrated effort to open her eyes. She managed, just barely. Her fevered eyes met daylight, although the constant sheets of rain made the day as gray as the catacombs of Rome. Now, why had she thought of catacombs? Her mind ambled over myriad unrelated subjects as she turned her head to the left where the man with the snarling voice sat beside her. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. My God, she had to be dreaming!

“Brock…?” Her voice was raw.

He jerked his head around, looking down at her. His eyes widened. “Mackenna?” he asked huskily, leaning over her and placing his hand on her forehead. “How do you feel?”

The undisguised concern in his voice sent a spasm of warmth flowing through her. “What—what are you doing here? I—I thought I only dreamed…”

He managed a cynical smile as he slid his hand between the covers, checking the dampness of the blankets she lay under. “More like a nightmare. How the hell did you pick up the most virulent form of malaria there is?” The strain in his voice was apparent as he assessed her worriedly. “You silly fool. No damn road is worth your life. What the hell do you think you were doing, driving yourself that way?”

Mackenna recoiled from his chastising. Her body felt like an empty vessel. Brock’s anger stripped her, and in her present vulnerable state, it hurt her beyond endurance. Tears gathered in her eyes as she stared up at him. “Don’t…” she cried out softly. Tears coursed down her face as she lay helpless beneath his caring hands.

Brock sat back, looking as though he had been physically slapped. Awareness that his stinging words had hurt more deeply than he intended registered immediately on his countenance. His brows knit as he studied her in the ensuing silence. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. It was a shock to come up here and find you so ill. When Sully told me it was falciparum I…” His voice trailed off, tremulous. “Dammit, Mackenna, you’ve got to fight back. You hear me? Where’s all that backbone of yours?”

Mackenna stared at him wordlessly, unable to muster the energy to reply.

Brock sat before her, an angry, vengeful god who railed at her for falling ill. She didn’t care… “I just don’t care,” she whispered thickly, closing her eyes and turning her head away from him. A few more tears fell, trickling down her cheek. She didn’t even have the strength to lift her hand and brush them away.

Brock leaned over her, roughly pulling the damp blankets off her. “Well, you’d better start caring, Mackenna,” he warned tightly, glaring down at her. He stripped her of her sweat-soaked pajamas and dressed her in one of his own shirts and a pair of pants he had taken from a nearby suitcase. Mackenna endured his touch as he dressed her, but only because she had no choice. Sully had changed her blankets regularly, but not her clothes. How like Brock to bulldoze his way through any situation without thought for the other person’s comfort. Slipping his arms beneath her neck and legs, he lifted her onto a clean, dry pallet. Within moments he had tucked several blankets around her. He seemed satisfied.

“Kepi has made some chicken soup for you,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

Mackenna heard him swear under his breath as he threw the damp bedding into a large duffel bag. He turned, his blue eyes alive with fury. “You’ll eat or else…”

“Or else what? You’ll fire me?” She forced the semblance of a smile. This was a familiar scenario! It was just as it had been when they first met—as if the intimacy of those last few days together had never occurred. Mackenna sighed softly, her heart aching with renewed anguish.

Brock hovered over her in the dim light of the tent. “Get some sleep. When you’re awake, I’ll send Sully in to feed you. It’s clear you can’t stand the sight of me.” His rage caused her to withdraw farther inside that broken vessel of her being where each feeling was a shard of glass piercing her grieving heart. She watched listlessly as he donned his weatherproof jacket and slipped out into the murky depths of the day, leaving her alone.

It was dark when Mackenna woke. At first she thought she was alone, but then she felt someone stir at her side. Whoever it was fumbled in the darkness, his hand making contact with her body and coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Mackenna?”

Brock.
Her heart sank, and she tried to moisten her cracked lips. “Yeah…”

“Don’t sound so glad to see me,” he growled, sinking slowly to his knees on the floor beside her pallet. He leaned over, pressing his hand against her forehead. “No chills yet?”

“No. I’m just thirsty.”

He fumbled around and finally located the kerosene lantern, which he lit and set nearby. As he turned back to Mackenna, the patterns of light and shadow played across his taut, pale face. For an instant, Mackenna felt compassion. He looked so tired and strained. Pulling a jug from beneath the cot, he poured some water into an aluminum mug. He slid his arm beneath her neck and lifted her into a sitting position, using his body as a brace for her to lean against. As she rested her head against his shoulder, she experienced the first warning chill. Brock felt her shiver, and his embrace tightened.

“Chills?”

“Yes. Hurry, I—”

“Shh, just drink,” he soothed, placing the cup against her lips.

Mackenna gulped the water down, then wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”

“I put chloroquine in it,” he explained, holding her comfortably against him. “It’s better than nothing under the circumstances.”

“Nothing’s going to help,” she muttered, shutting her eyes, giving in to the exhaustion. Mackenna’s head dropped against Brock’s chest, and she could hear the rapid beat of his heart. Another chill shook her, and she huddled against his massive body. Brock groaned softly, pulling more blankets around her.

“Quit copping out, damn you,” he breathed into her ear.

“I…dropped out a long time ago,” she said, gritting her chattering teeth.

He gave a harsh laugh and gently laid her down. Settling himself on the cot beside her, he molded the curve of her body to his own. “That makes two of us. You can lie here beside me and curse a blue streak, but I’m not going to let go of you.”

She managed a groan, barely aware of his presence.

“You already have.” The chills were setting in quickly, iciness bathing her body with sweat. Brock held her tightly, massaging her shoulders, back and hips. “Look,” he breathed, “I did run out on you. You’re too sick to discuss it now. Just know that I’m back and that I’m here to stay.” He was trying to force her blood to move, to keep her temperature moderate instead of allowing it to plummet as it had before. Without medical intervention, each attack grew progressively worse, Mackenna knew. And progressively more dangerous…

Mackenna could feel herself slipping. Something intangible within her was giving up, melting back into some unknown source. “No more!” she cried, her fists buried against Brock’s chest. “I…can’t take any…more!” The anguished wail rose from deep within her. A horrible tearing sensation seared her heart. Mackenna began to cry as she lay within the arms of the man with whom she had fallen helplessly in love. Why had he walked out of her life without so much as a word? Why had Brock Hampton returned to rub salt in her open, bleeding wounds?

“It’s going to be all right, babe,” he whispered hoarsely, stroking her hair. “Shh, you’re going to be all right. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you. Just hang on… Hang on… Help’s on the way.”

The touch of his fingers on her hair was soothing, a momentary balm for her torn soul. Mackenna began to relax, feeling vaguely warmer, surrendering herself to the arms that rocked her gently back and forth as a mother would a child. Very soon, the headache returned on the heels of the nausea.

Everything began to run together, a nightmare careening out of control. Mackenna knew that dehydration was sapping the last of her reserves. Water with lime was brought and she drank the water Brock forced on her. As her fever soared, he bathed her body with a cloth soaked in cool water. She was beyond help, lying there as the grayness of dawn crept over the horizon. The rain slackened, and she remembered thinking that the sun might shine today. Finally, sleep came, and she gave in to it with welcome relief.

Mackenna was aware of someone holding her hand, massaging her fingers gently. Forcing her eyelids to lift, she focused on Brock’s ravaged face. He sat beside her. Gone was the mask he customarily wore; in its place were eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, a mouth compressed, as if in pain…

“No…” she muttered, her voice thin. The pressure on her hand increased.

“I won’t let you die, Mackenna. No matter how badly you want to, I won’t let you. Do you hear me?” His voice was low with fury, vibrating within the confines of the tent.

“It’s easy to die.”

“No, damn you. What’s wrong with you, Mackenna? You’re young, and you’ve got the world by the throat.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she hurled back weakly. “All you care about is your company. You see the rest of us as commodities. You’ve made that perfectly clear. Have you ever felt anything, Brock?”

He winced slightly. “I’ve felt plenty! Don’t judge what you don’t know, Mackenna. And there’s nothing wrong with being successful. I can’t apologize for building an empire any more than you can apologize for being an engineer.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “You left me without a word, Brock. I thought…we had built something special between us.”

His face hardened. “I was wrong,” he admitted heavily. “We do have something special. Despite my own personal conflicts, I came back, Mackenna. You’re a rare woman and I’m not about to let you sink by the wayside. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She clenched her fists weakly. The anger in his voice vibrated like a drum within her. “Is that what I am? Some exotic animal to be put on display?” She began to breathe hard from the effort of responding to him. Tears flooded her eyes, and Brock’s face blurred. “Do you know what it’s like to be different?” she hurled back weakly.

“Thank God you are,” he muttered huskily.

Mackenna closed her eyes.

Mackenna woke slowly. It took some time for her to digest the fact that she was in a hospital room. Two bottles of I V fluids hung from a rack above her bed, each providing liquid nourishment through tubes inserted in her arms. Muted sounds caught her attention. She looked toward the door as it opened. A rotund nurse who looked about fifty entered, sporting ruddy cheeks. Her round face brightened considerably when she saw that Mackenna was awake.

“Dearie! What a pleasure to see your lovely green eyes open. My, what a wonderful surprise!” She hurried over to the bed, quickly taking Mackenna’s pulse and her temperature. “I’m Anna Kenworth, your nurse. I must say, you gave us all a fright! Anna patted her hand knowingly. We’ve got some wonderful vegetable soup that the dietician just made up. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait… Where am I?”

Anna’s graying eyebrows shot upward. “Why, child, you’re in Sydney, of course.”

“Australia?” Even her voice betrayed her confusion.

“Let me get Dr. Cooper in here to check you over thoroughly. Then Mr. Hampton can fill you in.”

Mackenna dozed until she was roused by a doctor standing over her, his stethoscope pressed to her heart as he listened intently. Soft voices murmured to one another in the distance. She closed her eyes, slipping back into the warmth of the cottony darkness where she could rest without feeling a thing.

Sunlight was peeking through the drawn blinds and white curtains when Mackenna roused herself. The IVs were still firmly in place. She moved slightly, an incredible feeling of weakness making each movement an effort. The door to her room opened, and Mackenna’s heart leaped. It was Brock Hampton. He walked toward her bed with the grace of a tiger as she lay there mesmerized. His face was clean-shaven, but his azure eyes were still sunken and red-rimmed. He halted before her, studying her closely, a strange expression on his face. Hands on his hips, he glared down at her.

“It’s about time, Mackenna,” he said.

Confusion took hold of Mackenna’s poorly functioning mind. Brock’s voice was clipped and hard, yet his eyes radiated something else. What? She was too exhausted to interpret it. His strong, calloused hand came to rest on her shoulder. She tried to pull away. “Don’t…” she whispered hoarsely.

He removed his hand immediately. “Look at me,” he commanded in a gentler tone.

She was breathing more rapidly, her heart fluttering against her breast. Barely meeting his gaze, she obeyed the softly spoken command. Brock stood like a schoolboy before her, unsure of what to say, shifting uneasily. Mackenna had never seen him at such a loss; his lack of confidence left her stunned.

“Look,” he began, “I want us to call a truce, Mackenna. God knows you fought me every inch of the way. You didn’t want me to bring you here, you know.” He cocked his head, as though seeing her in a new light. “I know I ran out on you, Mackenna, but don’t hate me.” He halted, hanging his head for a moment and searching for words that apparently didn’t come easily to him. Finally, he lifted his chin, staring down on her darkly. “You’re too valuable to me. I couldn’t let you die. You’re one of a kind, Mackenna. I don’t care how much you resent me for taking the needed steps to save your life. Why did you try to stop me? You fought me. You wanted me to leave you in the jungle to die. Do you remember, Mackenna? The things you said to me when you were out of your head with fever…” His voice trailed away, and Brock lowered his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?” he growled softly. “And you seemed determined to do yourself in because of it, though I’ll be damned if I can see why. But I think that saving your life was well worth the effort.”

Mackenna’s heart pounded in agony as she listened to his rough, whispering voice. Tears had sprung to his eyes. She turned her head, suddenly embarrassed by his painful show of honesty. Hot tears slid down her own cheeks. She blinked, trying to make them disappear. “Go away,” she croaked. “Just leave me alone….”

She felt his hand on her shoulder. “I can’t, princess. Don’t ask me to do that.” Gently, he squeezed her arm. “Get some sleep. You have to start rebuilding your strength. I’ll ask your doctors how long you have to stay in this place. See you later.”

His touch was like a fiery brand on Mackenna’s flesh, making her recoil. Then she lay there sobbing softly, the tears falling onto the stark whiteness of the pillow.

By the fourth day Mackenna was free of the IVs, but both inner arms were bruised and purple. She stared moodily at the closed Venetian blinds. Hearing the door open, she thought Anna was returning to cajole her into eating more soft foods. Rolling onto her back, she met the sky-blue gaze of Brock Hampton. Her throat constricted, and a flash of fear surged through her body.

“You don’t have to look so damned frightened,” he said.

“I wasn’t scared,” Mackenna blurted, managing to sit up in the bed.

“The doc said I could get you out of this tomb for a while. How does some healthy Australian sunshine sound?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she snapped, glaring up at him.

A lopsided smile spread across his face. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Get out of my life!” she protested weakly. “You found that easy to do the first time. The second time should be even easier.”

He stood there, as though assimilating her words. “Don’t you ever run out of anger, Mackenna?” he said, finally. “I’m sorry I left the way I did. It won’t happen again, though. I promise you that.”

“Why are you prolonging this, Brock? Isn’t it enough for you to see me humiliated, reduced to this level?”

“What are you talking about? I never meant to make you feel that way.”

She trembled visibly. He didn’t understand at all! “You’re so used to bullying everyone that it makes me sick, Brock Hampton. You can’t run my life for me!”

“I’m not trying to run your life, Mackenna. Damn, you’re an ungrateful shrew when you want to be.”

She shook with rage. “Only with you! I’ve never met anyone as…as arrogant as you are, Brock. You walk into my life and turn it upside down! And just as neatly, you walk out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sure, I left Java. But I told you I’d return, and I did. Running a construction company that’s spread all over the Far East doesn’t leave me much time to island-hop just to enjoy the pleasure of your company. I came as soon as I could, Mackenna. I’m sorry I disappointed you so badly.”

She tore her gaze away, the last of her anger evaporating beneath his blue-eyed gaze. “Damn you,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “Damn you to hell.”

He stood there in the brittle silence as she sobbed, making no effort to touch her. Finally, Mackenna raised her head, her lashes thick with spent tears. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” she mumbled.

“Because you need me,” he answered quietly. “I know I’ll never equal Ryan in any way, Mackenna, but I am offering to be here. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to depend on others for a few more weeks until you can get back on your feet again.”

She wiped her eyes, trying to evade the truth. “Don’t you have your empire to run, Brock? Why waste your precious time on me?”

He scratched his head furtively. “I keep asking myself that question. I never knew a woman who could be so tenacious with her grudges. I had expected to outlast you.”

Mackenna ignored his teasing tone, feeling drained of all emotion. Her head hung, and she stared down at the bedspread like a robot. “You could outlast anyone,” she answered dully.

“I don’t know, lady. You’re giving me a hell of a run for my money. Now, you want to put this robe on? I’m taking you for a walk.”

Brock chose an unoccupied glade protected from the sidewalk traffic that overlooked the lake. A small grove of jacaranda stood nearby. He set the brake on Mackenna’s wheelchair. Making himself comfortable on the ground beside her, he pulled his legs up, and wrapped his arms around them. Mackenna stared at his stony profile as he watched a couple walking hand in hand along the lakeshore.