Читать книгу Christmas Secrets Collection - Laura Iding - Страница 47

Zoe got her clothes on in record time.

They went out and stood by the glowing coals of last night’s fire as the helicopter touched down toward the north end of the clearing. A man jumped out of the passenger side while the giant, whipping blades still whirled, dangerously fast.

It was her dad.

Davis Bravo wore old jeans and battered boots and a T-shirt. And to Zoe, he looked like everything safe and comforting and strong in the world. The recent years of anger and frustration with him fell away. He was only her dad, the best dad in the whole wide world.

He ran at a half-crouch, ducking beneath the spinning blades until he cleared them. When he stood tall again, she was already launching herself at him.

She landed like a bullet against his broad chest. He didn’t so much as stagger. He wrapped his arms around her tight and hugged her so close.

And in a broken voice, against her hair, he murmured, “Zoe. My little girl. Thank God. Zoe …”

She was crying, the tears smearing on her cheeks, dripping down her chin. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m okay. We’re safe, we’re well.”

Slowly, he released her. His ice-green eyes were wet. He swiped an arm across them. “Your mother is going to be the happiest woman alive. She’s been in bad shape—we all have….” He choked up.

She sniffed, loudly, dashed away her own tears. “Well, you found me at last. And I’m so very glad.”

He clasped her shoulder, as if he needed the contact, the proof that only touch could give him that she really was standing right there in front of him. He cleared his throat and sought the words—and then shook his head.

She understood. He was too choked up to speak right then.

His gaze shifted to just behind her. She sensed that Dax was there and she sent him a joyous smile over her shoulder.

“Dax,” her dad got out gruffly.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Davis.”

“Thank you,” her dad said, “for keeping my little girl safe.”

Dax took her father’s offered hand. “Your little girl can take care of herself. She saved my life.”

Her dad laughed then. “She’s something special all right. And I’m so glad to see that you’re both in one piece.”

“We’re all right, Davis. Even better, now you’re here.”

The helicopter had space for most of their luggage. They packed it in, knowing that anything they had to leave behind was probably lost for good.

When they climbed on board and the pilot lifted off, Zoe stared down at the clearing below.

She drank it all in: the battered shell of their brave little plane; the campfire she had built herself while Dax was so sick that she feared he would die; the yellow tent where they had made such beautiful love, held each other so close, told each other truths they never would have revealed under different circumstances.

She felt a wrenching tug on her heartstrings. A sadness so deep it almost doubled her over as it welled up beneath the pure joy of seeing her dad again, of knowing that they really had been rescued, as Dax had always insisted they would.

So much had happened down there. Awful things. Wonderful things. And she had lived to tell about it, lived to go home. Strange how now she was leaving, now she was free at last of the nagging fear that they wouldn’t make it out, she missed it already.

Missed it all—the good and the bad.

She turned to the man sitting beside her, saw in those beautiful bedroom eyes that he knew. He got exactly what was going on here. They were gaining their lives again. And to do that, they had to leave something precious behind.

They had to turn their backs on the Zoe and Dax who had created their own private world apart, down there together, in the clearing. The real world was waiting for them.

Each of them knew who the other really was now. They understood each other.

They had their agreement in place and the time had come to keep it.

As it turned out, their Cessna’s forced landing had happened farther south than they’d calculated. The plane had gone down about sixty land miles northeast of the Chiapan state capital of Tuxtla Gutiérrez, where they were supposed to have landed in the first place. The helicopter ride wasn’t long.

Davis had radioed ahead. Zoe’s mom and an ambulance were waiting for them when they got there.

Aleta cried unashamed tears of joy as she held out her arms to her youngest child. Zoe went into them gratefully, still in Mexico, yes—but in her heart, where it mattered most, already home.

There was a ride to the hospital. Zoe was quickly pronounced in good health. They X-rayed Dax’s ankle, checked his head injury and came up with the expected prognosis. His ankle was sprained, healing well. The gash on his forehead would leave a jagged scar unless he opted for a few visits to a plastic surgeon.

Once the doctor said they were good to go, a couple of official-looking types appeared to interview them about their ordeal. Since they had all the necessary paperwork to show the two men, it was strictly a routine meeting. A plane had gone down in a bad storm and somehow both occupants had survived. There were i’s to dot and t’s to cross.

Next, they headed for a four-star hotel, where large, airy rooms waited for them. Zoe went straight to hers. She showered off the jungle grime and then sat in a scented bath for over an hour.

She was just getting dressed again when her mom showed up to take her to the hotel spa. Gratefully, Zoe let the pros go to work on her. By the time they were finished with the mineral body scrub, fresh color for her hair and the spa mani-pedi, she felt ready to face the world again.

Dax also disappeared for most of that day. Beyond cleaning up, he had a lot of calls to make, to Great Escapes, to Ramón Esquevar, to any number of others. He had business to catch up on and he had to contact the insurance people and also to see about getting a cleanup crew out to the ruined plane. Zoe had offered to help him with all of it, but he had ordered her to take some personal time and he wouldn’t listen when she insisted she didn’t mind giving him a hand.

That night, Davis, Aleta, Zoe and Dax shared a celebratory meal in the hotel’s best restaurant. Zoe thought how handsome Dax looked, perfectly groomed in a white tropical-weight shirt and sand-colored trousers, carrying a new cane—ebony, with a silver handle. She tried not to stare at him longingly and thought she managed pretty well.

When it was time to turn in, Zoe went to her room and Dax retired to his.

Zoe stripped down and soaked in the big tub again—because it was there, because she could. The bed was soft as a cloud, the sheets about a gazillion thread count. She felt light-years away from the tent in the jungle.

And achingly lonely for Dax’s body pressed close to hers.

She knew his room number, but she didn’t go to him. She didn’t pick up the phone to call him—or if she did, she set it quietly back in its cradle without dialing.

This was the toughest part: tonight, the next night.

Maybe for a week or two. Gradually, it would get easier. She wouldn’t yearn for his arms around her, for the touch of his lips on hers, for the feel of his breath as it stirred her hair.

She wouldn’t miss him so desperately. These needful feelings would pass. She would be fine.

If she had learned nothing else from the jungle ordeal, she had learned that she knew how to endure.

The next day, Wednesday, her dad had one of the BravoCorp jets take them back to San Antonio.

There were reporters waiting on the tarmac when they landed. The media wanted the scoop on Dax Girard’s latest big adventure, on the thrilling rescue of a daughter of one of San Antonio’s first families. For ten minutes or so, they answered shouted questions, about what it had been like, how they had lived through it and what they had felt when help came at last.

When the reporters finally let them pass, Dax left her without a soft word or a single touch—which was fine, she told herself. Just what she wanted. They were back to life as they had known it before the crash.

“Take the rest of the week off,” he commanded. “Catch up on whatever you need to catch up on. I’ll expect you back in the office bright and early Monday morning.”

As if. “Thanks. I would like a day. So I’ll take tomorrow for myself, if that’s all right with you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Good, then. See you Friday.” He turned to shake her father’s hand and to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Davis, thank you for everything. And Aleta, what can I say?”

Her mom beamed up at him. “You can say that you’ll come to dinner at our family’s ranch, Bravo Ridge. Sunday afternoon about three? Let my family show their appreciation for what good care you took of Zoe.”

He smiled his killer smile. “I think it was the other way around, to be honest. She took care of me.”

Her mom was not letting him charm his way out of her invitation. “Please. Sunday? Zoe will give you directions.”

Zoe tried to help him say no. “Mom, come on. He’s a busy man and—”

He didn’t let her finish. “You know, I think I would enjoy that. Absolutely, I’ll be there.” Did he slant Zoe a challenging glance?

She had no idea because she refused to look at him. “Well, okay, then,” she chirped out, falsely bright. “Great.”

“See you Friday,” he said again, speaking directly to Zoe that time.

She made herself meet his eyes. It wasn’t easy. “Thank you, Dax. For everything.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” His voice was brusque. “We both know that. Without you, I’d be dead.”

She thought of that giant snake dropping out of the trees above her head and suppressed a shudder. “Back at ya.” They were the words they had said to each other in the jungle. And they came out in a near-whisper.

He nodded and ducked into the limo that waited for him.

“What an amazing man,” said her mother as the big, black car rolled off. She turned to Zoe with her most loving, coaxing smile. “Come on to the ranch with us, just for an hour or two? The family will have gathered to welcome you home.”

She couldn’t refuse an invitation like that, even if she’d wanted to—which she didn’t. “Of course. I would love it. I can’t wait to see everyone.”

So they drove out to Bravo Ridge.

The whole family was there. When their driver pulled to a stop in front of the wide-spaced white pillars that lined the long verandah, the front door opened and everyone came pouring out.

It was 2:00 p.m. on a weekday, but each of her hard-charging brothers had taken the afternoon off to see her safe at home again—even Travis, who hardly ever came in from his latest oil derrick. He’d driven up from the Gulf just to give his baby sister a hug.

Zoe was handed from one set of loving arms to the next.

Her niece, Kira, even demanded a big hug of her own. She held up her sweet little arms. “Aunt Zoe, Aunt Zoe, me, too! I missed you. I was so worried because you were lost. Hug me, too!”

So Zoe scooped her up and spun her around and drank in the feel of those small arms clasped tight around her neck.

When she let Kira down, she smoothed a hand over her short golden hair, reluctant to relinquish the moment. And she thought of what it might be like, to have a little girl of her own.

Strange. To picture herself as a mother—and not just in a hypothetical sense, but in a true awareness that she wanted that, wanted a baby of her own someday.

Dax had done that, made her see herself and her dreams of her future all the more clearly—at the same time as she realized that her dreams weren’t his dreams. When she did have children, they wouldn’t be Dax’s. He didn’t want to get married, ever. He didn’t want children. He’d been totally honest and up-front about that.

She needed, above all, to keep in mind that a relationship between them could go nowhere, even if she were willing to put the job she loved in jeopardy for the chance to be with him again.

Zoe stayed at the ranch, with her family around her, through an early dinner and most of the evening. Her dad and mom dropped her off at her condo on their way home.

Everything at her place was just as she’d left it. Even her houseplants had done fine in her absence. She’d put them in trays of water before she left and they’d come through looking as perky as they had on the day of her departure.

It was almost ten. But she didn’t feel sleepy. And Dax had given her the next day off. She put her cameras, her laptop and her PDA on their chargers and unpacked. Just about everything was dirty. So she sorted laundry and started the first load.

Then she got the memory cards from her cameras and uploaded the pictures she’d taken onto her home PC. Some of them were really good.

And a large number of them were of Dax—at the river, basking on a rock, looking like everything a man should be. And by their campfire, putting their fish dinner on the grill, giving her a big thumbs up. She had pictures of him shaving in the morning, his face slathered in a white foam of shaving cream. Pictures of him checking the smoke pit, pictures of his fine, broad back as he hobbled ahead of her on the trail to the river, leaning on his makeshift cane.

There were pictures of him in the tent, too. Naked. Eyes low and lazy. She looked at those for a long time.

Mine, she thought. No one but she would ever see those pictures.

They were for her hungry eyes alone.

Once she’d uploaded all the photos to their own album in a private space online, she checked email. It was a good thing she still wasn’t sleepy, because there were hundreds of new messages. She scanned them all quickly, checking for spam to dump first. The sixth-to-last message, sent at six-ten that night, was from Dax.

Thinking about you. Can’t help it. Shoot me.

Her heart suddenly lighter, she typed, fast, Thinking of you, too. Went out to the ranch to see my family. They’re all looking forward to meeting you Sunday.

She hesitated, her fingers poised on the keyboard. And then, before she could write something intimate, before she could step over the line they had drawn so carefully and clearly together, she hit the Send button.

And started again at the top of her inbox, deleting anything that didn’t require a reply.

The little pinging sound happened a moment later: another email from Dax.

Her heart did the happy dance. It warmed her, touched her so deeply, to picture him sitting there at his computer, waiting for a message from her. It was almost as good as having his arms wrapped tight around her.

He’d written, This is going to get better, right? Easier. Say it is, even if you’re lying.

She wrote back, It is. I promise.

His reply pinged back in less than sixty seconds. Liar. Good night.

Good night, Dax. She hit Send, her heart aching.

It took her an hour longer to finish dealing with email. The whole time she sat at the PC, she was waiting, feeling edgy and out of sorts, hoping for another email from him, knowing that to wish for such a thing was totally unacceptable of her.

Over and over she reminded herself that these feelings would pass. She just needed not to give in to them. The task was to get through them, to ride them out.

Two new emails came in during that time. Neither was from him. She applauded his restraint.

She also wanted to beat her head against her keyboard in frustrated longing.

It was after two when she finally turned in. By then, all her laundry was washed and folded, her electronic devices freshly charged, her spam deleted, her inbox tidy, her text and phone messages handled.

Her life was in order. She’d gone down in the jungle and lived to tell about it; she was home and safe. Friday morning, she would return to the job she loved.

Too bad she felt so depressed. Too bad that no matter how many times she told herself she would get over Dax soon, she still had a big, fat hole in her heart, an empty, desolate space that felt as though it might never be filled.

She missed the clearing, missed the river and the waterfall and the shy crocodile. Missed the taste of smoked snake, of all things. Missed the yellow tent.

And more than any one of those things, more than the stunningly precious sum of that life-or-death experience, she missed the man who had shared it all with her.