Читать книгу Commando - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 9

The Tucanos village was a long, haphazard affair that hugged the dry, cracked bank of the Amazon River. At first, Jake was jumpy about the Indians, but soon he had fifteen children following him as if he were the pied piper. The few men present were the old ones, and the women were busy working over their cooking pots. The younger men were probably out hunting during the daylight hours. They were a handsome people, Jake conceded, short but with robust bodies and clean features. Everywhere he walked, the old men and women would look up and stare at him, and some would give him a shy smile. He did the same.

The thatched huts were circular and varied in diameter, depending, Jake supposed, on the number of people living in them. Fires were kept outside of the homes, and Jake spotted woven mats placed on the dirt floor in several of them. The Tucanos people were primitive, without many civilized amenities. There was no electricity, except for what was produced by a gasoline-fed generator that Pai Jose kept behind the small infirmary next to the church. Jake doubted the old priest used it often—perhaps only when light was needed at night for a surgery.

Jake saw that he was coming to the end of the village. One small thatched hut with a dried brown palm-leaf roof sat off by itself. The huts were placed among the tall trees to take advantage of the shade. He slowed, and was about to turn around when he saw Shah emerge from the more isolated hut. Not wanting another confrontation with her, he started to turn, but it was too late.

Shah caught sight of Randolph, walking near her hut. “What are you doing? Snooping around?” she challenged as she walked toward the riverbank, where her dugout canoe was beached. She felt upset to see that Randolph was still around, still so close. Somehow, she hadn’t wanted him to know where she was living.

“I was looking around.” Jake shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled down at the assembled children in faded cotton shorts who trailed after him. He, too, moved toward the canoe. “It’s an old marine habit,” he offered.

“Marine?” And then Shah chastised herself for her curiosity. Randolph looked military, she acknowledged. Still, despite his size and his craggy features, she simply didn’t feel threatened by him. Unable to understand why, she became angry with herself. She stopped at the canoe. Bento, her Tucanos helper, had found six new orchids along one of the lesser-used channels and brought them back for her to identify. But they had to be properly cared for if she was to try to find out what species they were. She had taught the Indian to place the plants in moist palm-fiber baskets to keep them safe and alive.

Jake stopped at the bow of the canoe and watched as she got down on her knees to gently and carefully gather up a multipetaled yellow flower. Perhaps conversation would ease the scowl on her broad brow.

“I was in the Marine Corps for sixteen years before I joined Perseus,” he explained.

Shah glanced up. His towering figure was back-lit by the sun. The shadows deepened the harshness of his features, which would have been frightening if not for his boyish expression. She placed the orchid in a large plastic bag.

“You’re a warrior, then.” Somehow that fitted him. Shah couldn’t picture him in a suit and tie.

He nodded. “Yeah, we saw ourselves as that. Your people were known as warriors, too.”

Shah gently lifted the orchid and set it outside the canoe. She took a rusty tin can and walked to the river for water.

“The Lakota recognize that men and women can be warriors. It isn’t gender-related.”

“I didn’t know that.”

She gave him a dark look, then knelt down, her knees bracketing the orchid. Pouring water around the roots, she muttered, “Nowadays every woman has to be a warrior, to stand up and be counted, because we’re the only ones who can save Mother Earth.” She lifted her chin, challenge in her low voice. “It’s the men who have polluted, poisoned and ruined our Earth in the name of greed, politics and self-oriented policies.”

Jake looked up at the slow-moving Amazon. The muddy river’s surface was like glass. He considered Shah’s impassioned words. Looking back down at her, he realized she was waiting for his reaction. Good. He sensed her interest in him; he desperately needed to cultivate that fragile trust.

“I wouldn’t disagree with you, Shah. Men have been raping Mother Earth for centuries. Everything’s coming due now, though. It’s payback time.”

“Rape is the right word,” she muttered, closing the plastic bag around the orchid’s stem. She glanced at him, surprised that he agreed with her. Perhaps he was just stringing her along, trying to get her to believe he was really on her side. She was standing, ready to lift the heavy container, when Jake came forward.

“Here, let me carry that for you.” He saw her golden eyes flare with surprise. Taking the plant container, he said, “I’m a great gofer. Tell me where you want this plant.”

Stunned, Shah jerked her hands away from the container as he slid his large, scarred hands around its circumference. “Well, I…in my hut. I was going to try to look up these species before night fell.” She dusted off her hands.

Jake walked toward her hut. It would give him the excuse he needed to see her living conditions—and to see how vulnerable her hut might be to attack. Shah hurried and caught up with him. There was a bright red cotton cloth over the front of the door, and she pulled it aside for him.

“Just set it next to the other ones,” she told him, pointing to the far wall.

“This orchid smells great,” Jake said as he bent low to enter the hut. Obviously it had been built for the short Tucanos people, not for tall Americans.

“I think it’s a Mormodes orchid, but I’m not sure,” Shah murmured as she followed him into the hut. He was so large! In fairness to him, though, the hut was one of the smallest made by the Tucanos—the type usually meant for an elderly person—and Shah had taken it because of that fact. She didn’t want the generous Tucanos people giving up one of their family-size huts just for one person.

Jake’s gaze took in the entire hut as he settled the flowering plant next to others against the wall. There was a wonderful scent of orchids mingled with the dry odor of the grass and palm leaves that made up the hut. He noted that a stack of flower identification books, all wrapped in plastic to protect them from the humidity and rain, sat nearby. Furnishings were sparse. Jake straightened to his full height. A grass mat that seemed to serve as Shah’s bed lay on the dry dirt floor, topped by a light cotton blanket and a small pillow. Cooking utensils were near the door, for use over the open fire outside the hut. A woven trunk made of palm fiber was the only actual article of furniture.

“Nice place.”

“If you like camping out,” Shah said, moving back out through the door. She tried to calm her pounding heart. Was it because of Randolph’s nearness? Impossible.

With a rumbling chuckle, Jake followed her. “I was a recon marine most of the time I was in the corps, and your hut is like a palace compared to what we had out in the bush.”

“What do you mean?” Shah wished she could put a clamp on her mouth. Curiosity had been a catalyst throughout her life—too often landing her in hot water. Randolph was an enigma to her, and she tried to rationalize her curiosity about him: after all, if she knew more about him, she might be able to make a final decision on whether he was friend or enemy.

Jake ambled down the bank with her toward the canoe.

“Recons are dropped behind enemy lines to gather needed information on troop movements, stuff like that,” he explained. “We would sleep in trees, hide on the ground and generally be unseen while we collected the data we needed for the Intelligence boys.”

Shah was impressed but didn’t say anything, afraid her curiosity would be viewed as interest. But wasn’t it? She tried to ignore her questioning heart. “I can get these other orchids,” she protested.

“No way. I watched what you did. Why don’t you go do something more important?”

Torn, Shah watched him take out the next flowering orchid. She was constantly amazed by the counterpoint of Randolph’s size to his obvious gentleness. He picked up the orchid as if it were a vulnerable infant—surprising in such a big, hairy bear of a man. She tried to ignore his blatant male sensuality, the dark hair of his chest peeking out from the khaki shirt open at his throat. His arms were darkly sprinkled with hair, too. Shah swallowed convulsively. Despite his size, he wasn’t overweight. No, he reminded her of a man who was not only in his physical prime, but in the best of condition, too.

“Oh, all right.” Shah watched as several Tucanos children followed Jake to the canoe. They watched him with solemn brown eyes, and she smiled. She loved the Tucanos, who had welcomed her as one of their own. Once they’d found out that she was an “Indian,” too, she’d been adopted by the chief of the village—a great honor.

“Do you like children?” Shah raised her hand to her mouth. Now where had that come from?

Jake frowned, hesitated and drew the next orchid, a purple one, out of the canoe. “Yeah, I like the little rug rats.”

“Rug rats?” Alarm entered her voice.

“That’s an old Marine Corps term for kids. It’s an affectionate term, not a bad one,” he assured her as he put the water into the plastic bag that would keep the root system from drying out.

Shah saw his partial smile slip, and when he looked up at her she detected darkness in his gray eyes. There was an incredible sadness that settled around him, and it was overwhelming to her. She was highly intuitive, and had always had an ability to sense a person’s real feelings. Her heart went out to him. “Kids mean a lot to you, don’t they?” she pressed softly.