Guarding the Soldier's Secret (22 page)

Dammit, he
hurt
.

All he’d wanted to do was get as far away from the source of his pain as he possibly could, just so he could figure out what to do. So he could
think
.

And now this. Incredibly, he was stuck here. Stranded. No way he was going anywhere until the water went down, and maybe not even then, since the road would undoubtedly be washed out.

Well, hell, he couldn’t very well sit in his vehicle waiting for that to happen. He swore again, silently this time. As much as he hated the thought of facing Yancy right now, it would seem he didn’t have much choice. He was going to have to turn the damn car around and go back to Sam Malone’s villa.

He was going to have to try to explain to his daughter why Akaa Hunt was running out on her again.

Damn Yancy. Damn her.

Because what hurt most of all was knowing she was right. Not about everything—he still believed Laila needed to know who her father was, and now rather than later. But the kind of job he had wasn’t going to give a little girl much of a dad. And he couldn’t imagine any other job he’d be happy doing. So it seemed he was going to be choosing between his own happiness and his child’s.

Which, it occurred to him, was exactly what
she’d
done. Yancy had chosen her daughter’s well-being over her own happiness. Why couldn’t he?

Dammit, why couldn’t I?

He threw the rented SUV into Reverse, then did a tight U-turn, bumping and jouncing over boulders and through brush until he was back on the road and heading for Sam Malone’s villa. At the T intersection he made a hard left onto the paved lane that ran along the barbed-wire fence.

Memories came, unbidden and unwelcome, clenching his belly, tightening his groin, making something lurch inside his chest.
Dammit, Yancy...
He found himself slowing down, his head turning almost of its own volition as he gazed out across the meadow where not more than twelve hours ago he’d made love to her on a car cover over thick meadow grass. He swallowed several times and closed his eyes briefly, trying to dispel the images that insisted on filling his mind. When he opened them again the images still lingered, so it was a moment or two before he realized what he was seeing in reality.

Yancy, way off on the far side of the meadow, running toward the creek. Running very fast. Running hard.

Hunt hadn’t survived as many Special Ops missions as he had without the ability to sense when something was off. When something didn’t look, sound, smell,
feel
right. Natural instincts or training—didn’t matter which, but it had saved his life and the lives of his team more than once. Right now, it had him piling out of the SUV and shinnying under the barbed-wire fence faster than his mind could form rational thought. Then he shot from a crouch like a sprinter from the starting blocks.

He’d lost sight of Yancy, but the only place she could have gone was into the trees that lined the creek. What the hell was she thinking? If the branch of the creek that crossed the road was flooding, it was pretty certain this one would be, too. What could she be doing—

The answer came to him like the kick from an RPG launcher. And if he’d thought he was running as fast as he was capable of running, he found out he was wrong.

Chapter 16

Y
ancy was cold. Colder than she could remember ever being in her life before. The cold was all through her, deep inside and even in her bones. Her muscles were cramping, and her fingers had lost all feeling. But as cold as she was, what scared her more was that the thin little body in her arms felt even colder.

She’d managed to get the rope wrapped around herself and Sam with Laila sandwiched between them. Laila had her arms around Sam’s neck in a stranglehold, and her face was buried against his chest, tucked under his beard. Sam’s eyes were closed. She could feel them both breathing, but they had stopped shivering except for an occasional convulsive shudder.

She knew she didn’t have the strength to pull them all to safety, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on to the tree branch. If she let go of the branch, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep their heads above the churning water. Sam’s pinto cow horse was keeping the rope pulled taut, but he was trained to keep a roped calf from struggling, not to pull people out of a flooding creek. Without someone to give him commands, he would undoubtedly keep doing what he was doing.

She had to do something. But what? Pray? She was pretty sure she was already doing that. What she needed was a miracle.

* * *

“Whoa, boy.” Hunt laid a reassuring hand on the horse’s sweat-soaked neck. He’d never been much of a cowboy himself, but he’d been to enough rodeos to know a well-trained roping horse when he saw one.

Farther down the creek he could see Yancy and Sam, with Laila between them, clinging to a half-drowned tree. Knowing they were safe for the moment, he took the time to kick out of his shoes and tuck his watch and phone inside them before stepping off the bank and into the swiftly moving current. When his feet could no longer brace against the pull of the water, he let it take him, following the rope line downstream.

“You came,” Yancy said when he reached her. He got behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head back against his shoulder, but for only a moment, and he couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to him she was laughing. “I...asked for—and you came.”

“Shh—don’t talk. Let’s get you out of this. Can you keep your head above water?” She answered with a quick, emphatic nod. “Theirs, too?”

“Yeah. I just couldn’t—”

“I know. Just keep everybody’s head above water. I’m going to work us over to the bank.”

She nodded. But he had to pry her cold fingers off the tree branch.

It was easier and took less time than he’d expected, but with the horse backing up, keeping the rope taut, in a matter of minutes they were all safely on the creek bank. Yancy was shivering violently in spite of the warm humid air. She got to her feet and reached for Laila, but the kid hung on to the old man’s neck like a cocklebur. Hunt reeled the horse in and untied the blanket roll from the back of the saddle.

“Can you stand?” he asked Sam as he draped the blanket over his shoulders. The old man nodded, and Hunt pulled the blanket snugly around both him and Laila, then helped him to his feet. When he swayed, Hunt scooped the two of them up and lifted them onto the horse’s back.

“They’re both hypothermic,” he said quietly to Yancy. “Probably in shock.”

“We should call 911,” she said through chattering teeth. “They should go to a hospital.”

Hunt snorted. “There’s no cell service down here. And if there was, there’s flooding in that wash the road crosses. It would take a chopper to get through. I think if we get them back to the house, get them warmed up—”

“No need talkin’ to me like I’m not here,” came a cracking voice from on top of the horse. “The kid and me, we’ll be just fine. This ain’t the worst off I’ve been in my life, not by a long shot.”

Yancy looked at Hunt, and for a moment it seemed as if she was going to laugh again. Then all at once her face crumpled. He pulled her against him and held her while her body shook with sobs. After a moment, he lowered his face to her wet hair and took slow deep breaths until the ache in his throat eased.

“We really have to get these guys back to the house,” he said as he reluctantly peeled his arms from around her.

She nodded, and then she did laugh, just a little, as she pulled away from him. “I think Sam’s way ahead of us on that.”

They both watched the pinto’s tail swish as he ambled away across the meadow, with Sam sitting tall in the saddle, one arm around Laila, the other hand on the reins.

Hunt cleared his throat. “Talk later?”

She nodded. He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked together, following Sam’s horse back to the barn.

* * *

Yancy was still in a daze an hour or so later—she’d lost all track of time. She was sitting on the patio, on the steps that led down to the pool deck, soaking up the afternoon’s heat radiating from the flagstones. Even now a shiver would grip her from time to time. When it came, Hunt would tighten his arm around her and hold her close until it passed. He hadn’t left her side since he’d pulled her out of the creek, even helping her out of her wet clothes and into a pair of sweatpants and pullover he’d managed to find somewhere. Sam and Laila had been similarly cared for by Josie and were now sitting in one of the patio chairs, Laila on Sam’s lap, the two of them cocooned in a down comforter in spite of the summer heat. Laila seemed to have fallen asleep with her head resting on Sam’s chest, while Josie, J.J., Rachel, Sage and Abby hovered nearby.

Yancy leaned her head against Hunt’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She drew a long breath and felt his warmth and his scent come deep inside her. What a strange and wonderful feeling it was, to feel so much a part of someone. To feel so safe, so protected. So loved.

To think how near she’d come to throwing this away.

“Hunt,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t reply, and she felt his lips press against the top of her head. Tears, never far from the surface now, filled her eyes again. “I’m an idiot.”

“No. Well, maybe a little.” She felt his chest move with a soft laugh that became an exhalation. “But you weren’t wrong. Not about everything, anyway.”

She pulled away so she could look at him, wiping tears from her cheeks. He reached for her hands and held them in both of his. His eyes closed briefly, then opened and burned into hers.

“But the thing is, I almost lost you today. You and Laila both. And I know one thing. Whatever else I do with my life from now on, the only thing I care about is that I want you in it. You and my daughter. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. If it means getting out of the military, getting a job somewhere—”

“Oh, Hunt.” She smiled at him through her tears. “You would be miserable. You know you would.”

He shook his head, and there was an endearingly stubborn set to his mouth. She laid a finger against his lips to stop the protest she knew was coming.

“I’ve been thinking about...well, us, too. And you were right—I haven’t been happy stuck behind a desk. Quite frankly, I’ve been bored to death, not to mention I think I’ve been depressed. And I’m never depressed. And here’s the thing. My parents weren’t a stay-at-home domestic couple. They worked together, traveled all over the world on behalf of human rights.”

“Yes,” Hunt said quietly, “and they died together, didn’t they? And I know that’s left you with some scars.”

“Yes. But I think the odds of something like that happening again are pretty slim, don’t you?” She drew their clasped hands to her lips and held them there for a moment, fighting for control. She drew an unsteady breath and whispered, “But even if it did, I would rather die with you than live without—”

She couldn’t finish. Hunt pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll figure something out,” he said in a broken voice.

They were silent for several minutes. Then Hunt cleared his throat and rested his chin on her head. “You know,” he said, in a voice that seemed to vibrate through her body, like the purr of a big cat, “my particular skill set, not to mention I have...ahem, some knowledge of the languages and customs of the part of the world where that outfit you work with—what’s it called?”

“INCBRO.” She sat up slowly, a buzz of excitement beginning deep inside her chest. “Yes. You do know it’s working to stop the practice of child marriage. And you know so much about parts of the world where it’s still practiced. Oh, Hunt. You would be incredibly valuable to INCBRO. Do you really think—”

“That we could work together? Yeah, I do. But what about—” He nodded toward the two people sitting a little ways off, still wrapped in the comforter.

Yancy felt her chest constrict, a small squeezing around her heart. “She’s so angry with us right now,” she whispered. “I think she must have heard us talking. She hasn’t spoken to either of us since— Hunt, she won’t even look at me.”

He drew her back against him, crossed his arms over her chest and brought his cheek next to hers. “We’ll talk to her—together.” His voice was gruff and strangely thickened. “You know, I have a feeling she’s going to forgive us.” He laughed softly, then drew a breath. “No, I meant, what happens to Laila when we’re off saving the world?”

As if she had heard her name mentioned, Laila stirred and stretched, then emerged from the comforter like a blossom unfolding. She looked around as if discovering for the first time where she was, then smiled and turned to snuggle against Sam once more.

“I think that’s been taken care of,” Yancy whispered.

They both watched as the little girl sat up, patted the old man’s bearded cheek, then turned to the gathering of family members and announced, “Sam is okay now. He isn’t going to die.”

There was a ripple of laughter. Then Sam said in a voice both strong and fierce, “Damn right, I’m not—not until I’ve met my last granddaughter!”

Epilogue

Los Angeles, California

“H
ello, Miranda. Do you like my present? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I hope you like it. And the next one will be even better. Soon you’re going to understand how much I love you. And when you do...”

Miranda dropped the phone and pressed shaking hands to her lips. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, not again.”

A wave of sickness bent her double, and she gulped in great breaths to keep from throwing up. This couldn’t go on. She had to do something.

The sickness passed and cold took its place. Cold resolve. She straightened and drew one more breath, this one to strengthen and sustain her. Then she reached for the letter she’d left lying on her bed. “My Dear Miranda,” it began.

“First off, my name is Sam Malone, though for some reason many have preferred to call me by the nickname Sierra, and I happen to be your grandfather.”

There was another letter with that one. It was from a law firm. Her hands were steady as she picked up her phone and carefully thumbed in the firm’s number.

* * * * *

Don’t miss the previous books in the
SCANDALS OF SIERRA MALONE
series
by Kathleen Creighton

SHERIFF’S RUNAWAY WITNESS
THE PRETENDER

Available now from Harlequin Romantic Suspense!

Keep reading for an excerpt from
WORTH THE RISK
by Melinda Di Lorenzo

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