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Everything had changed. He was feeling his way in this new landscape, unsure of a
great many things but very sure of his goal.
When the others were gathered at the big table near the fireplace where the
cooking was done, Michael pushed to his feet. He still used his walking stick, but
every day he needed it less.
Sister Constancia said the blessing. The two oldest girls served. One Pilar?
Yes, that was it brought the beans to the foot of the table, where he sat as guest
of honor. She was a pretty girl, clear-skinned, with a gap between two of her teeth
that gave her smile a certain lopsided charm. At fourteen, she was ready to
practice beguiling whatever male moved into range. She set the beans in front of
him with a ducked head, shy smile and sideways glance. He thanked her gravely,
took a portion and passed the bowl to his right.
Alyssa sat there. Their fingers brushed when she took the bowl. She glanced at
him. Her smile came and went too quickly.
She didn't trust him. He knew that and he hated it, but he understood. She had
no reason to trust. She had saved his life, while he had very nearly cost her hers.
He should never have let her go on with him after they'd seen this village. If it
had taken him longer to collapse, she might have died, too, lost in a wilderness
she didn't have the skills to cope with. But she'd been determined to stay with
him. When he'd been out of his head with fever and unable to do either of them
any good, she'd stayed. Then she'd left & but she'd come back. And changed
everything.
Michael shifted on the hard bench. His leg ached. He'd used it more than
anyone except himself had thought wise today. But he knew his limits, and he
hadn't done any damage. He had to get his strength back. He couldn't stay here
much longer.
In truth, he should have already left.
He glanced at the woman on his right. She hadn't said if she was going to leave
with him. And he wasn't leaving without her.
"Seor West?" a small voice to his left said, going on in rapid-fire Spanish as
soon as Michael turned his head, "Will you tell me about the television again,
where the pictures move? And the electricity that makes this happen, and makes
the lights work?"
He smiled at Manuel, who always had questions especially about the marvels
found in that mythical land, the U.S. It occurred to Michael that if he lived, he
would soon be a very rich man.
Funny. He'd never cared about the money, never counted on it. His father's
bizarre will had come as a nasty surprise, but not because he was interested in
wealth. There would be advantages to having money, though, he thought as he
tried to explain the mysteries of electricity to a six-year-old. A boy as bright and
inquisitive as Manual deserved a chance to soak up all the learning he could.
One of the girls chided Manual for not letting their guest eat. The boy
reluctantly returned his attention to his supper, giving Michael a chance to scoop
up beans with one of the soft tortillas they used in lieu of silverware.
"You're good with him," Alyssa said quietly in English.
"I like kids. You do, too, from what I've seen."
She nodded, looking down at her bowl. "That's another thing I put off. Having
children. It made sense at the time, since we intended to put in at least one year of
missionary work."
"Regrets?" He captured her hand. "You can still have children, you know." My
children. The thought startled him. And aroused him. Yes, he thought as another
part of this new landscape became clear. He wanted to see her big with his child.
Awareness flashed through her eyes, sharp and hot. She pulled her hand away.
"You'd better eat," she said lightly. "Seconds only go to those who finish their first
helping quickly."
Michael obeyed with an easy docility that would have warned his brothers to
keep an eye on him. He'd gotten what he wanted for now. She was aware of him.
Alyssa was going to be his. She just didn't know it yet.
There was a great deal of laughing and bickering while the table was cleared and
dishes were washed. Michael joined the friendly chaos, insisting he was well
enough to scrub the bean pot. Pilar looked shocked. Manuel wanted to know why
he would wash a pot when there were girls to do such things. He told the boy that
a real man always did his share of the work. Since he wasn't fit enough to chop
wood yet, he would wash pots.
Finally, after Sister Andrew had dressed his wound again, the children were
sent to bed and the sisters went to their own room. By the time Michael returned
from a trip to the facilities behind the building, the fire had burned low in the
fireplace. The room was warm and dark, and he had Alyssa to himself.
She leaned out the window near the front door, pulling the crude shutters
closed. Someone had given her a nightgown. The yards of much-washed cotton
nearly swallowed her.
"How's your leg?" she asked when she turned around. "You've been using it a
lot today."
"Sore, but mending." He propped his stick against the wall and lowered himself
onto his pallet.
"Thank God for penicillin. When I think of how ill you were& " She shook her
head and knelt to unfold her blankets. "It's a miracle."
"Close enough. Of course, it helps that I'm so tough."
She chuckled. He settled on his side, his head propped on one hand. He loved
watching her by firelight. The hints and shadows, the shapes shifting as she
moved, the whisper of fabric and the quiet intimacy of bare feet it all fascinated
him. Aroused him. "Do you realize I'd never seen you indoors until we came
here?"
"What a strange thought." Quickly, competently, she spread her blankets a foot
away from his. "We haven't known each other very long, have we? Though it
seems& " She shook her head, lay down and smoothed one blanket over her. "I
was indoors when you found me at El Jefe's compound."
"I wasn't. And I didn't see you until you came out the window."
Their eyes caught. Held. "I've wondered about Sister Maria Elena and your
men. If they made it out okay."
"I'd put money on it. They're good men." Her eyes were luminous in the dim
light, her shape more sensed than seen. There was an easy intimacy to lying side
by side this way. There was also a foot of space between their blankets. "I liked it
better when you slept tucked up against me."
She looked away. Her fingers plucked nervously at the blanket. "That was
necessary on the trail. It isn't necessary now."
He wondered if her pulse was pounding as wildly as his. It would be easy to
find out all he had to do was stretch out a hand and touch the smooth skin of
her throat.
He sighed. She'd probably jump up and move her blankets to the other side of
the room. "Do you only do what's necessary, Alyssa Jean?"
"Oh." Her laugh was shaky. "I haven't heard that in ages. My mother only called
me Alyssa Jean when I was in trouble."
He smiled at her through the deepening darkness. The fire was down to coals
now. "I don't think I remind you of your mother."
For a long moment she didn't answer. "No. Which is why I'm over here and
you're over there, and it's going to stay that way."
He could have told her that his intentions were honorable, but that was only
partly true. And she would probably have scurried over to the other side of the
room anyway. Yet she could do that now, couldn't she? He no longer needed a
nurse in the middle of the night.
She stayed near because she wanted to. Frustration, keen and sexual, gnawed
at Michael, but satisfaction was stronger. "How about a picnic tomorrow?"
"What?"
"You know dirt and ants. Finger food. Eating outdoors."
Her voice was low and amused. "We've done plenty of that."
"I'm trying to be good, but I'm bored out of my mind. I thought a little walk
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