Diamond Mine (13 page)

Rory hit a hole in the road. Asleep sitting straight up, Hannah moaned in protest like it had disrupted a dream.

Hannah's visage had always been expressive. Right now her face was a myriad of emotions. Happiness dominated. His heart skipped a beat. He hadn't realized until now how much he missed her smile. One day, that smile would be directed toward him.

What was he thinking? He could never have love again. Who would want what he'd become?

Rory's wayward thoughts distracted him from the rut. He hit a deep one. Hannah lost her seat and slammed into the gearshift.

“Hannah, hold on!” he shouted. The vehicle swerved.

Hannah's eyes flickered open. Disoriented, she lay back in the seat, bracing her hand against the dashboard. The gear stuck, and his prosthetic wedged against the clutch. Fear lodged in his throat as he worked to remove the obstacle.

Their current trajectory had them headed for a curve with no way to stop.

The sun rode high in the sky as they prepared to leave the stranded vehicle. Rory placed the pack on her back. Frame sagging under the immense weight, she forced herself to bare the load.

Rory frowned. His hand went to the hook at the top but she moved out of the way.

“What are you doing?” she questioned.

Matter-of-factly he stated, “It's too heavy, so I'm taking it off of you.”

“Rory, is all this stuff necessary for our survival?”

“Yes, but—”

“And is your pack already heavier than mine?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then I don't see as we have much choice. I will bear my load one step at a time, just like you. Let's get started. Daylight's wastin'.”

Within minutes Hannah's back ached. For all her posturing about shouldering her own load, now she wanted to lie down and quit. She would never make it. Already her breathing felt labored, and she could be wrung out like a wet towel.

It seemed like they'd only walked a few feet when Rory announced, “We'll rest here.”

This time she didn't argue. She found a dead log and plopped down. The backpack slid off her back and fell to the ground behind her, and she sighed with relief.

“I can breathe again,” slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

Rory faced the opposite direction, but Hannah noticed his shoulders shook with unrestrained laughter. Then he spoke the most beautiful words. “Maybe we should camp here for the night.”

She readily agreed. They'd only been walking for about an hour but it felt like a year. Every muscle in her body ached and burned from the strain. Rory seemed right as rain. The only fidgeting he practiced centered on a place directly above his left knee.

“You can take that off if it's bothering you,” she said.

“No, I'm fine.”

“Rory, I don't mind. I'm sure you're uncomfortable with—”

“I said, I'm fine,” he said with a raised voice.

Hannah couldn't help it; he'd hurt her feelings. Tears threatened to fall. She tried to sniff them back, she really did, but after such a stressful day, she had no control over her emotions.

The tears fell in earnest; her nose started running. She opened the pack and pulled items out, searching for a handkerchief, tissue, or anything she could use.

She was desperate, and close to using her sleeve, when Rory said, “Here.”

Pinched between his two fingers he held a white cloth. She took it. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“Sorry, I yelled at you,” he said, his vision downcast.

“Yeah,” she said, moving a stray hair from her face and looking everywhere but at Rory.

“Hannah?”

“Yes?”

He lifted his shoulder and breathed a heavy sigh. “I hate to do this, but we need to set up the tent and start working on something to eat.”

Grateful for the distraction, Hannah nodded. “Okay. Where is the tent?”

He held up a small blue bag.

“That? Isn't it kind of small?”

“It just stuffs well.”

“I think
we
'
re
going to be stuffed inside that little thing.”

“Eight years ago I don't think you would have minded.”

Muttering under her breath, she said, “I don't really care now.”

He turned away and pulled the canvas material from the small bag. Quizzically, he lifted his head and gazed at her. “What did you say?”

“Oh, I said we should get started.”

He smiled like he knew better before turning around and continuing his task. Next came the flexible poles. A few minutes passed and their shelter was erected.

“Well, she's not much, but she'll keep us covered.”

“She?”

“Of course. Boats, guns, and tents — all feminine.”

“Thanks for clarifying that.”

He bowed at the waist, his arm sweeping outward in a gentlemanly gesture. “My pleasure, Sparkles.”

Hannah shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Okay, now we have the tent. We should start on food, right?” asked Hannah. A loud growl punctuated her words.

Rory lifted his brow. He crossed his arms over his chest; the corner of his lips twitched as he said, “I erected the shelter, so you're doing the food, yes?”

“What?” she questioned, a little more forcefully than intended.

“Of course you know how to cook over an open fire. You describe it in great detail in your novels.”

Hannah gulped. A good case of nerves caused her eyelid to twitch. “How many of my books have you read?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “All of them.”

“All of them?” she asked, fear clinching her stomach.

“Yes.”

“Well, okay then.” Hannah fidgeted. She might as well tell him now before he got his hopes up. “I guess I should let you know that just because I've written about it doesn't mean I've ever experienced it.”

“I guess this means you're not cooking,” Rory said.

“That's exactly what it means.”

“Okay. But if I cook, then you have to promise to eat whatever I fix. Deal?”

“Rory…” she drew out the word. “I do not, nor can I promise, any such thing. What if you serve me something like a cartoon character would eat? Opossum stew or something like cactus soup? Then I believe I would have to complain.”

He stepped in front of Hannah, clasped her hands in his, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Trust me, Sparkles.”

Hannah stared at their hands. He'd moved them up to his chest, and she could feel his heart beating through the thin fabric of his shirt.

She licked her lips and looked into his eyes. A slight quiver left her voice. “I've tried that. It didn't work out so well for me.” He started to drop her hands, but she held them tighter. “Don't run. Don't you think I deserve an explanation? You show up after eight years in a completely different country and rescue me. I want to trust you. Help me do so.”

Hannah's hands were warm. Rory's heart raced at her simplest touch. He wanted to lean forward and take her lips. All he needed to do was bend a couple of inches.

Her eyes cut through his soul, imploring him. She wanted to know why he'd left. What could it hurt to tell her? It couldn't hurt her any worse than letting her continue with her own thoughts.

He cleared his throat and said, “Let's start supper, and I'll answer all your questions.”

She nodded.

Busily, Rory gathered brush to start the fire while Hannah pulled the food stores out of their packs. The brothers from the monastery had packed non-perishable food items liked canned beans and dried meat.

The banter about cooking outside had been a way to taunt her and see her face flush. She was quite cute when riled. Not once did he believe that Hannah had ever cooked outside on an open flame.

Thinking on the book where she described the campfire scene, Rory couldn't help but smile. She honestly believed someone could take two sticks and just rub them together and start a fire within minutes.

Would Hannah freak out at all-things-natural like Monica used to? So far, she had shown great courage and strength. Monica would have crumbled like a cracker. That is, if had Monica survived the traveling, the kidnapping, the imprisonment, and the dubious release. And one thing he knew for certain, Monica would never have suggested they return to the camp, not even to rescue her own mother!

Hannah held up a can of beans and a bag of dried jerky. “Do we have a way to heat these?”

“Only if you have a pot hidden in your trousers.”

“Cold, it is,” she said. A smile tugged the corner of her lips.

Rory watched as she searched. “What are you looking for now, love?”

“Can opener?” she asked.

Reaching deep into his pants pocket, he pulled out his keys. Hannah passed over the can. He used a piece of metal that dangled from his keychain around the rim and opened the beans. Handing them back to her, their fingers grazed one another and a tingle shot up his arm.

Rory turned away. The hurt in her eyes was more than he could bear. Finished preparing the fire, he placed a log beside the fire and sat. The heat from the blaze was pitiful and inadequate at best. It was good that the autumn nights in South Africa weren't too cold, for fear kept him from making the blaze bigger.

As he watched the flames lick at the wood, questions nagged him. If they were attacked, could he protect Hannah?

He gazed at his hands. Strong, tan capable hands. Hands that had once been gentle but had also been used to kill. Gulping deeply, he realized he would do what he had to do to protect her.

Hannah appeared beside him with her own log. She handed him a spoon and held out the bean can. Their close proximity caused heat to run along his side.

The time for silence was almost over. She fidgeted and he could feel her desire to question him. He had said he would tell her, so why hesitate? Why not just get it over with?

He shifted to the right, and she took the spoon from his hand and cleaned it with some bottled water. She prepared to get up and put away the remaining food items but he stopped her.

“Sit down.”

She obeyed.

With his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin, he began. “First of all, I owe you an apology. The last day I spoke with you and we made plans to meet, I fully intended to see you. I was getting ready when my mum asked me to ride with her to the store. Before I knew what she was doing, the auto had stopped in front of the airport. She'd packed my clothes and hidden them in the boot. I did protest, but she insisted I could write you when I arrived home.”