Just a Kiss Away (37 page)

The bird flapped once, trotted over to her outstretched hand, plucked off the peanut, and ate it. Lollie dug into her pants pocket and held out her hand. “Take these. She just loves those nuts.”

The peanuts spilled into Gomez’s outstretched hand. “Now squat down,” Lollie instructed. “Go on.”

Gomez squatted.

“Now, put your arm out.”

He did, and the cock hopped up on it, then waddled up to his shoulder, and perched there, like Medusa.

Lollie turned her chin up and smiled so brightly that Sam felt the urge to squint again.

“Now then, who belongs to Reba?” she asked, pointing to the bantam cock at the end of the line.

Jim leaned close to Sam and out of the corner of his mouth said, “She’s given them all women’s names.”

“So I noticed.” Sam watched her talk to each of the owners, explaining the foibles of each cock and how she’d managed to lure them from their hiding places. She rambled on about how she hadn’t known how she’d get them to go back to their cages so she’d taught them to follow her by leaving a trail of peanuts.

Each time she said something, Jim made caustic comments under his breath. Sam’d had enough, and he turned around to check the supplies in the cart.

By the time he’d cataloged everything, she’d finished, said good-bye to each of the men, and hobbled over to talk to Jim. Sam walked up just as she thanked Jim for God only knew what.

She turned to Sam and smiled. “I fixed everything with the men.”

She’d fixed everything all right. She’d managed to tame a whole group of fighting cocks. He’d have bet if roosters could talk, she’d have taught them to say “please” and “thank you,” too. He’d never met anyone like Lollie LaRue, and if luck was on his side, he never would again. There couldn’t be two of them in the world; otherwise mankind wouldn’t have lasted this long.

He looked at her, dressed in soldiers’ clothes, not a stitch of Calhoun pink anywhere on her person, half of her hair burned off, her white skin bruised, and her smile bright. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d whined her way through the jungle. Two weeks ago he would have told her exactly how she looked and what a stupid thing she’d done with those birds, but now, with that smile on her bruised face and the joy in her voice, he couldn’t tell her.

And he didn’t like that.

“Get the lead out. I haven’t got all damn day!” He turned and walked toward the front carabao and stood there waiting for her.

She hobbled over to the cart, and he remembered her ankle. Stomping back to her he swung her into his arms and plopped her into the cart, then tossed the crutches up. Without a backward glance, he went back to the carabao.

“I’ll be back in a week,” he said to Jim and then started to leave.

“Wait!” Lollie called out.

Sam turned, wondering what the hell she’d forgotten now. She’d just spent ten minutes saying goodbye to every single man in the camp.

Jim smiled, then whistled. That stupid mynah bird flapped down from a nearby tree and perched on Lollie’s head. “Awk! Sam’s here! Get a shovel!”

“All right, I’m ready now,” she informed him, reaching up to give the bird a treat.

Sam stood there for a frozen moment.

“What’re you waiting for?” She handed the bird another treat, which it took, swallowed, then gave Sam a look that, if possible for a bird, could have been a sly smile.

Sam’s forehead throbbed; he ground his teeth together. “That bird is not going with us.”

“Of course she is. Jim gave her to me.”

Fists ready, Sam spun around. He’d kill Jim, wrap his hands around his throat, and strangle the man who used to be his best friend.

The soldiers milled around, watching as the cocks perform the tricks Lollie had taught them. Sam searched the crowd for Jim’s blond head. He’d disappeared.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” Lollie said.

Sam turned back, his face hot with suppressed anger. She shifted this way and that, situating herself on top of the supplies like the Queen of Sheba. Sam eyed the bird from hell. “One word, just one word out of that bird and—”

“Sam’s an ass! Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!” Medusa hopped down onto Lollie’s shoulder.

“Shhhh! Medusa. Sam’s crabby.” Lollie turned to the bird and lifted her finger to her lips. “I think he’s feeling wretched.”

Sam spun around, grabbed the prod, and poked the lead carabao up the dirt road. The cart lurched forward, creaking and rocking as its hand-carved wheels wobbled along.

“Awwwk! To save a wretch like Sam!”

Sam slowly turned around.

“Shhh!” Lollie told the bird, then looked at Sam and shrugged.

He turned back, knew he was scowling, but didn’t care. His head hurt. He hunched his shoulders and guided the carabao up the road. Four days, he thought. Only four more days and then she’ll be gone. Four days of Lollie LaRue and that damn bird, and then his life would return to normal. There’d be no more trouble, and everything would be all right.

By that afternoon,
when the rear carabao plopped its eight-hundred-pound butt into the dirt for the sixth time, Sam was convinced that nothing would ever be right again. They had left the camp with that bird from hell singing and whistling and name-calling. Two hours up the mountain road the front carabao had decided it was tired. It fell to the ground with all the aplomb of a dead elephant.

He tugged on the carabao’s harness. The animal didn’t budge. He went around to the spare carabao and untied it, planning to switch early. He brought it forward, unharnessed the tired one and prodded it up and back to the rear of the cart, where he tied it to the gate. Once the spare beast was harnessed, Sam prodded it on, only to watch in frustration as it lay down the minute it felt the drag of the load.

After ten minutes of poking, swearing, and tugging on the harness, he managed to get them moving again. Sam held the lead rope, ignored his pounding head, and walked alongside the carabao. Lollie sat in the cart singing with that bird. The road circled around, with turn after turn, some sharper than others. The wheels crunched over the rocks in the road, and the wind suddenly picked up, swirling and drifting as they moved up the mountain. Sam looked west, where huge dark rain clouds crept over the horizon. Rain was all he needed.

The clouds moved slowly, although not nearly as slowly as the carabao. He’d met army mules less stubborn than these beasts. Another turn and the land on either side of the road leveled out, with a tall rain forest on the left and a rice terrace on the right. One look at the murky water in the rice field, and the lead carabao bawled loud enough to shake the ground, then made a sharp right, jerking the lead from Sam’s hand in the fastest move the animal had made yet. It trotted, cart and all, away from Sam and over to the sodden rice field for a mud bath.

“Sam! Sam! What’s it doing?” Lollie, still in the cart, was up on her knees, shouting at him. He reached the edge of the field just in time to watch the cart wheels disappear into the thick brown mud.

“Dammit to hell!” He waded into the water after them. “Sam . . .”

“What!”

“The cart’s sinking.”

“I can see that!” He moved to unhitch the animals before they decided to roll in the mud, which he knew they were prone to do. Once the hitch was undone and the rear carabao untied, Sam breathed a relieved breath and sagged back against the cart.

It sank some more. He squatted almost shoulder high in the muddy water and felt around to see how deep the wheels were stuck. The cart shifted and moved, and a blond head popped over the side to look at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Making mud pies.” He scowled up at her. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

“I don’t know. If I’d known I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Awk! Sam’s here! Get a shovel!”

“Can’t you shut that bird up?”

“Shhh, Medusa. Sam’s mad.”

“Mad Sam! Mad Sam!”

Sam rammed his fist into the silty bottom, pretending it was Medusa’s head, and felt around for the wheel rim. It was stuck in about a foot of mud, but the mud was soft and loose, so he had a chance of being able to pull the cart out himself. He jerked his hand out and swished it around in the water, then walked over to the cart. “Climb out and get on my back, and I’ll carry you to the road.”

She crawled over to the edge of the cart. “Be quiet, Medusa,” she warned the bird, still perched on her shoulder. She slid her feet around his waist and fell onto his back, her hands covering his eye and patch.

“I can’t see,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Sorry.” She slid her arms in a death grip around his neck.

He could feel the bird right next to his ear. Then something pulled his hair.

“Medusa! Stop that! You let go of Sam’s hair, right now! That’s not nice.” She turned her head back toward him and said, “Sorry.”

“Awwwwk! Sam’s not nice!” The bird screeched into his ear.

Sam slogged through the rice field and trudged up the small bank. He stopped at the road. “Get down.”

She slid down his back, and Medusa squawked, “Wheeeeeeeee!”

Lollie’s sprained ankle hit the ground, and she gasped when it gave way.

He grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Just sit down here. This’ll take a while,” he said, holding her arm while she sat down. The bird paced her shoulder. By the time he’d turned to wade back, she was feeding it peanuts, which he hoped would choke it, or at least make it shut up.

He waded back into the water and went to the cart, dug the wagon tongue out of the mud, and slipped the harness over his own shoulders. Three deep breaths and he pulled hard. It moved one blasted inch.

One of the water buffalo picked that moment to roll—toward him. Sam jumped back. The beast bawled, dunked its horned head, and then shot upright, sending a spray of muddy water over him.

“Damn obnoxious beast,” he muttered, wiping the mud from his face while he tugged at the cart. It wouldn’t budge.

An hour later he had unloaded half the supplies and carried them to the roadside. The cart was then light enough for him to pull it out. By the time he dropped the cart tongue onto the dirt road, his lungs burned, his back and shoulders hurt, and his thighs ached from laboring through the mud. He sagged against the cart and drank from the water canteen.

Lollie lounged against a pile of blankets covered by the canvas wagon tarp. She looked just as comfortable as could be when she looked up at him. Her gaze locked on the canteen.

“Thirsty?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

He handed her the canteen. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You looked busy.”

“Are you hungry, too?”

She nodded.

“We might as well stop here for the night. I’ll build a fire.” He gathered some wood and pulled a cardboard cylinder of stick matches from his pocket—wet matches. He swore, then strode over to get some dry ones out of the supplies stacked by the cart. It took him five minutes to find them because of the peanut shells scattered all over the tarp and packs. “What the hell are all these peanut shells doing here?”

“Medusa was hungry.”

Sam threw a handful of shells on top of the wood and struck the match. A few minutes later the fire was burning and he’d removed two cans of beans and a pot from the cart. He pulled his knife from its sheath and opened the beans. He turned to put the pot on the fire and ran into one of the carabao. It had left the muddy field and now stood right behind him. It shook like a wet dog, spraying water all around it.