One Man's War (21 page)

“Tess never drank that I know of.” He gestured unhappily to the photo. “But the proof's pretty conclusive.”

The photo showed Tess sitting outside a bar at a wooden table, with a quart of liquor and a glass in front of her.

Gib's voice grew raspy. “That isn't like Tess. None of this is like her.”

“She's running,” Pete whispered. The last picture showed Tess down at the Rio Grande washing clothes with the children, who obviously had made her a part of their family.

Gib sat back and glanced over at Dany, then Pete. “I don't understand her behavior. Tess was so solid, so stable before she went to Vietnam.”

Jerking his gaze up from the photos, Pete asked, “When is this world gonna wake up to the fact that she and people in a wartime situation get battle fatigue?”

Wearily, Gib gave him a confused look. “You've mentioned that phrase before. What the hell are you talking about?”

“There are a lot of symptoms, Gib. I'm no doctor, but I can tell that Tess has combat fatigue. It messes with a person's mind and emotions. You've seen it in our guys: they get anxious, irritable and depressed. They go through a roller coaster of emotions. You can't tell me you haven't had some nightmares after coming home,” Pete added. “Or that you jump when a car backfires. Those are all symptoms.”

“Sure, I have those reactions.” Gib rubbed his chin in thought. “And I've seen those things in the men.” He looked up at Pete, his face drawn with sadness. “Tess was in a form of combat over there, too. God, why didn't I realize that until just now?”

Pete hurt for Gib, who had always prided himself on his sensitivity to the people he managed as a squadron leader. “I wouldn't have recognized it either if I hadn't seen Tess under stress in those villages of hers, Gib. I saw her swing like a pendulum, and that made me aware there was something going wrong in her.” He opened his hands. “Maybe Tess didn't experience combat directly, but she was in situations just as dangerous as those we were in. Tess could have been kidnapped at any second, and she knew that. Or she could've been hit by a sniper's round in those damned rice paddies she insisted on traipsing around in,” he said with disgust. Pete shook his head and dropped the photos on the table. His mouth compressed. “I'm going after her.”

Dany reached out and gripped his arm. “May we come with you?”

He rose, feeling the fatigue of the seemingly endless two-day flight. Struggling to be diplomatic, Pete said, “I think the condition Tess is in tells us how bad off she is.” When Gib met and held his stare, Pete knew Tess's brother understood what he was trying to say. “No, if it's all right with both of you, I'll go alone.”

Dany got to her feet. “Let me at least have our maid draw you a bath and get some clean clothes for you to wear.”

Pete was grateful for Dany's wise counsel. “Sounds good, Dany. If you'll contact Ortega and tell him I'll meet him at the motel, he can led me to where Tess is staying in Juárez.” Not one moment of his time was going to be spent without Tess if he could help it. It was one o'clock in the afternoon now. With any luck, Pete figured he could be in the border town of El Paso by early evening. Perhaps he could intercept Tess by nightfall. Perhaps.

* * *

“There she is,” the Mexican investigator, Manuel Ortega, said in a low voice. They stood at the corner of the cantina in the darkness so that Tess couldn't see them. “This is where she comes sometimes, to the El Toro Bar. I talked to the bartender earlier today, and he said that table is hers. She likes to be alone. If anyone comes over and tries to talk to her, she ignores them and they go away.”

His mouth dry, Pete nodded. “Thanks, Manuel. I'll take over from here.” He'd rented a car at the airport and followed the investigator across the border. The cantina was in the seedy, poor section of Ciudad Juárez. From the corner of the adobe building, Pete knew Tess couldn't see them. His heart hurt, his eyes burned with fatigue and he felt like crying.

“You sure,
Seńor?
She might not want to come back.”

“I'm sure. Just get us a room over at that motel where you're staying in El Paso, okay?”

“Si, Seńor.”

Pete waited until the investigator had left. There were a couple of bare electric bulbs inside the bar, shedding dim light outside the establishment. The bar had no door, and brassy Mexican music blared from inside. Pete watched as poorly clothed farmers in bare feet walked in and out of the establishment. No one seemed to pay any attention to Tess, who sat at the wooden picnic table farthest away from the door, against the building. She was covered in shadow, and his mouth quirked. He remembered talking to Tess about shadows once.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Pete forced himself to move forward. Tess had her brow pressed against her left hand, a drink in the other. She was staring blankly down at the rough-hewn tabletop. Her red hair was in dire need of a brushing and combing. Pete poignantly recalled when he'd brushed Tess's hair in her hut in Nam—how much it had meant to him, helping to open his walled heart.

Tess's clothes were of thin, faded cotton, the blouse oversized and the pants rolled up to her ankles. She wore a pair of leather thongs on her feet. The odor of cigarettes mingling with alcohol assailed his nostrils as he passed the entrance of the cantina. As Pete quietly approached, his heart pounded erratically in his chest. What would she do? Would she run? Scream? Hate him? God, he'd never felt as vulnerable as he did right now. He slowed to a halt opposite her.

“Tess?” Her name came out in a bare whisper. At first, Pete didn't think she'd heard him, but then she slowly raised her head from her hand. Her once sparkling emerald eyes looked dark and dull.

Unconsciously, Pete tensed and held his breath as she gazed up at him. Did she remember him at all?

Tess frowned and shook her head, as if she were seeing things. “...Pete?” And then she slowly sat up. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered in disbelief, her eyes widening.

He released his jammed breath. “It's me, Tess. And this is no nightmare. This is real. I'm real.” Pete moved slowly. He didn't want to frighten her. She appeared shaken and highly unstable. As he sat down opposite her, he realized she was drunker than hell. Pete glanced at the bottle of tequila and then back at her. He ached for Tess, understanding all too well why she was drinking.

Blinking, Tess sat up. Her mind moved in a fog of confusion. Surely she was dreaming. One of those crazy, unreal dreams where Pete came to visit her when she needed him most. And each time, Tess woke herself up screaming, drenched in sweat, trying to forget the screams from the firefight at the Villard plantation. Pete slowly extended his hand toward Tess. She stared at the proffered hand, recalling its strength, its gentleness.

“Go on, touch me. I'm real, Tess.”

His voice was low, off-key. Tess's heart picked up in beat, and she fought against the hope blossoming in her heart. His shadowed face was grim, but his eyes were soft with invitation. “No,” she protested weakly. “This is just another dream.... You aren't real. You can't be.”

Pete's fingers closed around her hand on the glass. Tension vibrated through every particle of his being in that instant. “I'm real,” he rasped. “And I'm here to take you home, Tess.”

His touch galvanized her spinning senses. Tess felt the warmth and strength of his hand around hers, felt the vibrating care in his voice and saw the undisguised concern in his azure eyes. She sat very still and closed her eyes. Just his touch stabilized her careening world. “You are real....”

Pete forced himself to sit very still. He watched a flood of emotions cross her pale features, and felt her fingers tentatively begin to move across his, as if to convince herself she was awake. “We've all been worried for you, Tess. Gib and Dany hired an investigator to find you.” His fingers gripped hers, and she opened her eyes, awash with tears. “They want you to come home and live with them at the ranch. So do I.”

“You...they want me back? After what I did?”

His smile was tender. “Honey, when you love someone, it doesn't stop no matter what happens.” Pete released her hand and stood up. He walked around the table. “We want you back, Tess. Will you come home with me?”

A shudder worked through Tess. She pushed the glass away and eased off the bench. Dizziness swept through her, and she automatically put her hand out to grab Pete's, afraid she was going to fall. Instead, he whispered her name, opened his arms and swept her into a tight, hard embrace.

Pete heard Tess give a little cry as she sagged against him. The odor of alcohol mixed with those of her unwashed body and unkempt clothes. “Don't run,” he appealed as he eased his grip. “I love you, Tess. God, I love you. I'm going to take you home. I'm going to take care of you, honey, I promise.”

Tess sobbed once, her face buried against the folds of Pete's crisp cotton shirt. He was real. This was real. Pete was really here. Her dreams, always crushed by the weight of her devastating nightmares, had been answered. Somehow, Pete and her family had found her. Somehow, he knew she was in trouble. Tess could smell the masculine scent of him, the spicy shaving lotion and the cleanliness of the clothes he wore. Too drunk to talk coherently, she stopped fighting and sank heavily against him, semiconscious.

“Hold on, honey,” Pete quavered as he felt Tess go limp in his arms, surrendering to his superior strength. As he looked down at her ravaged features, tears leaked into his eyes. Tess had run as far as she could and hidden as best she could from the stress of Nam. As he gently gathered her up, he was alarmed by her loss of weight. A few of the Mexicans drinking at the bar looked out from the door with curiosity written on their faces, but they said nothing as he carried Tess to the car.

* * *

Sunlight poured through the partially opened motel drapes, waking Tess. She groaned and turned over on her back to escape the bright, blinding light, lifting her arm to shade her closed eyes. A man's hand caught and gently held her fingers. Tess sucked in a breath and jerked her eyes open. The act cost her dearly, and she winced, the pain pounding unrelentingly through her head.

“Take it easy,” Pete advised quietly, holding her soiled hand in his. He sat on the edge of the double bed facing Tess. Earlier, he'd gotten up, taken a quick shower and changed into clean clothes, a short-sleeved white shirt and jeans. The night before, he'd brought Tess across the border and to the motel room reserved by Manuel Ortega. After calling Gib to reassure him that his sister was safe, Pete had slept off and on through the night in a chair beside her bed. Tess had woken up several times last night, screamed and then drifted back to sleep. Did she remember him holding and quieting her during those times? Whenever he'd held Tess, she had stopped whimpering and flailing around, had grown still, and had rested against him as she spiraled back into that hell she slept in. Looking into her eyes now, Pete's hope grew. He could see life there again, no longer clouded by alcohol.

“I—I didn't dream you,” Tess croaked. She felt the strength of Pete's hand around her own tighten in response.

He managed a slight, self-deprecating smile, the corners of his mouth barely turning upward. “I'm no dream, honey. Maybe someone's idea of a nightmare, but I'm sure as hell not a dream. I'm here in the flesh.”

Tess's mind refused to work and she struggled to sit up. Pete released her hand. She looked around as she slowly eased over to sit on the edge of the bed, confused. “Where?”

“El Paso. Remember? I drove you across the border last night after finding you in Juárez at that cantina.”

“Oh...” Tess buried her face in her hands. Disgrace mingled with a sense of utter hopelessness. For the first time in a long time, Tess was aware of her disheveled appearance. She hadn't cared about herself—until now. “I feel so ashamed of myself, Pete....”

Gently, he touched the crown of her once-glorious red hair, now desperately in need of washing. “I told you before, Tess, you're mine and I'm yours. I don't care if we are half a world away, I won't let you keep doing this to yourself.”

Tears tracked through the grime on her cheeks as she slowly raised her head. Tess drowned in the warmth of Pete's gaze, his voice bringing more tears to the surface. “I—I'm no good, Pete. Not for you...not for myself. Y-you don't deserve this.... Please, just go away. Let me be....”

He caressed Tess's cheek and brushed the tears away. “I don't want anyone but you,” he whispered unsteadily. “You're going home, honey. Gib and Dany love you. They need you.” He sighed. “Look, I've got some breakfast ordered, hot coffee and some eggs. I want you to take a shower, Tess.” He pointed to a set of clothes laid out on the other bed. “Dany got these clothes out of your bedroom at the ranch. They're clean. Come on, I want you to get washed up and into some decent clothes, and then we'll talk some more.”

* * *

The scaldingly hot water washed away the last of Tess's drunken state. When she emerged from the shower, she found a cup of hot coffee waiting for her on the bathroom counter. Pete must have left it there. Her hair hung in burnished sheets around her slumped shoulders, and every movement made her head ache. She was clean. How long had it been since she had been really clean? Tess couldn't remember. She finished off the coffee and wrapped the thick pink towel around herself.

Stepping out into the motel room, she saw Pete sitting at the small table with two breakfast trays. He got up, retrieved the clothes and handed them to her.

“You look a lot better,” he offered quietly.

Tess couldn't meet his eyes. Mortification plagued her. She gripped the blue blouse and white cotton slacks. Without a word, she turned and escaped back into the bathroom. Utter degradation flooded Tess as she slowly got dressed. How could she face Pete again? How? Folding the damp towel, Tess took an unsteady breath. She was such a coward. A coward.