Torrid Nights (5 page)

He snorted softly, walking toward the entrance, his large, work-hardened hands resting casually on his lean hips. “Enjoy your convalescence, Mackenna. Get this grief of widowhood out of your system and let’s get saddled up and moving on this road.”

Tears blurred her vision as he left. She came close to agreeing with what Sully had said: Brock was a cold man, a man without a heart. It didn’t seem to matter to him how deeply he hurt her with his stinging remarks. It was as though he had a cruel streak, as though he were still lashing out to get even. Anger burned away any residue of her self-pity. He was right about one thing: It was time to set aside her past. She would never forget Ryan or the six years of happiness they had shared. That would remain a guarded treasure within the secret chambers of her heart. But it was time to get on with the job of living once again.

“Mac! Dammit, you can’t get up yet!” Sully stood back, glaring at her.

Mackenna finished tying her bootlaces, resting momentarily on the cot. “It’s not a matter of whether I want to or not,” she answered calmly.

“It’s that damn Hampton, isn’t it? That no-good bastard! You’ve been down six days. Six days! Most people don’t even get up from malaria in that amount of time, much less walk! Hell, I’d like to see you walk!”

“It’s okay, Sully,” she returned, pulling her hard hat from beneath the cot.

“Frank’s doing okay in your absence, believe me,” Sully begged.

“Not according to Brock. Listen, Sully, he’s measuring that damn road by the inch. We’re getting farther behind. Frank’s good, but he’s young. I need to get out there and be seen by the crews. Give them a pep talk, make them rally.”

Sully swore richly and then glanced guiltily in her direction. I`m sorry,” he apologized, “but look at you! You’re pale as hell beneath that tan of yours, and your eyes are still bright with fever. You tell me you ain’t got a fever.”

Mackenna stood carefully, testing her equilibrium. She was incredibly weak, but her knees locked and held. “I’ve probably still got a low-grade fever,” she admitted, shuffling to the tent flap where he stood. “Now, come on. Quit looking so mad. I’ve got Brock Hampton to deal with. He’s angry all the time. I don’t need my loyal master mechanic staring me down, too.” She gripped his wiry arm. “Give me a hand, Sully. Help me get out to the truck. I’ll take it from there.”

“Damn!” he swore softly, gripping her arm. “Okay, you stubborn woman! Just don’t come crying to me when you fold like an accordion out there this afternoon. You’ll never take the heat and humidity in this condition!”

Mackenna smiled gently at her friend. “I’ll just drive around and make sure the men see me. I’ll handle the problems from the truck. Okay?”

Sully walked in silence, being careful not to lengthen his stride. “I wouldn’t want to make a bet on who’s more bullheaded. You or Hampton.”

Mackenna felt the cloak of depression slipping from her shoulders. The sun was shining brightly this morning, and for the first time in over a year she noticed the raucous cries of the tropical birds hidden in the stands of coconut palms. It was like a new experience, and it sent a thrill through the darkness that had inhabited her heart and soul for so long. Despite her exhaustion, Mackenna was aware that a new strength was seeping through her being, entering her world, making it easier to smile for Sully’s benefit. He halted at the truck door and opened it.

“If you’re going to lay bets, Sully,” she informed him, climbing into the cab and shutting the door, “bet that I’ll win.”

His grizzled face broke into a pleased grin. “You got it, Mac. You got enough chloroquine tablets and water?”

“Yes,” she answered dutifully.

“I had the radio checked. Ought to work fine. If you get in a bind or get to feelin’ poorly, call me or Bevans.”

“How about if I call Hampton?” she teased, starting the truck engine.

Sully glared at her. “He wouldn’t rescue a baby from the path of a bulldozer,” he snorted.

A grin edged her lips. “Maybe…maybe not. We’ll see.” Waving, she drove off slowly toward the road being carved out of the jungle in the distance.

Word traveled fast, Mackenna found out. By the time she reached the head of the road, her day-shift crew had gathered to wait for her. From sun-dark faces, brown eyes regarded her solemnly. As the crew walked to her truck, her spirits rose. She realized with a surge of happiness that they did care about her, and that discovery brought tears to her eyes. She hadn’t expected such a warm welcome. Had she become so mired in depression after Ryan’s death that she had failed to respond to those around her? The thought shook her deeply. Brock was the same way. Was she a mirror image of him without the anger? Mackenna didn’t want to look too closely at the answer to that question.

The foreman stepped forward to discuss the various problems they had been having. The Malaysians spoke broken English and their tendency to break into their own language added flavor to their reports. Mackenna, whose Javanese was fluent, sat in the truck, her elbow resting against the window, listening with grave attention. She heard another truck pull up and a thick cloud of dust rolled slowly toward them. Mackenna watched her crewmen’s animated faces become suddenly closed and unreadable. Turning to her right, she saw Brock Hampton leaning casually against the passenger door. His eyes raked over her body.

“So you finally got up?” he inquired, his voice a low growl.

Mackenna regarded him levelly. “I think we could be more civilized and say good morning first. Don’t you agree?” Brock’s dark brows drew downward in immediate displeasure. Mackenna couldn’t explain the feeling of euphoria that suddenly embraced her. Her spirits rose at the sight of Hampton’s granite-hewn features. Why wasn’t she afraid of him like the rest of her crew? Not having ample time to plumb the depths of that question, Mackenna tucked it away for study at a later time.

“There’s nothing good about any morning,” he said. “But if you insist on pleasantries, then I’ll say good morning. Does that meet with your approval, Ms. Scott?”

Her eyes widened. “Let’s say it’s a start in the right direction.”

“Go on with your meeting,” he ordered, opening the door and climbing into the cab.

Mackenna resumed her conversation with the foreman, jotting down notes on her clipboard. She made a list of equipment that was malfunctioning or in need of maintenance servicing. As she got back into the swing of her routine, she relaxed, forgetting that Brock was listening. After analyzing the various problems with the foreman, she made her decisions, and the crew went back to work. Jotting down a few last notes, Mackenna leaned back, aware of a general sense of weakness spreading through her limbs. Sully was right. She wasn’t going to be able to last long on the road today.

“You speak fluent Javanese,” Brock said.

“It’s a matter of survival,” Mackenna returned, wiping a thin film of perspiration off her forehead and upper lip.

“What else do you survive well at?” he asked.

She raised her head, meeting his darkened blue eyes. Conflicting emotions raged within her. If she looked at the arctic iciness of his gaze, Brock Hampton betrayed no sign of compassion. But the vibrating timbre of his voice held a thread of something. What? She sighed heavily, debating whether to be honest with him or to protect her own vulnerability. To hell with it, she decided. “I’m trying to survive, one day at a time,” she admitted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” Her tone was challenging, and indirectly she was warning him not to lash out at her.

Brock tilted his head, surveying her for a long time. “I just wanted to see if you’d be honest. Most women aren’t.”

Anger shattered her state of exhaustion. “All women are liars?” she hurled back.

“I said most.”

“And what gives you the right to judge?”

A cool smile tugged at his mouth. “I take that right.”

Mackenna laid the clipboard firmly down on the seat between them. “You wouldn’t know honesty if it slapped you in the face,” she said tightly. “Understand this. I’ll always be honest with you. I don’t pull any punches. Not with you, not with anyone.”

“So I’m learning. That’s in your favor.”

Her eyes flashed with indignation. “If you must keep a tally on what you consider my good and bad points as supervisor of this road project, keep it to yourself. I don’t enjoy being scrutinized and commented upon.”

“You work for me, and your job is on the line,” Brock growled.

Mackenna twisted around to face him more fully. “Why do you work so hard at getting people to hate you?” She had said it gently with a slightly protective cast to her tone. Yet Brock jolted back, as if physically struck. Mackenna sensed her edge, and she took advantage of the shock that registered for a fleeting second in his narrowed eyes. “It’s not in my nature to hate, Brock. No matter how much you badger and goad me, I won’t hate you. I know what you’re trying to do, and I won’t be party to the game you want me to play.”

He glowered at her, compressing his lips. “Don’t play psychologist with me,” he snarled. “And don’t give me those pitying looks. Save them for somebody who wants pity.”

The tension in the cab was palpable. Mackenna had spoken instinctively when she heard the raw note of anguish in his voice. And now his reaction was just as intense. So he was human after all! She had struck a sensitive nerve. Even as she stumbled on that discovery, her natural inclination to soothe his fear nearly overwhelmed her. It shocked her. The past year had dulled her senses to a state of numbness. Now she felt everything so vividly, so fully that it took her breath away. And Brock Hampton was dangerous. For it was he, in part, who had roused such emotions. He had leaned back and now was watching her guardedly; a cornered tiger that would pounce any second.

Mackenna turned around, placing both hands on the steering wheel. “I have a bad habit,” she began softly. “I tend to pity myself, but I never pity others. What you see in my eyes is compassion, Brock. That means I understand. It doesn’t mean I feel sorry for you.”

Silence descended on them. Mackenna didn’t move a muscle. Finally, Brock broke the tense atmosphere, his words grinding. “I think it’s great that you’ve put your past behind you and have begun to live again. But don’t try to interfere with my life.”

Mackenna measured him slowly, assessing the threat behind his words. “Meaning what?” she challenged, gripping the wheel with both hands.

“You got sick. You purged yourself of your grief over your husband’s death. And now you’re free of your past. You’re a typical woman. Everything’s going to be rosy and bright for you from now on. But don’t make the mistake of trying to influence me with your new awareness. That’s what I’m trying to say.” His mouth thinned. “I liked you better when you were angry.”

“I am changing,” Mackenna agreed, meeting his eyes. “I buried my emotions for over a year. I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. I’m sure you’re not interested. I’m not consciously trying to influence you, or to interfere, Brock. When you first arrived, I was pretty depressed.” Her voice trembled, and she winced inwardly. “I feel as if I’d been dead and suddenly woke up again. I’m not about to crawl back into my shell. If you can’t take it, then stay away from me. I’m not some puppet you can manipulate. You don’t scare me.” Her knuckles whitened as she saw the dangerous glitter in his eyes. Why was she being so intimately honest with this man?

“What does scare you, then?” he growled.

Mackenna managed a derisive laugh. “Life. Living. Feeling again. Being sick for the last six days brought a lot to light. I was behaving like an ostrich, sticking my head in the sand, avoiding the emotional debt I owed to my husband.” She sighed, bowing her head. “Well, I’ve paid that debt. The slate is clean, and now I’m waking up emotionally again.” Her voice took on a wistful note as she raised her chin, staring through the windshield. “For the first time since this road began I noticed the sun coming up. I saw the beautiful colors of the dawn above the copra groves.” She pursed her lips. “I’m just realizing how bad my depression has been. Suddenly I’m seeing everything differently.” She gave a small shrug. “I can’t apologize for being me, Brock. You happened along at a time when I’m undergoing some inner cataclysmic changes.”

He regarded her silently through his hooded eyes. The anger was gone. In its place there was a new curiosity in their azure depths. The tension that had locked them in mortal combat evaporated. Mackenna sensed something so intangible, so subtle occurring between them that she was only fleetingly aware of it. She stole a look at him. “What kills me is, why am I confiding in you? I know you don’t care.”

He unwound slowly like a tiger that had been crouched and ready to pounce on his quarry, and then had changed its mind. When he spoke, his voice was less harsh. “I want you to show me the different staging areas today. You’re still sick, but I think you can drive me around and give me an idea of what’s going on with the road.”

She nodded. “It’s a deal.”

Mackenna drove in a westerly direction down the semicompleted road. The jungle lowlands were alive with groups of Javanese going about their daily chores. More than once she had to slow down for ox-drawn carts, bicycles and foot travelers who were making use of the newly fashioned highway. Brock sat in silence, but this time Mackenna did not feel threatened. She was puzzled by her need to confide in him at such a personal level. A sense of frustration curdled in her. She knew Brock Hampton had been affected by her; it was as if he were drinking in each new facet of her personality, tucking it away for later reference. But why? Confused, Mackenna ran her fingers through her hair. Sitting next to Brock was a continuing agony. He affected her on so many levels. He shouldn’t…but he did.

To her delight, Sully was at the main maintenance station when they drove up at noon. The humidity was thick, and Mackenna was sweating freely. The grizzled mechanic ambled over, giving her a shrewd, assessing look. He hung his lanky arms on the door of the truck. “You ain’t look’n so good, Mac,” he said by way of a greeting. He looked past her, giving Hampton an accusing stare.

“I’m doing okay,” Mackenna lied.

“We’re fixing lunch. How about joining us?”

Brock stirred, getting out of the truck. “Let’s do that. You can show me how you handle repairs afterward,” he said, looking over at Sully.

Mackenna climbed slowly out of the pickup, testing the strength of her legs. She felt lightheaded. Brock came around the truck and reached out, gripping her upper arm. Shock must have registered on her face as he shortened his stride to match her own.

“It won’t look good if you fall flat on your face in front of the crew,” he explained.

Violent feelings surged within her. She was too weak to pull away, and his natural strength provided Mackenna with exactly the support she needed. His fingers felt rough against her tender flesh. Those hands were used to fashioning earth and rock into something usable. Her skin tingled pleasurably, and she allowed that feeling to permeate her body. Sully walked on her right, casting a questioning look over at her, puzzlement written in his features.