As he watched the trees beyond her, she drank, feeling rejuvenated by the tepid water. His gaze raked over her. “Any bad injuries before we get underway? Any broken bones?”
“I have some cuts and my head hurts. I’m bruised, but I don’t have any broken bones.”
“What about the girls? Sophie? Or the baby, Angelica?”
“They have cuts and bruises, but otherwise we’re all okay.”
Replacing his canteen and repellant, he jerked his head and put the rifle in the sling on his back. “Let’s go.”
Hesitating, tempted to try to run from him, she didn’t move.
He glanced around and scowled. “Are you coming?”
Picking up the small bundle of leaves that held the remaining bananas, she shifted the baby, Angelica, and took Sophie’s hand to follow him. He strode ahead without glancing back, as if he didn’t question that she would follow and could keep up with him. He swung a machete, cutting away vines, and she heaved a sigh of relief because it looked as if he had been telling the truth.
“Mr. Drake—”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Micah. We’re going to be together a lot, Raffaela.”
“You’ll have to slow your pace,” she said to him.
He fell back and knelt down to look at Sophie.
“Will you let me carry you?” His voice was gentle, a change from the brusqueness he had shown before. Sophie’s eyes were wide with fear that Raffaela understood too well. Sophie looked up at her, and she nodded.
“Yes, sir,” Sophie whispered.
“That’s a good girl.” He swung her up in his arms and strode ahead.
In an hour he was still moving steadily through the moist, dense undergrowth. In agony Raffaela—she’d decided that name would do—straggled behind him. Angelica had fallen asleep in her arms and her deadweight was becoming a dreadful burden. With each step, searing pain raked along a gash on the back of her right thigh. The steamy heat of the tropics was suffocating. The first day she had switched to her charred sneakers and tossed away her low-heeled sandals. She had bruises that made her ache with each jolting step, and a blinding headache added to her misery. She had cuts on her shoulders and back and the backs of her legs, but it was the cut on her thigh that was hampering her walking.
She wanted to keep up with him. And she suspected if she suggested halting, she might have an argument on her hands. She looked at his broad shoulders that tapered to slender hips and long legs. His stride was as steady as it had been the moment they started. With his long hair, the bloody bandage and all his weapons, he looked like a fierce warrior in spite of Sophie asleep in his arms with her head on his shoulder. In addition to Sophie he carried a pack and the pistol on his hip and his rifle—all of which had to be heavy. In this heat she would think he would be ready for a rest.
As time passed, her leg throbbed unbearably until she knew she had to stop. Clutching Angelica, Raffaela tried to catch up with him.
“When will we stop?” She blurted out the words and wished she had said something first so she didn’t sound so desperate.
He paused and turned to look at her. She gazed into his dark eyes, feeling a fluttering inside.
“Are you hurting?”
“Yes, my leg hurts,” she replied, looking at the blood-soaked kerchief around his head. How much damage had she inflicted on him?
He set Sophie on her feet. “Show me what hurts.”
She set Angelica on the ground next to a still-sleepy Sophie, then turned around.
He swore. “You should have told me sooner how badly you’re cut. We’ll stop now.”
Still waking up, the girls mumbled quietly to themselves.
“I have a first-aid kit,” he said. “If I treat their cuts, will they start screaming?”
“Not if you’re gentle.”
“I can’t guarantee the stuff won’t sting. I don’t want a lot of noise, and I don’t want to attract attention. We’re not as far from those men as I’d like to be. There’s guerrilla fighting all through this country.”
“I can try to keep the girls quiet, or we can try to go on, but my leg hurts badly.”
“You need attention before we go farther. I’ll treat the girls’ cuts now. Just keep them quiet.”
“You just remember to be gentle,” she snapped. He looked too tough to give much thought to pain.
One dark eyebrow arched. “I’ll remember to be gentle,” he said softly, and suddenly she had a feeling he was not referring to the girls. Nodding, she called to them. “Mr. Drake is going to put some medicine on our cuts to make them better,” she said.
“I have a first-aid kit,” he explained to the girls, motioning them to come closer. “Let me get some antiseptic on your scratches, so we don’t have any infections.” He spread a canvas ground cover. “Who is going to be the big brave girl and go first?”
“Angelica, let’s start with you,” Raffaela said cheerfully, sitting on the cover. As she sat down, she groaned, biting her lip when it hurt to bend her leg. She took the child on her lap as Micah opened the metal box. Sophie came close to watch, her fingers resting on Raffaela’s arm.
“Are you a doctor?” Sophie asked him.
“No, I’m not. But I learned something about caring for wounds when I was a soldier.”
“I’ll tell you about the three bears that lived deep in the woods,” Raffaela said, trying to distract Angelica.
While she talked, Angelica never noticed the ointment Mr. Drake put on her cuts. When he finished, he touched the tip of her tiny nose with his finger. “You were a very brave patient,” he said in a tone warm enough to melt ice. Raffaela felt a fluttering response, watching him while he brushed a kiss across Angelica’s forehead.
Angelica smiled up at him and moved away cheerfully while Raffaela praised her.
“Now, Sophie,” he remarked matter-of-factly, “it’s your turn. Let’s see where the cuts are.”
“You won’t hurt me?”
“Angelica didn’t cry, did she?”
“No. But I don’t want to hurt.”
“I will try my very best not to hurt you,” he promised gently. She nodded, watching him with round, solemn eyes.
Barely listening to Raffaela’s story about three billy goats, Sophie clung tightly to Raffaela and started to cry when the antiseptic was sprayed on a cut. Raffaela’s soft voice soothed her, and in seconds Sophie was listening to the story.
As Raffaela talked to the girls about billy goats, she, herself, was barely aware of what she was saying. Micah Drake’s head
