mean less sophisticated?” she asked, restless beneath his hungry look.
“No, you still have class. That would show through no matter what you did or did not wear.”
Alanna blushed scarlet, and she automatically touched her cheek, put off balance by his unexpected, brusque compliments. “Colonel—”
“You’re very pretty when you blush, Alanna. Feel better now that you’ve got on some dry clothes?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She cleared her throat, nervously shifting her feet. “I’m afraid to even ask if there’s food available up here. Is there?”
“If you’re a refugee from the village or part of the relief effort, yes. There’s a small chow hall in operation at the end hut on the northern perimeter of the base.”
“But I’m not a refugee, am I?” she growled back, understanding his faultless logic.
“In a sense you are. Thrown completely out of your element into a set of circumstances that you’re unprepared for.”
“I’m not some poor, lost waif! If you’ll just tell me where I can buy some food…”
“Right now, with supplies running low, there isn’t any amount of money that will buy food.”
She raised her eyes skyward in reaction. “What do I have to do to get some food!” she asked tightly. “Would it go better if I begged?”
Matt shook his head. “You wouldn’t make a very convincing beggar, lady.” He slowly rose, as if stiff. He flexed his right shoulder in a rotating motion, frowning.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she blurted out, before she could stop her concern from expressing itself.
“Hmm? No. Old wound. It gets cranky when the weather is damp and cold.” He studied her. “It’s nice of you to care, though. That’s a new twist for a political dove from D.C.”
Alanna seethed inwardly, gritting her teeth. “God, you’re so distrustful of my every action!”
Matt laughed, picking up his poncho and shrugging into it. “I have a hard time trusting any politician. Were you born a liberal, I wonder?”
“Don’t make fun of what I believe in, Colonel. I won’t change my views or ideas for food or shelter. Just because you’re a born soldier, that doesn’t give you the right to be rude to me.”
“Maybe you’re right. I owe you an apology. Why don’t you go settle down, and I’ll rummage around the chow hall and get something to eat for both of us. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Anyway, we need to get some food into you so you won’t look so damn skinny.”
Alanna grudgingly admitted he was right on one point: she was skinny. It was a result of the long hours she put in at the senator’s office. Trudging back to the small, barren room, she pulled the blanket over her shoulders and lay down on the inviting sleeping bag. Rolling the other blanket into a makeshift pillow, she closed her eyes for just a moment. Her thoughts spiraled around Matt Breckenridge. Despite their arguments, she found herself inexorably drawn to him. He was nothing like Paul. Just the opposite in fact. Paul was so distant, so detached that she doubted he knew what it was to lose his temper. And she had never lost hers in those years either. Now, with this Marine officer, it was like the Fourth of July every time they got within ten feet of one another. Paul had taught her to control her emotions. But Matt Breckenridge actually seemed to enjoy her outbursts. She sighed loudly, utterly confused and drained by the day’s events. She didn’t mean to, but she plunged into a deep, healing sleep almost immediately.
Chapter Three
Alanna moaned, partially aware of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake. She rolled over on her back, sleepily opening her eyes. Matt Breckenridge’s concerned face came into view in the darkness. She frowned, almost frightened by the shadows that played across his strong, masculine face as he watched her.
“Uh,” she groaned, slowly moving up into a sitting position, “what time is it?”
“Twenty-one hundred, or 9 p.m. to you civilians,” he said with a half-smile. He rested back on his haunches, frowning. “You all right? You look pale as hell.”
Alanna sleepily rubbed her eyes, pulling the blanket around her for warmth. The room seemed damper and colder as she looked around. A small kerosene lantern sat in the corner, giving off a weak semblance of light to the room and an odor that made her wrinkle her nose. “Yes—I’m fine. Just terribly tired.”
“So it’s true what they say about Senator Thornton, then. He works his people likes slaves.”
It was a statement. Not a question. Groggy and too weary to throw up her usual barriers of defense, she said, “I already put in seventy hours this week. Usually it’s only sixty.”
He shook his head slowly. “No wonder you’re underweight. Don’t you have anyone who takes care of you?”
A knot formed in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a moment. “I can take care of myself.”
“Well, you need someone to help you expend all that energy you have,” he answered gruffly, getting to his feet.
Alanna yawned, still wrapped in the euphoric embrace of awakening. The Colonel seemed infinitely more gentle now, and she felt herself relaxing for the first time since they had met. His booted feet sounded hollowly against the floor boards as he stopped and squatted back down in front of her. “Here’s dinner,” he said, handing her a Marine Corps issue mess kit. “When I got back, you were sleeping like there was no tomorrow. I decided that you needed sleep more than food. It’s cold but palatable.”
She took the lightweight metal plate, staring at the heaping amount of food piled on it. “There’s so much!” she protested softly, giving him a stricken look. “I don’t want to take food from the survivors.”
He sat down by her, pulling up one leg and wrapping his arms about it, giving her an odd, searching look. “You’re sincere, aren’t you?”
She set the plate down on her lap. “Yes. Of course.”
“Good. It becomes you. Maybe you’re not the typical Hill politico after all. And don’t worry, I didn’t pull this food out of the starving mouth of some refugee. Now be quiet and eat.”
Occasionally she glanced up at him as she wolfed down the food. It consisted of refried beans, corn mush, and a small piece of fried Spam, but it tasted delicious. To her own surprise, she ate every morsel. “I guess the mountain air improves the appetite,” she offered sheepishly.
He took the plate, setting it by his side, and met her smile. In the gloom, he looked haggard and drawn, and Alanna wondered how long it had been since he had slept. “How are things going?” she inquired.
“Let’s put it this way, Murphy’s law hasn’t got anything on us at the moment,” he commented wryly.
Alanna laughed gently. “The axiom about ‘if anything can go wrong it will’?”
“Yes. And there’s an extension to that law: ‘nothing is ever so
