Twice A Hero Part 9

There was something insinuating in the low rumble of his voice. "Plenty," she said. "Things you probably can't imagine."

"You don't know my imagination."

Yes, there was a definite purr in his speech, reminiscent of a large jungle cat playing harmless with potential prey. This was not a side of him she'd seen earlier, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. The open hostility and barely veiled derision had almost been easier to blow off.

And somehow he'd managed to work his way around the fire to her side of it. Mac made the additional discovery that Fernando had disappeared.

"So," he said with a mock-lazy grin, "do the women ofa what was it?a 1997 aspire to be men entirely? A pity. What made them abandon the role nature intended for them?"

"And what role is that, pray tell?"

His gaze drifted to her chest as it had a couple of times earlier that day. "It depends on the woman. For one like you, Maca" The look he gave her made further speech unnecessary.

Good grief. Realization struck her like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Was hea Was Liam O'Shea actually making a pa.s.s at her?

"Don't tell me," she said coolly, "that you're scared of the idea of women with power, independence, and intelligence who can take care of themselves?"

Ah. She'd got to him, just a little. His shoulders stiffened. "I've never seen such a creature yet. What frightens me, Mac, is that all women of the future might be like you."

"And that is?"

"Where should I begin? Perhaps with your distinct lack of feminine charms or delicacy? Or your crude habits of speecha"is it the usual practice where you're from to teach young ladies such language?"

"You haven't heard the half of it."

"And your appearance." He gave her another onceover. "Cropped hair. Trousers. A man's s.h.i.+rta""

"Come to think of it," she said, "I do remember that men of your time preferred women confined in layers of heavy clothing and figure-shaping devices that twisted their bodies and made it impossible for them to move. Wouldn't want them to get above themselves, now would we?"

"You should be writing tracts. Do you dislike men because you haven't had any success with them?"

Mac thought longingly of tossing a few hot coals into his lap. "I don't dislike men. But I can tell you right now that a pair of broad shoulders and a smart mouth don't cut it where I come from. It takes a little more to interest a modern woman."

"And it takes more than a brazen hussy to interest a man. I see we understand each other."

Fat chance of that. But she was spared the necessity of replying by Fernando's return to the fireside. She was grateful for the reprieve; Liam was certainly a product of his time. She'd guessed the first time she saw the photograph what kind of man he'd be: the quintessential nineteenth-century male who'd probably never had his ideas challenged by any woman.

She stood, stretched, switched on the flashlight, and strode for the tent. Mud sucked at her boots, making each footstep awkward and reminding her how desperate she was for a good shower. Preferably a cold one.

"You can have the cartaret," Liam called.

Whatever that wasa"probably some kind of cot. d.a.m.ned if she'd take any more favors from him, muddy ground or not.

The tent was st.u.r.dy and of good quality, though there were many little indications that it wasn't of the modern type. A small portable desk, folding chair, empty crates, and a stack of supplies took up one corner, a hinged cot with a tent of mosquito netting most of the opposite side. There might be enough room for Mac to stretch out on the ground between, but she wasn't about to risk it.

After a quick look around she found a sheet of canvas folded over the supplies; at least that would keep the wet from her clothes. And she still had the mosquito netting from Liam's bag, somewhat the worse for wear. One of those palmetto huts would provide shelter from the rain. She'd seen modern Maya use them in the jungle.

Her stomach gave a mighty protest. All righta"she'd have to throw herself on Liam's hospitality at least as far as a good meal went; she'd need her strength from now on. d.a.m.n, what she wouldn't give for a Dr Pepper right now. It might be some time before she could indulge that minor addiction.

Tossing the canvas and netting under the nearer of the shelters, she sauntered back toward the fire, where Fernando was already dis.h.i.+ng out tin plates of steaming beans mixed with shredded meat. Hand-shaped tortillas were stacked on a flat stone set beside the fire.

"Eat," Liam commanded, pus.h.i.+ng a plate into her hands. "I won't have you swooning for lack of nourishment."

Mac was too hungry to resent his patronizing tone. The food was wonderful; her hunger was no gourmet. Even the mystery meat was tender and delicious.

"What is this?" she asked. "The meat, I mean."

"Tepeizcuintes," Liam said. "Also known as agouti."

Mac felt the lump of food stick in her throat. Agoutis were short-eared, long-legged rodents; she'd seen them in nature shows. No worse than rabbit, she thought. She smiled at Fernando and held out her plate. "Gracias. More?"

When she had finished the second helping she searched for some means of was.h.i.+ng her plate.

"Fernando will take care of it," Liam said. Just as he spoke, large drops of rain began to fall, sizzling in the fire. All too quickly the drops became a downpour. Fernando gathered up the cooking supplies and excess food; Liam got to his feet without haste. "If you want to sleep dry, I suggest you get to shelter."

A little too late for that. Mac slung water from her bangs and considered the dubious haven of the open palmetto-frond huts. Maybe they'd keep most of the rain out, anyway. She trudged through a growing soup of mud and poked her head under the makes.h.i.+ft roof. A small tree served as one part of the support, a st.u.r.dy stripped sapling pole another. The ground was unmistakably damp.

Mac sighed and toed the canvas sheeting. Her backpack would make a hard pillowa "Take this."

She turned at Liam's voice. He held a bulky bundle of fabric and netting in his arms and was already walking past her, bending low to keep from b.u.mping his head on the roof. "One of the men who deserted left his hammock."

She watched as he strung the hammock between the pole and the tree. It looked more like a torture device than something to sleep in, but it would get her off the ground.

"Thanks," she said. "Ia appreciate it."

"Fernando will be in the other champas, should you need anything." he said. "Unless, of course, you'll join me in the tenta""

"This will be fine."

He shrugged and strode from the champas into the tent. Fernando was nowhere in sight. Only the stolid mule kept her company, head down and inured to the rain.

Soaked to the skin and hot enough to create her own steam, Mac retreated deeper into the champas. For a while she simply stood and stared out at the torrent, struggling to blank her mind. Gradually the rain subsided and stopped, leaving in its wake a syncopated rhythm of runoff from the jungle canopy above. The dusk wildlife chorus had dwindled to the occasional screech or hoot or unidentifiable cry. The world was plunged into a humid, vibrating darkness.

Mac poked her head out of the shelter and saw Liam's tent lit from within like a paper lantern. His silhouette was visible, a shadow-shape rising from the desk against the tent wall. Even as she watched he shrugged out of his s.h.i.+rt, muscular arms flexing, and tossed it aside. His body was formed like a sculpture, its clean lines sharply delineated in profile. His hands moved to his waist, fingers working at b.u.t.tons.

She turned her back with a soft curse. She had absolutely no interest in watching his unsuspecting striptease. There wasn't any question of changing her own damp, none-too-fragrant clothing; she had no spares, and hadn't thought to ask Liam for any. Not that she'd have wanted to set herself up for his inevitable comments.

There was nothing else to do but try to sleep. Mac spent the next ten minutes making sense of the hammock and getting into it. Twice it nearly dumped hera"undoubtedly in league with Liam O'Shea. In the end she defeated it, worked herself and her backpack into a semblance of stability, and closed the mosquito netting as best she could, flashlight in hand.

Something rustled in the palmetto fronds above the hammock. She aimed the beam at the source of the noise; a large white c.o.c.kroachlike bug with long feelers froze in the light. Mac shut off the flashlight and scrunched deep into the hammock.

d.a.m.n Liam O'Shea.

No. That wasn't completely fair. It was Peregrine Sinclair who had set this whole thing in motion.

She brooded silently, trying to ignore the forbidding movements in the vegetation of the roof, until she recognized the absurdity of her anger. In her imagination she could see Homer looking down at her from wherever he was, shaking his head.

For G.o.d's sake, Brat. Look what's happened to you.

He felt so real that she opened her eyes. The darkness was absolute now, and Homer might have been right there beside her.

"It should have been you here, Homer, not me," she whispered. "I can't even figure out which end is up."

What Homer wouldn't have given for this opportunity. A chance to actually see the living past, as it happened. To learn a thousand details no historical account could pa.s.s on. To return to the twentieth century with knowledge no living person possesseda Bull, Homer's imaginary voice interrupted. This is your adventure, Brata"yours and no one else's. You were sent here for a reason.

Mac pinched the skin between her brows. Sent here? That was a very scary idea, and not the first time it had occurred to her, strange as it was. There were patterns here she couldn't begin to understand.

"So what am I supposed to do, Homer?" What happens if I really do something to alter the course of events? What if my even being here is a temporal disaster? No one ever came up with a guidebook for time travel.

No guidebook, maybe, but there had to be rules. Some way to open the wall again.

And when she found it, she'd have one h.e.l.l of a choice to make.

The last of her anger drained away. Liam, undoubtedly certain that he had a brilliant future ahead of him. So vibrant, so arrogantly alive.

Stop it, Mac. Just stop it.

But the thought would not go awaya"no more than the memories of his strong arms lifting her, the handsome and cynical planes of his face, the silhouette of his half-naked body against the tent.

She tossed over in the hammock so hard that it almost capsized. It was a d.a.m.ned good thing that Liam O'Shea was so easy to dislike.

Somehow that thought didn't help.

Chapter Six.

The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable by far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

a"William Shakespeare IT WAS ALL her fault.

Liam tossed in the cartaret, trying for a more comfortable position. There didn't seem to be one. Thanks to Miss b.l.o.o.d.y-annoying-crazy MacKenzie, he was being robbed of a good night's rest.

By this time he'd expected her to come creeping to his tent, begging for decent shelter from the jungle's nocturnal terrors. He'd been looking forward to seeing her humbled, even if she spit in his eye while making the request.

But she hadn't come, and he wasn't sleeping, and he couldn't think of a single imprecation sufficient to the situation.

He sat up on the cot, scowling into the darkness. d.a.m.n the baggage. Ever since he'd found her in the tunnela"whether by accident or designa"she'd proven to be the most relentlessly annoying female he'd ever encountered, and the most perplexing.

Heaven must be punis.h.i.+ng him for past misdeeds, sending a suffragist avenging angel. Except he'd long since stopped believing that Heaven gave a d.a.m.n about Liam O'Shea, bad or good. And Mac had a far more likely employer.

Perry.

Liam swung his legs over the edge of the cot, not even bothering to check the ground for scorpions. It kept coming back to that same b.l.o.o.d.y suspicion, and he couldn't let it go.

He'd given her every chance to betray herself, but she'd responded as if she didn't even recognize his suspicions, as if she had nothing to hide.

Liam stood and paced the length of the tent, ignoring the sweat that trickled from his temples and splashed onto his bare shoulders. What in h.e.l.l was he to make of her? She had the photograph. She knew Perry's name. She'd shown up the same day Perry had abandoned hima"alone and with no sign of an accompanying party.

But if Perry had hired hera"crazy as the thought still seemeda"his former friend had chosen a very poor tool. If Perry's plan had been to slow Liam down, to delay his journey to the coast and back to San Francisco, it wasn't succeeding.

Mac wasn't even making the attempt. If she'd played the lost and helpless female in need of his help, or the wanton willing to warm his bed in exchange for his protection, he could have made sense of it. But Mac?

She rejected his protection as if it were an insult. She told him crazy stories she expected him to accept as truth.

He'd heard of eccentric female travelers who risked their lives and honor in foreign lands, but he'd never imagined them to be anything like Miss MacKenzie.

Where would Perry have found her? Fernando didn't recognize her, and he'd left with the others before returning to Liam's employ. If she'd ever been with Perry in the jungle, Fernando would have known. But if she hadn't been hired by Perry, who or what was she?

Liam paused at the entrance to the tent and lifted the flap. No light spilled from either champas; she'd probably be sleeping the sleep of the dead just to spite him. That would be just like a woman.

He knew nothing about her, let alone what she might do next. And yet, for all her strange ways, she was still a woman. And like all women, she was weak, needy, fundamentally flawed.

Like Ma. Like Siobhan.

He knew nothing about Miss MacKenzie, but he would learn.

Liam had the lakesh.o.r.e to himself for nearly an hour past dawn before Mac turned up.

He paused with his razor against his chin as Mac emerged from the narrow path. Her gaze swept the length of the tiny lake, a blue-brown jewel in a setting of green, and came to rest on him.

He s.h.i.+fted his seat on the folding camp stool and resumed his shaving, watching her out of the corner of his eye. From a distance of several yards he could see her air of uncertainty; she was as easy to read as a babe in arms. Uneasy around him, to be surea"less certain of herself than she pretended.

A very good beginning to the morning.

He smiled injudiciously and earned a nick at the corner of his mouth. Her rumpled clothing, the s.h.i.+rttail that hung almost to her knees, and her mussed hair lent her an almost endearing vulnerability. She suddenly seemed like a lost child, in spite of her sharp tongue and bold behavior. Certainly as incapable of caring for herself in this wilderness as any child would have been.

But he knew, in spite of her outward lack of curves, that she was a woman. He knew it with his body. He'd felt the pressure of her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest, lifted her scant weight in his arms.

He felt it even now.

"Good morning, Mac," he said.