Sooner or Later Page 10

  When he stopped off at Rosita s house, his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. He chatted amicably with her father, patted the top of her sister’s head, and joked with her brother. Then Rosita came out, wearing a lovely white dress with a flowing skirt and red belt. His heart hitchhiked straight to his knees.

  Later that evening, when Luke brought her back to her family, he was convinced he was the worst dinner companion she’d ever known. Their meal had been a disaster, and he’d been the one at fault.

  True, nerves had played a part in his uneasiness, but more than that Luke realized that he loved this woman. His sentiments had long since been decided. This wasn’t high school or college, where he’d found himself fleetingly attracted to the opposite sex. This was love and the real world.

  He hadn’t come to Zarcero looking for a wife or the responsibilities of a family. He’d charted his course, confident he was doing the right thing. Then God in His almighty wisdom had hurled a wrench into his picture-perfect blueprint.

  Instead of rejoicing in this wonder, instead of thanking God for this unexpected gift, Luke had decided he wanted nothing to do with love. Love would hinder his work. Loving Rosita would handicap his efforts with the people of Zarcero. Love would distract him from his purpose.

  Luke decided he wanted none of it. In time, whatever physical attraction he felt for the beautiful young woman would fade.

  It didn’t.

  Instead it grew and blossomed without so much as a touch or a kiss.

  Luke wrote his sister, asked for prayers for a deep, inner struggle without telling her exactly what it was he battled. As close as he was to Letty, he feared she would never understand.

  When it came to love and marriage, he and Letty appeared to be of the same mind. She’d shown no more inclination toward the married state than he did himself.

  Finally, after avoiding Rosita for two months, he inadvertently ran into her while visiting an elderly widow, Mrs. Esparza.

  To his shock and hers, Rosita answered the door. She’d been reading to the sickly ninety-four-year-old, and for the first time in days Mrs. Esparza was sleeping comfortably.

  Luke was inclined to leave quickly, avoid temptation. A disciplined man by nature, he made his excuses, promised to return later, and headed out the front door.

  For reasons he never understood, before he walked out, he turned and looked back at Rosita. He discovered her sitting by the old woman’s bed, her head bowed and her eyes bright with tears.

  When he questioned her about the emotion, she blushed and claimed dust had gotten in her eyes. Once more Luke turned to leave. And couldn’t.

  All at once he was tired of fighting what he wanted most. Tired of pretending he was strong. Tired of ignoring his heart.

  That was the afternoon Luke learned the lessons God had been struggling to teach him. The lessons he had rejected. The lessons of love.

  Luke was a man. But he’d been trying to live the life of a saint, with his head buried in the sand, ignoring the man God meant him to be. It had taken this slap alongside of his head to accept and appreciate the human side of his nature.

  The physical part of him had been ignored and repressed for so long that when he set it free, it nearly carried him straight over a cliff.

  From that day forward Luke knew it was either preach one thing and live another or marry Rosita. Two weeks before the army overtook the government, Luke had asked Rosita to be his wife and she’d agreed.

  He’d known asking her to share his life and his ministry was what God intended from the minute he’d found the courage to pop the question.

  He’d hungered for the day he and Rosita could be married. Silently he’d vowed to find a balance in his life, to continue his work with the mission and at the same time be a good husband and father.

  Luke opened his eyes and looked around the bare jail cell, and with renewed strength he prayed for the future.

  That evening, when a plate of unpalatable food was shoved into the cell, Luke forced himself to swallow a few bites. Then, because he needed to say it aloud, he sat at the end of his bunk, raised his eyes to heaven, and whispered.

  “I want to live.”

  15

  Anger was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable emotion to Letty. She sat on the dark hillside and trembled with outrage after Murphy’s departure.

  The sight of him with that…woman, burying his face in her breasts, kissing and sucking her neck, was enough to make Letty physically ill. Her stomach burned every time she thought about it.

  She was well rid of him. Clearly she had misplaced her trust. It was a painful and expensive lesson, but one best learned now. Murphy had already delayed her an entire day. Who was to say how much more time he would have wasted while he entertained himself with that hussy.

  Undoubtedly he considered her a fool for having dismissed him. The decision had been made in the heat of anger, but that didn’t mean she was without resources.

  The church steeple silhouetted the moonlit sky. Although Luke had been in Zarcero only a little over two years, he was well known and loved in the religious community. All she needed was to contact another minister or priest, and they would lead her to her brother.

  Careful to avoid detection, Letty made her way toward the Catholic church. The street was dark and silent in front of the hundred-year-old structure. Tall, thick doors marked the entrance.

  Letty studied the street a long time, fearing that the moment she moved into the open, she’d be caught. Her concern was unjustified. Murphy had apparently paraded around all day in that silly looking uniform and no one had noticed him.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she walked out of the shadows and stepped smartly toward the church. By the time she’d made it up the few short church steps, her heart felt as if it were about to explode inside her chest

  To her relief, she found that the building wasn’t locked. The moment she applied pressure, the thick wooden door creaked open.

  She stepped into the vestibule and heard an eerie clicking sound. Blinded by the light, she raised her hand to shade her eyes.

  The first thing she noticed was that the pews were missing. Instead the church was filled with desks. And soldiers. Lots of soldiers.

  The strange clicking noise she’d heard earlier was the sound of rifles.

  Letty froze. The barrels of a dozen guns were pointed at her heart. This place no longer served as a house of God; it was a command center for rebel soldiers.

  The farther he walked, the angrier Murphy became. Soon he found himself swearing, first under his breath and then louder, until he had to restrain himself from shouting. But even that didn’t make him feel better.

  And he knew why.

  Despite the fact Letty had fired him. Despite the fact he cursed the day he’d ever laid eyes on her. Despite his better judgment, he was going back.

  He couldn’t think of a single reason why he should, except his conscience. If anything happened to her, and it would—the woman was not only stupid, she was as naive as they came—he’d never be able to live with himself.

  In addition, there was the small problem of his promise. He’d assured her, again knowing he’d regret it, that he’d find her brother.

  While it was true he’d have a hell of a better chance rescuing Luke Madden without Letty, in good conscience he couldn’t leave her behind to an uncertain fate.

  As much as he’d like to do exactly that.

  The woman exasperated him. She was God’s revenge against a life of not giving a damn.

  As he made his way back to the village, Murphy brought his emotions under control. He was going to need his wits about him. He’d have to deal with the rebels, true, but he’d managed to stay alive in these types of situations for years. He excelled in the art of disguise, of blending into the background. The unknown element, what gave him the greatest concern, wasn’t the rebels. It was Letty.

  It would be just like her to give them both away the minute she laid eyes on him. The
woman didn’t possess a nickel’s worth of common sense.

  As he reentered the town, he noted that the music continued to blare from the cantina. The festivities had yet to wind down and wouldn’t, he suspected, until the wee hours of the morning.

  He walked down the street with purpose, as if he were under important orders. No one stopped to question him, and he doubted that they would.

  He paused as he neared the far end of the main street. The last structure left on the block was an old church. He almost discounted it, almost looked past the obvious.

  Lights on at this time of night? In a church?

  Something was very wrong.

  Letty was forced into a chair, and her arms were tied behind her. She glared up at the rebel leader, whose name was Captain Norte, and refused to allow him to see her fear.

  “How did you get into Siguierres?” he demanded in broken English.

  She told him the truth. “I walked.” She said it without emotion, without sarcasm.

  He backhanded her across the face. Blood filled her mouth, and she blinked up at him, shocked and stunned by his violence. He looked as if he’d relish hitting her again.

  “Put her in jail. Let her cool her heels with the rats for the time being and see if that loosens her tongue,” he instructed two guards.

  Her hands were untied, and with a soldier at each side she was half lifted from the chair and escorted out the front door. The cool air felt good against her burning, stinging face. She moved her lips carefully. She’d never known a slap could be so painful.

  The two men at her side spoke in whispers. At first Letty couldn’t make out what they were saying, then she understood that they’d agreed not to take her directly to the jail. They intended to have a little fun with her themselves first.

  “No,” she said, jerking her elbows first one way and then another. She spoke rapidly in Spanish, telling them that their captain would be greatly displeased when he learned what they’d done. She reminded them that officers expected their orders to be carried out without question and that their captain had ordered them to escort her to the jail.

  Desperate now, she told them that if they were to rebuild their country, they must do so with honor. Not with despicable acts of violence against innocent women.

  She spoke fast, reasoned hard, and with each frantic plea she realized she might as well have saved her breath. The two weren’t about to be cheated out of their pleasure.

  They dragged her kicking and screaming behind a building and threw her down upon the hard ground. She fell against her backpack, and the wind was knocked out of her.

  One man held her shoulders, pinning them to the ground. It took both men to restrain her. They allowed her to kick and writhe until her energy was spent before the larger of the two men knelt and ripped open her blouse.

  Letty closed her eyes, refusing to look at him. She nearly gagged at the rough feel of his hands over her smooth skin. She kicked and bucked with renewed effort, but to no avail. Soon he straddled her legs and began to unfasten the snap of her jeans.

  When the man holding her shoulders urged the other to hurry, Letty started to sob, her ability to fight, to resist, nearly depleted.

  The first man positioned himself atop her, his weight crushing her to the ground.

  At that precise moment the night exploded around them. The ground trembled, and a blast rocked the entire town. Flames shot into the sky, followed by a low rumble that grew in intensity.

  “The fuel dump!” one of the men shouted in terror. He released her and ran. The soldier atop her was only momentarily fazed. Using his forearm for leverage, he rammed his arm across her throat, cutting off her oxygen supply. Her struggles ceased as a new, immediate need took over. She needed to breathe.

  Just when Letty thought she was about to pass out for lack of air, the pressure was gone. The rebel went limp. His arm fell from her throat and she gasped, drawing in a deep, fresh breath of air. He was propelled away from her, his eyes frozen open, an expression of shocked horror on his face.

  Sobbing, she looked up at her savior, certain what she saw must be an apparition.

  Murphy leaned forward and offered her his hand. “Come on,” he shouted, “we’ve got to get out of here, and fast.”

  For the life of her, she couldn’t move. Not giving her the option, he reached down and brought her to her feet. Impatiently he swept her into his arms. The next thing Letty knew, she was tossed in the front seat of a jeep with its engine running.

  Within seconds they were barreling out of town, leaving a huge dust trail in their wake.

  Murphy continued at a dangerous pace. It was all Letty could do to keep from being hurled onto the road.

  By the time he slowed down, reaction had set in and Letty was trembling from head to foot with a chill that came from the inside out.

  Murphy glanced at her. “You all right?”

  She answered him by slamming her fist against his upper arm and sobbing, “You came back….”

  “Well, don’t thank me or anything.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself as the cold, brutal reality of what had nearly happened refused to let go.

  “Answer me,” Murphy snapped. “Are you okay?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, damn it, I’m sure.”

  “It’s going to be all right,” Murphy said with surprising tenderness.

  Letty had dealt with his anger, his harshness, his unfriendliness. She didn’t know how to deal with his gentleness. She brushed the tears from her face and sniffled.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  16

  As Marcie sat at an elegant linen-covered table next to Johnny, the irony didn’t escape her. This was their first real date, yet they’d been enthusiastic lovers for almost two years. They’d shared fabulous sex, good times, and fast-food meals, but they’d never gone out. Not in the traditional sense.

  Occasionally Johnny brought her gifts, inexpensive baubles and trinkets, as a means of thanking her. Of paying her, she realized sadly, reluctantly. Until recently she’d never looked upon his presents as payment, but it was long past time to be honest.

  The stuffed teddy bear Clifford had brought her represented the first time a man had ever given her anything without her sleeping with him first.

  Up to this point ninety-five percent of her communication with Johnny had taken place between silk sheets. She knew very little about him and his life. He was a physical man with physical needs, and those needs had dominated each brief rendezvous.

  Although she’d agreed to this dinner date, she wasn’t sure that she was doing the right thing. Because she felt guilty, she’d casually mentioned the outing to Clifford, making light of it. An old friend, in town for a day or two. Hoped he didn’t mind.

  Sometimes it was difficult to know what Clifford actually thought about things. His one failing, if she could call it that, was his interminable politeness.

  While Marcie was certain he wasn’t pleased, Clifford had chivalrously told her to have her dinner with Johnny and to enjoy herself. He’d be talking to her again soon. The conversation had ended with that.

  “Have you decided what you’d like to order?” Johnny asked, setting aside his menu.

  Marcie couldn’t believe the prices. A single meal at the Cattleman’s would pay for her weekly supply of groceries. “The small filet?” she said questioningly.

  He grinned broadly, as if she’d made the only intelligent choice on the entire menu.

  It surprised Marcie how nervous she was. Not because she was with Johnny; he was an easy person to talk to, when they took time to talk. But she wasn’t accustomed to sitting in an ultrafancy restaurant where the waiters wore tuxedos. Nor had she eaten anyplace where the flatware comprised more than two spoons.

  “Did you have any problems explaining our date to Clifford?” he asked as if he were sincerely concerned.

  “Clifford’s not the jealou
s type.”

  Johnny reached for the wine menu. “He sounds like a decent sort.”

  “He’s very good to me.” Better than anyone.

  The waiter arrived, and in gentlemanly fashion, Johnny ordered for her and then requested a bottle of expensive French wine, a Bordeaux.

  As the meal progressed they chatted comfortably. Generally when a man asked her out, Marcie was subjected to a long, self-serving monologue. At times she’d wonder if these men feared that she didn’t have a brain, or an opinion. In the end she’d decided that they were afraid of what she’d say. They came to her, she suspected, to recover from the weenie roasting they’d suffered at the hands of the feminists.

  The men in Marcie’s illustrious dating career endlessly touted themselves in an attempt to impress her, to reveal how fascinating or intelligent or wonderful they were. Mostly what they really wanted was to get her into the sack as quickly as possible with the least amount of fuss and prove what a magnificent lover they were. And often weren’t.

  By the time she’d reached her late twenties, Marcie had learned a lot about the dating scene. She realized that single men often felt an unmarried woman her age was desperate to find a husband. While it was true Marcie wanted a husband and children, her standards were higher than just any man with a pair of sperm-producing testicles. She longed for companionship, shared goals, and the dirtiest word of all. One that caused fearless men to run screaming into the night. Commitment.

  Marcie didn’t need the wine to relax. By the time the steaks arrived, she was as happy as she could ever remember. Johnny was both intelligent and generous.

  In comparison, Clifford, dear, dear Clifford, seemed stodgy and a little dull. His idea of a fun evening was a night at the movies and a shared bucket of popcorn. Clifford was the salt of the earth, and Johnny was the spice of life. Unfortunately her diet had been bland for a long time, and she was ready for a taste of cayenne.

  Marcie had known the minute Johnny walked into her beauty salon that she wanted him, but until their dinner date she hadn’t realized how much.