Chapter 11
Chapter 11
S he sat on the floor of the tent, hands and feet bound in front of her, a gag tied around her bruised and bleeding mouth. One eye was also purple and puffy. Immediately John’s brain ran to all the damage a man’s fist could do to the delicate occipital area, especially on a woman.
He knelt in front of her, his knife making short work of the binds, and then they inspected each other a few beats in silence. Tentatively, his fingers reached out and probed her eye, soft and gentle. Slowly, as if seeking permission or uncertain of his welcome. She winced but didn’t shy away. His thumb smoothed the rim of her eye, feeling for cracks. Satisfied the injury wasn’t serious, he began to take stock, not of her, but of himself and his feeling of unease. Something was wrong, something was missing, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. Her dimple. Juniper dimpled when she smiled and even dimpled in anger. At this moment her face was flat and dimple free and he finally understood why: she was afraid. He had never seen her afraid before, not once. Not of heights nor falling from them, not of snakes or bats or spiders, not of him or anyone else they’d encountered. Understanding this made him do a thing he hadn’t done since his mother died—he reached out both arms and gave her a hug.
The motion felt rusty and unused, so much that he wondered if he was doing it wrong, if maybe he’d forgotten how the last twenty years without. When Juniper remained motionless and unresponsive, he was sure he’d messed it up. But no, she was merely surprised by the action. After a pause she leaned into him, melding her softness to his strength, resting her head on his shoulder. When she started to tremble, he sat and pulled her into his lap, his hand making clumsy passes over her hair.
“You’re all right,” he said with a softness he didn’t recognize. His voice was always rough, never tender. Except with Juniper, apparently. He was so fascinated by the change in himself he repeated it. “You’re all right, Juni.”
She trembled violently a minute, as if she were pouring her fear into him, letting him absorb it so she could rid herself of it. At last she sagged in his grasp loose and exhausted, her body slack with spent adrenaline.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
He didn’t reply because what could he say? That it had been his duty? It hadn’t. He could have sent any of his men, a fact she’d easily recognize. When he thought about it, really thought about it, there was no rational reason he’d come for her, and that confounded him because rational thought was the foundation of his life. He scowled into the distance, not seeing the tent opposite, not seeing anything but his own confusion. Was their former connection enough to make him disregard the basic principles he’d based his entire career, his entire life on?
“We should go,” he said, his voice regaining its former gruffness. “Can you walk?”
“If I say no, will you carry me?” She pulled away to gaze up at him and her dimple popped.
Juniper was back, his Juniper. Not my Juniper, the real Juniper, the one with spunk and grit. “If I say yes, will you fake an injury to make me prove it?”
Her lashes fluttered. “Why, Major Caruthers, was that a spark of humor?”
“Humor is a luxury a good soldier can’t afford,” he said.
“Humor’s a necessity a good soldier can’t do without,” she returned.
“As if you’d know anything about being a soldier,” he said.
“As if you’d know anything about humor,” she countered, and he laughed, one sharp blast of laughter that took them both by surprise.
“Let’s go, you imp, before more rebels find us.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“I do, in fact,” he agreed, helping her stand. Seemingly the only time he ever encountered women was when he rescued one of them. And even then they shied away from him as if he were the enemy. Most women instinctively understood that he was fundamentally broken and they should stay away. Leave it to Juniper Dunbar to ignore the danger signals as usual. He paused, regarding her. “Your boyfriend doesn’t beat you, does he?” What if she ignored danger signals with everyone? What if she had no instincts for self-preservation whatsoever?
“My fiancé, and he can’t even bring himself to swat flies. He’s a pacifist.”
John choked.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You have a problem with pacifists?”
“No, I’d kill an enemy combatant to protect and defend them, same as anybody else. The fact that they wouldn’t return the favor is on their conscience, not mine.”
“Oh, boy,” she muttered.
“What?” he asked when nothing else was forthcoming.
“You’re gearing up for an old fashioned Dunbar debate, but I lack the energy to partake,” she replied.
John grinned and realized it was true. The Dunbars were big into deliberation, taking different sides in order to sharpen points and play devil’s advocate. Once John acclimated to their family dynamic and realized they weren’t actually arguing or angry, he’d loved to partake.
“Let’s shelve it for later,” he said.
Juniper laughed and clasped his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I should have guessed your version of flirting would involve a healthy dispute.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he hadn’t been flirting, that he had never flirted with a woman in his life. Such behavior was frivolous and beneath him. But something held his tongue. The fact was Juniper was the person he’d known longer than anyone else in the world. If he couldn’t tease and have fun with her, then maybe there really was something inherently wrong with him. Plus it was Juniper . She had never been serious for longer than three seconds in her life. Even in the midst of a kidnapping she took delight in teasing him.
“You should see what I do when I’m in love,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze in return.
She laughed in delight, dimple popping impossibly deep. “I can hardly imagine. And guess what?” She swung their joined hands between them, smiling up at him with pure orneriness. Whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be filled with rottenness, he was sure.
“What?”
She stood on her toes and whispered in his ear. “Your accent’s back.”
“It is not,” he argued, but he heard it, the slow drawl that could only be born from years in the Alabama backwoods. “Oh, for the love,” he added, muttering. Now he’d have to work to get rid of it all over again before his men heard and began to circulate rumors that he was human, with a past and a people. And if they saw him with Juniper, they’d know for certain. She was his past; she was his people.
“Come on, you bothersome little kid.” He said it in the same tone he used to say it, half exasperation, half amusement, and tugged her toward the encroaching jungle. And all of a sudden he felt the same way, too, a calming sense of peace, of belonging and togetherness. He had spent six years of his life with Juniper Dunbar as his constant companion, able to find solitude only when she was asleep. Being back there again after so many years didn’t hurt his feelings, not even a little.
“ W here are your glasses?”
They were still hand in hand, which was sort of ridiculous, considering how much John had to use the machete with his other hand. It was likely the rebels had cleared a path recently, but the jungle was always quick to reclaim its lost territory, sometimes within hours. They could probably go slightly faster if he could use both hands. But Juniper seemed to need the reassurance of human contact. She was that sort, the touchy-feely kind. All the Dunbars were. As a kid, all the extraneous touch used to drive him crazy. Only Juniper had been allowed to hang on him without him shying away and physically withdrawing. Strange how much some things hadn’t changed. Despite the fourteen-year gap since the last time he saw her, and the fact she was no longer a child, he felt comfortable with her, physically and otherwise.
“You just now noticed they’re missing? I remember when you were observant,” she said.
“I remember when you weren’t impertinent,” he countered.
“No you don’t,” she returned.
“No I don’t,” he agreed. “So what happened?”
“They were lost in the tussle,” she said. She squinted a little, remembering the feel of the glasses or the feel of the struggle, he couldn’t be certain.
He stopped and took her chin between his thumb and finger, inspecting her again, anxious he might have missed something the first time. “What exactly happened?”
She swallowed hard and licked her split, now trembling lip. “Not too much. They weren’t happy with my response to one of their suggestions about what to do with me. They hit me a couple of times.”
“Is that the first time in your life you’ve ever been hit?” he asked.
She nodded, long, dewy lashes blinking slowly over inquisitive eyes as she peered up at him. “Please don’t tell me I’ll like it better the second time.”
He barked a harsh laugh. “No. But at least you’d be prepared for it.”
“There’s no preparation for that,” she said, fighting a grimace.
“It doesn’t matter because it will never happen again,” he vowed, tone solemn.
“I’d say you were being hyperbolic, but…” she motioned to the trail of carnage in their wake.
“I don’t do hyperbole, Juni.”
“Me neither,” she said and he laughed again. “What?” she demanded.
“You ooze hyperbole and drama.”
“I do not,” she disagreed, becoming well and truly angry now. He could tell by the way her dimple winked up at him, as if in warning.
“You have always been the most dramatic of the Dunbar children.”
For a second, hurt flashed in her eyes. “I was a child then. I’m not a child anymore, and I am not overly dramatic, nor prone to exaggeration. Do not confuse exuberance and passion with something else, merely because you’re lacking both.”
He didn’t reply, merely kept walking in ascetic silence. John rarely argued back. If other men—or women—wanted to waste their energy on such a fruitless pursuit, it was nothing to him, merely one more thing out of his control.
Juniper stalked along beside him a few minutes in silence. She yanked her hand free of his grasp and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop his grin. He could feel her anger building and he wasn’t certain which steamed more, the air around him or her fuming ire. Convinced she would burn herself out, he ignored her, a tactical mistake when she suddenly jumped on his back and tried to take him to the ground.
Not breaking stride, he kept walking, which enraged her further. She struggled harder. He pushed her hair out of his face and kept walking, fighting a chuckle. And then she bit him.
“Confound,” he yelped and, reaching behind with one hand, yanked her forward. Instinctively her arms and legs wrapped around him as he pressed her to a tree, scowling.
Caught off guard by the intimate new position, they blinked at each other, faces a centimeter apart. “Why do you always resort to biting?” he whispered.
“Why do you always resort to ignoring me?” she whispered in return.
“It’s impossible to ignore you,” he said.
“Because I bite?” she guessed.
“No.” Her hair was a tangle of curls gone wrong, nose and cheek smeared with dirt and blood, and he had never seen anything more lovely.
“When is the first time it happened to you?” she asked.
Her question made him realize he’d been staring at her lips. “What?”
“When is the first time someone hit you?” she asked.
“I can’t remember that far back.”
Her hand stroked gently on his face. “Your dad?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because it happened to you, because it hurt you.”
“It doesn’t do to dwell on the past, to linger on past hurts.”
“There’s a difference between dwelling and acknowledgement. Have you ever dealt with your childhood?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘dealt’.”
“Have you talked to anyone, a doctor?”
“No,” he choked.
“Because you think you’re too tough?”
“No, because I think I’ve already moved on.”
“Huh,” she said, her fingers still making a soothing trail around his face. The touch should annoy him. He was gritty with sweat and didn’t especially like to be touched but, like a feral cat that finds unexpected enjoyment in human companionship, he remained still, melting into her touch, tension draining out of him.
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked.
“Because I’m a soldier.”
“Lots of soldiers have girlfriends or wives. Some find time for both.”
“I’m not that kind of soldier. I’m the job, only ever the job. I have no connection to anyone anywhere.”
“I beg to differ,” she said, giving him a squeeze.
“I don’t want to be connected,” he said.
Now it was her turn to regard him in silence he found disconcerting. He’d expected argument. “No comment?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
She shook her head again. He lowered his brows in frustration he couldn’t begin to understand.
“Am I getting too heavy for you?” she asked.
“Juniper, I could hold you all day,” he replied. Her weight was nothing compared to some of the things or people he’d had to carry.
“Really,” she said in a tone that left him feeling even more baffled. Somehow he felt she’d gained the upper hand in their dynamic and he couldn’t put his finger on how. Nor why it made him feel so…squeamish. All he knew was that it was time to go. He should put her down so they could resume momentum and get everything back to where it should be.
“Hey, Bear,” she said softly.
“Hmm,” he said, a deer in headlights now, never knowing what else she might say or do that could make him feel even more off kilter.
She rested her head on his shoulder and gave him a tight squeeze. “I really missed you.”
He didn’t reply, but he found himself squeezing her tightly in return.