"Then why are you being so distant?" She held up a hand. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
"No. You have a right to ask." They were married, for God's sake. "I've never been good with showing—"
"Feelings? I remember." Sweat trickled into her T-shirt, likely trekking right between her breasts. "I guess I fell into an old pattern there that led us to too many arguments in the past."
"I am sorry." He pulled his eyes off the path of perspiration beads chasing each other into her clothes. "But I can't afford to think about anything except getting us out of here alive."
"Of course."
"I wish I could say I'll be more what you're looking for afterward. You were wise not to marry me."
"But I did."
Eyes forward. Watch the landscape ahead and keep marching, dude, because he wanted a taste of Sara's skin more than he wanted a shower and a real meal. "Let me rephrase. You were right to turn me down when I asked, because I definitely wasn't the right sort of man for you."
Chapter 6
Sara held her spine as straight as the towering trees lining their path—in spite of the thousand-pound backpack and weighty pain of hearing Lucas say he regretted marrying her.
It shouldn't hurt. She'd turned him down three times, after all. But it did, because she'd only told him no in hopes that he would listen and change. Then they could have everything.
She could still recite every word of each proposal. The first, he'd worked into an offhand discussion after they had sex for the first time. The second panted into her ear during sex.
The final proposal came in an ultimatum during their fight on the embassy lawn the day she'd been shot.
She hadn't even realized how foolish she'd been until it was too late. Regret stole her breath faster than the exertion.
She slowed to a stop, slumping against a trunk as big around as the pillars she'd once lured Lucas behind to steal a kiss. "You feel used, of course."
"We did the practical thing at the time." He stopped, as well, without comment, confirming she must really look tired for him not to press on when their lives depended on speed. "I understood that then and now."
At least Lucia was still napping peacefully on his back.
"I was never much of a practical woman, with my silly bubbles and supply-closet ambushes for a quick make-out session."
"You used to drive me crazy." He swayed from foot to foot in a rocking motion guaranteed to soothe Lucia into sleeping longer.>First, he had to find Sarafina and Lucia.
That old book was right about the whole "best of times, worst of times" dichotomy.
Lucas hitched the wriggling kid higher on his back and tried not to think too much about their "family" conversation earlier. He'd officially taken on the role as the father of the restless human backpack currently drooling through the shoulder of his flight suit.
Like a little more moisture even mattered after the morning of tropical rain showers.
The makeshift kiddie carrier from his survival vest helped distribute her weight better and when she slept, he didn't have to worry about her sliding off. Blisters on his shoulders from the vines were a small price to pay for keeping the kid happy.
Once he'd let Sara tell Lucia he was her father, that was it. No going back, because there wasn't a chance in hell he would damage a child's trust that way. There was also the possibility Sara was telling the truth.
Stop thinking, damn it.
A fat striped snake slithered under a rotting log and into the stream alongside them. He needed to focus on getting out of the jungle alive. They still had at least one more night in the elements before they reached the CIA safe house. Once they were in the States, he could deal with the rest.
On the positive side, the gunfire had stopped. But that could also be bad news if Chavez was now free to roam.
One hurdle at a time. They had to get through today first and by the looks of Sara, he could be carrying her before much longer.
She'd refused to let him cart her backpack as well as Lucia because of his arm. While she was on a bushes break, he'd taken the water bottles out of her sack and shoved them inside his vest. When she'd confronted him, he'd dared her to fish inside his soaking wet clothes to get them back. Her smile would have made him grin, too—if the curve of her mouth hadn't been so weak.
Maybe he could set Lucia down to skip along for a while and carry the backpack. The kid could use some exercise and he would put his arm around Sara's waist, her pride be damned.