Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

But I’d call it a calculated risk. Though, I’ll admit I don’t usually take chances like this.” She wasn’t sure if she meant chasing the story, pushing her luck with the storm or trusting him.

He rubbed his hand twice across his eyes, then dropped it.

She reached for her hairbrush from among the second pile of items she’d pulled from her purse. This larger pile of items her companion – Paulo–apparently didn’t think would aid them. Maybe a hairbrush wouldn’t help them survive, but it sure made her feel more human as she pulled it through her dripping hair.

“I can’t shake this story. There’s something about this Taumaturgio. A man who comes out of nowhere to help the children. No one knows when he’s coming. No one knows who he is . . . Not that I’m starry-eyed about an unknown hero the way my cameraman kept saying. A breakthrough story could move me up a notch on the ladder. That would be another step toward financial security. Not having to ever rely on–” She bit off the words and set the brush down. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, since you don’t understand what I’m saying.”

As she said the words, she knew that was precisely why she was telling him.

A second reason for talking scratched along her nerves as the wind cried louder and something above them creaked a protest. One of her profs had drummed into her that a reporter who was talking wasn’t listening. For the first time, she realized breaking that rule had at least one potential benefit. Blocking out what she didn’t want to hear.

“Anyway,” she went on, talking louder, “Taumaturgio’s the perfect breakthrough story. Sexy, daring, PC, mysterious. I could get great play–fantastic play–if I could find Taumaturgio.”

Paulo watched her with concentrated interest.

“What is it? What did I say?”

He blinked, and his expression shifted to mild confusion. Maybe it had been a trick of the firelight.

He rubbed his eyes again.

“Taumaturgio? Do you know Taumaturgio?”

His strong-boned face stayed blank. He shrugged.

The movement reminded her of the power in his broad shoulders when he’d pushed her out of the way of the falling urn. She should remember that and keep her guard up. But it was hard when he’d helped her, she wore his clothes, they might share a fate–

A crash shuddered in the distance, adding eerie emphasis to that thought.

They had both instinctively looked in the direction of the noise. As she turned back, she met his eyes. Slashes of dark brows and those strong bones gave his face a strength softened only by the long, dark lashes framing his deep-set eyes.

“I trust you.” The wind’s moaning nearly drowned her words. She tried to laugh. It came out rusty. “Lord, I sound like my mother. And I haven’t done that often.”

A guttural groan of wind-tortured wood came from above them. She jerked her head back and stared up. But beyond the sphere of their tiny fire stretched a void. A swirling, damp, dark void spattered with moans instead of stars.

Was it night? She didn’t know. She checked her wrist. Her watch had stopped at 4:38–minutes after leaving Senora Valeria’s.

She masked a shiver by shifting position on the cardboard-covered mattress.

“Mother,” he said, condensing the “th” into a harder sound.

Kendra wasn’t sure if he meant to remind her of what she’d been saying or was trying to make sense of the word. “Mother. Madre.” she translated.

“Ah, si. Madre.” His pronunciation gave it a twist she couldn’t describe, but she recognized the word. He smiled. He had straight, white teeth, unlike so many islanders. He also had a smile that shifted sharp planes into lines of warm pleasure.

“Yes. Mi madre.” She sighed. “She would have loved you–she loved most men. Looked up at them with her big blue eyes and trusted every man she met after my father died to take care of her the way he had. And man after man took advantage of her, while she thought she could hide behind their broad shoulders.”

Broad shoulders . . . She had hidden behind broad shoulders. His. From a hurricane she’d walked right into.

Aretha. The banshee clawing at their shelter with breath and voice. This time Kendra didn’t hide her shiver.

She pushed herself to keep talking, so she wouldn’t listen.

“But these are unusual circumstances.”

His dark eyes held so much intelligence that for a moment she wished he could understand her. Only then she wouldn’t have told him any of this.

She extended her hand. “Friends?”

His gaze slowly shifted to her hand. He repeated her word, then said another resembling amigo.

“Amigos.” She nodded. “Friends.”

He stretched his arm across the space between them and put his palm to hers for an instant before curling his long fingers around her hand. She hadn’t known how cold her hand was until the warmth of his surrounded it. A hand to hold on to while the dark world screamed around them.

She shook his hand more emphatically than she’d intended, while trying not to feel too grateful for the warmth. When she tried to withdraw her hand, he held on. Not tight, but securely. She glanced up as she again exerted a slight pressure to withdraw her hand. They were still looking at each other and he was still holding her hand when the roof fell in.

*

He used his hold on her hand to jerk her toward him, and underneath him. Crammed into the corner of the two interior walls, his body sheltered her. She knew she screamed. His shoulder muffled the sound. The impact of debris pounding against his back transferred to her, echoing in her bones.

Waiting for the final, crushing blow.

Would they die?

She might have passed out. Time slid sideways into uncertain territory. When time righted itself, she became aware of a difference. A change.

Silence.

Silence.

No moaning wind. No howling rain. No screaming storm.

But also no movement from Paulo.

Oh, God. Please. Oh, God.

She worked one hand free from between their bodies, but couldn’t get her fingers to where she thought there would be a pulse. She shifted more strongly, spreading