* * * *
Del
sprang to his feet
searching for the source of her alarm. When he found nothing he glanced down at
her, fearing something must have bitten her while she slept, but Willow was
looking through him as though he were a ghost, and it took a few moments to
realise
she’d awoken from a dream. He sent Jorge back to
his bedroll and sat down next to her, rubbing her arms to warm her until
gradually she became aware of her surroundings and shame seemed to replace her
fear. Pulling away, she refused to meet his eyes, instead staring determinedly
on the blanket beneath her. “I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?” Her
colour
was returning but she was still shaking.
“It was just a stupid dream.”
“Some dream.” His hand rubbed across his chest
uncertainly as he recalled the blood-curdling sound that had awoken him. “Does
it happen often?” he asked, when he
realised
she
wasn’t going to comment further.
“Often enough. Forget it, Del.” She lay back
down and turned away from him, obviously hoping he’d take the hint and drop the
subject.
Watching her hunched form, he was tempted to
roll her back to face him, make her talk to him about it, but they would soon
have to start walking again and they both needed the rest. He’d get to the
bottom of this later, he promised himself and stretched out on the blanket, keeping
his eye on Willow’s
back, watching her in the dull glow of the dying fire.
* * * *
They were up before light and pushing onwards. Willow didn’t speak. She
saved all her energy for placing one foot in front of the other. Del walked behind her,
lending a hand when it was needed, a steady reliable shadow. Just before midday,
they stopped on the edge of a small village and Jorge left them to walk into
the village and make sure all was well. Here they hoped to find someone to give
them a lift for part of the journey. So long as they stayed on the back roads, Del assured her, they
would be safe from the police and the men after them—but she filled in the
unspoken concern she saw in his distracted gaze, the increased risk of
guerrilla attacks in these areas.
Jorge came back with the good news that he’d obtained
transport, and Willow sighed, relieved her tired feet would be able to take a
well-deserved break.
Jorge had brought back a cloth bag with a fresh
supply of rations. As Del handed her the bag
and she discovered it contained Frankfurt meat
and bread, as well as fresh fruit, her stomach growled at the anticipation of
the feast ahead. She tore a piece of each for Del and handed it to him with a small laugh.
There were no plates, no cutlery, and definitely no manners, and yet it was the
single most enjoyable meal she’d experienced in her life.
They sat under the shade of a leafy tree and
ate in companionable silence as they gazed out over the lush green fields and
mountains around them. Sheep bleated in the fields below and the sounds of
small village life surrounded them. Willow
reached across to her pack and rummaged through it to bring out a camera. She
snapped off a few shots of the scenery below, a wistful smile on her face. “You
may think I’m crazy, but right here, right now…” She nodded her head to indicate
their surrounds. “…is the most perfect place on earth,” she said, bringing her
gaze up to meet Del’s.
“Of course, electricity does have its benefits.” She was beginning to become
quite desperate for a nice hot shower.
“I think you might be right,” he murmured.
“About the electricity?” she asked, resting her
camera on her leg as she took a bite of her bread.
“About this being the perfect place,” he said,
leaning back against the tree trunk, an arm draped lazily across one raised
knee as he watched her.
“Oh.” She concentrated on swallowing her
mouthful of food as she noticed the intense look on his face and felt the
heightened sense of attraction which seemed to hum beneath the surface of the
conversation. Maybe it had to do with altitude sickness, she thought, as she
stared at him and felt warmth begin to creep up her neck.
Del
lifted his hand and
brushed her hair from her face. He held her gaze with blue, probing eyes. “I
like you like this, Sheldon,” he said quietly.
Cocking her head, Willow blinked curiously. “Like what?”
“Like you suddenly
realise
you don’t have to take on the whole world single-handedly.”
“Is that how you see me normally?”
“No—normally you’re like a prickly damn
porcupine, you hardly ever let me close enough to see any further than that.”
His tone sounded light enough, but underneath, Willow thought she detected something close
to hurt feelings.
“I’m not like Summer.” Her tone was more than a
little defensive.
“I know that.” Del’s gaze held her own unflinchingly.
She looked away to stare at her hands as they
cradled her camera protectively. “I get the feeling all of you compare me to
her. I’m used to looking after myself. I don’t trust too easily.”
“People have to earn trust, no matter who they
are, but there comes a point where you have to decide for how much longer they
have to go on proving themselves before they earn that respect.”
Willow
sat back and
considered his remark. A shout from behind brought Del’s head up and he waved in return.
“Time to go, your chariot awaits.” He swept an
arm out in a gallant gesture towards a decrepit old cattle truck loaded with
several bleating sheep.
“It looks heavenly.”
Del
lifted the heavy packs
into the back of the truck then turned to help Willow before jumping in alongside of her.
They departed, seated rather comfortably on a large hay bale stacked on the
floor behind the driver’s cabin. The sheep stood to one side in a small,
indignant huddle, staring at them with baleful expressions. They were bounced
mercilessly around on the rough tracks that seemed to pass as roads in these
parts. Willow stored her camera away and settled
back beside Del.
For the moment she found a strange peace settle upon her that she hadn’t
experienced in a long time…it felt good.
Dark clouds rolled in overhead and she
exchanged a glance with Del,
but before she could speak the heavens opened up and rain bucketed down,
drenching them. Blinking the water from her eyes, Willow
turned a startled glance towards Del
who laughed at her bedraggled state. With a delighted giggle, she lifted her
face to the sky and let the rain wash the dirt from her skin and sweat from her
hair.
Del
sat
mesmerised
as he watched Willow light up with a glow he’d rarely seen
from her.
She was beautiful.
He watched the rain splash from her face,
rolling down her neck and plastering her shirt to her wet skin beneath. Without
realising
it, he reached out a hand and cupped her
upturned face gently. She turned towards him and smiled and he felt his heart,
literally stop beating inside his chest. Swallowing became painful as he stared
at her, and he dropped his hand. “Holy mother of God,” he whispered beneath his
breath as it hit him like a shovel to the face.
He was in love with Willow Sheldon.
He saw a fleeting moment of uncertainty pass
across her face as she stared at him and wondered if she could read what he was
feeling in his eyes. The truck hit a large pothole, banging their heads
painfully against the back of the cabin. The moment was gone as swiftly as it
had appeared, leaving him shaking in its wake.
“Are you all right?” Willow had to yell over the noise of the
truck and storm, eyeing him with concern.
“Fine!” he yelled back, snatching his gaze from
hers and resting his arms across his bent knees.
I’ve just lost my mind that’s all
, he thought weakly.
Nothing serious
.
* * * *
The truck bounced along for the rest of the
day, the rain eventually stopped, and their clothes dried out to a “just damp”
state by nightfall. They
refuelled
at a small town
and Willow took
the opportunity to change her clothing. Walking back to the truck, she saw Del had too—or rather
was—
in the process of changing. He was
standing, bare chest, brown and muscular, shaking out a clean shirt, when she
rounded the corner.
Her eyes widened as she stared at his wide
chest, liberally scared with old wounds and lightly dusted with hair. His abs
rippled as he moved and she felt a deep pulling, almost painful in its
intensity, deep within her. The muscles in his arms stood out, tensed—looking
rock-hard, as he pulled on his shirt over his head. She dragged her gaze away
with remarkable effort, and climbed back into the truck.
“Sweet heaven
,
” she muttered, beneath her breath, as she sat down and tried to
get her respiratory system functioning again. What was happening to her? She’d
seen men in less clothing than that before—she’d worked with models and barely
blinked an eye at their lean, toned bodies. So why would she act like some
silly schoolgirl, who’d never seen a man’s body before? She risked a glance at Del’s face as he climbed
on board and was surprised to see him look away uncomfortably. What was his
problem? She was the one caught ogling him.
I
f anyone should feel uncomfortable it should be
me.
Jorge came around the back of the truck and
handed them a canvas sheet, which she presumed was intended for them to use as
some kind of protection, before cheerfully leaving to climb into the cabin of
the truck alongside the driver. Willow’s
mind drifted to thoughts of bugs, which would inevitably be attracted to the
lights, and shuddered. She helped Del
unwrap the thick, stiff, fabric and draped it around her shoulders, holding a
corner open for him to climb in beside her.
The truck bumped along slower, due to the dark
road and bad lights. Travelling at night was generally frowned upon due to the
greater risk of guerrilla activity, which tended to occur in the region at that
time, but so far they’d come across nothing more sinister than the burnt-out
remains of a house and an old rusted car. Jorge had assured Del that the rebel activity in this area had
been minimal lately, the more remote areas having little worthy of taking for
the guerrillas to bother with.
With the constant sway of the truck, Willow soon felt herself dozing and leaned against Del’s shoulder with a
sigh, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep inside their
cosy
, makeshift cave where it was warm and dry.
She awoke with a start and stiffened when a
hand covered her mouth. Her eyes widened in alarm but her scream was cut off as
Del’s face
came up close to hers and his eyes flashed a warning to trust him. Her body
stiffened in confusion until she heard the low murmur of conversation nearby.
With her head buried in Del’s shoulder, Willow fought down rising
panic as she tried to work out what was happening. Slowly Del nudged her over and pushed her down
behind the bales of hay, dragging the canvas over them quietly.
The voices were speaking in a rough Spanish
dialect, but it was too fast for her to be able to understand. A slight tremor
ran through her body as she
realised
it must be some
kind of roadblock they were trying to cross. Loud steps crunched on the road as
the unknown persons slowly walked around the truck. It jarred as someone
climbed up the side and she heard the sheep bleat in protest and the sound of
something prodding against the hay bales. Holding her breath, she waited for a
sharp stab as it poked through the canvas, but when nothing happened, she cautiously
released her breath.
A rough voice called out “nada,” much too close
for comfort, and the man jumped off the side of the truck, his footsteps fading
as he headed back towards the front of the vehicle. The engine started and the
truck revved loudly as it moved off in a neck-jarring lurch. Beneath the cover,
Del stilled Willow’s hand as she went to remove the canvas.
A couple of minutes later he pulled it back and the sweet smell of fresh air
filled her lungs. She took several long breaths. She reeked of wet sheep and
smelly canvas, but collapsed back on the hay bales in relief as the truck
continued its bumpy ride along the dark mountain track.
“I wish I’d had my camera out, a photo of a
real live guerrilla would make for a fantastic story,” she mused.
“Don’t even joke about it,” Del warned tightly, “That was a close call.”
Chapter 9
The truck stopped a little before eleven the
next morning. The landscape had thickened into heavy jungle and looked more
than a tad daunting. The border between Panama
and Colombia
had been listed as a hot spot and was heavily populated by guerrilla forces.
The drug cartels used the jungle between the two countries as a channel for
drug smuggling—one of the many ways they exported drugs from Colombia.
If wandering through the more seedy parts of
Bogotá at night was a definite no
no
from a travel
book point of view, then crossing the Darien
gap had to be suicidal.