Part 9 (1/2)
There was something insinuating in the low rumble of his voice. ”Plenty,” she said. ”Things you probably can't imagine.”
”You don't know my imagination.”
Yes, there was a definite purr in his speech, reminiscent of a large jungle cat playing harmless with potential prey. This was not a side of him she'd seen earlier, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. The open hostility and barely veiled derision had almost been easier to blow off.
And somehow he'd managed to work his way around the fire to her side of it. Mac made the additional discovery that Fernando had disappeared.
”So,” he said with a mock-lazy grin, ”do the women ofa what was it?a 1997 aspire to be men entirely? A pity. What made them abandon the role nature intended for them?”
”And what role is that, pray tell?”
His gaze drifted to her chest as it had a couple of times earlier that day. ”It depends on the woman. For one like you, Maca” The look he gave her made further speech unnecessary.
Good grief. Realization struck her like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Was hea Was Liam O'Shea actually making a pa.s.s at her?
”Don't tell me,” she said coolly, ”that you're scared of the idea of women with power, independence, and intelligence who can take care of themselves?”
Ah. She'd got to him, just a little. His shoulders stiffened. ”I've never seen such a creature yet. What frightens me, Mac, is that all women of the future might be like you.”
”And that is?”
”Where should I begin? Perhaps with your distinct lack of feminine charms or delicacy? Or your crude habits of speecha”is it the usual practice where you're from to teach young ladies such language?”
”You haven't heard the half of it.”
”And your appearance.” He gave her another onceover. ”Cropped hair. Trousers. A man's s.h.i.+rta””
”Come to think of it,” she said, ”I do remember that men of your time preferred women confined in layers of heavy clothing and figure-shaping devices that twisted their bodies and made it impossible for them to move. Wouldn't want them to get above themselves, now would we?”
”You should be writing tracts. Do you dislike men because you haven't had any success with them?”
Mac thought longingly of tossing a few hot coals into his lap. ”I don't dislike men. But I can tell you right now that a pair of broad shoulders and a smart mouth don't cut it where I come from. It takes a little more to interest a modern woman.”
”And it takes more than a brazen hussy to interest a man. I see we understand each other.”
Fat chance of that. But she was spared the necessity of replying by Fernando's return to the fireside. She was grateful for the reprieve; Liam was certainly a product of his time. She'd guessed the first time she saw the photograph what kind of man he'd be: the quintessential nineteenth-century male who'd probably never had his ideas challenged by any woman.
She stood, stretched, switched on the flashlight, and strode for the tent. Mud sucked at her boots, making each footstep awkward and reminding her how desperate she was for a good shower. Preferably a cold one.
”You can have the cartaret,” Liam called.
Whatever that wasa”probably some kind of cot. d.a.m.ned if she'd take any more favors from him, muddy ground or not.
The tent was st.u.r.dy and of good quality, though there were many little indications that it wasn't of the modern type. A small portable desk, folding chair, empty crates, and a stack of supplies took up one corner, a hinged cot with a tent of mosquito netting most of the opposite side. There might be enough room for Mac to stretch out on the ground between, but she wasn't about to risk it.
After a quick look around she found a sheet of canvas folded over the supplies; at least that would keep the wet from her clothes. And she still had the mosquito netting from Liam's bag, somewhat the worse for wear. One of those palmetto huts would provide shelter from the rain. She'd seen modern Maya use them in the jungle.
Her stomach gave a mighty protest. All righta”she'd have to throw herself on Liam's hospitality at least as far as a good meal went; she'd need her strength from now on. d.a.m.n, what she wouldn't give for a Dr Pepper right now. It might be some time before she could indulge that minor addiction.
Tossing the canvas and netting under the nearer of the shelters, she sauntered back toward the fire, where Fernando was already dis.h.i.+ng out tin plates of steaming beans mixed with shredded meat. Hand-shaped tortillas were stacked on a flat stone set beside the fire.
”Eat,” Liam commanded, pus.h.i.+ng a plate into her hands. ”I won't have you swooning for lack of nourishment.”
Mac was too hungry to resent his patronizing tone. The food was wonderful; her hunger was no gourmet. Even the mystery meat was tender and delicious.
”What is this?” she asked. ”The meat, I mean.”
”Tepeizcuintes,” Liam said. ”Also known as agouti.”
Mac felt the lump of food stick in her throat. Agoutis were short-eared, long-legged rodents; she'd seen them in nature shows. No worse than rabbit, she thought. She smiled at Fernando and held out her plate. ”Gracias. More?”
When she had finished the second helping she searched for some means of was.h.i.+ng her plate.
”Fernando will take care of it,” Liam said. Just as he spoke, large drops of rain began to fall, sizzling in the fire. All too quickly the drops became a downpour. Fernando gathered up the cooking supplies and excess food; Liam got to his feet without haste. ”If you want to sleep dry, I suggest you get to shelter.”
A little too late for that. Mac slung water from her bangs and considered the dubious haven of the open palmetto-frond huts. Maybe they'd keep most of the rain out, anyway. She trudged through a growing soup of mud and poked her head under the makes.h.i.+ft roof. A small tree served as one part of the support, a st.u.r.dy stripped sapling pole another. The ground was unmistakably damp.
Mac sighed and toed the canvas sheeting. Her backpack would make a hard pillowa ”Take this.”
She turned at Liam's voice. He held a bulky bundle of fabric and netting in his arms and was already walking past her, bending low to keep from b.u.mping his head on the roof. ”One of the men who deserted left his hammock.”
She watched as he strung the hammock between the pole and the tree. It looked more like a torture device than something to sleep in, but it would get her off the ground.
”Thanks,” she said. ”Ia appreciate it.”
”Fernando will be in the other champas, should you need anything.” he said. ”Unless, of course, you'll join me in the tenta””
”This will be fine.”
He shrugged and strode from the champas into the tent. Fernando was nowhere in sight. Only the stolid mule kept her company, head down and inured to the rain.
Soaked to the skin and hot enough to create her own steam, Mac retreated deeper into the champas. For a while she simply stood and stared out at the torrent, struggling to blank her mind. Gradually the rain subsided and stopped, leaving in its wake a syncopated rhythm of runoff from the jungle canopy above. The dusk wildlife chorus had dwindled to the occasional screech or hoot or unidentifiable cry. The world was plunged into a humid, vibrating darkness.
Mac poked her head out of the shelter and saw Liam's tent lit from within like a paper lantern. His silhouette was visible, a shadow-shape rising from the desk against the tent wall. Even as she watched he shrugged out of his s.h.i.+rt, muscular arms flexing, and tossed it aside. His body was formed like a sculpture, its clean lines sharply delineated in profile. His hands moved to his waist, fingers working at b.u.t.tons.
She turned her back with a soft curse. She had absolutely no interest in watching his unsuspecting striptease. There wasn't any question of changing her own damp, none-too-fragrant clothing; she had no spares, and hadn't thought to ask Liam for any. Not that she'd have wanted to set herself up for his inevitable comments.
There was nothing else to do but try to sleep. Mac spent the next ten minutes making sense of the hammock and getting into it. Twice it nearly dumped hera”undoubtedly in league with Liam O'Shea. In the end she defeated it, worked herself and her backpack into a semblance of stability, and closed the mosquito netting as best she could, flashlight in hand.
Something rustled in the palmetto fronds above the hammock. She aimed the beam at the source of the noise; a large white c.o.c.kroachlike bug with long feelers froze in the light. Mac shut off the flashlight and scrunched deep into the hammock.