in Sutton’s arm. “Wanna go back?”
“You’re a comedian.” Sutton winced at the press of an antiseptic wipe.
“Not really,” Bubbles said.
“Then why the hell do they call you Bubbles?”
Jose tossed smaller branches and leaves along the tarp to add to the camo effect. “Ever heard of irony?”
Needing to put space between herself and Jose, Stella pushed to her feet and gathered Sutton’s gear Bubbles had haphazardly tossed aside during treatment. She folded his shirt sleeve that had been cut away to expose the torn flesh—a by-product of flying debris from the land mine explosion. Sure, the fabric was nothing more than a rag now, but nothing could be wasted, not as long as they were on the run. She hefted up Sutton’s backpack.
“Uhm, hello again?” Sutton started to lean forward only to stop short when Jose held him in place for stitching. “That’s mine.”
“Sorry, buddy, but we need to pool supplies.” She unzipped the bag—and found a pile of artifacts inside.
Had he been gathering tools as she had? She eyed a pottery shard, a hammered steel amulet. And a folded cotton kanga cloth, with the traditional script along the border. She smoothed her hand along the finely woven fabric, rubbing it like a talisman, as if she could somehow absorb whatever inspirational message had been traditionally included.
“Hey,” Sutton called out. “Can I have my bag?”
Jose looked up sharply. “Keep your voice down. Evading isn’t evading if you forget to whisper.”
Suspicions nipped at Stella as she thought of the student’s stash and his quick assessment of her earlier as a possible spy. Her fingers gripped the fabric for a final second before she set aside the backpack. She needed to help Jose set up camp so she could eat and sleep. Store strength in case their time waiting out in the wilds lasted longer than a few hours.
And as she stared at Jose, she couldn’t escape the notion they were both running away from the massive emotional fallout simmering just beneath the surface. That could be deadly for both of them, especially when they couldn’t be certain how long they would be stuck out here together. She would have to find time to talk to him tonight, later when the others were asleep, and clear the air once and for all.
***
Back pressed to the tree trunk, Jose sat watch while the others slept. He monitored his charges for the millionth time.
The student was curled up under the lean-to clutching his backpack. Bubbles dozed sitting up against the other side of the tree. No doubt, he could be fully awake, weapon drawn in a millisecond.
And Stella.
She curled at the front of the shelter, unofficially adding a layer of protection for the student. Once Sutton had drifted off, she’d slipped the rectangular kanga cloth out from under her shirt—the same embroidered cloth she’d found in the student’s pack earlier. She shook it out over herself, adding another layer of camo to her creamy skin. Her red ponytail splashed over her face, hairs lifting with each exhale.
Yeah, he’d volunteered to take the first shift.
He couldn’t have even catnapped anyway. His body was too hepped up from touching Stella again. The unplanned hug was one thing. But that moment when he’d stretched over her, protecting her even though it was clear she could protect herself… The texture of her hair over his hands and her familiar curves stirred him all over again.
Shit.
He rested his submachine gun on his knee, eyes scanning the landscape of trees and shadows. Night sounds echoed around them, birds and insects. An occasional growl of something wilder.
His gaze slid back to Stella—and he found her staring at him. Her green eyes glinted in the dark like a magnificent cat. He’d protected her as best he could today. Now he had one last role to fill, being certain, absolutely certain, she wasn’t hiding anything from him about her capture, hiding an injury, toughing things out rather than asking for
“You’re a comedian.” Sutton winced at the press of an antiseptic wipe.
“Not really,” Bubbles said.
“Then why the hell do they call you Bubbles?”
Jose tossed smaller branches and leaves along the tarp to add to the camo effect. “Ever heard of irony?”
Needing to put space between herself and Jose, Stella pushed to her feet and gathered Sutton’s gear Bubbles had haphazardly tossed aside during treatment. She folded his shirt sleeve that had been cut away to expose the torn flesh—a by-product of flying debris from the land mine explosion. Sure, the fabric was nothing more than a rag now, but nothing could be wasted, not as long as they were on the run. She hefted up Sutton’s backpack.
“Uhm, hello again?” Sutton started to lean forward only to stop short when Jose held him in place for stitching. “That’s mine.”
“Sorry, buddy, but we need to pool supplies.” She unzipped the bag—and found a pile of artifacts inside.
Had he been gathering tools as she had? She eyed a pottery shard, a hammered steel amulet. And a folded cotton kanga cloth, with the traditional script along the border. She smoothed her hand along the finely woven fabric, rubbing it like a talisman, as if she could somehow absorb whatever inspirational message had been traditionally included.
“Hey,” Sutton called out. “Can I have my bag?”
Jose looked up sharply. “Keep your voice down. Evading isn’t evading if you forget to whisper.”
Suspicions nipped at Stella as she thought of the student’s stash and his quick assessment of her earlier as a possible spy. Her fingers gripped the fabric for a final second before she set aside the backpack. She needed to help Jose set up camp so she could eat and sleep. Store strength in case their time waiting out in the wilds lasted longer than a few hours.
And as she stared at Jose, she couldn’t escape the notion they were both running away from the massive emotional fallout simmering just beneath the surface. That could be deadly for both of them, especially when they couldn’t be certain how long they would be stuck out here together. She would have to find time to talk to him tonight, later when the others were asleep, and clear the air once and for all.
***
Back pressed to the tree trunk, Jose sat watch while the others slept. He monitored his charges for the millionth time.
The student was curled up under the lean-to clutching his backpack. Bubbles dozed sitting up against the other side of the tree. No doubt, he could be fully awake, weapon drawn in a millisecond.
And Stella.
She curled at the front of the shelter, unofficially adding a layer of protection for the student. Once Sutton had drifted off, she’d slipped the rectangular kanga cloth out from under her shirt—the same embroidered cloth she’d found in the student’s pack earlier. She shook it out over herself, adding another layer of camo to her creamy skin. Her red ponytail splashed over her face, hairs lifting with each exhale.
Yeah, he’d volunteered to take the first shift.
He couldn’t have even catnapped anyway. His body was too hepped up from touching Stella again. The unplanned hug was one thing. But that moment when he’d stretched over her, protecting her even though it was clear she could protect herself… The texture of her hair over his hands and her familiar curves stirred him all over again.
Shit.
He rested his submachine gun on his knee, eyes scanning the landscape of trees and shadows. Night sounds echoed around them, birds and insects. An occasional growl of something wilder.
His gaze slid back to Stella—and he found her staring at him. Her green eyes glinted in the dark like a magnificent cat. He’d protected her as best he could today. Now he had one last role to fill, being certain, absolutely certain, she wasn’t hiding anything from him about her capture, hiding an injury, toughing things out rather than asking for
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