heat. No wonder she scared the hell out of him. Granted, every woman scared the hell out of him, but in Kee Smith he’d unearthed that finest of treasures, the essence. The true definition. The ideal upon which all of the other women were based.
And when she finished her run, she approached them through the shadows of the tent, ultimately stopping out of Dilya’s sight. He watched her watch him and Dilya playing. What did she see when she looked at him? Gangly Archibald Stevenson III.
And now she stood unmoving in the shadows, staring at him. Glaring at him perhaps? Wasn’t he supposed to enjoy his time with Dilya? He’d certainly been terrified enough when Dilya fell ill. Had he somehow handled it wrong in Kee’s eyes?
Did she think him less of a man for playing with a child? Would it help to know that halfway through her run he had gone to the Rangers’ commander and informed him that if his men ever again harassed one of Beale’s crew, they’d never set foot on a 5th Battalion SOAR bird again? Would she think him less or more of a man if she knew that all he had thought of since the first moment they’d met was one Sergeant Kee Smith? And not just her amazing physique.
Even if she wouldn’t admit it, he knew better. He didn’t know how, but he would place a long-odds wager on the first horse race at Saratoga Springs that there were greater depths to Kee Smith than the average male perceived. More than her amazing body and her right-left punch of attitude. Perhaps more than she knew herself.
Dilya looked up to see where his attention had strayed. Her sharp eyes picked Kee out of the shadow. She left the string hanging between his hands, halfway between two figures, grabbed up the stuffed cat he’d given her, and sprinted across the burning sand toward Kee.
The string game they had been playing for almost an hour now hung lifeless and snarled about his fingers.
The girl launched herself at Kee, who caught her in a fierce hug.
And as Kee spun Dilya about until her feet lifted from the ground, she moved from shadow to sunlight. And in the direct light he could see a look on Kee’s face, not of joy, though that was present, but of sadness. Almost terror. She was holding the girl so tight, he half feared Kee would hurt her. Then Kee plopped her down and, with a friendly slap on her butt, sent the girl scooting off for the chow line.
Archie watched himself, with more than a little surprise, rise to his feet and move to stand beside Kee. They both looked into the tent’s shadows where the little girl dodged around Big John’s bulk to grab a sandwich.
“She loves you.”
Kee jumped as if he’d electrocuted her. Why did he never do anything right?
Kee looked up at him, her eyes wide. The terror back tenfold in those deep, dark eyes. A terror so deep he could imagine no method powerful enough to wash it away.
Kee’s voice was a whisper. “You’re good with her. You’re a good man, Professor.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. It was an assessment that few had offered outside his sister and Major Emily Beale.
“Thank you for Dilya’s sake.” She hooked a finger in the collar of his T-shirt and pulled him down.
“This,” she kissed one cheek, “is for your kindness. This,” she kissed the other, “is for saving me when I blanked at that awful refugee camp.” And “This,” she kissed him softly on the lips.
This.
Archie had never tasted anything like Kee Smith’s kiss. She was the scent of a dusky sunset and the taste of abandon. He didn’t know what to do. As all the devils and gods were his witnesses, he didn’t know. He stood riveted in place by the lips of a woman who barely stood to his shoulder.
When she moved back, just an inch, he almost stumbled forward onto her. Her almond eyes were wide, as wide as they had been moments before, but there was no terror.
No. If he had to define that particular expression, he’d be forced to identify it as wonder. And then, impossibly,
And when she finished her run, she approached them through the shadows of the tent, ultimately stopping out of Dilya’s sight. He watched her watch him and Dilya playing. What did she see when she looked at him? Gangly Archibald Stevenson III.
And now she stood unmoving in the shadows, staring at him. Glaring at him perhaps? Wasn’t he supposed to enjoy his time with Dilya? He’d certainly been terrified enough when Dilya fell ill. Had he somehow handled it wrong in Kee’s eyes?
Did she think him less of a man for playing with a child? Would it help to know that halfway through her run he had gone to the Rangers’ commander and informed him that if his men ever again harassed one of Beale’s crew, they’d never set foot on a 5th Battalion SOAR bird again? Would she think him less or more of a man if she knew that all he had thought of since the first moment they’d met was one Sergeant Kee Smith? And not just her amazing physique.
Even if she wouldn’t admit it, he knew better. He didn’t know how, but he would place a long-odds wager on the first horse race at Saratoga Springs that there were greater depths to Kee Smith than the average male perceived. More than her amazing body and her right-left punch of attitude. Perhaps more than she knew herself.
Dilya looked up to see where his attention had strayed. Her sharp eyes picked Kee out of the shadow. She left the string hanging between his hands, halfway between two figures, grabbed up the stuffed cat he’d given her, and sprinted across the burning sand toward Kee.
The string game they had been playing for almost an hour now hung lifeless and snarled about his fingers.
The girl launched herself at Kee, who caught her in a fierce hug.
And as Kee spun Dilya about until her feet lifted from the ground, she moved from shadow to sunlight. And in the direct light he could see a look on Kee’s face, not of joy, though that was present, but of sadness. Almost terror. She was holding the girl so tight, he half feared Kee would hurt her. Then Kee plopped her down and, with a friendly slap on her butt, sent the girl scooting off for the chow line.
Archie watched himself, with more than a little surprise, rise to his feet and move to stand beside Kee. They both looked into the tent’s shadows where the little girl dodged around Big John’s bulk to grab a sandwich.
“She loves you.”
Kee jumped as if he’d electrocuted her. Why did he never do anything right?
Kee looked up at him, her eyes wide. The terror back tenfold in those deep, dark eyes. A terror so deep he could imagine no method powerful enough to wash it away.
Kee’s voice was a whisper. “You’re good with her. You’re a good man, Professor.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. It was an assessment that few had offered outside his sister and Major Emily Beale.
“Thank you for Dilya’s sake.” She hooked a finger in the collar of his T-shirt and pulled him down.
“This,” she kissed one cheek, “is for your kindness. This,” she kissed the other, “is for saving me when I blanked at that awful refugee camp.” And “This,” she kissed him softly on the lips.
This.
Archie had never tasted anything like Kee Smith’s kiss. She was the scent of a dusky sunset and the taste of abandon. He didn’t know what to do. As all the devils and gods were his witnesses, he didn’t know. He stood riveted in place by the lips of a woman who barely stood to his shoulder.
When she moved back, just an inch, he almost stumbled forward onto her. Her almond eyes were wide, as wide as they had been moments before, but there was no terror.
No. If he had to define that particular expression, he’d be forced to identify it as wonder. And then, impossibly,
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