Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior by Lindsay McKenna Page B

to lie on her back observing him.
    Roan’s smile broadened boyishly, then faded. “I used to. I lost the ability to find much to laugh about two years ago.”
    Placing one arm behind her head, she gazed up at the soft, grayish-yellow clouds that hung silently above them, barely touching the canopy of the rain forest. “Why did you stop laughing two years ago?”
    Roan lost his smile completely. He felt the tenuous intimacy strung between them, and realized he was starving for such intimacy. He’d had it once before and he missed it so very much. Now it was a gift growing between himself and Inca, and Roan was humbled by it.
    “Two years ago, my wife, Sarah, died in a climbingaccident.” Roan felt old pain moving through his chest. He pulled his knees upward and wrapped his arms around them. He looked out at the silently flowing Amazon that stretched endlessly in front of him.
    “You’d have liked Sarah,” he told Inca in a low, intimate tone. “She had red hair, cut short. She was an artist who drew the most incredible flowers and landscapes. She was a hellion. She knew no boundaries except the ones she wanted to create for herself. She was a world-class mountain climber. And she laughed at danger….” Roan closed his eyes. Why was he telling Inca all of this? It had sat in his heart like an undigested stone, rubbing and grinding on almost a daily basis. Yet, by him speaking to Inca, it was as if that stone was finally dissolving away and not hurting him as much.
    “She was a warrior woman.”
    Nodding, Roan answered, “Yes. In all ways. She was a part of nature. More animal than human at times.” He smiled fondly in remembrance. “We lived in a small cabin up in the Rocky Mountains in Montana. Hurt birds and animals would show up on our porch, and Sarah would care for them, feed them, tend their injuries, and when they were well enough, she’d free them. She’d always cry….” He shook his head and smiled gently. “Sarah was so attuned to nature, to life, to her own heart. One moment she’d be laughing and rolling on the floor with me, and the next, she’d read a newspaper or magazine and begin to cry over something sad she’d read.”
    Inca digested his hoarsely spoken words. She realized he was allowing her entrance into the deepest part of his heart. She had no experience with such things, but she sensed that she needed to be careful. Just as she offeredcomfort when she held a sick baby in her arms for healing, Roan needed that comfort from her right now. Pushing her fingers through her hair, Inca whispered, “How did she die?”
    “On the Fourth of July, a holiday in our country. She was climbing a tough mountain made of granite to get ready for her big climb on El Capitan a week after that. She had friends that climbed that mountain every year. But this time Sarah was alone. I knew where she was, and what time she was to come home….” Roan felt his gut knotting. “I was out back of the cabin, fixing my truck, when I felt her fall. I could hear her scream in my head…and I knew…”
    Wincing, Inca said, “You were in touch with her spirit. People who touch one another’s hearts have this direct way of talking to one another.”
    Roan nodded. “Yes, we had some telepathy between us.”
    “What did you do then?”
    “I jumped in the truck and drove like a madman to the rock wall where she’d been climbing.” His voice turned ragged. “I found her dead at the bottom. She’d died instantly of a skull fracture.” And if he’d given her his medicine piece to wear, she might still be alive today. But he didn’t voice his guilt over that issue.
    “A clean death.”
    “Yes,” Roan said, understanding Inca’s words. “At least she didn’t feel any pain. She was gone in a heartbeat. I’m glad she didn’t suffer.”
    Wryly, Inca looked up at him. He was suffering and she wanted to reach out and console him. Shocked by that, she curled up her fingers. “But you have been