When he finally came in, he was so tired that he fell into bed with scarcely more than a grunt in her direction. Whatever the “job” he was engaged in involved, he was working hard at it. Lisa passed quite a bit of time speculating on what act or acts of skulduggery he and his men might be perpetrating. But when she had dropped a broad hint to Riley for information, he had told her meaningfully that he—or she—who knows least lives longest. Lisa took the hint, and forbore to ask any more questions.
Boredom was her primary complaint. There was absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to read, no television, no radio—at least none that played music—nothing. She managed to scrounge up a paper and pencil after much effort, and passed some hours attempting to set down what had befallen her in a fashion that the Star could use. If she could ever get it to them, which seemed more and more doubtful. But when she reread what she had written, she nearly cringed. In every other line was a mention of Sam. She tried leaving him out of it, but without describing how he had rescued and cared for her—not to mention the other things he had done to and for her—she was left with a hole in her story big enough to drive a jeep through. And when she put him back in, the whole thing was too highly personal. Annoyed, she ripped her efforts into confetti and returned to glaring at inoffensive rocks. Grace and the Star would just have to live without her literary efforts—at least until she was home again.
There wasn’t even anyone to talk to. Sam was gone all day, and so were the rest of the men—not that she objected to that —except Riley. And having a conversation with Riley was like pulling hens’ teeth. He followed her around the camp like a surly little dog, uttering growls in response to her few conversational overtures. Lisa knew that only Sam’s direct orders made him act as her bodyguard-cum-jailer; left to himself, he wouldn’t give a damn if she was strung up by her toes and had the flesh peeled from her body millimeter by square millimeter. She finally decided that his demeanor was nothing personal: he disliked all women. But she sensed that he felt an extra dollop of resentment toward her. Clearly he considered it a waste of his time and talents to spend his days playing nursemaid to a woman who he thought was no better than she should be and had no business being where she was, in any case.
In desperation, Lisa took to cooking. There wasn’t much that could be done with the canned goo Riley reluctantly described as C-rations, but she tried. From the dehydrated eggs she fashioned an elegant-looking omelet, and was so pleased with the effect that she offered to share it with Riley. He snorted, but took a bite, which he chewed silently for perhaps a second before spitting it on the ground. Lisa was a trifle daunted. When she tasted it herself, she had to admit that it was not exactly haute cuisine, but it was certainly better than the horrible scrambled eggs that were the staple of Riley’s limited repertoire of menus. And if she cooked her own meals, at least she knew that everything that went into them was clean. Watching Riley’s casual disregard for sanitation, she marveled that the men didn’t come down with food poisoning at the very least. For a moment she considered cooking for Sam—and of course the other men—but then, with a toss of her head, she decided against it. She wasn’t going to wait on him—them! But she continued to cook her own meals and doggedly ate most of what she prepared.
Living with Sam and yet not really living with him was bad for her disposition, Lisa acknowledged silently on the morning of the fourth day since he had blackmailed her into moving in with him. During that time he had made no move that could even remotely be classified as a pass; Lisa hated to admit it, but she was piqued. He undressed and dressed in front of her as casually as if he had been doing it for years. She
Boredom was her primary complaint. There was absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to read, no television, no radio—at least none that played music—nothing. She managed to scrounge up a paper and pencil after much effort, and passed some hours attempting to set down what had befallen her in a fashion that the Star could use. If she could ever get it to them, which seemed more and more doubtful. But when she reread what she had written, she nearly cringed. In every other line was a mention of Sam. She tried leaving him out of it, but without describing how he had rescued and cared for her—not to mention the other things he had done to and for her—she was left with a hole in her story big enough to drive a jeep through. And when she put him back in, the whole thing was too highly personal. Annoyed, she ripped her efforts into confetti and returned to glaring at inoffensive rocks. Grace and the Star would just have to live without her literary efforts—at least until she was home again.
There wasn’t even anyone to talk to. Sam was gone all day, and so were the rest of the men—not that she objected to that —except Riley. And having a conversation with Riley was like pulling hens’ teeth. He followed her around the camp like a surly little dog, uttering growls in response to her few conversational overtures. Lisa knew that only Sam’s direct orders made him act as her bodyguard-cum-jailer; left to himself, he wouldn’t give a damn if she was strung up by her toes and had the flesh peeled from her body millimeter by square millimeter. She finally decided that his demeanor was nothing personal: he disliked all women. But she sensed that he felt an extra dollop of resentment toward her. Clearly he considered it a waste of his time and talents to spend his days playing nursemaid to a woman who he thought was no better than she should be and had no business being where she was, in any case.
In desperation, Lisa took to cooking. There wasn’t much that could be done with the canned goo Riley reluctantly described as C-rations, but she tried. From the dehydrated eggs she fashioned an elegant-looking omelet, and was so pleased with the effect that she offered to share it with Riley. He snorted, but took a bite, which he chewed silently for perhaps a second before spitting it on the ground. Lisa was a trifle daunted. When she tasted it herself, she had to admit that it was not exactly haute cuisine, but it was certainly better than the horrible scrambled eggs that were the staple of Riley’s limited repertoire of menus. And if she cooked her own meals, at least she knew that everything that went into them was clean. Watching Riley’s casual disregard for sanitation, she marveled that the men didn’t come down with food poisoning at the very least. For a moment she considered cooking for Sam—and of course the other men—but then, with a toss of her head, she decided against it. She wasn’t going to wait on him—them! But she continued to cook her own meals and doggedly ate most of what she prepared.
Living with Sam and yet not really living with him was bad for her disposition, Lisa acknowledged silently on the morning of the fourth day since he had blackmailed her into moving in with him. During that time he had made no move that could even remotely be classified as a pass; Lisa hated to admit it, but she was piqued. He undressed and dressed in front of her as casually as if he had been doing it for years. She
Similar Books
