Free Eye of the Beholder by Ingrid Weaver Page A

her waist and fastened the ends together in a bow.
    The salesclerk had been right. The suit certainly was versatile.
    Glenna drew up her legs and dropped her head to her knees. She felt a lump in her throat that could have turned into a laugh as easily as a scream and that frightened her. She wanted to go home. She wanted her alarm clock and her coffeemaker and the chess problem in the morning paper and all the mundane little details that made up her life.
    “Hey.” Rafe put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get out of this.”
    She closed her eyes, absorbing the steadying warmth of his touch. She believed him. He wasn’t like the other men she’d known. He made her feel safe and protected.
    It was yet another novel experience for her. From the time she’d been thirteen, she hadn’t accepted protection from anyone. Glenna Hastings was always in control, always strong. But with Rafe, she didn’t have to be.
    Before yesterday, she would have been appalled at relying on a man like this. Actually, she would have been appalled at plenty of the things she had done…but she wasn’t. She wouldn’t let herself. Was it because of the situation? Or was it because of Rafe?
    Both, she decided. He was a special man. She’d never met anyone like him before. He was like a throwback to the days of Camelot and chivalry. Fairy tales and knights on white horses…
    “I brought you some lunch,” he said.
    She turned her head. He was holding a ripe mango in front of her nose. Her stomach rumbled and she took the fruit gratefully. “Thanks, Rafe.”
    He sat down beside her, leaned against the tree trunk and bit into a second mango.
    Glenna noticed a sheen of moisture on Rafe’s forehead. He had peeled his jumpsuit down to his waist, knotting the sleeves in front to hold it up. The greenish brown T-shirt he wore beneath it was darkened with sweat, which wasn’t surprising. The temperature had climbed steadily since dawn.
    His arms looked as strong as they had felt. His wrists and forearms were thick with masculine ridges of muscle and sinew, dusted by a thin covering of pale brown hair. At the neck of his T-shirt, Glenna saw the glint of a metal chain. In the center of his chest, the damp fabric clung to the outline of his dog tags. Had she really touched him yesterday? Crawled over him and begged him to touch her? Sometimes the memory seemed unreal, like a snatch of a fevered dream.
    Still, no one could deny that he had a physically attractive body. He was tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped, and tautly muscular. He could move with startling speed or loose-limbed ease. The strength he had displayed over the past day would have made any female’s pulse flutter, whether she was half crazy with fear or not.
    “Don’t you need to rest, Rafe?” she asked.
    “I’m resting now,” he replied. “We’ll wait an hour until it starts to cool down, then we’ll move.”
    He really was an incredible man, she thought. Was there no limit to his endurance? After his efforts to get them both away from Juarez, he had to have been near exhaustion when they’d finally stopped this morning, yet he hadn’t rested. He’d used the winch on the front of the jeep to pull the vehicle off the track and conceal it in the undergrowth. He’d found this hidden glade, but he’d no sooner brought her here than he’d been off again, scouting the area. He’d used an empty rum bottle that had been in the jeep to bring her a drink of water, then had gone in search of food.
    Throughout it all, he’d returned to check on her every few minutes. Protecting her. Keeping her safe. Just the way a hero should.
    He took another bite of the mango, his jaw flexing as he chewed. His eyes were closed, his lashes lying motionless in spiky curves. His skin appeared paler than usual, but that might have been because this was the first time she’d studied his face in full daylight. The white scar tissue on his cheek was