Free Midnight Rainbow by Linda Howard Page A

he could have moved a lot
faster, and with a lot less risk to himself, on his own. And there was
something in his eyes, an expression that was weary and cynical and a little
empty, as if he'd seen far too much to have any faith or trust left. That made Jane want to put her arms around him and shield
him. Lowering her head so he wouldn't be able to read her expression, she
chided herself for feeling protective of a man who was so obviously capable of
handling himself. There had been a time in her own life when she had been
afraid to trust anyone except her parents, and it had been a horrible, lonely
time. She knew what fear was, and loneliness, and she ached for him. All signs
of their shelter obliterated, he swung his backpack up and buckled it on, then
slung the rifle over his shoulder, while Jane stuffed her hair up under her
cap. He leaned down to pick up her pack for her, and a look of astonishment
crossed his face; then his dark brows snapped together. "What the—"
he muttered. "What all do you have in this damned thing? It weighs a good
twenty pounds more than my pack!"
                  "Whatever I thought I'd need," Jane
replied, taking the pack from him and hooking her arm through the one good
shoulder strap, then buckling the waist strap to secure it as well as she
could.
                  "Like what?"
                  "Things," she said stubbornly. Maybe
her provisions weren't exactly proper by military standards, but she'd take her
peanut butter sandwiches over his canned whatever any time. She thought he
would order her to dump the pack on the ground for him to sort through and
decide what to keep, and she was determined not to allow it. She set her jaw
and looked at him.
                  He put his hands on his hips and surveyed her
funny, exotic face, her lower lip pouting out in a mutinous expression, her
delicate jaw set. She looked ready to light into him again, and he sighed in
resignation. Damned if she wasn't the stubbornest ,
scrappiest woman he'd ever met. "Take it off," he growled, unbuckling
his own pack. "I'll carry yours, and you can carry mine." If
anything, the jaw went higher. "I'm doing okay with my own."
                  "Stop wasting time arguing. That extra
weight will slow you down, and you're already tired. Hand it over, and I'll fix
that strap before we start out."
                  Reluctantly she slipped the straps off and
gave him the pack, ready to jump him if he showed any sign of dumping it. But
he took a small folder from his own pack, opened it to extract a needle and
thread, and deftly began to sew the two ends of the broken strap together.
                  Astounded, Jane watched his lean, calloused
hands wielding the small needle with a dexterity that she had to envy.
Reattaching a button was the limit of her sewing skill, and she usually managed
to prick her finger doing that. "Do they teach sewing in the military
now?" she asked, crowding in to get a better look. He gave her another one
of his glances of dismissal. "I'm not in the military."
                  "Maybe not now," she conceded.
"But you were, weren't you?"
                  "A long time ago."
                  "Where did you learn how to sew?"
                  "I just picked it up. It comes in
handy." He bit the thread off, then replaced the
needle in its package.
                  "Let's get moving; we've wasted too much
time as it is."
                  Jane took his backpack and fell into step
behind him; all she had to do was follow him. Her gaze drifted over the width
of his shoulders, then eased downward. Had she ever known anyone as physically
strong as this man? She didn't think so. He seemed to be immune to weariness,
and he ignored the steamy humidity that drained her strength and drenched her
clothes in perspiration. His long, powerful legs moved in an effortless stride,
the flexing