Free Ride the Tiger by Lindsay McKenna Page A

use of his first name made him feel as if he’d just won the greatest prize of his life. The whole thing was crazy, he thought, as he followed her through the house toward the village to the rear. His head screamed at him to be wary of Dany, that she still could be on the side of the VC. But the poignant moments he’d witnessed between her and Vinh and her openness with Gib had dissolved a great deal of his concern in that direction. Happy and unsettled at the same time, Gib wondered where the hell his sudden luncheon invitation had sprung from. The only explanation he had was that it had come from his heart.

CHAPTER FOUR
    D any nervously smoothed her aquamarine-colored silk ao dai, the traditional dress of Vietnamese women, as she moved along the sidewalk in the city of Da Nang. She was running late for her luncheon appointment with Gib. Major Ramsey, Dany sternly corrected herself. Her heartbeat wouldn’t steady. Every time she thought of Gib, her world dissolved and she found herself immersed in a sea of feelings and longings.
    The humid wind blew gently off the sea, the salt air combining with motorbike pollution and the smell from cooking pots being stirred by street vendors. Color mixed with sounds as motorbikes spiked the air with their noise, speeding around the slower, human-pedaled bikes and bicycle rickshaws. Overhead, several dark green marine helicopters sped through the fleecy clouds toward some unknown destination. GIs walked along the street, their arms hung around the shoulders of their Vietnamese girlfriends, who wore mini skirts and knee-high plastic boots.
    Dany’s heart went out to these women. She knew the poverty they lived in. They were young women who had artlessly fallen in love with Americans. Dany ached to tell them that their dreams of love or a better future wouldn’t come true with any American soldier. In a year or less, that GI would be gone, the woman left behind—more than likely pregnant—without any means of support, her dreams in fragments.
    At the French restaurant La Nouvelle France, Dany hesitated. Wrought-iron designs and blue curtains framed each window of the quaint, white stucco structure, and just inside she could see Gib sitting at a linen-draped table. She walked through the tall wrought-iron fence—a physical as well as symbolic warning to those who could not afford the cuisine. Her pulse skyrocketed momentarily, and she compressed her lips. How handsome Gib looked in his khaki slacks and light blue shirt. He turned, met her gaze, Dany’s heart pounded once to underscore the heat she saw in his eyes. Still, his smile seemed shy, almost boyish.
    Gib stood and pulled out a chair across from his own as Dany entered the busy restaurant. As the maâitre d’ led her over to his table, Gib couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Dany’s hair was free, a rippling ebony curtain framing her face and providing a mantle about her shoulders. The ao dai she wore clung to every curve of her body, outlining it, the panels moving like wind around and between her long, thoroughbred legs clothed in white silk trousers. The flush to her cheeks, the clear green of her eyes and her breathless appearance rendered Gib momentarily speechless.
    â€œI’m sorry I’m late,” Dany apologized. She sat down, wildly aware of Gib’s presence behind her, his long, large-knuckled fingers draped casually over the back of her chair.
    Gib took a deep, ragged breath as he seated Dany, then sat down opposite her. “I just got here myself. We’re both running late.” he smiled and held her shy gaze. “You look beautiful.”
    His husky compliment flowed through her. “Thank you.”
    â€œIf someone didn’t look twice, they’d think you were Vietnamese or Eurasian.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a compliment.”
    Gib noticed the envious looks around him. “Believe me, it’s a compliment. There isn’t a