Читать онлайн книгу «Ride The Tiger» автора Lindsay McKenna

Ride The Tiger
Lindsay McKenna
After two tours in Vietnam, Major Gib Ramsey, U.S. M.C., knew that war was hell. But how could he convince beautiful, stubborn Dany Villard that her beloved plantation seesawed on a time bomb?The lush land and its gentle people had given Dany the only love she'd ever known–losing them would crush her. Long a warrior, Gib now battled an unfamiliar urge: to blanket a woman in tenderness and promise her more than a fleeting moment of glory…


After two tours in Vietnam, Major Gib Ramsey, U.S. M.C., knew that war was hell. But how could he convince beautiful, stubborn Dany Villard that her beloved plantation seesawed on a time bomb? The lush land and its gentle people had given Dany the only love she’d ever known—losing them would crush her. Long a warrior, Gib now battled an unfamiliar urge: to blanket a woman in tenderness and promise her more than a fleeting moment of glory….
Previously published.
Ride the Tiger
Lindsay McKenna


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
Cover (#u0227d96d-6ddd-5499-a7cb-64dceacbf55e)
Back Cover Text (#u997b8d11-0da7-5400-b15e-c30facaef03f)
Title Page (#u625156c9-067e-509d-b254-28904884ac49)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue5aa67df-d1ba-56a0-b8c1-1bab246170cc)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubc03ca0f-b1f7-532f-9165-9ebda71cba27)
CHAPTER THREE (#uf533a2a3-1acf-57ba-a77e-8f1d5eaefa62)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6530eb8f-3f07-5976-850a-07caec9ae7a6)
Da Nang, Vietnam
April 15, 1965
“Maman, must you go to the military base at Da Nang?” Dany Villard spoke to her mother in French, trying to keep the concern out of her voice as slender Amy Lou Villard glided elegantly toward the dated blue Renault parked in front of their plantation home. Really, at twenty-six she shouldn’t have to worry about her mother, Dany thought. But sometimes it felt like Amy Lou was the daughter and Dany the mother.
Dressed in a summery silk dress, Dany’s mother was every bit the plantation mistress, airily waving her hand as if to dismiss Dany’s concern. A wide-brimmed white straw hat shaded Amy Lou’s delicate skin from the burning sun overhead.
“Ma cherie, one does not turn down a luncheon invitation with a marine general, does one?”
Standing tensely on the wooden steps of the porch, her fingers digging into the carved rail, Dany frowned. In a fierce whisper that she wanted no one—not even their loyal Vietnamese help—to overhear, Dany said, “But what about Binh Duc?” Dany knew that if the local Vietcong chieftain even suspected the Villards were consorting with the Americans, their rubber plantation would no longer be safe. “Maman, think!” she pleaded. “Please! Don’t expose our neutrality like this.”
Whirling on the high heel of one pink sandal, Amy Lou laughed as she opened the car door. “As usual, Dany, you worry too much and you think too much. Binh Duc has promised to allow us to remain neutral.” She wrinkled her small, fine nose. “I’m sure the American marines at Da Nang would like us to take sides in this ridiculous situation, but we’re French, and we’re not at war with the VC, or anyone else.”
Dany stepped off the stairs. Probably her mother was right, she told herself. Still, her heart pounded with a strange feeling of dread. Compared to her mother, who was dressed in the latest French fashion, a gossamer creation in a print of pink, red and white peonies, a three-strand choker of pearls around her neck, Dany felt plain. Well, wasn’t she? She glanced down self-consciously at the long-sleeved blue cotton blouse that hung to her thighs, the simple pair of dark cotton slacks and her bare feet, stained by the red earth. Yes, she was a colorless bird next to her beautifully attired mother.
“But, Maman, Binh Duc warned you about the Americans coming here!” A marine general had shown avid interest in her mother, whom he’d met a few months ago at a charity luncheon at a newly erected Da Nang French restaurant. The general had sent his official staff car to pick up her mother soon after, and Binh Duc had snuck into their home the next day, threatening her mother that if he ever saw another American on Villard property, he would have to reconsider their neutral status. Dany distrusted the VC leader, whose political fervency was fanaticism in her opinion. She could accept his determination to practice Communism, but Dany couldn’t tolerate his cruelty in forcing his belief on others.
“That’s why I’m driving our car to Da Nang, ma chérie.” The new military base was located next to the Vietnamese city. “I told the general no more staff cars or men in uniform coming to our plantation.” Amy Lou’s smile didn’t reach her carefully made-up blue eyes. Patting her pale blond hair, she said, “Stop fretting, Dany! You always act as if Duc knows our every move.”
“He does,” Dany warned grimly. Long ago, the revolutionary Vietminh commander had given his word to her father that he would leave the Villard plantation alone. Binh Duc was the most recent in a series of commanders who had accepted the long-standing agreement. However, Duc was becoming more skittish and demanding every month. The truce with him was fragile, and Dany didn’t count on it, even if her unrealistic mother did.
The Villards had a similar pact with the South Vietnamese Army—the ARVN—and the plantation was one of the few neutral zones that all sides had respected. Dany chafed daily under the knowledge that if either side broke its word, the Villard plantation, which had been in the family since the early 1930s, would quickly be destroyed—a fate that already had befallen so many other French plantations since the battle at Dien Bien Phu.
Placing her purse in the car, Amy Lou called out, “Au revoir, Dany. I’ve been so bored for so long. This is a wonderful opportunity for me to get out and enjoy myself.” She pouted playfully. “Now, you will not hold that against me, will you, ma doux?”
Dany’s throat tightened with complicated emotions. Then she sighed in helpless resignation. “No, Maman.” Her mother was a butterfly, Dany had decided long ago, and she, the dutiful, hard-working water buffalo, possessing neither her mother’s lilt, glitter and gift for small talk, nor her love of parties and social status.
Dany looked down at her hands as Amy Lou slipped into the Renault. They were long and slender like her mother’s, but there the similarity ended. Amy Lou had her hands massaged daily and anointed with expensive creams by her personal maid, getting her long nails polished bright red. My hands are red, all right, Dany thought ruefully, slowly turning them over. Her nails were blunt cut, with dirt beneath them from working among the rubber trees. Although she scrubbed her hands and nails nightly, Dany could swear they retained a faint red stain, as if her skin were permanently marked by the soil she loved so fiercely. Dany didn’t see it as bad, but rather as a badge proclaiming her oneness with the land.
“Do not worry about me,” Amy Lou called lightly as she put the little car in gear. “I will share the gossip I hear at lunch with you when I return later this afternoon.” She blew Dany a kiss with her gloved hand.
The sudden urge to run over to the car and give her mother a genuine kiss startled Dany. There had never been real warmth between them, although Dany had sometimes ached for it. Butterflies like her pampered mother were airy and light, never landing anyplace long enough to learn about deeper, more serious commitments. Dany took two steps forward, then checked herself. If she did run over and kiss her mother’s cheek, Amy Lou no doubt would playfully chide her for making a childish demonstration, and would not return the kiss. Much better to quell her own emotional needs and avoid embarrassment, Dany thought.
Licking her lower lip, she raised her hand. “Bye, Maman. Have a good time.”
“Oh, I will! I will!”
Dany felt oddly emotional—shaky without knowing why. The Renault started down the quarter-mile-long driveway. Built from imported red brick, the driveway wound toward Highway 14, a main thoroughfare to Da Nang. Tall, lovely silk trees paralleled the road, adding to the rich veneer the Villard plantation presented to those passing by the highway. But lately, the only vehicles to pass had been long convoys of American marines in trucks, an almost constant occurrence. The Renault coughed noisily as it chugged toward the dirt highway, and bluish smoke popped several times from the exhaust pipe.
The midmorning sun lanced through the canopy of trees near the front steps, and Dany felt perspiration begin to dot her face. High temperatures and equally high humidity were a fact of life in Vietnam. But, born at the plantation, Dany had never been bothered by the weather as her parents had.
Dany frowned as she saw another American military convoy making its way past their driveway on its way to Da Nang, ten miles to the north. Dany was terrified that if any American vehicle came into their long driveway, for whatever reason, Binh Duc would retaliate—violently. When the Americans had landed on Da Nang’s soil in March the Villards had made it known that the plantation was off-limits to any and all military personnel. Thus far, the brash Americans had respected the Villards neutrality and land.
The Renault had almost reached the intersection to Highway 14, still sputtering and spitting a bluish trail of exhaust. Dany smiled. Her mother knew nothing of mechanics and would drive the Renault until it stopped dead on the spot. Amy Lou would die of embarrassment if her car stopped somewhere other than where she wanted it to. Rubbing her brow, Dany decided she’d better have the car looked at when her mother returned. One of their Vietnamese workers, who was something of a genius with inventions, also served as makeshift mechanic, although he never did well on the Renault.
Just as Dany began to turn toward the house, a huge fireball enveloped the Renault. As if part of a movie stunt, the small car lifted upward through the fireball, flew apart and landed in pieces alongside the brick drive.
“Maman!” Dany barely had time to scream before the pulverizing sound concussion slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Another cry tore from Dany as she hit the brick driveway. Skin was torn from her elbow and hand, but she barely felt it. No! her mind caterwauled. In a daze, she lurched to her feet, the heat momentarily stinging her skin, the smell carried on the blast a combination of oil, metal and another odor her mind instantly rejected. A sob tore from Dany and she began running toward the flames.
As she sprinted down the driveway, a second blast erupted from the already charred wreck with a force of heat that scorched Dany’s skin. This time the sickening odor was undeniable, and her stomach lurched. Choking back the bitter taste of bile in her mouth, Dany threw her hand up to protect her face and eyes as she continued to run headlong. Her mother! Denial surged through Dany along with nausea at the terrible smell of burned human flesh. Dany raced on, her mouth open in a soundless shriek, her eyes blurred with tears.
* * *
“Good God!” Major Gib Ramsey breathed as the blue Renault exploded into a fireball less than a quarter mile away. His hand flew to the jeep’s dashboard to steady himself as Captain Pete Mallory slammed on the brakes. As the jeep skidded to a stop, Gib leaped out and began running toward the car, already engulfed in flames. The French car must have hit a land mine—or someone had put a bomb in it. He knew, even as he ran, that no way could anyone in that car have survived the explosion.
Adrenaline shot through Gib, making him excruciatingly alert. His nostrils flared and his gaze narrowed in calculated swings from right to left. VC could be hiding nearby. This could be an ambush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slender young woman screaming as she ran down the driveway toward the burning Renault. The charred remains of the car body had landed on its side and fire and black smoke poured upward through the arms of the silk trees, smudging the bright blue sky.
Gib’s heart pounded triple time, fear of stepping on another land mine foremost in his mind. Still his huge strides carried him forward along the bank of the narrow dirt road. Mines usually were buried in the dirt near the tire-track ruts, so he avoided the center of the road. Realizing there was nothing to be done for the driver of the car, he changed direction to intercept the young woman, who seemed to be aiming herself directly at the burning car. Didn’t she realize that if the gas tank hadn’t already exploded, it could, possibly killing her as well?
Jerking a look across his shoulder as he ran, Gib yelled, “Pete, get the fire extinguisher! Stop one of these trucks and get some help.”
Pete lifted his hand in acknowledgement, quickly stepping out of the jeep.
All of Gib’s attention centered on the woman. At first, he thought she was Vietnamese, with her long, flowing black hair, dusky golden skin and traditional Vietnamese farmer garb. But he changed his mind as he ran around the burning wreck and drew closer to her. Her eyes were huge with shock and tears, her face heart-shaped, with high cheekbones.
Tucking away his immediate impressions, Gib came to a halt in her path, both hands outstretched to prevent her from getting any closer to the car.
“Maman! Maman!”
It vaguely registered on Gib’s senses that she was speaking French. He’d been in Vietnam long enough to pick up a smattering. Maman meant mother. It must have been the woman’s mother in the Renault. Oh, God... Even after two years of combat, Gib couldn’t stop the welling up of emotion. He knew firsthand what it was like to lose a mother.
His nostrils flared and Gib drank in huge draughts of air and steeled himself to take the woman’s full weight. She wasn’t slowing down. It was as if she didn’t even see him in her path.
“Wait, stop!” he pleaded, as he grabbed her arms. “You can’t go any closer! It’s liable to explode.”
Dany was jerked to a halt, nearly coming off her feet. The man, a giant towering over her, gripped her arms, trapping her.
“Let me go!” Dany screamed, her words turning into sobs as she struggled. She kept her gaze riveted on the blazing inferno that surrounded the Renault.
“No!” She was much stronger than he’d anticipated, Gib realized. Her black hair flew around her shoulders, and the look on her tear-streaked face was wild with anguish, her eyes filled with hysteria. “Stop fighting! You can’t get any closer!”
Blindly, Dany struck out at the man in green fatigues. Nothing registered on her shocked senses except that her mother was dead or dying. She lashed out at him and tried to pull from his powerful grip. “No! Maman! Maman!” she shrieked, her voice cracking.
“Hold it,” Gib snapped. He dodged several of her poorly aimed blows. He knew she was out of her mind with grief and shock. For the first time he got a look into her eyes. Sweet God, but they were the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, so wide and lustrous, filled with tears and pain. His mouth went suddenly dry, he tried to gentle his grip on her arms. “Take it easy, lady! You can’t go near that car. The gas tank—”
“No!” Dany shrieked. Kicking, she struck out at the man, her foot connecting solidly against his upper thigh. Immediately, he released her. Stumbling backward, Dany caught herself, whirled around and headed toward the car. She had to help her mother.
Tarnation! Gib cursed himself for releasing her. He leaped forward. At six foot five, Gib had long legs—a lot longer than hers, even though she was tall for a woman. “Come here!” he snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulder, feeling her hair, thick and silky, beneath his fingers.
Dany saw a number of marines from a convoy running toward the Renault, leaping out of the trucks. They had fire extinguishers and released the thick, white substance on the raging flames. Sobbing, she struck at her captor. Her hair swung across her face, strands sticking to the tears on her cheeks. Dany lashed out again, her fists meeting the hard, unforgiving wall of the man’s chest.
“Let me go,” she cried, her struggles becoming weaker, her knees beginning to feel watery. Her mother was dead. Dead! Twisting around, Dany’s gaze clung to the wreck. At least ten marines surrounded the blaze now, beginning to get the fire under control.
A sound, half sob, half cry, tore from her lips. The man’s hands were like talons on her shoulders. He wasn’t going to allow her any closer to the car—or her mother. Without warning, Dany’s knees gave way and she found herself sinking to the earth. Pressing her hands against her face, she began to sob violently, gasping for air. Her mother was dead! She would be alone. All alone. Forever.
Gib broke the woman’s sudden collapse to the ground. She knelt in the red dirt, bent double in racking sobs, her hands hiding her face. Her long black curtain of hair swung forward. Gib knelt beside her, unsure if she would try to escape again. Shakily, he slid his arm across her heaving shoulders and used his body as a shield to protect her in case of further explosions. Tears jammed into his eyes as he listened to her wrenching cries. Awkwardly he patted her shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.
Looking up, Gib blinked away the moisture. Pete Mallory was doing an excellent job directing a number of marines from the convoy. The fire extinguishers were finally banking the wall of flames. It was easy to transfer his attention back to the woman rather than look at the carnage strewn before them.
As he ran his hand across her shoulders and up and down her back, attempting to ease her pain, Gib felt an utter sense of helplessness. An emotion he’d felt all too often here in Vietnam, he thought bitterly. How many other cries of women who had lost family members had he heard in the last two years? Gib didn’t want to remember the times or places, but his nightmares kept count for him.
“It’s all right, honey,” he soothed, hearing the strain in his own deep voice even as he tried to distance his emotions. Feeling nothing was something he’d worked long and hard at. These days, his nightmares came about once a week instead of nightly. “It’s gonna be okay.” Gently he touched the shining raven hair. “I’m sorry your mama was in that car. So sorry.”
Dany knelt in the dirt and cried without solace. She rocked back and forth, letting the pain pour out, just as the Vietnamese women did when family members were killed. The roar of the fire, the shouts and orders from the marines became a distant background to Dany’s shock. Time had no meaning; she was alone with the pain raging in her heart, consuming her. How long she knelt there, rocking and sobbing, Dany had no idea. At some point, she felt the man’s hands tighten around her shoulders, and she was drawn into the cradle of his arms, pressed against his body.
Gradually, his distinctive accent, deep and filled with compassion, broke through her barrier of pain. More sounds impinged through her ebbing sobs as the first huge shock wave lessened. Groggily Dany realized that she was leaning against a large man in green jungle fatigues. He was kneeling with her, cradling her like a child in his arms, his body a support for her. Weakness flowed through Dany, an unfamiliar sensation. It had always been Dany who had to be strong—for her widowed mother, for the Vietnamese who worked for them and for herself.
Blinking, her lashes beaded with tears, Dany took in several halting breaths. Today, she couldn’t be strong. Today... She shut her eyes, a shudder working up through her. Instantly, she felt the marine’s arms tighten around her, as if to take away her pain. As Dany continued to surface from the shock, she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was being held when she was hurting.
The realization, sweet and tenuous, flowed through her. For a moment out of time, she wanted to allow herself to sink completely into the marine’s embrace, to be held and protected. Now, as never before, she needed that human gift of compassion. Watching the flames continue to lick and burn around the blackened Renault, Dany rested against the man, unable to move from his arms—the protection he was giving her. His voice, deep and dark, shaken with barely veiled emotion, touched her ravaged soul and raw heart.
For a moment Dany struggled weakly against his embrace. His arms again automatically tightened. She surrendered, pressing her cheek against the rough cotton material of his shirt and closing her eyes. The finality of her mother’s death overwhelmed her. It was something she had never envisioned happening. At fifty, Amy Lou had still seemed so young, especially after several facelifts in Bangkok to maintain her youthful appearance. And now she was dead. Gone forever. Dany could do nothing but lie in the marine’s arms, feeling gutted and numb—unable to move, much less walk.
Gib leaned down, pressing his cheek against the woman’s silky hair. He held her gently, unconsciously running his large hand slowly up and down her arm, much as he might soothe a frightened and fractious young horse back on the ranch.
“It’s all right, honey. Just sit here. We’ll help you all we can. I’m sorry...so sorry this happened to your mama.”
His voice, his words, brought fresh tears to Dany’s eyes. She hid her face in the folds of his now-damp shirt, unable to bear the new pain and grief that came with them. He slowly moved, and as Dany felt his weight shift away from her, she felt bereft. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as if she were viewing single movie frames. Then his hands slid under her arms, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. When she weaved unsteadily, his arm went around her waist.
“Lean on me,” he whispered, holding her close, “and I’ll take you home. That is your house, isn’t it?”
Numbly, Dany nodded.
Gib increased his hold on the woman, not at all sure she was going to be able to make it under her own power to the elegant two-story house that stood among the silk trees in the distance. He saw a number of Vietnamese farmers running toward them from behind the mansion, their voices high and excited, astonishment written on their faces. As the workers reached and surrounded Gib and Dany, Gib halted.
Dany felt the hands of her workers on her arms and shoulders, the care in their touches, in their faces, breaking her even more. She gathered strength from somewhere deep within her and told them in a wobbly voice, “Mrs. Villard is dead. The car hit a mine. There’s nothing that can be done. Go offer your help to the Americans.”
Gib watched the Vietnamese peasants as the woman spoke their language, her words soft and halting. He was struck by how melodic her voice was—like the song of a beautiful tropical bird. Trying to put some distance between his own shock and helping her, Gib realized for the first time just how truly attractive the woman was, although her face was pale beneath the golden tones of her skin, her emerald eyes dark with anguish and her delicate mouth pulled inward, reflecting her pain.
He stood quietly with her in his arms as the farmers ran on to help the marines with the fire. Looking down, he saw her close her eyes and draw in a deep, shaky breath. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.
Dany opened her eyes and, looking up, saw compassion in the marine’s large, intelligent hazel eyes. “Dany...Dany Villard...”
“Call me Gib. Come on, let’s get you inside, Mrs. Villard. You need to sit down.” Villard. The name rang a definite bell for Gib. He’d heard of the plantation, and the politics of its French owners: supposedly they were neutral. But were they actively supporting VC operations to maintain that neutrality? And who had planted the land mine? ARVN or VC? Maybe the local militia? Or some unnamed splinter group? He stared down at Dany Villard’s half-hidden face, wondering if she were a VC sympathizer. War had no neutrality as far as he was concerned, and more than once his colonel had shown his frustration and disgust over the Villard neutrality policy. At the time, Gib had merely shrugged it off, glad he had a helicopter squadron to run and therefore didn’t have to interface with this country’s complex politics the way his boss did.
They walked along the brick expanse without talking. Although part of Dany still couldn’t believe her mother was dead, deep down she knew it was true. She felt a huge emptiness inside her, a chilling numbness spreading in the wake of her shock. What was wrong with her? Automatically, she pressed her hand against her stomach.
“Are you feeling sick?” Gib remembered too many times when he’d gotten sick after combat.
“No, just...numb.... I feel so numb, as if I’m dead inside.”
He guided her up the series of wooden steps and through the screen door that housed a huge, wide veranda. A wizened old woman, dressed in a black overblouse, opened the heavily carved door. Gib nodded to her, hoping she spoke some English. He knew only rudimentary Vietnamese.
“Where’s the living room? Mrs. Villard needs to sit down,” he said slowly. The marine in him felt on guard, edgy, wondering if the gray-haired woman could be a VC spy. Nothing in Vietnam was neutral. Ever.
The maid tilted her head, her eyes widening enormously as she took in Gib. Instantly she stepped aside, her shock obviously replaced with genuine concern for Dany.
The maid motioned for Gib to follow her. Still Gib didn’t release Dany as they entered the massive foyer with its floor of highly polished golden teak. “Let me get you to a chair,” he told her.
“In here,” the old woman ordered and pointed to a room to the left of the foyer. “I call doctor,” she said in broken English and disappeared.
A good idea, Gib thought. Dany was going to need medication. The shock had been too great for her to bear. He led Dany into what he assumed was a drawing room, painted white with gilt edging along the baseboards. Photographs hung on every wall. He helped her over to a French provincial sofa of light blue silk framed in mahogany. As he gently released her onto the couch, Gib realized she had begun to tremble in earnest.
Looking around, his hand still on her shoulder, he asked, “You got some liquor around this place?”
“Yes.” Dany motioned to a mahogany sideboard that sat next to a window. “It’s in there.”
Investigating, Gib found a stock of just about every kind of liquor he’d ever seen. Drawing out a bottle of peach brandy, he located a snifter and poured a hefty amount into it. He brought it to Dany and, kneeling in front of her, placed it in her hands.
“Take a sip,” he urged. “It’ll help steady your nerves.”
Dany stared down at the golden liquid, the sweet odor of peaches wafting toward her nose. She clasped the snifter tightly, afraid that it might tumble out of her grip.
Gib reached out and settled his hand on Dany’s slumped shoulder. How large his hand looked in relation to hers, he thought disjointedly. She was slender, like the tall, thin bamboo that grew in huge groves. Her bones seemed especially small and fine in comparison to his bulk. “Go on, take a drink of it. I promise, it’ll do you some good.”
Numbly, Dany did as he coaxed and lifted the snifter to her lips. The brandy hit the back of her throat, and she gasped. Closing her eyes, she gulped the rest of it down. The pit of her stomach felt on fire, bringing renewed tears to her eyes.
Retrieving the glass from Dany’s hand, Gib sat down next to her on the couch. The maid came into the room and hovered protectively next to Dany, her hands worriedly kneading Dany’s shoulders, her voice soft and shaken as they conversed in Vietnamese. Gib’s nerves felt jangled from the mine explosion. Again he wondered if the two women in front of him were enemy or friend.
“Ma Ling, go help our people,” Dany said softly to her mamasan. “There are marines out there. Try to get them to leave as soon as possible.”
Ma Ling nodded grimly. “You will be all right?”
“Y-yes. Please, just get rid of the marines. If Binh Duc—”
Patting Dany’s shoulder, Ma Ling muttered, “I will take care of it. The doctor will be here soon, and he will take care of you.”
Trying to smile and unable to, Dany felt her eyes tear up with love for her maid. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Ma Ling raised her head and glared at Gib, then straightened and left the room.
Leaning forward, Dany rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her hair fell forward, offering a semblance of privacy from the American marine. Odd to be so near an American, she thought. Her father had been French and proud of it. And, although American-born, Dany’s mother had learned to accept her husband’s cultivated disdain for all things American, so Dany had grown up believing the American blood she carried in her veins was of lesser value. But when the Americans had landed on the pristine white beaches of Da Nang a few weeks ago, Dany had found herself curious about them. It was easy to dislike them and their intrusive presence, upsetting the fragile peace among the various political factions. Still, she had wondered at odd moments what Americans were really like, since she had never had the chance to see for herself—until now.
There was something disturbing and uncomfortable about this marine’s presence, Dany thought, but wasn’t sure why. He’d certainly helped her in a great moment of need.
The fire in her stomach gradually ceased, and miraculously, Dany felt her shaking nerves become more stable. Slowly she turned her head to meet the American’s gaze. For the first time, she really looked at him. His face was square and generous, as was his mouth and broad brow. His dark brown eyebrows were straight across his hazel eyes, which held the look of a hunter, a predator, in their depths. She reminded herself that he had said to call him Gib. His eyes were hard, she thought, the aura around him coiled and tension-filled.
All her defenses had been shattered, and Dany couldn’t have erected her normal French aloofness toward the American if she’d tried. Gib’s face was harsh looking, carved out of life’s experiences—not what was usually considered handsome. When his mouth flexed into a hesitant, coaxing smile as he held out the brandy snifter to her once again, a sudden warmth cascaded through Dany taking away the coldness of reality. The amiable quality caught her off guard. He was supposed to be a soldier, incapable of compassion. The discovery made her feel even more confused.
“Better take one more sip and you’ll really steady out,” Gib urged softly, holding the snifter in her direction. He tried to disconnect emotionally from her, but the look in her eyes shattered his normally insurmountable defenses. Never, in the last two years, had he felt this damned vulnerable. What the hell was going on?
Dany nodded and accepted the glass. She took another hefty gulp without a word. Again, the fieriness of the brandy caught her by surprise. The snifter was once again lifted out of her hands by Gib, as if he were afraid she’d drop it because of her blatant reaction to the liquor.
Color was coming back to Dany’s high-boned cheeks, a rosiness tinting her golden skin, making her look hauntingly like a child and not the adult Gib was sure she was. He guessed her age to be around twenty-one; she was so young and fresh looking. And he wasn’t at all sure that she wasn’t Eurasian. There was a slight tilt to her glorious verdant eyes. Guilt nagged at Gib, and he felt like a trespasser of sorts, because Dany’s eyes reflected every nuance, making it easy to read how she felt. Somehow he couldn’t control his unraveling feelings and erect the usual fortress around his tightly held emotions. He needed to escape.
“Thank you...” Dany said softly.
Gib shrugged. “I wish I could do more for you, and I know I can’t. When you lose someone you love, it’s a terrible thing. You feel helpless.”
“Yes.”
Gib offered her the snifter, but this time she shook her head. He took a drink instead, finishing off the amber-colored brandy. Part of him wanted to stay and protect Dany against what he knew would come on the heels of such a tragic and unexpected loss. But a stronger part sternly reminded him it was time to leave. Setting the snifter on the mahogany coffee table in front of them, he managed a slight, uncomfortable smile.
“Look, there will be a military investigation on this. Your mama’s car must have hit a VC land mine just before she got to Highway 14. A marine investigator from Da Nang will have to come out and ask you a lot of questions.” He scowled. “I’ll do what I can to see that they respect you in the coming days of funeral preparations. After that...well, I wish I could do more, Mrs. Villard.”
Dany didn’t even have the strength to explain she wasn’t married. If the marines got involved in an investigation, Binh Duc would be furious and even more distrustful of her neutrality. But who was to say he hadn’t placed the mine in the driveway himself? Dany knew full well the VC leader was capable of such savage deeds. Had he done it because her mother was seeing the marine general? Clutching her fist against her stomach, Dany felt queasy.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Gib asked, alarmed at the pain again mounting in her features.
“N-no, thank you.”
Gib nodded, not satisfied. “Look, I’ll take over out there and make sure your mama’s body is found. I’ll contact the local authorities. If there’s a priest—”
Dany shook her head. “I’ll call them.” Her lips were dry and her mouth felt gummy. “If—if you can just find her—”
“I will,” Gib promised grimly. “Are you sure you’re up to making such calls? Can I notify your husband? Your family?”
With a sigh, Dany whispered, “I’m the only one left. I’m not married.”
“Oh. Well, where are your nearest relatives?” Gib asked.
“My mother was adopted, and she never knew who her real parents were in America. My father—” Dany’s voice cracked as she dove on. “All my father’s relatives are in France. I’ll contact them shortly.”
Rubbing his hands against his fatigue-covered thighs, Gib nodded. The desire to escape her overwhelmingly vulnerable presence sheared through him again. He didn’t want to be exposed to her tragedy. More to the point, if he was honest with himself, to her reaction to it.
Scowling, he said, “Sounds like all the bases are covered for now. I’ve got to get going.”
“Of course.”
Getting to his feet, Gib tasted his own panic. Every second spent with Dany was unhinging his crucial, carefully constructed emotional defenses against the horrors of war.
Dany looked up at Gib. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until just now. He looked like a giant—but also like the man who had given her precious moments of protection when she’d never needed them more. “Thanks...for everything. I’ll never forget it,” she said and meant it.
Gib forced a tight, one-cornered smile. “I’d do it for anyone. Goodbye.” He turned and made himself walk in a controlled manner out of the room. Settling the utility cap back on his head, Gib ran lightly down the wooden stairs. As his feet touched hard earth, he felt some of the panic ease in his chest, and he took a deep, shaky breath. What kind of power did Dany Villard wield over him? With a shake of his head, Gib decided it was just one more crazy response to a wartime situation. Now he could get back to his “safe” rut of running the helicopter squadron.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6e10570e-3f66-5f41-a804-ee38c1cce4bc)
What the hell did Colonel Parsons want of him? Gib swung up the wooden steps leading to the dark green canvas tent that served as headquarters for the Marine Air Group based at Marble Mountain. The morning air was a combination of scents: aircraft fuel, oil and the salty tang of the ocean nearby. Taking off his utility cap as he entered the large tent that housed the office “pogues”—the clerks and paper shufflers who kept the squadron going—Gib walked toward a dark green metal desk at the rear of the tent.
Colonel Parsons was a lean, narrow-faced marine in his early fifties. Wearing starched green utilities, he sat at his desk, busily reading flight reports. Gib approached and came to attention.
“Reporting as ordered, sir.”
Parson looked up. His scowl dissolved. “Gib. Glad you could make it. At ease. Have a seat.” He motioned to the dark green metal chair in front of his desk.
Gib sat tensely. Normally, Parsons wasn’t this amiable. His CO must want something from him. “I’m just about ready to take a flight of supplies to Firebase Judy,” Gib said.
“I know, I know.” Parsons leaned back in his chair. “Give the flight to Captain Mallory. I’ve got something that demands immediate attention, and I want you to take charge of it.”
“Oh?” Gib frowned.
“Yes. You know that report you wrote up on the Villard woman being killed two days ago?”
An uneasy feeling snaked through Gib. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m appointing you investigation officer on the case. It happened on South Vietnamese land, and we’re officially charged with the investigation.”
Gib’s mouth dropped opened. “What?”
Parsons stared at him bluntly. “You were there. You saw it happen. There’s no reason not to be the IO on this, Gib.”
“But, sir, I’ve got a squadron to run.” Gib’s heart started a funny hammering in his chest. He’d have to see Dany Villard again—a number of times, he was sure, before he could close the case. Again that weird panic ate at him. Her vulnerability unstrung him, got inside him, and he couldn’t afford that. Not now.
Parsons shrugged and took another report from his In basket. “Look, Gib, I know this is an extra duty you don’t really want, but the general was a friend of Mrs. Villard’s, and he wants an immediate and thorough investigation. He’s upset over this.” His mouth working into a tight line, Parsons growled, “I don’t like this any more than you do, but you’re assigned. If you hadn’t been at the wrong place at the right time, I’d give it to someone else, but you were an eyewitness.”
Gib opened his mouth to argue, but knew it was folly. An order was an order, and a marine followed it. Glumly, he stood. “Yes, sir.”
Parsons glanced up at him, keeping his voice low as he handed Gib a thick file with Villard on the tab. “Look, there are some things I don’t want to see in your write-up on the investigation.”
Gib handled the thick folder. “Oh?”
“The general was going to meet Mrs. Villard the day she was killed. He was planning to ask her to marry him. That doesn’t go in there, understand?”
Hating politics of any kind, Gib nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“The general seems to think a local VC leader by the name of Binh Duc probably is responsible for this murder. Find out. If he is, the general will make sure the little bastard’s caught and hung by his—” Parsons waved him away. “Dismissed. When you get the answers, let me know.”
Gib nodded unhappily. “Yes, sir.” Great. Just friggin’ great. He didn’t want the IO status. Nor did he want to see Dany Villard again. As he left headquarters and walked between the long rows of tents toward operations, Gib frowned. A part of him did want to see Dany—some crazy-assed, better ignored part, he amended. His head was screaming at him that this whole mess wasn’t going to bode well for him emotionally. But he was a twenty-year marine, and if he wanted to continue up the promotion ladder, he had to take assignments like this every once in a while, whether he liked it or not.
His mouth compressed grimly, Gib tucked the file beneath his arm. First, he’d go to operations and hand the flight over to Pete Mallory. Then he’d head to motor pool, requisition a jeep and drive to the Villard plantation. What a hell of a twist to his life.
* * *
Gib couldn’t steady the beat of his heart as he slid out of the jeep. Climbing the wooden porch steps—remarkably swept clean of the constant red dust—Gib found himself feeling damned unsure, almost like a sixteen-year-old boy going out on his first date. It was crazy, he decided as he halted to knock on the screen door.
Ma Ling, the maid, appeared silently before he could knock, her dark eyes accusing as she grudgingly opened the door for him.
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m Major Gib Ramsey, the investigation officer on Mrs. Villard’s death. I’m here to talk to Dany Villard. Is she around?” Gib hadn’t called before coming over, assuming that with the funeral for her mother having been yesterday, she would be remaining close to the house.
Ma Ling’s gaze never flinched from his. She jabbed angrily at him. “You in uniform!”
Gib was taken aback by the mamasan’s fury. “Of course I am.” What the hell was her problem?
Ma Ling bristled. “Major, Villard neutral.”
Gib scowled and opened his mouth to speak.
“You no come here in uniform,” Ma Ling continued in her stilted English, wagging her finger up at him.
Anger tinged Gib’s patience. “Look, I’m here to see Miss Villard,” he ground out, “on official Marine Corps business. The sooner we quit chatting and get this over with, the quicker I’ll be out of here and you’ll have your neutrality back.”
Glaring, Ma Ling stepped aside and allowed him into the highly polished teakwood foyer. Although she was dwarfed by his height, disgust was clearly written on her small features. She pointed her gnarled finger toward the drawing room where he’d taken Dany four days earlier.
“You go in there. Miss Dany sleeping. She very tired by her mama’s funeral.”
Guilt stabbed at him. He should have called first, damn it. His mouth quirked, and he nodded. “Tell her I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
Ma Ling glared at him and left him standing alone.
Out of sight, out of mind, Gib thought perversely as the mamasan disappeared. Wiping the sweat off his upper lip, he sauntered into the room. The plantation was quiet, with a soothing silence that certainly didn’t exist at Marble Mountain. Minutes later Ma Ling returned with a teakwood tray. Dany was nowhere in sight. Ma Ling glanced accusingly at Gib as she placed two dainty white china cups and saucers on the French provincial coffee table in front of the couch. The sterling silver teapot was placed between the cups, as was the creamer and sugar bowl.
“Miss Dany be down shortly. She said to serve tea.”
At least she was trying to be somewhat sociable, instead of openly hostile. His hands in his pockets, Gib turned his attention to the walls of the room, beginning to inspect the framed photographs he’d noticed on his previous visit. On closer look, Gib realized that Dany’s mother must have been a Hollywood actress. Two large, colorful movie posters adorned the nearest wall. Reading the credits, Gib saw Amy Lou Rawlings’s name in each of them, although in small print compared to the leading actor and actress. Moving to the next wall, he saw black-and-white photos of Dany’s mother with a dashing, mustached man whom he guessed must be Hugo Villard, Dany’s father. It appeared they had gone to every famous Hollywood spot, including the world-renowned Polo Lounge, where anyone who was anybody met to be seen for lunch or dinner.
The third wall held photos of Dany’s parents getting married. It was obviously a Hollywood wedding with all the dramatics that Tinsel Town could muster. Judging by the cars and clothes, the wedding had taken place in the 1930s. In another picture, Hugo sat astride a bay polo horse, surrounded by actors, looking proud and typically French with a natural air of aplomb. Gib shook his head. Dany certainly didn’t seem like the product of a Hollywood marriage. The investigation he’d been maneuvered into taking by his colonel had uncovered some interesting information about Amy Lou, however, and Gib didn’t have trouble believing she’d been a Hollywood starlet, based on how she’d lived in Vietnam.
Frowning, Gib found himself staring at the photos on the fourth and last wall. The Villard plantation was a frequent setting for parties with key Vietnamese officials, it appeared. There was even a photo of the latest Saigon government politicians with Hugo and Amy Lou. In another, the couple stood with Thieu, the latest strong man in Vietnam. The palace showed in the background of that photo, obviously taken in Saigon. The wall of pictures celebrated the Villard power and social life, incorporating one extravaganza after another. In each photo, Amy Lou was dressed in gaudy costumes befitting her earlier Hollywood image.
But where was Dany in all these pictures? Gib wondered. There were no baby pictures of her, of a proud mother holding her much-loved daughter. At his parent’s ranch in Midland, Texas, Gib poignantly recalled, the top of their television had become a favorite, crowded spot for pictures of each of the four children. Thinking he’d somehow missed the ones of Dany as a baby or a little girl, Gib began to peruse the wall more carefully.
Gib was standing, hands on hips, critically studying the last wall of photos when he heard Dany enter the room. Unbidden, his heart skipped beats as he allowed his hands to drop to his sides and he turned around. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing her once again.
Dany was dressed in a pale green cotton overblouse and loose, white cotton slacks, her feet bare. Her eyes still looked drowsy and slightly puffy. Her hair was pinned up haphazardly, ebony tendrils curled and clinging to her dampened temples. She looked like a disheveled girl, Gib thought, vulnerable and innocent. Shaking himself internally, he tried to get a handle on his feelings.
Today, her lovely golden skin looked more healthy. Her lips were full, he discovered, and delicately shaped, the corners soft and turned slightly upward. She had her mother’s small, fine nose, and as his gaze moved upward to meet her startling green eyes, Gib unconsciously inhaled.
Dany’s eyes were her most beautiful asset, Gib decided as he offered her a slight smile of welcome. He felt more unsure of himself now than any sixteen year old ever could have felt. She had the most alluring eyes he’d ever encountered, but they were dark with grief, the only outward sign of the tragedy she had endured. Her anguished expression quickly tamped his initial reactions to her as a woman.
“I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again. I’m Major Gib Ramsey. I’ve been appointed investigation officer on your mother’s death.”
Dany felt as if a weight on her shoulders had lightened when she walked into the drawing room and saw Gib standing there, studying the photos on the wall. When he turned, an incredible warmth suffused her, easing the pain she hadn’t been able to escape since her mother’s death. His large, alert hazel eyes broadcast his solicitude, and once again she felt protected and genuinely cared for. The feeling was so foreign to Dany that she was taken aback by it for precious seconds as she stood awkwardly beneath his heated, burning inspection.
Capturing her scattered thoughts, Dany realized he was in uniform, as Ma Ling had already angrily informed her. Dany’s heart fell as he told her the reason for his appearance.
“Investigation?” she asked in disbelief.
“Of course.”
“But...why?” She held out her hands in question.
Tension swirled around them, and Gib agonized over her sudden wariness. Was she a VC sympathizer? He wished he knew for sure, although his heart was convinced she wasn’t. “The mine detonated at the intersection of your driveway and Highway 14,” he explained patiently. “That’s official South Vietnamese property. And a marine convoy was passing your home at the time the explosion occurred. My CO assigned me to investigate what happened, Miss Villard. We have to determine who did it and, if possible, why. I need to ask you some questions.”
Shaken, Dany whispered, “But your presence here threatens our neutrality.”
Grimly, Gib walked to the sofa and gestured for her to sit. “There’s nothing neutral about war,” he said gruffly. “Now, if you’ll take a seat, I’ll try and make this as painless as possible on you.” And on me. Sweet God, but his sense of protection was overwhelming him. Dany looked absolutely distraught by his presence. An investigation would do nothing but dredge up all her grief over her mother’s passing. He felt like hell about it.
Touching her brow, Dany drew in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry...I’m forgetting my manners. Please, sit down. Ma Ling has made us tea.”
The sofa was as delicate looking as everything else in the home. Gib, always aware of his size, sat down carefully. He noticed that Dany’s hand trembled perceptibly as she filled one cup with tea and handed it to him. Again, he was struck by the shadows under her eyes and their slight puffiness. No doubt she’d been crying more than sleeping the last couple of days.
“Thanks,” he murmured, holding the cup and saucer between his hands. “How are you getting on?”
Dany shrugged and poured herself tea, not really wanting to drink it. “I survive moment to moment,” she admitted huskily as she sat back, her cup and saucer also in her hands, untouched.
Gib nodded. Her fragility was transparent in her every move, in her soft words, edged with pain. He was grateful that she didn’t try to evade him with social small talk. Dany wasn’t the actress in the family. She was too genuine to hide behind some carefully constructed facade as Amy Lou appeared to have done all her life.
He cleared his throat. “I was an eyewitness to your mother’s death, and there are some questions I need answered.” Placing the cup and saucer on the coffee table, Gib opened his folder. The official IO report stared back at him.
Dany moved uncomfortably. “I don’t understand why the American military has to be involved. The local authorities are investigating. Shouldn’t that be enough? Can’t you talk to Constable Jordan in Da Nang? He’s responsible for law enforcement in this region and has already taken my statement.” Dany feared Binh Duc’s reaction to Americans snooping around. He might already know that Gib was here, blatant in his tan, short-sleeved marine uniform.
“I’ll talk to him, too,” Gib said, writing down the name. “I have to try to determine whether the land mine was buried by VC to destroy marine convoys that travel up and down the highway, or if someone had a vendetta against your mother.”
Dany’s eyebrows dipped. “I’m sure it was a land mine put there to try to kill the American marines.” She set the cup and saucer down a little too loudly on the coffee table and got up, unable to sit still a moment longer. Her gut screamed at her that Binh Duc had been responsible for her mother’s death because of Amy Lou’s flirtation with the American general. Whether Dany would ever be able to prove it was another thing. More importantly, Dany knew she didn’t dare divulge Duc’s name to either the Vietnamese authorities or the American military. To do so would invite reprisals from Duc’s powerful force—a group that melted into the population by day and gathered after dark to wreak havoc. She didn’t want the plantation destroyed, or any more lives taken.
Gib clung to his patience. Dany was suddenly nervous. Was she afraid he’d uncover VC connections? “Has anyone threatened your mother lately?” he asked quietly.
Dany looked over her shoulder. “Of course not!”
Gib motioned to the walls of pictures. “She looks to be a famous celebrity. A Hollywood actress?”
With a grimace, Dany folded her arms against her body as she stood in the center of the room. Her voice was low and off-key. “Didn’t you know pictures lie? That’s what Hollywood really is: carefully orchestrated lies designed to make the public think some beautiful fairy-tale land exists out there, and all the people who belong to it are somehow magical and better off than the rest of us.” She halted abruptly. This marine didn’t care about her. All he wanted was information that would ultimately destroy Villard neutrality.
Her pain was very real. Gib frowned. “Tell me about your mother. Was she a famous actress in Hollywood’s heyday?”
Dany’s mouth quirked. “Let’s stick to business, shall we, Major? No one had threatened my mother.”
He wasn’t going to be deterred. “I need some background information. Tell me about the Villard plantation.”
Feeling trapped, Dany stood very stiffly. As much as she wanted to dislike Gib Ramsey, the opposite was occurring. His eyes, although hard, held something else in their depths. Every time she connected with and held his probing gaze, she felt an incredible surge of warmth and protection surrounding her. It was ridiculous! Dany shrugged it off, attributing it to her grief-stricken state. Her heart pounding, she licked her lower lip. “We’re a rubber plantation, Major. A thousand acres of rubber trees. That’s what we do for a living—produce rubber and export it. We’ve been here since 1930.”
“How did your family get through the Vietminh years?” Gib asked.
Dany frowned. “Just as we’re doing right now—by remaining neutral. My father refused to take sides in the Vietminh situation when Vietnam was a French colony.”
“Did that create enemies?”
Exasperated, Dany shrugged. “I don’t know!” She wheeled around and started to pace the long, rectangular room. “I wasn’t even born then. And my parents never spoke about it to me.”
Gib dutifully recorded the information for his report. It hurt him to see her like this, especially knowing he was the reason she was becoming unraveled. He tried to take the gruffness out of his tone. “Who handles the operation of the plantation?”
“I do,” Dany said flatly. She turned and walked back to him. “I’ve run this place since my father died.”
“Didn’t your mother help?” Gib found it phenomenal that Dany could handle the reins of such a large operation. His ranch back in Texas was as big, and he knew the problems involved in managing such a concern.
“My mother—” Dany stopped, then sighed. “My mother lived to be a part of the social scene, Major. I stayed here and ran the plantation.” Her voice dropped and grew hoarse. “The land is what I love. This land and its people. Out back of this house is a Vietnamese village. Three generations of families have helped us till this soil and keep the plantation whole and alive.”
Moved by her admission, Gib tore his gaze from her. As a rancher, he understood love of the land only too well. There was something honorable about Dany that struck him hard. He forced himself back to the report.
“What is your affiliation with the Vietcong?” He didn’t look up, fearing the answer.
Dany made an exasperated sound. “Affiliation? Major, I’m neutral! I don’t deal with them at all! I have the local leader’s word that he will not cross or use my plantation in any warlike activity or purpose.”
“Would that be Binh Duc?”
Inwardly, Dany winced. “Yes.”
Gib looked up measuring the expression in her eyes and the tone of her voice. “You know him?”
“Of course I do!” Frustrated, Dany cried, “I’ve lived here all my life, Major! Just because I know Binh Duc doesn’t mean I consort with him! Is that what you’re implying? That I’m a VC sympathizer?”
Grimly, Gib held her angry, hurt gaze. “You tell me. Are you?”
“No!”
“Then who do you think planted that mine?”
Rubbing her forehead, tears jamming into her eyes, Dany whispered, “I don’t know!”
Gib had no defense against her. His heart jagged with the pain he was causing her by asking such brutal questions. The tears in her eyes made him feel like hell. “On the other hand,” he began hoarsely, “if the VC felt you weren’t being neutral in some way, they could have planted it.”
Dany stood very still, fighting an overwhelming—and ridiculous—need to be held by Gib Ramsey. She couldn’t forget the feel of his arms around her after the explosion, or the husky tone of his voice as he’d tried to soothe her panic and grief. Stiffening her spine, she rattled, “That’s entirely possible, I suppose, but we’ve done nothing to make the VC think we’re anything but neutral.” She agonized over the possibility. Binh Duc was fully capable of doing such a thing.
Grimly, he said, “It’s known that your mother and a certain marine general were pretty serious about each other.”
Dany’s heart thudded once, hard, in her breast. She felt the iciness of fear stab through her gut. “What?” she whispered.
Gib saw the disbelief and shock in her eyes. Was Dany putting on an act, or was this real? His heart told him she was genuinely stunned by his statement. “I’m privy to certain information that confirms your mother was very serious about this general. What do you know about it?”
“N-nothing.” Dany stood there, feeling suddenly dizzy with dread. Had Duc found this out? Was that the reason for the mine? She touched her brow and stared down at the teak floor. “My mother’s life was private. She always shared silly gossip with me when she came back from luncheons and charity benefits, but I never knew...really knew about her...” She grasped for the right words. Amy Lou had always been a tease to men and, like a butterfly, had never stayed with one man very long since Dany’s father’s death. Why hadn’t her mother told her how serious she was about this general? Tears drove into Dany’s eyes, and she forced herself to look at Gib.
“How much do you know about her relationship with the general?” she demanded in a choked voice.
“That he was going to ask her to marry him the day she died in that mine explosion.”
“Oh, God....” Dany wavered, then caught herself.
“Didn’t you know?”
Covering her eyes with her hand, Dany dragged in a deep breath. It all made sense now. Amy Lou had known the general for six months, gone out with him with a regularity that hadn’t marked her other relationships. Why hadn’t Dany realized it? Lamely, she admitted, “I didn’t know. She never told me.”
“But if Binh Duc had known, wouldn’t he have had reason to plant a mine, feeling you were no longer neutral?”
“I—I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall, Dany squeezed her eyes shut and took a huge, ragged breath. “All I want to do now, Major, is live here in peace. I don’t like the VC, their methods or their political philosophy. Nor do I agree with the South Vietnamese bringing marines from America here.” Stormily, Dany held his gaze. “I want nothing to do with anyone. Is that clear? I don’t condone any political position. My home—our land—is what’s important. That, and the people of my village. I care about human beings and I care about surviving this damned war. It’s like a cancer touching all of us!”
Her cry seared Gib. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d set aside the report papers and risen to his feet. Dany stood so alone and forlorn. He ached to put his arms around her and protect her in a purely human response to her need. Something cautioned him not to, though, and he halted a foot away from her.
“In some ways, we have a lot in common. In others, we don’t,” he said in an effort to somehow assuage all the pain he’d brought to bear on her this morning.
Dany was wildly aware of Gib’s proximity. The urge to fall into his arms increased tenfold until it was an almost tangible, driving thing. She stepped away from him, afraid of the unexpected emotions he seemed to trigger in her. “How do you mean?” she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry.
Gib smiled gently. Dany’s face was dotted with a sheen of perspiration. The noontime heat was turning the drawing room into a steam room in his estimation. But there was a different kind of heat rising in him—a slow building fire he needed to fight.
“You gotta understand Texans,” Gib said gruffly, scrambling to find some neutral ground between them. He couldn’t go on torturing Dany with his questions. Her grief was too fresh, and the jolting realization that her mother had been ready to become engaged obviously had been too much for her to cope with. In an effort to soothe her, he began to talk about himself—the private side—something he’d done very little of since coming to Vietnam. “Texans are a unique breed in the United States, and we’re real family oriented. My daddy died in a freak pickup accident when I was ten, so Mama raised the four of us by herself, plus ran the Ramsey ranch. We shared a love of the land. I was raised on hard, dry Texas earth. Midland’s part of the oil-boom country of Texas, but my daddy always raised herefords. His death ended up bringing us even closer together—a tight-knit team bound and determined to make ends meet.”
Gib’s voice was like a balm to Dany’s shredded emotions. There was so much to this complex man. Dany tried to tell herself she was interested because he was American, and she wanted to know about American things because the blood ran in her veins. “So you grew up poor?”
“Dirt poor,” Gib said. He motioned to her bare feet. “And just like you, the four of us ran around in ragged coveralls and bare feet most of the time. The only time we saw a pair of shoes was when we had to go to school, and then we wore them grudgingly. The baby of our family, Tess, hated shoes. She used to get punished at school for taking them off in class and walking around barefoot in the halls.” Gib smiled at the thought of his stubborn baby sister—now an equally stubborn young woman who was also living in Vietnam, determined to help the peasants through her civilian-relief job.
Dany smiled hesitantly at the light of happiness shining in his hazel eyes as he reminisced. She could hear it, too, in his low, deep voice. “Your mother is a very special woman, then,” she said. “A strong woman loyal to the land and to the four of you.” Dany wished her own mother had simply loved her, wanted her. She didn’t mind that Amy Lou wasn’t really strong in many ways.
“Yes,” Gib agreed, “she was very special—to all of us.”
Dany tilted her head. “Was? Is she dead?”
Gib’s mouth quirked, and he glanced down at her. He saw in her eyes the sudden compassion for him, for his loss. It triggered a deluge of old, poignant memories. “You get me going here, and I’ll rag your ear off with stories about my life and my family. I don’t think you want to hear that,” he jested weakly.
“No...I’d like to hear about your mother, your family—that is, if you don’t mind sharing it with me?”
A sudden lump formed in Gib’s throat. He cleared it once. His mother had died unexpectedly, too, in his arms, of a heart attack two days after he’d returned home from getting his wings. To this day, the memory brought up unparalleled grief. Gruffly, he muttered, “I’m concerned how you’re going to take your mama’s death.”
“With a lot of guilt and remorse,” Dany admitted rawly. “I always loved her, but she—” Dany couldn’t say it. It took every shred of strength left in her to not say more. How badly she wanted to let down her guard and talk to Gib, to tell him the awful truth that haunted her.
How terribly alone Dany really was, Gib realized. He ached to share the warmth of real family with her. But under the circumstances, as IO in this matter, it was impossible. He knew he’d better bring things back to a more professional level. “Well,” Gib said hoarsely, “I think I’ve got enough information from you today to start the investigation.”
“Will you have to come back?”
The terror in her voice was real. Gib stared down at her. “I don’t like this any better than you do, but I’ve got a general waiting for this report. I’ll talk to the constable tomorrow.”
Wearily, Dany backed away from him.
Gib felt like a heel. He could see the grief and despair in her ravaged eyes. “You know, you might think of selling the plantation and leaving the country. This place is too much for one young woman to run by herself.”
Dany managed a strained smile at his gentle tone. Sweet God in heaven, but she was fractions of a moment from stepping into the cradle of his arms again. “I’d never sell this place, Major. It’s been my whole life for the last six years.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I was finishing up my degree in economics from the Sorbonne in Paris when my father became very ill with liver cancer. I graduated days before his death.”
Hungry to know more about Dany, Gib couldn’t help himself. “Did you know he was dying?”
Dany shook her head. “Father had ordered my mother not to tell me. He felt it was more important that I study, get good grades and receive a diploma. He thought if I knew, I’d want to come home and not continue to study in Paris full-time.” She looked away, fighting tears. “He was right.”
Inwardly, Gib seethed with anger. How callous and unfeeling her parents seemed to have been toward Dany’s obvious needs. “So you arrived home to find him dying?” he growled, unable to disguise all his anger.
“When my father said they couldn’t come to Paris for my graduation, I knew something was very wrong. My parents had always pushed me to get a degree. Neither of them had one, and they wanted me to better myself.” Dany walked slowly to the sofa and sat down. “He told me over the phone how proud he was of me that I had graduated with honors, but that he couldn’t make the trip. When I asked why, he just told me I’d know more when I came home.”
“Good God,” Gib breathed savagely, but stopped himself from saying more.
Dany saw the accusation in his eyes. “They loved me the best they knew how, Major.”
“It sure as hell wasn’t enough,” he rasped. “Not nearly enough.”
Again, Dany felt the overwhelming protectiveness emanating from him. It was such an incredibly different feeling, one she’d never encountered before. It acted as a stabilizer to her raw, spinning state. “Perhaps not,” Dany ventured softly. “When I got home, I found out the truth. I spent the last five days with my father—at least I had that time with him. We really talked for the first time in our lives about a lot of things...important things. It was from him that I really began to understand about my parents and what they meant to each other. I stopped being angry at them after that, because I knew they both loved me in their own way, and gave me what they had to give me.”
It wasn’t much, Gib wanted to tell her, swallowing his anger. “How did your mother react to your father’s death?”
“Terribly. She went to pieces after he died. For a year, she stayed in bed. The doctor said she had suffered a severe nervous breakdown, and he prescribed a lot of tranquilizers. After she got over the grief of my father’s passing, I spent another year getting her off the drugs—she’d become addicted to them. Gradually, Maman came out of it and began to live again. I picked up the reins of managing the plantation, and really, it was easy for me, because I understood what had to be done. Our workers are my extended family. I spent more time with them than with my parents when I was growing up. So when my father died and I assumed control, they remained loyal.”
“And you’ve been running this huge place by yourself ever since.” Gib was amazed in one sense, but he had his own mother’s example to look to, running their large Texas ranch and providing the bare essentials of life for five people. The set of Dany’s chin and the flash of pride in her eyes told him she was made out of the same bolt of cloth his mother had been.
“It has been hard,” Dany assured him with a small smile. “But also it’s been my salvation—my friend, if you will. I could bury myself in farm work and the accounting books or the mountains of export papers when things got tough with my mother. The Vietnamese people who work and live on our land are wonderful. They love this plantation and the soil as much as I do. The children I grew up with are now working with me. Most of their parents are old, but I refuse to kick them off the land. I ask the elders to contribute what they can, and in a way that gives them respect and importance. We operate more like a village hamlet than an agricultural business.”
Gib shook his head. “This place seems too big for one person to handle effectively.”
Dany shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do. I’m used to working twelve to sixteen hours a day, Major.”
Gib knew it was past time for him to leave. Crossing to the sofa, he picked up the report. “I’ll be back later,” he promised. “Next time, I’ll call ahead.”
Dany nodded, chewing her lower lip with worry. “Couldn’t you just call me? We could talk over the phone.”
Gib shook his head. “No. I don’t like this any more than you do, but it’s got to be done.”
Dany felt suddenly crushed—and angry—at his insensitivity to her plight.
Settling the garrison cap on his head, Gib looked over at her. Anger was in her eyes, but so was something else. Something that triggered his protective mechanism. “I’ll be in touch,” he promised huskily.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a0f0befb-e962-52fc-86c8-f7e4a430d8a4)
“Colonel Parsons wants to see you right away,” Sergeant Jeffrey said from his desk.
Frowning, Gib dropped the pencil onto his own desk. Damn. What now? “Thanks, Jeffrey.” Locating his utility cap in a lower drawer, Gib got to his feet and walked across the hollow-sounding plywood floor of the tent toward the door. He knew what the colonel wanted—an update on the Villard investigation.
As Gib left the hot, steamy confines of the tent and stepped out into the morning sunlight, the temperature and humidity, both well into the nineties, hit him squarely. He settled the dark green utility cap on his head, the bill almost brushing the bridge of his nose to shade his eyes from the blinding sun.
Marble Mountain was a small base in comparison to Da Nang, which lay to the north of them. It had been erected on virgin white sands at the edge of the turquoise-and-emerald ocean. For as far as the eye could see hard-backed tents and other structures more solidly built out of wood dotted the hilly landscape. In addition, a series of bunkers sat nearby to protect against enemy attack. The place reminded Gib of a hive of busy bees, except that the men were clothed in dark green jungle utilities. In the last month the marines had moved over eight thousand men into Da Nang. Was it the start of a larger American build-up? Gib wondered. On his last tour, he’d worked exclusively with ARVN soldiers, and there had been very few GIs in Vietnam, except in advisory capacities such as his own. Things were changing now, and it bothered him deeply. Part of the reason he’d volunteered for a second tour was because of his strong and personal ties with the Vietnamese ARVN soldiers. Now it was looking more and more like a U.S.-staged event. Stateside, they still called it a “conflict,” but every day Gib felt it looked more and more like war.
Movement at Marble Mountain was constant: helicopters buzzed overhead; men and jeeps hurried from one place to another. Today, Gib felt the strains and pressures of the ceaseless activity more than usual.
Steeling himself for Colonel Parson’s questioning, Gib slipped into the tent marked with a red sign trimmed in yellow. Marine Air Group—(MAG)—Headquarters, it proclaimed.
Parsons looked up as Gib entered. Gib stood at customary attention until he was ordered to be at ease and sit down. “I’ve got the general breathing down my neck,” the colonel began without preamble. “What have you found out about the Villard case?”
“Not much, sir,” Gib admitted. “I talked to Constable Jordan in Da Nang a week ago, and he feels Binh Duc is probably responsible for the placement of the mine that killed Mrs. Villard.”
Parsons’s lean hand tightened around the pen he was holding. “Any proof?”
“No, sir. Short of finding Duc and making him admit it, I doubt we’re going to get anything substantial.”
“Have you questioned Miss Villard’s peasants?”
Gib felt his CO’s probing eyes go through him. With the unexpected number of helo flights the last week, he hadn’t been able to schedule time to see Dany again. “Not yet, but that’s next on my list.”
“When?”
“Today, sir,” Gib lied. He knew he was dragging his feet on this investigation because of Dany’s effect on him. Parsons wasn’t going to allow any more stalling on his part. He might as well get it over with.
Parsons grunted his satisfaction. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m appointing you official liaison officer to Miss Villard. It’s been so damned busy around here that I keep forgetting to tell you.”
“Liaison officer? What for?”
The colonel shrugged noncommittally. “Don’t know yet. That’s the word that came up from Saigon a couple days ago. The boys at headquarters don’t think we need to know what’s going on—as usual.”
Bothered, but not sure why, Gib nodded. “We’re still investigating the death of Miss Villard’s mother, sir.”
“That has nothing to do with this second assignment, Gib.”
Irritated, Gib scowled. So what the hell did? “Does HQ have some other plans involving the Villard plantation?”
Parsons shrugged. “As I said before, Gib, they don’t make me privy to the think-tank personnel who go around all day cooking up screwball ideas to hand to the field marines. If I had anything more than that, I’d give it to you.”
Rankled, Gib nodded. “Sounds like HQ has something bigger up their sleeve.”
“Probably,” Parsons agreed drily. “But until they tell us, we can just hang out over the cliff wondering what the hell it is. We really don’t have time for that.”
Gib agreed. “I’ll schedule some time to see Miss Villard this afternoon and question her workers. Maybe one of them knows something.”
Parsons snorted. “My money’s on the local VC chieftain. Those gooks probably won’t talk to you for fear of his reprisal.”
Gib cringed inwardly at the colonel’s use of the derogatory term to refer to the Vietnamese people. To him, it showed lack of sensitivity and, worse, a lack of understanding of a people whose history was thousands of years old. They deserved to be treated as human beings, not placed under some convenient, insulting label. “It wouldn’t make sense in this case, sir. Miss Villard said she has had an agreement, a neutrality, with all parties involved since 1930.”
With a tight, smile, Parsons muttered, “Miss Villard is fooling herself if she thinks she can remain neutral in the middle of all this.”
“I don’t know, sir, the Villards managed to do it when the French colonials were fighting the Vietminh in the fifties.”
“This is different.”
“If I get a deposition with any proof of Duc’s involvement, I’ll contact you upon my return.”
“Good. Dismissed.”
Gib came to attention and left. Against his better judgment, he looked forward to seeing Dany. Had she recovered from the initial shock of her mother’s death? He hadn’t been able to forget the look on her face, the puffiness beneath her eyes, showing how much she’d cried. Moving between the long rows of tents, he made his way to his own. Recalling Ma Ling’s severe censure about showing up in uniform, Gib decided that to keep the peace he’d better slip into civilian clothes.
His tent was small and spare, including a metal bunk with a thin mattress on it, a metal locker where he stored his clothes, an office desk and a phone. The plywood floor was swept daily by Vietnamese women who worked on the base, but sand inevitably crunched beneath his flight boots.
Grabbing a towel, Gib headed for the hastily erected plywood showers that stood at the end of the row of tents. On some days, the grit of Marble Mountain felt like burrs under a saddle as far as Gib was concerned. The fine sand got trapped inside his dark green flight suit and chafed until his skin was raw and bleeding. Then fungal infection could set in, becoming a nightmare of trying to get rid of the leaky abrasions with ten-day cycles of penicillin. He shook his head at the thought. Yeah, great climate they had here.
Right now Gib wanted a lukewarm shower to cleanse his crowded, exhausted mind almost as much as to wash the sand off his body. Drying himself afterward, he padded down the row of tents in his shower thongs, the white towel wrapped loosely around his narrow hips. It would be a welcome change to get out of his one-piece flight uniform and into a set of clean civilian clothes. Back at his tent, Gib pulled on a light blue short-sleeved shirt, fresh underwear and tan slacks, then quickly ran a comb through his short dark hair, taming it into place.
Feeling semihuman once again, he borrowed a yellow Citroën from an ARVN officer friend and headed toward Dany Villard’s plantation. As Gib drove along Highway 1, which would eventually lead to 14, his mind strayed to the passing countryside. The afternoon heat was building across Vietnam, the sun burning down from a bright azure sky to touch the top of the triple-canopied jungle. The smells that surrounded Gib were many, from pungent and acrid to cloyingly sweet. To him, Vietnam was a land of extremes, but more than anything, it was one of the most beautiful places on earth—and, unfortunately, rapidly becoming one of the deadliest.
As he drove down the Villard plantation’s long red-brick driveway, Gib saw the few Vietnamese peasants working along the boulevard look up in curiosity. But their faces gave away nothing of what they thought or felt about his intrusive presence.
At the house, Gib climbed out of the Citroën. The need to see Dany was nearly overwhelming in one sense, yet uncomfortable in another. As he took the steps two at a time, Gib tried to search for why he was drawn so powerfully to her, but no answer was forthcoming. All he knew was that thinking of Dany brought a lush flow of feelings that he’d thought he’d lost by being in combat for nearly two tours. And he couldn’t afford to feel like that—not here in Vietnam with the rigors of combat he faced every day.
He knocked at the screen door and waited patiently for Ma Ling to appear.
Ma Ling answered his knock, her broad brow wrinkling instantly when she saw who it was. “Yes?” she demanded.
Gib spoke slowly. “I’m here to see Miss Villard.”
Ma Ling’s scowl deepened, but she reluctantly opened the door. “Come, you go through house. Miss Dany out with workers.”
Gib nodded. “Thank you.”
Shaking her head, Ma Ling led him through the teakwood halls to a rear door. “Go out there,” she ordered. “You find her there.”
Gib thanked her and, leaving his briefcase near the back door, stepped out once more into the sunshine. Bougainvillea grew in bright profusion around the rear of the house, and a small, carefully manicured lawn with a number of silk trees bordering it made up the backyard. A variety of orchids climbed and hung in the limbs of the silk trees, their colors and scents dazzling his senses. As always, the calls of birds, each melody different, wafted out of the jungle that surrounded the rubber-tree plantation like a somewhat discordant symphony. Screamer monkeys could be heard, their shrieks sounding almost human in the distance.
Beyond the small oval lawn, row upon row of rubber trees stretched for as far as the eye could see. To the left sat a small village of thatched huts. As Gib sauntered across the lawn toward a group of peasants within the line of the rubber trees, he remained on high alert. He still had no proof that Dany or her people weren’t VC sympathizers.
Dany had been right: The small village that housed her farmhands and their families appeared more like a hamlet than the poorly built and maintained transient-labor cottages he’d seen on large Texas cotton farms. Everything was neatly kept. Blackened cooking pots sat on iron tripods over small fires, the odor of rice and highly seasoned vegetables filling his nostrils. Older women dressed in black and wearing bamboo hats crouched over the fires, tending the forthcoming evening meals. Very young children, naked and golden brown, screamed and played among the huts. Scrawny dogs chased them, yipping and barking happily at their heels.
As Gib neared the group of peasants, who were raking up leaves and twigs from around the rubber trees, he spotted Dany. Halting, he put his hands in his pockets and looked at her. Unbidden, a smile worked its way onto his lips.
Holding a rake, Dany worked alongside the ten other men and women. She wore loose blue cotton pants, too big on her slender form. Her white cotton overblouse was smudged with dirt here and there, testament that she had been working long and hard today. Her face was covered with a sheen of perspiration, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her long hair had been caught up beneath the bamboo hat she wore to protect her face from the harsh rays of the tropical sun.
Gib’s smile deepened as his gaze moved downward. Dany was barefoot. She worked unceasingly with her peasants, intent on what she was doing. A small rickety wheelbarrow sat nearby, filled with the twigs, branches and leaves they’d collected, leaving the ground swept clean.
“Dany?” Her name slipped from his lips, more like a reverent prayer than a call intended to catch her attention. Gib was surprised to hear himself use her first name—and by how softly he’d spoken it. Her link with the land made him feel unexpectedly good about her. Thus far, everything she’d said had proven true, Gib thought. If only he could prove for certain that she wasn’t a VC sympathizer.
Dany jerked her head up. Her heart banged violently in her breast. Gib Ramsey stood smiling at her, dressed in civilian clothes—and looking devastatingly handsome, she thought unwillingly. The peasants hadn’t even heard him call her name. But she had. Confused, she stopped raking and walked toward him. Part of her was thrilled at seeing him, another part filled with dread and fear. In spite of his civilian clothes, word might get back to Binh Duc that he was here, on her property, once again.
Feelings of joy warred with embarrassment as Dany approached him. Glancing down at herself, she realized how unkempt she was. Heat nettled her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do about her appearance at this point. Still, she saw the warm look of greeting in Gib’s hazel eyes, the line of his mouth stretching into a lazy smile that sent her heart skittering.
“I’m back,” Gib greeted. Dany’s face was flushed, tendrils of black hair sticking to her temples and down the sides of her neck. Her skin had a golden glow.
Dany halted a few feet from him. Caught off guard by his unexpected presence and unsettled by her own response to him, she heard anger tinge her voice as she asked, “Couldn’t you have at least called?”
Gib saw the look of dread laced with anger replace the sparkle of life that had shone in her green eyes when she first saw him. Was it because of his official capacity? Or aimed at him personally? He didn’t want her to dislike him, he discovered. “I’ll try to remember to do that next time,” he said coolly. “I need to discuss some other things with you—”
Dany gripped his arm and turned him toward the house, looking around and pursing her lips. “Then let’s go inside where we can’t be seen.”
Sensing her worry, Gib fell in step with her as they moved toward the house. “Is anything wrong?”
Taking the wooden steps quickly, Dany placed the rake against the wall and opened the rear screen door. “As always, your being here jeopardizes my neutrality, Major.”
Gib stepped inside. He watched as she took off her bamboo hat and set it on the floor. “I won’t stay long,” he told her.
Dany gestured for him to follow her. She didn’t have the heart to chide him further. Her pulse wouldn’t settle down, and she poked nervously at her damp hair. She was sure she looked utterly disheveled, and she wished mightily that Gib had called first. For some reason, she didn’t want him to see her like this.
Leading him into the main part of the house, Dany called for Ma Ling to bring iced tea. Then she took Gib on to the enclosed veranda at the front of the house. “Let me have a quick shower and change into some clean, dry clothes,” she said quickly. “I’ll join you shortly.”
“Sure,” Gib said. “But you look beautiful just the way you are,” he couldn’t resist adding. He saw her cheeks flame scarlet.
“Oh—” Dany’s heart tripled its beat. Licking her lips nervously, she backed off the veranda and hesitated at the entrance. “I’d better change. I’ll be just a moment.”
Sitting down on one of the bamboo chairs, which had huge, soft pink cushions, Gib wondered at her reaction. Wasn’t Dany used to being complimented? Apparently not—she’d blushed like a schoolgirl.
Ma Ling appeared with two chilled glasses of iced tea. She set the accompanying pitcher on a small bamboo table covered with thick etched glass. A plate of sliced lemons and a sterling silver sugar bowl completed the ensemble.
Gib thanked her and got up to squeeze lemon juice into his glass and add two heaping spoons of sugar. This time, Ma Ling didn’t give him the accusing stare. He grinned, taking the glass back to his chair to sit down. Maybe it was the maid’s way of praising him for showing up in civilian clothes.
Dany quickly slipped into a long, pale pink cotton skirt that brushed her ankles and a sleeveless white blouse. Her hair hung in damp sheets about her shoulders. She quickly ran a brush through the strands to smooth them into place, then captured the mass into one long braid that hung between her shoulder blades. Her ever-present grief lifted slightly at the thought of Gib downstairs. Dany glanced at herself in the bedroom mirror. Wispy strands swept across her forehead, barely touching her brows. Tendrils curled against her temples, softening the natural angularity of her features. Smoothing the cotton blouse, she hurriedly left her spacious bedroom, furnished entirely in bamboo pieces, and skipped down the stairs.
Gib stood when Dany entered the veranda. She looked fetching in the simple skirt and blouse, incredibly beautiful and fresh. His smile deepened when he realized she was still barefoot.
“You’re a country girl at heart,” he teased, stepping over to the table and offering her a glass of iced tea.
Smiling shyly, Dany sat down. “Thank you.” She drank half the glass of tea thirstily—or had she done it out of nerves? Somehow Gib made her wildly aware of herself as a woman.
Gib took a seat opposite her at the table and opened his briefcase, taking out a number of papers and a pen. “How are you doing since the funeral?” he asked.
Sitting back in the bamboo chair, Dany drew up one leg beneath the voluminous skirt. “I have good days and bad days,” she answered simply.
“It’ll cycle like that for about three months.”
Her mouth twitched. “Don’t say that.” Pointing to her eyes, Dany added, “Look at my dark circles. I’ve had nothing but broken sleep and nightmares since it happened.” With a frustrated sound, she said, “There’s too much work here that demands my attention. I can’t keep going on like this.”
“You wake up tired and go to sleep tired,” Gib guessed softly. The urge to reach out and fold Dany into his arms was tangible. She looked so young, seemingly untouched by the war that escalated daily around her.
“Yes,” Dany said. She managed a small smile. “The work keeps me from thinking...feeling, I guess.”
Hearing the raw pain in her voice, he lifted his head and held her sincere gaze. “Grief does funny things to us,” he agreed.
Dany set the glass on the table. She tried to remind herself that he was a marine, someone who posed a threat to the plantation and her people. Just as she was going to speak, she heard a young boy calling her name as he ran around the corner of the house. It was Hanh Vinh, Ma Ling’s twelve-year-old grandson.
Gib heard the high, excited call and turned in his seat. A skinny young boy dressed in a pair of faded cutoffs and a white T-shirt, his straight black hair cut in a bowl fashion, came galloping up the stairs.
“Missy Dany, Missy Dany! Look what I found!” Vinh called excitedly. His brown eyes widened at the sight of Gib, and he jerked to a halt.
“It’s all right, Vinh,” Dany said kindly. “This is Major Ramsey. He’s here to investigate my mother’s death.” She spoke slowly to him in English, as she often did. Dany wanted her workers to be fluent not only in their own language, but—English and French as well.
Vinh flushed, dodged around Gib and proudly marched over to Dany. “Look what I found!”
With a cry of delight, Dany reached out toward Vinh. “A kitten?”
“Yes, I found it crying along our fence line where I was clearing some brush. Look at it! Look at the color. I’ve decided to call him Milky, because he is the color of milk.”
Dany gently took the kitten into her hands and cradled it against her breast. She glanced over at Gib and saw genuine interest and compassion in his face. “This little one can’t be more than four or five weeks old, Vinh.”
“May I keep him, Missy Dany?” the boy begged, clasping his hands together. “Please? I promise, I will take great care of him.”
Dany examined the white kitten, then said wryly, “Sweetheart, I think your kitten isn’t a him, but a her.”
Vinh’s eyes widened. “Yes?”
“It’s a girl.”
“Well, is that not good?”
Petting the scruffy little kitten, who obviously was starving, Dany smiled into Vinh’s eyes. “It means that when she grows up, she can have babies.”
Vinh shrugged dramatically, flashing her a winsome smile. “We need cats to chase and kill the rats!”
Returning the kitten to Vinh, Dany laughed. “Yes, we do need some mousers.” She gave him a stern look. “You promise to take very good care of Milky?”
Clutching the kitten to his chest, the boy bobbed his head several times. “Yes! A thousand yeses, Missy Dany! I will see that Milky is fed, and I will find a comb for her white fur. I will take her with me everywhere I go. She will fit nicely in my pocket here.” He patted his cutoffs. “In fact, she can help me clear brush along the fence! Then I will draw pictures of her!”
Struggling to hide a smile, Dany maintained her serious expression. “You have many duties, Vinh. You go to school, you have your art instruction once a week and daily art assignments to fulfill. Are you sure you can discipline yourself enough to also take care of this little kitten?”
Vinh’s face turned sincere as he gently petted the kitten now purring noisily in his slender hands. “I will take care of Milky as if she were my sister.”
“Then you may keep her,” Dany said, finally allowing her smile to surface. “Ask Ma Ling if she will favor your kitten with some fresh cow’s milk and some soft food.”
Vinh rushed over to Dany, threw his skinny arm around her neck and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.
“I love you so much, Missy Dany! Thank you!”
Dany embraced him gently, not wanting to squish the kitten he held so carefully. “And I love you, too.”
Vinh beamed and backed off. He gave Gib a long, curious look as if he wanted to say something to him, but shyness overcame him. Ma Ling appeared silently at the screen door and allowed him into the foyer, her face stern. Dany smiled up at her mamasan. Ma Ling’s eyes danced with amusement, but her face remained stonelike.
After peace returned to the veranda, Dany looked over at Gib. The expression on his face touched her heart.
“You’re a soft touch,” he teased, his voice husky.
With a shrug, Dany sipped the iced tea. “Vinh has favored status around here,” she told him conspiratorially. “He’s such a bright young boy, and a wonderful artist! You should see his tempera paintings. When he was seven, I caught him in his hut drawing, and I was amazed at his talent. He’s Ma Ling’s grandson, so I asked her if she thought he might do well to have art lessons. She agreed. I discovered a retired art professor who lives in Da Nang and I drive Vinh up to see him once a week.”
Gib smiled. “He’s a nice kid. And he knows how to get his way with you.”
Dany laughed for the first time. “These people are my extended family, Major. I could never turn them down on something they really needed or wanted. Over the years, five children have grown up, gone to the university in Saigon and now have professional lives. I’m proud of what we do to help them.”
“You treat your people the way we do ours back on our family ranch in Texas,” Gib said. “Our manager is from Mexico, and we’ve helped put his six kids through school.”
Dany tilted her head. “And is everyone in your family a farmer?” She liked the idea that Gib was ultimately a man of the land.
“Yes and no. Jim, my younger brother, joined the marines and followed in my footsteps. He’s scheduled to fly F-4 Phantoms out of Tan Son Nhut in five months, right after I rotate out of here. Travis is a year younger than Jim, and he’s a navy doctor currently stationed at Norfolk, Virginia. I understand he’s trying to volunteer to get over to Nam, but the navy’s telling him that only one military member of a family can be in a combat zone at a time, so I don’t know if he’ll make it. My sister, Tess, is over here as a U.S. AID specialist and works with three villages not far from here. She’s in a civilian capacity, so the military rule doesn’t apply. The family kinda broke up after Mama died. Our foreman, Miguel Ferrari and his wife, Vivi, take care of the place in our absence.”

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