Camouflage Heart by Dana Marton Read Free Book Online Page A

down the needle, grabbed the larger knife from the ground and cut off the extra thread, then put her pants and boots back on. There was nothing else to do but watch his progress. His hands had steadied. And thank God for that. She wasn’t sure she would have been brave enough to offer her help with shaving, not with that deadly looking blade.
    The fire was down to embers when he moved on to his hair. There hadn’t been enough dry material to keep the flames going, but whatever they’d managed was enough. They had a hot meal in their stomachs and were warmed up a little. If nothing else, it lifted her spirits, which was probably one of the most important things. If she could keep her mind from sinking into despair and giving up, the battle would be half-won.
    Brian cut the hair on the side methodically and progressed to the back, his movements turning awkward.
    â€œLet me help.” She rose and went to him. “Turn around.”
    She knelt behind him and worked fast, cutting as much by feel as sight. He tossed what had remained of the ropes that had once bound her into the fire, but the fibers were damp and gave but a few more minutes of light, producing plenty of smoke in the process. Then the last ember blinked out and they were shrouded in darkness. “Here’s the knife.” She held it out to where she’d last seen his hand.
    â€œYou keep it,” he said.
    She tightened her fingers on the handle, unsure where to put the small weapon.
    He didn’t move.
    What was he waiting for?
    She should probably brush the hair off his back. She shifted, reluctant to touch him. And how stupid was that? He had saved her life twice, had just given her a knife that was sharp enough to shave with. He wasn’t about to throw her to the ground, for heaven’s sake. She reached out with her left hand and brushed the clippings off, quick, businesslike. It was strange to touch him like this, feeling without seeing, the long ridges of his scars pressing against her fingertips. For someone as underfed as he was, he retained an amazing amount of muscle.
    She snatched away her hand and stood in one motion, stepping back.
    â€œThank you,” he said, his voice deep and thick.
    She could hear him put on his shirt and move over to the raised platform she had built while he’d started their short-lived fire. He had instructed her on how to make a frame, how to stack on top the two dozen or so fallen branches he’d asked her to gather. She hoped the vines would hold and they wouldn’t tumble to the ground in the middle of the night, although, they weren’t high up—no more than a foot or so—just enough to keep the bugs and rats and snakes off them.
    She stepped after him and felt for the edge of the platform, big enough for the two of them to sleep on without touching.
    â€œGood haircut,” he said, “by the feel of it.”
    â€œI wasn’t taking a big risk. Anything had to be an improvement.”
    â€œIt was that bad, huh?” There was a rare lightness to his voice.
    â€œScary.”
    â€œYou don’t strike me as the type who scares easily.”
    Shows what you know. She was scared of the jungle. She was scared for Nicky. She was even a little scared of him. First time in bed with a wildman, and all.
    â€œWhat do you do at home when you’re not dashing off to rescue people?”
    â€œI work at a drug and alcohol rehab clinic.” She had resigned her director of admissions position just before leaving for Malaysia, and took a cut in pay and title so she’d have more time to spend with her baby when they got back. And she was scared about that, too. If, after all the dreaming and hoping, she wouldn’t turn out to be a good mother.
    â€œSo the urge to rescue runs deep in the blood.”
    Was he teasing her? The deadpan comment seemed so out of character, she was unsure how to respond.
    â€œI had a boyfriend in high school who died