Peggy Moreland – The Texan's Business Proposition (страница 2)

Anger built inside him, a red-hot inferno that fired his blood, roared in his ears. Taking the stock of the rifle in one hand and the barrel in the other, he opened his mouth and charged. The feral sound that spewed from deep inside him ripped through the night air like a machete. Before the Vietcong had time to react, Preacher dropped the rifle over his head and jerked it back against his throat.

The Vietcong flew backward, losing his grip on the knife. The weapon hit the ground less than a foot from Preacher’s boot and he kicked it out of reach. Before the man could scramble up, Preacher swung the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it at the Vietcong’s face. He saw the hate in the man’s eyes…but not a trace of fear.

Behind him Pops moaned, stirred. Preacher started to glance back, wanting to make sure that Pops was all right, but as he did the Vietcong slid a hand beneath his shirt.

Fearing the man had a weapon concealed beneath the black tunic, Preacher stabbed the nose of his rifle against the Vietcong’s chest. “Don’t move!”

His lip curled in a sneer, the Vietcong ignored Preacher’s order. Preacher saw the butt of a handgun appear a split second before its nose was pointed at him.

The blast that followed was deafening, echoing around and around the fenced area. Preacher stumbled back a step, his gaze frozen on the Vietcong’s face. He saw the surprise that lit the man’s eyes, watched as the life slowly faded from them. He glanced down at the man’s chest where blood oozed from a gaping hole and gulped back the nausea that rose to his throat.

He heard a shout from outside the fenced latrine and knew the shot had raised an alarm in camp. The pounding of feet that followed assured him the soldiers were up and assuming their positions.

A hand lit on his shoulder, squeezed. He knew without looking it was Pops.

“You okay?” Pops asked.

Preacher swallowed hard, nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Knot on my head is all, thanks to you. A second more and he would have slit my throat.”

Fast Eddie appeared in the opening to the latrine, half-dressed, his feet bare. “Y’all okay?”

Pops nodded, then gestured toward the Vietcong sprawled on the ground. “Enemy penetrated our perimeter. Order a full sweep of camp to make sure he was alone, then check on the guards on duty. I’ll get a detail together to take care of the body when I’m done here.”

Fast Eddie looked from the dead Vietcong to the rifle that Preacher held, and his eyes shot wide. “You made the kill, Preacher?”

Preacher opened his mouth, then closed it and dropped his chin.

“You have your orders, soldier,” Pops said tersely.

Fast Eddie snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” He took one last look at Preacher, then turned and jogged away.

Preacher squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of the man lying at his feet with his life’s blood pouring from his chest remained fixed on the back of his lids. He’d killed one man to save the life of another. What gave him the right to decide who lived and who died? He wasn’t God.

As if reading Preacher’s mind, Pops tightened his grip on Preacher’s shoulder. “Don’t go beating yourself up over this. When he put on the uniform, that soldier knew he was laying his life on the line, the same as you and I did the day we put on ours.”

Preacher dragged an arm across his eyes. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“Wars are fought with only one rule in play. Kill or be killed.”

Preacher set his jaw, his anger returning. “I hate this damn war. Hate what it does to people, the suffering it’s caused, the lives it’s taken.”

Pops tightened his arm around Preacher and turned him away from the sight of the dead Vietcong. “This war’s no different from any of those fought before it. It’ll be the same for those yet to be fought.”

Preacher jerked to stop, dragging Pops to a halt, as well. “How do you deal with it?” he cried in frustration. “How can you sleep at night, knowing people are dying all around you?”

“It’s like I said before. I close my eyes and picture home. My wife, my son. It’s them I’m fighting for, their safety, their freedom.”

“And what happens when it’s over? When you go home? Will you just forget everything you’ve seen, what you’ve done? Erase it all from your mind like it never happened?”

Pops shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, Preacher. Right now all I can do is focus on making it home. The rest I’ll worry about once I’m there.”

He took the rifle Preacher still held. “You’re a good man, Preacher. Of all the soldiers I’ve served with, you’re the only one I can say with confidence will leave this godforsaken war with the same principles and standards he arrived with.”

Preacher shook his head. “I don’t feel like the same man. I feel…I don’t know, scarred somehow.”

Pops nodded grimly. “I read a quote somewhere. Can’t remember who said it, but it went something like this. ‘In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.’ At the time I remember thinking the guy who said it must have been crazy. Now I think I understand what he meant.”

“Yeah,” Preacher said. “Me, too.”

Squinting his eyes against the darkness, Pops looked off into the distance a long moment. “Preacher, I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but the soldiers who make it home are going to be burdened with a greater responsibility than the ones they’ve shouldered here.”

Preacher looked at him in confusion. “How’s that?”

His smile sad, Pops patted him on the back. “Focus on making it home, Preacher. When you get there, you’ll know what I mean.” Turning, he walked away. “You’ll know, Preacher,” he called over his shoulder. “You, of all people, will know.”

One

Now, this is the life, Sally Gregg thought to herself. Swaying palm trees, a private pool, a house with every amenity known to man.

She tipped her sunglasses down and craned her neck to peer at the structure behind her. Not just a house, she corrected. It was a friggin’ mansion. Nestled in Houston’s prestigious River Oaks subdivision and situated on two lush acres, the house rivaled its neighbors in both design and size.

Too bad the interior doesn’t reflect the traditional style of the exterior, she thought with regret. She supposed the ultramodern design suited her boss, but the mix of chrome and black lacquer didn’t do a thing for her.

Thankfully her boss had limited the changes he’d made after purchasing the house to the inside and had left the exterior and landscaping alone. As a result, the backyard was an oasis, as soothing to the soul as it was to the eye. A clever blend of French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of the pool and landscaped lawn beyond from inside the house.

Sure beats the heck out of the view of the parking lot from my apartment window, she thought with more than a little envy. With a sigh, she pushed her sunglasses back into place and settled on the lounge chair again.

But she’d have a house someday, she promised herself. Maybe not as large and grand as her boss’s and definitely not one with a River Oaks address, but she’d have a home.

The only thing that kept her from having one now was money. Thanks to the generous salary her employer paid her and her own prudent lifestyle, she was steadily chipping away at that particular roadblock. Having learned frugality the hard way—by necessity—she knew how to stretch a dollar until it all but screamed for mercy. As a result she was close to becoming debt free, while still managing to squirrel away money toward a down payment.

Which she’d already have, if not for Brad.

She scowled at the reminder of her ex. She never should have given him the money, she thought bitterly. She, better than anyone, knew he’d never pay it back. Brad was, and always had been, fast with a promise and slow on delivery.

It was bad enough that she’d wasted four years of her life with a man who didn’t care for her, but then he’d decided to prolong her misery by showing up unannounced on her doorstep every time he needed money. For some stupid reason, he’d gotten it in his head that she owed him, which was insane, considering she had been the sole breadwinner throughout their marriage. Now she was forced to constantly move, in order to escape his mental abuse and the demands he made on her. As a result of the forced nomadic lifestyle, she had few possessions and even fewer friends.

She stubbornly pushed the thoughts of her ex from her mind. She wasn’t letting Brad, or anything, for that matter, spoil her stay in paradise. And house-sitting for Vince Donnelly was exactly that. Paradise.

She shivered deliciously, thinking the stars definitely had been shining on her the day she’d snagged the job as Vince’s executive secretary. Besides house-sitting for him when he was out of town—a perk she hadn’t expected when she’d accepted the job—she received an above-average salary and more benefits than any of the other positions she’d applied for after moving to Houston. Granted, Vince wasn’t the easiest man to work with. He was obsessive, demanding and micromanaged all of his employees. But he was also successful and drop-dead gorgeous.

Not that his looks had factored into her accepting the job as his secretary, she thought judiciously. Money was her motivator.