battles.
“We’re up in the air now. You can open your eyes,” Brock said, laughter tingeing his voice.
Annoyed at his amusement, she asked, “Are you afraid of anything?”
“Yes. Women like you.”
“Women like me? What does that mean?”
“Helpless.”
“Helpless! I’ll have you know I’ve been on my own for years and have done very well.”
“Yes, back where you come from you probably have,” he admitted, “but here you’re totally out of your element.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Ever since she had walked into the Grand Hotel and he had helped her with the desk clerk, she had been dependent on him—something that was as alien to her as the environment she was in, the situation she was in, and the man she was with.
“I’m not a hero, Sam. I don’t make a habit of rescuing people.”
“Then why did you rescue me yesterday at the hotel? You could have ignored my predicament with the desk clerk.”
He remained quiet, kneading the coiled muscles of his neck and shoulder."I’m stiff from sleeping on the floor," he finally said as though she hadn’t asked him a question.
Which means he doesn’t want to answer me. “Why, Brock?”
“For the life of me I don’t know,” he finally said with a wry smile. “Let’s just chalk it up to helping a fellow American.” He spared her a quick, probing look. “A pretty one at that.”
Samantha blushed and averted her gaze. Finally she got up the courage to lean close to the side window and look down. A few hundred feet below was a blanket of green extending as far as she could see. Occasionally a brown ribbon of water or a flight of some vividly colored birds broke the green. Sprinkled among the green were the golden canopies of vochysia trees, often two hundred feet across. On the plane to Brazil, she’d spent her time reading everything she could on the country.
When Brock pointed to a waterfall below, Samantha was reminded of her nightmare the night before as she watched the churning water plunge into the ravine. Leaving the relative civilization of Manaus behind and entering the world of the primitive, hostile jungle made her nightmare come back in full force. She began to wonder if she would ever see New Orleans—or even Manaus—again. She shivered.
“You can’t be cold. It must be ninety degrees.”
She was surprised that Brock was so attuned to her every movement. There was nothing casual about the man. He was always keenly alert even when he seemed relaxed.
“That waterfall reminded me of my dream.”
“Believe me, I would never motion for you to jump into a raging river right before a waterfall.”
“It seemed so real.”
“Dreams often are. Forget it. That waterfall back there is the closest you’ll come to seeing one. But to be totally honest, I have to say I’ve found anything is possible in the jungle.”
"Gee, thanks for that reassurance."
Again his gaze captured hers. "I won’t sugar coat anything."
For a brief moment, his regard trapped hers and held it hostage. Her throat went dry, and she finally dragged her attention to the window again.
“Everything looks the same to me, green. How can you tell where you’re going?” she asked to change the subject.
“By certain landmarks, usually rivers, sometimes mountain ranges.”
“How long have you been in the Amazon?”
“Long enough.”
“Where are you from?”
“Houston.”
“Oh, that’s not too far from where I live in New Orleans.”
“Practically neighbors,” he said, giving her a brief smile before again falling silent.
Samantha got the impression he wasn’t one for small talk or he didn’t like the subject—himself. She supposed when a person traveled in the jungle he got out of the habit of conversing to pass the time.
Over two hours later and several failed attempts to discover more about Brock, Samantha saw the clearing and mission come into view. Brock circled once, then started his descent toward the small strip of
“We’re up in the air now. You can open your eyes,” Brock said, laughter tingeing his voice.
Annoyed at his amusement, she asked, “Are you afraid of anything?”
“Yes. Women like you.”
“Women like me? What does that mean?”
“Helpless.”
“Helpless! I’ll have you know I’ve been on my own for years and have done very well.”
“Yes, back where you come from you probably have,” he admitted, “but here you’re totally out of your element.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Ever since she had walked into the Grand Hotel and he had helped her with the desk clerk, she had been dependent on him—something that was as alien to her as the environment she was in, the situation she was in, and the man she was with.
“I’m not a hero, Sam. I don’t make a habit of rescuing people.”
“Then why did you rescue me yesterday at the hotel? You could have ignored my predicament with the desk clerk.”
He remained quiet, kneading the coiled muscles of his neck and shoulder."I’m stiff from sleeping on the floor," he finally said as though she hadn’t asked him a question.
Which means he doesn’t want to answer me. “Why, Brock?”
“For the life of me I don’t know,” he finally said with a wry smile. “Let’s just chalk it up to helping a fellow American.” He spared her a quick, probing look. “A pretty one at that.”
Samantha blushed and averted her gaze. Finally she got up the courage to lean close to the side window and look down. A few hundred feet below was a blanket of green extending as far as she could see. Occasionally a brown ribbon of water or a flight of some vividly colored birds broke the green. Sprinkled among the green were the golden canopies of vochysia trees, often two hundred feet across. On the plane to Brazil, she’d spent her time reading everything she could on the country.
When Brock pointed to a waterfall below, Samantha was reminded of her nightmare the night before as she watched the churning water plunge into the ravine. Leaving the relative civilization of Manaus behind and entering the world of the primitive, hostile jungle made her nightmare come back in full force. She began to wonder if she would ever see New Orleans—or even Manaus—again. She shivered.
“You can’t be cold. It must be ninety degrees.”
She was surprised that Brock was so attuned to her every movement. There was nothing casual about the man. He was always keenly alert even when he seemed relaxed.
“That waterfall reminded me of my dream.”
“Believe me, I would never motion for you to jump into a raging river right before a waterfall.”
“It seemed so real.”
“Dreams often are. Forget it. That waterfall back there is the closest you’ll come to seeing one. But to be totally honest, I have to say I’ve found anything is possible in the jungle.”
"Gee, thanks for that reassurance."
Again his gaze captured hers. "I won’t sugar coat anything."
For a brief moment, his regard trapped hers and held it hostage. Her throat went dry, and she finally dragged her attention to the window again.
“Everything looks the same to me, green. How can you tell where you’re going?” she asked to change the subject.
“By certain landmarks, usually rivers, sometimes mountain ranges.”
“How long have you been in the Amazon?”
“Long enough.”
“Where are you from?”
“Houston.”
“Oh, that’s not too far from where I live in New Orleans.”
“Practically neighbors,” he said, giving her a brief smile before again falling silent.
Samantha got the impression he wasn’t one for small talk or he didn’t like the subject—himself. She supposed when a person traveled in the jungle he got out of the habit of conversing to pass the time.
Over two hours later and several failed attempts to discover more about Brock, Samantha saw the clearing and mission come into view. Brock circled once, then started his descent toward the small strip of
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