Commando. Lindsay McKenna

She didn’t want the generous Tucanos people giving up one of their family-size huts just for one person.

      Jake’s gaze took in the entire hut as he settled the flowering plant next to others against the wall. There was a wonderful scent of orchids mingled with the dry odor of the grass and palm leaves that made up the hut. He noted that a stack of flower identification books, all wrapped in plastic to protect them from the humidity and rain, sat nearby. Furnishings were sparse. Jake straightened to his full height. A grass mat that seemed to serve as Shah’s bed lay on the dry dirt floor, topped by a light cotton blanket and a small pillow. Cooking utensils were near the door, for use over the open fire outside the hut. A woven trunk made of palm fiber was the only actual article of furniture.

      “Nice place.”

      “If you like camping out,” Shah said, moving back out through the door. She tried to calm her pounding heart. Was it because of Randolph’s nearness? Impossible.

      With a rumbling chuckle, Jake followed her. “I was a recon marine most of the time I was in the corps, and your hut is like a palace compared to what we had out in the bush.”

      “What do you mean?” Shah wished she could put a clamp on her mouth. Curiosity had been a catalyst throughout her life—too often landing her in hot water. Randolph was an enigma to her, and she tried to rationalize her curiosity about him: after all, if she knew more about him, she might be able to make a final decision on whether he was friend or enemy.

      Jake ambled down the bank with her toward the canoe.

      “Recons are dropped behind enemy lines to gather needed information on troop movements, stuff like that,” he explained. “We would sleep in trees, hide on the ground and generally be unseen while we collected the data we needed for the Intelligence boys.”

      Shah was impressed but didn’t say anything, afraid her curiosity would be viewed as interest. But wasn’t it? She tried to ignore her questioning heart. “I can get these other orchids,” she protested.

      “No way. I watched what you did. Why don’t you go do something more important?”

      Torn, Shah watched him take out the next flowering orchid. She was constantly amazed by the counterpoint of Randolph’s size to his obvious gentleness. He picked up the orchid as if it were a vulnerable infant—surprising in such a big, hairy bear of a man. She tried to ignore his blatant male sensuality, the dark hair of his chest peeking out from the khaki shirt open at his throat. His arms were darkly sprinkled with hair, too. Shah swallowed convulsively. Despite his size, he wasn’t overweight. No, he reminded her of a man who was not only in his physical prime, but in the best of condition, too.

      “Oh, all right.” Shah watched as several Tucanos children followed Jake to the canoe. They watched him with solemn brown eyes, and she smiled. She loved the Tucanos, who had welcomed her as one of their own. Once they’d found out that she was an “Indian,” too, she’d been adopted by the chief of the village—a great honor.

      “Do you like children?” Shah raised her hand to her mouth. Now where had that come from?

      Jake frowned, hesitated and drew the next orchid, a purple one, out of the canoe. “Yeah, I like the little rug rats.”

      “Rug rats?” Alarm entered her voice.

      “That’s an old Marine Corps term for kids. It’s an affectionate term, not a bad one,” he assured her as he put the water into the plastic bag that would keep the root system from drying out.

      Shah saw his partial smile slip, and when he looked up at her she detected darkness in his gray eyes. There was an incredible sadness that settled around him, and it was overwhelming to her. She was highly intuitive, and had always had an ability to sense a person’s real feelings. Her heart went out to him. “Kids mean a lot to you, don’t they?” she pressed softly.