In the Arms of a Hero. BEVERLY BARTON
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heart lodged in her throat. She had the oddest notion that she knew who McCoy’s employer was.
“Your father,” he told her, locking his gaze with hers. “He sent me to get you out of the country and bring you home to Texas.”
“My father! I should have known.” Placing her hands on her hips, Victoria glowered at her rescuer. “You can leave right now—and without me. Go back to Texas and tell my father that I’m needed here.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Quinn said. “What you want or don’t want doesn’t enter into this equation. You’re leaving with me today, before the rebel troops take over Palmira.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not going anywhere. These people have no doctor. I’m the only trained medical staff here at the clinic. Now, with the war raging so close and all these wounded men being brought in, I can’t possibly leave.”
“Look, princess—” when Quinn took a step toward her, Ernesto blocked his path “—we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you. But one way or the other, you’re coming with me. Today!”
“Then it’s going to be the hard way,” she told him, peering at him from around Ernesto’s shoulder.
“Damn,” Quinn mumbled under his breath. “I was afraid of that.”
Two
“I don’t have time to deal with you, Mr. McCoy! There are men dying all around us. They’re my top priority at the moment.” Victoria Fortune spun around and rushed into the clinic.
“Wait just a—” Quinn said as he bounded up the steps.
But Victoria’s protector, a thin, haggard young native, held up his hand, halting Quinn’s ascent. “If the señorita doesn’t wish to leave with you, then we will not allow you to take her.”
“You realize that her life is in danger, don’t you?” Quinn asked.
“Sí, señor. I know what could happen to her if it is discovered by the rebel forces that she is an American heiress. But remaining in Palmira or leaving here is her decision to make, not yours.”
“It’s nothing to me one way or the other.” Quinn shrugged. “But it matters a whole hell of a lot to her father. He wants his little princess home all safe and sound. And he’s paying me a small fortune to make that a reality.”
“You cannot take her against her will. We will not allow it.”
“If you care so damn much about her, then I’d think you’d want to help me get her off this island before—”
“We will make sure that her true identity isn’t discovered. We will keep her safe.”
“You can’t assure her safety and you know it. The only way she’ll be safe is if she leaves Santo Bonisto.” Quinn grunted when he noted the determined look in the man’s dark eyes. No way was this guy going to help him.
“Go away, señor. Go back to America and tell her father that she will not leave the people who so desperately need her.”
A frontal attack wasn’t working, Quinn thought. Time to change tactics. Use a more subtle approach. “Maybe I can help out around here. I know some basic first aid. I’ve treated knife and gunshot wounds. If I can’t get Ms. Fort—Ms. Lockhart to leave right now, then I could stay for a while and do what I can to help her.”
The man eyed Quinn suspiciously, then held out his hand. “I am Ernesto Hernando. Your help will be appreciated.”
Quinn shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Ernesto.”
“Do not think that by working alongside Señorita Victoria, you can talk her into leaving us. Her mind is made up. You won’t change it.”
Quinn gripped Ernesto’s scrawny shoulder. “I’m going to help you patch up the wounded the best I can, for now. But the honest truth is that somehow I plan to find a way to persuade Victoria to leave with me today.”
“I will be as equally honest with you, Señor McCoy—if you try to take her against her will, we will be forced to kill you.”
“Since we’re being so damn honest, Señor Hernando, you need to know that if any of you get in my way, I’ll be forced to retaliate.”
Ernesto nodded solemnly. “I thought as much.”
“Then we understand each other perfectly, don’t we?”
“Sí.”
Quinn knew what war and death looked like. Up close and personal. But it didn’t matter how many times he had experienced the senseless waste, he still wasn’t immune to the suffering. A part of him could understand why Victoria refused to abandon these people. He had watched her for hours now as she tirelessly tended to the wounded. Whatever else Victoria Fortune was, she was no spoiled, helpless rich girl playing at being a nurse.
The shapely, long-legged redhead was a tough-talking, hardworking professional totally unintimidated by the enormous task facing her. He hated to be the one to take her away from these people, but he’d been hired to do just that. A job was a job. He never let his personal feelings interfere with his assignments.
Quinn had one more card to play and if that didn’t sway Victoria, he’d be forced to take drastic actions. When Ernesto’s wife Dolores insisted that Victoria take a break and eat something, Quinn took the opportunity to follow her into the small, makeshift office that doubled as her bedroom.
“We have enough food for you, too, Señor McCoy,” Dolores told him as he entered the office.
“No, thanks. But a cup of coffee would be great.”
“I’ll be right back with your coffee,” she said in Spanish. “I hope you like it black. We have no cream or sugar.”
“Black is fine.”
He had learned the Spanish language gradually over the years, finding it useful in his line of work to know how to speak more than just English. He was fluent in Spanish and French, knew enough German and Italian to get by, and had gained a smattering of various other languages.
Victoria slumped down in the tattered swivel chair at her desk. She leaned her head back against the plaster wall behind her and closed her eyes momentarily. After breathing a deep, heaving sigh, she opened her eyes and stared directly at Quinn.
“Thanks for your help,” she said. “You make a pretty good medic. Dare I ask how you gained your knowledge?”
Quinn sat on the edge of her desk. “In my line of work a guy needs to know how to keep himself and his associates alive.”
Quinn took a long, hard look at Ryan Fortune’s daughter. Her tan pants and white shirt were filthy, stained with a combination of blood, mud and unidentifiable substances. Her short-cropped red hair was damp with perspiration. Her thick bangs clung to her forehead. Without a smidgen of makeup, she looked about eighteen instead of the twenty-five he knew her to be. The sprinkling of freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks added to the wholesomeness she projected.
Bone-weary, dirty and disheveled, Victoria Fortune shouldn’t have appealed to him, but she did. And for the life of him, he wasn’t sure why. She was cute, in a clean-cut tomboy sort of way, but definitely not his type. He wasn’t usually attracted to the cute type or the filthy rich. Victoria was both.
He’d had a few dalliances with the debutante sort, and had found most of those ladies a little cool for his liking. He preferred the more earthy types, the ones who knew how to give as well as take. Maybe that’s what appealed to him about Victoria. Despite her heiress status, she was obviously a giver and not a taker.
“What are you staring at?” When she frowned, her small, perfect nose crinkled slightly.
“At you, princess.”
Squaring