Off Limits. Lindsay McKenna
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her from completely collapsing. The jolt made her cry out, and she reached automatically for her wounded shoulder.
Instantly, Jim moved to her side. “Be still, Alex,” he whispered tautly, pulling her hand from her shoulder.
Jerking away, Alex glared up at him. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.
Smarting beneath Alex’s attack, Jim made her as comfortable as possible. When she lay down, he covered her with the blanket, then crawled over to the other wall of the tunnel. She had closed her eyes, her lips set in an angry line, and was refusing to talk to him.
Jim knew he’d better eat, even though he didn’t feel like it. Glumly picking up the bowl, he dug into his rucksack for more of the poorly cooked rice. His stomach knotted. Only the sound of Alex’s labored breathing filled the tunnel. How could he tell her the gruesome truth? What would she think of him when she knew the horror of the crime he’d committed? The crime was so heinous, so mind-blowing, that he felt as if he were drowning in guilt and shame.
Jim chewed the rice without really tasting it, his gaze fastened on Alex. Her breathing had steadied and softened. When she opened her eyes much later, Jim scrambled inwardly to lessen the tension strung between them. Casting around, he said, “In our part of the country, we don’t have many television sets. My kinfolk—an uncle—had one, but he lived near town. I remember as a kid growin’ up listening to the radio all the time.” He forced a semblance of a smile, his voice low. “You remember the Lone Ranger?”
Alex turned her head and gazed at his shadowed features. There was something vulnerable and hurting about Jim McKenzie. But now his mouth, once a tortured, twisted line of some withheld pain known only to himself, had relaxed. He had a wonderful mouth, a kind mouth, and she had trouble imagining him killing anything, much less another human being. As he lifted his head to meet and hold her stare, Alex felt some of her anger dissolve. His large, intelligent eyes were not those of the killer he professed to be. She saw the faraway look in them and was lulled by his low voice. Wanting to make peace as she’d always tried to do in her own family, controlled by a father who ruled by anger, Alex responded. After all, Jim McKenzie had saved her life.
“Yes, I remember,” she said softly. “I used to sit in front of our radio just waiting for the next weekly serial to come on.”
Relief washed over Jim. He saw Alex struggle to be polite although anger still lurked in her eyes. “I can remember as a ten-year-old kid hardly being able to wait for the next Lone Ranger and Tonto story. I liked them, I liked what they did. They were always saving people who were in trouble.” The corners of Jim’s mouth lifted with the memory. “I used to make believe I was the Lone Ranger. I went out back, found a saplin’ and cut it down. That was Silver, my horse. When I wasn’t doing chores or huntin’ with Pa, I’d be galloping around the hills, pretending I was saving people in trouble.”
Alex shut her eyes. “I—I remember those times...the radio shows. That seems so long ago....”
“We were young ’uns.”
“I was eight years old.”
“Who was your favorite?”
Alex opened her eyes. “I always liked Tonto.”
“He never said much, but then, he was an injun.”
“I liked him because he saved the Lone Ranger when he got into trouble.”
“I guess we both wanted to help people,” Jim whispered. “Nurses definitely do that.” He frowned. “I thought recons helped, too, but, I was wrong....”
“There’s nothing wrong with helping others,” Alex said. “You said recons saved a lot of marine lives. I think that’s positive.”
Jim smiled faintly at Alex. “Maybe.” Her face held such serenity in that moment. She was pretty, and there was a wide streak of goodness in her, too. Desperate to get off the topic, Jim said, “You remind me of Molly Pritchard, a gal whose folks were our closest neighbors.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Molly was kind of like Tonto, always quiet and something of a shadow. She had five older brothers, so she was kind of pushed aside in favor of them. She had hair like yours, the color of rich, brown earth. The kids at school made fun of her.”
“Why?”
With a shrug, Jim said, “Molly was board-awful ugly. Not that it was her fault. She had buckteeth and she squinted all the time. A lot of city kids picked on her, but I used to stand up for her. Partly because she was hill folk like me. And partly...well, she was like a little brown mouse, so quiet and afraid. I always had a soft place in my heart for underdogs.... So, I kinda became her protector.”
“What happened to Molly?” Alex was touched by Jim’s admission.
“We were in the third grade together and this teacher, Missus Olgilvie, used to walk up and down the rows with a three-foot-long ruler in her hands. Anyone not studying got whacked across the shoulders. She always picked on the boys, not the girls, but poor Molly lived in dire fear of Missus Olgilvie smacking her. Molly couldn’t see the blackboard, so the teacher kept moving her closer and closer to the front of the room. Finally, the teacher sent a note home to Molly’s parents to get her eyes checked.”
Jim smiled fondly in remembrance. “Little-brown-mouse Molly got her eyes checked at this fancy eye doctor’s office. I remember the day her folks loaded everyone in their beat-up old Ford pickup and went off to the city. That was a big deal, you know? Hill people are real poor, even today, and we just didn’t have that kind of money around. I remember Ma and Pa loaning Mr. Pritchard forty dollars of money they’d been saving, so that Molly could get this test and a pair of glasses.”
Jim tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “The Pritchards came home late that evening, close to dark. They stopped at our cabin on the way home. I remember coming out and standing by the door. Molly was in her finest dress, a cotton print with yeller buttercups all over it. Her brown hair was tied up in a yeller ribbon, too. My mouth dropped open as I walked out to the pickup where she sat with her brothers. There she was, proudly wearing those black horn-rimmed frames. I stood there for a long moment realizing just how pretty Molly Pritchard really was, ’cause she no longer had to squint her eyes to see. No, she had the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen.”
Touched to the point of tears, Alex kept her gaze fixed on Jim’s softened features. “What happened after that?”
Jim chuckled. “Molly went back to school wearing those glasses as proudly as I wore my marine uniform when I first got out of boot camp. The glasses gave her confidence, real confidence, and she no longer was a shadow. When Molly walked, she strutted, her head held high for the first time. She no longer had to sit in the front row to see the blackboard, and her grades started coming up. She turned from an ugly ducklin’ into this purty young girl with huge green eyes. She wasn’t a shy, backward, little brown mouse anymore.”
“I can relate,” Alex whispered.
Jim nodded. “That’s the reason you remind me of Molly—you’re shy and quiet, but underneath, you’ve got real strength.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s funny to hear you describe Molly, though, because in my family, I’m called `mouse’ by my brothers and father.”
Frowning, Jim set the bowl of rice aside. “Your pa ought not to call you that.”
“My father praises aggression, athletic ability and confidence. My brothers have those qualities—I don’t.”
Jim snorted. “Yet, you just survived a helicopter crash in enemy territory when no one else did. Does that sound like a mouse?”
Alex smiled halfheartedly and closed her eyes. His warm tone made her feel more emotionally stable. “You said you