“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Amaryllis said. “Marie loves it. If Jacy wasn’t so ill, she’d be doing great financially. She works hard all the time. She doesn’t have relatives that can help her, so since her husband was killed, she’s done everything alone.”
“Will Jacy live?”
“She has a good chance. Marie is very careful with her. She keeps her away from most people at the inn to cut down the chances of her getting something that her immune system couldn’t handle right now. Jacy’s very inquisitive and it’s hard on her not to interact with so many people. Marie didn’t look so defeated this afternoon, the way she did this morning, so I’m assuming the visit to the doctor went well. She texted me twice and said things were looking up, so hopefully Jacy was just struggling a little like she does in the mornings and isn’t really sick.”
“I don’t get sick,” Malichai assured her, feeling guilty that he’d gotten so close to Jacy. “Even when I was a kid, I didn’t get sick like most kids do. I must have a very strong immune system. Either that or my brother beat me up so often it scared any illness out of me.” He laughed when he said it and was happy when she laughed with him.
They walked along the sidewalk, sand stretching all the way to the ocean waves on one side, brightly painted buildings on the other. The sun was hot, but it wasn’t the perfumed, humid heat of the swamp, it was different. He would have said dry, but the slight breeze carried salty mist from the sea with it.
Amaryllis didn’t seem to notice that they were still holding hands, so he didn’t make the mistake of calling attention to it. He’d never walked anywhere holding hands with a woman and he found, with her, he liked the feeling.
“Now that I think about it, I don’t get sick either,” she said. “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it? That neither of us was prone to childhood illnesses.”
He shrugged, not wanting to think too much on that coincidence. “My brothers tell me that just means when I get sick as an adult, I’m going to get whatever it is far worse than anyone else. They usually laugh like hyenas when they inform me of what I have to look forward to.”
“Your family sounds . . . nice.”
He heard the wistful note in her voice. “They are.” He followed her up the stairs to the little café sandwiched between two larger stores. One store sold all kinds of gifts for tourists, and the other catered to locals with a beach-themed clothing line. He noted the buildings, exits, entrances, stairs, rooftops and escape ladders as well as the cars in the lots and the various people walking along the sidewalk. Filing each small bit of information away, his gaze drifting quickly over faces and clothes, Malichai was able to make a mental map of the area and those working, playing or residing in it—and he did that in seconds.
The café was efficiently run. The space was small, so rather than have tables and chairs everywhere, the café utilized the area by giving their employees the ability to move around and be fast. The majority of the seating was outside under a very large covered patio. Customers ordered, took a number and went outside to sit at one of the tables. The moment he was seated, Malichai stretched out his leg, trying not to groan at the relief he felt being off of it.
“What happened?” Amaryllis asked.
Malichai figured there was no need for pretense. Clearly, he hadn’t been nearly as good at covering up the injury as he thought he’d been. It didn’t make sense that it hurt so much when by now, it should be almost completely healed. He reached down to rub along his thigh where the cramping was the worst. Most of what he did was classified. Or, he was classified, along with the other members of his team.
“I’m in the Air Force—in pararescue. A medic. Got into a little scrape during a rescue operation and my leg took the brunt of it all. Nothing big, but annoying nevertheless. Had to take a forced leave and here I am.”
She leaned her chin into the heel of her hand and stared at him with her sapphire eyes. “What does pararescue do? I haven’t really heard of them.”
He put his hand over his heart. “That just kills me, honey. A knife, right through the heart. Mostly, we’re doctors and nurses trained in combat rescue. We go in when our troops are shot the hell up, stabilize them enough to allow them to travel, and then cover them while we run to the helicopter hoping we don’t get shot.” He gave her a little grin. “I was too slow.”
“That’s your job?”
The smile faded and he nodded. “They’re wounded soldiers. Our men. We’re not going to leave them behind or leave them for the enemy to get. We sometimes have a couple of escort helicopters who try to keep the enemy off us. More often than not it’s a hot zone, so we know ahead of time there’s going to be bullets coming at us. When we have soldiers down, they need care immediately and some have to be flown to Germany or other places to be operated on, although a few of the docs have had to do that kind of thing right there in order to save a leg, an arm or a life.”
“You aren’t anything like I thought you’d be.”
“What did you think?” He was curious. He noted a couple a few tables from theirs arguing, but very quietly. She was upset, insisting that she wanted to “tell” the cops, and he shook his head adamantly and said he didn’t want to get involved. They really didn’t know enough to “tell” anyone. He wanted her to shut up and change the subject.
“You look tough. Your body could be a bodybuilder’s although you have definition. You don’t have the large bulk; still, you’re in very good shape. There’s a look about you that says not to mess with you.”
He gave her a faint smile, allowing his gaze to drift past the arguing couple and touch on others. He recognized the three from the bed-and-breakfast who had been in the hallway. The two men were talking about the best place in San Diego to surf, while the woman looked bored. A trio of men in suits with briefcases sat at another table. They’d been at the bed-and-breakfast working in one of the rooms designed for just that purpose.
“That’s implying you think medics can’t be tough. We have to be. We’re doing fieldwork with bullets flying around us. We’re sometimes packing the wounded out by ourselves. Running with them while carrying blood and fluids in bags to helicopters and leaping in as they’re already in flight.”
“That sounds so crazy. I never thought about the men and women who rescue the soldiers when they’re wounded. In my mind, I guess I equated rescues with Rangers and SEALS, teams like that.”
“I’m trying not to be insulted.” He gave her his full attention. “We rescue them.”
The sun shone down on her hair, turning the streaks of colors wheat, caramel and a silvery snow. She even had a little gold mixed in. Her hair color was as intriguing as her eye color. He loved both, but he thought her eyes were just a fraction ahead in the race. The more he looked into them, the less he thought she wore contacts.