Sands of Time Page 11

  “I don’t need a—”

  “Hero. I know.” He shook his head. “Believe me, I know.” He advanced toward her just as she bounced to her feet. “Sadly, you’d better get used to it, because like it or not, you’ve got one.”

  He left her standing there as he strode out into the cold for another load of wood.

  “You okay?” Genye asked as he passed him.

  Roman said nothing, letting the snow wash over him and cool the fine layer of sweat on his brow. He gathered the logs he’d spent the past ten minutes chopping and turned back to the dacha.

  Sarai stood on the porch, wearing her parka, hunched against the wind. The wind caught her hair, ran it into her eyes. “Can I help?”

  Nyet. “Yeah. Try to remember that I’m on your side.”

  She leaned against the railing as he tromped in past her. Only, she didn’t follow him inside.

  Women. He dumped the load, then cast a look at Genye, loading the fire, and stalked back outside.

  The snow continued to fall, burying them in its frozen grasp. But under the gleam of the outside light the drifting of gentle flakes seemed wondrous in their softness. Sarai stood against the railing, staring out into the darkness, her hands in her sleeves. She was shivering slightly, but would she put on a hat, or even go back inside?

  Nyet. Because she didn’t think about herself, or her needs. Didn’t realize that hurting herself hurt him, too. And hurt the people who loved and cared for her. She thought only about her precious career.

  You could have been so much more. Sarai’s words dug a hole through his chest. Again, not good enough. He should be scabbed over by now.

  “Roman?” Her voice sounded sad, even resigned.

  “What?”

  She stiffened and he felt instantly sorry. Well, a little sorry. He came over beside her, turned and leaned back against the rail. She didn’t look at him.

  “Is it true that you were shattered when I left?” she asked.

  He sighed, folding up his collar. “It’s cold out, Sarai. Let’s go inside.”

  She glanced at him, and the wind skimmed her blond hair back from her face. Red paths down her cheeks betrayed the tracks of tears and he felt something chew at his stomach.

  “Is it?”

  He clenched his jaw. “I was hurt, yes. But I got over you.” Liar, liar.

  She nodded. “Me, too.” She looked back out into the cold. “The thing is, I saw our future, Roman, and I knew you weren’t going to give up being a hero…and, well, I just think you could have been so much more.”

  You said that already, thanks. He shook his head, leaned up from the rail and stalked two paces from her. “I know you think I’m just after parades and medals, but the truth is, I’m good at my job. I’m not cut out to be the guy you want…a pastor?” He gave a scoffing noise. “Right. I can’t string two words together on my reports. But I’m pretty good at untangling the right from the wrong and I usually get my man.”

  Not my woman.

  “I know. David tells me.” She looked down at the accumulating snow. “If I were to tell the truth, I know that what you do is good. I’m…afraid you’ll end up bloodied in my arms.”

  “As could you. There are no guarantees in this life, Sar. You and I could get killed tomorrow, crossing the street.” He moved closer to her, smelled lilac on her hair as the wind turned in his direction.

  She turned, stared up at him. Oh, she was so close he could trace the shades of green in her beautiful eyes, and if he leaned, just a little—

  “I know that. But if you were doing it saving souls—”

  “It would matter more?”

  “I guess.”

  Roman lowered his voice. “Do you think David’s death was any less noble than Paul’s?”

  She blinked at him. “Paul was a martyr. David died of old age.”

  “David was a warrior. But he fought the battles God wanted him to fight. He cleared out the promised land for the Israelites. And, if he’d died, he’d have been hailed as a hero. Paul fought battles also—spiritual ones. But the key here is that both did what God asked them to do. They were the men God wanted them to be.”

  Her eyes were on him, and he noticed she still had the habit of chewing her lower lip. He stared at it for a moment.

  “Not everyone is supposed to be a missionary.”

  “But maybe you were.” She grabbed his jacket. “You could have been.”

  “There are missionaries killed around the world all the time, Sarai. Being a missionary isn’t going to keep me alive.”

  “I know. It’s just…” she said softly.

  And just like that, in a moment that should have had an accompanying lightning bolt, he figured it out. “You think that if I was out here, working with you, you could keep an eye on me. Keep me safe. Oh, Sarai. Please trust me. Not the man you want me to be, but the guy I am. I know what I’m doing.” Her beautiful eyes clouded and he reached out to her, cupped her face with his hand. “And you have to trust that God knows what He’s doing for us. Whatever you do, both in word or deed, do it to the glory of God. I believe God wants me to do what I’m doing. You have to trust me, and God, on that.”

  She stared at him with a frown.

  He watched her weigh his words, and the truth felt hot and heavy on his chest. “Sarai, you don’t trust God.”

  “What?” But her face betrayed the truth. “Of course I do.”

  “That’s it.” He wanted to do a head slap to accompany the explosion of understanding in his mind. “You might trust God for yourself, but you’re not willing to trust Him with my life. Or even this ministry.” He gave a harsh laugh. “How could I have been so stupid? You don’t stick around the hot spots in the world because you’re brave—I mean, you are—but it’s because you’re afraid that if you leave it’ll all fall apart.”

  She made no effort, it seemed, to curb her glare.

  He glared back. “Anya and Genye are more than capable of opening this clinic. Genye is a pastor as well as being a former soldier, and Anya trained for her medical degree in Germany. Please don’t tell me that you can take care of the people in this area better than they can.”

  Her eyes smoldered but she said nothing.

  “You’re wrong, Sarai. You do need a hero. You just don’t want one. Even God. You won’t drop the reins long enough for Him to have his way—”

  “That’s not true. Of course I trust God—”

  “Prove it. Leave with me, leave this all behind and let God be in charge here—not Sarai Curtiss.”

  She winced. “That’s not fair. You’re just baiting me to get me to cave. Of course I trust God, Roman.”

  “No, you don’t. Not with the things that really matter.” He braced his hand on the railing, leaning toward her, his voice dagger sharp. “Not with your heart, you don’t.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  But, as she ducked under his arm and fled back into the cabin, he read her expression.

  Bull’s-eye.

  Roman stood at the kitchen window, staring at the wind-swept whiteness. Beyond him, the forest seemed colorless, the sunlight unable to cut through the torrent of flakes that seemed to come from all directions. Sarai paused for only a second on the ladder, fighting the urge to run back to the loft and bury herself under the comforter in the safety of the guest bed. Thanks to him—and his caustic accusations—she’d spent the better part of the night fighting her doubts.

  Of course she trusted God. She was a missionary, for crying out loud.

  Her brain felt sleep-addled, and her body craved coffee. She’d have to just ignore Mr. Smug.

  That might be easier if Roman didn’t have a physique carved from a daily routine in the gym. The way he filled out his black sweater and a pair of Tommy jeans only upped his stun power. With her fuzzy brain, she knew she might be a goner.

  Especially if he turned and looked into her soul again with those probing hazel eyes. He was downright dangerous when his voice turned soft a
nd he leaned close, smelling of wood smoke and cologne.

  You’re over him, Sarai.

  Yeah right. Tell that to her pulse.

  She padded across the room to the kitchen, wincing when a floorboard creaked.

  He didn’t turn. “I know you’re there, Sar. I heard you upstairs, pacing.” He sighed, stared down at the cup he held in his hands. Tea. Probably green…the guy made eating healthy seem as easy as taking a breath.

  Not her—she’d choose a bag of tortilla chips, some cheese dip and can of Diet Coke for breakfast any day of the week.

  But this day, it would be coffee, and, thankfully, Anya had instant in her cupboard. Sarai lit the flame under the stove, then wrapped her arms around herself. She felt oh-so-lovely with her rumpled jeans, her frowsy hair and nonexistent makeup.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  A wry chuckle escaped before she could stop it. He turned, raised one eyebrow.

  She didn’t respond. Roman had stoked the fire in the potbelly stove. It blazed warm and inviting and she knelt before it, toasting her hands. It seemed so safe, so otherworldly to be warm inside this tiny cabin while outside the world turned white. Thank you, Lord, for this place. And for Genye and Anya. If they hadn’t shown up, she might have had to sleep in her frozen ambulance. Her practical inner missionary knew she shouldn’t be alone with Roman in the cabin overnight.

  Genye and Anya’s door remained closed. She heard the water come to a boil. Roman had turned back to the window, still surveying the weather. Sarai rose and filled her cup with water then added coffee, making sure it looked black. Very, very black.

  She sat at the table, cupped both hands around the mug and blew. “So, I guess we’re snowed in?”

  Not that she particularly hankered to go anywhere, thank you. His little tirade last night didn’t change her mind in the least.

  In fact, if he so desperately wanted to risk his thick neck, she wouldn’t judge him. Would no longer dwell on what could never be. He could return to his life of danger and bad guys and she’d wish him well.

  Because she did trust God. She just like to help Him along a bit, that’s all.

  Roman pulled out a chair and sat. “Yes. We’re snowed in for at least right now. I went out to check on the vehicles—they’re dead. The engines won’t even turn over. And it’ll take a truck to get them out of the ditch.” He rolled his eyes, but gave her the barest of smiles. “You really know how to plant it.”

  “I nearly hit a deer,” she retorted a second before she realized the tease in his voice.

  “Right.” He took another sip of tea. “I’m going to wait until the snow stops, then we’ll assess our situation.” He cringed. “I know this doesn’t matter to you, but you have only thirty-six hours left before you turn illegal.”

  “And you arrest me?” She let the question linger between them, giving him a hard look.

  He didn’t match it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  Ouch. He wouldn’t seriously arrest her, would he? She felt emotion build in her throat. He didn’t dislike her that much, did he?

  I was shattered when you left.

  Okay, maybe.

  “I have an idea,” she said.

  He raised one eyebrow in silent curiosity.

  “I challenge you to a chess game. If you win, I’ll go back to Smolsk with you, and if the law still stands, then I’ll consider leaving.”

  His eyes narrowed, probably remembering their cutthroat games—and how often he lost.

  “No. You will leave. Because by then the deadline will be passed and you’ll be arrested by the first able-bodied FSB agent you encounter.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to let his words move her. “And if I win, you go home—alone. And leave me be.”

  They stared at each other a long moment, then finally he let the faintest smile curve his lips. But she saw it touch his eyes. And it made something hot curl in her stomach. “Ladna. You’re on, Sarichka.”

  They pulled the game out onto the table and Sarai set up her pieces, well aware that she just might be giving into her worst fears. Not heading out of Smolsk, because from her recollection, Roman had never beaten her in chess. No, her greatest fear was spending time with the man, letting the charm that embodied him seep into the cracks of her heart and find a foothold.

  He came out strong on the first move with his white, king-side knight. Seemed fitting probably. Mr. White Knight charging out to save her.

  She countered with a pawn, a classic, safe move. Don’t need you, pal. And she hadn’t lived in Russia for three years without honing her chess skills on and off the board. She wouldn’t be leaving Russia anytime soon.

  He met her pawn. Leaned back, smiled.

  Okay, smarty. Her bishop charged out, face to face with his knight.

  Roman leaned forward, studying the board.

  He brought out his queen. Of course. He was trying to weaken her defenses, to intimate her, to decimate her confidence. Typical FSB move.

  She wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand. Moving another pawn, she set his queen up for capture. “Got ya.”

  “Ha!” He took out her first pawn. “Check.”

  “Where?”

  “I can take your king, or your rook. You decide.”

  “Casualties are a part of the game.” She sacrificed her rook and tried not to wince. Especially when he leaned back, two hands behind his head. “You still want to keep that bet?”

  She leaned forward, her chin on her hands, then smiled as she pulled out another pawn.

  Roman moved to capture it, and then possibly her knight.

  Uh-oh. Roman had improved since she’d last played him. Coffee. She needed more coffee. Because she was not going to let him win. Not only couldn’t she bear the gloat on his face, but going back to Smolsk with him would only prolong their time together.

  And talk about losing the game…her heart might not ever be the same.

  Maybe it was time to make a sacrifice. She moved her pawn and as she expected, he flicked her knight off the board. “Two moves, Sarai.” He held up his fingers.

  That’s what he thought. “The game’s not over, yet.” She moved the pawn forward, where it stood between his king and her victory. “You could just concede now.”

  He took her pawn with his.

  She tried not to smile. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve.

  Moving her queen out, she took his pawn. “Check.”

  He leaned back, squinting at the board.

  Yeah, that’s right, pal. You made a mistake. Like trying to talk me out of doing what I know is right. Like trying to turn it into a control issue. I’m after what God wants. Regardless of what you think.

  He moved his king toward the protection of another pawn. She saw him swallow.

  She moved her queen into position to take out the pawn defending his king. Ha! “Now what are you going to do, Chess Boy?”

  Roman moved his bishop out. Then he leaned back, and a slow smile creased his face. “Checkmate.”

  “What? How?”

  “My queen, bishop and knight are all poised to get you. Choose your poison.”

  She sat back, her heart filling her throat. “I was one move away from winning! All I needed was to take out your pawn.”

  He shrugged. “Start packing, baby.”

  She leaned back, then knocked over her king. It spun and slid off the board, landed on the floor. Along with her future.

  And, maybe her heart.

  Especially with him looking all smug and cute with his hands folded across his chest, leaning back in his chair.

  She hoped he fell all the way backward. “I need another cup of coffee.” She lit the stove, then watched the water as it started to boil. “I know I said I’d go back with you but—”

  “Sarai—”

  She heard warning in his tone, but kept going. “First, I have to go back to Khanda and check for outbreaks.”

  “That’s
not your problem.” She heard him stand up, pushing back his chair.

  Sarai closed her eyes, trying not to let frustration pinch her voice. “I know. I’m sorry, Roman, but I can’t go anywhere unless I know the kids are safe.”

  “You can’t help anyone if you’re a fugitive.” His eyes said it all. Control, control. She felt like pouring the boiling water over his head. She turned away, shaking her head.

  “What do you think caused the kidney failure of your patient?”

  She glanced at him, frowning. Then she shook her head, rubbing her eyes with her finger and thumb, seeing purple stars. “I don’t know. I had another case just a few days ago—I might have told you—Governor Bednov’s son. He also had acute renal failure, and it came on suddenly. I don’t know what could have caused it.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “What about radiation poisoning? We watched a film a few months back about the effects, and renal failure was one of them. Could that have caused it?”

  She took the pot off the stove, poured out hot water, then added her instant coffee. “I don’t know.” Maybe. “There used to be a nuclear plant out this way—some of the villagers worked at it. But it’s been closed for a while now.”

  Roman said nothing, but for a moment, she thought she actually saw his brain chewing the information. He nodded, rose. “How far is the nuclear plant from here?”

  “I don’t know. Anya probably does. She’s had this dacha since her childhood.”

  “It’s about fifteen kilometers from here by snow machine.” Genye closed his bedroom door behind him. “Which is about the only way you’re going to get out of here anytime soon.”

  Roman glanced at him. “You have a snowmobile?”

  Genye nodded. He looked tired this morning, with frowsy hair and red-rimmed eyes. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his red bathrobe. “But it hasn’t been driven in a couple years. And, you’re not going anywhere in this blizzard. You won’t see your hand in front of your face.”

  Roman closed his eyes and ran his fingers across his furrowed brow. Sarai read the signs of stress when she saw it.

  She reached across the table and touched his arm. “C’mon, two out of three games. Loser makes supper.”