Sanctuary: Delos Series, Book 9 Read online

  “Why not? The world’s global now. There’s bound to be cross-pollination between cultures.”

  “You probably know that better than most,” Teren said. She walked over and retrieved two soup bowls from the cupboard. There was something special about doing something as simple as preparing a meal with Nolan. Unexpected, but wonderful. She tucked her reaction away, knowing that if she survived this possible attack, Nolan would one day walk out of her life, never to be seen or heard from again. That was the realist side of herself. Her heart, on the other hand, wanted to believe that when he talked about having her in his life, he meant long-term. The two realities just didn’t mix and she knew it. Still, her silly heart wanted to pursue the burgeoning relationship with Nolan.

  “In a way,” he said. He took the soup ladle as Teren held the first bowl in front of him to be filled.

  “Can you tell me what you did in the Army?” Teren asked, curious to know about his background.

  He slowly filled the bowl, not wanting to splash her with the hot, steaming soup. “I can give you some information, but everything I did was top secret, so I can’t say much about most of it.”

  “Tell me what you can, okay?” She set the bright orange bowl on the counter, picking up the other one.

  Nolan slid her a quick look. Teren was so close to him, her arm almost touching his from time to time. She invited intimacy.

  “Why do you want to know?” he asked her lightly, filling the bowl.

  “Because I want to know you.” She smiled a little and took the bowl to the table, then came back for the second one.

  “It’s a good enough reason,” he said, placing the lid on the pan and setting it off to one side. Nafeesa had given him several round kissra bread loaves, and he brought the plate of them over with him. Nolan held a chair out for Teren, and she gave him a glance.

  “I could get used to this. You’re spoiling me, Nolan.”

  “My parents taught me to always be a gentleman,” he teased.

  She sat down at his elbow. Nolan knew he would never tire of watching how Teren moved. There was such innate grace in her.

  She broke off a crust of kissra and dipped it into her soup, giving him a curious look. “Okay, I’ll ask you questions and since you’re top secret, you can choose which you’ll answer. Was your father in the Army?”

  “He was, for four years. Worked in the intelligence section at the Pentagon. Then he got out and went to work for the CIA as a case officer. His cover was that he was a businessman who owned an import-export business. He did all his undercover work here in Africa.” He sipped the chicken-laden soup, hungry. Teren ate more slowly and with delicacy.

  Her eyes grew shadowed. “He was a spy, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know this as a child?”

  Shaking his head, Nolan said, “No. All I knew was that he was gone a lot. I never knew anything more until I was seventeen, when my father died in a shootout in Africa.” He wasn’t going to tell her it was here, in Khartoum, in the slums. Coming back here had brought up a lot of grief and loss for Nolan. Even his mother hadn’t known where her husband had died. He’d found out through back channels when he was in Delta Force.

  Teren reached out, sliding her hand across his arm. “I’m so sorry, Nolan. That’s awful.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t see him a whole lot as a child, Teren. I lived with my Irish mother in McLean, Virginia. He was usually gone nine months out of every year and we didn’t know he worked for the Company until after he died. It was a helluva shock for both of us.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine,” Teren said sadly, removing her hand. She’d seen his eyes darken when she’d reached out and made contact with him. Teren liked touching Nolan. It sent pleasure through her, fed her. “You were seventeen at the time. What did your mother do after she lost your father?”

  “My mother, Aislin, was born in the Galway Bay area of Ireland and I have dual citizenship in America and Ireland. She needed to go home, because she missed her country and relatives so much. She waited until I graduated before putting the house on the market. There was nothing left for her in the U.S. I was going off to the Army. For her, it was an easy and right decision, and I supported her in moving back to her home country during my summer vacation. All our relatives from her side of the family live there.”

  “And what did you do?” she asked, savoring the rich, warm chicken broth.

  He smiled a little. “I went with her. I wasn’t entering the Army until the fall of that year. We flew into Killarney. I was already very familiar with her hometown. She’d never sold her family’s house that was on the bay, so we had a home to go to.”

  “Is she a woman of the land or the sea?”

  Nolan liked Teren’s interest in his mother’s background, even though she didn’t know her. “She’s a creature of the sea and a very famous landscape artist. She’s painted beautiful seascapes of the Galway area. In fact,” he said, “you remind me of my mother in some respects.”

  She smiled shyly. “I’m not a painter, Nolan. I can barely draw a circle.”

  He chuckled. “No, I mean emotionally. My mother is like the ocean. She has her moods and she’s very sensitive, like you. She had always had respiratory issues and she didn’t like living in McLean because of the pollution. She yearned for the clean salt air of Galway Bay. When she was upset about something, she loved to walk on the rocky beach and let the ocean soothe her. I used to go along with her and skip flat rocks into the water.” Those were fond memories for Nolan.

  “I’m afraid my kind of ‘sensitive’ isn’t as good as hers is.” It seemed that her stomach was accepting the food and she found herself much hungrier than she had expected.

  “What do you mean?” Nolan saw a shadow cross her eyes. He’d hoped that if he opened up to Teren, she’d reciprocate. Normally, he never talked of anything personal with a PSD.

  Giving an embarrassed shrug, Teren said, “I’m sensitive to violence or blood of any kind. And really, it’s not very nice table talk.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Physically sensitive?” He saw her mouth turn down. “As in a sensitive stomach that you mentioned earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “My mother,” he admitted ruefully, “is built the same way. In fact, her side of the family has that very same gene.”

  “Oh,” she groaned, closing her eyes for a moment. “We really are more alike than I’d originally thought.”

  “Just because you don’t paint doesn’t mean you aren’t an artist. I was looking at your store website for Kitra and there’s a lot of detail and imaginative imagery in the web pages you’ve built, Teren. You’re just a different kind of artist who doesn’t use brushes, but instead uses pixels.” He smiled kindly over at her. “I think you and my mother share a lot more in common than you know.”

  “Does she love children?”

  “Very much. I was an only child, but there’s an orphanage near her home, and she makes a point of going over every Wednesday to teach the children a class in drawing and art. They love her. She’s very much a toucher, like you.”

  “That’s amazing,” Teren said, shaking her head. “Sounds as if you get along well with her.”

  “We’re very close,” Nolan said. “That’s how I knew I’d get along with you. You’re an easy keeper compared to some PSDs I’ve had to herd around.” He smiled wickedly over at her.

  Her lips moved into a curve as she continued to sip at the soup. “Well, once I understood what you wanted from me, I found it easy to get along with you, too.”

  “Good. We need to become a well-oiled machine so I can keep you safe.”

  She sobered, feeling her stomach clench a little. “For a moment,” she whispered, “I forgot about all of that.”

  “Then let’s keep talking. Tell me about your family and those three big, overbearing brothers of yours.”

  “Ugh, it doesn’t have a happy ending, Nolan.” Teren pushed the bowl gently aside
, picking at the kissra bread, nibbling distractedly on it. At least she’d eaten ninety percent of the huge bowl of soup.

  “I want to know,” he coaxed her, holding her uncertain stare. And then he added, “Because I care about you, Teren. This isn’t idle chitchat between us. I want to get to know you, the person. Not as the PSD.”

  His roughened tone, the emotion banked in his voice, pulled open that dark box Teren hid so deep within herself. “Well,” she muttered, “it’s not a pretty story.”

  “And yet,” he murmured, “you’ve turned out to be one of the most beautiful and caring women I’ve ever met. And if it wasn’t because of what your family instilled in you, Teren, then it was born inside of you. My mother always says that every person is like an oyster, but some special people are born with a pearl inside that oyster. You’re one of those people in my book.”

  His gentle look convinced her she could open up a bit more with him. “That’s a wonderful analogy. Your mom even thinks in images.”

  “So do you.” He finished off his soup and pushed the bowl aside. “Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up?”

  “Well, it’s probably all there in my file. I was born in Somerset, Kentucky. It’s near Daniel Boone National Forest. My father, Alex, is a dairy farmer. My mother, Annie, is a world-class seamstress. We’ve had our farm in the family for a hundred fifty years. My mom had three boys first; I was the last to arrive. Everyone treated me like I was a brainless, helpless, stupid little girl who was always underfoot.”

  “I started to learn about dairy farming when I was eight years old. I wanted to help my father in the barns while the cows were being milked. But he said no, that it was a man’s work, not a woman’s work. I was disappointed, because I loved being outdoors and always have.”

  “I know you like to ride horses,” Nolan said, pulling apart another piece of kissra bread. “What else did you do? I have this vision of you running barefoot, a young, wild little girl untamed by the world.” He smiled a little.

  Snorting, Teren said, “Hardly wild, although I wanted to be. My parents are very, very strict, very religious, and highly conservative.”

  “And you were the only girl in the family,” Nolan murmured, beginning to see a broader picture of Teren. He could see hurt, frustration, and unhappiness in her eyes and voice as she spoke more personally about her family.

  “Yes. My parents treated me as a problem because I was a girl. The boys could go out and help my father. They were big, brawny, and strong like him.”

  “And your mother? Do you have a close tie with her?”

  Looking away, Teren said, “Not hardly.” She laid the bread aside, her stomach tightening as she studied Nolan. His care drenched her, and she saw genuine empathy in his eyes. “She’s an incredible seamstress. People know she’s an artist with thread and fabric, and she gets paid well for what she does.”

  “Unfortunately,” she continued, “only she can do it. She can’t hire others to do what she does. So, she didn’t need a whiny little girl always coming into her sewing room needing something from her. I also think she was tired of being a mother, if you want the truth. She raised three boys ahead of me. Plus, I know the sewing gave her a good feeling and a sense of confidence. She was earning good money and got a lot of well-deserved praise. It made her feel valued.”

  “And you felt like a mere addendum to your parents?”

  Nolan had spoken the words gently, but it still hurt to hear them. Rubbing her forehead, she rasped, “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Did that give you a kind of freedom from them, though?”

  “It did,” Teren agreed, taking in a deep breath and releasing it. “I learned to take care of myself from a very early age, for the most part. I knew when Mom had that door to the sewing room closed, I wasn’t to disturb her. I loved the Apple computer in my brother Ted’s room and spent hours on it. And I learned a lot from him, because he wrote software and taught me how to do it.”

  “But then you went outdoors to ride your horse?”

  She smiled fondly, resting her chin against her hands. “Yes. Domino, my black-and-white pinto gelding, and I would spend half a day running around on my father’s thousand-acre farm. I had special places we’d go. A stream to sit and dream by. A small hill where I could lie with my back on the grass and watch the clouds shift into animals, birds, or other shapes. From the time it was warm enough in the spring until late fall when it got too cold, I’d go riding nearly every day. It got me out of the house. Mom was always in a better mood when I got back, just in time for dinner. If I was early, I’d go to my room and do my homework. If I finished that early, I’d go to Ted’s room and be on the computer.”

  “Because that way you weren’t underfoot?”

  Wearily, she said, “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Teren.” Nolan could see why she often felt underappreciated. In a way, Teren had been abandoned by both parents. It probably wasn’t done on purpose, but it had happened, and she’d gotten the message loud and clear from an early age. It was hard to have four kids to clothe and feed, and Nolan was pretty sure the family wasn’t wealthy by any measure. They worked hard every day, seven days a week, to keep the farm. They just didn’t have the time to be doting parents to their children.

  “So? Did you have friends you could hang out with and confide in?”

  She cut him a glance. “I couldn’t have a boyfriend. My brothers made sure of that. And my girlfriends were few, because my brothers were very judgmental about them. If my friends weren’t religious, if they wore clothes that were too suggestive or sexy-looking…you know the routine. I wasn’t allowed to have friendships with them.”

  “A few friends?”

  “Two. They were a lifeline for me,” Teren admitted.

  “Did you do girl things together like sleepovers?”

  “Are you kidding me? My parents didn’t think the parents of my two friends were good enough for me. They didn’t go to church; therefore, they were going to hell. And I sure wasn’t going to invite them to a sleepover at my place. My parents were harshly judgmental.”

  He nodded and clasped his hands. “Sounds like the Sharia law practiced over here in Sudan came to Kentucky,” Nolan said lightly, trying to lift her spirits. There were eighteen years of hurt lingering in her eyes and it was there for him to see. He ached for Teren. He could imagine her spindly legs, so long for the rest of her slender body, as she rode her horse, lonely, without many friends. Nolan was sure her horse became her best friend, and she probably talked to that gelding all the time. The horse was a lifesaver for a lonely little girl.

  Managing a short laugh, Teren sat back, rubbing her hands down her shorts. “Yeah, it was the same kind of prison that women get put into over here in Sudan, no question. I had something similar, only it came in the form of my parents’ strict belief system and my hardheaded brothers. They all called me ‘Rebel.’ And it wasn’t said nicely. It wasn’t a nickname—more like a curse. Not that any of them cursed…”

  “I can imagine you as a rebel,” he laughed. “I like you being independent, Teren. It suits you. I’m glad you stayed who you are, because look what you’ve accomplished over here for the seven years you’ve been at Kitra. Look at how many lives were improved. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Not many people could do what you’ve done for so many.”

  “Now you sound like Farida and Hadii,” she said, smiling warmly over at him. “It’s nice to be wanted, Nolan. To be respected, not considered an outcast or weirdly different.” Right now, Teren wanted desperately to tell him what had happened to her. Instinctively, she knew Nolan wouldn’t judge her as everyone else had. Swallowing, she thought she’d said enough for one day. “Besides,” she added, “I wasn’t always a good girl. I gave my parents a lot of grief too.” It hurt to even think of admitting they called her a “bad girl.”

  Nolan shook his head. “Every teenager does that to their parents.” He smiled.

  She stood, gathering up the bowls
and flatware. “No, I made a horrible mistake one time and it…well…it tore my whole family apart. And as a result, things just haven’t been the same between us since.” She turned away, seeing his eyes narrow instantly, as if he were sensing what she hadn’t said. That scared her. Teren wasn’t ready to go there. At least not yet.

  Placing the bowls in the sink, she washed them out, feeling nervous, worried that with Nolan’s ability to see beneath her surface, he might suspect what had happened to her. It was such an ugly, dark, seething secret that Teren wished she could get rid of it, but she knew it would never go away.

  She felt Nolan come up behind her, his hands lightly cupping her shoulders. She nearly dropped the bowl and stood there, waiting.

  “Whatever it is that you’re carrying, Teren…” Nolan’s voice was low and gruff.

  “Yes?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, hands hovering paralyzed over the bowls in the sink. His fingers caressed her shoulders and upper arms, soothing her as a parent might soothe a fractious child.

  “There isn’t one of us that doesn’t lug around that kind of baggage. Try to look at it in another way, okay? You did the best you could under the circumstances. None of us is all-knowing and you’re carrying something pretty devastating deep inside you. I don’t know what it is, Teren, but I can feel what it’s doing to you. I wish I knew how to make it better for you. I know the situation we’re in right now isn’t helping, either.”

  She felt her heart burst with such passion for this man that she closed her eyes, her hands still resting over the wet bowls. Nolan’s sincerity overcame all the resistance from her fractured soul. She breathed in the acceptance that vibrated from him and prayed that his words would help her heal from the worst decision she’d made in her life. Slowly opening her eyes, pain in her tone, she managed to choke out, “I want to believe you, Nolan. I really do.”

  “That’s a start, sweetheart.” He moved his hand across her hair, taming a few strands into place along her shoulder. “It’s just a sense, but after talking with you, I get the feeling that you’ve never really found a home where you were honestly loved for who you were until you got here to Kitra. Is that true?”