with Booker.
“Fair enough.” Aaron lifted a negligent shoulder. “But she’s kept herself busy with my people.”
“Your people?”
“Yes,” Aaron explained. “Jon Mercer has persuaded me to help rebuild the Al Asheera into a productive tribe. One that works with Jarek, instead of against him.”
“And Sandra?”
“She’s spent her days vaccinating the young, healing the sick, comforting the elderly. She’s even delivered a few babies over the last couple of weeks.”
“I want to see her.”
“She went for a walk,” Aaron replied. “You’ll find her by the rocks, just outside of camp.”
“Alone?”
“Usually,” Aaron said, coughing to keep from laughing. “Just be back before noon meal. My people have grown fond of her, and will expect her for the noon meal.”
“I do not think this will take four hours—”
“You don’t think this is going to be easy, do you, McKnight?” Aaron laughed this time. The deep, hearty laugh of someone who’d been in the same quandary. “Groveling to the woman you love is a long, drawn-out process.”
“For the record, Sabra?” Booker swung back up on Sam. “Your job protecting Sandra is over. For the rest of your life. Understood?”
“Understood,” Aaron answered, grinning. “For your sake, I hope she’s alone.”
“Why?”
“If you have to grovel, you’re not going to want an audience.”
* * *
SANDRA SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the highest boulder, her gaze steady on the Sahara. The sun danced over the horizon, spinning gold from sand, turquoise from the cool morning air and blue skies.
A new day.
She rested her hands across her stomach, breathed deep to settle the flutter of nervousness, the touch of nausea.
A new beginning.
The wind tugged at her hair, whipped her tiered skirt around her legs. She brought her knees up to her chest, held her skirt close with her arms.
She’d spent the past two months amongst the Al Asheera. Two months getting to know their way of life, and their families and bringing their babies into the world, and sometimes—she smiled—their livestock.
Her free time she’d spent on the boulders, sometimes talking with Aaron or one of the camp women, but mostly alone—listening to the wind, the quiet hum of her thoughts.
Yet nothing eased her doubts, the nagging ache in her heart.
Nothing blocked the image of Booker, pale and half-dead, from her mind.
It had been close. His kidneys had shut down, his spleen hemorrhaged. The first she saved, the second she couldn’t.
But he’d pulled through and healed quickly.
She leaned back on her hands, closed her eyes, lost herself in the heat of the sun.
The whistle, a low rendition of “You Are My Sunshine,” drifted over the boulder.
Her eyes blinked open. “Go away, Booker.”
Instead, he moved closer. “Now, Doc,” Booker drawled with his best Texan accent. “You know if I were that easy, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. You would have stuck it out at the hospital until I woke up.”
“We’ve said everything that needed saying in the plane,” Sandra shot back, her gaze locking on his.
His features had darkened, the lines on his face deepened, with fatigue or worry, she couldn’t be sure. He’d lost weight, grown whiskers, but neither dulled the sharp blue irises that drifted over her.
“You said all you needed to say,” Booker corrected softly. “And all I needed to hear.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was a little busy at the time, sweetheart,” Booker reasoned, his mouth twisting with amusement.
“You lost your chance,” she managed, her voice calm. But her fingers trembled, her heart stumbled. “Shouldn’t you be at the palace?”
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Aaron told me that Jarek wants you back as his security consultant.”
“I turned him down,” Booker replied. “I’m heading back to the States.”
“Oh.” Something sharp hit Sandra in the chest. So she was a loose end. And he was leaving. So be it.
She drew her knees back up, tightened her arms around her legs. “I guess we both got what we wanted.” She rocked, just a bit. To make the hurt go away.
“Not even close.” Booker settled next her. “Have you talked with your parents?”
Sandra stared off into the distance. “No. They’re on a long-needed vacation. The inquest was fast and efficient. President Mercer made sure of it.”
“He was found innocent on all counts of treason,” Booker remembered. “I heard it on the news.”
“Once my father’s involvement became public, he seemed relieved. My mother has been supportive. My brother, too.”
“And you?”
Sandra shrugged. “I realize he had no choice. But when he recruited me to work for Trygg—”
“He didn’t give you a choice,” Booker finished, understanding. “You would have made the same decision, Doc. You would