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The
trailer held a tiny sink, a two-burner propane stove, a small fridge,
and a door to a broom-closet-sized bathroom where you sat on the pot
while holding a sprayer if you wanted a shower in two gallons of
water or less. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. This
was the life she loved.
    When she’d boarded the plane, her heart
clenched with fear every time a man entered the small cabin of the
commuter flight. Her newest brush with John had set her confidence
back. Once the plane took off, she’d been able to start erasing
the encounter, putting the past behind with every mile. Landing in
Belize, neither the hours in customs nor the jeep ride through the
thick, heavy tropical forest had withered her spirits. Sitting in
this trailer in a foreign country, Gwen felt like the carefree, happy
person she used to be.
    She dug through her carryon bag. The childhood
journals she’d read on the flight explained her reaction to
Arka. He reminded her of the imaginary boy in her dream sanctuary.
Most nights she dreamed of visiting the ancient civilizations like
those in her father’s stories. It didn’t matter where …
Egypt, Australian Aboriginal, Maya … the boy was always
waiting for her. When her father died, she said goodbye to her dream
friend to spare him the burden of her grief.
    Shortly thereafter she’d met John, tall
with strawberry blonde hair and laughing blue eyes so different from
the young man in her dreams. They dated for two years while she’d
feverishly worked to get her degree early and he’d finished
college. She’d fallen short of her degree but left school to
marry him anyway.
    Two years of dating … and he’d
never once raised a hand to her. He put on such a “nice guy”
act that most people thought Gwen was a liar. Hell, when it happened
it was hard for Gwen to reconcile the nice guy she knew to the
monster welding his fists on her. He’d never revealed his
capacity for violence … until the last day of their honeymoon.
A waiter had given her a compliment …
    Gwen pulled her thoughts away from the dark
memories. “It’s over, Gwendolyn May Kramer. Done.”
Her whisper echoed back at her. She found her phone at the very
bottom of the bag. The signal was surprisingly strong. She glanced at
her watch with a shrug and dialed.
    “You better have dug up a fully preserved
Aztec god.” Maggie’s sleepy voice held humor. Her words
brought Arka to Gwen’s mind.
    Gwen moved her bags to the seats of the table.
“Close.” She giggled, “He looks like a god.”
She undid her braid, holding the phone with her shoulder.
    “I thought for sure you were calling to
regale me with old shit.” Maggie sucked in an audible breath.
“This is about a guy? Talk to me, sista.”
    The back of her head hit the pillow with a sigh,
every detail of Arka fresh in her mind--his rippling, defined abs;
the way the muscles of his back, chest, and thick biceps flexed under
his deeply tanned skin when he moved; his long, straight, nearly
black hair, tied back to emphasize his high cheekbones and squared,
strong jaw line; his deep-burgundy colored, thick lips, and eyes the
color of milk chocolate. The feel of him carrying her like she
weighed nothing in his arms while his masculine scent made her swoon.
The smoothness of his cheek when she’d kissed him.
    “He’s gorgeous, Mags. One hundred
percent Yucatan Indian. His name is Arka. He’s one of my
assistants.” Gwen grinned like a schoolgirl.
    The silence on the other end gave her more time
to envision. The obvious bulge in his shorts roared to the forefront,
sending a pool of moisture between her legs.
    “If anyone deserves a fling, it’s
you. Just be careful, okay. I love you, but you have the worst taste in men.” Maggie’s chuckle offset the harshness of
her statement. That didn’t make it any less the truth. Gwen
knew the statistics of battered women. The ones lucky enough to
survive had a tendency to go from one abuser to the next.
    “I will. Promise.