Lindsay McKenna - Ride The Tiger

After two tours in Vietnam, Major Gib Ramsey, U.S. M.C., knew that war was hell. But how could he convince beautiful, stubborn Dany Villard that her beloved plantation seesawed on a time bomb? The lush land and its gentle people had given Dany the only love she’d ever known—losing them would crush her. Long a warrior, Gib now battled an unfamiliar urge: to blanket a woman in tenderness and promise her more than a fleeting moment of glory….

Previously published.

Ride the Tiger

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Back Cover Text After two tours in Vietnam, Major Gib Ramsey, U.S. M.C., knew that war was hell. But how could he convince beautiful, stubborn Dany Villard that her beloved plantation seesawed on a time bomb? The lush land and its gentle people had given Dany the only love she’d ever known—losing them would crush her. Long a warrior, Gib now battled an unfamiliar urge: to blanket a woman in tenderness and promise her more than a fleeting moment of glory…. Previously published.

Title Page Ride the Tiger Lindsay McKenna www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Copyright

Da Nang, Vietnam

April 15, 1965

“ M aman, must you go to the military base at Da Nang?” Dany Villard spoke to her mother in French, trying to keep the concern out of her voice as slender Amy Lou Villard glided elegantly toward the dated blue Renault parked in front of their plantation home. Really, at twenty-six she shouldn’t have to worry about her mother, Dany thought. But sometimes it felt like Amy Lou was the daughter and Dany the mother.

Dressed in a summery silk dress, Dany’s mother was every bit the plantation mistress, airily waving her hand as if to dismiss Dany’s concern. A wide-brimmed white straw hat shaded Amy Lou’s delicate skin from the burning sun overhead.

“Ma cherie, one does not turn down a luncheon invitation with a marine general, does one?”

Standing tensely on the wooden steps of the porch, her fingers digging into the carved rail, Dany frowned. In a fierce whisper that she wanted no one—not even their loyal Vietnamese help—to overhear, Dany said, “But what about Binh Duc?” Dany knew that if the local Vietcong chieftain even suspected the Villards were consorting with the Americans, their rubber plantation would no longer be safe. “ Maman, think!” she pleaded. “Please! Don’t expose our neutrality like this.”

Whirling on the high heel of one pink sandal, Amy Lou laughed as she opened the car door. “As usual, Dany, you worry too much and you think too much. Binh Duc has promised to allow us to remain neutral.” She wrinkled her small, fine nose. “I’m sure the American marines at Da Nang would like us to take sides in this ridiculous situation, but we’re French, and we’re not at war with the VC, or anyone else.”

Dany stepped off the stairs. Probably her mother was right, she told herself. Still, her heart pounded with a strange feeling of dread. Compared to her mother, who was dressed in the latest French fashion, a gossamer creation in a print of pink, red and white peonies, a three-strand choker of pearls around her neck, Dany felt plain. Well, wasn’t she? She glanced down self-consciously at the long-sleeved blue cotton blouse that hung to her thighs, the simple pair of dark cotton slacks and her bare feet, stained by the red earth. Yes, she was a colorless bird next to her beautifully attired mother.

“But, Maman, Binh Duc warned you about the Americans coming here!” A marine general had shown avid interest in her mother, whom he’d met a few months ago at a charity luncheon at a newly erected Da Nang French restaurant. The general had sent his official staff car to pick up her mother soon after, and Binh Duc had snuck into their home the next day, threatening her mother that if he ever saw another American on Villard property, he would have to reconsider their neutral status. Dany distrusted the VC leader, whose political fervency was fanaticism in her opinion. She could accept his determination to practice Communism, but Dany couldn’t tolerate his cruelty in forcing his belief on others.

“That’s why I’m driving our car to Da Nang, ma chérie. ” The new military base was located next to the Vietnamese city. “I told the general no more staff cars or men in uniform coming to our plantation.” Amy Lou’s smile didn’t reach her carefully made-up blue eyes. Patting her pale blond hair, she said, “Stop fretting, Dany! You always act as if Duc knows our every move.”

“He does,” Dany warned grimly. Long ago, the revolutionary Vietminh commander had given his word to her father that he would leave the Villard plantation alone. Binh Duc was the most recent in a series of commanders who had accepted the long-standing agreement. However, Duc was becoming more skittish and demanding every month. The truce with him was fragile, and Dany didn’t count on it, even if her unrealistic mother did.

The Villards had a similar pact with the South Vietnamese Army—the ARVN—and the plantation was one of the few neutral zones that all sides had respected. Dany chafed daily under the knowledge that if either side broke its word, the Villard plantation, which had been in the family since the early 1930s, would quickly be destroyed—a fate that already had befallen so many other French plantations since the battle at Dien Bien Phu.

Placing her purse in the car, Amy Lou called out, “ Au revoir, Dany. I’ve been so bored for so long. This is a wonderful opportunity for me to get out and enjoy myself.” She pouted playfully. “Now, you will not hold that against me, will you, ma doux? ”

Dany’s throat tightened with complicated emotions. Then she sighed in helpless resignation. “No, Maman. ” Her mother was a butterfly, Dany had decided long ago, and she, the dutiful, hard-working water buffalo, possessing neither her mother’s lilt, glitter and gift for small talk, nor her love of parties and social status.

Dany looked down at her hands as Amy Lou slipped into the Renault. They were long and slender like her mother’s, but there the similarity ended. Amy Lou had her hands massaged daily and anointed with expensive creams by her personal maid, getting her long nails polished bright red. My hands are red, all right, Dany thought ruefully, slowly turning them over. Her nails were blunt cut, with dirt beneath them from working among the rubber trees. Although she scrubbed her hands and nails nightly, Dany could swear they retained a faint red stain, as if her skin were permanently marked by the soil she loved so fiercely. Dany didn’t see it as bad, but rather as a badge proclaiming her oneness with the land.

“Do not worry about me,” Amy Lou called lightly as she put the little car in gear. “I will share the gossip I hear at lunch with you when I return later this afternoon.” She blew Dany a kiss with her gloved hand.

The sudden urge to run over to the car and give her mother a genuine kiss startled Dany. There had never been real warmth between them, although Dany had sometimes ached for it. Butterflies like her pampered mother were airy and light, never landing anyplace long enough to learn about deeper, more serious commitments. Dany took two steps forward, then checked herself. If she did run over and kiss her mother’s cheek, Amy Lou no doubt would playfully chide her for making a childish demonstration, and would not return the kiss. Much better to quell her own emotional needs and avoid embarrassment, Dany thought.