Fires of Kiev
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Fires of Kiev
Copyright
Dedication
Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Even though it had only been
such a short time, she wondered if she’d ever experience a love like this again. Could she leave Kostya after this? Would she always wonder what the fates would have written for them? It was an impossible situation. There was no life for her here. No life, except for Kostya.
He ran his finger along her jaw, lifted her chin, and brushed his lips against her forehead and eyelids. “I can never forget this.” He kissed her lips, slowly and softly at first, but rising in intensity. Her heart pulsed, and she could feel her body flushing as Kostya pulled back slightly, pressing forehead to forehead, still breathing her air.
“Stay,” she whispered. Neither one of them moved, frozen in each other’s touch.
“I don’t expect…”
“Stay,” Meredith said again, this time more insistent. “I want you to. I want this to last as long as it can. I want to share the night with you.”
Kostya’s breath became harder and he gazed into Meredith’s golden eyes. “Yes.”
Fires of Kiev
by
Nichole D. Evans
The TRUST Chronicles
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Fires of Kiev
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Nichole D. Evans
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2017
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1835-6
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1836-3
The TRUST Chronicles
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my mother
who showed me the joy in reading and writing,
My father
who taught me the possibilities of technology,
And both,
who instilled in me the love of learning.
“As nightfall does not come at once, neither does oppression. In both instances, there is a twilight when everything remains seemingly unchanged. And it is in such twilight that we all must be most aware of change in the air—however slight—lest we become unwitting victims of the darkness.”
~William O. Douglas
Chapter 1
Meredith St. Claire sat on the trunk of the car. Steam dissipating from the open hood, she squinted at the deserted highway in front of her. As far as she could see, a rural asphalt road, damaged by winter snows and erosion on the edges, drew a line between the rich fields on either side. The fifteen-year-old Fiat she was driving had hissed and smoked while she traveled from Donetsk to Kiev in the Ukraine, forcing her off the highway.
Looking down at her black-screened phone, she cursed technology and Internet maps and short-lived batteries. She swore at the app on her phone that had assured her the rural route was faster than the congested E40 highway, the more common road into Kiev. Of course, if the car hadn’t overheated, if her phone had been charged enough to keep giving directions, and if she could read the jumbled Cyrillic letters on the blue road signs, it might have been good advice. But reality was the same regardless—she was lost in a foreign country and completely alone.
In every direction were fields of corn, wheat, soy, and even sunflowers. The sun, just falling in the sky, cast a golden haze on the acres and acres of plants around her. The air was thick with the rich scent of irrigation water tinged with mulch. It would have been beautiful, if she weren’t so scared. She breathed deeply, cleansing her thoughts and grounding her focus. Surely someone will come along and help.
But, no cars approached. Leave it to technology to put me on the most underused highway in the Ukraine. Even if someone approached, she didn’t speak Ukrainian, so communication would be impossible.
She slid off the trunk and gathered the wool blanket and food basket the other volunteers at the clinic prepared for her before she left. Opening the driver’s side door, she settled in, knowing that without help, she would probably need to stay here for the night. This was so not what I hoped for when I signed up with Doctors Without Borders.
The summer between graduating with her Bachelor’s and starting medical school, Meredith had the opportunity to volunteer with the mobile clinics in the Eastern Ukraine. She was assigned to go to Donetsk, right in the middle of the fighting between the Ukrainians, the Russians, and an independence movement of local rebels.
Meredith had hoped to get some real-time experience before starting classes, but her role as a volunteer meant she often got stuck doing mundane jobs the doctors and nurses didn’t want to do. Even worse, she still didn’t feel like she was trusted doing many tasks yet, so a lot of her time was spent getting out of the way and watching. Going to Kiev to retrieve needed medications seemed like her chance to do something of value, so when it came up, she impulsively volunteered—or at least offered before she had fully considered it.
Two days later, she was supplied with a car, directions, and an emergency gas container in her trunk.
How things can change in just ten hours.
In an ideal world, she would already be at the hotel in Kiev, getting ready for bed. Tomorrow she’d have picked up the medications and returned to Donetsk, a heroine to the doctors and nurses, worthy of respect and trust. What would they think if they found out she was lost and alone on an abandoned road in the farmlands of the Ukraine?
Somewhere between the waning fear of being lost and the warmth of the wool blanket, Meredith started to doze. As her mind fell into sleep, she dreamt of performing important surgeries but was disrupted by a man looking in from the gallery.
Meredith’s eyes opened. There was a man knocking on the window.
A traffic-stopping gorgeous man saying words she couldn’t understand.
With a sleep-panicked heartbeat, she ran her hands through her travel-toss
ed hair and used the crank handle to roll the glass down an inch.
“Tobi potribna dopomoha?” He spoke gently, his tone deep and rich. His large hands rested on either side of the driver’s side door, bracing his tall frame as he bent to talk through the window. With dark hair and a shadow on his angular chin—evidence he hadn’t shaved for several hours, if not a day or two—the man could have been threatening, but his eyes eased her fears. Two deep pools of dark blue outlined in thick lashes looked down on her with genuine concern. “Tobi potribna dopomoha?”
She stared blankly, then suddenly realized his intention. He’s offering to help. She bit her bottom lip, forming her thoughts in broken Ukrainian. Say hello, Meredith, she scolded herself. “Zdravstuvyte.” She was sure she mispronounced even this most basic greeting, but the man smiled at her. Ask if he can speak English. Slowly she tried again. “Um…Mozhesh…” She sighed, frustrated. “Do you speak English?”
“Tak. Yes, I speak English.” His grin made her feel comfortable despite her awkwardness. He gestured to the open hood of her car. “You need help, dushen’ka?”
“Yes. I mean, tak.” She opened her door and stood next to him. He wore a green military jacket, American Levis, and brown lace-up work boots. She couldn’t help but notice his height, well over six feet, and the angles that didn’t stop at his chin. Every inch of his body was defined as if created with a sculptor’s chisel. His wide shoulders slanted into defined abs and a slim waist. Her gaze dropping farther, she bit her lips to rein in a sigh. Yep, he had the whole package.
Walking to the front of the car, he asked, “What happened here?” He ducked under the hood and fiddled with some of the connections.
“I think it overheated.” Meredith stood behind him, worried about what he would find wrong with the car, but not hating the view of him leaning over the engine.
“Overheated, yes. Fire, perhaps too?” He chuckled and ran his finger across the underside of the hood, pulling a line of black onto his finger. “You had smoke?” He gestured, making billows with his hands.
“Tak. Yes. Lots of smoke. But no fire that I saw.” She hoped there hadn’t been flames coming from the engine, something a reasonable driver would see.
He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it into the bed of his truck. Meredith’s eyebrows lifted as she studied the form-fitting black t-shirt and the two powerful arms he uncovered. He disappeared farther under the hood, and she stood back to watch. Between the car breaking down, a possible fire, and their inelegant introduction, she wondered what this very attractive man must think of her. Let’s try not to act like a total idiot, Meredith. Circling to the other side of the hood, she leaned in to observe, hoping she didn’t seem completely clueless. “Can you see anything that’s wrong?”
“There’s no water, for one thing.” His eyes twinkled up at hers over the engine, and he smiled crookedly. She caught herself staring again and then swooning when he looked away to test another connection.
“Oh. Water. That’s pretty important.” She cringed as she said it, realizing how silly she sounded. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he mocked her or showed contempt for her ineptness, but his eyes held warmth.
He pointed to the radiator, and she leaned onto the frame of the car toward him. “Without water, the engine will get too hot.”
Water! I’ve got this! “I have a jug of water in the back,” she volunteered, finally feeling helpful. “We can fill the reservoir, and I’ll be off.” Meredith stood to go retrieve the jug and smacked her head—hard—on the edge of the raised hood.
The man winced as Meredith staggered back from the car. Before she knew it, he was by her side, leading her to sit in the passenger side of her car. “Are you all right?”
With his arm around her, she felt a little woozy, and it had nothing to do with the knock on her head. Her cheek pressed up against his shoulder as he guided her down to the seat, and she breathed in the scent of soap and leather.
“I’m okay. I’m good,” Meredith insisted, but as she spoke, he retrieved a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it on her hairline where she had hit.
“Hold still. It’s bleeding a little.” His voice was commanding but calm.
She blinked and tried to sit still but it was impossible with this man kneeling in front of her, holding a cloth to her head and gently stroking her hair out of the way. “Here, let me,” Meredith offered, her face heating. She reached up to take hold of the handkerchief, brushing his fingers with her grasp.
Oh my!
As their fingers touched, their eyes connected. Whether it was a minute that passed or an hour, when he held her gaze and touched her, she forgot everything from the clinic to the broken-down car. For that moment, her fears turned to hopes, and her frustrations became possibilities. Not wanting to the break the spell, she hesitated before speaking. “I-I’ll probably get a goose egg, but I’m fine,” she stammered, dropping her eyes awkwardly.
“Why would you get a goose egg?”
His blank look made Meredith laugh. “It’s a saying in English to describe the bump a person gets after getting hit on the head. See?” She moved his hand, still pressing the cloth to her hairline and put it gently over the wound. She grimaced slightly as his fingers touched it. “The swelling is rounded like an egg.”
“A goose egg.” He looked down to her with his hands still holding back her hair, grasping it just a little longer than he should have. “Interesting.” He slid his hand off her scalp, never losing eye contact with her. “Stay here while I finish looking at the engine,” he said with a gravelly voice. She nodded, and he stooped under the hood.
Meredith sighed. The most interesting man I’ve talked to in months, and I can’t do anything right. Between being helpless with a broken-down car and clumsy with a bump on her head, she was doing little to impress anyone, let alone a gorgeous Ukrainian on a deserted road. She pressed the cloth against the developing bump on her head and lamented her bad luck. Well, at least the bleeding had stopped.
After a few moments, he stepped out and slammed the hood down. “It’s a bit more than the radiator. I can fix it, but I’ll need some tools at home.” He pointed at Meredith. “You can come home with me, too.”
Go home with you? Was he asking her to go to his place? She couldn’t cover the apprehension that must have shown on her face. This guy isn’t hitting on me, is he?
He must have read her expression because he held up his hands. “No, no!” He smiled kindly and spoke softly. “You can come so I can fix the car. Mama will like to help you. The farm is a short distance away. Tomorrow before mass I can use the farm truck and bring my brothers to help get your car.”
Meredith stood up while she weighed her situation. She had no working cell phone, no idea where she was going, and a car that was not moving. Although well taught in avoiding stranger-danger scenarios, few choices existed at this point. Besides, something about the man standing in front of her allowed her to trust. Yes, he was ruggedly dark and handsome, and he had eyes a shade of blue so deep they reflected shadows in the dark, but it was his smile, mischievous and repentant at the same time, that convinced her he was sincere. His mother probably saw that face every time she caught him misbehaving, and she likely forgave him every time. Seeing it made the corners of Meredith’s mouth involuntarily turn up. Her heart melted for the little boy behind the grin, but was wary of the man who had learned how to wield it.
“Is your mother at home?” Meredith asked, trying to get a feel for what she was walking into. “You don’t live alone?”
“No, no. I live in Kiev.” He laughed and flashed those dimples again. “Here is my family’s home. We all come home for, um…” he struggled for the word. “Brother’s baby to get name, and priest…” he pantomimed a priest blessing a baby and finished by crossing himself.
“A christening?” she prompted. “Your brother’s baby is to be christened tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he said proudly. “I am to be godfather.” Scanning the
car and Meredith he said, “You can come, too. Stay with my family, and I will help with the car.”
“No, no. I couldn’t intrude on your family.” She bit her lip and looked up at him. “Could you just drop me at the nearest town? I’ll get some help tomorrow.” Somehow. The truth was she didn’t know what to do.
The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he watched her refuse his help. Again he addressed her with the soft endearment. “Dushen’ka, I don’t know your name.”
“Meredith. Meredith St. Claire.” She glanced up and found his eyes locked on her.
“I am Kostya Dychenko.” He offered his hand, and she unconsciously placed hers in it. Although a simple handshake, his closeness sent pulses across her skin. Kostya must have felt it too, because he hesitated to let go, holding longer than she expected. She raised her gaze to his, and he studied her with a comfortable intensity as he leaned into her. “Mer—ee-dit?” he sampled the unfamiliar name. She nodded. “Mer—ee. Meri, I will not leave you without help. Please, come with me.”
Her mind weighed her options, and finding few, Meredith relented, and he helped her gather her things. She locked up the car and breathlessly jumped into his little truck.
The windows were rolled down, and the outside air, cooled by the nearby channels of irrigation water, circulated through the cab. Around them, the endless acres of crops were indistinguishable except by their shadows in the bright moonlight. It was a few months until harvest, but the earthy smell of green filled the air as they drove between the fields. At first the noise from the engine and the blowing air discouraged conversation, yet an unexpected charge ran through Meredith as Kostya glanced at her, setting her head spinning with curiosity about the stranger sitting next to her. She longed to discover more.
“What do you do in Kiev?” she asked, awkwardly raising her voice over the sound of the truck. She found herself leaning into the center of the bench seat, her foot tucked under her thigh and her hips turned toward him. Kostya, she noticed, rested one hand on the seat just inches from her knee.
“I am student at University of Kiev. I study computers.”