Warning

This ebook contains adult language and themes, including graphic descriptions of sexual
acts which some may find offensive, particularly, of the male/male variety. It is intended
for mature readers only, of legal age to possess such material in their area.

This is a work of fiction. And resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely
coincidental.

What You Can't Live Without
© 2011 by Eden Winters
Cover art by Jared Rackler
All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced without written permission of
the author, except as brief quotations as in the case of reviews.

Thanks to Nina, Meg, John, and Lynda for support and hand-holding. And to Jared for
the awesome cover. My world is a better place because all of ya'll are in it.

This story is dedicated to those who leave the comforts of home to lend a helping hand,
wherever it's needed.

What You Can't Live Without

By Eden Winters

"Well, what do you think?" The sleek Jaguar was everything Mitchell Rollins had
dreamed of: classy and expensive. Like the Ivy League degree on the wall of his office
and the brand new condo downtown, the car spoke of wealth and success -- his wealth
and success.

"I don't know, Mitch. Don't you think it's a bit... much?"

Mitch frowned. Why did miserly Arnulfo have to rain on his parade? "Obviously not, or I
wouldn't have bought it."

"It looks really expensive."

"It should, because it is."

The man slowly circling the liquid silver status symbol, inspecting it with a critical eye,
was the only thing the vehicle, or Mitch's life, needed to make it complete. Arnulfo Oliva,
with his caramel skin, dark eyes, and inky hair that fell in waves when not tied back,
would be the perfect accessory, if only he'd stop dancing out of reach long enough to be
properly claimed.

After completing a slow circuit around the car, Arnulfo, hands on hips, declared, "It's not
you."

"What? Of course it's me! I worked hard so I could afford things like this."

White teeth flashed against dark skin. "There are more important things in life than
possessions, my friend."

"Like what?'

"Family, friends, helping your fellow man." The brilliant smile struck Mitch's libido like
a two-twenty current.

Hiding disappointment that one of the few people whose opinion mattered didn't like his
latest acquisition, he shot back, "Yeah? See where it got you." The top of the line
convertible was supposed to impress the handsome immigrant from El Salvador, not
inspire head shakes and pitying looks. "Half your pay goes to your family back home,
while you drive the cheapest rust bucket you could find and share a tiny house with three
other men."

"There's plenty of room for all of us, and my car is practical. It's also no hardship to take
care of those I love."

Those you love. With the exception of his parents and the small bundle of energy who
showed absolutely no interest at all in the car, Mitch had none. "Take a ride with me? I
want to talk to you about something." He'd been planning this for months. Now was the
time to pull out all the stops. Oh, Arnulfo played hard to get so well, at times even Mitch
believed the act -- almost. But after all, he was Mitch Rollins, one of Interim General's
brightest stars; how could anyone resist him?

Again that bright smile flashed, stoking the fire in Mitch's groin. Damn, what a sexy man,
though he didn't seem to realize it. "Okay," Arnulfo replied, "I want to talk to you, too."

Mitch hoped they'd do more than just talk.

While Arnulfo's short, trim figure slid into the tiny passenger seat with ease, Mitch, taller,
with a body bulked up by daily visits to the gym, wasn't nearly as comfortable in a car
built for looks and speed. Still, it made a statement that said, "I am rich and powerful";
comfort could be sacrificed. He paused long enough to let the top down, then drove out of
the parking garage into the city. How Mitch loved the city! The theater, the opera, the
clubs, the restaurants. For a handsome young doctor from a good family, with plenty of
money to spare, the city stretched out like a giant playground.

Recently, however, he'd been spending more and more evenings at home, entertaining a
certain dark-eyed Central American. And just last week, he'd confessed to a friend that he
was "thinking of settling down," something that had never even occurred to him before
meeting Arnulfo.

The object of his new domestic desires fiddled with the CD player. Soft, soothing
classical music flooded from speakers that Mitch had yet to find.

Arnulfo, in faded jeans and T-shirt, looked like a college student, but would soon
complete a residency. If Mitch were going to settle down, he could do a lot worse than
this man whose star was rising as rapidly as his own had. He could picture the two of
them, dining with his parents at the country club or attending a gallery opening. The elder
Rollins might chafe at first about Mitch's involvement with a foreigner, but they'd get
over it, just like they'd gotten over the fact that Mitch wouldn't be bringing home any silly
debutantes. Silly debutantes who could give them grandchildren.

At some point on the drive their hands joined, later their thighs, as much as the car's
interior allowed. Arnulfo's other hand slipped into the waistband of Mitch's slacks,
stroking his hard length. Mitch squeezed the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip,
eyes firmly trained onto the road. His breath escaped in shallow pants.

He was getting closer, belly quivering, when the hand withdrew long enough for them to
pass an eighteen wheeler without the driver seeing too much. Mitch nearly grabbed
Arnulfo's wrist, but before he could protest, the hand was back. He had just enough time
to pull into the drive of a deserted house before reaching the point of no return.

The moment the car stopped Arnulfo slammed their mouths together, catching Mitch's
cries.

When at last his body's shuddering ceased, Mitch pushed his lover back against the seat,
ignoring the gear shift jammed against his belly. "Your turn," he growled, making short
work of pulling down blue jeans and the boxers underneath to expose a hard cock a few
shades darker than the smooth, nearly hairless skin his hands now caressed beneath
Nulfo's shirt. He took the cock into his mouth, humming at the comforting scent he'd
become so familiar with over the past year.

Arnulfo's fingers twined in his hair, and a mumbled litany of Spanish curses peppered the
air while his lover's passion filled his mouth.

Tangled together in an uncomfortable mass, they gasped through the aftershocks. Finally,
they cleaned up and straightened their clothing as best they could in the cramped space,
and Mitch pulled back onto the road.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Arnulfo asked in the melodious sing-song that
was his accent.

"You go first." Mitch wanted to save his news for last. After Arnulfo filled him in on
what a favorite patient had said that day in pediatrics, then Mitch would spring the
question; will you move in with me?

Instead of some innocuous bit about his day, however, Arnulfo dropped a bomb. "I've
decided that after I complete my residency, I'm going home."

"You what?!"

Mitch slammed on the brakes, prompting the driver behind him to lay down on the horn,
scream, "Idiot!" and speed past the sports car, a familiar hand gesture extended out the
window.

"Asshole," Mitch muttered. Recovering from the shock, he drove far more slowly than he
had been, clenching the gear shift to hide the trembling in his fingers.

Why the hell would Arnulfo leave when he had it made here? "You just mean for
vacation, right? A week or two?" Surely Nulfo couldn't mean longer than that.

Ever since Mitch had first laid eyes on him, Arnulfo Oliva had been a happy man, always
smiling, always having a kind word for everyone, especially children. There was no trace
of that happiness now.

"Mitchell," the now-sullen Arnulfo said, "I am blessed. Well and truly blessed that I was
able to come here and get an education. But I made a promise that one day I'd use my
talents and skills to help my countrymen."

That wasn't news. Arnulfo had always expressed altruistic motives for becoming a
doctor. He wasn't alone in that. Hell, when trying to win the right approval Mitch himself
had spouted such concern for his fellow man. Those words were just spoken to sway
certain doctors into giving a recommendation, though. No one ever meant them. Except,
apparently, for Arnulfo.

"There's plenty of ways you can help from here. You don't have to go back there," Mitch
said, wincing at how whiny he sounded. The scenes of domestic bliss he'd envisioned all
day faded, replaced by the looming reality of a lonely condo and a table set for one.

A bittersweet smile was his answer. "I didn't grow up like you did, expecting the house
on the hill and the big, fancy car. In fact, in my village, growing up at all wasn't a given."

Mitch's reply, ground from between clenched teeth, was less than kind. "You don't owe
them anything."

"Yes, I do," Arnulfo murmured. He stared out at the gathering darkness for a long, quiet
moment. His eyes were oddly shiny when he turned back to face Mitch. "I don't want to
leave you, but this is something I have to do. Please understand."

Desperation setting in as his dreams imploded, Mitch huffed, "People tend to do what
they want to do. If you want to leave me, you don't have to make up excuses, you're free
to do as you please." Even if it's ripping my heart out remained unsaid.

In a voice so quiet it was scarcely heard, the man he'd wanted for a partner delivered what
Mitch thought of as the killing blow to their relationship. "Take me back to my car,
please." No, "Just kidding, can I come back to your place?" or "Nothing is more
important to me than you, of course I'll move in," rather the same stick-to-his-guns
determination that caused both admiration and, occasionally, frustration on Mitch's part
in the past.

They didn't speak to each other on the way back to the hospital. When Arnulfo got out of
the car, his parting shot was, "You may not believe me, but I really do love you."

Hurt and angry, Mitch refused to say the same. What good would it do?

When Nulfo's aging Kia pulled away, Mitch sat in the quiet parking garage and
whispered, "I love you, too."

***

The rumor mill confirmed that Arnulfo had indeed moved back to Central America. For
three months Mitch told himself it was for the best, and he nearly had himself convinced
until one Monday morning while preparing for work. He turned the television on to the

morning news, and stumbled into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The words, "El
Salvador" stopped him in his tracks.

A line of text crawled across the bottom of the screen, "Magnitude 7.8 quake hits El
Salvador, death toll climbs..."

El Salvador! Nulfo!

Mitch didn't remember getting ready for work, or even driving to the hospital, all he
could think of was getting to Arnulfo.

"Sir, I need to talk to you." Mitch didn't knock before entering the hospital Chief of
Staff's office, he didn't have to. There was never any doubt Graham Logan would
welcome him.

Instead of the warm smile and firm handshake he expected, Graham appeared
preoccupied, merely glancing up from the stack of papers on his desk before returning his
attention to them. "What can I do for you, Mitchell?"

Mitchell? Not Mitch? No mindless banter about the wife and kids? No little Billy's latest
Little League triumph? Instead, worry creased the familiar face of his mentor, tanned by
many shared afternoon golf games. The chilly reception (or was it merely that Graham
was busy?) was shocking, and Mitch nearly stammered, "I just came by to let you know
that I'm going to be taking some vacation time."

"No, you aren't," Graham replied, focused on the papers before him.

What? He was being told 'no'? "I have plenty of time saved," Mitch argued.

Only then did the man look up. His eyes were blood-shot and the skin beneath them was
black and puffy. Oh, someone had had a late night. The fatherly physician's fingers
pressed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "It's not a matter of accrued time,
Mitch. Surely you know we're about to be very short-handed."

"Short-handed?" No, in fact he hadn't known that. What was going on?

"You've been watching the news, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. All morning."

"Then you know about the crisis in El Salvador."

Mitch swallowed hard. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see,
Arnulfo, or rather, Dr. Oliva is down there..."

Though obviously tired, Graham's face lit up. "Yes, he's heading a relief effort in some of
the more out of the way villages. You know, you're the last person I expected to
volunteer. Quite frankly, I'm downright shocked. Still, for a humanitarian effort such as
this, yes, you can have the requested time."

"Huh?" Before Mitch knew what hit him he found a stack of papers pressed into his hand
and he was being clapped on the back and congratulated on his decision to join the other
doctors who were taking time out of their lives to aid in El Salvador. Stunned silent, he
raised the pen that seemingly materialized in his hand, and signed on the dotted line. If
this were the only way he could get to Arnulfo, then he'd take it.

***

"We're riding in that?" After the indignity of flying coach, then waiting in a long line at
the airport to get through customs, this was the final straw. Sitting before him was none
other than an old United States school bus, "Jackson County School System" still visible
on its fading paint. The top of the vehicle was piled high, canvas stretched taut over the
load. Supplies filled most of the interior too. How were they going to squeeze so many
people into the tiny remaining space?

"That's why we travel light," a young woman said, following his line of sight. Mitch
recognized her as a pediatric nurse from the same hospital he worked for. "You're new at
this, aren't you?"

Mitch looked from the backpack strapped to her back to his two filled Pullman cases.
Chaos had reigned at the airport, so he didn't notice then, but he was the only one of the
six doctors and eight nurses with actual wheeled luggage. The rest carried backpacks and
duffle bags.

They were also dressed far differently. The nurse wore khaki shorts and a simple T-shirt.
Hiking boots were on her feet and a floppy hat hid most of her bright red curls. The acrid
smell of mosquito repellent stung his nose. Noticing him looking, she winked and said,
"Welcome to the jungle. I'm Cassie." She extended a hand.

"Mitch," he replied, fingers squeezed in a tight grip.

"Don't worry, Mitch. I'll look out for you." The brazen redhead winked and walked away
before he could respond.

Much to his surprise and alarm, once they were seated in the few seats of the bus not
loaded with boxes and bags, two heavily armed native men climbed aboard.

Cassie explained, "We're loaded down with drugs and rich American doctors, making us
primo targets. We need all the protection we can get." She waved a hand to indicate the
bus. "That's also why we're taking this; it's less conspicuous. Plus, with all that's going
on, it's the best thing available on short notice."

Traffic was bumper to bumper leaving the city of San Salvador, vehicles darting in and
out. If there were traffic laws, Mitch couldn't figure them out. Blowing the horn and
cutting someone off seemed to be this country's idea of "merging." Whenever the bus
stopped, young men, kids really, swarmed the windows, holding up anything from bags
of water to cell phone cases. Others cried and held out empty hands. An understanding of
the local language wasn't necessary to know they were beggars. Like the other passengers
on the bus, Mitch averted his eyes, hoping they'd go away if ignored.

Then the bus began moving again, lurching through gear changes, and it was all Mitch
could do to hold on for dear life. A driver so diminutive that the seat back hid him
completely wove through traffic, in an apparent attempt to hit every single pothole. The
attempt proved quite successful.

The nurses and other doctors chattered, unfazed that the bus trip bore a striking
resemblance to the spin cycle of a washing machine. They pulled to another stop in
traffic, or so Mitch thought. The bus wasn't moving forward, but it was moving. Cassie,
seated beside him on the torn and taped seat, raised a water bottle to her lips, only
succeeding in sloshing it all over herself. She glanced down and quipped, "Damn, I
haven't worn a wet T-shirt since college."

After what felt like hours but was probably less then a full minute, the world stilled and
she got the bottle mouth to her lips. "Was that an earthquake?" Mitch asked, sure the
world had just split itself in two.

"Nah," came a reply from two seats down, so casual that they could have been discussing
the weather. "Just an aftershock."

Just an aftershock? Mitch stared out the window, expecting to see buildings crumble.
Instead, life was carrying on as normal. An aging pickup sat next to them, every inch of
the bed filed with people.

"That's just an aftershock?" Surely his fellow travelers had figured out he was new and
were pulling his leg.

"Yeah," Cassie chimed in. "No more than a 4.5 tops, but not an actual quake." She leaned
in and whispered, "The earthquake that struck Monday was a 7.8."

Sure he'd heard the terms in school, but never bothered remembering what they meant.
Earthquakes had never before been his problem.

Possibly because she saw his bewildered expression, or more probably because she was
naturally chatty, Cassie said, "Say that was a four. A five is ten times more powerful,
etcetera, etcetera."

"So the one on Monday..."

"Packed one hell of a lot more punch than that little trembler you just felt."

Dear Lord. Arnulfo had been out there, in some remote village when it struck. No wonder
Mitch had gotten "all circuits are busy," every time he'd called. How in the world could
anyone give up a comfortable life in the US for this?

The dust shaken loose by the tremor tickled his nose, causing a sneeze. After much
honking and shouting by the bus driver, they began moving again, albeit slowly.

"Are we ever gonna get there?" Mitch thought he'd mumbled it under his breath. Maybe
not, since he received a reply.

"Santa Tecla was near the epicenter," a young man behind him explained. "Mudslides
took out whole neighborhoods and closed the main roads. We have to go around to get to
the remote villages up in the mountains."

This seemed to make sense to the others, for they didn't question it.

A small, freckled hand patted his arm. "Don't worry, it'll be all right." Cassie's eyes bored
into his. "He'll be all right."

Mitch jerked his arm back, scowling. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The sympathy in her eyes and concerned frown said she knew exactly what she was
talking about, and so did he. All around them conversations swirled, still, she kept her
tones low. "Face it, doctor; you've never been on one of these trips before. You're
overdressed, under prepared, and, quite frankly, just not the type."

Her eyes darted around to their fellow travelers, all so casual and unfazed by the moist
heat that pressed down like an oppressive hand in the un-air conditioned bus. The
lowered windows let in insects and aggressive beggars' hands, no breeze.

Mitch sighed, sweat trickling from his brow. His button-down and the slacks that had
been neatly pressed that morning were sweat-stained and stuck to his body. Yes, it was
blatantly obvious that he'd never done this before and probably just as obvious that he
didn't intend to follow through this time. His plan was to get in, get Nulfo, and get out. In
two day's time, if that, he'd be back in his high-rise, safe and sound, watching the drama
unfold from the comfort of his air conditioned living room with his lover at his side.

"I used to work with Dr. Oliva," Cassie murmured. "I know you were... friends." There
was no judgment in her eyes. "If it's any consolation, I'm worried about him too." She
patted his arm again. Mitch didn't answer, eyes trained on her small, delicate fingers.
They were quickly withdrawn. Cassie fanned herself with them while leaning back to
stare out the window. "Best rest while you can. We should be there in about three hours.
After that, who knows when we'll get to sleep?"

She laid her head on her folded arms against the window. All around the others were
following suit, squirming into some semblance of comfort. Try as he might, Mitch
couldn't get comfortable. Every time he came close the damnable bus hit a bump or the
world began shaking again. Would it ever stop?

As if reading his mind, a deep male voice informed him, "There've been over five
hundred aftershocks since the original quake." The voice wasn't unkind; just resigned.
"You'll get used to it." Gentle snoring came from Mitch's right. Cassie had fallen asleep.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option for Mitch, and he was still awake when the bus
began slowing, engine chugging and chuffing up a heavily rutted dirt road until it stopped
completely. All around him slumberers awakened, yawning and stretching.

When they began grabbing bags and filing out of the bus, Mitch turned to his self-
appointed guardian for explanations. "The road must be out. We walk from here," he
made out through a series of yawns.

Walk? Walk where? The sun would soon be setting and they appeared to be in the middle
of nowhere.

Left with no other choice, he followed the others off the bus. "Here." Cassie held out a
canvas bag. "You're gonna need this."

He looked puzzled until she brought over his Pullman cases. "Take only what you can't
live without."

Mitch hastily stuffed as much as he could into the sack, trying not to think too hard about
what he'd be leaving behind. Custom-made slacks and shoes that had cost a small fortune
stared up at him from the discard pile. The nurse watched but didn't say anything. Once
he'd finished, she helped him strap the bag to his back. It felt like it weighed a ton. With a
sly half-smile, she helped him repack, leaving still more of his wardrobe behind. "Make
sure you have your passport with you at all times," she cautioned. "Leave all non-
necessities."

He gazed forlornly at the expensive clothes and other items he was forced to abandon, in
particular, the cologne Arnulfo had so loved. He had no delusions that he'd ever see these
things again. Well, he could always order more once he got back to the US.

"Trust me, that you're here is going to mean more to him than what you smell like." His
new companion helped retie his makeshift pack, and then piled on more bags as those
assembled prepared to carry all they could of the supplies they'd brought.

Mitch jumped when a group of armed men stepped from the trees, barking orders. The
nurse stiffened. Rather than take up a defense stance, the guards joined the newcomers,
slapping them on the back and speaking in rapid-fire Spanish.

Cassie breathed a heavy sigh, hand over her heart. "They've come to help transport our
equipment."

Two rather bony horses were brought forward, and packs were arranged and strapped to
their backs. Everyone but the two guards were loaded down. Mitch said a reluctant
goodbye to his discarded possessions.

Falling into line behind their escort, he gazed up the hillside and stopped in his tracks.
The earth had simply dropped away, leaving a gaping hole where the road used to be. He
shivered when he thought of what would have happened had they been traveling here
when the earthquake hit. In answer to his unvoiced questions, the earth trembled.

Noticing the others waiting, he caught up and followed them into the trees. The shaded
canopy provided some relief from the heat, and he amused himself by watching a squirrel
jump from tree to tree in the distance. When they neared, he realized it wasn't a squirrel
after all, but a monkey. The only monkeys he'd ever seen before had been in zoos, never
having traveled to a place where they roamed wild. It was a captivating sight.

Without warning, a horrible hooting echoed through the trees, and a flurry of brightly
colored birds burst into the sky.

"Brace yourself!" someone shouted.

"Get out of the trees, but don't run!" Cassie hissed.

A violent tremor rocked the earth and Mitch didn't have time to do anything but fall to his
knees. Cassie fell to his side, wrapping her arms around him. Dust and debris rained
down, stinging his eyes and nose. As suddenly as it started, it ended. "Are you all right?"
Cassie asked, arms still locked tightly around him and dark brown eyes filled with
concern. A smudge of dirt clung to her nose

Heart pounding in his throat, Mitch stammered, "Wa…was that another aftershock?"

A shadow fell across him, and he looked up into the handsome face he was beginning to
despair of ever seeing again. "No. That, my friend, was an honest to goodness
earthquake. At least a 6.0, unless I miss my guess."

A slim, brown hand extended, smooth and fine-fingered. A surgeon's hand. The nails
were broken and torn. "I don't know why you're here, Mitch, but welcome to my shaky
country." Unlike their normal meetings after an extended absence, Arnulfo wasn't
smiling.

***

While the others walked ahead, Arnulfo lagged behind with Mitch. Damn but the man
looked good, even scruffy. Mitch wanted to hold him, assure himself that Nulfo was all
right, but didn't dare risk outing them in a place that might not be accepting of same-sex
relationships. Instead, he contented himself by slipping sly glances toward the man he'd
missed so badly.

After the third time Mitch swatted his cheek, Arnulfo stopped. "Here," he said, gently
setting down the oversized duffle he was carrying that had to weigh at least half his own
body weight. He shrugged out of his backpack, reaching inside to pull out a bottle that
looked like suntan lotion. The label was in Spanish.

Before Mitch could react, his face had been slathered in pungent fluid. "What the hell?"
His protests fell on deaf ears. Nulfo proceeded to coat all exposed skin with the smelly
goo. Feeling those long, slender fingers stroking his neck had an immediate effect on
Mitch's recently deprived body. A meeting of eyes confirmed his former lover knew it,
and possibly felt the same. Though it'd been weeks since last they touched, the embers of
their attraction still burned, waiting for the chance to blaze to life again.

Arnulfo's hand lingered on Mitch's cheek a moment before easing away. "Sorry." As
quickly as he'd dropped his burdens, he picked them up again. The tale-tell bulge in his
cargo pants was unmistakable. "Mosquitoes in your country are a minor inconvenience;
in my country they can cause death," he muttered. Mitch shuddered at the "your country,
my country" comments.

Nulfo dipped his head in a "lead on" gesture, following close behind Mitch. Once the
others were in sight again, he asked, "Why are you here, Mitch?" The heavy accent that
Mitch had always considered a sexy purr had deepened, or perhaps it was just that they
hadn't seen each other in a while.

"I came to find you."

"Well, you've found me. What do you intend to do with me?"

Mitch turned suddenly, but in the waning light couldn't tell if Nulfo were serious or
teasing. He sounded serious. "I intend to talk you into coming back with me. With any
luck we could be in the States by the weekend."

It didn't take much light to see the shake of an ebony-haired head. "If I left the US to
come here before all this happened; do you think I'd leave now when tragedy has struck?"

The distant rumble of an engine flared to life, then slowly receded. Mitch turned wide
eyes to Arnulfo. "The bus!" Arnulfo's grip on his arm stopped him from taking off after
it.

"Let it go. When it returns it will bring more supplies." Their eyes locked. Once more fire
danced between them. Keeping his voice low, Arnulfo said, "Not here, my friend. This is

not the US. Here it's safer if you're just my colleague." With that he resumed his trek
through the tangled undergrowth. "We should hurry; the sun is setting."

Given no choice, Mitch followed. "Why won't you come back with me?"

Arnulfo didn't answer, keeping his eyes on the path. "In just a few minutes, you'll
understand."

***

It looks like the end of the world. Mitch stood at the edge of a clearing, staring at what
could loosely be called a village. Piles of mud, sticks, blocks, and sheets of tin that might
have once been houses littered the space at regular intervals. Only a handful of buildings
were left standing, and cracks marred the concrete block walls of most. Light from
several small cooking fires cast an eerie glow over the destruction. Smells of beans and
cooking meat filled his nose. Mitch's stomach, like the earth beneath his feet, rolled.

"Why are they outside?" Mitch asked, seeing cots and blankets spread out on the ground
around the largest remaining structure.

"It's safer out here," Arnulfo replied. Mitch opened his mouth, but Nulfo answered before
he had a chance to ask. "The biggest danger is from falling objects. Several villagers were
killed when their houses fell." Those dark eyes filled with sorrow, and one elegant hand
touched forehead, heart, then each shoulder. "Many were out in the coffee fields when the
first one hit and were caught in a mudslide."

An elderly man approached, his lilting Spanish suggesting a question. "Un momento, por
favor," Arnulfo replied. To Mitch he said, "I am sorry that you wasted a trip. While
you're here, however, I'll ask you to do what you can for my people."

When he started to leave Mitch asked, "What about you? Where are you going?" Even
now Nulfo swayed on his feet, dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

For the first time since arriving, Mitch saw Arnulfo smile, though it was bitter. "There are
plenty of doctors and relief workers here now, but they don't know the area like I do. I'm
needed elsewhere."

"Where?"

"That was another quake twenty minutes ago. There's bound to be more damage. I have
to check on the search teams." So quietly Mitch could hardly hear him, Arnulfo added,
"And then I'll dig."

Mitch stood watching until his lover disappeared from sight, fear and longing twisting at
his gut. "Mitch?" He turned to see a now familiar figure, water bottle in hand. "I'm sorry

but it's all I can offer. There's been no electricity here since Monday, and we have to
ration what water we have."

"No showers, then?"

Cassie sighed. "I've done this several times now, and that's always the one thing I miss
the most."

He'd figured that. Strangely, after seeing Arnulfo, tired and grungy, it didn't seem to
matter so much. If Nulfo could do it, so could Mitch. He nodded and twisted off the top
of the bottle, fighting the urge to down the contents in one long swallow. Back home
when water reached this temperature, he simply threw it away and got a new bottle out of
the refrigerator. He might have to think twice about that next time. When he lowered his
drink the young redhead was watching.

"You want something?" he asked.

She nodded, eyes downcast. "I need your help with the children."

***

The sun was beginning to rise and Mitch sat a vigil beside a child who was fast becoming
his favorite patient. The tiny girl couldn't have been more than two or three, and her face
and one arm were swathed in loose bandages, the rest of her body sporting bruises and
intermittent burns. She'd made no sounds when he'd checked and redressed her wounds,
save for tiny whimpers, and her burns were second and third degree. She needed a
hospital.

Though she'd been silent, the night around him had been filled with screams and moans.
Three of the wounded hadn't lived out the night. The cries of their loved ones ripped into
Mitch's soul. He'd been very young when his last grandparent had died, but he still
remembered thinking life was over; he'd been inconsolable. Here were people who'd lost
husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers -- even children. His eyes sought out the little girl,
gratified to see the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath tattered clothes.

He looked up when several men stepped from the trees, a large piece of canvas stretched
between them. Whatever it carried appeared to be heavy. Mitch didn't want to look,
already fearing what he'd find.

So weary his eyes felt coated with sand, he searched the horizon for signs of Arnulfo.
Several doctors rushed for the canvas, their grim expressions clearly saying, "No
survivors."

A soft cough brought his attention back to the child lying so still and otherwise quiet on a
blanket. Her eyes were open. "Papa?" she asked.

Mitch looked to Cassie, seated on the girl's other side, who replied, "No Papa."

The girl nodded, large eyes dark and pleading. When her hand slipped inside Mitch's, he
couldn't bring himself to pull away.

"I see you've found my favorite patient," came a voice that sent relief flooding through
him.

That is, until he heard the excited cry of, "Papa!"

Papa? Arnulfo was a father?

While soothing Spanish words calmed the child, Arnulfo's eyes told Mitch, "We'll talk
later." He disappeared again, returning a short time later with steaming bowls and bottled
water.

"I think I'll go get breakfast," Cassie said, prudently making herself scarce.

Then and only then did Mitch see a ghost of the bright smile that had haunted his dreams.
"That Cassandra always was a smart one," Nulfo commented, handing a bowl and a
bottle to Mitch. "May I sit next you?"

Mitch nodded and moved over, careful not to crowd the girl, who was now asleep. "What
is this?" he asked, looking into the bowl.

"The typical Salvadoran breakfast: beans and plantains."

He sent a quizzical look toward Arnulfo, who was smearing beans on something that
looked suspiciously like a cooked banana, cut lengthwise. Though dying to ask about the
girl, he knew that he would only get an answer when Arnulfo was ready to give it. That
much he'd learned about the local culture -- pleasantries before business.

Arnulfo took a bite, moaning before casting an apologetic look at Mitch. "It's been a long
few days. I'm very hungry."

Mitch eyed his own bowl suspiciously. This was a favored breakfast? In the year they'd
been more or less a couple, Nulfo had never mentioned it. But then Mitch had never
asked, always assuming the man liked the same things he did. It occurred to him how
little he actually knew about someone he'd wanted to build a life with.

Realizing this was all he was probably going to get, food-wise, he attempted to emulate
what he'd seen, smearing smushed beans on the banana looking thing. He took a bite and
stifled a scream when hot beans seared his pallet, held in place by the overly firm banana
securely wedged between his teeth.

"Oh, shit!" Arnulfo hissed, coming to Mitch's aid with nimble fingers and a bottle of
water. "I'm sorry; I forgot you've never had these before. Are you okay?"

Mitch probed his tender pallet with his tongue. Thankfully, nothing was hurt but his
dignity. When he grunted, "I'm okay," Arnulfo smiled.

"The plantain is the perfect shape and firmness to get stuck. You have to take smaller
bites. No Salvadoran over the age of seven makes that mistake." The smile fell and
sadness filled his eyes. They dropped from Mitch's face to the sleeping girl's. "She's my
cousin Yadira's child," he said. "Yadira was cooking when the quake hit, and a pot of hot
water scalded Adelita." He pointed with his bottom lip to the girl's bandaged face. That
was a gesture often witnessed over the past year, and since arriving in this country, Mitch
discovered it wasn't exclusive to Nulfo, for he'd seen it many times in the last few hours
among the villagers.

"What happened to your cousin?" Mitch asked when no more seemed forthcoming.

Arnulfo nodded toward what once had been a house, and probably one of the better
examples in this village. Nothing else needed to be said. It was rubble.

"You're not really..."

"Her father was in the coffee fields, buried beneath a mud slide. His was the first body
found. When Adelita asked if I would be her Papa now I couldn't say no. I'm all she has
left." His eyes grew warm as he gazed at the young girl, and a bittersweet smile played
about his lips. "She's also all I have left."

She was? "In all the time I've known you, you've only mentioned sending money back
home to family. You were never specific."

Those troubled eyes roamed around the village then stared off into space. "My father was
killed in the civil war here many years ago. My mother left me with my grandmother
while she searched for work in the city."

Mitch eyed the sad little village, trying to imagine a young Arnulfo here. "Oh, it wasn't as
bad as you might think, Mitch. If you've never known anything better, how can you miss
it?"

Excellent point. Still, to be raised without karate and swimming lessons, with no summer
camp, no private school and vacations at the beach? He'd always known he and Nulfo
came from different worlds. It took seeing the village for himself to understand just how
different.

Arnulfo continued, "Then my mother met an American man working here. They married
and went back to the States. Although they wanted me to come, my grandmother forbade
it."

His eyes roved toward the large building that now shadowed them. A cross leaned
precariously on its roof. "When Abuelita died, I moved to the US, but I promised my
cousin I'd take care of her and our village. The money I sent helped build Yadira's house,
paid for my aunt's doctors and medicines, and sent several village children to a bilingual
school, their best hope for good jobs when they're older. In another few years Adelita
would have gone. Yadira's mother, my aunt, died a few months ago. Yadira's father was
with her husband in the coffee field." His eyes drifted away. Was he looking for the
ghosts of the dearly departed? "I found my uncle's body late last night. He was the last of
my father's siblings."

One of Arnulfo's slender fingers reached up to wipe his eyes. Mitch remained quiet. After
a quiet sniffle, Arnulfo resumed his tale. "I was in med school when my mother and
stepfather were killed in an accident. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to drop out
and come home. Dr. Logan convinced me to stay. And then I met you. I was so torn.
Here I cannot be 'out' but here I am needed. With you I can be out, but I'm not needed."

"I needed you!" Mitch blurted.

"Want and need are two different things." Their eyes met and held. "Your food is getting
cold," signaled the end of the conversation. They finished eating in silence. When their
bowls were empty, Arnulfo told Mitch, "I want you to go back to the States."

"What? No! I'm not leaving without you!"

The answer was a small, tentative smile. "It warms my heart to hear you say that, but
Adelita needs care, skin grafts. The hospitals here are overcrowded. I cannot leave
because I know this place. I'm also a translator for the locals and search teams."

The morning was quiet except for the soft murmuring of medical staff, seeing to their
charges. "Come with me," Nulfo said, rising and holding out a hand. They paused at the
edge of the village where he retrieved a long, wickedly sharp-looking machete. He sliced
a path through thick undergrowth, leading Mitch deeper into the jungle. They came to a
halt at a cliff that overlooked a bright, green valley. The view was breathtaking.

From his vantage point Mitch could see monkeys playing in the trees, and watch brightly
colored parrots fly by. When the earth shook he stood his ground, willing down his fear.
If Arnulfo could endure, then so could he.

"My country isn't all earthquakes and poverty, Mitch. There is great beauty here too. If
you look there," he pointed with the machete to what looked like a pile of rocks on an
adjacent hillside, "you'll see the remains of a pyramid. I played there as a child." He
smiled, looking so much like his old self that Mitch's heart twanged.

In that moment, Mitch realized that the man standing before him was more that just a
status symbol, someone with whom to impress his parents, or an equal to share a life

with. This was the only one who'd ever managed to steal his heart. Standing on the edge
of nowhere, he couldn't resist sweeping the man he wanted more than ever into his arms.
"I think I understand now," he said, "not just about your reasons for living, but my own.
The car, the condo, they were all trappings, lures to get what I really wanted."

"And what did you want, Mitch?"

"You."

Once more a beautiful smile bloomed to life on Arnulfo's handsome face. "You were
using the wrong lures."

"Oh? And what should I have used?"

"Your heart, Mitch. You should have offered me your heart."

The truth slammed home that in all their time together, that's the one thing he'd never
considered. He hoped it wasn't too late to change that. "Even though I'm just now coming
to see it, you've had that all along, since the day we first met."

Arnulfo appeared thoughtful "Ah. Then I am again torn."

"Why?"

"Because I want you, but I want to help my people too."

Thinking back to the village and all it lacked, an idea was born. "How much do you make
here as a doctor?"

Arnulfo shook his head, lines of concentration forming on his forehead. "A fraction of
what I made in the States."

"Are doctors in short supply here?"

"Not in the cities, and the villages receive a good deal of aid from foreign medical teams.
It's the common peoples' ability to pay for a clinic visit or afford medicines that's the
problem." His eyes widened, Mitch's implications sinking in. "They need the money
more than they need me!"

"Tell you what," Mitch said, "I'll take your new daughter home and care for her as my
own. When you can, come back and we'll talk. Stay here, help your people. Right now
they need Dr. Oliva." He brought his hand up to cup Nulfo's whisker-roughened cheek.
"While you're at it, consider how best to help them, and us, in the future. I won't pressure
you, and I want you to know that I do understand and will help you in any way I can."

"Thank you for that." Arnulfo leaned into the touch, his lips brushing a soft caress against
Mitch's palm. "I'll think about it."

Later that day Mitch, Cassie, and Adelita left, along with the other earthquake victims
who required more attention than they could receive locally. In the clearing where he'd
last seen his expensive suitcases, Mitch helped the patients into an odd assortment of
vans and trucks. How he longed for a Medevac chopper or two.

He carried only Adelita and her few belongings. Taking Cassie's advice of, "Take only
what you can't live without," he left all he'd brought for the villagers. Sadly, there was
one thing he couldn't live without that he'd been forced to leave behind: Arnulfo.

Upon arriving in San Salvador, he found transport to the US waiting. When his entourage
arrived back in the States, he personally saw to it that the Salvadoran patients were all
settled before returning to the lonely condo that would have easily held all the remaining
buildings in Arnulfo's village.

As he showered and shaved, grateful to be clean again, he concluded that Arnulfo was
right; the flashy car and expensive condo just weren't him. He'd gladly trade it all for a
tiny little hut in El Salvador, if it meant he'd be with the man he loved.

Mitch threw himself into work and caring for Adelita, though it took a full week before
he stopped feeling phantom earthquakes. By then Arnulfo wasn't the only Spanish
speaker with claims to his heart.

Three weeks later, he received the call he'd been both dreading and anticipating -- the call
that would define his future. "How is Adelita?"

"She's fine." Mitch relaxed into his chair, picturing Nulfo in his mind. He tried to sound
casual, keeping the worry from his voice. The ink pen in his hand tapped a ragged beat on
the desk. It wasn't his choice to make and pleading would do no good. He'd made his
case; the rest was up to Nulfo.

"She's responding well. The scars on her face should be hardly noticeable once properly
healed." The next few minutes were occupied with details of Adelita's progress and
treatment plan. Once that topic was exhausted, silence hung heavy between them. Mitch
held his breath, waiting for the words that would either make or break him, for if Nulfo
chose to stay in Central America, it was more than just a lover and partner Mitch would
lose; he'd lose Adelita, too. He's asked around and Arnulfo had spoken the truth: in the
mountain villages of El Salvador, a gay couple would find no acceptance, let alone be
allowed to raise a daughter together.

Agonizing moments passed before the silence Arnulfo broke the silence. "I've given some
thought to what you said."

"And?" Mitch kept a tight rein on his hopes, afraid of having his heart broken. He'd never
wanted anything as desperately as he did a life with Arnulfo and Adelita.

"You're right. What's really needed here is money, and a champion for their cause."
Arnulfo paused for a moment. His voice grew hesitant, and Mitch could easily visualize
the lip biting and hair pulling that were the man's typical nervous gestures. "If I return to
the States I'll insist on spending at least a few weeks every year down here, helping out
however I can., and I intend to be heavily involved in improving life for my people."

When faced with a choice between sharing Nulfo with a far away village and not having
him at all, it was an easy decision. "I can live with that."

"Can you? Can you also live with, how did you put it, 'half my pay going to family back
home?' Only, now, it's not even close family, just people who need it worse than I do."

"Actually, having had time to think about it, I think it's a pretty admirable trait."

"Will you grumble and complain if I cook pupusas for lunch?"

"Never! Um, that is some kind of food, right?"

A strained chuckled reached his ears. "A personal favorite."

"Then I guess I'll be eating papoose... or..."

"Pupusas."

"Pupusas, then."

"And if I attend an opera with you, will you go kayaking with me?"

Without missing a beat, Mitch replied, "I've heard it's great exercise."

The phone was quiet for so long that Mitch worried they'd lost connection. Then that soft,
accented purr began again. "I should warn you that I'm not an easy man." There was
something hidden within those words that Mitch couldn't quite decipher. It almost
sounded like Nulfo was asking a question.

"I never thought you were."

A heavy sigh, then, "No, I mean I'm not easy; I wasn't raised to think like an American.
Just moving in with you isn't something I can do."

Mitch's heart fell, the tiny hoped that flared to life when the phone rang quivering and
dying. "If that's how you feel, then I have no choice but to accept that and..."

"Hush, you crazy gringo, I'm trying to propose!"

***

"Her burns healed nicely. She's a beautiful child." The gray-haired pediatrician ruffled
Adelita's dark curls.

"Yes, she is," Mitch replied, agreeing wholeheartedly, particularly with her strong
familial resemblance to Arnulfo. "Smart as a whip, too. Her English is improving every
day."

"Gonna stay Gramma," Addy announced, face glowing with excitement.

Visualizing what her trip to "Camp Rollins" would be like, Mitch laughed and explained,
"She's going to be staying with my parents for a few weeks."

The doctor, who'd known Mitch's family for ages, replied, "I saw them last week. Seems
they're quite smitten with little Addy."

"Smitten doesn't even begin to cover it." Mitch grinned. "C'mon, munchkin." He lifted
Adelita from the exam table. She wrapped one arm around his neck, waving the other
one.

"Bye," she said to anyone who'd listen on their way out of the pediatrician's office.

"Where would you like to go for lunch?" Mitch asked in broken Spanish, strapping his
daughter into a late model minivan. A minivan! My how the mighty Mitchell Rollins has
fallen. A top of the line minivan, but a minivan none the less. Smiling to himself, he
corrected, No, how the mighty Mitchell Rollins has risen.

"Daddy!" Adelita wailed. "I haf 'Mercan. Speak Ingles! 'Mercan, Daddy. Haf 'Mercan!"

He laughed and patted her cheek. "Yes, since one of your fathers is American, I guess
that does make you half American. But Daddy needs to practica Espanol. Tell you what.
We'll speak English in the afternoon and Spanish in the morning."

"Si, Daddy."

She was attempting to feed French fries to her doll by the time they pulled up to the
modest house in the suburbs. With the touch a button the garage door opened, revealing
an older model compact car and a tricycle.

Mitch pulled in and helped Adelita out. When she saw the car she shouted, "Papa!" and
barreled into the house, chattering wildly in a mix of English and Spanish.

Toys littered the living room, leading the way to a bedroom decorated with fairy tale
princesses. Mitch leaned against the doorway to watch his partner hugging and kissing
their own little princess. On the bed sat a suitcase that Arnulfo filled with tiny, frilly
clothes.

The house was a far cry from the glass and chrome condominium Mitch used to own, and
a whole lot more homey. The doorbell sounded and Adelita screamed, "Abuel--
Gramma!" running for the front door.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Mitch pulled Arnulfo into a quick hug, seeing the
tears forming in his husband's eyes. "It's part of our compromise, remember?"

Arnulfo nodded. "I remember. Still, it hurts to leave her like this."

"It's only for six weeks, and she had such fun with my parents spoiling her rotten last
time that she hardly even missed us. All children stay with their grandparents," he chided.

From the living room Mitch could hear his normally stuffy parents cooing over their
granddaughter, the one they ever despaired of having once their only child had
announced he was gay. "Just think," Mitch continued, "we'll spend a few weeks down
south seeing patients near your village."

"Yes." Sniffle.

"And next year, maybe we can take her back with us. Make sure she's aware of her
culture."

"Promise?"

"I'll do my best." His lips found Arnulfo's, pouring in all he couldn't say with words.

Mitch pulled back at the insistent tugging on his pants leg and impatient, "Daddy!"

He picked up his little Spanish angel, hugging her between himself and Nulfo. "Me and
Papa are gonna go take care of some sick kids for awhile. You be good for Grandma and
Grandpa, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, dark curls bouncing with her enthusiastic nod.

After closing the suitcase and handing it to his father, Mitch walked his parents out, eyes
misting when Adelita blew a kiss and said, "Luff you, Daddy!" To Arnulfo she said,
"Luff you, Papa."

The two men stood arm in arm, watching the elegant Mercedes pull away, Adelita
waving through the back window.

"You know, Nulfo, I used to consider the US my home."

"And you don't now?"

"Do you still think of El Salvador as your home?"

Arnulfo seemed to contemplate those words. "It is, but it isn't."

Mitch believed he knew the feeling. "If home is where the heart is, then mine is with you
and Adelita."

"As mine is with you and her."

***

In a tiny village high in the mountains of El Salvador, three young children wrapped a
doll's arm with an old roll of gauze, the way they'd been shown, dreaming of growing up
to be just like los doctores Nulfo and Mitch.

***

Find Eden at www.edenwinters.com