Shadows And Light
Lindsay McKenna
Reconnaissance officer Craig Taggart had vowed to forget nurse Susan Evan's tender touch and honeyed lips-lips he'd tasted but once, before she'd abruptly married another. For four tormented years he'd braved peril, toughening his mettle and hardening his bitter resolve.But when he crash-landed deep in the shadow of death, it was Susan's gentle hands tending his wounds…and her tempting lips calling to his heart…
Reconnaissance officer Craig Taggart had vowed to forget nurse Susan Evan’s tender touch and honeyed lips—lips he’d tasted but once, before she’d abruptly married another. For four tormented years he’d braved peril, toughening his mettle and hardening his bitter resolve. But when he crash-landed deep in the shadow of death, it was Susan’s gentle hands tending his wounds…and her tempting lips calling to his heart…
Table of Contents
Chapter One (#u00d46fb6-0ddb-5091-9997-4948ee2577a6)
Chapter Two (#u276f01c0-3865-583d-a702-a4e7302746d1)
Chapter Three (#u60be75ba-5e70-53a4-9592-6740f42f5cc9)
Chapter Four (#u7cd42556-5b73-571f-80b3-78d27e2662db)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Shadows and Light
Lindsay McKenna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Chapter One
Captain Craig Taggart was damned if his team was going to be discovered. They were the Blue Team, the good guys—the Americans—in this war game. And somewhere, hidden in among the golden brown, loaflike hills of Camp Reed, were the bad guys, the Red Team.
Recon training was brutal, and Craig knew that these mock war games honed his men’s skills, giving them a taste of combat. Right now they lay in a rocky ravine that was peppered with cactus. Brush hid them as they waited and watched. The enemy was near; Craig could sense their presence.
The stifling heat of the huge marine base’s desert setting rose up in waves as sweat trickled off his body. His face was darkened with smudges of brown, green and black to prevent his white skin from alerting enemy eyes. Flattened against the hard ground, Craig narrowed his eyes, his breath catching deep inside him.
His recon team had been out for three days, successfully meeting the challenges of their assignment. They were due to be picked up in the next half hour by a marine helicopter and flown back to the area where the scores for the war game would be totaled. Craig knew he and his men were winning. All they had to do now was wait for the helo and remain undetected.
He squinted speculatively. Several of the enemy were making their way down an old path in a ravine on the next hill, and they were headed straight toward the rocky depression where Craig and his men lay. Craig dared not move his head. But he had full confidence that the other four men wouldn’t move a muscle, either. Craig knew they would wait for him to fire the first shot. Recons weren’t in the business of ambush and attack. No, they were like silent ghosts moving in enemy territory, collecting data and information for their Intelligence unit. Because they carried little in the way of ammunition and had no way of being picked up if they were discovered, recons were the last to want to engage the enemy in a firefight.
Well, it looked like there might be a firefight this time. Craig’s mind raced as he watched the ten members of the enemy team—all wearing fatigues similar to those of the Blue Team except the black arm bands to denote their enemy status and the M-16’s slung over their shoulders—walk toward them, still oblivious to their presence. He couldn’t be sure if the enemy squad would move on, make camp nearby—or discover his recons. His nostrils flared as the sluggish air brought the distinct smell of human sweat with it. At least the wind was in their favor. It was entirely possible that the enemy’s point man, a young marine no more than nineteen, would smell the Blue Team’s own sweaty bodies if conditions were reversed.
What should he do? Craig glanced down at his watch, attached to his wrist with a black plastic band to avoid telltale reflection in the bright sunlight. Fifteen more minutes and the helo would arrive. His first concern—his only concern—was for his men. They were good men, and he wouldn’t let them needlessly “die” in this mock battle. Grimly, Craig pressed his lips together, filled with the desire to see his men safely out of this unexpected, last-minute situation.
The enemy party was still picking its way along with no obvious goal. What were they looking for? A new campsite? Craig’s mind ticked off the possibilities. It was a lightly armed group—perhaps a squad sent ahead of a larger, more deadly company. They were only some three hundred yards away now, and within moments, Craig would have to make life-and-death decisions. What if they were an advance party? How far behind was the company that could easily destroy his team with their overwhelming fire superiority?
Blinking away the sweat running into his eyes, the stinging moisture momentarily blurring his vision, Craig slowly released the breath he’d been holding. His M-16 lay ready under his hands. The enemy squad hesitated, looking upward into the taller bushes, and then pointed to the surrounding foliage. That was it! They were laying trip wires for land mines!
Andy Hayes, Craig’s radioman, lay directly to his right, his blond hair coated with mud so as not to attract attention. His twenty-year-old face was drawn with tension; his blue eyes squinted against the sweat. Craig indicated with a hand signal for Andy to warn the helo via radio that the enemy was present. Whenever a marine helicopter came in to pick up a recon team, another helicopter came along as gunfire support, and forewarned was forearmed. Andy dipped his head once and fingered the button on the radio he held protectively against his body. The young man was going to be married in mere days, Craig remembered suddenly. Well, the honeymoon would be a well-earned rest.
Craig quickly sized up the general area. The helicopter was supposed to hover a few feet above the crest of the hill just a hundred yards away. But the brush covering the hill—some of it twenty feet high—would require precision flying of the most dangerous kind to navigate, Craig realized. Thank God, Major Bruce Campbell, one of the best helicopter pilots at the base, had this mission; there was no one better in a tricky flying situation. The Blue Team’s escape route to the helo lay directly above them. It would be a hundred-yard sprint up and over the top of the hill to reach the extraction point.
When the enemy squad heard the approaching aircraft, of course, they’d become alert. And once Craig gave the order to move, there was every possibility the enemy would spot them and a firefight would break out. They were outnumbered two to one, but Craig was used to even worse odds for their five-man recon team. If he could avoid a confrontation, he wanted to do it at all costs.
Tasting the salt leaking into the corners of his mouth, Craig slowly turned his head to his left, where the remaining three team members lay spaced a good hundred feet apart. Sergeant Larry Shelton, a redheaded marine from the hills of Tennessee, was flattened against the earth, practically invisible. Craig couldn’t see Barker and Miles at all. When he gave the command, however, the other men would be contacted with a hand signal. Recons rarely spoke; everything was done with an advanced hand-signal alphabet.
The enemy squad was completely engrossed in placing wire across an old path and planting the mine. For a moment, Craig relaxed. The second hand on his watch was moving swiftly. In ten minutes, the helo would be over the landing zone to extract his team. Within five minutes, the enemy would hear the heavy whapping of the blades of the approaching aircraft. It was too much to hope they would turn back after planting the mine. As a practice, recons never followed paths made by the enemy—deadly offerings filled with punji sticks hidden beneath foliage and trip wires that could blow off a man’s leg or arm.
As Craig lay waiting, Susan Evans’s face suddenly loomed before him. He blinked, shocked by her appearance, and just as quickly, her image faded. Susan. Bittersweet memories welled up through Craig, catching him completely off guard. Where had she come from?
Craig wrestled with the unexpected memory. His heart was pounding in his chest, and as her serious, lovely face lingered in his mind, his throat constricted. Tears! With a muffled sound, he crushed his face against his hands. What the hell was going on? Her face shimmered once more behind his tightly shut eyelids. How could he ever forget her dark brown hair, which took on a reddish cast in the sunlight? Or her somber blue eyes, so innocent and wide as she looked up at him?
Opening his mouth with a silent cry, Craig felt a far worse pain than any injury he’d yet sustained in his work as a recon. He’d thought Susan was completely behind him. In the past. Lifting his head, he forced himself to concentrate on their dangerous predicament. Still, he couldn’t dislodge the sudden memory of Susan’s square features, classic nose, parted lips—and her searching eyes, which tore at his soul. He’d been such a fool. Why hadn’t he had more gumption? Been quicker to ask her out than his best friend, Steve, who had ended up marrying her?
The grief, the loneliness, cut through Craig like a knife. He lay on the hard ground, overwhelmed by his loss—because he’d never stopped loving Ensign Susan Evans. She had been his one-and-only sweetheart, and for the last four years, Craig had carried her memory in his heart. Suddenly he wondered if his time was up. Susan’s face had never appeared to him before in a situation like this. Was he going to die? Was the vision a premonition? Bitterness coated his mouth as he keyed his hearing between the sky, barely visible above them, and the banter of the enemy down the valley.
In the four years since he’d seen her, Craig admitted to himself, swallowing hard, he’d never forgotten Susan. They had met when he was a fourth-year cadet at Annapolis, when he had decided to become a marine officer instead of a navy officer. Steve Placer, his roommate and best friend, had fallen on some ice at the academy that winter, and Craig had helped him limp over to the hospital dispensary on the Annapolis grounds. Susan had been working as a nurse there and had helped the doctor wrap Steve’s badly sprained ankle.
Craig released a shaky breath as he forced himself to pay attention to the enemy. Still, his heart swung around to the past—to that first time he’d met Susan. She’d been shy around them, and Craig had been struck by her serious nature, her care and commitment to nursing. There was a vulnerability about Susan that beckoned to Craig. Although she had been thoroughly professional as Steve sat on the gurney and she wrapped his ankle in an Ace bandage, Craig had seen her cheeks flame red with the awareness that the two young men were studying her like starving wolves.
Steve, the extrovert, had managed to tease a small smile out of her, and Craig recalled sharply that as the corners of her wanton mouth had hesitantly curved upward, he’d felt a sheet of heat tunnel through him, one that had left him speechless in its wake. So Craig had stood stupidly by as Steve boldly hunted Susan, stalked her with his practiced charm and expertly maneuvered her into agreeing to go out with him at a later date when he didn’t have to be on crutches.
With a violent shake of his head, Craig tried to clear away the welling memories. He lay there feeling his heart throbbing in his chest—more than a symbolic reminder of the past that walked with him into the present. Angry at himself because he was an introvert, shy rather than bold like Steve, Craig had not pursued Susan. Instead, he’d become her friend and confidant. Once he’d plucked a springtime daffodil from one of the flower gardens at the academy—a decided risk in itself—and given it to her. The night before, she’d experienced the death of a plebe who had gotten into an accident, and he’d wanted to cheer her up somehow.
The sadness in Susan’s face had lifted, Craig remembered, and her face had glowed with joy as he’d given her the flower. He’d never forget how her slender fingers had wrapped around the stem. When she closed her eyes and raised the yellow daffodil to inhale its heady fragrance, Craig had breathed with her.
What the hell was happening? Craig angrily smashed the remnants of memories and ruthlessly suppressed his aching feelings of loss. He’d lost touch with her after the fateful night that she hadn’t met him at the restaurant for dinner. Susan had stood him up without explanation. The next morning Craig had shipped out for his first assignment after graduating from the academy, shattered. Through the grapevine shortly afterward, he’d heard that Steve had married Susan, and Craig’s anger over his inability to keep the woman of his dreams because he was too cautious ate away at him.
But it had been better to walk out of their lives—to never contact them again—because Craig had known he couldn’t control his wild emotions toward Susan. He’d never forget her one innocent kiss, her shyness, which matched his own. He’d never forget the incredible butterfly lightness of her fingertips as she’d touched his shaven cheek after he’d kissed her with all the fire and love he possessed in the depths of his soul.
It’s over, he told himself furiously. Over and done. Stop thinking of her! Was he going mad? Why would Susan’s face and those excruciating memories from four years ago suddenly pop up to haunt him now? Craig was breathing hard, opening his mouth so that the sound couldn’t be detected. Andy gave him a quizzical look, but he ignored the question in the young ma[chrine’s eyes. Pressing his brow against his hands, Craig closed his eyes momentarily. He was going to die; he was sure of it now. Craig had heard other marines tell him that just before a severe injury—a life-threatening situation—they had seen their lives run in review before their eyes.
A haunting ache filled him as he lifted his head. He gave the hand signal for his unit to move out, and they did so, without ever gaining the attention of the enemy squad below. They made it across the crest of the hill and waited tensely. Craig’s doglike hearing caught the first whap, whap, whap of helicopter blades, and his hands tightened around his rifle in anticipation. With a sharp signal, he put his men on alert. There was nothing they could do now except wait. But even if the enemy heard the engine, they could never get to them in time. Right now, his team was safe. Still, Craig couldn’t shake a cold shiver of unadulterated fear. What was going on?
As he slowly got to his knees, the foliage undisturbed, he bitterly accepted that he was going to die. It was an intense feeling, so overwhelming that he didn’t question it, although it seemed illogical. And it seemed the only explanation for Susan Evans’s sweet, haunting face to be hovering before him. That was the only thing Craig regretted: not marrying Susan, not being aggressive enough—as Steve had been—to step in between them. Steve had chased Susan because she was the quarry, had focused on getting her into his arms, his bed and making love to her. With his strict Idaho farm heritage, Craig had been brought up differently. He would never dream of chasing a woman just to bed her. No, love had to be the motive, not the thrill of the chase.
As Craig slowly eased upward, using the foliage as a barrier between himself and the unsuspecting enemy, he continued to regret not having told Susan that he loved her, wanted to marry her, wanted her to carry his children. She had been mesmerized by Steve’s purposeful attack, swept off her feet by his tactics to win her. And Craig had stood by, unable to compete with Steve’s razzle-dazzle approach.
Well, Craig thought as the single-rotor helicopter headed rapidly toward him, it was too late. Looking back on that last year at Annapolis, he knew he could have switched tactics—been far more aggressive and turned into a hunter—but that wasn’t his way. His parents had taught him that honesty, truth and real feelings were what really counted. Well, he’d followed that guidance with Susan, winning her trust as a friend. But she’d been caught up in Steve’s well-planned magic, and it had been too late. Too late….
* * *
“Susan, isn’t this great?” Dr. Karen David stood just outside the emergency-room entrance to the Camp Reed Naval Hospital. A pleased smile came to her triangular-shaped face.
Susan Evans smiled over at her surgeon friend. “I think I’d rather be back in the air-conditioned comfort of the Oak Knoll Hospital, Karen. How you could trade San Francisco’s beauty for this desert is beyond me.”
Karen mustered a winsome smile. “Look around you.” She waved her arm in the air. “There’s more action here. I was getting bored at Oak Knoll. That was regular surgery. I’m a trained trauma surgeon and I wanted to be busy doing that. Reed’s a major training base, and unfortunately, there are a lot more accidents and trauma situations here as a result.” She gave Susan a mischievous look. “Besides, we’re good at what we do. Why, these fine marines are going to be saved by the best trauma pair they’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Specifically,” Susan said with a laugh, “you. You’re the surgeon.”
Karen gave her a happy look. “Yes, but you’re my right-hand surgical nurse, Susan. Without you, I’d fumble a lot.”
That was probably true, Susan conceded as she stood outside the swinging door that led into the trauma unit adjacent to the emergency-room area. They were both trauma trained, and Susan conceded that they hadn’t really had reason to put their badly needed skills to work—until now. Karen was a brilliant surgeon who got caught up in the intensity of saving a person’s life. Susan was calm, cool and collected in comparison, slapping each instrument firmly into Karen’s gloved hand to make sure that rhythm between doctor and surgical nurse never got interrupted. One wrong motion could mean a life lost. Yes, they were a good team, and that was the main reason Susan had followed Karen out into the field.
Smoothing her nurse’s uniform, Susan looked down at her sensible white shoes. The summer heat here was scorching compared to San Francisco’s temperate weather, and she wished she’d put her collar-length hair up on her head. The back of her neck felt sweaty.
She watched Karen’s face become wreathed in smiles and followed her friend out toward the helicopter-landing area. The asphalt was painted with a huge white circle around a red cross, where the medevacs would unload injured marines whisked out of the surrounding training areas for immediate care. She turned on her heel to study the swinging doors of the ER area and hesitated. Was this what she really wanted? Frowning, Susan turned away and followed Karen as she eagerly explored her new world.
Karen always wanted to be in the middle of the action, Susan knew. And although she didn’t feel the same—out of loyalty and after a lot of nagging from Karen—she’d ended up coming along. Susan didn’t get high on the intense emergency-room atmosphere that Karen loved. Her friend often referred to herself as a “trauma junky,” addicted to the challenge of the life-and-death scenarios. Susan, on the other hand, was too sensitive to the pain the injured were feeling, the cries, the nauseating smells. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her skirt, she shook her head. Surgery performed under the bright lights of a stainless-steel operating room that reeked of antiseptic was far different from the crazy mayhem they’d soon be caught up in.
“This is wonderful!” Karen said as she stood in the center of the landing apron’s red cross.
The unrelenting Southern California sun bore down on them out of the light blue sky. With a slight smile, Susan murmured, “You do like to be in the thick of things.”
With a chuckle, Karen patted her shoulder. “Come on! This place will grow on you. Just look at it as a fantastic challenge.” Karen held up her long, thin hands with their competent, large-knuckled fingers. “These hands will get to save more lives by me being out here, Susan. Isn’t that worth coming for? They need trauma-ready surgeons like me in the field.”
“You’re right,” Susan admitted, smiling in spite of herself. She applauded Karen’s confidence. She wished more women would glory in their own unique assets as Karen did. She stared at her friend’s hands. No one was better or faster in an operating room. With another small smile, she said, “Come on, `Doc,’ let’s go check out the heart of this place, and then ICU.”
With a laugh, Karen allowed her hands to drop back to her sides. She touched her blond, pixie-style hair. “Am I crazy?”
“No,” Susan said, matching her longer stride to Karen’s short, eager one, “just excited about the possibilities. We will save more lives by being here,” she conceded.
Karen’s smile slipped, and she became more serious. “Look,” she whispered, “you did the right thing by coming here. It will take your mind off the past—off the loss of Steve.”
Pain pulled at Susan, and her step slowed as they drew up to the double swinging doors of ER. Karen had been her best friend at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital. She had been with her when Steve had died. If not for Karen’s care, she’d have gone crazy. Here at the marine base she would be reminded daily that life was fragile and good—and saving lives was something worth burying her heart and soul in.
“Yes,” she admitted in a low tone, “it’s probably a good thing we’re both here.”
Karen gave her an understanding look and rested her arm around Susan’s shoulders for a moment. “Come on, let’s check out our new turf. We’re going on duty in an hour, and we need to be ready. Those choppers are sure to come in sooner or later.”
With a forced laugh, Susan agreed and followed her surgeon friend through the modern trauma unit, filled with gurneys and a myriad of equipment used to save lives. Outside the unit was Recovery, a twenty-bed area where marines who were coming out of anesthesia would stay until they were fully conscious. Although Susan was a surgery nurse and most of her time would be spent in the trauma unit, she would also pull duty in ICU and Recovery, as well as other wards.
The ward area was divided between enlisted and officer areas. Susan would stand duty in both wards. Each unit held twenty beds, and navy corpsmen—enlisted men and women—would be assigned to help the medical staff take care of their healing charges. As Susan walked with Karen through the various wards, her heart was moved. Many of the beds held marines and navy personnel, staying here to recover from serious injuries before being sent back into the field.
Their faces were so young, so innocent, Susan thought, as she and Karen moved quietly down the aisles of each ward. Some of them sat up in their beds, playing cards to pass the time and keep boredom at bay. Others were swathed in white bandages, asleep or under a pain medication’s domain. It was the look of some in their eyes that haunted Susan. Some held terror—unspeakable knowledge that they couldn’t give words to. Other eyes, though, held curiosity, even friendly interest, accompanied by a shy smile.
Trying to prepare herself emotionally for what lay ahead on her first day of duty, Susan headed back to ER with Karen. They were opposites, Susan had realized years ago. Karen was a hard charger who grabbed hold of life, held onto it and moved with a vitality few could match. Susan, on the other hand, was more silent, introverted—moving like a shadow through life. She had learned early to be seen and not heard—to help, work, be responsible and never complain or try to throw off the burdens given to her.
Their tour completed, Susan and Karen retired to the female hospital personnel’s quarters to change into fresh white uniforms, settle their clothes in assigned lockers and have a cup of coffee before their first duty. Susan was the first through the doors of ER when a black navy corpsman ran toward them, out of breath.
“Hey!” the corpsman called. “A training helo with ten marines just crashed fifteen miles from here! We got dead and injured on their way in. Two medevacs are bringing ’em right now! Get ready!”
Susan knew that only two doctors and four nurses were assigned to the ER unit. She gasped as the corpsman’s message sank in and quickly moved to a small side room where she grabbed two green surgical gowns, handing one to Karen. They pulled them on, and Susan searched until she found the rubber gloves. Karen and the other doctor were scrubbing at the nearby sink. Susan’s heart started pounding in dread as she heard the heavy whapping sounds of a helicopter landing outside the trauma-unit door. Its windy wake buffeted the doors leading to the landing pad, and she could make out screams and shouts mingling with the roar of the helicopter’s engine.
Karen ran over to her, her hands held up, and Susan quickly slipped on the gloves. Just as the last one snapped into place, Susan heard the doors burst open. Jerking around, she saw corpsmen pushing five gurneys into the ER. Her mouth fell open as she surveyed the marines lying on them, their clothes torn and bloody, their arms hanging lifelessly.
Choking, Susan watched in a daze as Karen and the other doctors quickly began to ascertain the extent of the five men’s injuries.
“We got another load of five comin’ in!” a navy corpsman shouted.
Before Susan could run across the aisle to wash her hands, Dr. Benjamin Finlay, the head surgeon, caught her by the arm. “Evans, come here.” Rapidly, Finlay ordered her to give the young, blond marine an IV and prep him for surgery. With shaking hands, Susan tried to ignore the extensive injuries to the unconscious boy. The area became frantic as another helicopter off-loaded five more wounded personnel. Everywhere Susan looked, the small area was jammed with gurneys, with doctors and nurses running frantically from one patient to another, ascertaining medical statuses.
Susan tried not to allow her stricken emotions to get the better of her. Efficiently, she fitted the marine with an IV and quickly cut back his clothes to expose a gaping chest wound. Finlay came back, barking orders to several corpsmen to get the marine into surgery.
“This is your first day,” Finlay said, gripping her by the arm. He pointed toward three gurneys in the corner. “Take those three cases. They’re the least hurt.”
“Y-yes, sir.” Numbly, Susan moved toward the gurneys. One marine, a redheaded youth in his early twenties, was holding his bleeding hand. The second marine was also struggling to sit up. He had a mild scalp wound, Susan surmised as she walked over to them. Scalp wounds always bled heavily, but were rarely fatal.
“Ma’am,” the red-haired marine begged, “take care of our skipper. He’s really hurt. Please, take care of him first.”
Susan hesitated. Both young marines, their faces grim, their eyes wide with shock, pointed to the gurney behind her, which evidently bore their commanding officer. Opening her mouth, Susan started to say something. Ordinarily, she’d be the one deciding which patient was worst. But the pleading looks in their faces stifled her chastising words.
Turning on her heel, she finished pulling on the surgical gloves. As she looked down at the marine lying on the gurney, she gave a small cry of surprise and her heart slammed into her throat, her eyes widening enormously. The officer lying on the gurney, his gray eyes narrowed with pain, his hand clutching at his bloody thigh, was Craig Taggart.
“Oh, my God,” Susan whispered, frozen in place.
Chapter Two
Craig bit back a groan as the nurse in the surgical gown turned toward him. The pain from the crash injury he’d sustained moved in unrelenting waves up through his body. He held a tourniquet above the wound, his fist bloodied and wrapped around the web belt that he’d called into service from around his waist to keep the bleeding to a minimum.
As the dark-haired nurse turned toward him, Craig sucked in a breath of air. His eyes, narrowed against the pain, went wide with shock.
“Susan…” he gasped, staring up at her widening blue eyes.
Dizziness assailed Susan. She struggled to breathe, unable to move as she stared down into Craig’s tense, sweaty features, his gray eyes burning with undefin[chable anguish. A hundred fragments struck her with the force of a land mine—fragments from the past, images of how Craig had looked four years ago and how he looked now. His face had always been lean, but the lines bracketing his mouth and crossing his brow were new and deeply etched. No longer was this the young man she’d known at Annapolis. This man, his face hewn by life experiences she couldn’t imagine, stared back at her through gray, hawklike eyes. His features were dirty and muddied, sweat streaking through camouflage coloring to make him look like an alien from another planet.
“What are you doing here?” Craig demanded with a rasp. He couldn’t control his wildly beating heart or the feeling as if his breath were being choked off in the middle of his throat. Susan was here. Susan! Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. Her lovely face, now matured and impossibly more beautiful than he could ever recall, wavered before him. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. The sounds of the emergency room assailed his senses, and the smells made him nauseous. Yet Susan stood before him, clothed in green, her hands held up and encased in surgical gloves, staring down at him as if she’d seen a ghost. Well, wasn’t he? Craig asked himself harshly.
“I…” Susan’s voice died in her throat. “Craig…”
Nothing was making sense. Angrily, Craig glared up at her. He tried to twist around, tried to see where they’d taken Andy and Larry, who he knew had been badly injured in the crash.
“Where are Hayes and Shelton?” he demanded, his voice harsh, unsteady.
Susan snapped out of her shock. “Who?”
“My men! Andy and Larry!”
“Calm down,” she whispered, forcing herself to move toward Craig.
“Like hell I will! They’re my men. They were hurt in the crash. I’ve got to find out how they are….”
Susan realized she had to control the situation. Craig was in shock. It showed in his eyes—his pupils were huge and black, with only a thin rim of gray surrounding them. He was trying to get up, to hold onto the tourniquet tightly enough to maneuver into a sitting position. No one cared more for his men than Craig did. She had found that out at Annapolis. If possible, his loyalty to others was even more intense and consuming than her own. Using her best imperious voice, one that few of her patients ever challenged, Susan placed her hand on Craig’s shoulder and pushed him back down on the gurney.
“Don’t you dare move, Craig Taggart.” She glowered at him as he started to protest. She added force, her hand flat against his dirty utilities, and said calmly, “Your men are getting the best care in the world. They’ve already been taken into surgery. Now, you lie here and be still!”
Her hands shaking, Susan took a pair of scissors and began to cut off his pant leg around the wound. Helplessly, she felt his icy response to her order. Why was he so furious with her? She hadn’t known he was here at Camp Reed! Why did they have to meet now?
“I’m all right,” Craig snarled, not even trying to mask the cold fury in his voice. “Why don’t you see to my other two men? They’re wounded, too.”
Giving him a scathing look, Susan dropped the bloody pieces of fabric to the floor, then quickly cut away Craig’s shirt to expose his left arm, so that she could start an IV. “Because they’re injured far less seriously than you! Now be still,” she said sternly. “We’re in a triage situation, and the worst get helped first.”
Each trembling touch of Susan’s hand against his arm sent a wave of unadulterated pain straight to Craig’s heart. He shut his eyes and turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to look at her, because if he did, he knew he’d sweep her into his arms and hold her. Just hold her. Tears stung the back of his tightly shut eyelids, and he was only vaguely aware of the IV needle sliding into his arm. But he was wildly aware of Susan’s soft, soothing touch.
When her hand closed over his to get him to loosen the tourniquet, Craig’s eyes flew open. Their gazes met and clashed. Her hand hovered over his and they stared at each other, the silence drawn tautly between them. His skin seemed on fire where she had barely touched him.
“Let me have the tourniquet,” she said in a low, unsteady voice.
Drowning in the blue of her confused gaze, Craig swallowed hard, his fingers releasing, one at a time, from the web belt around his thigh. At one time he [chwould’ve trusted Susan with his life. God knew, he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But that was impossible. She was married. She belonged to another man. Bitterly, he relaxed against the gurney, his head tipped back, gulping several breaths of air and wrestling with his raw anger toward her, on top of his concern for his men.
Susan tried to ignore Craig’s powerful hand. His fingers were bloody, many scars crossing their expanse. He’d always had wonderful hands, she thought, as she examined the gash in his thigh more closely. When the blood didn’t gush, she released the web belt completely. Inside, she was shaking like gelatin, wanting to cry—wanting to be just as furious with him as he obviously was with her. But why? Why? He’d been her best friend at Annapolis. He was the one who had dropped out of her life without so much as a goodbye.
Craig’s accusing gray eyes followed her every moment. “Your injury is going to require surgery,” she heard herself say tightly. “First, we’ll have to prep you for the general and—”
Craig’s hand shot out, gripping her by the wrist as she started to leave to get the necessary medical items. “No,” he growled, “no general. Give me a local. I want to stay awake. I want to know how my men are.”
His fingers branded her wrist like a burning iron. Stunned by his action, Susan stared down at his suffering features. He was obviously in intense pain, but the fury in his eyes overshadowed it—and that fury was aimed straight at her. Confused and dazed, she started to pull free of his grip.
“Let go!” she whispered coldly.
Craig glared up at her, trying to combat the huskiness of her voice as it flowed over him, calming his chaotic emotions, soothing his panic and anguish over his wounded men. Instantly, he released her wrist. “A local,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Let me get a doctor,” she blurted and almost ran toward the central portion of ER. Everyone was busy. Karen was working quickly over one marine and Dr. Finlay another. It was chaos as she had never experienced it before. No one could have envisioned a helicopter carrying ten marines crashing on base. She went to Finlay, because he was in charge of the section. Quickly, she explained the situation and Craig’s request.
Finlay didn’t even glance up as the surgery nurse handed him another clamp. “These are recons,” he told her. “They’re tighter than fleas on a dog. They don’t have the normal enlisted man/officer relationship. They’re like family to one another. Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Fine. If the officer doesn’t want to be knocked out, I don’t care. But you’d better tell the poor bastard how much pain he’s going to go through when you scrub the hell out of that wound for him. Get Dr. David to stitch him up when you’re done.” He glanced over at the surgery table where she was operating. “She’s almost finished there. I’ll tell her to get to your recon as soon as possible, Evans.”
“Yes, sir.”
Craig twisted his head as Susan came back into view. He tried to swallow his welling anger toward her enough to find out about his team. “Well? How are my men? Did you see them?”
Stung by his cold tone, Susan stopped herself from laying her hand briefly on his shoulder. “They’re in surgery right now,” she told him in a low, tight voice. Trying to put her personal feelings for Craig aside, she said, “I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything about their condition. I promise.”
Craig lay there absorbing Susan. Her voice had always been like good Tennessee sipping whiskey, low and husky. Now that warm, almost-golden voice flowed over him like a soothing blanket. He wanted to unleash four years of terrible anger and hurt toward her. He wanted to cry for his injured men. The powerful mix of warring emotions made his voice tight and raspy. “Give me a local and clean that wound out.”
Susan wondered where Craig had accumulated medical knowledge about this kind of procedure but said nothing. Under the watchful eye of his two teammates, Susan forced herself to remain professional even though she was terribly hurt by the way Craig was treating her. He’d never been like this back at Annapolis. In fact, she’d never seen him angry. What had happened to change him so much? And why aim his anger at her? The other two men had gotten off their gurneys and remained at the foot of Craig’s, watching her silently. The anxiety in their gazes touched Susan as nothing else could. She gave Craig the local anesthetic and began to clean around the long, gaping wound.
“The last I saw you,” she said, trying to break the palpable tension between them as she moved the gauze laden with antiseptic across his hard, taut thigh, “you were about to join the recon marines.” Susan risked a look at Craig. “I don’t know much about recons,” she confessed. She had to talk to allay her nervousness in Craig’s powerful, chilling presence. She could see the anger and anguish in his pale gray eyes, the tight set of his mouth against the pain.
“Recons go behind enemy lines,” he said tightly, relieved to have his mind on anything other than Susan’s firm, professional touch. How many torrid dreams had he had of her touching him? Craig groaned to himself and realized he was in shock from the crash, from worrying about his team members—and from suddenly seeing Susan again. He remembered sharply his vision of her moments before the helicopter arrived.
“I thought I was going to die,” he said, placing his arm across his eyes. Susan was too beautiful, too appealing for his wildly unstable emotional state right now, and Craig didn’t dare keep looking at her. Maybe if he didn’t see her he could get through this excruciating ordeal without lashing into her.
“Oh?” She threw the gauze into a wastebasket. She gently tested the flesh around the wound. Craig winced, his mouth tightening, but he didn’t groan. It would take another ten minutes before the local took effect enough so that she could begin the cleansing procedure on the wound itself.
“Yeah.” Craig grunted, his arm still across his shut eyes, “I was waiting for that helo to come and extricate me and my team, when all of a sudden, your face appeared before me.” He gave another laugh. “You! I about came unglued. I thought it was a sign I was going to die. And then, ten minutes after the helo picked up a second recon team, the blades started disintegrating around us. I saw my whole damn life pass in front of my eyes.”
“You aren’t going to die.” Susan tried to think, but could only feel. Shaken and frayed, she asked the two younger marines to please go back to their gurneys. She couldn’t stand having them watch her every move. They hesitated, looking to their skipper for confirmation, and Craig waved them away with his hand. They gave her a preferential nod and left.
“No, I’m not going to die—this time,” Craig admitted, his voice low and off-key. “But I thought I was….”
Gathering the necessary items, Susan placed the steel bowl next to Craig’s leg. It struck her, as she waited those few minutes, how lean and fit he had become. In Annapolis, he had been a boxing champion, but now his body was hard. Hard, tight and fit. She scrambled about for a safe topic—something to keep Craig’s mind off what she had to do, which would surely cause him pain. “Tell me about recons. What do you do? Why did Dr. Finlay say you’re like family?”
Craig took a deep breath, trying to steady his wildly fluctuating emotions and battle the receding pain at the same time. Why the hell wouldn’t she stop talking? Stop engaging him in polite conversation? Susan acted as if she’d done nothing wrong! Acted as if she had no conscience about tearing up his life four years ago and sending him hurtling down a path that had done nothing but create more emotional pain for him. “We work in teams of five,” he muttered unwillingly. “Each member is a specialist. I’m the paramedic on our team. Each team consists of an officer and four enlisted men. We’re dropped deep behind enemy lines to gather tactical information for our Intelligence unit.” Craig’s mouth curved downward. “The last thing we want to do is engage the enemy. Even though we have a radio, we’re often so far behind lines that a helicopter can’t make it to where they’d have to pick us up. So we’re like ghosts. We live and forage off the land, move quietly and shadow troop movements. After ten days in the bush—if we haven’t been discovered—we’re picked up at a prearranged spot by a special helicopter team.”
“I see.” Susan tested Craig’s leg again, and he didn’t flinch. Taking a deep breath, she warned him, “Since you’re a paramedic, you know what I have to do to clean this wound out. Are you ready?”
He dragged his arm away from his eyes and stared up at her. “Hell, yes!” He watched her eyes widen again with shock at his angry response. Automatically, he sucked in a breath, knowing the procedure would hurt like hell itself. But it couldn’t hurt as much as Susan being here. Despite all the years, Craig realized with a sinking feeling that he still hadn’t gotten her out of his system—or heart. The knowledge only served to make him more furious. When he saw the apology in her eyes, he managed a tight, one-cornered smile. “Go ahead,” he snarled. “It’s just one more way to get even with me.”
Get even? Susan closed her eyes, wavering before his obvious rage. “I don’t want to get even with you,” she snapped. She felt tears sting her eyes, and she looked away for a moment to get herself under control. Swallowing rapidly, she forced herself to act. Where was the friend she’d once had? The friend who’d always tried to make her feel better when she had a bad night at the dispensary? Now he was lashing out at her with anger. Well, she’d had more than enough of that in the last year of her life, and it struck a chord deep within her. She wasn’t about to take Craig’s inexplicable fury, Susan decided as she began the cleansing process.
“How you doing?” Karen asked, hurrying over to where Susan leaned over Craig’s wound.
Craig released a shaky breath when a blond woman-doctor leaned over him and smiled. “I want a different nurse,” he said between clenched teeth.
Susan jerked her head up and looked at him, her mouth open. How dare he! Before she could say anything, Karen stepped in, her voice calm and good-humored.
“Look, Captain, you’ve got the best right here. Just settle down and take it easy.” She watched Susan critically. “Looks like major surgery to me. Who made the decision to treat this injury as a local?”
Craig wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a shaky hand. “I did, Doc. I want to stay awake. I want to find out how my men are doing. They’re in surgery right now.”
“I told Dr. Finlay and he said it was all right, Dr. David.” Susan grimaced and drew in a trembling breath as she hurried to complete the cleansing of his wound. Hearing Karen cluck like a mother hen, Susan was relieved that her friend was here to run interference between herself and Craig.
Patting the marine’s shoulder, Karen said, “Now, Captain, you just lie here and relax. The worst is over. Susan, get a needle and thread ready, please.”
Craig watched the two women. Dr. David was confident, relaxed and smiling, with a distinct Midwestern accent. He liked her, he decided. Still, his gaze kept straying to Susan, who stood by, supplying the doctor with whatever she asked for. It gave him an opportunity to really study Susan for the first time since their unexpected meeting. Four of the longest years of his life seemed erased as he gazed up into her huge, and eminently readable, blue eyes. She never could hide anything from him when he looked into them, he thought, stifling a smile as he forced himself to concentrate on her rather than on the brutal pain. Not that Susan would lie anyway. But as he searched her features, his gaze came to rest on Susan’s set mouth. He vividly remembered that one innocent kiss they’d shared. He’d been so hungry to kiss her more deeply. Shutting his eyes, the agony shifting and becoming more intense as the doctor worked over him, Craig felt light-headed. Susan’s mouth was full, the lower lip soft, the corners turned upward to reflect her innate gentleness. How gentle Susan had been four years ago as he’d watched Steve bulldoze his way into her life, he remembered angrily.
Again the basic fact came rushing back: Susan was married. Married to Craig’s own former best friend. The friend who had crushed Craig’s fondest desire forever. Craig grimaced, wondering for the millionth time why Susan had stood him up on that long-ago night—that night intended to decide his future once and for all.
A groan ripped through Craig. Automatically, he gripped the sides of the gurney, the steel warm to his touch, his sweaty fingers sliding downward. Haziness replaced his sharply focused awareness. The pain was increasing by the second. Somehow, as his spinning thoughts collided with his tormented heart, Craig felt Susan’s hand grip his shoulder to give him solace. Miraculously, some of the agony disappeared, and he honed in on her stabilizing touch.
No, Susan had never showed up that night, leaving Craig foolishly waiting, clutching the symbol of his chance at a dream in his sweaty palm. Finally, defeated, he’d returned to begin packing to leave. Susan thought of him as a friend. That was all. Craig had gathered his gear, grabbed a military air transport flight for the West Coast and never seen or heard from either of them again. Until now.
“He’s going,” Karen warned grimly as Craig’s pallor increased. “The fool should’ve been given a general. This is too much for anyone to endure.”
Susan’s fingers dug into Craig’s shoulder as she felt him suddenly tense. His mouth opened to release a scream. Just as suddenly, he groaned and went limp beneath her hand. Quickly, Susan tipped his head back so that his tongue wouldn’t shut off the air supply to his lungs.
“It’s better this way,” Karen muttered. She wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “Prep him for surgery. He’s going under whether he likes it or not.”
“Gladly,” Susan breathed.
“In the meantime, I’ll take a look at these other two guys,” Karen said, turning to Craig’s teammates.
Feeling as if someone had taken a bottle brush to her insides, Susan acted quickly, although she ached to stroke his close-cropped black hair. In unconsciousness all the harshness faded from Craig’s features. His lips, now parted, revealed his true vulnerability. A sudden heated memory flashed through her, of his mouth moving in reverent adoration across her own. How could she ever forget Craig’s one intense, questing kiss? He’d been so shy around her, so hesitant and always a gentleman.
Steve had been the opposite, Susan admitted, completing the last of the dressing around Craig’s thigh. He’d come on strong, sweeping her off her feet, savoring life and savoring her. Steve had showered her with presents. So many gifts! Almost weekly, he would buy her something—jewelry, perfume, candy, flowers. His parents were rich and affluent. Guilt, shame and sadness flowed through Susan as she made the comparison. Craig’s parents were Idaho wheat farmers. He’d had little money and often sent what he did have home to help his mother, who’d been forced to run the farm by herself since his father’s back injury. No, Craig hadn’t been able to afford material gifts, but he’d given Susan something money could never buy: a deep friendship—one she’d thought would last forever.
Her heart, nearly breaking at the way her life had twisted and turned, Susan looked up to see a navy corpsman, a black youth in his early twenties, standing by to take Craig to surgery.
“He ready to go, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Susan whispered.
“I’m Randy Peters, ma’am,” he said, giving her hand a brief, firm shake.
“Susan Evans,” she responded automatically, attempting a smile.
Peters grinned. “He ain’t so lucky, ya know.”
“What do you mean?” Susan straightened and wiped her brow. The ER had a hushed quality now as everyone worked frantically over the remaining patients.
“This dude’s injured bad enough to get a whole month’s rest in this place.”
Susan stood digesting the corpsman’s wisdom as he pulled the gurney bearing Craig Taggart down the aisle toward the operating room. Craig would remain here, at her hospital, to recover. The realization sank into her, making her feel shaky and uncertain. Dear God, what was happening? Camp Reed was supposed to be a safe haven where she could forget the tortured past and try to collect the broken pieces of her heart. Instead, she was being ripped further apart, in ways she’d never fathomed. Craig had dropped back into her life when she was feeling the most fragile, and his anger was shocking because it was aimed directly at her.
Turning away, Susan forced herself to go help Karen, who was still ministering to Craig’s two least-injured men. In no time, they had been treated and released. As she joined Karen at the sink to wash her hands, Susan saw the questioning look in her friend’s eyes.
“You’re pale. Are you okay?” Karen asked.
“Yes…fine.”
“This isn’t like San Francisco, is it?”
Susan shook her head. “No…it isn’t. And you love it. I can tell.”
Karen lifted her head and surveyed the ER area. “God help me, Susan, but I do love this. It’s where my heart is. This is where I can be at my best. I can help save lives here as never before.”
“I know.”
“You’re acting funny, Susan.” Karen flung the water from her hands and allowed Susan to help her into another pair of surgical gloves. “Did you know that captain?”
Swallowing hard, Susan whispered, “Karen, that’s Craig Taggart. My friend at Annapolis? He was Steve’s best friend, too.”
“Ohh…I remember.” Karen rolled her eyes. “Did you two stay in touch?”
With a shake of her head, Susan said, “No. Craig just disappeared out of my life after I got engaged to Steve. I wouldn’t have thought he’d do that.”
“People are funny,” Karen murmured.
“Don’t I know,” Susan replied, thinking of how her love for Steve had slowly turned into a dark nightmare for both of them.
“Interesting,” Karen said, then grinned. “Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll get a second chance.”
“Second chance?”
Karen’s smile widened. “Seems to me, if I recall correctly, you really liked Craig.”
“He was my friend,” Susan protested, frowning. “Or used to be,” she added.
“This is a great chance, you know,” Karen tossed over her shoulder, as she turned to go find Dr. Finlay and ask for instructions.
“Chance for what?”
“To right wrongs.” She turned back toward Susan.
“There’s nothing to right,” Susan said, feeling her heart break even more. “My past can’t be undone, Karen.”
Karen patted her shoulder. “Hey, don’t look so down. Chin up. Things happen for a reason. Good reasons,” she admonished gently. “From what little I saw, he’s upset, but I’m sure it’s because he cares for his men.”
Hurt thrummed through Susan as she followed Karen down the aisle to help assist another doctor. She was so confused, trying to move through a morass of emotions and answer questions about Craig’s unexpected behavior at the same time. He had been so much like her back at Annapolis—open and honest. In fact, it had been their mutual shyness that initially had drawn them to each other. With Craig, she had felt safe to confide her hopes, wishes and dreams. Hurt ate at Susan. What was she going to do now that Craig was here in her nursing world? There was no way she could get transferred out, and Craig was going to be stuck in the hospital for recovery whether he wanted to be or not. Trying desperately not to allow the past to suffocate her, she tried to force her attention back to her work.
The agony and anger in Craig’s eyes had sent its message, loud and clear: he didn’t ever want to see her again. Susan had felt his chilling dislike. But how was she going to be able to handle it, when right now she could barely hold her own life together in the wake of Steve’s death?
Chapter Three
“Miss Evans, you got a bear on your hands,” warned Corpsman Peters as he ambled over to her desk outside the recovery ward.
Susan lifted her head from signing in on the watch book. From 2100 to 0600, she would be head nurse of the watch—her first night of duty in Recovery. She would have responsibility for twenty men and the supervision of three navy corpsmen who were to stand the watch with her, she knew. Randy Peters’s ebony features glistened in the gloom of the small, stuffy office.
“What do you mean, Randy?” She had already decided to address the people who worked for her by their first names. Although in other spectra of the navy the enlisted were called either by rating or by their last name, Susan felt that that policy created a chasm between her and her people, one she didn’t want to foster. Randy was a large-boned young man with a broad, kind face. She had appreciated his friendly manner in ER and now was silently grateful that he was on her watch section.
“What bear?” she asked, straightening and closing the book. Once an hour she would have to make rounds in the ward, checking on her various marine and navy patients to make sure their conditions were stable. Thankfully, Karen was the doctor on the watch. Susan knew the routine: one doctor for three wards, with a nurse overlooking each ward. If there was a problem, it was up to Susan to notify the doctor pronto.
Randy grinned slightly. “It’s the new patient, Captain Taggart. Man, he’s uptight.”
Susan’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Craig was in her ward. She hadn’t even had a chance to look over the roster of patients, which would be her first duty. She had to check each of the clipboards that hung on the ends of the beds, noting any physician directions regarding IVs, medication, shots and such.
Susan struggled to keep her professional demeanor, so Randy wouldn’t see her alarm. “Oh?” she said coolly. “What seems to be the captain’s problem?”
“Ah, you know how recons are. They’re like family. The captain’s needing a pain med, I think. He wants to know how two of his men are doing. I told him I’d go get the duty nurse and find out what I could.” With a shrug, Randy asked, “You’re new to all of this, Miss Evans, but don’t look too upset. The captain is tight with his men. At least he cares about them.”
“How long have you been here, Randy?” Susan asked as she draped a stethoscope across her neck so both ends hung down the front of her white uniform. Sooner or later she’d have to see Craig. She might as well get it over with now. But the decision didn’t stop her heart from pounding in her chest, or help her feel less shaky.
“Two and a half years, ma’am. I was a corpsman out in the field with the marines until I got my foot broke,” Randy said, pointing to his left shoe. “I want to go back out, but Doc Finlay says I’ll never be a field corpsman again ’cause of my injury.”
“That’s too bad, Randy. You look like the kind of guy who enjoys the great outdoors.”
“I sure do, ma’am.” His eyes twinkled.
“Why don’t you show me the routine,” Susan said. When she saw the corpsman’s brows move up in surprise, she added, “We’re a team here, Randy. I’m going to rely heavily on the corpsmen assigned to my ward for some time, until I get used to the system. The patients’ welfare comes first, so consider yourself my teacher. Okay?”
Randy’s shoulders squared a bit more proudly, and he pushed open the swinging door to the dimly lit ward. “Why, Miss Evans, you’re talking just like a recon. Are you sure Captain Taggart hasn’t brainwashed you into being one?” He chuckled pleasantly.
Susan smiled and tried not to let the young corpsman’s comment rattle her. What Randy didn’t know was that she and Craig did, indeed, share the same passionate commitment to people. Only, in Craig’s case, the overriding concern he brought to his men had been fueled by a terrible accident that had occurred in his childhood. Craig was the older of two Taggart sons. When he was fourteen, he’d been ice-skating with his younger brother, David, on the fishing pond when David had fallen through the ice. Despite Craig’s brave attempts to save his brother, David had drowned. The guilt of being unable to save him had spurred Craig to become protective of those under his command, regardless of the risk or suffering to himself. Susan had seen that quality back at Annapolis, and she was sure Craig hadn’t changed in that respect.
She stopped just inside the door to the ward, where two rows of ten beds faced each other. Susan was glad to see that the windows were open to allow air circulation. Otherwise, the ward would be stuffy and the antiseptic odors could become overwhelming. Red lights above the doors at either end shed precious little light through the sleeping ward. Allowing her vision to adjust, Susan swept her gaze automatically across her sleeping patients.
Randy pointed to the end of the first row of beds on the right. Near her ear, he whispered, “That’s Cap’n Taggart. Maybe you want to start your bed check there? He’s fit to be tied. You probably better give him a sleep med.” Randy grinned. “I think if it weren’t for that leg wound he’s got, he’d get up and go back to ER and demand to know about his men.”
Susan’s heart went out to Craig. “Okay, Randy, I’ll start there. In the meantime, will you check the other patients’ IVs, and if any need to be changed to do it for me?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to.”
Girding herself emotionally the best she could, Susan walked slowly down the tile floor of the aisle between the beds. She gripped the clipboard to her breast more as armor against the coming attack than as the tool it was for taking notes on each patient, to be discussed later with the watch doctor. Her hands became damp with nervousness as her gaze fastened on the bed where Craig moved restlessly.
As Susan approached, she saw that he had kicked his light blue bedspread onto the floor, and his sheet was in a tangle at the end of the cot. Like all the patients, Craig wore light blue cotton pajamas.
Susan looked at him, taking in his arm thrown across his eyes, his compressed mouth, the sweat gleaming on his face, and she realized that his pajama top was unbuttoned, exposing his chest. Swallowing convulsively, she remembered placing her hand on that chest, aware of the taut muscles beneath his shirt. But that had been so long ago—a lifetime, it seemed. Still, as she slowed, the memory of Craig’s masculine power seeped back into her memory. Toward the end of their Annapolis days, her relationship with Steve hadn’t been going well, and she’d confided in Craig. Upset and uncertain, she had cried in Craig’s arms over what to do. Two days later, Craig had showed up at her apartment, roses in hand. By that time, Susan had been sure that she was going to break up with Steve, and she’d told Craig her decision. The roses had been such a touching surprise, because she’d known just how little money Craig had. On sheer impulse, she’d leaned up to give him a thank-you kiss for his concern. Only the kiss had turned unexpectedly passionate—for both of them. Shaken by the memory, Susan thought of the thread of hope that experience had given her. She’d never forgotten Craig’s latent strength, vividly recalling how his body tautened as she shyly returned his heated, hungry kiss. A sadness enveloped her now as she came around the side of his bed. They had both been so innocent.
Well, those days were behind them, Susan acknowledged, feeling tears rise in her eyes. Then, Craig had treated her as if she were some priceless, fragile object, never forgetting his manners or trying to take advantage of her. She looked down at his shadowed form, her gaze moving to his mouth, tensed against his pain, and she fought the very real desire to put her arms around him and hold him.
“Craig?” Her voice came out low and hesitant.
Instantly, Craig jerked his arm from across his eyes. His gaze narrowed. Susan! His heart slamming in his chest, he opened his mouth, then snapped it shut as fury tunneled through him. She stood uncertainly before him, her white nursing uniform flattering her slim figure. Her brown hair hung in a simple pageboy, barely grazing her collar. The shadows caressed her square features, sad eyes and parted lips. He sensed her uncertainty, and it fueled his impatience.
Wrestling with his anger, he let his voice become hard and flat. “What are you doing here?”
Stunned all over again by his fury, Susan felt her own anger flowing to the surface, but her tone was low and controlled as she said, “I’m duty nurse for the ward tonight.” She tried to ignore the accusation in his husky voice, the anger bright in his eyes. Attempting a smile to break the terrible tension, but not succeeding, she added, “You’re stuck with me, whether either of us likes it or not.”
Craig tried to make himself immune to Susan’s presence, but it was impossible. Just that small, broken smile she had tried to give him was nearly his undoing. He saw her lay her clipboard on a nearby chair. Then she picked up his sheet and smoothed it across him. The blue bedspread followed. A wild mix of emotions raged through him as he watched her study his chart at the end of the bed. Didn’t she know what she was doing to him? Automatically, his gaze moved to her long, slender hands. They were beautiful, artistic hands, Craig realized with a pang of memory, and he thought of her long-ago feather-light touch on his face, on his chest.
She was nervous. Craig saw the stain of a blush on her cheeks as she moved quietly to the other side of his bed to check the IV drip rate. When she leaned over to make sure the intravenous needle was secure in his arm, he stiffened. Instantly, she jerked her fingers away from his arm. It was then that he realized she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. His eyes narrowed to slits as she popped a thermometer into his mouth.
“I want to know how my men are,” he mumbled around it.
Susan nodded and picked up the clipboard. “Just let me get your temperature and then we’ll talk,” she said, trying for a tone of brisk authority. It was agony to look into his sweaty, strained features, those gray eyes reminding her so vividly of a hawk. Craig missed nothing; he was attuned to every nuance. Susan swallowed hard and worked to focus on his medical record, realizing that the doctor had prescribed sleeping pills as well as pain pills. Craig had refused the sleeping pill, she saw from the previous nurse’s notation. And he was well past the time when he should have been given a pain pill. She frowned. The earlier nurse had forgotten to give it to him.
Rankled, Susan said nothing as she left his bedside to return to the office’s small pharmacy, which contained certain widely used drugs. She unlocked the cabinet and removed the appropriate medication, then locked up and walked back into the ward. By the time she arrived at Craig’s bed, the three minutes were up and she took the thermometer out of his mouth.
“What is it?” Craig demanded irritably.
Susan recorded the temperature and shook the thermometer down with several flicks of her wrist. “One hundred point two.”
“Infection,” he growled. Then he shot her a glance. “I’m taking enough antibiotics to kill a horse. By morning, I’ll be normal.”
Susan grimly held out her hand. “Here’s your pain med.”
Craig looked at her opened hand. “At least you make your rounds.”
He picked up two of the four tablets and popped them into his mouth, then took a large gulp of water and set the glass back on the bedside table.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Susan challenged.
Glaring, Craig held her insolent stare. “It means that the other duty nurse didn’t make her last round. Not everyone is as capable as you, Lieutenant Evans.”
Stunned, Susan tried to gather her composure. “Don’t you want the sleeping pills?”
He continued to glare at her. “Why the hell would I? I just got out of Recovery. I’m drugged enough as it is.”
Susan slipped the pills into the pocket of her uniform. “I’m sorry the other nurse forgot to give you the pain med.”
It hurt just to speak with Susan, Craig thought. It hurt to feel her this close to him. His emotions were frayed, and the pain had made him snappish. “Look,” he said in a harsh whisper, “just do me one favor and then leave me the hell alone. Find out how my men, Hayes and Shelton, are doing, will you? It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you, Susan.” He was breathing hard, each breath fiery and filled with anguish.
Susan found she couldn’t protect herself from Craig’s anger. It was obvious that he was angry with her. Tucking her lower lip between her teeth to stop from snarling back at him, she held her tongue. Craig was suffering badly. The past, she realized, wasn’t buried between them as she’d thought. No, it was alive and haunting both of them. “I’ll find out,” she promised quietly, and left his side.
Craig lay back, shutting his eyes and trying to control his chaotic breathing. He’d seen how his anger had struck Susan, as surely as if he’d hit her. Hurting physically and emotionally, he castigated himself. Sometime later, he felt Susan’s presence again and barely opened his eyes to see her quietly making her rounds through the ward. Most of the men were drugged into sleep. A few, like him, had refused the pills and were either awake or sleeping fitfully. Craig’s mouth lifted in a tortured grimace.
He tried to ignore Susan’s serene presence, but it was impossible. He hungered to see her, to watch her, to absorb her soft, smiling face into his deeply suffering heart. She ministered to those men who were awake, reaching out like a mother to touch their hair or place her hand on their shoulders. Susan knew the value of touch; she always had. Craig remembered the way she would touch his arm or shoulder when they’d shared their many deep, involved conversations. But tonight, she was loath to touch him and he knew it. Restless and angry, he bunched the spread up in his fists, then released it. How were his men? When would Susan know? Would she really tell him—or would she continue to avoid him?
Corpsman Peters entered the ward some time later. Craig watched him go over to Susan and speak to her in a low voice. He saw Susan’s face go still, and his heart plummeted. Intuitively, Craig knew the exchange had to do with his men. He knotted the covers between his fists and waited.
Her mouth dry, Susan thanked Randy and forced herself to complete her final patient check before going to Craig. He was sitting up in bed, leaning against the pillow, every muscle in his body taut. Making herself meet his fiery gray gaze, which seemed to cut into her, Susan scrambled for the right words. But as she got closer to Craig’s bed, she realized he was holding himself rigid in preparation for the bad news.
Susan drew the green metal chair up to the side of Craig’s bed and sat, laying the clipboard across her thighs. “Craig—”
“Just give it to me, Susan,” he snapped. “Don’t try to be tactful, okay?”
Wincing at his angry attack, Susan nodded. “Hayes died just a little while ago,” she said softly. “They couldn’t stabilize him.” She saw Craig’s eyes go dark. Then tears rose in them. An answering lump formed in her throat. “Shelton’s in ICU, in critical and unstable condition.” With a shrug, she whispered, “I’ll call down there at the end of my watch and try to find out more.”
Craig remained silent, absorbing the loss of Hayes. “He was supposed to get married,” he rasped after a moment.
“What?”
“Andy Hayes, my radioman—he was engaged….” Craig shut his eyes and tipped his head back, a terrible, wrenching sigh ripping out of him. “It was his final mission before the wedding.”
Painful, too-fresh memories staggered Susan. Steve’s death had been such a long, awful slide downward for both of them. She’d tried to hold on to her love for him, but love had turned to suffering, then numbness. Still, Susan hurt for Hayes’s fianc;aaee—she and Hayes would never get to know married love at all. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching out, but stopping herself before she touched Craig. How she longed simply to hold him. She felt Craig’s pain—and her own stored pain from this past terrible year. “I know how much you care for others,” she began, her voice quavering with feeling.
Susan’s soft, halting words washed over Craig, taking away some of his pain at the loss of Andy. He opened his eyes and looked at her deeply shadowed features. Stunned that she seemed no less affected by his loss than he was, he felt his defensive wall of anger slip. Savagely, he reminded himself that Susan was married. She belonged to another man. Or did she? Where was her wedding ring? But maybe she didn’t wear it when she was on duty, his quick mind countered. With monumental effort, he whispered, “Thanks,” in a steely tone.
Susan slowly stood and returned the chair to its original corner. There was nothing more to say. Craig made it obvious that he didn’t want her around. And she didn’t want to be his whipping post, either. She’d managed to survive a year of that with Steve, and it was time to draw the line. Turning, Susan walked away, leaving the ward—and leaving Craig to deal with the loss of his friend.
Out in the office, she logged the time of her ward round. Peters came through the door.
“Thanks for finding out that information for me,” she told him.
“Bad news for the captain.” Randy shook his head. He sat down on the chair in front of the desk. “You hate to see a man cry.”
Susan’s head snapped up. “Cry?”
Randy gestured toward the ward. “Yeah, he’s in there crying.”
* * *
“Karen, you have to do me a favor,” Susan begged the next morning as she got off duty.
Karen yawned. “What?”
They walked out of the hospital area and headed to the parking lot. The surrounding brown hills glowed in the morning sunlight. The vast light blue sky stretched overhead, the darker blue Pacific Ocean to the west. Gulls wheeled and called nearby, looking for handouts.
“We’ve got ward duty again tonight,” Susan began. “Can you make a call to the San Diego Hospital and check on a man for me?”
Karen rubbed her face tiredly. “Now, you know that’s against regs.”
She smiled. “Yes, I know that.”
“Who’s this for? Taggart?”
“Your mama didn’t raise you to be dumb, did she?” Susan countered with a laugh.
Grinning in response, Karen said, “My mama was a sharp Ohio woman who could see straight through even the tiniest white lie.”
“So will you do it?” Susan persisted. “His name is Sergeant Larry Shelton. He was stabilized and flown down to San Diego for extended treatment for his burns. He was on Craig’s recon team.”
Grimacing, Karen muttered, “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.” Then she brightened. “How are you two getting along?”
“Like cats and dogs,” Susan said unhappily.
“Why?”
Susan shrugged. “He’s angry with me, and I don’t know why.”
“Does he know you’re single again? A widow?”
“No…”
They reached the edge of the parking lot. Heat was already building on the black asphalt. “Why not?” Karen asked.
“Why should he?” Susan demanded. “For all I know, he’s engaged or married himself.”
“Is he wearing a ring?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Randy, one of the corpsmen I work with, said the men don’t wear any kind of jewelry because a glint could get them discovered during the war games.”
“Good point,” Karen said thoughtfully. Then she brightened and clapped Susan on the shoulder. “Well, don’t look so glum. With time, Craig will thaw. This is just temporary, I’m sure.”
Susan wasn’t so sure. “With Steve dying and all,” she admitted, “I was in bad-enough shape, Karen. Now, with Craig here, it’s like I don’t know which end is up. I can’t protect myself from his anger. Each of his glares cuts a little more deeply into my heart.”
“My mama always said time was a healer,” Karen said gently. “Just ride this through, Susan. No sense in striking back at Craig.”
“I’d never do that.”
“I know. You’re such a softy.” Karen frowned. “That’s part of your problem, you know.”
They halted at their cars, parked next to each other. Susan opened the door to her blue compact. “What problem?”
“Yours,” Karen said, unlocking the door of her sporty red Mazda. “Sometimes I wish you would fight back and get angry.”
Susan managed a slight smile. “Be more like you? The doc that flies off the handle at a moment’s notice?”
Grinning, Karen said, “I express my anger in a positive fashion.”
“Oh, sure,” Susan hooted, some of her depression lifting under Karen’s good-natured needling. “You just use that sweet voice of yours to call some poor guy a bastard, and he doesn’t even know what hit him. Diplomacy is really a code, and you forget—I know the code.”
With a giggle, Karen said, “As long as those men don’t realize my sweetness and smile are thinly veiled cuss words, I’ll be okay.” She wagged her finger at Susan. “You just be sure to get some sleep. You look awful.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Susan thought as she waved goodbye to her friend. The apartment she’d rented was in Oceanside, just outside the base’s main gates. She longed to shower off the smell of the ward and simply sleep, but she knew herself too well. Since Steve’s death a year ago, insomnia had been her bed partner. That and nightmares interwoven with guilt. Right now, Craig’s burning gray eyes hovered in her mind and she wasn’t sure which hurt more—the memory of Steve’s death or Craig’s anger. But she did know that tonight she’d be back on rounds in his ward—and she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit.
* * *
“Man, I’m telling you,” Randy warned Susan as she logged in for her second twelve-hour shift, “you better watch out for Captain Taggart. He’s raising all kinds of hell in there, wanting to know about his man Shelton.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Susan said grimly. Throughout the day, she’d slept poorly. The sounds of her apartment were new to her, and the interstate was nearby. If it wasn’t the aggravating roar of a truck that jerked her out of her light, restless sleep, it was the sound of a marine helicopter whapping overhead. And when she did finally doze off, Susan dreamed of Craig’s anger.
“What you gonna do?” Randy asked. “He’s snarly tonight.”
“He’s still grieving over the death of his teammate,” Susan counseled the corpsman, “so go easy on him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Randy grinned suddenly. “One thing, though.”
“What?” Susan draped the stethoscope around her neck and picked up her clipboard.
“When the captain found out you were coming back on duty, he settled down a lot.”
Susan stared at the corpsman. “He did?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was almost as if…”
“As if what?”
With an embarrassed shrug, Randy smiled. “Don’t mind me. The captain just seemed relieved, I guess. Not that he smiled. No, ma’am. That’s a recon marine in there, and those fellas are as tough as they come. No, he didn’t smile. But he lost a lot of his restlessness, I guess.”
“Well, I’ve got some news that might make him even more civilized,” Susan said.
Randy’s eyes went wide. “Thank the good Lord! Because that recon is like a caged and unhappy tiger in that ward. I heard from the off-going watch that he’s hardly slept at all.” He waved his finger in her direction. “Careful, he bites the hand that feeds him!”
With a slight smile, Susan nodded. “I think this news will help him sleep.” She moved through the doors and stood for a moment on the other side to allow her eyes to adjust to the ward’s soft red glow. A strong, good feeling moved through Susan as she surveyed her patients. Yes, these were her men, and she felt a trickle of pride. There was nothing like the feeling of being able to help another human being; it was something Susan lived for.
As she walked quietly down the aisle of the ward, her gaze fastened on Craig’s bed. Again, he lay with his arm across his eyes, and to her surprise, he wasn’t wearing his pajama top. She could see it wadded up on the deck where he’d evidently thrown it, along with his bedspread and sheet. His chest, covered with a carpet of dark, curling hair, glistened with sweat. Worried that he might still be running a fever, she rushed forward.
Her mouth dry, Susan watched Craig withdraw his arm from his eyes at the sound of her footsteps. His gray gaze narrowed speculatively. Dragging himself into a sitting position, he watched her.
“I had Dr. David call down to San Diego about your man, Larry Shelton,” she said in a quiet tone, knowing he didn’t want to waste time on social pleasantries. “He’s out of unstable critical and they’re listing him in fair condition.” She managed a small smile. “Shelton will live.”
Relief flooded through Craig, and he released a long, ragged breath of air. “Thank God,” he rasped. For nearly a minute, he wrestled with his relief—and with his joy at seeing Susan again. Tonight, she looked pale, he noticed, and her eyes had darkness in them. He could see smudges beneath her eyes—telltale signs that she hadn’t slept well. Looking away, he muttered tightly, “Thanks for finding out about Shelton.”
Forcing herself to move, to start her rounds, Susan set the clipboard aside and came around the bed to check his IV drip. “Actually, you can thank Dr. David. She’s the one who made the call.”
Craig lifted his head and watched Susan’s every movement. Her hands were trembling. He tried to steel himself against the touch that would come as she checked the point where the IV entered his left arm. As she leaned down, he could smell the perfume she wore. The fragrance was in direct contrast to the antiseptic smells of the ward, and, almost unwillingly, Craig inhaled deeply. Her touch was butterfly light.
“You asked her to make the call,” he growled, willing his body to not respond to her touch.
Craig was so close, so powerful. Susan tried to hurry her IV check, but to her disappointment, she saw that it needed to be reinserted and bandaged. “You’ve been moving around too much,” she said, trying to protect herself from his aura of fury. If only he wouldn’t lash out at her again….
Craig looked down at the dark bruises on his left arm. He scowled, barely able to will himself not to touch Susan in return. Her fingers were cool against his heated flesh. “So what?”
His gray eyes seemed to bore into hers. Her mouth flattening, Susan said in a clipped voice, “I’m going to have to shift the IV to your other arm.” She drew in a shaky breath. The IV apparatus was on wheels. As gently as she could, she removed the needle and pressed a bandage onto his arm so it wouldn’t bleed. Craig lay stock-still, and she could feel his gaze following her every move.
He turned over his right arm so she could look for a vein. Each of her feathery touches only magnified his agony for her. He tried not to look at her soft lips, tried not to think of that sole kiss they’d shared. Forcing himself to think coherently, Craig said, “You look like hell. Don’t they give you time off between shifts around here?”
Susan froze momentarily, pressing her lips together to hold back the anger threatening to bubble out at Craig. She sat down to insert the IV needle. “This is only my second day at Camp Reed,” she said tightly. “And there are lots of new sounds to get used to at my apartment….”
Craig saw the unmistakable mixture of hurt and anger in her blue eyes when she inadvertently looked up at him. His breathing became suspended as he met and held her luminous gaze, which was shadowed with exhaustion.
“Why did you come here to Reed?” he snarled, pushing his emotions back down deep inside, where they belonged.
Susan blinked, taken aback by the harshness of his voice, the iciness in his eyes. Her hands stilled over his arm. “Why?” she repeated numbly.
“Coming here was stupid, Susan. You haven’t changed at all since I knew you at Annapolis. For once in your life, why don’t you stop helping others so much and learn to help yourself? You look like hell warmed over. You obviously haven’t gotten any sleep. If you think you can keep this up, you’re mistaken. Get a transfer back to wherever you came from,” he snapped. “You aren’t cut out for this kind of stress.”
Anger bled through Susan’s shock at his attack. Grimly, she focused on getting the IV back into his arm and taping it up properly. The silence grew between them as she finished the job and stood up. She took the clipboard from the end of his cot and studied it. His eyes never left hers.
“Well?” Craig goaded as she came back to his bedside. “Why did you come here?”
Susan saw the tears glittering in her patient’s eyes. Intuitively, she realized he was grieving over Hayes’s death. Sitting down, keeping her voice low, she said, “You’re raw over your man’s death, Craig. That’s what’s really bothering you. It isn’t me!” She stabbed at his chest with her finger. “Don’t forget, I know how guilty you’ve felt over David’s death. Ever since he drowned, you’ve been scrambling to atone for some crazy guilt. Well, it wasn’t your fault!” Her voice cracked. “I know you, remember? I saw for a year how much you cared for the men under your command at Annapolis. I saw how you cared for me. Why don’t you just keep crying until you get your grief out for Hayes? There’s nothing wrong with that!”
Craig watched her start to rise again. His hand shot out. “Hold it,” he ordered, his fingers closing tightly over her wrist. “Just where do you get off accusing me of guilt? There’s no such thing as an officer caring too much for the men of his command. And who do you think you are, bringing up David’s death? How the hell do you know how I feel?” He saw her eyes go wide, but he was unable to stop the hurt from spilling out. “You talk about martyrs—well, you’re one of the best, Susan! You bleed yourself dry helping others, but when it comes to helping yourself, you can’t do it.”
“Let me go,” she rattled.
Craig held her shaken gaze. “Not until I’m done,” he snarled. “What’s the matter? Wasn’t marriage to Steve exciting enough for you? Didn’t it fulfill you, Susan? Is that why you came here? The martyr in you just had to keep giving herself away to those in need. I guess Steve’s needs weren’t enough. What did you do, volunteer to come here? More than likely.” He released her wrist.
Susan jerked her hand back against her. Stunned, her emotions reeling under his attack, she whispered angrily, “I may enjoy helping others, but at least I know who I am, what I’m doing here, which is more than what I can say for you! Who do you think you are, accusing me like this?” Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let Craig see her cry. She held up her left hand. “Just for your information, Craig Taggart, Steve is dead! I didn’t come to Reed because I’m a martyr, damn you! I’m here because I know I can make a difference.”
Shocked, Craig opened his mouth. Steve was dead? When? How? Oh, God…
With a small cry, Susan spun around and headed up the aisle and out of the ward, fighting back the tears, the hurt. She found Randy and asked him to finish the rounds. “If there’s a problem, come and get me,” she said, trying to control her shaking voice. “I just need some fresh air.”
Randy looked at her strangely but nodded his agreement and said nothing.
Outside, beneath the stars, Susan walked away from the hospital. She was gasping for breath, her hands pressed to her heart. All her emotions overwhelmed her, and tears squeezed out from beneath her lashes. In that moment, she realized so much. Worst of all, she realized Craig’s attack had ripped away the last of the pretense about her marriage. Steve had been so open and happy-go-lucky—a generous extrovert. He’d fallen in love with her the moment he’d seen her that evening at the dispensary. He’d been her opposite—filled with life, with dreams of greatness. And he’d wanted her at his side to watch him fulfill all of them.
Moving into the shadows, feeling more alone, more filled with guilt than she ever had in her whole life, Susan cried.
Chapter Four
Craig sat tensely, his hands knotted in his lap, trying to assimilate his shock over Steve’s death. The horrified look on Susan’s face struck savagely at him, making him feel small and guilty as never before. Steve had been his best friend for three years, even after they’d met Susan—up until that fateful day when Susan had tearfully told Craig she’d decided to break up with Steve.
Burying his face in his hands, Craig couldn’t seem to think clearly. He could only feel the raging emotions battering him, tearing away at his anger toward Susan and leaving a surge of guilt and grief in its wake. Even though Steve had allowed their friendship to lapse as Susan became an integral part of his life, Craig had never hated his old friend. No, never. But he was dead. What had happened?
Bitterly, he raised his face and allowed his hands to fall back into his lap. From the moment Susan had stood him up at the restaurant, his life had taken a powerful turn away from his past, which had included Steve and Susan. He’d left abruptly, hurt and angry at Susan’s treatment of him. Every day after that had been a reminder that he hadn’t been aggressive enough in going after Susan—that he’d believed in some romantic notion about friendship and trust winning out in the end. Well, he’d ended up with nothing but a broken heart to show for it.
And each day since, Craig had hardened his heart, thrown himself into recon training and buried the past, buried the terrible pain of losing Susan—a pain she knew nothing about. She’d seen him as a friend, plain and simple. Pressing his lips into a thin line to stop from crying out, Craig knew his heartless aggression over the years since then had done nothing but take him from one unfulfilling relationship to another. Every woman he met he compared to Susan, whether he wanted to or not. And none of them stacked up. None of them could begin to compare. The intimacy that had naturally sprung between him and Susan in those long-ago, innocent days was something he’d searched for but never found with another woman.
So much had happened in those four long, tortured years. Since he’d walked away from Susan and Steve. But what had happened to Steve? After Craig had left Annapolis, he’d never heard anything more about his best friend beyond the fact that he’d married Susan. Ordinarily, “ring knockers” stayed in touch—or at least word about them got around. The “brotherhood”—graduates of Annapolis—were a small, tight group, and they followed one another’s movements on the chess board of military life. He realized now that it was odd he hadn’t heard more, but he’d been so filled with loss that for a time, much of the military world had floated by unnoticed.
Steve had been at the top of his class, destined for the greatness he’d always wanted. So why had he dropped out of sight? Scowling, Craig traced patterns on the bedspread with his finger. Suddenly, he thought again of the incalculable damage he had just done to Susan by behaving the way he did. He’d seen her anguish, so deep and telling that it made him feel worse than any other point in his life. But at the same time, he felt a tiny, rebellious thread of hope spring to life.
Guiltily, Craig tried to push the hope away. Steve was dead. It was wrong to feel this way. Anyway, he’d had great hope before, when Susan had been on the verge of breaking up with Steve, and where had that gotten him? He’d had great plans to court her himself—that’s why he’d waited so long at the restaurant that night. But something had gone wrong. Evidently, Steve and Susan had made up. Still, that didn’t give Susan the right to stand him up without any explanation—without any word at all. Why did life have to be so damned complicated?
If only he could get out of bed and follow Susan. But Craig knew the idea was folly, because he’d tear the wound open again and be laid up twice as long. He looked around and saw Peters, one of the navy corpsmen, approaching. Agitated, Craig waved him over.
“Yes, sir?” Peters asked, coming to his bed.
“Lieutenant Evans,” Craig said irritably. “Where did she go? I’ve got to talk to her.”
Uncomfortably, Peters looked toward the swinging doors at the end of the ward. “She was awful upset, sir.”
Craig avoided the corpsman’s gaze. “I know!” He gripped the covers in his fists. “I’ve got to see her. Call her back in. I must talk to her.”
“Yes, sir. But first, I gotta make the rounds. There’s IVs that need changing and—”
* * *
“Do it,” Craig muttered, understanding. He wouldn’t deny the men in the ward medical help just because he’d screwed things up with Susan. He lay back, breathing hard, the pain in his chest growing with every breath he took. Steve was dead. Susan was a widow. Oh, God, he’d just torn her apart with his own, selfish anger. Craig squeezed his eyes shut. He’d seen the hurt, the agony in her eyes and face when he’d accused her. What was wrong with him?
For the next hour, he watched the corpsman complete the ward rounds. It was nearly 0100, but he was anything but sleepy. Wasn’t Susan right? Hadn’t he attacked her partly because of his grief over losing Hayes? And was part of it to stop his hardened heart from feeling again? Craig’s mouth worked into a grim line. He’d made such an ass of himself. He cared for Susan regardless of how she’d treated him in the past. And she was no longer married, which gave him a second chance. Or did it? The way he’d treated her since meeting her at Reed no doubt had burned every possible bridge. He couldn’t blame Susan if she’d never have anything to do with him again. As he lay, drenched in his own sweat and pain, Craig stared up at the darkened ceiling of the ward.
The minutes kept dragging by, and he couldn’t remain still. He had to talk to Susan! To his relief, he saw Peters finish his round and leave. Was he going out to talk to her? Craig shut his eyes and wiped the sweat off his face. She had to come see him. And he had to apologize—for so very much.
“Sir?”
Craig’s eyes snapped open. He had been so caught up in sorrow and guilt that he’d failed to hear Peters’s approach. The lapse of attention to his surroundings was completely unlike him, and he quickly rose up on both elbows.
“Susan?” he rasped.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Peters said apologetically, “but Lieutenant Evans said she doesn’t want to see you.”
“But I’ve got to see her!”
Peters shrugged. He opened his palms. “Sir, she’s upset. She says no.”
Craig glared at the doors at the end of the ward. If only he wasn’t injured… If only. He glanced up at the corpsman. “How is she?” he asked unsteadily, his emotions beginning to unravel. Susan hadn’t deserved what he’d said. What he’d accused her of.
“Well, sir…she’s quite unsettled.”
“Crying?” Craig tried to prepare himself for the answer. He saw Peters’s mouth twitch.
“Yes, sir, she is….”
“Please,” he begged hoarsely, “just tell her to come back and talk with me. Tell her I—”
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