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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.
