Nostrils flaring, Samantha Andrews looked back at her patient and then at Wes. “Okay, Lieutenant. I hear you. I’m over my head in emergencies….”
“Please?” Wes begged softly. He saw the doctor waver. Her light-green eyes narrowed on him.
“Okay, Lieutenant. Where is she?”
Callie tried to contain her surprise as the red-haired medical doctor came walking swiftly through the crowd toward her, with Wes on her heels. He had a pleased look on his face as the doctor began to examine her.
“How are you feeling, Lieutenant Evans?” the doctor asked, quickly putting on a clean pair of latex gloves and examining Callie’s head injury.
“Okay. A little dizzy…a little nauseous….”
“When did you get this head injury?” Dr. Andrews crouched down in front of Callie and examined her eyes with her penlight. She watched her pupils enlarge and constrict as the light was flashed into them.
“Last night…late….” Callie sat very still. She felt more than saw Wes move protectively to her side as the doctor continued to examine her.
Holding up her hand in front of Callie’s face, she asked, “How many fingers do you see, Lieutenant?”
“Two.”
“Good. Do you see them clearly?”
“Yes.”
“No distortion? No blurriness?”
“No…none….”
The doctor gave her a quick smile and rose. “Good. I’d say you have a bruised brain, a concussion, but nothing more serious.” She looked up at Wes. “Your lady is going to be fine, Lieutenant. Let me find a nurse around here….” She looked around, waved to someone, then turned back.
Smiling down at Callie, Dr. Andrews said, “I’m going to authorize you forty-eight hours of sick leave, restricted to your B.O.Q. quarters, Lieutenant. You need to give that brain of yours time to rest and recoup. Besides, you look like hell warmed over, and you’ve been working too long with too little sleep.”
“But—” Callie tried to protest.
Dr. Andrews was giving rapid orders to the nurse who’d miraculously appeared at her side. “Nurse Collins? Give the lieutenant a tetanus shot, sew up her head laceration, authorize a forty-eight-hour sick chit that confines her to this base. Oh, and give her a prescription for amoxicillin, a ten-day supply of tablets. Understand?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Dr. Andrews nodded. “And bring it to me for my signature.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Great. Callie was then helped to her feet. Dizziness swept over her, and if Wes hadn’t been right beside her like a protective guard dog, gripping her left elbow, she’d probably have pitched forward on her face. Nurse Collins took her other arm and firmly propelled her through the crowd to a side room. Pushing open the door, the dark-haired nurse guided Callie to the gurney sitting in the middle of the small, clean cubbyhole.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” the nurse ordered briskly as she went to the cabinet and got latex gloves.
Callie maneuvered around and sat, with Wes’s help. She gave him a silent look of thanks. His hand never left her upper arm. How badly she wanted to lean toward him and feel his arms go around her. Right now, because of sleep deprivation, the pressures of her job, the loss of so many people and the knowledge that, without her in the field, more people would die, Callie felt close to tears.
The nurse scrubbed her head wound free of blood and debris, shaved the immediate area and then began the painful duty of sewing up the laceration. Thankfully, Nurse Collins was swift and competent, all-business. She was also harried and stressed out, Callie could tell. Who wasn’t?
Within ten minutes, Callie was taken care of—a tetanus shot delivered to her arm, a new bandage on her wound and the sick leave form in hand. As the nurse rushed out to get the prescription, Wes took the chit and stuffed it in his pocket. Once Nurse Collins was gone he stood in front of Callie.
“Okay, to bed with you.”
“First,” Callie whispered, “I desperately want a hot shower.”
Nodding, he murmured, “I know the feeling. Come on, I’ll help you out of here. You’re still unsteady, Callie.”
Whether she wanted to admit to it or not, she was. Nurse Collins rushed back in and handed her the antibiotic prescription, which had been signed by Dr. Andrews. Callie thanked her, and Collins gave her a slight smile and hurried off.
Gratefully, Callie accepted Wes’s hand beneath her elbow. She didn’t even try to put her cap on her head over the new dressing. Her steps were slow and a little unsteady.
“Right now,” she whispered as Wes opened the door for her, “all I want is to get out of here.”
He understood as they moved into the passageway stuffed with patients, gurneys and medical personnel. Placing himself in front of her, a bulwark against the turmoil, he said, “Just follow me, Angel. We’ll get you home as soon as possible….”
Angel. Callie’s heart lifted at his grittily spoken endearment. He held on to her left hand and used his body as a wedge to move through the crowds. Home. How good that sounded. Despite how exhausted she felt, Callie’s heart sang. Wes hadn’t had to come and try to find her. His thoughtfulness touched her as nothing else had so far, with the exception of the branding kisses he gave her. Because of his care, his kisses, she felt beautiful and loved.
Out in the Southern California sunlight, Wes walked beside her, firmly gripping her upper arm. She was walking carefully and he knew she was still dizzy. The cracked sidewalk was crowded with people hurrying past them. The eighth day of this disaster was pushing every resource to the outer limits. Wes saw the stress on every face. He looked down at Callie as she paid strict attention to where she was placing her booted feet.
“Okay?” he asked softly.
“Yeah…doing okay…thanks, Wes. Thanks for getting me the help.”
“You’d have sat there another ten hours, wouldn’t you?”
“No…I was getting ready to leave. I figured I’d go to my room at the B.O.Q., clean up my head with soap and water, wash my hair, take a shower, change clothes and hop the next helo back to our grid of operation.”
His brow arched wryly. “You would have, wouldn’t you?” Wes saw the set expression in her dulled blue eyes. The B.O.Q. was less than a quarter mile down the road from the hospital. It was an easy walking distance, especially since the day was warm, in the sixties and with a bright-blue sky above.
“Yes, in a heartbeat.”
“Something told me you were in trouble,” he said as he slowly walked at her side. It felt good to have his hand on her.
“Intuition?” Callie managed a ghost of a smile.
“Maybe. I’ve never had it with anyone else, so I don’t know what it is, or what you call it.”
“I see. How’s Dusty?”
“Oh, I brought him back on the Huey with me. After I took Mr. Gordon to the ER, I went back to the airport where I’d left a sergeant over in Ops taking care of Dusty. He’s now back at your unit H.Q., fed and sleeping.”
Relief tunneled through Callie. “Oh, good! Thanks, Wes. You’re a real hero in my eyes, do you know that?” She looked up, to see his dark-green eyes glittering with amusement.
“I don’t think the Huey pilot was too happy with me—a Captain Nolan Galway. He was pissed off that I’d bring a dog on board his chopper.”
“Why?”
“I called in a special flight for Mr. Gordon. I used my muscle to get a flight diverted so we could get him here for medical help. At first, the pilot wasn’t too keen about being diverted, or having a dog as a passenger. He was pretty stressed out by it all.”
“So, you just powered on through, like you did to get that doctor to look at me?” she asked wryly.
Grinning lopsidedly, Wes said, “You might say that.”
They’d arrived at the four-story brick B.O.Q., with its semicircular drive surrounding a stand of California pin oaks in a red-brick planter. The building was old, from the thirties; the architecture somewhat gothic. Wes liked
the old building and now appreciated how well it was built. Even though Camp Reed had escaped the brunt of the earthquake, the base had sustained a fair amount of damage. This building had stood proudly throughout the worst tremors. There were some minor cracks in the bricks here and there, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired eventually.
Guiding Callie slowly into the foyer, he signed them in on the desk ledger and then helped her up the wide wooden staircase. There was no elevator in the old building. Marines were a physically fit group by nature, however, and climbing stairs was considered a healthy regime. In Callie’s case, because of her dizzy, weakened state, it was an obstacle. Wes tempered his impatience and walked slowly at her side.
On the second floor, he found her room halfway down the passageway and opened the door for her. This time, she’d been assigned a different room.
“…Thanks….” Callie moved into her quarters. The room was small, just a bed, a shower, a dresser and locker. It wasn’t fancy. The window had gold drapes on it, the sunlight cascading in and making the redwood floor shine. A clean set of clothes hung in the closet, and a bathrobe and towels had been set at the end of the bed.
Wes closed the door. He saw how pale Callie had become. “Listen, I have the next twenty-four hours here on base. Logistics has ordered me to come over and help them set up a highway and rebuilding program for the L.A. basin.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m due over there at 1400.” He saw her sit down on her double bed, which was covered with a bright-red quilt. “Let me help you?”
She smiled wanly. “That’s great news…they’re using your talents, Wes. I didn’t think they’d keep you out there bulldozing buildings for long.”
“Well,” he murmured, kneeling down and unlacing her boots for her, “I didn’t, either. Logistics is just now getting a leg up on this huge disaster. They’re working with FEMA, and beginning to pull in groups of engineers to begin the rescue and rebuilding efforts.” He set her boots aside. Running his hands gently down her small feet, he took off her dark-green wool socks. Looking up, he smiled at her. Callie was so tired. He could see the gray smudges beneath her eyes.
“Let me get the shower ready for you? Can you undress yourself in there or do you need help?”
Callie felt heat move up her face. Right now, she knew Wes was doing his best to take care of her. She felt no pressure from him, only this wonderful feeling of protection. “If you could turn on the shower for me, I think I can get undressed the rest of the way.”
“Okay,” he whispered, giving her knee a pat as he rose to his full height. He’d like nothing better than to undress Callie and join her in the shower. But now was not the time, and Wes knew it. As he walked into the small, clean bathroom and adjusted the shower to a nice, warm temperature, he tabled his desires. Right now, more than anything, Callie needed to sleep off her injury.
She moved slowly into the bathroom and began to unbutton her cammo top. Wes halted and placed his hand gently against her wan cheek.
“I’ve got to go, Callie, and it’s the last thing I want to do.”
She looked shyly up through her lashes at him. “I know,” she whispered, an ache in her voice.
“If you could have any wish, what would it be right now?” he asked her in a low, gritty tone, his eyes never leaving her. How badly he wanted to kiss her senseless and love her. Wes saw the same desire reflected in her eyes.
“That you could come to my room and, if I’m sleeping, just slip into bed and hold me? I could really use some holding at this point.”
The quaver in her voice tore at him. Wes was beginning to understand the emotional toll her job took on her. He would never have realized it if he hadn’t been working with Callie so closely over the past week.
Leaning down, he brushed her cheek with a feathery kiss. As he lifted his lips, he whispered against her ear, “I’ll see if I can make that wish of yours come true, Angel….”
January 7: 1900
Callie felt warm and loved. As she groggily surfaced from the layers of a very deep, healing sleep, she sighed. Right now, she felt the warm, quiet strength of a man’s body against her own beneath the covers where she slept. Not only that, but she was aware of a man’s arm across her torso, tucking her solidly against him.
It took long moments in the darkness of the room to reorient herself. Callie’s dreams had awakened her—voices calling for help from the rubble where she was looking for survivors. The dreams were not new to her; they always happened when she was searching a quake area. Lifting her hand, she slid it down the warm, hard length of the man’s arm. Another sigh, one of utter surrender, slipped from her lips as she felt the curled fingers that lay so near her breast. She wore a pair of men’s baggy cotton pajamas; it was all that Supply had had available.
Wes. It was Wes. Her mind was spongy. She was still half-asleep, the dream awakening her momentarily. Drifting drowsily, she registered another wonderful sensation—his moist breath moving rhythmically against her neck.
At some point, he’d come back to her. And now he was bringing her wish to life. Sleep tugged at Callie. How marvelous it felt to be held and protected by Wes! Her heart sang with joy.
She hadn’t heard him return to her room. It was dark now, so she couldn’t see much—could only feel the long length of his body curved against her back. Realizing that he was lying on top of the covers, and she beneath them, Callie felt an even stronger surge of love for Wes. He was being respectful of her. She’d ask for him to come back and hold her, not make love to her.
And he’d followed her request to the letter. Sluggishly, she wondered if he was still dressed in his uniform. Her hand ranged upward to his elbow, and felt only skin. It was possible that he’d shrugged out of his dirty cammo jacket and was wearing his pants and dark-green T-shirt. It didn’t matter. Right now, all Callie wanted was to be held. She melted back into his sleep embrace. Somehow, in a world that had been shattered and destroyed, his arms around her made everything all right in the midst of chaos.
As she lay there drifting between sleep and wakefulness, Callie realized she had never felt this way before. Simply being held in this quiet, wonderful way opened her heart—and her trust of Wes—even more. If only his heart were not off-limits!
As she closed her eyes, sleep pulling her back into its warm, healing darkness, Callie sighed. Wes’s soft breathing against her neck and shoulder was wonderfully soothing to her. She had never awakened with a man in her bed before, but she was looking forward to doing just that. With forty-eight hours off, Callie hungrily absorbed the gift of time given to her. Soon enough, she would be shipped out to another building, to begin the task of looking for survivors…and this time, Wes wouldn’t be there. No, their time together was like precious pearls strung on a silk strand. Each pearl was a gift to be appreciated fully in that moment.
As she spiraled gently back into the folds of sleep, Callie’s lips parted and a soft smile played on her mouth. Everything was perfect. She felt more cared for than ever before in her life. Finally, she’d found a man who respected her, who thought she was beautiful, who considered her an angel. Callie had never experienced such happiness or contentment, and considered it a miracle. Even if his heart wasn’t involved.
Chapter Eleven
January 8: 1230
Callie awoke because she missed the nearness of Wes against her back. Muffled sounds of trucks passing the building drifted up to her. Forcing open her eyes, she reached out from beneath the covers. Wes? Where was he? She frowned and slowly turned over on her back and looked around. He was gone. Blinking to try and erase the fogginess of her half-awake state, Callie lifted her wrist and looked at her watch: 1230. Impossible! She couldn’t have slept so long—nearly twenty-four hours!
Forcing herself into a sitting position, she saw that she’d accidentally rubbed off her bandage. Gingerly touching her injured head, she discovered it was tender, but healing. The swelling was almost gone. Feeling much more energized, Callie pushed herself to the edge of
the bed and hung her legs over it. Rubbing her face with her hands, she realized she felt no dizziness. In fact, her head felt fine, just a little sensitive.
Gazing around the room as the light poured through the window Callie missed Wes. Had she been dreaming he’d been here? Grimacing, Callie muttered, “Come on, Evans, get up. Have another shower. Where you’re going in a couple days, there ain’t no such thing….”
Trudging toward the bathroom, Callie tried to straighten her rumpled pajamas. The light-green, cotton men’s p.j.s certainly weren’t sexy looking. On the contrary! But she was grateful she had anything clean to wear at all. Now for a good, hot shower and shampoo…What a heavenly gift.
As she emerged from the shower, a pale-green towel over her clean, damp hair, Callie heard a soft knock at her door. Frowning, she looked at the clock on the dresser. It was 1300. Pulling the white fleece robe that hung to her ankles around her, she walked toward it. Who could it be? Opening the door, she smiled.
“Wes!” He stood there in his desert cammos, his cap low on his brow, his green eyes narrowed. In his hands he held an aluminum tray with a large white ceramic bowl on it, along with a mug of black coffee and a lot of soda crackers. His face thawed as he gazed down at her.
“You’re up. Hungry?” He lifted the tray toward her. “Chicken soup, Callie. I got the gunny who runs the chow hall tent down below to make up something special for you.”
Touched, she moved aside. “Come in, Wes.” Her heart tugged as he gave her a tender, intimate smile. Had she been imagining things or had he really slept with her last night? Callie wasn’t sure at all. It was an embarrassing situation to be in. Touching the towel on her head, she quickly closed the door and scrubbed her hair with it, avoiding the injured area.
“Put it on the bed, will you? I just got out of the shower. I’ll be only a moment….” She disappeared back inside the bathroom in search of a comb.
The Heart Beneath Page 17
