by Zoe York
Nothing like the man who’d loved her for too brief a time.
She took a shuddering breath as her eyes met his again, and his chest cracked open in a hard, wrenching twist. “And yet I am,” she whispered.
CHAPTER TWO
February, four months earlier
Urfa, Turkey
JENNA RUBBED the heel of her hand against her closed eye as she shoved her feet blindly into her clogs. Her pager was still going off when she stood, still unsteady from not enough sleep.
It was too early for this. But this was what she lived for—middle of the night births, endless days of caring for women and children in the most desperate situations.
Making a difference.
So it didn’t matter that her eyes burned like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper or that the inside of her mouth tasted like—
Okay, no, that mattered. Blech. She stumbled to the makeshift sink in the corner of the military-grade tent and quickly brushed her teeth. She’d been in Turkey for almost four months, and she still had a lot of moments where the fact that she was here felt surreal. Working overseas as a midwife with Doctors Without Borders had been her goal for more than five years, and yet the reality was jarring.
Although not nearly as jarring for her as it was for the refugees in the transit camp.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Outside her tent, it would still be pitch black. It wasn’t far to the freshly-constructed field hospital set up in the new NATO-protected transit camp, but it was cold, and she’d only managed an hour of sleep before she got the heads-up that three women had gone into labour, and one was progressing quickly.
It wasn’t going to be a night for sleep.
If she was lucky—if those mamas were lucky—it was going to be a night of beginnings, of hope, and just enough innocence to keep them all going.
She pulled a scrub top on over the long sleeve t-shirt she’d fallen asleep in, strapped on her headlamp, and darted into the chilliness.
Milly met her halfway down the path and gave her a quick rundown on what to expect. Jenna triaged the cases in her head as they walked and came to the same assessment as the veteran Australian nurse by her side.
The most quickly progressing labour was a fourth time mom. If she hadn’t delivered by the time they got to the hospital, she would soon enough. That gave them two labours to watch over the course of the early morning. Manageable even with a full clinic, although there would be lots of apologizing for the interruptions.
At least she’d have help. Mariya, the Jordanian-British midwife who was going to cover Jenna’s vacation time, had arrived last night. She’d let the replacement sleep until the two first-time moms were closer to transition.
“I bet your handsome prime minister will enjoy meeting these new babies tomorrow,” Milly teased as they presented their ID badges at the hospital entrance.
“I’m sure he will.” A week ago, they’d received a heads-up that a Canadian diplomatic delegation would be stopping at the camp on the way to visit front-line Canadian troops at a base in Northern Iraq. Yesterday it had been leaked that the group would include Gavin Strong, the prime minister, who was quite handsome.
Jenna had never met him, but he was the Member of Parliament for the riding next to hers back home in Vancouver, and he’d had a meteoric rise to national leadership—and international popularity.
“I’ll need to get a picture with him…” Milly kept talking, but Jenna hadn’t had enough sleep to process anything other than the clinical responsibility of her patients.
She scrubbed up as she entered the delivery ward then found the labouring mom in the bed closest to the door. It was a far cry from the hospital and birth centre she’d worked at in Vancouver. Basic cots and random blankets, but they made do with what they had.
She dropped to her knees next to the woman and murmured gently as she did a visual assessment. Her contractions were right on top of each other now, and good and long.
“You’re ready, aren’t you Assala?” Jenna whispered. The woman nodded. Her English was limited and Jenna’s Arabic was basic at best, but the tone mattered. And speaking to her helped, even if the words didn’t mean anything. “You’ve done this before. You’re a pro.”
Behind her, the door quietly pulled open then one of the local nurses greeted her before switching to Arabic. A quick greeting to the patient, then she glanced at Jenna, ready to do double duty as a translator.
“It looks like she’s starting to push a bit on her own. Let’s see if she wants to switch positions.” Jenna refocused on the patient. “Assala, would you like to get up on your knees?”
As soon as that was repeated in Arabic, the mom shook her head and moaned, her eyes still squeezed shut.
“Okay. Not yet. I’m here, we’ll wait.” It was the most powerful lesson in birthing she’d learned here. She’d known this kind of patient waiting in the darkness as a privilege back home, a path chosen rather than dictated. But here on the edge of war, it was almost the only option. They had surgeons and an operating suite, but for many reasons that was the absolute last resort. There would be no rushing Assala.
There was little else for Jenna to do in the interim. She made a quick loop through the eight-bed ward, checking on the other two women, but they were both dozing, with inconsistent contractions.
When she got back to Assala’s bed, the mother was moving more, pushing her hand against the edge of the cot.
“Ready to get up?” Jenna asked, and that didn’t need to be translated.
They helped their patient onto her knees. She leaned back against the nurse as Jenna touched first Assala’s knee, then her thigh, before lifting the long gown out of the way.
First, Jenna replaced the soaked pad there with a clean towel from the basket she had at the ready. With each step, she carefully explained what she was doing and why, pausing for the nurse to translate before continuing. She crouched low, visualizing the birth field. The baby’s head was right there, and with the next contraction, mom started to push her child into the world.
“Slow, good, breathe…”
The head came out on the third contraction, the baby’s wee little face scrunched tight just like mama’s. Then the shoulders, quickly followed by the rest of the baby, slippery and wriggly.
Jenna checked the cord, then between the baby’s legs as she lifted him up and handed him to a shaking Assala. “It’s a boy!”
With a weepy sigh, their patient sagged back against the nurse, who settled in for a bit of a sit as they waited for the placenta to be delivered. Jenna kept an eye on the baby, who was fussing nicely after a lusty cry, and mama, who was moving her gown out of the way to bring him to her breast.
It wasn’t always this easy, but when it was, she said a prayer of thanks.
For the refugees, small miracles made surviving that much easier. A safe arrival of a new child was a wonderful thing, and there would be much celebrating.
It took another hour to get mom and baby settled back in bed, both resting after a well-deserved snack.
Speaking of snacks…Jenna’s stomach growled as she added a detailed note to Assala’s chart. She pressed a hand to her stomach then glanced up. Milly was already pointing in the direction of the food tent. “Go on. I’ll page you if anything changes, but everyone is sleeping now.”
“I might actually sit and eat today.”
Milly laughed. “No you won’t. You’re still too nervous for that.”
Jenna hated that she was that transparent. “I’m working on it.”
“You’re a great midwife. Focus on that. Nobody is chill about this environment, not ever. And especially not on a first rotation.”
“I know.” But it was easier said than accepted. For more than a year, Jenna had planned for this job. She’d sold most of her furniture in Vancouver, getting her worldly possessions down to two suitcases she carried and four boxes stored in her college roommate’s garage back home. The plan had been to couch surf when she
was done with this six month placement and sign up for another. Then another, and another, until her wanderlust led her home for good.
Then she’d arrived in Turkey and from the first shift, she’d felt like all of her planning had just barely prepared her for the unrelenting pace. Now her new goal was to get to the end of the rotation without having a breakdown where she privileged her own weakness over other people’s suffering. And even though Milly—and Sami, their medical director—promised her everyone had a rough adjustment, she wasn’t sure she believed them. She’d had such lofty goals for herself that the hard landing in reality had bruised her emotionally.
Deep down, she still wanted this to be the first of many rotations with Doctors Without Borders. It was just that on top of that still-ardent goal was now piled a lot of doubt and fatigue.
Maybe food would help.
Since they didn’t have a real residence yet, and were still living in tents, the local NGO coordinator had arranged for them to use the mess hall provided for the peacekeepers and visiting military personnel.
Hall. Everything here was either in a tent or a sea container. Or in the case of the mess hall, both. The kitchen was in a sea container, and the tables in an adjacent tent.
She had her meal choices down to a simple but reliable routine. For breakfast, she liked coffee, first in the crowded self-service line, then she grabbed a slice of bread and a packet of peanut butter. Fruit was at the end of the line. Today the bananas looked dodgy, so she reached for the only apple on the plate.
She wasn’t alone in her assessment of the shiny Granny Smith fruit being the right choice. Her fingers collided with a man’s hand, which quickly retreated.
“All yours,” the hand’s owner said in a familiar accent.
She picked up the apple and twisted around, glancing over her shoulder. She found a tall, broad-shouldered Canadian soldier, his mouth curving into an easy, charming smile that lit up his entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked like someone who was used to getting what he wanted, from an apple to…whatever.
“Thank you. I’d be happy to cut it in half if you’d like some?”
Sharing was a huge currency in Urfa. She’d offer the same to anyone who wanted it. But now she found herself actually hoping he’d take her up on it, even though she had women in labour waiting for her and she should probably eat quickly, because this guy was something else. Tall and broad and pulsing with a happy energy, she found herself unable to look away.
There weren’t any Canadians regularly stationed here—the only constant military presence were the peacekeepers protecting the camp—but every so often someone wearing a maple leaf on their uniform would transit through, because of the proximity to the airport a kilometre away. And with the arrival of the diplomatic delegation tomorrow, she’d see more of them, she was sure.
But it wasn’t just their shared nationality that drew her to him. There was something else, a brightness maybe, and it was like she suddenly realized she’d been deprived of water and here was a fresh stream of hot, happy… soldier? She wasn’t sure. She still couldn’t decipher military rank badges, and it didn’t help that they had a regular in-and-out flow of attaches and liaison officers from all the major NATO countries, so she didn’t bother to try to guess. Better to just introduce herself.
“I’m Jenna,” she said. “Fellow Canadian. I work in the field hospital.”
“Sean. Canadian Forces, as you can tell.” He stepped out of the food line, and she followed. “And you can have the apple. But if you’ve got time to sit and have a coffee…?”
He leaned in a bit as he said it, his smile revealing a dimple. He was flirting with her, and doing it with ease. She’d forgotten what that was like, and experiencing it out of the blue in the middle of filth and destruction was a bit disorienting. Not unwelcome, though. Not unwelcome at all.
“Company is always good,” he added, since she hadn’t answered him. Well, she couldn’t be blamed for that, she was operating on one hour of sleep and he was uncommonly hot. It was distracting.
“Definitely.” She pointed to a table. “We can sit there.”
He chuckled. Good, he thought her moronic statement was a joke. She’d play it that way, even though it came from sleep deprivation and hot-guy brain stuttering, rather than a good sense of humour.
He’d grabbed sausages and eggs and toast with his coffee.
Hot and flirty and brave.
“The sausages are pretty spicy,” she warned.
“Good to know, thank you.”
She didn’t mention that she wasn’t sure what meat was in them, either. He probably knew that, and from personal experience, having someone raise that doubt just before you were about to chow down was a definite appetite ruiner. And really, the food was cleared for consumption. It was fine.
Mostly fine.
She couldn’t wait for her upcoming vacation. She’d always thought of herself as a foodie, but life in the camp had tested the bounds of her adventurousness.
She bit into the apple and sighed at the burst of juice against her tongue. Tangy and sweet, even if the fruit itself was a bit mealy.
“Tasty?” Sean asked, his eyes flicking up from her mouth to meet her gaze.
“Definitely more than edible.”
“Ah.”
She responded with a smile that said all the things one didn’t say in this conversation. They were never as good as apples back home.
Everyone gets homesick, she’d been told. She hadn’t believed it would happen to her, because she’d longed to travel the world for as long as she could remember. And yet she’d still had a little cry after a week when the hot water wasn’t working in the showers. Another one last month when Christmas dinner had been mediocre at best and her only gifts were eBooks from her bestie that appeared on her e-reader when she synched it up before bed and an emailed gift card from her mother and sister.
“What do you miss the most?” Sometimes it ached in her chest to play this game, but not right now. Right now she was simply curious about this man in front of her, with the easy smile and the sparkle in his eyes.
“The forest,” he said without hesitation. “Especially when it rains.”
“That’s a good one. Where is home for you and this forest that you’re missing?”
“Ontario. Do you know the Bruce Peninsula?” When she nodded, he continued. “There’s this amazing trail that runs through our town, and all the way up and down the peninsula. I ran it almost every day. Now I run laps around camps and try not to breathe in too much.”
“But you still run, that’s impressive.” She hadn’t done any physical exercise in four months. Working sixteen hour days was enough.
He shrugged. “Just something I’ve always done. How about you, what do you miss the most—other than fresh apples?”
“Bubble baths.” She laughed. “And chocolate, although I brought a decent supply with me. I couldn’t bring a bathtub with me, and after a long shift, there’s nothing quite like sinking into hot water.”
He glanced at her scrubs. “Are you a doctor?”
“Midwife.”
“Did you work in Canada first?”
She nodded. “For five years. But this was always my goal.”
“It’s different, eh?” He didn’t say it glibly. It was different, and not just in the tools they had at their disposal.
“More than I expected to be honest.”
“Same for me. There’s only so much you can do to prepare for the realities on the ground.” He gave her a ready smile. “But you deliver babies. That’s pretty cool.”
And right on cue, her pager went off. Damn it. She could have sat and soaked up Sean thinking her job was cool for a lot longer. She glanced at the display and folded her bread into a sandwich, protecting the peanut butter. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“Don’t forget your coffee,” he said, standing and picking up her cup at the same time.
Right. She definitely needed that
, although caffeine didn’t do anything for the emotional fatigue she’d been suffering from lately. She flashed him a quick smile. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll see you around later. Are you here overnight? Curfew is seven, and then it’s pretty quiet unless…” She gestured to her pager. “Something happens.”
“I’ll be around. I’m here until tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER THREE
FROM THE MOMENT he’d landed at the transit camp three hours earlier, Sean had had a mental countdown going on—forty-eight hours until siestas, sangria, and hot Spanish women. Two days until he could take off his uniform for two weeks, stop being Captain Foster, and recharge his batteries. Like any other soldier on a tour of duty, he’d been looking forward to a break after three months of non-stop stress and pressure that went hand-in-hand with frontline infantry military service.
Now Spain was the furthest thing from his mind. All he could think was he had roughly twenty-four hours to make an impression on one woman.
Jenna the Midwife, who liked apples so much they made her blush.
The last thing he’d expected was to meet a woman like her as he transited through Urfa on his way out of Iraq.
Halfway through his tour there as an infantry intelligence officer, he had seventeen days of leave burning a hole in his pocket. The fun was supposed to start in Spain, not here. Not in a mess hall he was never supposed to be in.
He was only here because the Prime Minister of Canada was making a surprise visit to the region tomorrow, and Sean had been looped in to the classified information since his transit plans put him near the camp at the same time as the PM. Sean’s commanding officer asked him to adjust his leave dates to give the Canadian Forces a representative on the ground while the young, brash, and charismatic leader took his first tour of the Middle East. From here, Gavin Strong would travel to the NATO base where the Canadian Forces troops were based, and then he’d be the CO’s problem.
Although everything the guy touched turned to gold, so not likely to be a bad problem. Just an enthusiastic one. Sean’s CO had put the bug in his ear that the PM tended to expand his itinerary at the last second, and could use some corralling.
