As she tried to squeeze past Tom, he gently pushed her back behind him.
“You’re confused, Ben.” All amusement had evaporated from Tom’s voice now. “Natasha isn’t your wife, but she will be mine. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. I was hoping you’d stand up for me as my best man.”
The gun wavered in the air, making everyone freeze in place. “She’s my wife, and I won’t have you or anyone else take her from me. I’m the one who saved her and brought her here. She belongs to me.”
“Ben, my man, Angus is right. You aren’t making any sense.” Tom took a step toward his friend. “We all know you were the one to get Natasha out of Germany, but that doesn’t mean you own her.” He took another small step.
“I have the paperwork to prove it,” Ben declared, his aim back to being precisely focused on Tom. “There’s a marriage certificate at home in my safe. Now move aside and allow me access to my wife.”
“I can’t do that,” Tom said gently. “You’re waving a gun around, and I’ve got to say, I’m a wee bit worried you’ll lose control of it. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt accidentally, now, would we?” He’d managed to get two steps closer to his friend as he talked.
“I’m serious,” Ben told him. “I will shoot you if you don’t get out of my way and leave my wife alone.”
“Aye, I can see you’re serious.” Another step forward and Tom was almost within reaching distance of Ben.
“Don’t do it,” Natasha said softly, speaking to Tom.
“I don’t want to do it,” Ben snapped. “But he’s forcing my hand by trying to take you. He betrayed me. They all did.” His gun swept to the right as he gestured to the rest of the people in the room.
That’s when Tom made a grab for the gun.
Screams rang out. Chairs crashed to the ground as people fled or hid. A child cried in its mother’s arms.
And suddenly, Natasha was back on the Eastern Front.
As Ben and Tom wrestled for control of the weapon, she heard only machine-gun fire. Bombs fell, and the building rocked. The wailing and screaming grew louder, making her cover her ears. And smoke, so much smoke, burned her eyes and made her gasp desperately for air.
“Get down,” she screeched the warning. “We’re under attack. Take cover.”
Tom.
She had to get to Tom.
A gunshot went off like a cannon beside her head. Natasha didn’t think. She merely reacted, throwing herself at Tom and taking him to the ground.
“Where are you hurt?” To protect him, she tried to cover his huge body with her much smaller one. “Where’s the wound? We must get help. Somebody help!”
“Nat.” An arm wrapped around her, firm and tight. “Nat,” the voice crooned. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You’re in Scotland, and this isn’t the war. The war’s over; it’s all over.”
“Where are you shot?” Natasha frantically ran her hands over every inch of Tom she could reach, searching for blood.
“It wasn’t me. I wasn’t shot.”
A hug smothered her so tightly it felt as if her bones might snap. A large body rocked her. Soothed her. Cooed to her.
And slowly, gradually, other sounds penetrated the fog of confusion and panic within her mind.
“He’ll need the hospital.” Fear sounded in the voice. “Bring the car around. We’ll take him ourselves. Archie, you keep pressure on the wound.”
All at once, the present came at her like a train through a tunnel, steamrolling right over the past.
“Ben?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, love.” Tom still held her tight, both of them lying on the cold church floor. “The gun went off.”
“I need to see.” She shoved away from him and scrambled across the floor to Ben.
He lay unconscious, blood pooling at his side.
“Move,” she commanded. “I have medical training.”
“Aye,” a voice said. “We all got some training during the war; we know what we’re doing.”
“No.” Natasha’s military training took over. She was back in charge once again, and she would not tolerate insubordination. “You don’t have my training for dealing with injuries sustained during combat situations. Move aside and let me do my job. Now!”
She shoved her way past the man blocking her and pulled aside Ben’s coat and shirt to examine the wound. “It’s gone through the flesh here. I don’t think it’s hit anything vital, but he’s bleeding a lot.”
A hand came to rest on her shoulder and squeezed. “What do you need?”
She relaxed at the sound of Tom’s voice. “I’ll need towels, a needle and some thread, a candle, bandages and dressings, and something to sterilize the wound.”
“You heard her,” Tom said, causing people to start running.
“I need you to apply pressure to his wound, front and back.” She moved aside for Tom. “You’re stronger than I am, and we need to stop the bleeding.” Someone thrust a hand towel at her, and she grabbed it gratefully. “Tom, use this to help stem the flow.”
As he took the towel from her, others dashed back into the room.
“I have the vodka,” the barman said.
“Good.” She took the bottle. “Move your hands while I disinfect the wound. We’ll have to hold him down, this will hurt.”
Tom secured Ben on his injured side while two burly men fell to their knees opposite her. One put a restraining arm across his chest, the other pinned his legs.
Natasha removed the towel and liberally doused the wound, front and back, with the alcohol.
Ben shot back to consciousness with a loud howl of agony, and the men had to fight to keep him down.
“Stay still,” Natasha told him. “You’ve been shot, and we have to disinfect the wound.”
“Tasha?” Ben seemed to have difficulty focusing on her. “I’m sorry, Tasha. I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” she soothed. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you help.”
“I never meant…” His back arched from pain as she cleaned his wounds. “You, Tom, you’re perfect for each other. I came… I came to give him the gun. A gift. Everything’s all mixed up in my head. I think I’m here, and then I’m gone.” Tears ran down the sides of his face, and the men looked away. Someone muffled a sob. “I’m sorry, Tasha.”
“I know.” She forced a smile for him. “We both do, don’t we, Tom?”
“Aye.” Tom gave his friend an emotion-filled grin. “To be honest, I’m a wee bit relieved to see you can be an idiot like the rest of us.”
“I need to stitch these wounds,” she told Ben. “This is going to hurt.”
“Everything hurts.” Ben rested his head back on the floor and closed his eyes, tears still rolling down his face, and Natasha knew he wasn’t only talking about the gunshot wound. The war had torn Ben apart and he was suffering.
“Needle and thread.” A young girl appeared beside Natasha.
“I have a candle.” A boy held one out to her.
“Light the candle and pass the needle through the flame several times to sterilize it,” Natasha ordered before lowering her voice to speak to Tom. “Hold him tight. This will be much worse than the vodka, and he can’t move while I’m putting in stitches.”
“You concentrate on fixing him up, and we’ll take care of the rest.” Tom leaned into her and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“Here’s the needle.” The young girl held it out to her.
“Spasibo.” The word slipped out, and she stilled, hoping no one had noticed she’d spoken in Russian. It was a silly slipup brought on by the stress of the situation. One she couldn’t afford to repeat. She wiped her forehead with her arm and took a deep breath. “I need more light.”
“There’s a lamp in my study,” the vicar said.
“Ben,” Natasha said. “I’m going to stitch your front first.”
He nodded his head once to let her know he’d heard.
“I’ll need more thread soon,” she said to
the crowd.
“We’ll sort it,” the mayor said. “You concentrate on what you’re doing.”
Natasha’s hands remained steady despite a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. As a lamp was moved into position beside her, she lifted the towel from the wound. Then, with one last glance at the men holding Ben to ensure they were ready, she started sewing his skin back together.
At the first prick of the needle, Ben’s body turned wooden, and a strangled cry forced its way through his clenched jaw.
“You’re doing great,” Tom told him. “This won’t take long, and you’ll have a fine scar to show the lassies when we’re done.”
Blood ran over Natasha’s fingers and hands, making her grip on the needle slip.
“Someone fetch a cloth,” Tom called out. “Natasha needs to wipe her hands.”
She dried off her hands using the offered cloth and patted away the blood around the wound before carrying on. That rhythm continued—stitch, wipe, stitch—until she’d sealed both wounds with tight, precise stitches.
“How are you, Ben?” She reached for the bandages.
“Alive,” he spat out, sweat dripping into his eyes from his forehead. His skin was a desperate shade of gray and he was shivering.
“Alive is good,” Tom said, sounding relieved.
“Very good,” Natasha agreed as she bandaged Ben’s side. “We’ll need blankets. We have to keep him warm.”
Yet again, someone in the crowd went running at her words. Doing what little they could to help.
“You have done this before,” Tom whispered with admiration as he watched her dress the wound. “Those stitches are perfect.”
Swallowing down her anxiety, Natasha gazed deep into his beloved eyes and gave him the truth. “I had to sew up several of my comrades when they were injured during battle on the Eastern Front. I learned how to give emergency medical care from the Soviet military. It was compulsory training before they allowed us to take our places with our air squadrons. My job was to bomb the Nazis during the night. I was a pilot.”
He reached out to brush her hair off her face, his hands far too gentle to belong to a man his size. “I always thought there was something special about you, Nat. Now I realize I was wrong. It’s not only something. It’s everything.”
Natasha’s heart melted into a puddle within her.
“Ben!” came a terrified shout from the doorway as his housekeeper dashed into the room. She fell to her knees beside Natasha and took Ben’s hand. “What have you gone and done now?”
The relief at seeing Anne was clear on Ben’s face. “I’ve made a right fool of myself,” he said making Anne cry.
“It’ll be all right, lass.” The mayor awkwardly patted the housekeeper’s shoulder. “We’ll keep a close eye on him now Natasha’s fixed him up. Irene? Set up a roster of volunteers to take turns watching over Ben until we can get the doctor out here.”
Anne cleared her throat. “I’ve already called him, he’s coming tomorrow.” She kept a tight hold on Ben’s hand as he drifted off to sleep. Exhausted from the pain and trauma.
“What did he mean about you being married?” the mayor asked Natasha.
She stilled, but Anne answered before she could. “Last week, he was convinced I was his wife. That’s one of the reasons I called the doctor.”
The mayor scratched his head. “He said there was a marriage certificate.”
“Aye,” Anne said. “And today, he thought the pigeons were spying on him for the Nazis.”
With a bark of relieved laughter, the mayor wandered off to check on plans for taking care of Ben. The housekeeper caught Natasha’s eye and gave her a smile, along with the slightest of nods, making it clear that their secret was safe with her.
“I want to go home,” Natasha said, suddenly bone weary.
Tom stood and reached out a hand to her. “Come on then, I’ll walk you.”
As she got to her feet, she noticed her wonderful new coat was saturated with Ben’s blood. It was one disappointment too many, and Natasha burst into tears. “My coat,” she sobbed.
Tom enfolded her in his arms. “I’ll get you another one.”
“How?” It was hopeless, he’d used all his saved clothing rations on the one she wore.
“I’m resourceful.” He kissed her head. “And motivated. Plus, I need to keep you safe and warm until our wedding.”
“Only until then?” She snuggled into him, still crying but not caring who might be watching or what they thought.
“No,” he whispered. “For the rest of our lives.”
Then, right there, in front of everyone, Tom kissed her and made the world disappear.
36
Brodie had returned to the conference room, tight-lipped and furious after talking with Catherine. He’d tossed the keys of his SUV to Katya and tersely told her he was going for a walk. To clear his head. All Katya and Lawrence could assume was that his meeting hadn’t gone well.
With no other option but to take his car and wait for Brodie to calm down, Katya headed back to his house. Which was how she ended up standing in the doorway of his living room, wondering what her parents were doing there.
By the looks of it, her mother was going through wedding magazines with Denise, while her father napped in the corner of a sofa. With his long legs stretched out in front of him, he had his arms folded over his chest, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was softly snoring.
He also still wore his funeral tartan.
“There she is.” Her mother bounced to her feet when she spotted Katya. “That dress looks lovely on you.” She nudged Katya’s dad awake with the toe of her shoe. “Doesn’t she look pretty in a dress? Much better than those jeans she lives in.”
Her dad’s eyes flew open. “I’m awake,” he barked.
“The dress looks great.” Denise came over to give Katya a much-needed hug. “Definitely prettier on you than on me. Now, tell me how the meeting went. I’d rather talk about that than the dress.” She peered into the hallway. “Where’s Brodie?”
“He needed a”—she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers—“walk to clear his head.”
“Oh.” Denise gave her a smile filled with pity. “It went well then.”
“Sit down,” her mother urged as she led Katya over to a sofa. “Tell us everything. Bain,” she called, “be a darling, and make us some tea.”
“I live to serve,” Bain called back.
Whether that meant they were getting tea, Katya didn’t know. She also wasn’t sure why Bain wasn’t at work with the rest of his brothers, and then her eyes landed on Denise.
“Please tell me you haven’t been hanging out here alone with Bain.”
“Nope, he only came home half an hour ago. Said he had some files to go through, and he might as well do it here.” She preened. “He also said the view was better here than at the office.”
“You’re playing with fire,” Katya warned. As usual, her words fell on deaf ears.
“Enough about Bain.” Her mother stroked Katya’s hair. “We’re dying to know what happened with the lawyers.”
Katya sank into the sofa with a sigh. “It didn’t go well. I don’t think there’s any way to stop Catherine from getting her grubby hands on Ben’s gift—even if we could afford a lengthy court battle to fight for it.” She blinked back sudden tears. “I think we’re going to lose the land.”
“Oh, my wee darling.” Her mother sat beside Katya and pulled her into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”
Katya sniffed, inhaling her mother’s floral scent and finding comfort in it. “So am I.”
Delia leaned away from her and brushed a stray tear from Katya’s cheek. “This is horrible, and it’s undoubtedly a setback, but it’s nothing you two can’t overcome together. That’s the most important thing in all of this. At least you have Brodie.”
Katya caught Denise’s sympathetic smile and almost started crying all over again. At some point soon, she’d
have to tell her parents she didn’t have Brodie either. The news would devastate her mother.
Her father cleared his throat, appearing uncomfortable in the face of female emotion. “Do you want me to have a talk with Kitty?”
Katya held out a hand to him, which he readily took. “I appreciate the offer, Dad, I just don’t think it’d make any difference.” Plus, he was still sporting a black eye from his fight with Joe. It would be best if he didn’t have to deal with a gunshot wound as well, and Catherine Baxter did delight in using her rifle against unwelcome guests.
Her dad squeezed her hand. “If you change your mind, let me know. Hell, I could even drag Joe along for backup. I’m sure we can put our differences aside for the greater good.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
To her surprise, Bain sauntered into the living room at that moment, carrying a tray full of mugs, a teapot, milk and sugar.
“You have a tray?” Katya was genuinely shocked. “And a teapot?”
“Of course not,” her mother said. “I brought them with me.”
“What else would you take on a visit to your daughter?” Bain said with a straight face.
“You know?” Her mother considered him. “I’ve never been able to tell when you’re mocking me.”
His smile could have charmed the pants off the queen. “Would I dare?”
To Katya’s disgust, her mother blushed, and her father made a territorial growling noise. Bain just sauntered back out of the room, looking cocky as hell.
“Your mother has something she thought might cheer you up.” Denise waggled her eyebrows at Katya, setting off all kinds of internal alarms.
“I almost forgot.” Her mother reached down beside the sofa and pulled out the suitcase containing Natasha’s wedding dress.
“You’re giving it to me for the museum?” She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that, without Ben’s land, there would be no museum.
“Don’t be silly,” her mother said. “I thought we’d try it on to see what alterations it needs. Denise is great with a needle and thread, and I’m not so bad myself. Between us, we can make you look a million dollars. This will be fun and will help take your mind off all the things out of your control. You’ll see.”
Come Fly With Me Page 27
