Craving Her Soldier's Touch. Wendy S. Marcus

RPGs—rocket propelled grenades—and the threat they posed to the armed forces.

      “I think we’re here.” Ian made a left turn and shot his arm over to hold her in her seat as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a front-end collision with a huge tree that blocked the road. About ten feet beyond it lay a huge pool of dark water that completely obscured what, according to the sign on the corner, was supposed to be Ashley Court. Luckily the houses were up on small hills so only the bottom portions of the driveways were affected.

      “Good thing I wore my rain boots,” Jaci said, pulling up her hood and opening her door.

      Ian put the Jeep in park and asked, “Where’re we headed?”

      “I’m going to house number thirty-seven, which if the description I was given is correct, is that yellow colonial with blue shutters just before the cul-de-sac.” She pointed. “The one with the American flag on the mailbox. You’re going to wait for me right here.”

      As Jaci reached in the backseat to retrieve her nursing bag, Ian turned off the car and climbed out which gave him a perfect view of her expression when she lifted the heavy bag with her right hand and received a very sharp, very painful reminder of the large bruise on her upper arm.

      He rounded the front fender. “Let me carry that.”

      “I’ve got it.” Jaci slid the straps onto her left shoulder and the bag connected with her sore ribs. She sucked in a breath, her discomfort a reminder, reinforcing her commitment to help women out of abusive relationships because no one should suffer pain at the hands of another. Ever.

      Ian lifted the bag and eased it down her arm, his touch gentle, his eyes concerned. “You okay?”

      “What I’m feeling is nothing compared to what I’m sure Merlene is feeling this morning.” And thousands of other women.

      Ian closed the door and held out his hand. “Come on. We don’t have time to argue. Your patient is waiting.”

      “You can’t come with me.” As if she hadn’t spoken, he took her hand and guided her up a lawn and around the large root ball of the tree that’d fallen. “Patient privacy. Patient confidentiality.” The grass bubbled and squished under her feet. “And your leg.” She’d been too angry to care about his limp last night. But this morning … What’d happened to him?

      Ian gripped her hand and walked faster, pulling her along, his expression fierce. Determined. “Okay, then.” Apparently he felt quite strong about accompanying her. “But only to the driveway.”

      About halfway to their destination, a tall blond-haired man ran toward them. “Are you Jaci?” he yelled over the wind.

      “Mr. Lewis?” she called back, holding on to her hood.

      “You have to hurry. Laney’s chest feels tight and she can’t catch her breath.”

      Jaci started to run. A sure-footed Ian took the lead, holding tightly to her hand.

      “What if she needs to go to the hospital?” Mr. Lewis asked, keeping up beside them. “We’re surrounded by water. How the hell am I supposed to get her there?”

      “If she needs to go to the hospital, we’ll transport her,” Jaci said, confident because Ian was there to help. They reached the driveway and ran up it. “But I’m hoping it’s an anxiety reaction, and once we calm her down she’ll be okay.”

      Mr. Lewis opened the front door and Jaci entered into a small, dark foyer. “I’m here, Mrs. Lewis.” She took the bag from Ian, who remained on the porch.

      “Please. Come inside,” Mr. Lewis said to Ian.

      “I’m fine out here,” Ian said. “Go take care of your wife.”

      Jaci removed her boots and coat.

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Lewis said. “I’m not going to leave you standing in the rain. If not for you, Jaci wouldn’t have made it out here.”

      Ian laughed. “You don’t know her,” he said. “She’d have found a way.”

      He’d grown to know her so well in such a short period of time. But rather than comment, Jaci left the men and approached her new patient, a dark-haired beauty in obvious distress, sitting at the edge of the couch, her fist clutched to her chest. Despite her rapid, deep, gasping breaths, her color—though pale—was without any signs of cyanosis.