Dianne Drake - Tortured by Her Touch

Back in the day, when I was actively pursuing a nursing career, I worked at the Veterans’ Hospital. The patients I was fortunate enough to serve were a wholly amazing and heroic group of men and women. It always amazed me to watch them fight their battles with such courage.

When I was asked to write this book I knew immediately where my setting had to be. It was an honour to pay tribute to the brave soldiers who had once been under my care. Especially in the persona of Marc Rousseau, a doctor who comes home from the war badly damaged. My story is inspired by two people I know—people who fell in love despite great obstacles. David is a paraplegic who married his nurse—an inspiring story because the disability was never part of their relationship. True love sees no boundaries.

My heroine, Anne, never sees the disability in the man she loves. All she wants to do is encourage him—the way all people in love want to encourage each other. It’s a story of two people coming to terms with love , not disability.

I’d like to thank Mills and Boon for giving me the opportunity to show that love can shine through adversity.

Wishing you health and happiness …

Dianne

PS Please feel free to email me at

DianneDrake@earthlink.netor connect to my Facebook page or Twitter account through links posted to my website at dianne-drake.com

Now that her children have left home, DIANNE DRAKEis finally finding the time to do some of the things she adores—gardening, cooking, reading, shopping for antiques. Her absolute passion in life, however, is adopting abandoned and abused animals. Right now Dianne and her husband, Joel, have a little menagerie of three dogs and two cats, but that’s always subject to change. A former symphony orchestra member, Dianne now attends the symphony as a spectator several times a month and, when time permits, takes in an occasional football, basketball or hockey game.

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Two brothers, divided by conflict, meet the women who will change their lives … for ever!

Army medics Marc and Nick Rousseau were at the top of their field when they were caught in an IED explosion in Afghanistan that left Marc paralysed and Nick unscathed. Now out of the army, the estranged brothers are on opposite sides of the country and struggling to put the past behind them … until they each meet a woman who challenges them in unimaginable ways.

Now, as these generous and caring women open the brothers’ eyes to new worlds of possibility, can Marc and Nick finally forgive the past and reclaim the bond they once shared?

To the soldiers

at the W. 10th St. Veterans Administration Hospital and the men and women who care for them.

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author Now that her children have left home, DIANNE DRAKE is finally finding the time to do some of the things she adores—gardening, cooking, reading, shopping for antiques. Her absolute passion in life, however, is adopting abandoned and abused animals. Right now Dianne and her husband, Joel, have a little menagerie of three dogs and two cats, but that’s always subject to change. A former symphony orchestra member, Dianne now attends the symphony as a spectator several times a month and, when time permits, takes in an occasional football, basketball or hockey game.

Title Page Tortured by Her Touch Dianne Drake www.millsandboon.co.uk

Introduction ARMY DOCS Two brothers, divided by conflict, meet the women who will change their lives … for ever! Army medics Marc and Nick Rousseau were at the top of their field when they were caught in an IED explosion in Afghanistan that left Marc paralysed and Nick unscathed. Now out of the army, the estranged brothers are on opposite sides of the country and struggling to put the past behind them … until they each meet a woman who challenges them in unimaginable ways. Now, as these generous and caring women open the brothers’ eyes to new worlds of possibility, can Marc and Nick finally forgive the past and reclaim the bond they once shared?

Dedication To the soldiers at the W. 10th St. Veterans Administration Hospital and the men and women who care for them.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

“AT FIRST THERE was nothing. I was running across the field, going after my brother Nick, who’d been given direct orders not to be out there, but had recklessly gone to rescue someone, and the next thing …”

Dr. Marc Rousseau swallowed hard and closed his eyes, as if trying to remember the day that had forever changed his life. Or destroyed it, depending upon which point of view you preferred. “He’d gone to rescue a buddy, and in the end he rescued me. Nick, the irresponsible one, could have gotten us both killed. He shouldn’t have done it.”

It was always there, always on his mind, if not on the edges, then running straight into it. That fateful day, as some might call it. He called it that day from hell. “It didn’t trip immediately, so I wasn’t directly on it. Thank God for that. But in the blink of an eye I was cold and hot at the same time. With these weird sensations. I mean, I knew right away there was pain, but I was so distanced from my body at that exact second I wasn’t even relating that the injury had happened to me. And in my mind all I could do was think, I need to help someone. I’m a doctor. I’ve got to go help someone.

“It probably took me a good two minutes of lying out there on the battlefield before I realized I was the one who needed help. That I was the one who’d sustained the injury. The one who was screaming.”

He picked up the glass of iced water sitting on the desk of the chief of staff and took a drink. “The hell of it was, even after I knew I’d been hit, I still had to be told. My body may have known it, but my mind wouldn’t accept that my body gave in so easily. All I wanted to do was get back out there in the field and do what I was supposed to do, but I couldn’t move, except for wiggling around in the dirt. And the blood … there was so much of it, but it couldn’t have been mine. There was nothing inside me that allowed for the possibility that I was wounded. After all, I was the medic, a healer who’d volunteered to be there, not a soldier in the real sense of the word.