Anne Fraser - The Wife He Never Forgot

MEN OF HONOUR

Ex-army docs … finding love back home!

Gorgeous, brave and brooding, these ex-soldiers and army medics are back on Civvy Street. After everything they’ve seen, adjusting to life outside the war zone can be just as painful as the memories. But saving lives is what these men do best, and they always rise to the challenge. Their hearts, however, are on lockdown … until they meet the only women to break past their soldier’s defences …

Dear Reader

I have long been fascinated with the role men and women (particularly women) have played in war, wondering how I would have coped with the fear and horror.

A couple of years ago I heard a doctor speaking about his time in Iraq, when he accompanied soldiers on patrol, and found his talk riveting. A few months later I watched a documentary series about the men and women who care for the wounded at Camp Bastion, the main British military base in Afghanistan. One episode in particular, in which a nurse had to accompany the doctor into a firing zone in order to rescue a badly injured man, had me thinking. What kind of men and women would risk their lives in order to save the life of another?

So when my editor asked me if I wanted to write the first book in a military duo with a fellow author, the wonderful Tina Beckett, I leaped at the chance and Men of Honour was born.

Dr Nick Casey is an army doctor who feels responsible for the men and women under his care. Tiggy is a nurse in Afghanistan for a short tour. When they first meet, sparks fly.

But when Nick can’t stay away from Afghanistan it seems their love isn’t enough to keep them together.

I hope I have successfully conveyed the reality of a medic’s life in a war situation while keeping Nick and Tiggy’s love story at the forefront.

I would love to know what you think. You can find me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AnneFraserAuthor or on my blog at http://annefraserauthor.wordpress.com

Best wishes

Anne

ANNE FRASERwas born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse, before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication:

To my wonderful, encouraging and patient editor, Megan Haslam

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PROLOGUE

NICK HAD BEEN leaning against the wall of their temporary shelter, checking his rifle and thinking of nothing much, when all hell broke loose.

As the part of the troop that had remained behind exploded into action, he retrieved his Kevlar helmet and peered over the wall of the sangar.

‘Keep your head down, sir!’ one of the men shouted as he rushed past and took up his firing position immediately in front of Nick.

Nick did as he suggested, just as a bullet whizzed over the top of his head and landed in the wall behind him in an explosion of dust.

It was supposed to be a routine patrol where his platoon would join up with the Americans to decide how far north they should go before setting up a base.

‘Man down!’ The anguished cry came over the radio.

Nick glanced around. They’d arrived thirty minutes ago and there had only been time to set up a small receiving space in the overhang of the rock that they were using as the temporary forward operating base.

Adrenaline tore through him. This was what he’d trained for. He had to ignore what was going on below and concentrate on any casualties.

But damn, if he needed a medevac for any of them, it was going to be difficult. He would worry about that later. Right now he had to focus on the present.

The first casualty to be brought back to the relative safety of the sangar was the medic. Luckily, he had no more than a bullet graze to his arm and someone had already applied a temporary dressing.

‘I need to get back out there, sir,’ he yelled. ‘It’s only a graze.’

‘It might be only a graze but it’s going to keep you out of action for a few days,’ Nick responded firmly.

Quickly he examined the wound. The bullet had passed through the flesh of the medic’s upper arm. Right now there was little Nick could do except clean it again and rebandage it. When they got him back to camp he would do a more thorough job. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, they’d get out of this with only this one casualty.

But it wasn’t to be. The sound of gunfire increased, as did the noise on the radio.

‘Five men pinned down—Americans among them,’ Captain Forsythe muttered. ‘They’re holing up in one of the empty houses. My men can’t get to them.’

‘Injuries?’ Nick asked.

The captain nodded. ‘At least one down. That’s all I know.’

Nick risked another glance over the wall. Beneath him, about fifty metres away, was the deserted village the soldiers had been searching.

Nick picked up his bag and headed for the wall.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ Captain Forsythe snapped.

Nick barely glanced at him. ‘There’s a man out there. If he’s not dead, he’s badly injured. I’m a doctor—and a soldier. Where the hell do you think I’m going?’

* * *

Nick, accompanied by several of the soldiers, zigzagged his way towards the house and the wounded soldier.

He had his own rifle slung over his shoulder. As part of the platoon he was obliged to carry a weapon but was only required to use it in self-defence. Whether he would was not a question he chose to ask himself.

As bullets spat into the ground he concentrated on one thing and one thing only: getting to the injured man, hopefully in one piece.

He leapt over a low wall and into the deserted house, conscious of two of the men from his own company following close behind him while the remainder of the soldiers continued to lay down covering fire.

The casualty was an American. Not that it mattered. His job was to treat the injured regardless of nationality, and that included the enemy.

The soldier was conscious but bleeding from a nasty wound to his shoulder. As Nick set about putting up a drip he asked one of the soldiers to call for a medevac.

‘You’ll be lucky, sir,’ Private Johnston muttered. ‘Don’t know how the ’copter can land with all this going on.’

‘Just let them know we’re going to need them whenever they can make it, Private, ‘ Nick said. ‘Hold onto the drip for me while I dress his wound.’

A shadow fell across the door as another American appeared at the doorway.

‘Have you got Brad?’ he demanded. ‘Is he all right?’

‘For God’s sake, get down!’ Nick yelled. Was the American crazy?

Just then there was an explosion that robbed Nick of his breath. He was flung backwards as debris rained through the narrow doorway.