Lindsay McKenna - Shadows And Light

She smiled. “Yes, I know that.”

“Who’s this for? Taggart?”

“Your mama didn’t raise you to be dumb, did she?” Susan countered with a laugh.

Grinning in response, Karen said, “My mama was a sharp Ohio woman who could see straight through even the tiniest white lie.”

“So will you do it?” Susan persisted. “His name is Sergeant Larry Shelton. He was stabilized and flown down to San Diego for extended treatment for his burns. He was on Craig’s recon team.”

Grimacing, Karen muttered, “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.” Then she brightened. “How are you two getting along?”

“Like cats and dogs,” Susan said unhappily.

“Why?”

Susan shrugged. “He’s angry with me, and I don’t know why.”

“Does he know you’re single again? A widow?”

“No…”

They reached the edge of the parking lot. Heat was already building on the black asphalt. “Why not?” Karen asked.

“Why should he?” Susan demanded. “For all I know, he’s engaged or married himself.”

“Is he wearing a ring?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Randy, one of the corpsmen I work with, said the men don’t wear any kind of jewelry because a glint could get them discovered during the war games.”

“Good point,” Karen said thoughtfully. Then she brightened and clapped Susan on the shoulder. “Well, don’t look so glum. With time, Craig will thaw. This is just temporary, I’m sure.”

Susan wasn’t so sure. “With Steve dying and all,” she admitted, “I was in bad-enough shape, Karen. Now, with Craig here, it’s like I don’t know which end is up. I can’t protect myself from his anger. Each of his glares cuts a little more deeply into my heart.”

“My mama always said time was a healer,” Karen said gently. “Just ride this through, Susan. No sense in striking back at Craig.”

“I’d never do that.”

“I know. You’re such a softy.” Karen frowned. “That’s part of your problem, you know.”

They halted at their cars, parked next to each other. Susan opened the door to her blue compact. “What problem?”

“Yours,” Karen said, unlocking the door of her sporty red Mazda. “Sometimes I wish you would fight back and get angry.”

Susan managed a slight smile. “Be more like you? The doc that flies off the handle at a moment’s notice?”

Grinning, Karen said, “I express my anger in a positive fashion.”

“Oh, sure,” Susan hooted, some of her depression lifting under Karen’s good-natured needling. “You just use that sweet voice of yours to call some poor guy a bastard, and he doesn’t even know what hit him. Diplomacy is really a code, and you forget—I know the code.”

With a giggle, Karen said, “As long as those men don’t realize my sweetness and smile are thinly veiled cuss words, I’ll be okay.” She wagged her finger at Susan. “You just be sure to get some sleep. You look awful.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Susan thought as she waved goodbye to her friend. The apartment she’d rented was in Oceanside, just outside the base’s main gates. She longed to shower off the smell of the ward and simply sleep, but she knew herself too well. Since Steve’s death a year ago, insomnia had been her bed partner. That and nightmares interwoven with guilt. Right now, Craig’s burning gray eyes hovered in her mind and she wasn’t sure which hurt more—the memory of Steve’s death or Craig’s anger. But she did know that tonight she’d be back on rounds in his ward—and she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit.

* * *

“Man, I’m telling you,” Randy warned Susan as she logged in for her second twelve-hour shift, “you better watch out for Captain Taggart. He’s raising all kinds of hell in there, wanting to know about his man Shelton.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Susan said grimly. Throughout the day, she’d slept poorly. The sounds of her apartment were new to her, and the interstate was nearby. If it wasn’t the aggravating roar of a truck that jerked her out of her light, restless sleep, it was the sound of a marine helicopter whapping overhead. And when she did finally doze off, Susan dreamed of Craig’s anger.

“What you gonna do?” Randy asked. “He’s snarly tonight.”

“He’s still grieving over the death of his teammate,” Susan counseled the corpsman, “so go easy on him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Randy grinned suddenly. “One thing, though.”

“What?” Susan draped the stethoscope around her neck and picked up her clipboard.

“When the captain found out you were coming back on duty, he settled down a lot.”

Susan stared at the corpsman. “He did?”

“Yes, ma’am. It was almost as if…”

“As if what?”

With an embarrassed shrug, Randy smiled. “Don’t mind me. The captain just seemed relieved, I guess. Not that he smiled. No, ma’am. That’s a recon marine in there, and those fellas are as tough as they come. No, he didn’t smile. But he lost a lot of his restlessness, I guess.”

“Well, I’ve got some news that might make him even more civilized,” Susan said.

Randy’s eyes went wide. “Thank the good Lord! Because that recon is like a caged and unhappy tiger in that ward. I heard from the off-going watch that he’s hardly slept at all.” He waved his finger in her direction. “Careful, he bites the hand that feeds him!”

With a slight smile, Susan nodded. “I think this news will help him sleep.” She moved through the doors and stood for a moment on the other side to allow her eyes to adjust to the ward’s soft red glow. A strong, good feeling moved through Susan as she surveyed her patients. Yes, these were her men, and she felt a trickle of pride. There was nothing like the feeling of being able to help another human being; it was something Susan lived for.

As she walked quietly down the aisle of the ward, her gaze fastened on Craig’s bed. Again, he lay with his arm across his eyes, and to her surprise, he wasn’t wearing his pajama top. She could see it wadded up on the deck where he’d evidently thrown it, along with his bedspread and sheet. His chest, covered with a carpet of dark, curling hair, glistened with sweat. Worried that he might still be running a fever, she rushed forward.

Her mouth dry, Susan watched Craig withdraw his arm from his eyes at the sound of her footsteps. His gray gaze narrowed speculatively. Dragging himself into a sitting position, he watched her.

“I had Dr. David call down to San Diego about your man, Larry Shelton,” she said in a quiet tone, knowing he didn’t want to waste time on social pleasantries. “He’s out of unstable critical and they’re listing him in fair condition.” She managed a small smile. “Shelton will live.”

Relief flooded through Craig, and he released a long, ragged breath of air. “Thank God,” he rasped. For nearly a minute, he wrestled with his relief—and with his joy at seeing Susan again. Tonight, she looked pale, he noticed, and her eyes had darkness in them. He could see smudges beneath her eyes—telltale signs that she hadn’t slept well. Looking away, he muttered tightly, “Thanks for finding out about Shelton.”

Forcing herself to move, to start her rounds, Susan set the clipboard aside and came around the bed to check his IV drip. “Actually, you can thank Dr. David. She’s the one who made the call.”

Craig lifted his head and watched Susan’s every movement. Her hands were trembling. He tried to steel himself against the touch that would come as she checked the point where the IV entered his left arm. As she leaned down, he could smell the perfume she wore. The fragrance was in direct contrast to the antiseptic smells of the ward, and, almost unwillingly, Craig inhaled deeply. Her touch was butterfly light.