Shadows And Light

Chapter Two

Craig bit back a groan as the nurse in the surgical gown turned toward him. The pain from the crash injury he’d sustained moved in unrelenting waves up through his body. He held a tourniquet above the wound, his fist bloodied and wrapped around the web belt that he’d called into service from around his waist to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

As the dark-haired nurse turned toward him, Craig sucked in a breath of air. His eyes, narrowed against the pain, went wide with shock.

“Susan…” he gasped, staring up at her widening blue eyes.

Dizziness assailed Susan. She struggled to breathe, unable to move as she stared down into Craig’s tense, sweaty features, his gray eyes burning with undefin[chable anguish. A hundred fragments struck her with the force of a land mine—fragments from the past, images of how Craig had looked four years ago and how he looked now. His face had always been lean, but the lines bracketing his mouth and crossing his brow were new and deeply etched. No longer was this the young man she’d known at Annapolis. This man, his face hewn by life experiences she couldn’t imagine, stared back at her through gray, hawklike eyes. His features were dirty and muddied, sweat streaking through camouflage coloring to make him look like an alien from another planet.

“What are you doing here?” Craig demanded with a rasp. He couldn’t control his wildly beating heart or the feeling as if his breath were being choked off in the middle of his throat. Susan was here. Susan! Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. Her lovely face, now matured and impossibly more beautiful than he could ever recall, wavered before him. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. The sounds of the emergency room assailed his senses, and the smells made him nauseous. Yet Susan stood before him, clothed in green, her hands held up and encased in surgical gloves, staring down at him as if she’d seen a ghost. Well, wasn’t he? Craig asked himself harshly.

“I…” Susan’s voice died in her throat. “Craig…”

Nothing was making sense. Angrily, Craig glared up at her. He tried to twist around, tried to see where they’d taken Andy and Larry, who he knew had been badly injured in the crash.

“Where are Hayes and Shelton?” he demanded, his voice harsh, unsteady.

Susan snapped out of her shock. “Who?”

“My men! Andy and Larry!”

“Calm down,” she whispered, forcing herself to move toward Craig.

“Like hell I will! They’re my men. They were hurt in the crash. I’ve got to find out how they are….”

Susan realized she had to control the situation. Craig was in shock. It showed in his eyes—his pupils were huge and black, with only a thin rim of gray surrounding them. He was trying to get up, to hold onto the tourniquet tightly enough to maneuver into a sitting position. No one cared more for his men than Craig did. She had found that out at Annapolis. If possible, his loyalty to others was even more intense and consuming than her own. Using her best imperious voice, one that few of her patients ever challenged, Susan placed her hand on Craig’s shoulder and pushed him back down on the gurney.

“Don’t you dare move, Craig Taggart.” She glowered at him as he started to protest. She added force, her hand flat against his dirty utilities, and said calmly, “Your men are getting the best care in the world. They’ve already been taken into surgery. Now, you lie here and be still!”

Her hands shaking, Susan took a pair of scissors and began to cut off his pant leg around the wound. Helplessly, she felt his icy response to her order. Why was he so furious with her? She hadn’t known he was here at Camp Reed! Why did they have to meet now?

“I’m all right,” Craig snarled, not even trying to mask the cold fury in his voice. “Why don’t you see to my other two men? They’re wounded, too.”

Giving him a scathing look, Susan dropped the bloody pieces of fabric to the floor, then quickly cut away Craig’s shirt to expose his left arm, so that she could start an IV. “Because they’re injured far less seriously than you! Now be still,” she said sternly. “We’re in a triage situation, and the worst get helped first.”

Each trembling touch of Susan’s hand against his arm sent a wave of unadulterated pain straight to Craig’s heart. He shut his eyes and turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to look at her, because if he did, he knew he’d sweep her into his arms and hold her. Just hold her. Tears stung the back of his tightly shut eyelids, and he was only vaguely aware of the IV needle sliding into his arm. But he was wildly aware of Susan’s soft, soothing touch.

When her hand closed over his to get him to loosen the tourniquet, Craig’s eyes flew open. Their gazes met and clashed. Her hand hovered over his and they stared at each other, the silence drawn tautly between them. His skin seemed on fire where she had barely touched him.

“Let me have the tourniquet,” she said in a low, unsteady voice.

Drowning in the blue of her confused gaze, Craig swallowed hard, his fingers releasing, one at a time, from the web belt around his thigh. At one time he [chwould’ve trusted Susan with his life. God knew, he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But that was impossible. She was married. She belonged to another man. Bitterly, he relaxed against the gurney, his head tipped back, gulping several breaths of air and wrestling with his raw anger toward her, on top of his concern for his men.

Susan tried to ignore Craig’s powerful hand. His fingers were bloody, many scars crossing their expanse. He’d always had wonderful hands, she thought, as she examined the gash in his thigh more closely. When the blood didn’t gush, she released the web belt completely. Inside, she was shaking like gelatin, wanting to cry—wanting to be just as furious with him as he obviously was with her. But why? Why? He’d been her best friend at Annapolis. He was the one who had dropped out of her life without so much as a goodbye.

Craig’s accusing gray eyes followed her every moment. “Your injury is going to require surgery,” she heard herself say tightly. “First, we’ll have to prep you for the general and—”

Craig’s hand shot out, gripping her by the wrist as she started to leave to get the necessary medical items. “No,” he growled, “no general. Give me a local. I want to stay awake. I want to know how my men are.”

His fingers branded her wrist like a burning iron. Stunned by his action, Susan stared down at his suffering features. He was obviously in intense pain, but the fury in his eyes overshadowed it—and that fury was aimed straight at her. Confused and dazed, she started to pull free of his grip.

“Let go!” she whispered coldly.

Craig glared up at her, trying to combat the huskiness of her voice as it flowed over him, calming his chaotic emotions, soothing his panic and anguish over his wounded men. Instantly, he released her wrist. “A local,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Let me get a doctor,” she blurted and almost ran toward the central portion of ER. Everyone was busy. Karen was working quickly over one marine and Dr. Finlay another. It was chaos as she had never experienced it before. No one could have envisioned a helicopter carrying ten marines crashing on base. She went to Finlay, because he was in charge of the section. Quickly, she explained the situation and Craig’s request.

Finlay didn’t even glance up as the surgery nurse handed him another clamp. “These are recons,” he told her. “They’re tighter than fleas on a dog. They don’t have the normal enlisted man/officer relationship. They’re like family to one another. Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Fine. If the officer doesn’t want to be knocked out, I don’t care. But you’d better tell the poor bastard how much pain he’s going to go through when you scrub the hell out of that wound for him. Get Dr. David to stitch him up when you’re done.” He glanced over at the surgery table where she was operating. “She’s almost finished there. I’ll tell her to get to your recon as soon as possible, Evans.”

“Yes, sir.”

Craig twisted his head as Susan came back into view. He tried to swallow his welling anger toward her enough to find out about his team. “Well? How are my men? Did you see them?”

Stung by his cold tone, Susan stopped herself from laying her hand briefly on his shoulder. “They’re in surgery right now,” she told him in a low, tight voice. Trying to put her personal feelings for Craig aside, she said, “I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything about their condition. I promise.”

Craig lay there absorbing Susan. Her voice had always been like good Tennessee sipping whiskey, low and husky. Now that warm, almost-golden voice flowed over him like a soothing blanket. He wanted to unleash four years of terrible anger and hurt toward her. He wanted to cry for his injured men. The powerful mix of warring emotions made his voice tight and raspy. “Give me a local and clean that wound out.”

Susan wondered where Craig had accumulated medical knowledge about this kind of procedure but said nothing. Under the watchful eye of his two teammates, Susan forced herself to remain professional even though she was terribly hurt by the way Craig was treating her. He’d never been like this back at Annapolis. In fact, she’d never seen him angry. What had happened to change him so much? And why aim his anger at her? The other two men had gotten off their gurneys and remained at the foot of Craig’s, watching her silently. The anxiety in their gazes touched Susan as nothing else could. She gave Craig the local anesthetic and began to clean around the long, gaping wound.

“The last I saw you,” she said, trying to break the palpable tension between them as she moved the gauze laden with antiseptic across his hard, taut thigh, “you were about to join the recon marines.” Susan risked a look at Craig. “I don’t know much about recons,” she confessed. She had to talk to allay her nervousness in Craig’s powerful, chilling presence. She could see the anger and anguish in his pale gray eyes, the tight set of his mouth against the pain.

“Recons go behind enemy lines,” he said tightly, relieved to have his mind on anything other than Susan’s firm, professional touch. How many torrid dreams had he had of her touching him? Craig groaned to himself and realized he was in shock from the crash, from worrying about his team members—and from suddenly seeing Susan again. He remembered sharply his vision of her moments before the helicopter arrived.

“I thought I was going to die,” he said, placing his arm across his eyes. Susan was too beautiful, too appealing for his wildly unstable emotional state right now, and Craig didn’t dare keep looking at her. Maybe if he didn’t see her he could get through this excruciating ordeal without lashing into her.

“Oh?” She threw the gauze into a wastebasket. She gently tested the flesh around the wound. Craig winced, his mouth tightening, but he didn’t groan. It would take another ten minutes before the local took effect enough so that she could begin the cleansing procedure on the wound itself.

“Yeah.” Craig grunted, his arm still across his shut eyes, “I was waiting for that helo to come and extricate me and my team, when all of a sudden, your face appeared before me.” He gave another laugh. “You! I about came unglued. I thought it was a sign I was going to die. And then, ten minutes after the helo picked up a second recon team, the blades started disintegrating around us. I saw my whole damn life pass in front of my eyes.”

“You aren’t going to die.” Susan tried to think, but could only feel. Shaken and frayed, she asked the two younger marines to please go back to their gurneys. She couldn’t stand having them watch her every move. They hesitated, looking to their skipper for confirmation, and Craig waved them away with his hand. They gave her a preferential nod and left.

“No, I’m not going to die—this time,” Craig admitted, his voice low and off-key. “But I thought I was….”

Gathering the necessary items, Susan placed the steel bowl next to Craig’s leg. It struck her, as she waited those few minutes, how lean and fit he had become. In Annapolis, he had been a boxing champion, but now his body was hard. Hard, tight and fit. She scrambled about for a safe topic—something to keep Craig’s mind off what she had to do, which would surely cause him pain. “Tell me about recons. What do you do? Why did Dr. Finlay say you’re like family?”

Craig took a deep breath, trying to steady his wildly fluctuating emotions and battle the receding pain at the same time. Why the hell wouldn’t she stop talking? Stop engaging him in polite conversation? Susan acted as if she’d done nothing wrong! Acted as if she had no conscience about tearing up his life four years ago and sending him hurtling down a path that had done nothing but create more emotional pain for him. “We work in teams of five,” he muttered unwillingly. “Each member is a specialist. I’m the paramedic on our team. Each team consists of an officer and four enlisted men. We’re dropped deep behind enemy lines to gather tactical information for our Intelligence unit.” Craig’s mouth curved downward. “The last thing we want to do is engage the enemy. Even though we have a radio, we’re often so far behind lines that a helicopter can’t make it to where they’d have to pick us up. So we’re like ghosts. We live and forage off the land, move quietly and shadow troop movements. After ten days in the bush—if we haven’t been discovered—we’re picked up at a prearranged spot by a special helicopter team.”

“I see.” Susan tested Craig’s leg again, and he didn’t flinch. Taking a deep breath, she warned him, “Since you’re a paramedic, you know what I have to do to clean this wound out. Are you ready?”

He dragged his arm away from his eyes and stared up at her. “Hell, yes!” He watched her eyes widen again with shock at his angry response. Automatically, he sucked in a breath, knowing the procedure would hurt like hell itself. But it couldn’t hurt as much as Susan being here. Despite all the years, Craig realized with a sinking feeling that he still hadn’t gotten her out of his system—or heart. The knowledge only served to make him more furious. When he saw the apology in her eyes, he managed a tight, one-cornered smile. “Go ahead,” he snarled. “It’s just one more way to get even with me.”

Get even? Susan closed her eyes, wavering before his obvious rage. “I don’t want to get even with you,” she snapped. She felt tears sting her eyes, and she looked away for a moment to get herself under control. Swallowing rapidly, she forced herself to act. Where was the friend she’d once had? The friend who’d always tried to make her feel better when she had a bad night at the dispensary? Now he was lashing out at her with anger. Well, she’d had more than enough of that in the last year of her life, and it struck a chord deep within her. She wasn’t about to take Craig’s inexplicable fury, Susan decided as she began the cleansing process.

“How you doing?” Karen asked, hurrying over to where Susan leaned over Craig’s wound.

Craig released a shaky breath when a blond woman-doctor leaned over him and smiled. “I want a different nurse,” he said between clenched teeth.

Susan jerked her head up and looked at him, her mouth open. How dare he! Before she could say anything, Karen stepped in, her voice calm and good-humored.

“Look, Captain, you’ve got the best right here. Just settle down and take it easy.” She watched Susan critically. “Looks like major surgery to me. Who made the decision to treat this injury as a local?”

Craig wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a shaky hand. “I did, Doc. I want to stay awake. I want to find out how my men are doing. They’re in surgery right now.”

“I told Dr. Finlay and he said it was all right, Dr. David.” Susan grimaced and drew in a trembling breath as she hurried to complete the cleansing of his wound. Hearing Karen cluck like a mother hen, Susan was relieved that her friend was here to run interference between herself and Craig.

Patting the marine’s shoulder, Karen said, “Now, Captain, you just lie here and relax. The worst is over. Susan, get a needle and thread ready, please.”

Craig watched the two women. Dr. David was confident, relaxed and smiling, with a distinct Midwestern accent. He liked her, he decided. Still, his gaze kept straying to Susan, who stood by, supplying the doctor with whatever she asked for. It gave him an opportunity to really study Susan for the first time since their unexpected meeting. Four of the longest years of his life seemed erased as he gazed up into her huge, and eminently readable, blue eyes. She never could hide anything from him when he looked into them, he thought, stifling a smile as he forced himself to concentrate on her rather than on the brutal pain. Not that Susan would lie anyway. But as he searched her features, his gaze came to rest on Susan’s set mouth. He vividly remembered that one innocent kiss they’d shared. He’d been so hungry to kiss her more deeply. Shutting his eyes, the agony shifting and becoming more intense as the doctor worked over him, Craig felt light-headed. Susan’s mouth was full, the lower lip soft, the corners turned upward to reflect her innate gentleness. How gentle Susan had been four years ago as he’d watched Steve bulldoze his way into her life, he remembered angrily.

Again the basic fact came rushing back: Susan was married. Married to Craig’s own former best friend. The friend who had crushed Craig’s fondest desire forever. Craig grimaced, wondering for the millionth time why Susan had stood him up on that long-ago night—that night intended to decide his future once and for all.

A groan ripped through Craig. Automatically, he gripped the sides of the gurney, the steel warm to his touch, his sweaty fingers sliding downward. Haziness replaced his sharply focused awareness. The pain was increasing by the second. Somehow, as his spinning thoughts collided with his tormented heart, Craig felt Susan’s hand grip his shoulder to give him solace. Miraculously, some of the agony disappeared, and he honed in on her stabilizing touch.

No, Susan had never showed up that night, leaving Craig foolishly waiting, clutching the symbol of his chance at a dream in his sweaty palm. Finally, defeated, he’d returned to begin packing to leave. Susan thought of him as a friend. That was all. Craig had gathered his gear, grabbed a military air transport flight for the West Coast and never seen or heard from either of them again. Until now.

“He’s going,” Karen warned grimly as Craig’s pallor increased. “The fool should’ve been given a general. This is too much for anyone to endure.”

Susan’s fingers dug into Craig’s shoulder as she felt him suddenly tense. His mouth opened to release a scream. Just as suddenly, he groaned and went limp beneath her hand. Quickly, Susan tipped his head back so that his tongue wouldn’t shut off the air supply to his lungs.

“It’s better this way,” Karen muttered. She wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “Prep him for surgery. He’s going under whether he likes it or not.”

“Gladly,” Susan breathed.

“In the meantime, I’ll take a look at these other two guys,” Karen said, turning to Craig’s teammates.

Feeling as if someone had taken a bottle brush to her insides, Susan acted quickly, although she ached to stroke his close-cropped black hair. In unconsciousness all the harshness faded from Craig’s features. His lips, now parted, revealed his true vulnerability. A sudden heated memory flashed through her, of his mouth moving in reverent adoration across her own. How could she ever forget Craig’s one intense, questing kiss? He’d been so shy around her, so hesitant and always a gentleman.

Steve had been the opposite, Susan admitted, completing the last of the dressing around Craig’s thigh. He’d come on strong, sweeping her off her feet, savoring life and savoring her. Steve had showered her with presents. So many gifts! Almost weekly, he would buy her something—jewelry, perfume, candy, flowers. His parents were rich and affluent. Guilt, shame and sadness flowed through Susan as she made the comparison. Craig’s parents were Idaho wheat farmers. He’d had little money and often sent what he did have home to help his mother, who’d been forced to run the farm by herself since his father’s back injury. No, Craig hadn’t been able to afford material gifts, but he’d given Susan something money could never buy: a deep friendship—one she’d thought would last forever.

Her heart, nearly breaking at the way her life had twisted and turned, Susan looked up to see a navy corpsman, a black youth in his early twenties, standing by to take Craig to surgery.

“He ready to go, ma’am?”

“Yes,” Susan whispered.

“I’m Randy Peters, ma’am,” he said, giving her hand a brief, firm shake.