Her Healing Touch

“Let go!” Angel snarled, yanking at the knife.

The door opened.

Just as the blade became unstuck, a pain shot through Angel’s sensitive left shoulder. The shock was like a cold electrical current. Gasping, she released the blade and it went flying out of her hand.

Burke ducked as the knife sailed past his head and slammed into the door beside him. Glass shattered, sprinkling over him and the surrounding area.

Eyes widening, Angel gasped again as she cradled her left elbow with her right hand. If Gifford hadn’t moved as fast as he had, the knife would have hit him. Gulping, she sat there in the middle of the floor, feeling completely embarrassed.

“That was close,” Burke murmured with a slight grin. He saw the shock and humiliation in Angel’s face. Somehow, he wanted to let her know it was okay, that he knew it was an accident.

“I didn’t mean it—”

“I know that,” he soothed. Turning, he opened the door. One of the panes had been shattered.

Elizabeth stuck her head around the door. “Angel?”

“Aww, the knife just slipped out of my hand, Doc.”

“Everyone okay?” She looked at them worriedly.

“Yeah,” Angel mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“No injuries,” Burke told her. “It was an accident….”

“Okay.” Elizabeth frowned. “Angel, why don’t you let the sergeant help you? I have nothing for him to do, and getting these supplies logged in is the most important activity right now.”

“Yeah…okay,” she muttered, defeated.

Burke looked around and found a small broom and a dustpan. He went about collecting the glass shards, pouring them into the wastebasket in the corner. Glancing toward Angel as he dumped the last pan, he saw the humiliation in her face. What could he say to her that wouldn’t make her more angry? Or defensive? Unsure, he put the broom and dustpan away.

“How’s the pain in that left shoulder? Pretty intense?”

Glumly, Angel looked up as Gifford squatted down in front of her, his long, lean hands dangling between his opened thighs. The expression on his face had thawed, and she saw his concern. Biting down on her lower lip, she mumbled, “Yeah, I was trying to open that box over there. I musta moved the wrong way, because I got such a sharp pain down my left arm, it surprised me.”

Looking around, Burke said quietly, “Want me to slit them open?”

“I guess….” Brows flattening, Angel decided she was saddled with this guy whether she liked it or not. “Go ahead, open them all.”

Burke nodded and slowly rose. He retrieved the errant knife and began to open the boxes, one after another. Angel pulled one toward where she was kneeling, to start to put the contents away, but before she knew it, Gifford had opened all twenty cartons and was handing the knife back to her.

“Can I put any of the stuff away?” he asked, pointing to the various-size dressings and bandages it contained.

“Yeah, over there, up on that shelf,” Angel said quietly, gesturing to a row of green metal shelves along the other wall. Relieved that he was going to take a box other than the one she was working on, she gave a little sigh.

Taking his time, Burke began to familiarize himself with how the supply area was laid out. It was obvious Angel didn’t want him anywhere near her. Too tired to try and think his way out of a paper bag at this point, Burke settled for distant civility from her. Militarily, Angel was the same rank as he, though she was in the Peruvian army instead of the U.S. one. In a sense, Burke was glad of the common ground, because if one of them had a higher rank, especially him, it would have probably added more fuel to the conflagration between them. And then everything would have gone to hell in a handbasket, as his pa would have said. Not that it hadn’t already. How could he save what was left of their tattered relationship? Burke didn’t know at this point. He felt as if he was walking on land mines every minute with Angel. She might have a wonderful name, but in his eyes she was acting like a devil.

“Tell me about your people,” Burke said casually as he stocked the shelves. “I didn’t get much of a briefing on you before I left. I’d like to try and understand so I don’t keep setting off land mines between us.”

Giving him a dark look, Angel hesitated. She was standing on the opposite side of the room, putting away syringes. “Are you familiar with the Incas?” Over the years, she had found that North Americans really weren’t up on history, especially involving anyone outside their own country. She found that amazing. World history had been a very important part of her own education.

“Not really.”

“Thought so.”

“Excuse me?” Burke twisted to look over his shoulder, his hand poised in midair. Seeing the scowl on Angel’s face, he wondered what she was so upset about now.

“How much history did you have in school, Sergeant?”

“Not much.”

“That’s my point. I find norteamericanos sadly lacking in knowledge of anyone but themselves.”

“You’re right,” Burke said, putting the dressings away. “We need to widen our horizon to include everyone else.” Giving her a brief smile, he said, “So enlighten me, will you? I’m all ears.”

That slight, boyish smile he gave her, stunned Angel. For a moment, Gifford’s face had magically transformed again. The sight left her breathless. And interested in ways she didn’t want to be.

Taking a steadying breath, she began. “The Inca Empire stretched from Ecuador down through Chile at one time. The Incas’ descendants—my people—are called the Quero. We speak a language known as Quechua. The Quero live in scattered communities across Peru. There aren’t many of us left, and those that are left are looked down upon like rats or something worse by descendants of the Spanish people who conquered us.”

“More prejudice,” he murmured, realizing that some of her prickliness might be due to how other Peruvians viewed her and her people.

“Yeah, for sure.” Angel bent and picked up another box of syringes. “My village is in Rainbow Valley, above Agua Caliente. The Quero are farming people. We live with the land, not on it. Our belief system formed the underpinnings of the entire Inca Empire.”

“Which is?”

“What religion are you, Sergeant?”

“Protestant. Why?”

“Well, by your standards, I’m a pagan,” Angel said with a savage grin. “Years ago I would have probably been burned at the stake, because my belief system is an earth-centered one.” She pointed down at the floor. “You know about Mother Earth. My people believe we’re all related and connected, and that everything comes from her.”

“I see.” Burke turned and folded up the box he’d emptied, then placed it in the corner. Moving to another box near Angel, he took a risk and sat down about six feet away from her. “My pa is part Choctaw Indian, even though he goes to a Protestant church with my mother,” he said. “I grew up hearing a lot of Choctaw stories, so I’m sort of familiar with what you’re talking about.”

“Well,” Angel said darkly, “at least you’ve got some Indian blood runnin’ through your veins.”

“Is that good?”

She managed a sour smile. “To me, it is. Indians are Indians. Full-or part-blood doesn’t matter.”

“What does it mean to you?” he asked, folding his hands in his lap.

“Blood is memory, Sergeant. Through it our ancestors speak to us, from the past into our present.”

“You can call me Burke if you want.” He held out the offer like a tentative olive branch. Perhaps the fact that he had Choctaw blood in him would help her open up more to him. He saw her sit back on her heels, studying him with her intense brown eyes, her lips compressed as she considered his request.

“Yeah…well, okay…but continue to call me Paredes or Sergeant.”

“Great. How about a coffee break? Or do you get those around here?” he asked wryly. “I’m about twenty-four hours without sleep and I want to keep going today and crash tonight.”

“Oh…” Angel felt foolish. She was being very self-centered right now. Overly so. Why hadn’t she considered that the sergeant—Burke—had had a long, hard flight and was probably sleep-deprived? If he’d been a woman, Angel would have instantly considered that possibility. Angry with herself, she realized she was being prejudiced toward him because he was a man. Well, men weren’t exactly stellar in her universe, anyway—and it had taken five long years for her to get over the last man she’d allowed herself to love. At that time, Angel had sworn she’d never tangle with another one. The pain of lost love was too much to ever bear twice.

“Er, sure. We can take a break. Let’s go.” She quickly scrambled to her feet, her right hand beneath her left elbow to stabilize her shoulder.

“Music to my ears,” Burke said to her, slowly unwinding in turn. Dusting off his knees and the seat of his pants, he followed Angel to the door. He didn’t make the mistake of trying to open it this time, letting her do it, instead.

Angel gave the gaping hole in the door a sad look. “I gotta get someone over here to fix that,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. At the front of the dispensary, she saw the doctor still working on paperwork at her desk.

“We’re gonna take a break, Liz.”

“Fine. You okay, Angel? Is the pain in your arm still bad?”

“No, I’m okay. I just made too quick a movement. I’m still learning how to cope with this.” She grinned apologetically at the doctor.

Elizabeth chuckled. “Give yourself some latitude, Angel. It’s gonna take forty-eight hours for most of the pain to dissipate after that shot I gave you the other day, okay? Let Sergeant Gifford help you.”

“I am,” she said grimly, opening the outer door.

Burke walked at Angel’s shoulder as they headed back to the mess hall. It was noon, and there was a lot more activity around the Quonset hut. The ring of female laughter and chatter was everywhere.

“This sounds like a pretty happy place,” he murmured. Unable to help himself, Burke slanted a glance down at Angel’s profile. Her lips had been pursed. When he’d made the comment, they softened. She had a beautiful mouth. Gorgeous. Too gorgeous, as far as he was concerned.

“Major Stevenson is a wild woman in disguise. She runs BJS the way she thinks it should be run.” Angel opened her hand and looked up at Burke. His eyes were darker and there was a smoldering quality to them that took her off guard. It was a look a man gave a woman he was interested in. Instantly, Angel’s heart pounded—with dread, with euphoria. Confused, she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Burke slowed to a halt, as did Angel, leaving a few feet between them. He’d been caught red-handed. But then, no woman had ever challenged him on his desires. Honesty was the best policy. “I saw your mouth relax, instead of being bunched in a thin line.” He hesitated. “I think you have a beautiful mouth when you’re not uptight.” Ouch, he thought as Angel’s eyes narrowed speculatively.

“That didn’t exactly come out right, did it?” he offered apologetically.

“No…it didn’t.”

“Are you upset about me thinking you have a beautiful mouth or for thinking that you’re uptight?” He saw her eyes widen, and then her mouth curved into a devilish grin. Relief swept through Burke.

“How about I let you sweat this one out and figure it out for yourself, Sergeant?”

Burke had no one to blame but himself. “Looks like I need more sensitivity-training classes.”

“Looks like. Come on, I’m hungry.” Angel turned and strode quickly toward the mess. Her heart was pounding and she felt shaky. She had a beautiful mouth! At least Burke thought so. No man had ever said that about her. The compliment had been real; she’d seen the sincerity in Burke’s stormy-looking eyes and in the way he’d opened his hands toward her while trying to explain himself. Shaking her head, she decided the man had more foot-in-mouth disease than most males had.

Put in his place, Burke stood in the chow line with about ten other women, Angel in front of him. He noticed a lot of glances, sizing him up. Some seemed admiring, others, like Angel’s, guarded and circumspect. The noise level in the hall was high, with laughter, teasing and joking going on constantly as the female personnel ate lunch at their respective tables.

The fried chicken, dumplings and salad looked surprisingly good. Burke thanked the two women cooks, who both blushed furiously at his sincere compliments. Following Angel to a table that had just been vacated by four women pilots in black flight uniforms, he sat down opposite her and said, “Coffee?”

“Er, yeah…” Angel had forgotten to get it.

“Stay there,” Burke said, holding out his hand. “I’ll fetch you a cup.” And then he hesitated. “Unless I’m out of line?”

Grinning, Angel shook her head. “Naw, go ahead.”

As he walked away, she tried to ignore how tall, strong and confident he was. Just as she was going to bite into a drumstick, Snow Queen, one of the pilots, came over and bent down near her ear.

“Where did you get that hunk, Angel? Me and the girls at the other table are salivating over him. Is he married? Got a million kids? Divorced? What? We wanna know.”

Glancing up at the red-haired pilot, whose green eyes were filled with humor, Angel frowned. “Gimme a break, will you? He just got here a couple of hours ago.”

“We noticed you didn’t seem too taken with him. Is it open season?”

Angel knew what that comment meant. If she wasn’t interested personally in Burke, provided all signals were “go” and he wasn’t married, another one of the enlisted women had her eye on him—already.

“What is this? A man-hungry squadron?”

Snow Queen chortled and squeezed her right arm gently. “Listen, three and a half years without hardly a man around here have left all of us like horny, slavering wolves. Anything on two legs that’s male gets our attention. There’s still not enough guys in the squadron as far as we’re concerned.”

Giving her a sour grin, Angel said, “Gimme some time, will you? We’re not exactly getting along. So far, the situation’s touchy.”

“Umm, okay. Well, just to let you know, my crew chief, Tess Fairbanks, has her eye on him.”

Groaning, Angel twisted to look at the table behind here, where Tess sat eating with the rest of Snow Queen’s ground crew. Tess was a tall, lanky Kentucky gal with light brown hair, aqua-blue eyes and a wide, easy grin. She lifted her hand and did a thumbs-up in Angel’s direction. Angel gave her a thumbs-down.

“Okay,” Snow Queen said, straightening. “Your guy is comin’ back so I’m skedaddling. Just keep us updated on this situation, huh?” She grinned and left.

Burke saw the woman pilot leave Angel’s side as he approached. Angel was scowling again, biting into a drumstick like a wolf biting the hand that fed it. “Here you go.”

Wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, Angel muttered, “Thanks…”

Getting situated, Burke gave her a conspiratorial look. He leaned over, his voice low. “Is this normal?”

“What?”

“All the women staring at me?”

“How’s it feel? Now you know how a woman feels when she goes by a group of men who start callin’ and whistling and embarrassing her.”

Raising his brows, Burke leaned back and began to eat. “I thought it was kind of nice.”

“You’re a man. You would.”

“Tell me something?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you hate men?”

“No. I just don’t like that most of them have their brains between their legs. You can’t think your way out of a paper bag with that kind of anatomy.”

Burke roared with laughter. His male voice, deep and rolling, momentarily broke through the feminine chatter in the mess. Every single woman stopped talking, lifted her head and looked in their direction.

Angel cringed. She bit down hard on the chicken leg. Though she tried to ignore the looks of her squad mates, she could have killed Gifford for his laughter. Of course, he had a nice laugh, if she was honest with herself. And his entire face changed—remarkably. He was actually quite good-looking when he smiled. Unhappy with her response to him, she snapped, “I just insulted you.”

“No, you called that one. I’m finding out you like a fast game of tit for tat. I’m okay with that, insults and all. In fact, I’m ready, willing and able to go head-to-head with you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, Gifford.”

“With you around, I won’t have to, will I? You’ll keep me in line.”

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