Protecting His Own

Stunned at his aggressive and unexpected move, Sam stood. Grabbing at the overhead nylon webbing for stability, she followed him as he walked, legs apart for balance, toward the cockpit. Her heart was hammering. The captain’s unexpected move toward her was a surprise. What was he up to? She’d seen him studying her from the other side of the helicopter, his eyes a flat blue color, intent upon her. Sam squirmed inwardly but she was damned if she was going to let him know how uncomfortable he made her feel. When his fingers had accidentally brushed her hair, she’d gasped. Contact with Gunnison wasn’t in the game as far as she was concerned. But at just the right moment, the helo had pitched slightly to port and he’d swayed forward, off balance for a moment. Nevertheless, her scalp tingled.

Sam kept her distance as she followed Gunnison. Even in the cool morning air, there was some turbulence and the helicopter wasn’t all that stable beneath her booted feet. When he reached the open door to the cockpit, he jabbed a finger at the window near the dark green panel behind the pilot’s seat. “Get down on your hands and knees and look out that window,” Gunnison growled. “You need to get a gander of area 5 from the air. If you’re looking for possible sites and locations for your medevac models, it would help to see the terrain from up here first.”

It made sense. Why hadn’t Sam thought of this? Stung by his foresight, his understanding of her mission, she gripped the nylon webbing tightly. She really didn’t want to get that close to Gunnison, but he stood with his back to the bulkhead, only inches from where she’d have to kneel to look out the window. Sam didn’t relish the idea. Dressed in his military camouflage gear, Gunnison appeared even larger and more intimidating than usual. The look on his face was grim.

“Yeah…okay,” she muttered defiantly. She’d just started to step forward when the Sea Stallion pitched unexpectedly. Sam let out a little cry as she found herself knocked off her feet.

Hands, strong and caring, grabbed for her. A second later she found her face pressed against Gunnison’s chest as he planted his feet far apart to take her full weight. Oh! The mortification of it all!

Sam made a strangled sound and instantly pushed away from Gunnison’s chest. He was laughing at her; she saw his blue eyes gleaming with humor. His mouth, however, was still a thin, disapproving slash as he helped her regain her footing. His hand remained firmly on her arm as she quickly knelt down and gripped the metal bars on either side of the window for support and balance. She felt heat flooding her neck and face. Oh, God, she was blushing! Fortunately, Gunnison couldn’t see her schoolgirl reaction.

Or so she hoped. As she looked out the window, her heart pounding, her pulse erratic, she felt his bulk settle directly behind her. Jerking her head to glance over her right shoulder, she saw him kneel down on one leg, his body barely an inch from her back. What was he doing? Intimidating her? She watched as he settled the mike of his headset close to his lips.

“Look to your left. That’s area 5 coming up in a hurry.” Roc leaned over her right shoulder, his left hand brushing her hair again as he pointed. He felt her tense as he loomed over her. The slight turbulence of the helicopter kept both of them off-kilter. Every time the helicopter bobbled, he would accidentally brush her shoulder or back, though he’d immediately compensate and pull away.

The look on her face was one of anger and frustration. Did she think he liked this any more than she did? That he was doing it on purpose? Was she going to be able to rise above personal dislike of him and focus on their real objective? Knowing that both their headsets were tuned to a private intercom channel, he said, “Look, Doc, settle down, will you? Focus on the objective, the sites. Take a look down there instead of staring at me like I’m attacking you.”

Gasping again, Sam glared up at him. Then, jerking her attention to the yellow-brown earth five thousand feet below, she tried to steady her chaotic breathing. Gunnison was so damn male, and very intimidating. He knew it, too, the bastard. He was doing this on purpose. Sam could see the glimmer of laughter in his narrowed eyes as he snapped at her.

“What am I looking at?” she demanded tightly.

Roc pulled a folded map from a jacket pocket and passed it to her so she could study it.

Sam gripped the dirty, well-used map. The chopper was bobbling again. She felt Gunnison tense behind her, straightening his left leg and bracing his boot against the bulkhead. To his credit, he was trying not to brush against her, but the turbulence made it impossible.

His face was so close to hers as he leaned forward and traced his index finger over the map that Sam felt trapped. Suffocated. He was so tall, almost larger than life as he framed her body with his.

She winced as he spoke. “This is area 5. There are a couple visual markers to indicate the boundaries, and I’ll point them out to you. Out there, at three o’clock, is a radio tower. See it?”

Sam tried to concentrate, but she could smell his masculine scent, feel his moist breath near her right cheek. Blinking, she followed his index finger as he pressed it against the window.

“Uh, yeah, I see it.”

“Okay. Good. That’s your northern boundary marker. Once we fly past, you’re in area 5, so everything below is your turf. That’s what you want to eyeball. You want to look at terrain, the possibilities for helicopters getting in and out, how far each potential site is from suburban housing and so on.”

In a perverse way, Roc enjoyed the unexpected closeness to the doctor. She smelled of lilacs, and he wondered if it was from her shampoo or if she wore perfume. At this range he could see every freckle on her cheek. Her nostrils flared and he wondered if that was a sign of her displeasure at him being so close. Her eyes were a beautiful color, he discovered—like an evergreen forest. The pupils were huge and black, and if he read her gaze properly, she didn’t like him bending over her. Tough. He had a job to do.

“Now,” he said, “here’s the south marker, one of the few microwave towers still standing.” He jabbed his finger down at the map she held unsteadily in her left hand. “We’ll see it in a second. I gave the pilot orders to fly on south of the tower so you could see your whole area.”

How smart of him. Sam chided herself for being so immature. In reality, Gunnison was just doing his job—far better than she was at the moment. Trumped by his ability to focus on the task before them instead of the pettiness between them, she felt humiliated. Right now, Gunnison was being a lot more professional than she was. It was Sam holding a grudge from six months ago, not him.

As a trained medical doctor, she had learned a long time ago to disconnect her feelings while working. She had learned not to take things personally. But sometimes, depending upon circumstances, that was hard to do.

Right now, Gunnison was pushing every emotional button she owned. He had taken the high road in all of this and she…well, it wasn’t pretty. She was behaving like a fifteen-year-old girl who had been jilted.

Sam tried not to think what he must think of her. Sending him a swift glance, she saw his eyes thaw for just a moment. In that split second, she glimpsed the man, not the marine on duty. But it happened so fast she thought she was imagining it. Jerking her head back toward the window, she concentrated on finding that microwave tower.

“Yes…I see it,” she muttered finally.

“Good. Now—” Roc swung his finger in an arc “—start checking out this area. The eastern boundary is nothing but desert and sagebrush.” He pulled his left hand back and looked at the dials on his watch. “In two minutes, we’re gonna hit that boundary—I’ll tell you when we fly over it. Then you’ll have three sides of area 5 in view. The pilot is going to fly to the western boundary and then turn back to the landing zone, which basically sits in the middle of it. There’s a destroyed shopping mall there. That’s in the heart of the area you want to consider.”

“Yeah…okay. Thanks…” Sam scowled. She didn’t sound very grateful. It was a good idea to peruse the area from the air. This way, she could get an idea of where she might want her three medevac site models created. Trying to steady her heartbeat, which became faster and more erratic each time Gunnison accidentally brushed against her, she stared out the window.

This was her first chance to look at the actual devastation caused by the giant quake. For the last five weeks she’d been handling the huge number of casualties from it, but she’d had little concept of the massive damage the earthquake had wrought on the L.A. basin. Mother Nature, when she was pissed off, could really stick it to them, Sam thought sadly. Holding the map in her left hand, she focused all her concentration on the job before her. As she spotted the second tower, she heard Gunnison tell her they’d just flown across the eastern boundary.

Below her, Sam saw rolling hills of sagebrush and cactus flowing down toward the first block of red-roofed homes, which seemed to be carved from the land. After that, suburbs spread everywhere, like a colourful quilt covering the earth as far as she could see. As they flew on, Sam could see the utter devastation that the monster quake had wrought. Few homes were standing. Most were flattened totally. Red-tiled roofs were scattered helter-skelter across winter-brown lawns. Fences between homes were broken and splintered, trees knocked down like toothpicks. Sam noticed groups of people huddled around campfires here and there. In the early morning air, the number of thin black plumes of smoke showed her just how many campfires there were. Hundreds of them. Her throat tightened.

“Oh, God…I didn’t realize…I just didn’t know how bad this really was….”

Roc heard the tears in her husky tone and was unexpectedly moved. As he stared over her right shoulder, trying to ignore the strands of her hair tickling the side of his jaw, he growled, “I didn’t, either. This is my first time over the area, too. It looks like all hell has broken loose.”

Nodding jerkily, Sam felt tears come to her eyes. Rapidly, she blinked them away. Roc’s voice was low and filled with emotion. That surprised her. Before, his voice had been hard and flat—sounding like a robot’s. Well, he had feelings after all. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he did have a heart.

She focused again on the devastation below, trying to absorb it emotionally. As they flew on toward the western boundary the magnitude of the tragedy became even more painful to her. The poor were obviously suffering the same as the well-heeled; just as many campfires dotted the barrios as the wealthier suburbs, with even more people huddled around them, trying to get warm. How quickly humans could be thrown back into stone-age survival mechanisms, Sam realized.

“Okay, the pilot is going to make his last turn at the western boundary,” Roc told her. He’d watched as Dr. Andrew’s expression had gone from anxiety to obvious pain and suffering while she watched the devastation unfold before them. When she turned, her gaze meeting his when he spoke, he saw tears in her eyes.

It hit him in the heart like nothing ever had. His only experience with her had been when she’d faced him down about his injured man, like a harpy eagle unleashed. Now he was seeing a completely different side to her, and it touched him deeply. Unexpectedly. Scowling, Roc tried to protect himself from her vulnerability. It was impossible.

Sam quickly looked away. She hadn’t wanted Gunnison to see her with tears in her eyes. Dammit! Why couldn’t she be tough and distance herself from this kind of thing? Her professors at medical school certainly would be able to. Blinking again, she jerked her head toward the window once more in hopes that Gunnison wouldn’t say anything. She half expected him to make fun of her, or deride her as he had in the E.R. that day six months ago. Tensing, she felt him shift behind her.

“Okay, you got the picture,” he was telling her in a gruff tone. “Let’s get back to our seats. This chopper is gonna land pretty soon.”

Sam felt him stand up behind her, and she waited until he stepped away.

“I can make it back on my own.” To her own ears her voice sounded brittle and tinny. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to squelch her tears before she had to turn around and face her people and his men. As an officer, Sam couldn’t be seen crying. Not ever. Especially not in front of enlisted people. They had a job to do, and her crying like a baby didn’t exactly instill faith in her leadership. Bowing her head for a moment, she remained on her knees, trying to gather her shattered emotions.

Unexpectedly, she felt Gunnison move to her right side. Looking up, she realized he was creating a physical barrier between her and their crew, most of whom were probably watching them. And then it hit her what he was really doing: protecting her from being seen in this condition by her people and his. As she looked up at him, amazed that he’d do that for her, as a fellow officer, she met and held his gleaming blue gaze. There was curiosity in his expression, and something else Sam couldn’t decipher.

“Take your time, Doc,” he told her, his voice husky. “I’ve seen this level of suffering over in Somalia and Kosovo. It takes some getting used to.” And he managed a twisted one-cornered smile that let her know he understood what she was going through.

Choking, Sam bowed her head and shut her eyes tightly. It took everything she had to force down her unraveling emotions. Afraid to talk for fear of bursting into tears of sympathy for those suffering so badly below them, she simply nodded to let him know she’d heard him.

Finally, after what seemed interminable minutes, Sam took a long, unsteady breath. There. Her emotions were tamped way down deep once more. Giving Gunnison a quick glance, she whispered, “Thanks…I’m okay now. You can step back.”

Roc nodded and did as she instructed, though his protective instincts were running full bore. He knew Dr. Andrews needed a human touch. To be held. To be told everything would be okay. But he knew better than to take her in his arms. Besides, his experience in Kosovo and Somalia had taught him that sometimes things didn’t always turn out okay and that the situation below was truly chaotic.

As he stepped back to give her room to get to her feet, he watched her closely. Even though Andrews was dressed in the mannish navy uniform, her bulky flak jacket hiding her womanly assets, she was incredibly graceful, like a ballerina to him. He wanted to ignore her femininity, but found himself absorbing her into his heart like a starving animal instead. That disgusted him, because Roc knew her to be a red-haired witch of the worst sort and his nemesis on this mission, despite the emotions he had just witnessed.

As Sam carefully made her way back to her seat and sank into it, Roc continued to stand, just in case she lost her footing again. The good doctor wasn’t used to walking on the heaving deck of a helo as he was.

Once she was seated and strapped in, Roc moved forward. “My map?” he said, extending his hand.

“Oh!” Sam quickly held it out to him as he bent over her, one hand on the overhead strap to keep from falling. The instant their fingertips met, she had the crazy urge to jerk away. But she didn’t. That would look childish to her people, who were watching them with curiosity.

“Thanks,” she managed to reply in a strangled tone. As she looked up into his darkened eyes, she saw his mouth twitch wryly.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Andrews.”

Feeling inept and completely out of her league, Sam turned away, looking anywhere other than at Gunnison, who sat down right across from her. She heard the engine change and felt the chopper begin to sink earthward. Swallowing repeatedly, Sam tried to gather her thoughts. What was going on? Was it seeing the awful devastation that had her so shaken up? Was she in shock?

She didn’t want to give Gunnison credit for any sympathy. The man made her feel like an awkward teenage girl who had a crush on the star football player.

How ridiculous! Jerking off the earphones, Sam dropped them in her lap. She didn’t want to talk to Gunnison. He took off his earphones, too, his face once again inscrutable.

He’s just doing his job, Sam told herself. Calm down, will you? He’s got you rattled. He probably did it on purpose, just to keep you off balance. Get your stuff together, woman. Don’t let him intimidate you.

Sam continued to berate herself with that litany until they landed. Outside, dust rose in thick yellow clouds around the helicopter, almost obliterating the marine in the distance who held a pair of orange flags in his hands that signaled where they were to land.

Though it seemed like forever to Sam, a few minutes later the engines were shut off and the rotors stopped turning. When the blades came to a halt, the loadmaster on the flight unlocked the sliding door and hauled it open. As the dust filtered in, Sam saw a small group of people standing well beyond the range of the blades, waiting with anxious looks on their faces. She watched as Gunnison got up and ordered his team to move out. She waited until the five-man Recon team disembarked. Then she unstrapped her seat belt and looked at her own team.

“Okay, we’re here,” she told them. “Let’s go.”

As she stood on the lip of the cargo bay, ready to jump down, a hand appeared: Gunnison’s large, heavily scarred palm and fingers. Mesmerized by the sight, she noted that his fingers were long and strong looking, his nails blunt cut. Under any other circumstances she’d have found his hands beautiful to look at. As she hesitated there, unsure of whether to accept his offer of help as he stood looking up at her, her mind was filled with the sudden unexpected image of his fingers trailing over her flesh.

Discombobulated by her tumbling thoughts, Sam reached out automatically and took his hand, gripping it as she eased down off the lip of the helo to the dusty ground. Quirking her lips, she barely looked at him as she jerked her hand out of his. Moving quickly away from him, she headed toward a male marine lieutenant and a woman in a deputy’s uniform beside him, who looked like the leaders of the group.

“Dr. Andrews?”

Sam halted in front of the marine, who was dressed similarly to Gunnison and his team. “Yes, that’s me.”

He smiled. “I’m Lieutenant Quinn Grayson. Welcome to area 5.” He saluted her.

Sam returned the salute. “Thanks, Lieutenant.” She turned her attention to the woman at his side. “And you must be Deputy Chelton?”

“Yes, I am, Doctor. Call me Kerry. We don’t stand on formality around here,” she replied, as she offered her hand.

Sam instantly liked the young woman. “Me, either. Call me Sam,” she said, shaking her hand warmly.

“Thanks, I will. We’re here to help you all we can.” She looked up at Grayson. “The lieutenant will take you to your tents. They just came in yesterday, and have been erected near ours. We’re looking like a tent city at this point.” Rubbing her hands together, Kerry added, “I’m sure you’re just as cold as we are. Winter mornings can be chilly even in Southern California. We’ve got hot coffee, hot chocolate and a warm stove waiting for you over at our main tent, which is where we plot and plan for area 5.”

“Great!” Sam exclaimed. “I’m freezing. The hot coffee sounds too good to be true.” She turned to her team. “Ready?”

They chorused in agreement, their smiles eager.

Sam saw Gunnison remaining behind with his men and the loadmaster on the flight. Frowning, she said, “Kerry, can you take my team over there? I’ve got to coordinate the off-loading of our supplies.”

“I can help,” Lieutenant Grayson said, stepping forward. “Let me direct them, ma’am. You go get warm with your team. Kerry will show you where you’re going.”

Sam hesitated. It would be a relief to let Grayson deal with Gunnison and his men. “Okay, Lieutenant, you’ve got a deal. Ask Captain Gunnison to join us when he’s done?”

Quinn nodded. “Of course, ma’am. It’ll take only a few minutes to get your supplies into our storage tent, which is guarded twenty-four hours a day against theft. I’ll pass on your request to him.”

Good. Sam turned and smiled at Kerry. She seemed warm and gentle for someone who worked in police enforcement. Noting that Kerry moved slowly and with a limp, Sam came up beside her.

“Are you okay, Kerry? You’re limping.”

“I’m fine. I took a bullet in the thigh a while back. Quinn—I mean, Lieutenant Grayson—saved my life. We got into a shootout with the Diablo gang about two miles from here.” She pointed in a northerly direction.

Sam eyed the younger woman, automatically going into doctor mode. “I see…. Are you in pain?”

Shrugging, Kerry said, “Sometimes. I take aspirin and that helps a lot.” Then she flashed her a smile. “Lieutenant Grayson just rigged up a bathtub he found and brought to our washroom facility.” She pointed to a tent to their right. “He’s a master at finding stuff and putting it together. When my leg starts aching, I get into a hot bath and sit there for ten minutes, and the pain goes away.”

“What a creative guy!” Sam exclaimed. “But if your aches get to be too much, you let me know. I got some pain meds with me in that shipment the guys are unloading right now.”

“I will. Thanks, Doc—I mean, Sam.”

Sam smiled at her before turning her attention to the huge camouflage-colored tent that loomed before them. Fifteen tents had been erected in three rows. A small American flag flew atop the largest tent, and someone had hand scribbled HQ with a black marker over the top flap, which was shut. Kerry stepped forward and unzipped it, holding the flap open.

“Come on in. Welcome to HQ for area 5.” She motioned the group inside.

Sam was the first to duck under the opening and step on to unpainted plywood floor, where her boots thunked hollowly with each footstep. At the opposite end of the tent was a redwood picnic table with a bench on either side. Nearby, an electric heater was throwing out a lot of welcoming warmth. On one side of the tent was a makeshift coffee bar. On top of a half-destroyed buffet counter that someone must have salvaged from the wreckage and brought in was a coffeemaker and a number of ceramic cups, some of them chipped or missing handles. There was a name written in black marker on each one. The coffee smelled fresh and inviting, Sam thought as she stood near the back and watched her team trundle in.

“Have a seat,” she told them, and gestured to the picnic table.

Kerry zipped the tent flap shut and turned around. “Our ace hound dog, Private Orvil Perkins, has located about twelve new coffee mugs. If you each tell me your name I’ll write it on your mug and that will be yours while you’re with us.”

Sam smiled and held her hands toward the electric heater, enjoying the warmth. Outside, she could hear the chugging sound of a generator, which supplied electricity for the heater to work.

“This is really nice of you, Kerry,” Sam said, as the deputy made her way around the table to the coffee area.

“Actually, it was Quinn’s—I mean, Lieutenant Grayson’s idea. He knew a couple of days ago that your teams were coming in, so he set to work on trying to make this transition as easy as possible. The one thing he said you would all need is coffee.”

Applause rose around the table. Sam joined in. There were smiles of delight on every face as Kerry began to ask names and write them on the cups. Sam got into the act by pouring fresh coffee and passing it out to her team. Within minutes, she felt a camaraderie that made her heart swell with pride. Kerry was the epitome of compassion as far as Sam was concerned. She was kind, thoughtful and sensitive—just the sort of person Sam wanted to work with.

As Sam stood there near the stove and watched her team eagerly drink their coffee and chat with the amiable Kerry Chelton, she felt a strong trickle of hope. She also felt pride that the people of area 5, despite all the devastation, could go to this kind of trouble to try and make her and her team feel welcome. Even in hell there was kindness, she was discovering.