Resisting Her Commander Hero

by Lucy Ryder

  “Oh…uh… I’m not sure—”

  “Of course you can see her,” Nancy announced with a bright smile. “She’s in Room Three.”

  Nate thanked her and headed through the swing doors separating the waiting area from the examination rooms, and nearly ploughed into the small figure emerging. Paige Carlyle uttered a startled squeak and backed into the trolley beside the door. She would have gone flying if he hadn’t shot out a hand and caught her.

  “Hey, careful there, Dr. P.”

  “Nate? Oh, thank God you’re here.” Tears pooled in her large hazel eyes, turning his heart to mush and making his gut clench.

  Man, he hated it when women cried. “What’s wrong? Is it bad? How is she?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and blinked rapidly a few times until her eyes cleared. “Well…” She gave a ragged laugh. “I swear when people say she has nine lives they aren’t kidding but—”

  Unable to wait any longer, Nate gently nudged her aside and shoved open the door, coming to an abrupt halt when he found Frankie sitting on the bed, covered in soot, her hair standing out around her blackened face like she’d stuck her finger into a socket.

  An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth and the only color in her face was the startling green of her eyes. They were red-rimmed and a little glazed.

  She looked as though she’d been pulled out through a chimney—backward. But at least she was breathing. Well, sort of, he amended when she broke off sucking in clean air to hack up half a lung.

  The ER nurse finished setting up a drip and sent her a concerned look. “Take it easy, Frankie.”

  Nate swept his gaze quickly over Frankie to check for injuries and when he got to her feet, which were wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, he sucked in a sharp breath.

  The next instant he was abruptly sucked back into a time and place that had no bearing on the here and now; a place filled with the acrid smell of burning, mingled with dust and blood, sounds of the dying slowly filling his ringing ears.

  As though she knew, Paige touched his arm, yanking him back to the present so fast his head spun and his gut heaved.

  Every muscle in his body tightened.

  “Don’t freak out,” she murmured, briskly rubbing his back. “It looks a lot worse than it is. She cut her feet on some broken glass, that’s all.”

  The back of Nate’s skull tightened as he struggled to keep from being sucked right back into the battle that had taken the lives of two of his crew and left another an amputee.

  “What the hell, Frankie?” he demanded hoarsely, bringing up both hands to rub his palms over his face, hoping no one had caught that flashback. Hoping no one saw the fine tremor in his fingers or the fact that he wanted to march over there and yank her into his arms—prove that she really was okay.

  Her reply was to roll her eyes and give a disgusted snort as though he was an idiot, and the impulse changed to wanting to shake her for scaring the life out of him.

  “Of course I’m fine,” she croaked hoarsely. “A little singed, that’s all.” She coughed again and tried to hide a wince, but Nate wasn’t fooled in the least. She was hurting from last night or this afternoon or both.

  “Singed? Is that why you’re running around in your underwear?”

  “My pajama pants caught fire so I ditched them.”

  His ears rang. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Smoldering,” she rasped quickly, at what she probably saw in his face. “They were smoldering, that’s all.”

  “Don’t try to talk,” the ER nurse ordered sternly, sending Nate a warning frown.

  “Keep breathing that air, Frankie,” Paige said quickly. “And, Nate, if you’re going to upset her, Kendra is going to insist you leave.”

  “Me? I upset her?” He thrust a hand through his hair, wondering absently if his fingers really were shaking. “I think you have that wrong, Doc.” He marched up to the bed and gently took Frankie’s chin in his hand, looking her over. He noticed the reddened patches of skin along her arms and legs.

  “Your hair looks like it got stuck in a fire tornado,” he growled, lifting a hand to feel the frizzled ends.

  “Hey,” she croaked, lethargically slapping his hand away. “Who asked you for fashion advice?”

  “Some fashion,” he muttered, and the nurse sent him a look that almost vaporized his hair.

  “It’s nothing a little visit to the salon won’t fix,” she soothed cheerfully. “In fact, Jasmine will have you looking like a cover model in no time.” She glared a warning at Nate. “No time at all. In the meantime, I’ll go check on my other patient. Dr. Carlyle, I need some advice about the woman in Room Four.”

  In the abrupt silence that followed their departure Nate heard Frankie’s labored breaths and struggled to control his emotions. It ratcheted up his annoyance a couple thousand notches because he felt responsible.

  “I leave you for a couple of hours and look what happens,” he clipped out. “You go charging into a burning house. Do you have a death wish?”

  The look she sent him suggested he had the IQ of a rock. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is,” she rasped irritably. “I’m not the one who left home to go fight terrorists and get blown up,” she pointed out. “Besides, I only did what anyone else would have done.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  She frowned and ignored the question. “I’ve known the Wallaces all my life, Nate. I couldn’t just leave them in there.” She took a moment to suck in a careful breath, before demanding on a wheezy sob that reached into his chest and ruthlessly squeezed his heart, “Have you seen what fire does to people?”

  He had. A buddy in the teams had died when his chopper had crashed and burst into flames. The remains hadn’t even looked human.

  Frankie didn’t wait for his answer. “Can you…?” she rasped before taking a few gasps of oxygen. “Can you check on Mr. Wallace for me? He…he was unconscious when I found him and Paige won’t tell me anything.” She stopped abruptly when she realized that Nate wasn’t responding. Quick tears filled her eyes and she turned away. “Oh, God. He didn’t make it, did he? I was too late.” Her shoulders slumped and she lifted a hand to cover her eyes. “I called and called…but I… I couldn’t find him.” She swallowed hard and devastated him when a lone tear slid out from under her concealing hand. “And it…it reminded me…of…of—”

  “Frankie,” he rasped, reaching out to gently cradle her trembling hand in his. Her tears and pain made him feel helpless and angry because he didn’t know how to deal with them. Besides, he knew she was thinking about Jack…that he’d died thousands of miles from home—in hostile territory—far from anyone who cared about him.

  “I haven’t heard anything about Mr. Wallace. Don’t jump to conclusions, okay?” he urged, fighting the urge to pull her close and wondering when Paige would return. Women were much better at this kind of stuff. Men bumbled their way through, so terrified of saying the wrong thing that they invariably did.

  Frankie was always so strong and feisty that seeing her looking fragile and battling tears alarmed him.

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before retreating a couple of steps, shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling clumsy and inadequate. It was a new and very unwelcome feeling.

  “By the time I got to the house you were already gone,” he admitted gruffly. “I came straight here.”

  “You didn’t have to, you know,” she rasped kind of fiercely. “I’m fine.” Then ruined her declaration by hacking up the other lung.

  “You will be.”

  She sent him a suspicious look from red-rimmed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” he said, pulling out his cellphone, “that I’m going to ensure you are.”

  “I’m a big girl, Nathan. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

  “Tonight you don’t have to, unless the doctors are going to admit you
.”

  “For what?”

  “A psych evaluation would be a great start.”

  “Ha-ha. Funny. But you needn’t concern yourself. Paige has already offered to babysit me.”

  “Paige? Seriously? You’re willing to be the third wheel with the two lovebirds?”

  “Hey!” Paige protested, appearing at the door. “I’ll have you know—”

  “That Ty would be happy with the arrangement?”

  “Of course he will,” she said firmly. “He loves Frankie.”

  “Not after a couple of days, he won’t,” Nate replied mildly.

  “Hey!” This time it was Frankie who objected. “I can hear you and I don’t need a babysitter. I promise to go home, get into bed and sleep for a week.” Nate slid a sideways look at Paige, who was trying not to laugh and ended up rolling her eyes instead.

  “What?” Frankie demanded.

  “Nothing,” Paige said innocently, and before Frankie could demand an answer, Dr. Luther entered the room.

  “Okay, young lady,” the older man said briskly. “Let’s get you checked out.” He fitted his stethoscope into his ears. “Dr. Carlyle, if you’re not busy perhaps you could ask Nancy at the desk if she can scare up some spare scrubs. Our girl has given the town enough to talk about without wandering around in a hospital gown.”

  Nate sent Frankie a hooded glance and allowed Paige to nudge him out of the room. Besides, now that he’d seen she was okay, he needed a few moments to himself. Remind himself that she was okay.

  “You okay?” Paige asked quietly, as though reading his mind. “Because Frankie is going to be. Okay, I mean,” she babbled, rubbing his arm like he needed comforting. “She’s a fast healer and—”

  Nate shoved a hand through his hair and gave a ragged laugh that felt as though it had been torn from him. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  “Well…” She expelled her breath in a loud whoosh. “Maybe a little of both. But she’s not reckless, Nate, she’s not irresponsible. Okay, so I maybe I overheard you talking,” she admitted a little sheepishly when he arched a brow. “She’d never admit it but I think she feels guilty for being alive when—”

  “When Jack’s dead.”

  “Yes,” she agreed quietly, looking upset. “I don’t know her parents very well, but I think they make her feel that she should have been the one…to, well—”

  “They don’t mean it,” Nate interrupted, knowing full well that they might not mean it but they had always tended to behave as if Frankie was somehow less important than Jack. His friend had always felt guilty about what was sometimes obvious to others and had tried his best to protect Frankie from it. He hadn’t always succeeded. “I’ve seen many parents of soldiers that are KIA react in the same way. A bit of anger, guilt and what-ifs.”

  “And you, Nate? Are you suffering survivor’s guilt?”

  “We all have ghosts that haunt us, Paige,” he murmured, and headed for the exit to call Ty. Most civilians had no idea what young men were expected to do in defense of their country, things that changed them and left indelible scars, both inside and out.

  He had them too and had mostly learned to deal with them. But every so often something happened and he was flung back in time. These days he didn’t have as many flashbacks, but early this morning when he’d finally slept he’d had a doozy of a nightmare, like the ones that used to plague him.

  And then that flashback in the ER. He’d learnt years ago that there was little use in dwelling on things he couldn’t control. Maybe Frankie was one of those things but she was just going to have to learn that his will was stronger than hers.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WOOZY FROM ALL the pain meds, Frankie not-so-meekly acquiesced to the wheelchair ride and then the indignity of being carried to Nate’s truck. She might have been impressed by his strength if she hadn’t been offended by his high-handedness, by the ease with which he’d swept her into his arms like Rhett Butler—all while ignoring her protests—if it hadn’t annoyed the heck out of her.

  Oh, yeah. And the way she reeked of eau de smoke when he smelled awesome—like fresh sea air and warm, sexy man.

  Sheesh. Why was it that when a girl really needed to look out-of-his-league stunning, she ended up looking and smelling like smoldering roadkill—or like she’d been mudwrestling?

  If it had been any other man—or if she’d been able to saunter out of the hospital under her own steam—Frankie might not have cared, but it was the man who’d been her first crush, the man who’d then crushed her. The man who now had the indecency to look like the hottest contender for sexiest man alive.

  “You know my mother’s more than happy to have you stay with her for a couple of days,” Nate said, once he turned onto the highway.

  “I love your mom, Nate, but she has more than enough to do without running after me. And Terri is exhausting,” she admitted with a raspy chuckle. “Even in a wheelchair she has more energy than the rest of us put together.” She yawned. “Besides, Paige said she’d come around after her shift.”

  Nate said nothing and Frankie finally turned her head to study his profile. It was the profile of a man who’d learnt to hide his thoughts and emotions well, a man who’d probably seen and done things in the past fifteen years that she couldn’t begin to imagine.

  He was no longer the boy who’d grown up trying to live down his father’s reputation by taking on more responsibility than his thin shoulders could carry. And while his shoulders were now wide and heavy with muscles, he’d proved time and again that he could be counted on.

  She remembered overhearing people talk about Tom Oliver and wondering how his wife put up with his womanizing ways. She hadn’t understood what that had meant at the time, but if he’d looked anything like Nate, she could totally understand women finding the man irresistible.

  She remembered how much Nate had hated being compared to his father and wondered if he still did or if he’d realized he was his own man. Besides, he was hard, rugged and intense—way hotter and more irresistible than any shallow pretty boy looking for a good time. He was a man a woman could count on when the going got tough. He was…

  “What?”

  She blinked when she realized he’d caught her staring. “Huh?”

  “You’re staring like you’re waiting for me to morph into a mutant.”

  “Actually,” she rasped, “I was hoping for Ryan Reynolds but no amount of squinting is helping.”

  A wry smile twisted his mouth. “Well, it’s good to see your sense of humor remains unscathed.”

  “A little singed around the edges maybe, but gimme a couple days and I’ll be a regular comedy act.”

  “Is that what you think people expect from you, Francis?”

  She scoffed, “Well, not with a name like that.”

  “What’s wrong with Francis?”

  She grimaced and admitted with a raspy cough, “It sounds like I was conceived in a church and, let’s face it, it’s kind of girly.”

  He arched a brow. “I don’t see the problem.”

  “Are you calling me a girly girl?” she demanded, unsure if she should be insulted or not.

  Nate chuckled and turned away. “After living with women most of my life,” he drawled, “I’ve discovered that answering a question like that is the same as wading through a muddy minefield. Explosions will happen, no matter what I say.” He took a corner and accelerated up a quiet residential street where televisions flickered in lighted windows. “Let’s talk about today instead, shall we.”

  Frankie immediately turned away because she knew what was coming. He’d accuse her of being reckless and not thinking about how her actions affected other people. Only thing was, she had been thinking about how her actions would affect others.

  The Wallaces.

  “Let’s not,” she whispered, because her throat hurt. “Let’s just agree to disagree. Just this once…until I get my zing back. Then you can lecture me all you want.”

  Nat
e fell silent, giving Frankie the opportunity to study him out the corner of her eye. His mouth was a firm, uncompromising line that reminded her of their kiss. But that was about as dangerous as leaping off a ledge without a safety line. Finally, he flicked her a sideways look and sighed, which drew a dry “Look at us, all adult and mature,” from her.

  “Well, one of us anyway.”

  Frankie wanted to roll her eyes but she yawned instead. “I know that was an insult but I’m going to ignore it. You can just drop me off. I can take it from here.”

  Nate continued to say a whole lot of nothing, which suited her just fine. She wasn’t in the mood to talk either and when he turned into her driveway she couldn’t stop a shudder from forming at the sight of the blackened evidence of the fire that might so easily have taken her elderly neighbors.

  Even now Vince Wallace was in a coma and Thelma fighting for every breath. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes and, rather than cry in front of Nate, Frankie gathered up her bag of medical supplies and hopped out almost before the truck had come to a stop. The instant her foot made contact with the ground she was reminded of the glass she’d walked over.

  She yelped silently, turning away to hide a pained grimace. Great. Even her exits lacked zing.

  “Thanks,” she rasped, before beginning to hobble up the path. The next thing she knew Nate was sweeping her off her feet and muttering something about her stubbornness.

  Too weary to protest, she laid her head against his shoulder and let him carry her up the stairs.

  She opened her mouth to say, Thank you, I can take it from here, but he ignored her, shoving open her door and heading up the stairs. Instead of taking her to the master bedroom, he made a beeline for the bathroom.

  Frankie scowled at him, even though she’d also planned to make it her first stop. “Dr. Luther said I shouldn’t shower.”

  “Yeah, and we all know you’ll ignore his advice, so Paige gave me instructions on how to reapply your dressings,” he clipped out, depositing her on the side of the bath as though he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.