“Come here,” Rachel pleaded, throwing her arms around him, pulling Chase against her.
The first sob ripped through Chase, shattering the rest of his composure. Rachel’s arms were strong, holding him, her voice trembling next to his ear as he swept her into his grip. He held her hard, afraid that if he let go, the rest of his world would shatter, too.
The strangled, animallike sounds that jerked out of Chase tore through Rachel. She whispered singsong words as she repeatedly caressed his hair in a gesture meant to heal. Chase held her like a hurt child hiding in his mother’s arms. His tears wet her cheek and neck, mingling with Rachel’s own tears dribbling down her cheeks.
How long she stood holding him in her aching arms, Rachel didn’t know. Finally Chase’s sobs lessened, his breathing becoming steady against her neck as he held her. The fact that Chase would cry at all tore away Rachel’s defenses. She blindly kissed his rough cheek, wanting to tell him in her own way that she applauded his courage to cry, to share this terrible tragedy with her.
“Come on,” she whispered against his ear, loosening her arms from around his shoulders, “Come over here.” Rachel guided them to a wooden bench near the coffeepot.
Chase wiped the tears from his eyes, following her. He gripped her hand, refusing to release it even after they sat down. Rachel remained close, putting her other arm around his waist. The lump in his throat was still there, and he helplessly studied the photo.
“This is Buddy’s daughter,” he choked out. “They call her Cindy.”
Rachel cupped the photo, her hand beneath his. “She’s a beautiful baby with a beautiful name,” she whispered unsteadily.
Chase shut his eyes tightly, more tears beading and dropping from his lashes. “She’ll never know Buddy….”
Resting her head against his shoulder, Rachel tried to comfort him. Words were useless. His fingers squeezed her hand until she felt pain, but she said nothing, understanding the depth of Chase’s agony and loss. The rain continued in a deep, drumming pattern, as if the sky, too, were crying for the loss of Buddy. Gradually Chase retreated into silence, the grip of his fingers easing from her hand.
“Cindy will know her father through her mother,” Rachel began haltingly. “I know it doesn’t bring Buddy back, but she’ll have letters and photos of him to share with her daughter.”
Staring at the opposite wall of the tent, Chase allowed Rachel’s husky voice to fall over him like a balm, easing some of his pain. “I—I just shot some film of Buddy a week ago.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll get it developed right away and send it to Susan, his wife.”
Squeezing his hand, Rachel said, “I know she’ll treasure those photos.”
“I can write a letter,” Chase went on, talking more to himself than to her. “I can write a special letter to Cindy. Even though she’s too young to read or understand it, someday she will. I want to tell her about her daddy—how brave he was, how he fought to stay alive when most men would have died at the stick with that kind of wound.” A shudder worked its way through Chase. He twisted his head, studying Rachel in the subdued light. How beautiful she was. And she was alive and here, with him. “Buddy was one in a million.”
Rachel managed a wobbly smile. “Like you, Chase.”
Some of the grief was sloughing off his shoulders. Being able to cry had helped. Chase gave her a bashful look. “I’ve never cried in a woman’s arms before.”
“For a man to be able to cry at all is something, Chase. I wish more of them could.” Rachel lowered her lashes, unable to stand the burning blue of his eyes as they looked into her heart and soul. “I’m glad you did, and I’m glad it was with me.”
Rousing himself from his crouched position, Chase straightened up, feeling gutted and numb inside. He noticed how tightly he’d been holding Rachel’s hand and released it, examining her slender fingers. They were work worn and red, the skin chafed and in need of some care. He was struck by how hard Rachel worked.
“I didn’t mean to bruise the hell out of your hand.” Rachel’s ability to handle emotional issues stunned him. She was being strong for him, and it brought to the surface just how much he loved her.
“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured. Rachel could see hope in his bleak eyes. Chase was over the worst of his shock. Buddy’s death would haunt him for a long time, though. Right now, he was cycling up and out of the grief, and she wanted to make him feel better. “How about some coffee with a stiff belt of medicinal whiskey?”
Chase nodded.
Rachel got up, moving to the coffeepot. She opened the cabinet beneath the burner, removing a bottle of whiskey. “We use this for medicinal purposes after a particularly bad day or night.” She took two tin mugs, filling them with hot coffee and adding a splash of liquor. “Some days are worse than others.”
Gratefully Chase took the mug, the metal warming his cold hands and fingers. He sipped the steaming liquid, the whiskey burning away the lump in his throat, making him gasp.
“I forgot to tell you, that’s two hundred proof moonshine,” Rachel said. “Davis comes from Kentucky hill people, and he makes his special brew just for such occasions.”
With a startled sound, Chase wiped his mouth, eyeing the coffee with respect. “It’s got a kick to it.”
She sipped the liquid cautiously. “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” he rasped. Chase knew the moonshine had little to do with his improvement. Hungrily he sponged Rachel’s face into his memory. Even draped in a large, tentlike surgery gown too big for her thin frame, Rachel glowed with inner strength and spirit.
Reaching out, he captured her hand. “We have to talk,” he told her huskily. “Now.”
Chapter Eight
“Miss McKenzie!” An orderly poked his head around the door, gulping for breath.
Rachel released Chase’s hand, her heart sinking. “Yes, Al?”
“We need you back in surgery. We’re getting three loads of wounded by helo in ten minutes.”
Chase frowned, hearing the urgency in the soldier’s voice. He looked up. Rachel looked serene and composed under the circumstances. Chase felt none of those things, the shock of Buddy’s death hanging over him.
“I’ll be there in just a few minutes, Al.”
“Yes ma’am.” The orderly disappeared out the door, leaving them alone once again.
Glumly Chase muttered, “Looks like duty calls.” His voice was rough with emotion.
Setting the cup of barely touched coffee and whiskey on the counter, Rachel grimaced. “I’m sorry, Chase.”
“Is it always like this?”
She nodded. “If we didn’t have to sleep sometime during a twenty-four-hour period, we’d be in the surgery theater or over in recovery nonstop.” Sighing, Rachel added, “We’re shorthanded, Chase.”
“And you’re tired.” Chase finally had surfaced from his grief enough to take in Rachel’s condition. Faint shadows showed beneath her glorious green eyes. He felt a sad smile pull at the corners of his mouth. “Look, I know this is bad timing, Rachel, but I need to talk to you.”
Rachel’s heart picked up in an erratic beat. She didn’t dare believe that Chase wanted to see her—not after their fight a month ago. But how many nights had she tossed and turned in torrid dream states, remembering it? Remembering him?
The sound of approaching helicopters drowned out the drumming rain. Chase saw Rachel tense, and it reminded him of a boxer preparing to do battle, only she was going in to fight to save lives. Getting slowly to her feet, he recaptured her hand.
“I looked all over Korea for you after we got split up. I never realized how many MASH units are over here. I thought it would be easy to locate you, but I was wrong.”
Rachel stared up into Chase’s craggy, worn features. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.” His eyes were red rimmed and filled with pain. The last thing she wanted to do was leave his side. Right now he needed someone to help him work through his grief.
“I
never said that, Rachel.” He struggled with his grief and his need of her, trying to right the wrongs between them. “You may feel that way, but I don’t,” Chase whispered huskily, studying her chafed hand. “I know you have to go, Rachel, but tell me when I can see you. When can we have a few hours together to talk?” He heard the pleading tone in his voice and didn’t care. What he felt for Rachel wasn’t a game. Since their escape, he’d had a long time to look at how he’d behaved with her. She’d been right: He’d acted like a groper intent on only one thing. And he’d loved her, fulfilling that promise that she’d accused him of all along. Now, it was a Sword of Damocles between them.
Rachel hesitated, unable to get beyond the shock of seeing Chase or the feelings that still burned brightly in her heart for him. Incredible tenderness in his blue eyes reminded her of what they’d shared. It was all he wanted, she decided sadly. And it wasn’t what she wanted at all. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Chase.”
“I do.”
Rachel wavered, exhausted and emotionally drained. Rubbing her brow, she muttered, “A week from now. I get next Friday off.”
“I’ll be here. That’s a promise, Rachel.” Chase saw her eyes become dull with some undefined emotion. Wasn’t she happy to see him? Would she allow him back into her life? She hadn’t tried to contact him after he’d left in a huff, he acknowledged.
Reluctantly Rachel pulled her hand from Chase’s grasp. “I’ve got to go, Chase.” She opened the door, started to leave then turned back toward him. Her face was drawn with real worry. “Be careful flying next week. You’re suffering badly for Buddy. Please…”
A sliver of his normal cocky grin surfaced. “I’ll be real careful, Angel Eyes. I’ve got something to live for….” Chase saw her eyes go sad, and then she turned, disappearing into the rain. He stood, savoring the wave of happiness flooding through his chest, dissolving a portion of his grief. Glancing around, Chase glumly realized it was time to get back to the air base. He hadn’t gotten permission from Hob to come here, and his commanding officer was probably wondering where the hell he was.
Pulling the collar of his flight suit up to protect the back of his neck, Chase ducked out into the miserable weather. His heart hurt, but a new sense of life pulsed strongly through him. He’d found Rachel! As he slogged between the dark green tents and inch-deep mud, he wanted to shout for joy. Water ran down his face in rivulets, outlining his features, dripping down the back of his neck, but Chase barely noticed the physical discomfort. His heart centered on the loss of his best friend, and hope for a future with Rachel. The weight in his chest told him which was affecting him the most, and he allowed himself to dwell on Buddy and the letters he would write to his friend’s family.
“Rachel, you look great!” Annie Johnson, a twenty-three-year-old lieutenant in the nursing corps said, sauntering into the tent. She sat down on her cot, running a hand through her short blond curls.
“Thanks, Annie.” Nervously Rachel applied lipstick to her mouth. She used the tube sparingly, applying it only when she had duty in recovery. The boys over there appreciated her feminine appearance. All the nurses did their best to give them hope by looking feminine, and it made the men rally.
“Who’s this guy coming to see you?” Annie teased, stretching out for a few minutes of rest, her hands behind her head.
“You know—I told you about him. Captain Chase Trayhern.” Rachel picked up the brush, running it through her recently washed hair. Sunlight pierced through the window of the door, making the inside of the tent brighter, emphasizing the shine to her hair.
“Oh, the groper.”
Rachel groaned. “Annie, don’t you dare call him that.” She turned to her friend. Annie was smiling broadly.
“You called him that yourself.”
“That was over a month ago.”
“Think he’s changed?”
“No,” Rachel muttered. She stepped back from the mirror. Cosmetics were rare, and each nurse hoarded what she’d brought with her from the States. She asked herself why she cared what she looked like for Chase. She shouldn’t.
“This is one of those times you wish you had a dress,” Annie drawled.
Muttering under her breath, Rachel took another look in the mirror. “Chase doesn’t care what a woman wears.”
“Oh, one of those. The day’s gorgeous. What have you got planned with the captain?”
Nothing fit right. Rachel flattened the collar on her fatigues. It remained wrinkled. “We’re just going to talk. There are no plans. I’m sure he has some, but I don’t intend to fit into them, whatever they are.”
“Talk?” Annie tittered. “Come on, Rachel!”
“Annie!” she said in an exasperated tone, looking at her watch. It was ten in the morning, the time Chase had said he’d arrive. Looking out the dirty window of the door, she didn’t see any unfamiliar jeeps winding their way toward the MASH unit.
“Well,” Annie added dramatically, “I’ll be gone from the tent for the rest of the day, should you want to ‘talk’ in here.”
Heat stung Rachel’s cheeks as she turned and studied her friend and roommate. “It’s not like that between us,” she protested.
“Sure…”
With a groan, Rachel opened the door, stepping out into the brilliant sunlight. “I can’t stand this waiting around, Annie. I’m going for a walk in the field behind our tent.” The field, filled with autumn flowers and multicolored leaves, reminded Rachel of her home in Maine.
“Okay, I’ll tell the captain where you are, in case he comes here first.”
Rachel waved her thanks, heading toward the field. The nurses’ tents were located at the southern end of the compound. Beyond that was a friendly village, not far away. On her rare days off, Rachel walked to the village and set up a first aid station in one of the huts, giving inoculations or taking care of simple medical problems of the children or their parents.
The day was utterly beautiful. Rachel lifted her face to the sun, feeling its warmth steal through her. After five days of continuous rain, the sun was a welcomed respite. Stepping into the ten-acre field, she saw it was alive with the color of a myriad of fall flowers. Delighted, Rachel walked through the field, occasionally stooping to cup a flower in her hands and smell its fragrance. The bees were busy getting the last of the pollen to make honey for their hives before the icy winter fell upon them.
Ten o’clock became ten-thirty and then eleven. From the field, Rachel could see any traffic entering and leaving the unit. None of the vehicles contained Chase. Worry gnawed at her. Had he crashed his plane? Been shot down? If he had, she would be the last to know. Chewing on her lip, Rachel sat on a group of rocks, facing the road in the distance.
Taking a strand of withered grass, she shredded it absently between her fingertips. Why was she putting so much into seeing Chase again? Because, her heart whispered, you love him. Rachel shook her head, staring down at the stalk of grass now in shreds at her booted feet. Chase could have changed his mind about coming. After all, he’d been in shock over Buddy Dawson’s death. Upon returning to the air base, he may have decided against seeing her again. One small part of Rachel hoped that was the case. She didn’t want to see Chase if he was going to continue his past campaign to bed her. There were more important things in life than a toss in the hay.
Groaning, Rachel slid off the rock, grabbing another strand of grass and turning her back to the road, heading deeper into the oasis of beauty. Chase made her feel like melting honey in his hands, Rachel admitted. He made her feel like a woman, something no other man had ever evoked. But that was all he really wanted from her. Marriage wasn’t in his future. And she had no plan to try to force him into a marriage just for some sex.
“Angel Eyes!”
Gasping, Rachel whirled around. There, at the edge of the field, stood Chase in his tan flight uniform and brown leather jacket. He had just climbed out of a jeep, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand. Rachel’s heart snagged an
d she watched his progress toward her. If her eyes didn’t deceive her, his uniform looked pressed! Chase wore the garrison cap at a cocky angle on his head. Trying not to smile at the pains he’d taken with his appearance, she waited with trepidation, her hands suddenly damp and cool. How handsome he looked!
More than anything, Rachel saw life again in his blue eyes. The bashful, uncertain expression on Chase’s face as he approached her, holding out the field flowers, unstrung Rachel.
“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, taking them. “Thank you.” Their hands met, touched.
“You’re beautiful,” Chase returned huskily. He released the bouquet, watching as Rachel held the flowers at her breast, inhaling their scent. Indeed, she was ten times more lovely than he could ever recall. Was it the spare use of makeup? The dancing warmth in her lovely green eyes or that shy smile on her full lips? He wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. What mattered was that they were here—together.
“I never expected flowers,” Rachel whispered, caressing the bouquet.
Chase glanced around, throwing his hands on his hips. “My mother taught me to give a lady flowers.” He smiled, enjoying her response to them. “I can’t believe it. I discovered a field about two miles from the air base and decided to pick you some.” Chase made a gesture around the area, grinning. “But you’ve got the same flowers in this one.”
Rachel walked toward the group of rocks and took a seat on a flat one. “Still, it’s the thought that counts, Chase.” He chose a rock right next to her. What did she expect? He was going to launch a campaign to get her into his arms and his bed once again.
Chase squinted against the sun, absorbing Rachel’s face into his heart. “Hell, I could have had an extra twenty minutes with you by coming straight here. We could have picked the flowers together.”
Dawn of Valor Page 12