by Anne Fraser
A second chance for a homecoming soldier…
For dashing army medic Nick Casey, dedication to his duty was rivaled only by his legendary reputation with women! Then, in the heat and intensity of military combat, an innocent casualty nurse, Tiggy Williams, turned this sexy soldier’s head. But their whirlwind marriage wasn’t built to last.…
Six years on, Nick is critically injured and discharged into the care of his estranged wife! He can’t give Tiggy what he knows she’s always wanted, but the unforgettable passion they once shared soon spills over into one unexpected night.…
A night with consequences!
“I don’t want you here. My health is not your concern.”
Tiggy folded her arms. “That’s tough. I’m not going anywhere. Nick, why didn’t you tell me you’d been badly injured? You were in Intensive Care and you didn’t even let me know!”
But was she really surprised? Two years after they were married Nick had stopped talking to her about the important things.
“What difference would it have made? Our marriage was—is—over.”
“I’m not likely to forget that,” she retorted. “Look, Nick, I’m here now. Can’t we at least be civil to each other?”
He glared at her, but she refused to look away. Suddenly the grim line of his mouth softened, and when he smiled she caught a glimpse of the Nick she had first known. Her insides melted.
“Sorry. Of course.” He dragged a hand across the stubble on his cheek. “Forgive me.”
As he turned away to take something from his locker, she studied him more carefully. He might have changed, but he still made her catch her breath. She still remembered the feel of him, remembered every inch of his body—the hard muscles of his abdomen, his long legs and powerful thighs, the feel of his fingertips on her skin, the planes of his face under hers. She bit back a groan and closed her eyes.
Six years and he still made her pulse race. Six years since she’d seen him, and one glance was enough for her to know she’d never gotten him out of her head. She should get the hell away from him—simply walk out through the door. Not just walk, run—as fast as her legs could carry her.
Dear Reader,
I have long been fascinated with the role men and women (particularly women) have played in war, wondering how I would have coped with the fear and horror.
A couple of years ago I heard a doctor speaking about his time in Iraq, when he accompanied soldiers on patrol, and found his talk riveting. A few months later I watched a documentary series about the men and women who care for the wounded at Camp Bastion, the main British military base in Afghanistan. One episode in particular, in which a nurse had to accompany the doctor into a firing zone in order to rescue a badly injured man, had me thinking. What kind of men and women would risk their lives in order to save the life of another?
So when my editor asked me if I wanted to write the first book in a military duo with a fellow author, the wonderful Tina Beckett, I leaped at the chance, and Men of Honor was born.
Dr. Nick Casey is an army doctor who feels responsible for the men and women under his care. Tiggy is a nurse in Afghanistan for a short tour. When they first meet, sparks fly.
But when Nick can’t stay away from Afghanistan, it seems their love isn’t enough to keep them together.
I hope I have successfully conveyed the reality of a medic’s life in a war situation, while keeping Nick and Tiggy’s love story at the forefront.
I would love to know what you think. You can find me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AnneFraserAuthor or on my blog at annefraserauthor.wordpress.com.
Best wishes,
Anne
Book Two in the Men of Honor duet,
The Lone Wolf’s Craving by Tina Beckett,
is also available this month from Harlequin® Medical Romance™
The Wife He Never Forgot
Anne Fraser
Recent titles by Anne Fraser
CINDERELLA OF HARLEY STREET
ST. PIRAN’S: DAREDEVIL, DOCTOR…DAD!**
SPANISH DOCTOR, PREGNANT MIDWIFE*
MISTLETOE, MIDWIFE…MIRACLE BABY
PRINCE CHARMING OF HARLEY STREET
FALLING FOR HER MEDITERRANEAN BOSS
POSH DOC CLAIMS HIS BRIDE
**St. Piran’s Hospital
*The Brides of Penhally Bay
These books are also available in ebook format from www.Harlequin.com.
To my wonderful, encouraging and patient editor, Megan Haslam.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
PROLOGUE
NICK HAD BEEN leaning against the wall of their temporary shelter, checking his rifle and thinking of nothing much, when all hell broke loose.
As the part of the troop that had remained behind exploded into action, he retrieved his Kevlar helmet and peered over the wall of the sangar.
‘Keep your head down, sir!’ one of the men shouted as he rushed past and took up his firing position immediately in front of Nick.
Nick did as he suggested, just as a bullet whizzed over the top of his head and landed in the wall behind him in an explosion of dust.
It was supposed to be a routine patrol where his platoon would join up with the Americans to decide how far north they should go before setting up a base.
‘Man down!’ The anguished cry came over the radio.
Nick glanced around. They’d arrived thirty minutes ago and there had only been time to set up a small receiving space in the overhang of the rock that they were using as the temporary forward operating base.
Adrenaline tore through him. This was what he’d trained for. He had to ignore what was going on below and concentrate on any casualties.
But damn, if he needed a medevac for any of them, it was going to be difficult. He would worry about that later. Right now he had to focus on the present.
The first casualty to be brought back to the relative safety of the sangar was the medic. Luckily, he had no more than a bullet graze to his arm and someone had already applied a temporary dressing.
‘I need to get back out there, sir,’ he yelled. ‘It’s only a graze.’
‘It might be only a graze but it’s going to keep you out of action for a few days,’ Nick responded firmly.
Quickly he examined the wound. The bullet had passed through the flesh of the medic’s upper arm. Right now there was little Nick could do except clean it again and rebandage it. When they got him back to camp he would do a more thorough job. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, they’d get out of this with only this one casualty.
But it wasn’t to be. The sound of gunfire increased, as did the noise on the radio.
‘Five men pinned down—Americans among them,’ Captain Forsythe muttered. ‘They’re holing up in one of the empty houses. My men can’t get to them.’
‘Injuries?’ Nick asked.
The captain nodded. ‘At least one down. That’s all I know.’
Nick risked another glance over the wall. Beneath him, about fifty metres away, was the deserted village the soldiers had been searching.
Nick picked up his bag and headed for the wall.
<
br /> ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ Captain Forsythe snapped.
Nick barely glanced at him. ‘There’s a man out there. If he’s not dead, he’s badly injured. I’m a doctor—and a soldier. Where the hell do you think I’m going?’
* * *
Nick, accompanied by several of the soldiers, zigzagged his way towards the house and the wounded soldier.
He had his own rifle slung over his shoulder. As part of the platoon he was obliged to carry a weapon but was only required to use it in self-defence. Whether he would was not a question he chose to ask himself.
As bullets spat into the ground he concentrated on one thing and one thing only: getting to the injured man, hopefully in one piece.
He leapt over a low wall and into the deserted house, conscious of two of the men from his own company following close behind him while the remainder of the soldiers continued to lay down covering fire.
The casualty was an American. Not that it mattered. His job was to treat the injured regardless of nationality, and that included the enemy.
The soldier was conscious but bleeding from a nasty wound to his shoulder. As Nick set about putting up a drip he asked one of the soldiers to call for a medevac.
‘You’ll be lucky, sir,’ Private Johnston muttered. ‘Don’t know how the ’copter can land with all this going on.’
‘Just let them know we’re going to need them whenever they can make it, Private, ‘ Nick said. ‘Hold onto the drip for me while I dress his wound.’
A shadow fell across the door as another American appeared at the doorway.
‘Have you got Brad?’ he demanded. ‘Is he all right?’
‘For God’s sake, get down!’ Nick yelled. Was the American crazy?
Just then there was an explosion that robbed Nick of his breath. He was flung backwards as debris rained through the narrow doorway.
It took him a few moments to catch his breath. He was lying on his back with something heavy on top of him. He spat dust from his mouth.
‘Johnston!’
‘Over here, sir. I’m all right.’
‘Our patient?’
‘He’s okay too. But don’t think I can say the same about the other one.’
Nick became aware that the weight pinning him down was the young American who only seconds before had been standing at the door. His body had probably shielded him and the others.
‘Help me here, Johnston.’ Gently he rolled the soldier from on top of him, feeling the sticky wetness of blood. Poor sod hadn’t stood a chance.
But as he sat up he became aware that the soldier was conscious.
‘My leg,’ he groaned.
Smoke clouded their small shelter and Nick used a torch to examine the young American. Blood was spurting from his groin, soaking into the dirt floor.
‘What’s your name, soldier?’ he asked.
‘Luke.’
‘Okay, Luke. Stay still while I have a look at your leg.’
But the blood pumping from Luke’s groin told Nick everything he needed to know. Shrapnel had pierced his femoral artery and the boy—because that was all he was—was bleeding to death in front of him. His pulse was thready and his skin had taken on the damp sheen of shock.
‘Is it bad?’ the wounded soldier asked.
The lad needed to be in hospital. He probably had twenty minutes at the most.
Not long enough, then.
Damn it.
Another explosion rent the air and it sounded as if the gunfire was getting closer.
‘We need to get the hell out of here,’ Johnston said.
Nick jammed his fist into the hole in the young soldier’s leg. ‘He can’t be moved.’
‘Go!’ Luke’s voice was faint. ‘You gotta leave me. I’m not going to make it.’ Every word was coming with increasing difficulty.
He would almost certainly bleed to death before they got him back to the sangar and Nick couldn’t leave him here on his own—even if he knew there was almost no chance of saving his life. Nick made up his mind.
‘Johnston, get two men to take the other man back to the sangar. Tell them to let Captain Forsythe know I need the medevac. Now!’
‘I’ll stay with you.’
‘No. Get the hell out of here. This man and I will be fine.’
‘But, sir!’
Nick cursed. ‘That’s an order, Johnston.’
The soldier hesitated. ‘I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.’
As Nick turned his attention again to the wounded American he was only dimly aware of Johnston and another soldier taking Brad, the other casualty, from the room.
‘Get out of here,’ Luke murmured. ‘Save yourself. I don’t want someone to die because of me.’
‘I’m not going anywhere, son.’ Nick cut the soldier’s combat trousers away, struggling to see the wound for the blood. He did the same with his jacket and shirt. He needed to make sure Luke wasn’t bleeding anywhere else. Look beyond the obvious was the mantra for an A and E surgeon. It was the ignored and uninvestigated that often killed.
As he worked he noted that Luke had an eagle tattooed on his right biceps. That wasn’t unusual—for a soldier not to have a tattoo would have been noteworthy—but the soldier also had a scar that ran diagonally across his chest. This was no aftermath of surgery.
However, Nick had no time to wonder about past wounds. He inserted the venflon into a vein and, mercifully, Luke lost consciousness. Now he could get fluids into him, but he had to stop the bleeding. It was the only way to save the boy’s life. Pressure wouldn’t be enough. He would have to find the artery and clamp it—a procedure that was tricky enough in the luxury of a fully equipped theatre and with the help of experienced staff. But here? Almost no chance.
Nevertheless, he had to try. Even if he managed to stop him from bleeding to death, it was likely that Luke would lose his leg. But better a limb than his life.
The impact of the shrapnel had blown part of Luke’s trousers into the wound, obscuring Nick’s view even further. He took the clamp from his bag and took a deep breath as he tried to find the bleeder. It was almost impossible in the dim light of the house, without the blood and pieces of uniform further obscuring his view.
Working more by instinct than anything else, Nick clamped down on what he hoped was the right place. To his relief, almost immediately the blood stopped pumping from the wound.
Nick sat back on his haunches and wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
He’d stopped the bleeding, but if there was to be a hope in hell of saving Luke’s life, he needed to get him back to the hospital at the camp.
He became aware that the gunfire was more sporadic now and in the distance he could hear the powerful blades of a Chinook.
There was still a chance.
CHAPTER ONE
A year later
IT WAS HOT. Forty degrees Celsius and it was only just after six in the morning. The dust was everywhere, swirling around like dirty talcum powder coating the inside of her mouth and settling on every inch of her exposed skin.
Tiggy swigged from the water in her bottle, which was already turning tepid in the heat, brushed a damp curl from her forehead and sighed. The shower she’d had ten minutes before had been a complete waste of time.
She bent her head against a sudden dust ball. Everything was the same dun colour: the tents; her uniform; the Jeeps—there were even dust-coloured tanks parked along the high walls surrounding the compound. Tiggy didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.
She must have been crazy to come. Although back in the UK they had been thoroughly briefed as to what to expect—down to practising what medical emergencies they might encounter in a mock-up of a building with soldiers acting the part of casualties—nothing had really prepared her for the reality of living in a war zone. And nothing had prepared her for the sheer terror she felt.
Coming in to land last night on the Hercules, the pilot had dimmed the cab
in lights in case they attracted enemy fire. When his words had come over the intercom, Tiggy had almost lost it.
Enemy fire? She hadn’t signed up for that. She’d signed up to be looking after soldiers miles away from danger in a camp protected by soldiers.
She’d squeezed her eyes shut, not even able to force them open when she’d felt someone sit next to her. She had become aware of a faint scent of citrus.
‘You can open your eyes, you know.’ The laughter in his voice bugged her.
She’d opened one eye and squinted. In the dim light of the cabin all she had been able to make out had been a powerful frame in uniform and the flash of even, white teeth.
Whoever it was had been studying her frankly in return.
‘For all you know, I’m having a nap,’ she’d said through clenched teeth.
‘I’ve never seen anyone nap while holding on to their seat so tight their knuckles were white.’
‘God!’ She gave up all pretence. ‘What if they hit the plane? I’m scared to death of flying as it is.’
‘Hey, relax. It will be okay. The pilots have done it scores of times and no one has shot them down yet. They just say what they do to make all the newbies cra— Apologies, ma’am. To scare the newbies.’
She hadn’t been sure she’d entirely believed him, but she had felt a little better.
‘How much longer until we’re on the ground?’
‘Another twenty minutes or so.’
‘Twenty bloody minutes!’ she groaned.
‘Why don’t you tell me all about yourself? It’ll help distract you.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Nick, one of the army doctors. You?’
‘Tiggy. Casualty nurse.’
‘Then we’ll be working together,’ he said with a sideways grin. ‘You with anyone? Married? Engaged?’
This was not exactly the sort of route Tiggy wanted to go down. Men didn’t exactly queue up at her door. Might have been something to do with the fact that her brothers appeared to think it was their duty to guard her honour as if she were some early-twentieth-century maiden, or it might—and this was more likely—have to do with the fact that she wasn’t particularly pretty or vivacious.