Gil stepped forward. “Just tell us how they’re doing, goddammit.”
The nurse stepped back, her mouth falling open. Everyone at the nursing station froze, all eyes on the Coast Guard pilots. The nurse snapped her mouth shut and glared contemptuously at Gil.
Tag put his hand on Gil’s arm. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re a mite tired. You can understand, can’t you? Rook, Noah and Jim are close friends of ours.” He managed a slight, persuasive smile. “Coasties stick together like family.”
Shaken by the rage in the other officer’s voice and his continued black stare, the nurse dropped the sheaf of papers and reached for a clipboard that contained the names of patients on the floor. “Dr. Marhefka is assigned to their cases. You can see him right now. He’s down there at the end of the hall in the visitors’ lobby. I can’t give you permission to see these people, but he can.”
Tag nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. We’re deeply grateful.”
Gil swung into the lounge first. A short man of about forty-five, with broad shoulders, was talking to…he gawked. That was Howard Barton—Jim Barton’s father! He started forward, but saw the old man sag back down into his chair, a look of devastation written across his features. The doctor reached out, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Shit,” Logan whispered, gripping Tag and forcing him out of the lounge, back into the hall. Gil lowered his voice. “That’s Howard Barton, Jim’s father,” he explained.
Tag frowned. “Don’t tell me—”
“Jim didn’t make it. Sonofabitch.”
Wrestling with his own feelings, Tag muttered, “Don’t jump to conclusions. Let’s wait and see. Noah Caldwell was up on that roof with him, you know.”
Raking his fingers through his dark hair, Gil muttered, “Yeah, I know. Let’s wait out here. We’ll nail Marhefka when he comes out. I don’t want to disturb Mr. Barton. He looks pretty upset.”
Gil grabbed the doctor the instant he came out of the lounge. “Dr. Marhefka, we’re friends of Lieutenants Rook and Noah Caldwell. Rook’s boyfriend, Jim Barton, is here, too.”
The doctor looked up at both men, his face lined and somber. “I see.”
“How are they?” Gil asked, barely suppressing his anger over the doctor’s hesitation.
Tag gripped Gil’s arm, giving him a warning glance.
“Ms. Caldwell suffered mild chlorine injuries to her respiratory system. She’s sedated, but conscious. Jim Barton has a concussion, multiple rib fractures and second-degree burns over thirty percent of his lower legs and arms. He’s still in the recovery room.”
“Thank God,” Gil muttered, suddenly limp with relief, grateful that they had both survived. He leaned against the wall, fighting off the exhaustion that wanted to claim him.
“Can we see them, sir?” Tag asked.
“You can certainly see Ms. Caldwell. She’s in room 22.”
Fatigue was lapping at Gil. “Hold it. What about Noah? You haven’t said anything about him.” His gut tightened.
“He made it through surgery and is in critical condition. He was just taken to ICU. His sister just regained consciousness. I haven’t told her yet about his status.”
Gil glanced over at Tag. “Go on down to her room.” He turned back to Dr. Marhefka. “I’ll do it, Doctor. Rook and I are good friends.”
The doctor shrugged. “If you’re sure you want to.”
Gil whispered, “I do.” He looked over at Tag. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He wanted to talk to the doctor further, alone.
Tag nodded grimly, his garrison cap crushed in his tightly knotted fist. “You bet.”
Gil waited until Tag had left and then turned to Marhefka. “Look, Rook is one of us, Doctor. She’s a Coast Guard pilot. She and Noah are brother and sister. They’re close. Did Noah say anything before surgery?”
Marhefka studied the pilot’s slack face and saw that his eyes burned with barely leashed emotions. “Yes, he did, just as we prepped him for surgery.” The doctor told Gil what the cutter captain had said. “If Lieutenant Caldwell needs a sedative afterward, just ring the nurse.”
Grateful, Gil’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Thanks, Doctor.” He turned away and began the long walk down the hall, trying to contain his escaping grief. Rook would need their strength now, not their tears.
Rook’s black lashes were beaded with spent tears when Gil quietly entered her room minutes later. Tag was standing by her bed, talking to her quietly. Logan saw the IV going into her left arm and the oxygen bottle on the right. At first, he thought Rook was asleep; her skin matched the white color of the sheets that surrounded her. Her head had been bandaged and the blood cleaned off her face. The bruise on her cheek was purple and had turned puffy. Swallowing hard, Gil approached her bed and Tag moved around to the other side.
“Rook?” Gil called softly, placing his trembling fingers on her hand, which rested across her stomach. Her skin was clammy.
Wearily, Rook lifted her lashes. Blinking, she stared up at Gil, her lips parting.
“Hi, there,” Gil said softly, squeezing her hand. He smiled down at her. “How’s our favorite lady pilot?”
“Gil? Tag?” Her voice was raw, and she could barely make an audible sound.
“Sshh,” Gil soothed, leaning down, resting his arms on the steel tubing that surrounded the bed. “We just wanted to let you know that your friends are here. How do you feel?”
Overwhelmed by their appearance, Rook sobbed once and weakly gripped Gil’s fingers. Images, flashes of the Flyer, blipped in front of her groggy memory. “Noah…Jim?”
Logan leaned over, placing his hand on her hair. “Jim is in serious condition, but he’s going to make it, Rook. He’s just two rooms down from you, still in recovery. Jim’s father is here, too. I’m sure he’ll want to see both of you.”
Relief surged through Rook. She shut her eyes, taking in a jerky breath of air. Reopening them, she stared darkly into Gil’s shadowed features. His mouth had become a thin line, like it always did when something was wrong. Rook recog nized that set look. She felt Gil’s hand become firmer on hers.
Taking in a deep breath, Gil bit down on his lower lip, unable to stop the awful pain surging up through his chest. “Noah made it, too, Rook. But he’s critical and they just put him in ICU. We’re sorry—so damn sorry. He’s a hell of a man. Special—like you….”
A rasping cry tore from Rook. She tried to sit up but was too weak. She fell back down on the pillow, wild cries tearing from the very reaches of her soul. “No! It can’t be, Gil! I need to see him….”
Tag winced as he leaned over to stroke Rook’s hair, and whispered, “Hush, honey, it’s all right. He loves you—that’s all that counts. You two got to patch up things between you. That was important….” And he hoped Noah didn’t die. No one was sure if he’d make it or not, but he didn’t want to steal Rook’s hope that her brother would survive.
Gil was unable to remain impervious to Rook’s anguished weeping. He straightened up, tears burning in his eyes and looked over at Tag. There were tears in his eyes, too. “Take care of her for a minute,” he ordered thickly, and then spun around, heading for the door. Goddamn this rotten little world anyway! He jerked the door open and began to walk blindly and aimlessly down the hall. Everything blurred in front of Gil, and he slowed his pace. Stumbling to a halt, reeling with weariness, Gil sank against a wall and buried his face in his hands.
It was three days before Rook got to see Noah. Jim Barton wheeled her to his private room. Her heart pounded with urgency as Jim pushed open the door and wheeled her in.
Anxiously, Rook looked toward the bed. Noah’s eyes barely opened.
“Hey…Sis….”
Tears jammed in Rook’s eyes as Jim brought her wheelchair over to his bed. He set the brake. Placing his hand on Rook’s tense shoulder, he said, “Noah? You two need some time together. I’ll drop back by in about twenty minutes or so.” Jim could see the paleness to Noah’s face.
“Yes
, thanks Jim,” Noah managed, his voice hoarse.
Jim leaned down and kissed Rook’s temple. “See you in a bit….”
Rook looked up at him. “Thanks….”
The door closed and Rook reached out, her fingers gentle around Noah’s lower arm. “How are you doing?”
He managed a twisted smile. “Could be better. And you?”
“Better than you, that’s for sure.” Rook wiped her eyes, her fingers trembling. Clinging to Noah’s cloudy gaze, she whispered, “I thought I’d lost you, Noah. God….”
His hands had second- and third-degree burns on them, and as much as he wanted to reach out and touch Rook, sooth her anxiety and grief, he couldn’t. “I’m too mean to die,” he joked. And then, he frowned, holding her lustrous eyes shining with love for him. “I love you, Rook. I always have. I’ve never not loved you.” His voice cracked. “On that ferry, all I kept thinking about was surviving this…getting back to you…making us a family again….”
Sobbing, Rook stood up on weak legs, her blue bathrobe falling to her knees as she moved to his bed. She leaned over, pressing a kiss to Noah’s bristly cheek. He hadn’t shaved in three days and it made him look gaunt. “I’m so glad you made it,” she said, her voice strained. Easing back, she smiled into his eyes. Noah was on serious morphine and she could see it. “You’re my brother. You hold my heart, Noah.” She moved her hand tenderly across his brow. “We’re going to get through this. I can hardly wait until you can be well. There’s so much we can do together. There’s so much time we have to make up.”
Noah gave her a lazy smile, closing his eyes, absorbing her warm touch. “I like happy endings, Sis. We’re going to be tighter than fleas from now on….”
Chapter Twenty-three
A crisp November breeze blew across the tarmac outside the hangar. Jim had been released from the hospital two weeks ago and was recovering nicely. Rook was still pale and gaunt.
The ceremony honoring the many people who had helped in the Flyer disaster was over. Jim heard Captain Stuart dismiss the two hundred and fifty Coast Guard personnel who were attired in their blue dress uniforms. The ranks that had stood at attention on the tarmac relaxed and began to break up into smaller groups. Reviewing stands, brought in days earlier to line the adjacent area, were now filled to overflowing, with five thousand people in attendance. The 13th District Coast Guard band struck up another patriotic tune. Jim eyed the reporters who raced toward the small cluster of people who had just been awarded medals. His only concern was for Rook.
“Come on,” Jim urged, taking her by the arm and pointing her toward the parking lot. Admiral Savage and even the Commandant of the Coast Guard were present. It was a political field day for all the high-ranking officers of the district who had been involved in the Flyer rescue. Their career advancement was assured. Jim didn’t care about that. All he wanted to do was protect Rook from the hungry hordes of reporters and get her away from the air station. Ever since the disaster, the press had been hounding her for an interview. She had refused, too grief-stricken over Noah’s injuries. He was still in the hospital. The good news: he would recover in time. Noah had one hell of a career before him in the Coast Guard. Rook’s worry for her brother was always on her mind. She spent every day she could in Seattle to be at his bedside. Rook fed Noah strength. Their love had sustained them and would in the future as Noah recovered.
Senator Rufford and his daughter had made peace with Rook earlier, and today she appeared to receive her DFC medal, as well as Noah’s medal. Ward was going to fly over with Rook afterward and pin it on Noah’s pillow. No one deserved it more than Noah. And although Rook knew Jim had been up on that ferry roof with her brother, he wouldn’t be receiving a military medal. And he didn’t want one, satisfied that saving lives was a medal in and of itself.
They wove through knots of people, trying to dodge the reporters. Let Annie and Dave field their questions. Jim tried to nod, to appear pleasant as they received murmurs of “thank you” and “you were all wonderful,” along with pats on the back. He perused Rook’s features, his heart wrenching.
So much had happened since the disaster—so much. He saw Rook clutch the DFC medals in her fist, her mouth stretched in pain. He coaxed her to his Corvette and opened the door.
Rook laid her head back, barely controlling the tears that wanted to fall. When Jim slid into the driver’s seat, she whispered, “Take me to the cemetery, will you?”
Frowning, Jim hesitated and then nodded. He started the car and carefully backed out. Air Station Port Angeles was crowded to the maximum with visitors. All he wanted to do was escape.
A fresh breeze blew through the car window, drying some of the perspiration on Rook’s face. She didn’t see the colorful fall splendor, the dazzling sunlight or the intense dark blue of the sky. Reaching out, she sought and found Jim’s right hand. His fingers were damp and cool, like her own. She turned her head, studying his tension-lined profile.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“Better than you.” Jim glanced at Rook. “You were weaving around at attention. I didn’t know if you were going to make it through that damn ceremony.”
“It was too long.” The words came out bitter.
“It was a dog and pony show,” he agreed.
“It really wasn’t that bad. Captain Stuart went to great efforts to keep the presentation of the medals simple and quick. It was the admiral and his bunch that turned it into a sideshow.”
Jim squeezed her hand gently. “I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I felt like I was suffocating.”
“Me, too.” Rook managed a sad smile. “At least Annie, Dave Harper and the crewmen got medals, too. They all deserved them.”
“Yeah,” he whispered tiredly. “A few good things came out of it. That disaster sealed Annie and Dave’s relationship.”
“That was the only good thing.” Rook looked out over the straits. Today, the water was a marine blue, with sunlight dancing off the gentle swells. How much the sea knew and kept to herself, she mused. “Somewhere down there at the bottom of the straits are twenty people,” she murmured. “People who will never be found.”
“Yeah. I felt especially sorry for Captain Stuart. They never did recover Kenny’s body.”
Rook stared up at the roof of the car. “He was hit hard.”
Jim’s voice lowered. “So were you.”
The reference to Noah sent a veil of tears to Rook’s eyes. Automatically, she reached in her pocket where she always carried tissues. Blotting her eyes, she mumbled, “I’ve never cried so much, Jim—ever. Now, that’s all I can do. He was injured so badly. He’s the real hero in all of this. I-I’m so proud of him. I love him so much….”
“It’s only been two and half months,” Jim said gently, dividing his attention between Rook and driving up the twisting, turning road.
“I-—I know.” She sniffed and blew her nose, clutching the tissue between her fingers. “I’ll be at my desk, working on some PR releases, and all of a sudden I’ll start sobbing. My mind won’t even be on Noah. I—I don’t understand it….”
“Your heart’s on him, Rook.”
She looked at Jim through the blur of her tears. “I don’t know what I’d have done if Noah died. My whole family is gone except for him.”
“Noah’s survived. He’s coming back from those burn injuries. And in another two weeks, he’ll be back here, with you. And—” he gave her a tender look “—we have each other. And that’s something,” Jim told her quietly. His head was aching like a reverberating drum through his skull. The doctors had told him he’d probably have headaches for at least a year after receiving the concus sion—maybe two He’d suffered a TBI, traumatic brain injury, a mild form of it.
Jim redirected his attention to Rook. He ached to lift her out of her roller-coaster emotional state, but didn’t know how. It was better she was able to cry and vent. In time, Jim knew it would pass. All of it was a reaction to the fire on the ferry. Most o
f it, however, Jim knew, was Rook being terrified of losing her only brother. He wondered what would have happened if Noah hadn’t survived. What kind of permanent, terrible damage would it have caused Rook? Now that she’d found her brother, the love they had was nothing short of wonderful. For both of them. And Jim saw the powerful healing going on between them because of the disaster.
“I talked to Captain Stuart just before the ceremony,” he told Rook. “He’s approved an additional two months of convalescence for you, plus thirty days of leave.” Jim gave her a hopeful look. “It will give you three months to heal, Rook—really heal. And you’ll be at Noah’s side, helping him to recover, too.”
Rook responded strongly to Jim’s care and quiet, steady presence in her life. Since the ferry disaster, they had become emotionally inseparable. She’d had to remain in the hospital for a time. Still, it didn’t stop them from visiting with each other and having long, and sometimes painful, talks. She clung to Jim’s strong, steady hand wrapped around hers. Sometimes, their talks were a natural high for both of them. This relationship gave strength and support to her life. Jim had provided a way for her when she felt utterly lost about Noah’s condition.
“I’ve got plans for us, you know,” Jim teased lightly, trying to raise her spirits. Rook’s smile was wobbly, but it was there as she met his blue gaze.
“I knew you were plotting and planning away in that hospital room of yours. Even your dad was complaining that you were running the company from that bed.”
He laughed softly. “I was bored, Rook. You only visited me at night, and I had all day on my hands. Sure, I have plans for us. The company paperwork kept me from going completely stir-crazy in that place.”
Rook managed a strained smile. “Just what kind of plans have you got for me, Jim Barton? You’ve been awful secretive about them.”
He raised her hand, kissing the back of it. Her flesh was cool to his touch. “I’ll tell you in a little while,” he promised.
The cemetery, located on top of a hill overlooking Port Angeles and the straits, came into view. Jim slowed and guided the Corvette into the well-kept area. Glancing over at Rook, he saw her eyes go dark with pain, with remembrance. Following a narrower asphalt road, they drove to the crest. The sycamore and elm trees that were scattered throughout the cemetery were now bleak, their branches bare, awaiting the coming winter.
Beginning with You Page 33