He saw that Callie had a strong backbone. No one would tell her what to do. He switched gears. “Callie, I’m an operator. You know what that means. One operator is as good as ten soldiers. And you owe Dara some support.”
Callie faltered, giving her big sister a guilty look. She gazed at the children eating and then back at Dara. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “I did invite you here, and you’re not used to working in this country,” she told Dara. Her shoulders slumped and she gave Maggie an apologetic look.
“Callie, it’s best that you go back to the base,” Maggie ordered her firmly. She patted her shoulder. “We’ll see the two of you tomorrow at ten a.m. We’ll be fine, so wipe that worry off your face.”
*
Dara couldn’t sleep. She tossed, turned, got up, tried to read, and then threw the book to the end of the bed. It was three in the morning, and her heart, mind, and soul were focused on the orphanage, the children, and Matt. Were they all right? What was going on there? Were the children safe? Were they being raided or robbed? Were bullets being fired into the building at this very moment? Dara hated where her terror-filled thoughts were taking her. Her protective instinct to shield the children was foremost in her mind and heart. And frankly, she was glad Matt had remained behind, even though she missed his presence. He knew how to take care of himself and take care of the orphanage.
Rubbing her face, Dara stared around the tiny cubicle. The walls were thin and she could hear a woman in the room next to her, snoring.
Matt. Her heart lurched with such powerful feelings that Dara couldn’t push them away any longer. Seeing blood on his arm had shocked her. It was then that she realized he had used himself as a target outside the building to protect the rest of them.
Charities used to be safe! They were a haven of help, support, and care for those who had so little. But now the world had gone insane!
She was homesick for the peace and quiet of her condo in the States. She needed to feel the safety of living where bombs weren’t going off a block from where she worked. The terrified screams of the children were still ringing in her ears. They were permanently traumatized because they couldn’t get out of this country. She thought of Aliya and her baby sister.
She tightly shut her eyes, desperation and anger moving through her chest. She knew Callie’s fierce, passionate love of volunteering was her life’s calling.
Callie had the mettle and guts to do it. On the way home from the orphanage, she hadn’t seemed rattled about the bombing, unlike Dara. And when Dara had tried to pry more information out of her about what happened after a bombing, Callie had closed up and refused to discuss it with her.
And she couldn’t stop worrying about Matt. He was a warrior, no question. And he, like Callie and Maggie, seemed immune to the effects of the bombing, while it had torn her apart. As a doctor, she was used to saving lives, not taking them or watching helplessly as they were taken by others.
Before they’d left the orphanage, Dara had seen a few of the bodies of the Taliban soldiers lying like twisted, broken puppets out on the street. She had watched the Afghan soldiers mercilessly kicking at them, even though they were already dead. She’d seen the hatred in the Afghan soldiers’ eyes, and it shocked her. Blood was everywhere on the roadway, on the sidewalks, even on the sides of buildings that she’d seen through the orphanage’s windows.
She was sickened at how this planet and its seven billion people lurched toward, not away from, wars.
Didn’t anyone ever learn that wars hurt everyone, both living and dead? No one was immune to the scarring that had to be endured by the survivors. She’d already dealt with a number of children in her own practice whose soldier fathers and mothers had come home with PTSD. The rest of the family had been contaminated with it, too.
PTSD was a subtle monster that ate away at the fabric of a person and all who knew them. It was infectious. Soon after the father or mother returned home, the children began to have nightmares after hearing their parent screaming in the night.
Or the soldier was irritable and angry all the time, bordering on abusiveness toward his or her own children. And the spouse? Three times in the last four months, Dara had had a private talk with a mother who’d brought in her child for help. Her husband had abused the boy mentally and emotionally, and the mother was at her wit’s end. She knew her children were suffering terribly. They all were. What were the answers?
Dara was a dove kind of person. She wanted peace, calm, and serenity in everyone’s life. Her experiences in Afghanistan were the antithesis of what she wanted out of her life. And what about Matt? She was so drawn to him she couldn’t stop herself. He was a warrior. He fought in wars. He was the opposite of her. And now she cared as much about what would happen to him as she did her sister, Callie. Her whole world had suddenly exploded around her, just like that market.
Dara realized she was in shock. When a person was in shock, he or she didn’t think straight or logically. His or her emotions were in survivor mode and the mind was suddenly of secondary importance.
Emotions were what enabled a person to survive, not the mind. As a doctor, Dara knew adrenaline and cortisol, which the body produced more of when stressed, kept people hyperaware of their surroundings. These hormones heightened a person’s six senses. They didn’t sleep much, or they slept lightly and took short naps. Their hearing range was increased. Their sense of smell became sharpened. All of their senses were turned up to an intense degree to give them that edge so they might live, not die, when the next threat came along.
She flexed her fingers, staring sightlessly at the plywood door. Dara wanted to go home so badly she could taste it. Back to a sane world. Back to safety. She wanted not to be here.
But Matt was here, and she was so desperate to see him, touch him, hear him speak to her, know what lay in his heart.
Dara sensed that he was just as drawn to her. And his care of her yesterday afternoon in that exam room had revealed it to her as nothing else had. He’d been tender, quiet, and patient with her, fully understanding how shaken and rattled she was by the bombing. He’d protected her in so many ways yesterday, just as he’d protected the orphanage and the women and children within those thick stucco walls.
Dara closed her eyes, picturing Matt’s face, those deep gold eyes of his, that slight smile he wore most of the time, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His low voice was so calming to her, as was his sensitivity toward her and all those he met. It was as if he could read her and knew exactly what she needed to stabilize. He’d not told her not to cry, and she’d seen the emotion in his eyes. In a way, even then Matt had been vulnerable with her. He’d removed his game face when they were alone, and the man he revealed took her breath away and made her want to love him so badly she could literally taste it. Taste him.
Dara had tried to talk to Callie about her feelings last night, but her sister seemed preoccupied. With what, she wouldn’t say. Was there a safe harbor for Callie? Maggie? Matt? Had they found some magical well deep within them to move into, so they remained calm and steady when a terrifying crisis hit?
Maybe Callie, at breakfast this morning, could give her some advice or share with her how she coped. Her younger sister was so strong, so sure, with a stubborn streak. She, on the other hand, was like an oyster without a shell. It had taken everything she possessed to get through medical school. The only reason she’d made it was so she could shift her focus to children, her passion. Could she dig deep within to see if she could change her focus while she was here in Afghanistan?
Dara grimly decided she needed a serious reality adjustment. If she could swing into a new mental attitude, things would be easier. Humans lived on their emotions, keeping their brains secondary to their feelings. Maybe Callie and Matt could guide her in this regard by showing her how to make the changes she needed to handle this threatening environment. Others had done it. Why couldn’t she?
CHAPTER 8
Dara’s heart lurched as she saw Mat
t emerge from the rear exit door of the orphanage the next morning. Anxiously, she scoured his face, looking for signs of stress. He had dark smudges beneath his eyes and his game face was in place, his mouth tight as he held his rifle, the muzzle pointed skyward.
He appeared alert, peering behind the van and striding past it to shut the sliding gates and lock them again. The day was rainy and cold, the sky dark and turbulent, a grim reflection of yesterday’s death and mayhem.
Dara climbed out of the van and pulled her gray wool coat a little tighter around her. Callie and Mohammed moved quickly inside the rear door, but Dara waited as Matt turned, dark rain splotches on his clothing. He was still wearing the same blue shirt, the dried blood a reminder of yesterday. She saw his cold eyes grow warm when he walked up to greet her.
“You look beautiful,” he rasped, sliding his arm around her waist, drawing her against him.
All her worry and anxiety fled as his mouth curved hotly against hers, welcoming her back into his arms and into his heart. She leaned up, equally hungry, wanting to confirm that he was all right despite her worry since she’d left him last evening.
As the rain started falling hard and fast, he broke the kiss, hauling her in beneath the small porch roof with him.
Dara was breathless, locked in the burning gold of his eyes, feeling his powerful yearning for her, her body tight against his. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice sounding wispy, even to her.
“I am now.” Matt gave her a rakish grin, kissing the top of her damp hair.
Laughter bubbled up through her. Matt was fine! Tired looking, yes, but fine, and never had she felt relief and gratitude as she did right now.
“I like driving you crazy.” She searched his smiling face, thinking that at one moment he could be a hard, merciless warrior, and the next, a man she ached to have in every possible way.
“How’s your arm this morning, Matt?” She gently touched the area below where he had been wounded.
“Fine.” He made a face. “It’s a pinprick, Dara, nothing more. Come on inside. Maggie and the widows are preparing the children breakfast, and they’re getting ready to begin their schooling.”
“Okay,” she said, but then hesitated. “Are you going to come home tonight?” Was she being selfish? She saw his smile slip.
“I’m staying here tonight, too, Dara. Things were pretty quiet last night, but I need to guard this place at least one more night.” He held her luminous gaze. “Keep the next night open for us, okay? Are you still game?”
She leaned against him, savoring his strength and steadiness. “Game? Absolutely. Nothing’s changed since we last talked about it, Matt.” She saw his eyes gleam, that longing back in them once more.
His arm tightened briefly around her waist for a moment. “Good to hear, sweetheart. Okay, let’s get inside. You have a full slate of mothers with babies set to arrive at eleven a.m.”
*
It rained all day long, off and on. A cold rain. Matt wouldn’t allow the children outside, so Dara squeezed all the mothers and their babies who came to see her that day into the common room. Callie and Maggie made huge pots of hot tea for everyone. There was little money to heat the place, but with thirty women and children packed together, things quickly warmed up.
Matt continued to prowl along the fence, always checking above for snipers and keeping an eye out for white Toyota pickups. He’d put on his thick black nylon winter jacket, but over time it, too, became soggy and cool. He was surprised when an Army Humvee pulled up and Beau Gardner climbed out in civilian gear, his M4 in his gloved hand. Matt opened the gate for him.
“What are you doing here, bro?”
Beau shrugged. “I heard that red-haired belly dancer was working here and finally tracked her down the old-fashioned way. I figured I’d get dropped off to see her. We heard about that market bombing. I didn’t know you were this close to it.”
Beau pulled his dark green baseball cap a little lower and slowly looked up and down the main highway, now crowded with cars, trucks, donkeys, and a few camels.
Matt locked the gate and gestured for Beau to follow him behind the building toward the back door. “Delta Force rocks,” he told him, chuckling. “I imagine a whole bunch of guys wanted to track down Callie.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Beau ducked beneath the small porch overhang, pulling his dark blue nylon coat collar up around his neck. He rearranged the green and yellow shemagh around his neck and shoulders. It would keep the rain out. They stood there, away from the gray pall of wet weather. “So is Callie McKinley here? She works for the Hope Charity, right?”
“Yeah, she’s here. She’s an employee of the charity. Her sister, Dara, is a physician and pediatrician.”
“Huh! Guess that explains why all those women and babies I saw through the window are here.”
Matt wiped his wet face. “Callie’s really busy right now. It’s not a good time to go in and introduce yourself, Beau.”
“Okay, no problem. She single? Married? I couldn’t find that out.”
“Single, no boyfriend.”
“Well, this is my lucky day!”
“Maybe,” Matt said, sliding him a dark look of warning. “She’s headstrong and knows what she wants. And she doesn’t suffer fools, Beau.”
“I’m not a fool.” He looked down at his sneakers. “I might be from the hills of West Virginia, but I’m no dumb box of rocks.”
Chuckling, Matt said, “You always do my heart good, Beau.”
“Why are you here, Aslan?” Beau asked.
“Dr. McKinley and Callie asked me for some security, and I have five days off, so I thought I’d tag along.” He saw Beau give him a narrow-eyed look.
“Now,” Beau drawled, “why does that sound a bit suspicious? Callie’s sister is a belly dancer, too. I saw you slip out the front door of the chow hall that night after she danced.”
“I’m not a dumb box of rocks either, Gardner.”
Chortling, Beau rubbed his dark brown beard, which he’d carefully shaped so he looked more groomed and presentable. He’d even gotten a haircut so he didn’t look like a shaggy dog. “You’re a smooth devil, I’ll give you that, Aslan.”
Matt merely smiled. On the team, that was what they called him, always teasing him about his amber eyes, calling him “a lion in disguise.” That wasn’t far from the truth, because Matt truly was a lion in many respects. He even had a tawny mane to match his name. “I’m not kissing and tellin’, bro.”
“Operators are kinda like that, aren’t they?” Beau moved his chin toward the door. “Can we go in? Can I help in any way? Are you posting a walk around every fifteen minutes or so?”
“Yes, but I stagger it because if someone is out on a rooftop timing me, I don’t want them to get my schedule down,” Matt told him. He looked at his watch. “Let’s go inside. Maggie usually has coffee in her office. Would you like a cup? We have about fifteen minutes before we make our next round.”
Dara saw Matt walk by with another man who was about two inches taller than he was, built lean, reminding her of a half-starved cougar. The stranger had a similar look on his face and clothes like Matt’s. He also carried an M4 rifle in a chest harness, the barrel pointed downward. There was an easygoing air between them, and for once, Matt seemed completely relaxed, given the circumstances.
Dara quietly closed the exam-room door, pulling the stethoscope off her neck to listen to a two-year-old girl who sat on the gurney, her cinnamon-colored eyes huge as she watched Dara approach.
Dara had wanted to have time to talk to Matt, but it hadn’t happened. Many more women than expected had crowded into the orphanage, so Callie and Maggie did shifts, keeping the women comfortable with hot tea. Sounds of the bathroom being used were frequent, as were crying and sniffling from many young children drifting up and down the hall. Maggie and her widows provided many warm bottles of milk for the fussing, hungry babies. The mothers were more than grateful because some could not breastfeed for any number
of reasons. Goat’s milk was the preferred choice. Coloring books and crayons fascinated the older children, and one widow kept them all in one corner of the common room where there were tables and chairs. They also fed the older children snacks in the kitchen, which they loved. And Callie made sure the wet, weary mothers were fed as well. The two widows in the kitchen were working at the speed of light to keep the food and snacks coming. The children of the orphanage had been kept indoors due to the cold rain. It was, in short, an organized madhouse.
As the day wore on, Dara longed more and more to spend some time with Matt. She had so much to share with him. Matt was a good listener, and right now Dara wished she could have quality time with him. And although she was seeing a lot of sick babies and mommies, things were going pretty smoothly.
The only reminder of yesterday’s carnage was smeared blood running down the sides of stucco houses on the other side of the road. The images turned Dara’s stomach. She longed to do some belly-dancing exercises, because they always helped her get rid of anxiety or anything else bothering her.
She and Callie had been too exhausted after the bombing yesterday to go over to the gym and work out at Bagram. Dara kept a soft smile on her face, her voice low and warm for the sake of each mother and baby she saw. And it was the babies who made her smile and feel whole once more.
As one of her patients left, Dara went down the hall to grab a quick cup of coffee in Maggie’s office. As she stepped through the open door, she spotted Matt casually talking with the stranger.
“Hi,” she said, walking over to the coffee machine.
Matt nodded. “Dara, meet Sergeant Beau Gardner. He’s on my team.”
She smiled and shook his hand. He was a tall string bean of a man, but she wasn’t deluded into thinking that “lean” meant “weak.” He was Delta Force, and it showed in the glint of his gray eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gardner.”
“Same here, ma’am. You can call me Beau.”
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