Dawn of Valor (15 page)

Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he realized it had only been forty minutes since they’d arrived at the MASH unit. Chase paced restlessly, rubbing his brow where an ache was centering. Just as he was about to head back over to the surgery tent, the door quietly opened and closed. He jerked to a halt in the center of the tent, his gaze swinging to the figure standing inside the door. It was a nurse, her surgery gown darkened with rain and splattered with blood. Chase’s eyes widened as she took off her mask and pulled the sweat-stained green cap from her head. Black hair, shining beneath the lantern light, tumbled around her shoulders.

“Rachel!” Her name came out explosively, raw and primal.

She stood uncertainly, the mask and cap dangling in her left hand. “Chase?”

He blinked once, as if not believing his eyes. “What—I mean, I didn’t know you were here.” His voice was terribly off-key.

Walking over to him, Rachel managed a strained smile laced with sadness. “I’ve been here a month.” She frowned, gripping his arm, her voice lowering. “I asked the doctors to let me talk to you about Lieutenant Dawson.”

Chase tensed, his eyes darkening. “Buddy?”

“Yes.” Rachel swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold his anguished gaze. Chase knew what she was going to tell him—she could see him trying to prepare himself for the tragic news. She gripped his arm more firmly. “He was your friend?”

Chase couldn’t speak. His throat closed up. Instead, he nodded, holding on to the photo in his right hand.

“I’m sorry, Chase. Buddy didn’t make it. He’d lost too much blood. He went into cardiac failure.” Her fingers tightened as she felt him stiffen, denial coupled with disbelief in his features.

“No!” His cry caterwauled off the tent walls. Chase spun from her grasp and walked to the other end of the tent.

Rachel watched Chase halt, his back to her. The shadows accentuated his hunched and shaking shoulders. He was crying. Without thinking, she walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Chase,” she murmured in a strangled tone, “I’m sorry. So sorry…”

Just the firm touch of Rachel’s hand on his shoulder made Chase turn blindly in her direction. His eyes were filled with tears, blurring her softened features and sad green eyes. “It can’t be…it can’t be.” He held up the photo for her to look at, his hand trembling. “Buddy’s got a new daughter, three months old. He’s never seen her…he’s got a wife. They’ve been married just a short time—” His voice cracked, the wall of pain welling up through him.

“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

“M
iss 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.