Drawing Blood (14 page)

His temperature was still high, but she could feel his pulse and breathing level out.

This is stupid
, she scolded herself. Yet seeing him panicking, locked in a nightmare, had upset her. Maybe it was his youth, but she felt an irrational need to take care of him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

David

When David opened his eyes he felt relieved, like he had escaped a close call, but from what he had no idea. He couldn’t remember anything, he was just glad to be awake.

But something was strange. He was warm. And dry. His entire body was aching, and his head was pounding. But what the hell …

He was on his side, and when he straightened out his right leg he felt an intense burning, then a tight pull like his skin had shrunk. It made stars of pain explode in his head, and he nearly hollered, turning his head to the side to bury the shout in to his pillow …

Which wasn’t a pillow. Not at all.

His brain was incredibly slow, like he was back on Juno Beach trying to wade through waist-high water. Everything was taking longer to register … like the fact that he was in bed with a woman.

David rolled to his right a bit, wincing. His shoulder and leg were incredibly tight, and then he became aware of pain in another place. Apparently his body knew very well it was in bed with a woman. His erection actually hurt.

He blinked and examined what he could of the room, trying to find something he recognized. Nothing was familiar. The room had wall paper that matched the quilt that covered him. There was dim daylight coming through the windows, but the nightstand light was also on. The furniture was old, wooden, and looked like it cost some money at some point.

He moved carefully, angling his head up, telling his dick to ignore the fact that he was rubbing his face on her breast. She was waking just as he got to where he could see her.

Her hair was hidden in a kerchief. Her skin was pale but creamy. She had frown lines between her eyebrows, which made him think she was likely a few years older than him. She was thin – that much he could feel. Her hips were bony, and his one arm that was trapped under her back told him her waist was incredibly narrow. Still she was the best pillow he’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping on.

She smiled down at him sleepily, and he felt his heart actually stop. Her smile was wide, and her green-brown eyes blinked themselves wider. One of her front teeth overlapped the next one slightly, which was adorable. Her smile didn’t care about that flaw; it was honest and absolutely stunning. He realized he was staring at her like a complete idiot.

“Hi,” she mumbled, sitting up a bit. “I’m Abby.”

“David,” he blurted. “I’m … I’m David.”

“Your friend didn’t tell me your name.”

“Murphy’s here too?”

She frowned. “He said his name was Elliot.”

He never called Murphy by his first name. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever known it. “Oh … Murphy’s his last name. Sorry. He’s … he’s my Lieutenant.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed right now, having just met you. Would it be alright if we sat you up so I can wiggle out of here?”

He nodded, and with her direction he rolled his back against her then sat up carefully, feeling that same pull in his skin in his leg and shoulder. She managed to wrangle out of the bed, her dress making it awkward. Then she helped him ease back on the pillows she’d vacated. They were still warm, but nowhere near as warm as she had been.

She pulled the upper part of his robe to the side, sitting on the edge of the bed. David knew he looked shocked, but when he saw her frown and lean forward with a clinical expression he looked over at his shoulder, too. “Oh – shit. Shoot. Sorry. I didn’t expect … that.”

He was shot. That would explain why it hurt to move that arm. He watched her press the skin around it, making him inhale sharply. Then she got him to sit up and she did the same on his back.

“It went all the way through?”

She eased him back down again, nodding. “It went in the back, that hole is a lot smaller. It missed bones, and it didn’t bleed a lot. It’s a good thing it came out the other side. If I had to go in and get it this would hurt a lot more. Like your leg.”

She pulled the blanket and sheets off him, and he made sure this robe he had on covered him up. He still hadn’t settled down below the belt, and as she untied the sash he made sure to bunch the fabric around himself. David tried not to think about how he was naked in front of her from shoulder to foot, until he saw his leg.

“Shit,” he repeated. His skin was split up the front like overripe fruit. It was red and angry, with black thread holding the skin closed. Each stitch was puckered. It stretched from mid-thigh to just above his knee.

“We had to pull a chunk of metal out of your leg,” she was saying, professional in tone.

Again, he was just catching up. “You fixed all this up?”

She smiled at him again. “I did. You were in my bathtub bleeding all over.”

“I was in your tub? Naked?” He wasn’t being lecherous; he was panicking again.

“Don’t worry. Your Lieutenant protected your modesty.”

He felt relief but didn’t let it show. “I was more worried about yours, actually.”

She laughed, and it was like the tinkling of wine glasses. “I’m a nurse, David. And I’m married. I’ve seen naked men before.”

Well that was disappointing; the married part.

“I think we caught this just in time,” she said, absently, more to herself. “Your fever broke, which is good. I think you’re getting rid of any infection.”

“That’s … that’s good.”

She placed the bandage back on the wound, tying it back up with the surgical gauze. Then she threw the open half of his robe back over him and pulled the quilt back in place.

“I’ll find you something to eat. Just take it easy for a while.”

He nodded then watched her leave.

Now he had time to wonder how he’d ended up here. Abby was English. The last thing he remembered was being in the woods in France. And now … he was in a comfortable bed, warm and clean.

He could hear footsteps on creaking floorboards, and the next person he saw he recognized. He felt tears come to his eyes, and he wiped at them angrily. He shook his head, coughed as Murphy crossed the room and sat in the armchair next to the bed. He was in pajama bottoms, wool socks and a knit sweater that was far too big around his stomach. He looked exhausted but he smiled at David anyway, asking “How you feeling?”

“I hurt all over,” David replied. “I feel like I’ve been stretched out on a rack, poked full of holes then rolled on gravel. How do I look?”

“Like shit.”

“Perfect.”

They both laughed then fell in to comfortable quiet. David closed his eyes, knowing now how he got here. Murphy had to have carried or dragged him. Who knew how far he’d had to go, but that was the only explanation as to why he was in a house and not a hospital.

“Where are we?”

Murphy cleared his throat. “We crossed enemy lines, apparently. We’re a couple hours from Calais, in a farming town.”

“Who’s the English girl?”

“Abigail? She’s been living here. I didn’t ask why or for how long.”

“I thought we got so lost we ended up back in England.”

Murphy laughed. “That would have been quite a trick. You’re assuming I wouldn’t recognize the Channel if I stepped in it?”

David laughed too, shaking his shoulder and wincing because of it. “Shit,” he muttered. “Getting shot hurts.”

“I believe you. You were lucky. What the hell did you think you were doing? Taking that bullet for me?”

David just shook his head.

“You saved my life, David.”

David opened one eye. He couldn’t remember Murphy calling him by his first name before. “So just like that: we’re even.”

“I didn’t save anything. She did.”

“You know what I mean. There’s only one way I could have got here.”

Murphy waved it off. “You would have done the same for me,” he muttered, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

David closed his eyes, too. For the first time in four years he was relaxed and calm. So he slept.
Yeah, I would
, he thought as he drifted back off to sleep. He’d die for that man without a second thought. Now more than ever.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Elliot

Elliot watched David drift off to sleep, and leaned his head back to rest his eyes.

It had been a surreal kind of pleasure to wash the uniforms in the wringer tub in the kitchen. It almost felt normal. Janet had insisted that he wash his own coveralls after he’d worked on the car or in the yard. The uniforms had been similar, just more pieces to them.

There was a lot of blood to wash out of his own pant leg from the bullet that had grazed him about a month ago. Cleary’s uniform had really worried him. He’s rinsed them a half dozen times and had to change the water three times. And the socks had almost been enough to knock him out.

He’d then sat at the table to repair the tear in Cleary’s trouser leg and blouse. He used the needle and thread the nurse had used to stitch him up: it seemed fitting. Their matching outfits had then been thrown over the edge of the tub in the upstairs bathroom to dry completely.

Then he’d gone outside for a cigarette. He’d have to stop doing that before he went home, it would piss Janet off to no end; she hated the smell. Even Cleary gave him shit for it, telling him that it would likely kill him one day. It had been funny at the time; still was. Anything he saw in a day was more likely to kill him a hell of a lot faster than a smoke.

Elliot’s search of the perimeter had turned up a lot of very empty ramshackle buildings, not much else. There was a wooden barn that was close to falling in on itself, and that was well out in to the yard. It smelled of dust and hay. Nothing alive had been housed there in ages. The chicken coop smelled like it had possibly been inhabited within the past few years but he couldn’t see a single feather. The sheds he found were mostly empty, too. He was sure this Abigail and her family had bought this place to strictly live in. They’d never been farmers.

There was a good-sized garden tucked over a ridge, and he found the well access by nearly tripping over it in the dark. It was safely locked up. Near a ridge of trees beyond the garden he found two modestly marked graves: one had a plain stone monument and the other was only marked with a wooden cross.

Seeing those two markers had sent a cold chill down his spine. It was then that he paused, letting the sudden silence of that night wrap around him. The war might as well be on the other side of the ocean. He could hear nothing but wind in the grass and leaves. His own heartbeat. It was then that he remembered that Clyde Walton was dead too, and that he’d been a friend of Cleary’s. He’d have to be the one the break the news to the kid. His stomach tightened at the prospect, but nothing could be served by putting it off.

The grave markers had been giving him their full attention as he contemplated the past few hours, and he actually nodded his respect before returning to the house.

Now as Elliot rested in this comfortable chair in a cozy bedroom, his mind was not quiet. He was calculating how far it was to the door or how close Cleary’s rifle was to his left knee if he needed to grab it. His ears were scanning for rumbling heavy artillery or planes. The urge to relax was there but he was physically incapable of it.

Cleary moaned in his sleep, and that brought him upright in the chair again. The young man’s face was screwed tight, and the moans were almost being exhaled like he was breathing through pain. Elliot took Cleary’s right hand in both of his, and after a moment David’s entire body relaxed and he sighed in his sleep as he stilled, head falling to the side, face slack and relaxed.

The door opened, and he looked up at the creaking of hinges. Abigail held two steaming mugs, and she gave one to him, setting the other down on the table next to the bed.

Elliot sipped his coffee quietly, inexplicably comfortable with her in the room. She put a hand to Cleary’s forehead gently, and Elliot watched her face. Her expression was kind neutrality. Elliot realized this was the first time he’d seen a woman that didn’t immediately fall in love with the kid. Her face held no longing, no coy fascination with him. She was concerned … and that was all.

She was pretty, Elliot decided, studying her while she was distracted. Her skin was milky-pale, and he could see just a few freckles on her cheeks. He couldn’t remember her eye colour. Had he noticed? She was average height for a woman, which meant she had a few inches on his wife. His eyes ran downward to her legs, bare below the skirt of her dress. They were thin; too thin. But their milky skin was smooth and looked perfect.

He looked back up as she turned to him, and she sat on the edge of the bed. “Let me see your eyes now.”

Elliot frowned as she took his cup, setting it next to the other one. She leaned forward towards him, putting each hand to the sides of his face. She tilted his neck towards the window, then commanded that he open and close his eyes. It was disconcerting to have a stranger this close to his face.  She had drank some coffee as well; he could smell it on her breath. Her eyelashes were light brown around her eyes, which were hazel. Hazel, that’s what they were.

“I think you’re going to be fine. Your concussion must have been minor. You haven’t felt sick?”

“No, not since last night.”

“Excellent. I’ll go finish breakfast.”

“Thank you, Abigail.”

She smiled, and he had no choice but to return it. She still held his face, and he didn’t really notice. He was looking at the shape of her lips, the upturn of her nose, and those freckles, which he could now see were plentiful, crossing from cheek to cheek across her nose. When she smiled her face lit up. It was lovely.

Her smile faded eventually, that’s when he felt uncomfortable. She sat up, letting go of him. His skin missed the warmth of her hands, but he leaned back in the chair, too, clearing his throat. Suddenly the whole room felt awkward. He must really be missing home.

She closed the door behind her, and he stared at that slab of wood thoughtfully. She wore a wedding ring. She was also waiting for someone to come home.

Which of course led his mind back to Janet. He recalled his last phone call to her, the day before the big-hep surprise operation. Instinct had told him to get hold of her; in the event that it was his last chance to hear her voice.

She’d been washing dishes, she told him. Her parents had been over for supper. She’d been able to tell by his voice that something was out of the ordinary. He hadn’t told her anything, he’d just asked about her day, told her he loved her.

“Elliot … what’s going on?”

He closed his eyes, hating not being able to tell her that something big was coming. He didn’t know what it was so he couldn’t divulge any defense secrets, but he still couldn’t share his worry with her. Not truly.

He’d repeated that he missed her and that he’d always love her. His voice broke, and that sent her in to tears too as she assured him she loved him more than anything.

His eyes watered up even then, remembering. He hadn’t let himself think of Janet all this time. She was a distraction that could prevent him from getting home. But in this safe place where his clothes were clean and the chair he sat in was padded and warm, he wrapped himself in her. He remembered past events that had seemed like nothing at the time. While he sat in that chair she was his only focus.

When Cleary came out of his nap, Elliot pushed Janet to the back of his mind. Cleary smiled at him easily, raising his eyebrows. “Still not a dream?”

“Nope.” Elliot didn’t like the news he had to tell Cleary, but the kid had to know. “Hey, listen. I found something when I was leaving that clearing.”

“Yeah?”

“Walton. He … he didn’t make it.”

Cleary’s face was very still as he regarded Elliot. “You saw his body?”

“Yeah.”

“What got him?”

“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t hang around to check him over.”

Cleary nodded, looking away, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Shit.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I knew he was your friend.”

Cleary sniffed, blinking and looking away while he pushed himself upright. “He was a pain in the ass, too.”

“A funny pain in the ass,” Elliot agreed.

The younger man wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know he’s not the first we lost from C-company but …”

Elliot just nodded. “Yeah. I know.” He pointed to the nightstand. “She brought you coffee.”

“Heavens alive,” Cleary said as Elliot handed him the mug. “It doesn’t smell like the shit we usually get.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s really good.”

Cleary took a sip, moaning his pleasure in that dark, caffeinated water. “Oh Lieutenant, she wants me to fall in love with her, doesn’t she? This is divine.”

“Easy, Cleary.”

“I know, I saw. She’s married.”

“Besides, what about the girl back in Canada?”

Cleary frowned. “Which girl?”

“The one you were so concerned about … pleasing.” Elliot was sure he was blushing.

“Daphne? Trust me, I’m sure she’d found a replacement. She wasn’t a shy one, that one. That’s what made her such a good teacher.”

“I have never felt so old.”

“Just old-fashioned … sir.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

Cleary was nearly choking on his coffee he was trying so hard not to laugh. Elliot had to crack a smile too, which he hid by picking up his own mug and taking a swig.

Normal talk. All so very normal, Elliot wondered. He hadn’t had such a normal conversation since they invaded Normandy. He wondered if Cleary found it odd, but when he looked up all Cleary said was, “Do I smell eggs?”