“Yeah, right. You act like a man who really needs to get laid. I assume the good sergeant isn't being accommodating?”
Patrick didn't answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny what Stark was saying. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't get the woman out of his mind. “Sergeant Assad is an attractive woman. It's only reasonable to look at her. I don't blame Harris.”
He leaned back in his seat as Stark drove him back to headquarters. The day of firearms training had been more or less uneventful, but he sighed as he contemplated the coming weeks of close proximity with a woman who drew his eyes like no woman ever had before. He knew from experience that where the eyes went, the hands were sure to follow, and he simply couldn't afford the distraction. Damn Colonel Brown anyway. Why the hell didn't she just send him back to Iraq? Combat was definitely preferable to this situation.
“You know they're staying at the guesthouse on the other side of the base.”
“What? And just how did you come by the little nugget of information?”
“One of them told me. They're very excited to be here, and we were talking about some of the sights they might want to check out while they're here.”
“Staff Sergeant, once again, I'm reminding you that it's hands-off.”
“I know, I know, gunny. But why is it that I suspect you're talking to yourself more than you're talking to me?”
Patrick opened his mouth to respond, then took a deep breath. Anything that he might say would be even more revealing than what he'd already said.
The small convoy snaked along the two-lane country road following the amber-hued glow of the late summer sunset. In the tail truck, Lelia glanced over at Patrick, who was driving with the same casual competence with which he seemed to do everything. His lightly tanned hands gripped the steering wheel, and he tapped out a tattoo in time with the harsh rock music blaring out of the radio.
Since their encounter in his office, they'd more or less kept their distance. She'd avoided traveling with him to any of their previous training destinations. Somehow this afternoon when they gathered for the return trip, she'd found herself in the same truck. In accordance with protocol, she was riding shotgun. She'd have preferred to be in the back of the truck with the rest of her soldiers, but asking to switch would've made her discomfort obvious.
“These late afternoons always remind me of going hunting with my old man back home,” Patrick said casually.
“Back home? Where are you from?” Lelia asked, realizing that they'd never really discussed his background. Someone had mentioned that he was from the Deep South, but that was all she really knew about him.
“I grew up in south Alabama. Little town called Bayou la Batre. The landscape is low and swampy like it is here, and we'd get the same incredible sunsets.” A chuckle rumbled low in his chest. “I guess it's time for me to get back home for a visit.”
“How long has it been?” The rhythmic cadence of his voice with its softly rounded vowels had an almost hypnotic effect, and Lelia found herself forgetting her resolution to keep her distance from him.
Patrick raised a hand to rub his chin, almost as though he'd once worn a beard. She noticed that he did that a lot when he was thinking. Y'Allah! she thought in disgust. Was there anything about this guy she hadn't noticed?
“Must have been Christmas, though to hear my mom tell it, it's never often enough.” He grinned. “She's almost as good at tearing me a new one as you are.”
“You Americans and your charming turns of phrase. If tearing you a new one means putting you in your place, clearly your poor mother hasn't done it nearly often enough.”
“Oh, I'm sure she'd say she's gotten too old for the job and is in dire need of some backup.” Lelia almost laughed at his derisive snort. “That's her not-too-subtle hint that I need a wife.”
“Does she use that as a lure for your potential wives? I must admit having her assistance in putting you in your place on a regular basis does sweeten the pot, as it were.”
“You mean I'm not sufficiently tempting on my own merit?”
Lelia tilted her head to the side. “Hmmm, not so much,” she murmured, lying through her teeth. If the man were any more tempting, she would've consigned her soul to hell the day she met him. As it was, she stood a good chance of it winding up there anyway. To get her mind off those treacherous thoughts, she changed the subject. “Your mother sounds like a charming woman. Clearly, that trait totally missed you. Do you have any siblings?”
“My family is rather large. I think I mentioned I have three sisters?” Lelia nodded. “I have two brothers as well. My sisters are all younger. One's at Auburn studying marine biology. The other two are still in high school. My oldest brother is a marine as well, and my other brother is in the navy.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “This past Christmas was the first Christmas we've all been together in almost fifteen years.”
“Your poor mother. She must miss you a lot—” She broke off as Patrick jerked the wheel, swerving to avoid a car that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. For a moment it seemed he would be able to keep the truck on the road; then a horrible grinding noise shook the vehicle as the brakes locked, sending the truck into an uncontrollable skid across the road. The world spun, and vertigo shimmered in her inner ear as they slid off the shoulder and the truck careened into a ravine. Branches and leaves scraped at the windows as the truck plowed violently into the brush on the side of the road. Lelia's head swam dizzily as the truck flipped once, then flipped again. Patrick yelled something she didn't understand as he was punched back into his seat by the force of their fall. She braced her arm against the door, struggling to maintain her balance, grateful for the seat belt that held her in place. As if from a distance she could hear loud screaming, and it took her several disoriented moments to realize that it was her soldiers in the back of the truck.
“Are you okay?”
Lelia looked over at Patrick, who was still strapped into the driver's seat. Her seat belt still held her firmly in her seat as well, even though the truck had landed on the driver's side and her weight and the force of gravity were pulling against it. She finally responded to Patrick, assuring him that she was okay, which, as far as she could tell, was the truth. After confirming that he too had suffered no serious injury, she began looking for a way out.
Getting a heavy steel door open when a vehicle is lying on its side was even more difficult than she'd expected. Lelia struggled for several minutes before finally getting it to budge. She could still hear voices and see movement at the back of the truck. As the sun finally sank behind the horizon, the gathering twilight made it harder to see, and she was more than a bit unsettled. She looked around for the other vehicle and finally concluded it must have continued on its way after causing this catastrophe. There were no other vehicles traveling the remote road in the heavily wooded area. The scent of burned rubber rose acrid to her nose, displacing the more astringent aroma of pine from damaged trees.
Lelia helped Patrick climb out after her, and she studied a small cut on his forehead with some concern until a muffled scream from the rear of the truck drew her attention. They both ran to the back, where a dozen-or-so members of the Amazonian Guard had gathered. Some were kneeling beside the vehicle leaning back into it, clearly trying to help someone else out.
“She's stuck, ma'am,” one of them spoke up as she saw Lelia approach. “I think she's caught under something.”
Lelia grabbed the flashlight one of the soldiers offered, and peered into the back of the truck, comforted by Patrick's reassuring presence leaning against her back. The side of the truck had crashed against a tree and caved in. Crushed metal was bent at odd angles, and the bench seat had pulled loose from its moorings. The soldier, Khadi, was wedged headfirst under the seat with only her lower body visible. How the hell had this happened?
Patrick backed away as screeching tires signaled the return of the rest of the convoy. “These seven-tons are self-winching. We should be able to get it upright pretty quickly. We've got tools. We can get her out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I'll just call for a medic.”
Lelia climbed farther into the truck to try to get a closer look at her friend. She'd been talking the whole time; now she had fallen into silence.
“We'd better wait for the medics,” Lelia said over her shoulder. “She's not responding. I think she's lost consciousness.”
* * *
The light in the hospital waiting room was appropriately subdued. It was decorated in subtle earth tones with touches of greens and blue. The decor was probably supposed to be soothing and comforting, but Lelia would've preferred a more clinical setting. There was something unnerving about waiting to hear news of the life-and-death variety in what could be the den of any house in America. She sat hunkered down in the corner of the plush chenille sofa with her knees under her chin.
She looked up as Patrick entered the room carrying a bottle of water and a cup of coffee. She took the bottle when he offered it to her. “You know, you probably should have gone back to the barracks with everyone else. It's getting late, and there's no point in waiting around here.”
Patrick sat down beside her in a position that would've been uncomfortably close had she not been so absorbed in her misery.
“Even
I'm
not a big enough asshole to leave you alone at a time like this. Did they come back yet to tell you anything?”
Lelia shook her head, unscrewing the cap off the water bottle. It had been hours since they'd followed the ambulance to the base hospital, leaving her too much time to think. Maybe she shouldn't have sent the others away. She definitely needed the distraction of their company. “Khadi's been with me a long time. I don't want to call her family until I actually have something to tell them. They're so proud of her, and they'll be devastated if she's paralyzed or…”
“It's always bad when one of your people gets hurt. This is such a cluster fuck with that kid swerving in front of us like that.”
Lelia wiped a hand over her face. “I just wish they'd come back and tell us something.”
“I think she'll be okay. She was already starting to get the feeling back in her legs before they even got her out of the truck.”
“Yeah, but she was still having a hard time breathing,” Lelia said.
Patrick reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. “It's not your fault, Lelia.”
She exhaled heavily, wanting nothing so much as to just rest. “I know that, Trick,” she said, too tired for it even to register that she'd called him by the nickname she'd been resisting since he shared it with her.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Turning her so her back was to him, he began kneading her shoulders.
Lelia stiffened. This was really not a good idea. But there was no one else in the waiting room, and it felt so good. She felt her muscles soften under the firm pressure from his hands, and the words began flowing out, almost of their own accord. “It seems that I've been responsible for other people all my life. I love being a soldier, but sometimes it gets to be too much.” Patrick murmured in agreement, and Lelia realized it was the first time she'd had a conversation with someone in a position to understand what it was like for her.