Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Her Healing Touch

Her Healing Touch
Lindsay McKenna
HER TOUCH WAS LEGENDARYHe had come to South America to find her, to learn from the legendary healer what it was to mend lives. But Sergeant Burke Gifford hadn't expected the surge of powerful feeling Angel Paredes would stir in his heart. After all, he was a rough-and-tumble Special Forces man on a mission, not a man come to fall in love.HIS LOVE WAS ALL-CONSUMINGShe had healed many, but her own heart remained wounded. Yet from the moment Angel looked into Burke's eyes, she knew this strong, silent sergeant had a power far greater than hers. The power to love her–and to make her whole again.



“My head tells me I’m crazy to fall in love again…” Angel said.
“But my crazy heart has decided it likes you,” Burke said, taking her hand in his.
She felt his fingers close more firmly over hers. “Mine, too.” She met his stormy-looking eyes. “But I’m scared, Burke. Scared as hell. You’re going to be gone in a month. You’re never comin’ back.”
“I know….” Burke clearly read the frustration in her face, felt it in his own heart.
“I’m just not built emotionally for an affair, Burke.”
“I know that. That’s why I’ve been fighting my attraction to you. But it isn’t easy, Angel. It isn’t easy at all….”

LINDSAY MCKENNA
A homeopathic educator, Lindsay McKenna teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers on those levels. Coming from an Eastern Cherokee medicine family, Lindsay has taught ceremony and healing ways from the time she was nine years old. She creates flower and gem essences in accordance with nature and remains closely in touch with her Native American roots and upbringing.

Her Healing Touch
Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my husband, David,
whose love has always been healing for me.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue

Chapter One
“Dude, this sucks,” Sergeant Angel Paredes muttered as she sat sulking on the gurney in the Black Jaguar Squadron dispensary.
Dr. Elizabeth Cornell studied the X rays she had put up on the light box. “Hmm. Well, Angel, you did it up right this time.” Tracing the X ray of Angel’s left shoulder with an index finger, Elizabeth turned to look at her assistant. “Your biceps tendon is inflamed. You have tendonitis. Congratulations.”
“Damn…”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Elizabeth said, quirking her lips. “You know what that means?”
“That you’re gonna give me an anti-inflammatory shot to ease my considerable pain, so I stop acting like an irritable pit bull. Right?”
Grinning, Elizabeth turned off the light box and put the two X rays into a large folder that had Angel’s name at the top. The dispensary shook and trembled as two Apache helicopter gunships began powering up for takeoff. The whole Black Jaguar operation was hidden in a cave complex within a mountain fifty miles from the archeological wonder Machu Picchu, and the picturesque tourist town of Agua Caliente. The alarm had rung earlier, which meant the two pilot crews on duty would be intercepting a drug shipment flight somewhere near Peru’s border with Bolivia.
“I’m going to save the squadron from my bad mood,” Angel said once the trembling had subsided. “I’ll bet I get written up for a commendation on it.”
“Very funny, Angel,” Elizabeth said, rummaging in another cabinet. “Even the Angel of Death looks like death warmed over,” she continued, casting a grin at her faithful assistant, a paramedic with the Peruvian army. Angel held her left arm guardedly against her body, her right hand cradling it. “Sorry, bad pun. I couldn’t help myself,” Elizabeth murmured sympathetically as she filled a syringe with the pain-relieving drug she knew Angel needed.
“I’m no crybaby, Doc, not even at a time like this. I’m one hundred percent Incan Indian,” she muttered defiantly. Her ancestors were known for their ability to handle pain.
Though she tried to rise to the occasion, Angel didn’t have her usual spunk and feistiness, Elizabeth realized as she flicked her finger against the syringe and approached her colleague. “Hey, you’re in a lotta pain. It shows.”
Angel eyed Elizabeth, the only physician on staff at BJS. They’d been teamed up together nearly three and a half years and worked like a well-oiled machine. “Dude, I never knew an inflamed tendon could make me throw up and then pass out.”
“Hmm, well, pain can do those things to you. You just lifted one heavy box of supplies too many from that Blackhawk helicopter, and did your tendon in.” She moved to Angel’s bared left shoulder. Elizabeth had had to cut away the patient’s T-shirt to examine her injury earlier, when one of the crew had brought Angel in on a gurney, passed out.
“This is so humiliating….” Angel watched as Elizabeth lifted the needle in her direction. “What are you gonna do? Put the needle right into that inflamed tendon? Am I gonna pass out from pain again?”
Cupping her shoulder gently, Elizabeth murmured, “Relax. I’m the best shot-giver on the face of the earth. This won’t hurt, I promise….”
Angel sucked in a breath and shut her eyes tightly. She barely felt the prick of the needle. And just as Elizabeth had promised, there was no pain.
“There,” her friend murmured, pleased with her efforts as she gently swabbed the area with a cotton ball drenched in alcohol. “All over.”
“And relief from this gutting pain is right around the corner, right, Doc?” Angel asked weakly.
“Yep.” Dropping the syringe into the designated wastebasket, Elizabeth pulled off her latex gloves and dropped them in there as well.
“What does this mean? How long am I gonna be laid up and useless?”
“Well, you’ve really injured that tendon, but by resting your shoulder and not lifting heavy items and limiting your mobility, I think in four to six weeks you’ll be back in the saddle again.”
Eyes widening, Angel gasped. “What? Four weeks?”
“I said four to six weeks.” Elizabeth turned to her and studied her dark brown eyes, which were filled with worry. She handed Angel another dark green T-shirt and helped her get it on. “Four would be minimum. And even if it is completely healed in that time, you’re looking at occupational therapy exercises to regain and support the muscles around that tendon. You also—” she patted Angel’s other shoulder gently “—need to learn your weight-lifting limits. And how to lift in order to never have this happen again. Next time—” she held Angel’s mutinous stare “—it may mean surgery or partial loss of mobility in your arm. Now, that’s enough of a death sentence that it should make even you—the Peruvian superwoman—think about the consequences. And I know that look, Angel. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you’re going to heal up in a jiffy and be back at work in a week. It isn’t gonna happen, so get over it and roll with this one—the right way.”
“B-but…what about you? I’m the only paramedic at BJS. You need me, Doc. You can’t get along without me. What are you gonna do? You can’t handle this place by yourself, and I can’t be a one-armed paramedic. What if one of our Apaches gets fired on by a Kamov Black Shark drug helo, and pilots get wounded? You’re gonna need my help.”
“I know….”
Opening her good hand, desperation in her tone, Angel added, “You gotta get a stand-in—a temporary paramedic—up here.”
“I know.”
Morosely, Angel looked around the quiet dispensary. The aluminum Quonset hut sat at the very back of the huge lava cave that housed the entire black ops base. “Dude, this sucks.”
“You said it, Angel.” Elizabeth gave her a slight smile. “Listen, I’m authorizing you four weeks of sick leave. I want you to go back to the barracks and rest. Put a hot pack on that shoulder from time to time and alternate it with an ice pack. Rest, sleep, drink plenty of water, and leave that shoulder alone. Don’t pick up anything with that arm, you hear?”
Glumly, Angel looked around. Already the pain was beginning to ease, and she was grateful. “Yeah…I hear you, Doc. No sling, right?”
“No, not at this time. Just be careful how you move it around, is all. But if you reinjure it, Angel, I’ll have to put one on you.”
“That’s good news.” Angel brightened. “At least I’ll save what’s left of my Inca pride.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Get outta here.”
Carefully sliding off the gurney, Angel continued cradling her bad arm against her body; it was the only position that felt comfortable right now. Pushing open the dispensary door with the toe of her black GI boot, she headed down the hall, then left the metal structure. Looking up, she saw bright shafts of sunlight flickering through the Eye, a large hole in the lava wall that protected the huge landing area and the rest of the cave. It was 1000. The day was young. And she was screwed. Glaring toward the Blackhawk helicopter, where she’d injured herself unloading supplies, she saw that all the boxes were stacked on a pallet on an electric golf cart, ready for distribution. Who was going to unpack all the medical supplies that would be dropped off? The doctor was up to her hocks in work. And Angel was useless to her now with only one good hand available.
Frowning, she ruffled her short black hair, then pulled her soft green army cap from the back pocket of the jungle-green-and-brown camouflage pants she wore. Settling the cover on her head and positioning the bill so it protected her eyes from the sudden bright light cascading into the cave, she headed for the headquarters building, which sat off to one side. She was going to talk to their commanding officer, Major Maya Stevenson.

The knock on her open door made Maya lift her head from the relentless paperwork that encircled her like a wagon train on her green, army-issue metal desk.
“Enter,” she called, wondering who it was. When she saw the Angel of Death, Maya frowned. Angel had earned that name from her legendary ability to cheat death by rescuing people from the door of it.
“Ma’am? May I have a moment of your time? I know you’re busy,” Angel said in a rush as she came to attention in front of the major’s desk. She saluted carefully, keeping her left side immobile.
Maya returned the salute. “At ease, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Angel replied, automatically cradling her left arm.
“I heard what happened.”
“Already?”
Lips twitching, Maya sat back. “You know how word gets around here, Angel. Telepathically.”
Laughing a little, though it hurt to do even that, Angel nodded. “I guess one of the crew told you?”
“Yeah.” Maya rose and came around the desk. She pulled one of the green metal chairs from a corner and brought it over. “Sit down, Angel. You look like death warmed over.”
Touched by her C.O.’s care, Angel sat down. “You’re the second person to use those exact words. Thank you, ma’am.”
Maya grinned wryly. “How’s the pain level?” she asked as she sauntered back to her desk and sat down.
Angel gestured awkwardly to her injured shoulder. “It’s getting better by the moment. Doc gave me a shot of an anti-inflammatory into the tendon.”
“Good. I once ruptured a tendon here—” Maya pointed to her left shoulder “—when I was a young girl. I was out climbing a tree, thinking I was Tarzan. Only my arms weren’t very long and the branch I was swinging to was too much of a stretch….”
“Ouch. So you know what this feels like?”
Wryly, Maya said, “Yeah, I do.”
Angel smiled. She always felt better when she was around Maya. The major was a woman steeped in mystery and mysticism. She was the reason the Black Jaguar Squadron even existed. Her black, shoulder-length hair shone beneath the fluorescent lights, curling slightly on her proud shoulders. Like all her pilots, Maya wore a black flight uniform that had no insignias, except for one—the Black Jaguar Squadron patch, sewn on the left upper arm.
Reaching toward one of the piles of paperwork, Maya said, “I think we might have an answer for this predicament, however. A real godsend.”
“Oh?”
“You’re here because you’re worried the doc will need help you can’t provide, right?”
Angel never got used to her C.O.’s uncanny ability to seemingly read her mind. As a Quero Indian, steeped in the traditions of her Incan ancestors, Angel understood how energy could be used in many inexplicable ways. Telepathy, as far as she was concerned, was energy sent from one person’s brain to another, much like a telephone call without the cord between them. She had come to expect it from Maya.
“Er…yes, ma’am….”
With a brief smile, Maya dangled a file in front of her.
“I think our collective prayers have been answered in a highly synchronistic development. Take a look at this file for a moment while I fill you in.” Maya handed it across the desk. “I just got this request last week, as a matter of fact.” Leaning back in her creaky chair, she laced her long fingers across her belly. “As you know by now, our little black ops down here, which was the laughingstock of the army when it began, has now become the darling of it. Amazing what time, diligence of effort and a fifty percent reduction of drug flights out of Peru will do to make the military look kindly upon us.”
Angel nodded. “Yes, ma’am, we were just a renegade bunch of women when you created this operation, making that vision of yours a reality.” Curious, she settled the file on her lap and opened it. There was a letter on the front page, a request.
“Well,” Maya murmured humorously, “the U.S. Army is begging us to allow more of their men to come down here and train with us, in many capacities. They want their best pilots to learn from ours. Our flight crews refuel and rearm Apaches faster and better than anyone they’ve got up there in the U.S.A. I have crew specialists wanting to work with us and see how we do what we do. And—” she smiled at Angel “—now even Special Forces are sticking their nose into our black ops.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, that letter, which I want you to read, is from the head of Special Forces, General Rutherford. He wants a Sergeant Burke Gifford, an A team paramedic teacher, to come down here and train with you.”
Angel’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes. Read on.” Maya waved her hand at the file resting on Angel’s lap.
Angel rapidly scanned the official-looking letter, which had been penned by the general. It was basically asking that Gifford be allowed to work with the paramedic at BJS in order to understand unique aspects and uses of their medical model, and how it might be utilized in other places of combat, black ops or not. Brows bunching, Angel read the last paragraph. “This is too much….” she murmured.
Maya chuckled. “Yeah, ain’t it?”
Looking up, Angel said, “This general knows of me. He actually refers to me as the Angel of Death.”
“Your legend precedes you, Paredes.”
Maya’s dry wit wasn’t lost on her. Angel saw the spark of humor in her C.O.’s eyes.
“What I find interesting is that some of the little extracurricular activities you engage in, the tricks you employ as a Quero Indian, trained in your Incan traditions, is getting their attention.”
Angel gulped. She’d always sensed that Maya knew about her mystical background, but it wasn’t ever discussed, at least not openly as they were doing now. Rather, Maya simply accepted it as a part of her, just as Maya had her own mystical traditions.
“Er…ma’am…”
“You’re in a pickle, Paredes.” Maya chuckled indulgently, watching the twenty-eight-year-old paramedic sit there and blush. Angel had copper-colored skin, thick, short black hair and very large, wise-looking dark brown eyes. Like most Quero people, she was short and stocky and strong. Few knew the inner workings of the Quero, the royal bloodline of the Incas of the past. But Maya did. Knew them well.
“Your skill has gained the attention of a general. Now,” Maya drawled, “if it was the sergeant putting in this request, I could blow him off and circular file it. As it is, your reputation for saving lives when the person shoulda croaked has reached General Rutherford’s ears.”
Gulping again, Angel said, “And you can’t blow off a general. Right?”
“Bang on, Paredes. You’re reading this one correctly.”
“But,” Angel sputtered, tapping the letter repeatedly with her index finger, “I can’t teach them what I know! First of all, this guy—”
“Sergeant Gifford?”
“Yeah…him. Well, he wouldn’t believe it, anyway. He’s a paramedic. Undoubtedly dyed-in-the-wool and tied to the traditional Western medicine model.”
Shrugging eloquently, Maya said, “The dude has some pull if he can get a general to write this proposal and request for him. He’s the head medical instructor for all of Special Forces training. So he’s got something going for him.”
Angel snorted softly. “Yeah, it’s called the curiosity of a cat, ma’am. That’s all.”
“There’s a photo of him on the next page. Take a look.”
Unsettled, Angel scowled and lifted the letter, finding a colored photo beneath. The man’s face was square, his jaw hard and set. His gray eyes reminded Angel of a cat’s, and for some reason that bothered her or perhaps drew her. She instantly rejected the latter possibility. Gifford was dressed in his Class A dark green army uniform, the red beret worn by Special Forces members in place on his dark brown hair. She saw the weathered lines at the corners of his eyes, indicating he spent a lot of time out-of-doors. His mouth was thinned and unsmiling. Of course, this was an official army photo, in which no one smiled. Still, she dug into the man’s face, studying his craggy features, with her intuition open.
Gifford was not a pretty boy. She saw a scar above the dark, thick slash of his right eyebrow. His nose, strong and dominating, reminded her of a condor’s beak. It had obviously been broken in the past. The merciless look in his light gray eyes, those black pupils huge and staring back at her, undid her for a moment.
“This dude don’t take no prisoners, does he?”
Chuckling, Maya said, “Doesn’t look like it on the surface.”
“He’s got a face like the Andes.”
“Yeah, all lava and granite. Tough.”
“I don’t see compassion in him,” Angel said, feeling energy drain from her. “I’m looking for something face-saving in this guy. I don’t see it.”
“I think he hides behind that mask in the photo,” Maya said gently. “Don’t panic on me, Paredes. It would be the first time I’ve seen you hit that button.”
Lifting her head, Angel tried to smile. “Sorry, ma’am. I am rattled.”
“Look at it this way,” Maya counseled with a twisted smile. “You need help right now because of your injury. Gifford asked for six weeks, to tail you around to see what you do and how you do it as a paramedic for BJS. Let him be your hands while you train him in to help the doctor. He can be like a puppy following at your heels.”
“What about my, er…other skills, ma’am? I don’t have to show him that, do I?”
“No. Not unless you think it’s right. We’d at least have a pair of hands here to help us while you recover. He’s a trained paramedic. He can stand in for you, Angel, and help Elizabeth. Overall, it’s a good fit for our present predicament.”
Mouth thinning, Angel took another look at Gifford’s stiff, almost defiant expression. The man was like a hungry raptor ready to leap out of the photograph and grab her. Strangely, she felt her heart respond. She was confused. Gifford’s face was not forgiving in any way. He was a professional soldier and there was absolutely no softness in him.
“He doesn’t look like he’s got a drop of sensitivity in him,” she moaned. “The women aren’t gonna like that. We get along better with more responsive types.”
“Well,” Maya said, “if Gifford tries to strong-arm anyone here, I think they’ll straighten him out pronto, don’t you?”
Angel saw her C.O. grinning like a jaguar, her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s true, we don’t take guff from anyone—especially men.”
“Bang on, Paredes. You’re the one who’s gonna be saddled with him, and so you’re the one whose gonna take it on the chin, so to speak. You’re tough, though, and my bet’s on you to stop this guy in his tracks should he decide that just because you’re a woman—and petite—he can ignore you or run over you.”
Snorting, Angel growled, “He’d better not try.”
“Yeah.” Maya chortled softly. “Or he’ll be asking for a transfer sooner rather than later. Try to be a bit kind to him? We need him around for at least four to six weeks, until you climb back into the saddle, okay?”
Feeling a little better, Angel closed the folder, stood up and handed it back. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”
“Go tell the doctor what’s comin’ down, will you? And tell her if she has any other questions, to come see me.”
“I will. I think she’ll be relieved.”
“I’m sure I’ll hear a whoop and holler from that direction. Gifford’s good at what he does, so he’ll be able to fill your shoes, medically speaking, up to a point.” Maya flashed her glittering, pantherlike smile. “But he’s not the Angel of Death. That’s why I need you to shepherd him around, use his skills, while you get yourself back on your feet ASAP. Okay?”
Heartened by her C.O.’s belief in her, Angel came to attention. “Yes, ma’am. Music to my ears.”
“Get out of here, Paredes. Go get some rest and take care of that shoulder like the doc ordered.”
Angel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I will, now that we’ve got some help coming our way. I was just worried for the doctor. She’s really busy.”
“I know.”
Of course she would know, Angel thought as she saluted.
“Dismissed, Sergeant. Thanks for dropping by. And try to be kind to Gifford the first couple of days. I’m sure he’s not used to a nearly all-women squadron.”

Chapter Two
Where in the hell am I being sent? It was a question Sergeant Burke Gifford asked himself many times as the Bell helicopter moved toward the narrow hole in the lava wall that would allow them entrance to the Black Jaguar Base in the jungle mountains of Peru. He was the only passenger, and had been picked up at the Cuzco airport along with a hefty load of supplies, which were anchored all around him by nylon netting.
It was early morning, the mists thick and swirling as the chopper hovered, slowly approaching the gaping hole in the black lava wall. Looking between the two front seats, occupied by women pilots, Burke glimpsed the “Eye,” as they called it, for the first time.
Automatically, he tensed, reaching for the nylon netting around him and gripping it hard. The hole looked too small for the Bell helo to pass through. Yet as Burke sucked in a sudden breath and held it, the pilot maneuvered through it deftly as if it was nothing. Burke stared at the black rock wall as the helo moved through, noting how it glistened wetly from the mist—that’s how close they’d come to it.
It was only when the chopper began to land on a rough slab of black lava inside the cave that Burke let out that breath of air. He had on a set of headphones, so he was privy to the chatter between the pilots and the ground crew. From their conversations, he could tell they weren’t at all concerned about flying through that hole like he was. Marveling at the size of the cave, he felt his eyes widen even more as he looked around and grasped the enormity of this operation. What an incredible place! His respect for the base, and the people who ran it, mushroomed.
“Okay, Sergeant Gifford, you can breathe now,” the pilot said with a chuckle.
Gifford managed a sick smile. “Thanks, Chief Mabrey,” he said to the woman they called “Snake,” as she twisted around to look at him with a huge grin.
“Our pleasure, Sergeant. I warned you that the Eye would get your attention.”
“It did, ma’am. My undivided attention.”
Chortling with delight, Snake unharnessed herself as the Bell helo powered down. The blades were turning more slowly now. No one could leave the helo until they stopped spinning.
“You’ll get used to it after a while,” the copilot said.
Gifford saw the other woman remove her helmet and fluff up her blond hair, which had a red streak running through it. Snake called her “Wild Woman.” That fit. Again he wondered what kind of crazy world he was entering. This was an essentially all-female black ops. He knew there were a few men assigned, but not many. For once, he was in the minority. Not something he’d encountered in his well-ordered world at the U.S. base where he taught. This was a complete turnaround.
“Ah,” Wild Woman said, pointing through the cockpit window, “there’s the Angel of Death, Sergeant. She’s waiting for you. See her? Over there? She’s the one with her arm in a sling, looking very unhappy. Can’t miss her.”
Unhooking his seat belt, Burke moved forward, bracing his hands on the metal walls behind the pilots’ seats. Eyes narrowing, he studied the bustling activity on the lip of the cave below. Though the lighting was poor, he noted a woman in camouflage fatigues and black boots, her arm in a dark green sling, standing to one side with a frown on her coppery face.
“Yes, ma’am, I think I see her.”
Wild Woman smiled, taking her knee board off her thigh and tucking it into the oversize pocket on the right leg of her uniform. “Sergeant Angel Paredes. She’s saved more lives than we can count. You’re lucky to be working with her for the next six weeks, Sergeant. She’s an incredible person. She’s got that sour look on her face because of her shoulder injury, which she got by lifting too heavy a box. Angel doesn’t like being sick.” Wild Woman laughed. “She’s a lousy patient, believe me.”
“That’s what I heard,” he murmured, trying to see her more clearly.
“She’s a legend in her own time,” Snake agreed, pulling off her own helmet.
“That’s why I’m down here—to learn from her.”
Snake grinned at Wild Woman. “Well, Angel is a pistol, Sergeant. She shoots straight from the hip and takes no prisoners. Treat her right or you’ll find yourself on her bad side.”
“Not a good thing,” Wild Woman said seriously. “A pit bull without a muzzle or leash.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Burke saw that, under Angel Paredes’s army cap, her short black hair framed her oval face. He knew from her personnel jacket that she was a Peruvian Indian, and her high cheekbones testified to the fact. She was short and compactly built, although even the bulky fatigues she wore could not hide her womanly assets. He could see she was curved in all the right places.
“Nope, you don’t mess with the Angel of Death,” Snake murmured good-naturedly as she sized up the Special Forces sergeant. “Respect her and you’ll live another day.”
The blades stopped turning. Immediately, a crew hooked up the nosewheel of the helo to a transport vehicle and pulled the craft deep within the cave. Once the helo was taken to the revetment area, the blades were tethered and tied down. Burke heard the door on the cargo bay slide open. One of the crew women looked inside.
“Welcome to BJS, Sergeant. Want to come with me?”
“Sure.” Thanking the pilots who’d transported him, Burke turned and made his way through the stacks of supplies to the door. When he’d leaped lightly to the cave floor, the crew woman pointed toward Angel. “That’s her, Sergeant—your sponsor. Take off and we’ll see that your duffel bag is brought to your quarters.”
“Thanks.” Burke nodded and headed where she’d pointed. Focusing on Sergeant Paredes, he felt his heart suddenly begin to clamor—a completely unexpected reaction, as far as Burke was concerned. As he approached, he realized that Angel Paredes, although short, didn’t really seem to be. She seemed larger than life to him. Maybe because he’d read so many of her mission reports.
More than anything, he liked her large, dark brown eyes, which seem to glimmer like a moonlit night. They were slightly tilted, giving her an exotic look he hadn’t expected. Her face was broad, her eyes wide set, with a fine, straight nose that gave her an aristocratic look. She was probably no more than five foot six, Burke realized, towering over her from his own six-foot height. His gaze dropped to her mouth—a lush, full mouth, the corners tucked upward, indicating she laughed a lot.
He liked her. More than he should, he realized. She was exotic. Mysterious. And in the Peruvian army, presently on loan to the U.S. Army. An eclectic mixture that drew Burke strongly. Instantly, he slammed the door on his heart’s interest. His personal feelings had no place in this formula. Nor did his burning curiosity to know everything about her.
Angel looked up into Gifford’s craggy, cold features as he approached. The sight of him in civilian clothes—a pair of well-worn Levi’s and a dark blue polo shirt that clearly outlined his powerful chest and firmly muscled body—made her gulp. Why on earth was she being drawn to him like this? Was it his cool gray eyes, assessing her like a predator might its quarry? That mouth, so thinned in the picture, but now relaxed and surprisingly strong? In person, this man had dynamic charisma, something that hadn’t been obvious in his photo.
Tensing, Angel felt her pulse race erratically. He moved like a jaguar, his body lean and tight. He missed nothing with those alert eyes of his. She saw his gaze flit around, felt him absorbing the energy and atmosphere of the cave and the ops activity going on around him. Her own radar was working flawlessly, and she sensed he was curious and eager. His curiosity made her feel a little too vulnerable at the moment.
Two days ago, she’d injured her tendon once again in a silly movement. This time, Elizabeth put her arm in a sling to protect her from herself while it healed. Though she was relatively pain free, so long as she didn’t move her arm much, Angel hadn’t expected to be overwhelmed by this Special Forces guy. But she was. And he was approaching her far too quickly for her to make sense of the array of feelings and sensations moving through her. Confused, Angel tried to pretend she was at ease and casual.
“Sergeant Paredes? I’m Burke Gifford.” He stopped and held out his hand to her.
“Welcome to BJS, Sergeant.” Angel proffered her own. His hand was large, lightly furred with dark brown hair on the back and thick calluses on the palm, along with a lot of small scars here and there. Gulping, she slid her much smaller hand into his, hoping he wouldn’t give her a bone-crushing shake. He didn’t. To her surprise, Gifford monitored the amount of pressure he exerted. He knew she had a shoulder injury, and simply squeezed her damp fingers warmly before releasing them. That implied he had some sensitivity. That was good.
“Thanks. This is quite an operation. I’m really impressed. I had no idea….” Burke liked, too much, the feel of her strong, soft hand in his. Her fingers were cool and damp. Was she nervous? He perused her upturned face. She was arrestingly attractive in that exotic way. Sternly, he told himself he shouldn’t care what Angel looked like. He was here on a scouting mission. To learn from her. That was all.
Angel nearly jerked her hand away when wild tingles started running up her hand, jolting her. Surprising her. She saw his straight dark brows gather at her obvious reaction.
“Thanks, Sergeant.” Quickly, Angel tucked her hand into the pocket of her coat, her fingers burning like fire itself. Stymied, she said, “Let’s go to the mess hall. They got hot coffee brewin’ and it’s a lot warmer in there than it is out here.” Even though the temperature was hovering in the low fifties, for Angel, who was acclimatized to the tropics, it was cold.
“Sure, a cup of coffee sounds great,” he answered with enthusiasm. Burke fell into step at her side, feeling giddy, elated and excited, in spite of his resolution to keep his emotions in check. Because she was short, he slowed his stride to match hers.
Looking around as they walked toward the back of the cave, Burke shook his head. “This is an incredible facility.” There were a number of Quonset huts set in the back of the cave. To one side, he saw the mouth of a tunnel, disappearing off into the mountain. Battery-powered golf carts carrying supplies and personnel zoomed in and out of it like bees from a hive. The clinks and clanks of crews working on Apache gunships and two Blackhawks echoed through the area. Everywhere he looked, he saw women. Only once did he spot a couple of men working with an otherwise all-women flight crew.
Looking down, he studied Angel’s strong profile. From this angle, she reminded him of Incan reliefs he’d seen carved in stone. He wondered how personal to get with her. Tamping down his desire to ask her a hundred personal questions, he cautioned himself to go slow and let her open up to him—or not, as the case may be. Inwardly, Burke hoped she would. He was dying to know more about the woman, the person, on whom this legend was based.
Approaching the door to the mess hall, Burke opened it for her out of habit. He saw her look up at him, her eyes narrow briefly, and then a sour smile touch her lips.
“Thanks,” she said as she entered.
“You’re down one arm,” he said. “I thought opening a door for you wouldn’t make a gender statement.”
Grinning, Angel moved on into the warm facility. When he came to her side and stood patiently, she looked up and said, “We’re a pretty independent lot down here, Sergeant. My left arm might be in a sling, but I still have a good right arm that can open doors, too.”
“I’ll remember that, Sergeant Paredes.”
Angel heard the wry tone in his voice and saw the glimmer of humor in his gray eyes, too. She turned her attention to the chow hall. The long rows of picnic tables were nearly deserted now that breakfast was over. A few pilots on duty, dressed in black flight uniforms, were huddled at one table over a last cup of coffee, but that was about it.
“Hungry, Sergeant?”
“Yeah, I am.” He rubbed his belly. “The flight down here served food that would kill a dog. I didn’t eat much.”
Chuckling, Angel pointed to the line of aluminum trays at one end of the table. “I haven’t had breakfast yet, either, so let’s belly up to the bar.”
Burke did not make the mistake of rushing ahead to get her a tray. He reminded himself of what she’d said—that she had one good hand to work with. Allowing Angel to precede him, he saw two women cooks, dressed in white, with white caps on their heads, waiting to dish up whatever they wanted from the warming trays in the chow line.
Angel was trying to balance her tray and curse her injured arm simultaneously. After her outburst about him opening the door for her, she figured she’d better ante up and do this by herself. She didn’t like feeling weak or inept. But the tray was getting heavier as the cooks piled on fluffy scrambled eggs, four pieces of whole wheat toast, a rasher of bacon and some citrus fruit.
Reaching the other end of the line, Angel chose a table and set the tray down before she dropped it and embarrassed herself. Gifford’s tray was piled three times as high as hers. Once he reached the table and set it opposite hers, she pointed to the coffee and tea dispenser at the end of the cooks’ line.
“We get our java here.” Angel went over, grabbed a thick white mug and held it under the appropriate nozzle. When Gifford followed and stood nearby, it made her nervous. He was like a big shadow looming over her, she wasn’t used to someone dogging her heels like that. Filling her coffee cup, she quickly stepped away and went back to the table.
As she did, Angel noticed the women pilots covertly watching Gifford. She saw the looks on their faces and grinned to herself. He was good-looking, in a rough kind of way. Well, it never hurt to look, did it? Sitting down, she poured cream and sugar into her cup. When Gifford sat down opposite her, her pulse raced momentarily.
“Smells real good. Better than regular army chow,” he said with a grin. Picking up his fork, he dived into the scrambled eggs.
Angel ate delicately, studying Burke between bites. He ate like a hungry wolf. She liked his short, neatly cut hair. His ears were large and flared away from his skull slightly. All the better to hear with, she was sure. He had a large Adam’s apple and his neck was thick and strong. His broad shoulders made Angel think that this man could carry a lot of responsibility very easily.
She decided that she needed to take the lead, because he was basically a guest on the base. Over the course of the meal, she shared with him why he was here: to be her hands when she needed them. Blushing a bit as she told him how she’d injured her shoulder, she saw him smile fully for the first time. It was a boyish smile, relaxed and unguarded, and as Gifford’s icy expression melted away, she was privy to the man beneath the facade. The enormity of the change surprised her, and again she felt confused by the array of feelings just looking at him produced in her heart.
“I’ve never had tendonitis,” Burke said with sympathy, slathering strawberry jam over one of the pieces of toast on his tray. “Broke my ankle in a parachute jump, though.”
“I broke my ankle once, too,” Angel said, “though not in a chute jump. I can tell you the pain in a tendon is worse than a break.”
Nodding, Burke said, “I’ve treated my share of them off and on through the years, and every guy that had it told me the pain was enough to make you pass out.”
“It is,” Angel murmured, “and I did.” She was finished with breakfast and pushed her tray aside, then picked up her coffee cup. “I sure don’t like being down one arm. It cramps my high-flyin’ style.”
Burke liked her rank sense of humor. He’d never met a paramedic who didn’t have a blistering, sardonic wit. “You don’t strike me as a woman who takes kindly to being in prison.”
Giving him a skeptical look, Angel studied him. Gifford had a soft Southern drawl. “Man or woman, no one likes prison, don’t you think?”
“I guess I didn’t say that right,” he stated, taking a second piece of toast and slathering it with jam. “You strike me as the kind of person who likes her freedom and bucks any boundaries or fences folks might try to put around her.”
Nodding, Angel said, “I see. Yeah, I’m like that, I guess.” Burke had a disturbing ability to see right through her. That made her antsy.
“I don’t know about the Peruvian army, but in the U.S. Army it’s nice having the freedom to do what you’re best at.”
Sipping the coffee, Angel said, “Well, it’s a little different down here if a woman wants to join the male military organization.”
“A lot of prejudice against you, gender-wise?”
“Tons of it.”
Burke studied her. He saw that her eyes were hooded, guarded against him. Sensing that she was feeling him out, that she really wasn’t comfortable around him yet, he asked, “Does it bother you that I’m a man walkin’ in on your turf?”
“Excuse me?”
He lifted his hand. “This is a women’s black ops. I didn’t see too many men as I came through the complex. There must be a reason for it.”
Frowning, Angel growled, “I don’t know how much you know about the Black Jaguar Squadron, but yes, it was created because of gender prejudice, for sure. By the trouble some female officers had with the white boys up there at Fort Rucker. Major Stevenson was in the first all-women Apache pilot training program there. The women pilots suffered a lot at the hands of the men. Captain York, the chief instructor, washed out a number of good student pilots because he didn’t want women in Apaches. He didn’t feel they had the goods to handle the job.” Derision filled Angel’s tone as she glared across the table at Gifford. “Well, Lieutenant Stevenson didn’t take the gender prejudice crap lying down. She fought back within the student program as well as afterward. Luckily, her father is a general in the army. When she came to him with her proposal for this black ops you have the privilege of sitting in right now, Sergeant, he made it happen. Maya Stevenson was not going to let the survivors of that hell on earth at Fort Rucker be destroyed by male prejudice.”
Angel looked around, anger in her tone, her words tight and biting. “She had a vision. She wanted a place where women could be fostered and nurtured to bring out their best. She wanted an unprejudiced environment for all, so we could perform at our best. She gathered women from many military branches from many different countries, including Peru, which is how I got transferred here to BJS. When the squadron moved down here, a lot of army brass laughed behind their backs. But that was okay, because Maya knew we could do it. There were plenty of bets placed on all sides that we’d fail. But we didn’t. We not only survived, we’ve thrived. Now, nearly four years later, Major Stevenson has proved herself and her program. Now the U.S. Army is standing in line to get its male pilots, ground crews and people like you down here to take advantage of our hard-won knowledge.” Nostrils flaring, Angel eyed him sharply. “So yeah, we’re a little prickly about men comin’ down here. It’s not that we don’t like them, it’s that they tend to see us as the weaker sex, incapable of doing the same things they do—as well or better.” She spat out the last two words.
“I didn’t mean to suggest there should be more men here….”
“Really? Coulda fooled me, Sergeant.” Her voice was cool. Grinding.
“I just didn’t know how the Black Jaguar Squadron came into existence.”
She saw the pained look on Burke’s face as he held up his large, square hands—a sign of truce. She sipped her coffee, which was scaldingly hot and matched her anger. Setting the cup down with finality, she growled, “Do me a favor, Sergeant? I really don’t like having you dog my heels. It’s not my thing to have someone hanging around me like a ball and chain. You have a job to do—you’re my hands. When I need your help, I’ll ask. Otherwise, take the position of listening and learning. Got it?”
Surprised at the anger in her voice, Burke sat there calmly, adjusting to the unexpected attack. Obviously, he’d hit a sore point with Paredes. But he realized he’d better clean up his language and the way he said things or he was going to be in hot water more times than not. And not only with her. This was a woman-commanded facility, for the most part.
“Yeah, I got it, Sergeant Paredes. I meant no disrespect.”
“No man ever does. It just happens.”
Feeling like an outsider, or as if he were an alien male come to an all-female world, Burke sat there in silence. He had six weeks here. All of a sudden, the assignment felt like a prison to him. The exotic-looking Angel Paredes seemed more like an avenging angel right now. In his heart, he was saddened by how things were turning out. She was incredibly beautiful, in such an arresting way, that Burke was having a helluva time keeping his heart out of this chaotic equation.
“I think,” he told her in a low and apologetic tone, “that I can learn a lot about prejudice from you in the next six weeks. It’s something the army is trying to rectify daily with classes, to help us recognize that women are equals.”
Snorting, Angel stood up. “Equals? We’re better than any man, in my book. And this isn’t some academic statement, Sergeant Gifford. It’s spoken from hard-earned experience in the field. Frankly, I wish you were a woman. It would make this six weeks a lot easier on both of us.”

Chapter Three
When he learned that he was staying in the TDY Quonset hut—a place where temporary duty personnel were housed—Burke went there to change. His room was small, spare and simple. This was a no-frills gig, but that didn’t bother him. At least he had a bunk to sleep on and hot water to shower and shave with. After getting into his uniform, which consisted of a pair of jungle fatigues, a dark green T-shirt, black boots and a black baseball cover with a BJS patch on it, Burke met Angel over at the dispensary.
Shaking off the exhaustion of the flight, he tried to steel himself for the prickly but exotic Sergeant Paredes. As he walked across the uneven black surface of the cave floor, he once again marveled at how large the compound was. Around him, women personnel worked swiftly and tirelessly, loading ammunition on board the Apaches, or performing maintenance on them. The two workhorses, the Blackhawk helicopters, sat farther back in the complex, behind the gunships, and he saw that one was being loaded with supplies as he made his way to his destination.
Letting his thoughts return to Angel, Burke scowled. Where had he gone wrong with her? He didn’t like the fact that they were getting off on the wrong foot with one another. She was really defensive, and didn’t like men for some reason. She could have had an experience or series of experiences that made her feel that way.
Great. Well, that didn’t help him, did it? Slowing his pace, Burke opened the door to the Quonset hut that had Dispensary painted in red on it.
As he entered, familiar smells of alcohol, bleach and other cleansing agents greeted him. He saw a tall red-haired woman in a white lab coat, stethoscope around her neck, sitting at a green military desk at one end, filling out paperwork. She was tall, with a narrow face. Closing the door, Burke said, “Ma’am? Are you Dr. Elizabeth Cornell?”
She smiled. “Yes, I am.” Putting down her pen and shoving away from her desk, Elizabeth stood and walked toward him. “Angel said you were coming over, Sergeant Gifford. Welcome to BJS.”
The doctor’s hand was long and lean, appropriate for a surgeon, Burke thought, as he took it. He liked her large, warm green eyes. “Yes, ma’am, that’s me. Where’s Sergeant Paredes?” he asked as he released her hand.
“Oh, in the back, in supply. She’s off-duty for the next six weeks, but is helping me out anyway. We just got in a bunch of IVs and other medical equipment, and she’s putting it away.” Elizabeth smiled a little. “She’s experiencing a lot of frustration at the moment being one-armed. I think you’d better go back there and help her out.”
“Be glad to,” Burke lied. It would be like going into a room with a pissed off, cornered cougar. Walking through the door, he entered a clean and brightly lit room. Seeing Angel down on her knees, putting away the bulky IV kits, he came over to her.
“Need some help?”
“No,” Angel muttered when she realized Gifford was standing above her as she struggled to put away the supplies. The shelf for IVs was on the bottom, and the kits needed to be filed by size. But IV kits were bulky and awkward to handle. Ordinarily, Angel had no problem with them. Ordinarily, she had two hands to wrestle them neatly into stacks. However, working with one arm was making her frustrated—and irritable.
Burke hunkered down beside her. “Sure?”
“Damned sure.”
“I thought I was supposed to be your hands for you while you rested up,” he said as lightly as possible.
“You are when I ask you to be,” she said, gritting her teeth. There! Finally, the stubborn IV slid into place. Awkwardly, Angel straightened up. Pushing the hair off her face with her good hand, she glared up at Gifford. His mask was back on, but she saw the look in his eyes; it was one of concern for her. She saw compassion for her plight, too, and that threw her. After their earlier clash with one another, she’d thought he’d be prickly as hell and ready to carry a grudge.
“How can I help you then?” Burke asked, looking at the unopened cardboard boxes that littered the center of the room—the same ones that had been flown in with him earlier on the Bell helicopter.
“Why don’t you go ask Dr. Liz if she needs your help?”
“Okay.” He rose, turned around and left. The door shut behind him.
“Alone. Good.” Angel crawled over to the next box. The tape across the top had to be cut. Grabbing the knife, she stabbed at the tape, but the box slid away across the highly polished, white-tiled floor. Without two hands, she couldn’t hold it in place. The knife blade pierced the cardboard and got stuck.
“Let go!” Angel snarled, yanking at the knife.
The door opened.
Just as the blade became unstuck, a pain shot through Angel’s sensitive left shoulder. The shock was like a cold electrical current. Gasping, she released the blade and it went flying out of her hand.
Burke ducked as the knife sailed past his head and slammed into the door beside him. Glass shattered, sprinkling over him and the surrounding area.
Eyes widening, Angel gasped again as she cradled her left elbow with her right hand. If Gifford hadn’t moved as fast as he had, the knife would have hit him. Gulping, she sat there in the middle of the floor, feeling completely embarrassed.
“That was close,” Burke murmured with a slight grin. He saw the shock and humiliation in Angel’s face. Somehow, he wanted to let her know it was okay, that he knew it was an accident.
“I didn’t mean it—”
“I know that,” he soothed. Turning, he opened the door. One of the panes had been shattered.
Elizabeth stuck her head around the door. “Angel?”
“Aww, the knife just slipped out of my hand, Doc.”
“Everyone okay?” She looked at them worriedly.
“Yeah,” Angel mumbled. “I’m fine.”
“No injuries,” Burke told her. “It was an accident….”
“Okay.” Elizabeth frowned. “Angel, why don’t you let the sergeant help you? I have nothing for him to do, and getting these supplies logged in is the most important activity right now.”
“Yeah…okay,” she muttered, defeated.
Burke looked around and found a small broom and a dustpan. He went about collecting the glass shards, pouring them into the wastebasket in the corner. Glancing toward Angel as he dumped the last pan, he saw the humiliation in her face. What could he say to her that wouldn’t make her more angry? Or defensive? Unsure, he put the broom and dustpan away.
“How’s the pain in that left shoulder? Pretty intense?”
Glumly, Angel looked up as Gifford squatted down in front of her, his long, lean hands dangling between his opened thighs. The expression on his face had thawed, and she saw his concern. Biting down on her lower lip, she mumbled, “Yeah, I was trying to open that box over there. I musta moved the wrong way, because I got such a sharp pain down my left arm, it surprised me.”
Looking around, Burke said quietly, “Want me to slit them open?”
“I guess….” Brows flattening, Angel decided she was saddled with this guy whether she liked it or not. “Go ahead, open them all.”
Burke nodded and slowly rose. He retrieved the errant knife and began to open the boxes, one after another. Angel pulled one toward where she was kneeling, to start to put the contents away, but before she knew it, Gifford had opened all twenty cartons and was handing the knife back to her.
“Can I put any of the stuff away?” he asked, pointing to the various-size dressings and bandages it contained.
“Yeah, over there, up on that shelf,” Angel said quietly, gesturing to a row of green metal shelves along the other wall. Relieved that he was going to take a box other than the one she was working on, she gave a little sigh.
Taking his time, Burke began to familiarize himself with how the supply area was laid out. It was obvious Angel didn’t want him anywhere near her. Too tired to try and think his way out of a paper bag at this point, Burke settled for distant civility from her. Militarily, Angel was the same rank as he, though she was in the Peruvian army instead of the U.S. one. In a sense, Burke was glad of the common ground, because if one of them had a higher rank, especially him, it would have probably added more fuel to the conflagration between them. And then everything would have gone to hell in a handbasket, as his pa would have said. Not that it hadn’t already. How could he save what was left of their tattered relationship? Burke didn’t know at this point. He felt as if he was walking on land mines every minute with Angel. She might have a wonderful name, but in his eyes she was acting like a devil.
“Tell me about your people,” Burke said casually as he stocked the shelves. “I didn’t get much of a briefing on you before I left. I’d like to try and understand so I don’t keep setting off land mines between us.”
Giving him a dark look, Angel hesitated. She was standing on the opposite side of the room, putting away syringes. “Are you familiar with the Incas?” Over the years, she had found that North Americans really weren’t up on history, especially involving anyone outside their own country. She found that amazing. World history had been a very important part of her own education.
“Not really.”
“Thought so.”
“Excuse me?” Burke twisted to look over his shoulder, his hand poised in midair. Seeing the scowl on Angel’s face, he wondered what she was so upset about now.
“How much history did you have in school, Sergeant?”
“Not much.”
“That’s my point. I find norteamericanos sadly lacking in knowledge of anyone but themselves.”
“You’re right,” Burke said, putting the dressings away. “We need to widen our horizon to include everyone else.” Giving her a brief smile, he said, “So enlighten me, will you? I’m all ears.”
That slight, boyish smile he gave her, stunned Angel. For a moment, Gifford’s face had magically transformed again. The sight left her breathless. And interested in ways she didn’t want to be.
Taking a steadying breath, she began. “The Inca Empire stretched from Ecuador down through Chile at one time. The Incas’ descendants—my people—are called the Quero. We speak a language known as Quechua. The Quero live in scattered communities across Peru. There aren’t many of us left, and those that are left are looked down upon like rats or something worse by descendants of the Spanish people who conquered us.”
“More prejudice,” he murmured, realizing that some of her prickliness might be due to how other Peruvians viewed her and her people.
“Yeah, for sure.” Angel bent and picked up another box of syringes. “My village is in Rainbow Valley, above Agua Caliente. The Quero are farming people. We live with the land, not on it. Our belief system formed the underpinnings of the entire Inca Empire.”
“Which is?”
“What religion are you, Sergeant?”
“Protestant. Why?”
“Well, by your standards, I’m a pagan,” Angel said with a savage grin. “Years ago I would have probably been burned at the stake, because my belief system is an earth-centered one.” She pointed down at the floor. “You know about Mother Earth. My people believe we’re all related and connected, and that everything comes from her.”
“I see.” Burke turned and folded up the box he’d emptied, then placed it in the corner. Moving to another box near Angel, he took a risk and sat down about six feet away from her. “My pa is part Choctaw Indian, even though he goes to a Protestant church with my mother,” he said. “I grew up hearing a lot of Choctaw stories, so I’m sort of familiar with what you’re talking about.”
“Well,” Angel said darkly, “at least you’ve got some Indian blood runnin’ through your veins.”
“Is that good?”
She managed a sour smile. “To me, it is. Indians are Indians. Full-or part-blood doesn’t matter.”
“What does it mean to you?” he asked, folding his hands in his lap.
“Blood is memory, Sergeant. Through it our ancestors speak to us, from the past into our present.”
“You can call me Burke if you want.” He held out the offer like a tentative olive branch. Perhaps the fact that he had Choctaw blood in him would help her open up more to him. He saw her sit back on her heels, studying him with her intense brown eyes, her lips compressed as she considered his request.
“Yeah…well, okay…but continue to call me Paredes or Sergeant.”
“Great. How about a coffee break? Or do you get those around here?” he asked wryly. “I’m about twenty-four hours without sleep and I want to keep going today and crash tonight.”
“Oh…” Angel felt foolish. She was being very self-centered right now. Overly so. Why hadn’t she considered that the sergeant—Burke—had had a long, hard flight and was probably sleep-deprived? If he’d been a woman, Angel would have instantly considered that possibility. Angry with herself, she realized she was being prejudiced toward him because he was a man. Well, men weren’t exactly stellar in her universe, anyway—and it had taken five long years for her to get over the last man she’d allowed herself to love. At that time, Angel had sworn she’d never tangle with another one. The pain of lost love was too much to ever bear twice.
“Er, sure. We can take a break. Let’s go.” She quickly scrambled to her feet, her right hand beneath her left elbow to stabilize her shoulder.
“Music to my ears,” Burke said to her, slowly unwinding in turn. Dusting off his knees and the seat of his pants, he followed Angel to the door. He didn’t make the mistake of trying to open it this time, letting her do it, instead.
Angel gave the gaping hole in the door a sad look. “I gotta get someone over here to fix that,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. At the front of the dispensary, she saw the doctor still working on paperwork at her desk.
“We’re gonna take a break, Liz.”
“Fine. You okay, Angel? Is the pain in your arm still bad?”
“No, I’m okay. I just made too quick a movement. I’m still learning how to cope with this.” She grinned apologetically at the doctor.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Give yourself some latitude, Angel. It’s gonna take forty-eight hours for most of the pain to dissipate after that shot I gave you the other day, okay? Let Sergeant Gifford help you.”
“I am,” she said grimly, opening the outer door.
Burke walked at Angel’s shoulder as they headed back to the mess hall. It was noon, and there was a lot more activity around the Quonset hut. The ring of female laughter and chatter was everywhere.
“This sounds like a pretty happy place,” he murmured. Unable to help himself, Burke slanted a glance down at Angel’s profile. Her lips had been pursed. When he’d made the comment, they softened. She had a beautiful mouth. Gorgeous. Too gorgeous, as far as he was concerned.
“Major Stevenson is a wild woman in disguise. She runs BJS the way she thinks it should be run.” Angel opened her hand and looked up at Burke. His eyes were darker and there was a smoldering quality to them that took her off guard. It was a look a man gave a woman he was interested in. Instantly, Angel’s heart pounded—with dread, with euphoria. Confused, she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Burke slowed to a halt, as did Angel, leaving a few feet between them. He’d been caught red-handed. But then, no woman had ever challenged him on his desires. Honesty was the best policy. “I saw your mouth relax, instead of being bunched in a thin line.” He hesitated. “I think you have a beautiful mouth when you’re not uptight.” Ouch, he thought as Angel’s eyes narrowed speculatively.
“That didn’t exactly come out right, did it?” he offered apologetically.
“No…it didn’t.”
“Are you upset about me thinking you have a beautiful mouth or for thinking that you’re uptight?” He saw her eyes widen, and then her mouth curved into a devilish grin. Relief swept through Burke.
“How about I let you sweat this one out and figure it out for yourself, Sergeant?”
Burke had no one to blame but himself. “Looks like I need more sensitivity-training classes.”
“Looks like. Come on, I’m hungry.” Angel turned and strode quickly toward the mess. Her heart was pounding and she felt shaky. She had a beautiful mouth! At least Burke thought so. No man had ever said that about her. The compliment had been real; she’d seen the sincerity in Burke’s stormy-looking eyes and in the way he’d opened his hands toward her while trying to explain himself. Shaking her head, she decided the man had more foot-in-mouth disease than most males had.
Put in his place, Burke stood in the chow line with about ten other women, Angel in front of him. He noticed a lot of glances, sizing him up. Some seemed admiring, others, like Angel’s, guarded and circumspect. The noise level in the hall was high, with laughter, teasing and joking going on constantly as the female personnel ate lunch at their respective tables.
The fried chicken, dumplings and salad looked surprisingly good. Burke thanked the two women cooks, who both blushed furiously at his sincere compliments. Following Angel to a table that had just been vacated by four women pilots in black flight uniforms, he sat down opposite her and said, “Coffee?”
“Er, yeah…” Angel had forgotten to get it.
“Stay there,” Burke said, holding out his hand. “I’ll fetch you a cup.” And then he hesitated. “Unless I’m out of line?”
Grinning, Angel shook her head. “Naw, go ahead.”
As he walked away, she tried to ignore how tall, strong and confident he was. Just as she was going to bite into a drumstick, Snow Queen, one of the pilots, came over and bent down near her ear.
“Where did you get that hunk, Angel? Me and the girls at the other table are salivating over him. Is he married? Got a million kids? Divorced? What? We wanna know.”
Glancing up at the red-haired pilot, whose green eyes were filled with humor, Angel frowned. “Gimme a break, will you? He just got here a couple of hours ago.”
“We noticed you didn’t seem too taken with him. Is it open season?”
Angel knew what that comment meant. If she wasn’t interested personally in Burke, provided all signals were “go” and he wasn’t married, another one of the enlisted women had her eye on him—already.
“What is this? A man-hungry squadron?”
Snow Queen chortled and squeezed her right arm gently. “Listen, three and a half years without hardly a man around here have left all of us like horny, slavering wolves. Anything on two legs that’s male gets our attention. There’s still not enough guys in the squadron as far as we’re concerned.”
Giving her a sour grin, Angel said, “Gimme some time, will you? We’re not exactly getting along. So far, the situation’s touchy.”
“Umm, okay. Well, just to let you know, my crew chief, Tess Fairbanks, has her eye on him.”
Groaning, Angel twisted to look at the table behind here, where Tess sat eating with the rest of Snow Queen’s ground crew. Tess was a tall, lanky Kentucky gal with light brown hair, aqua-blue eyes and a wide, easy grin. She lifted her hand and did a thumbs-up in Angel’s direction. Angel gave her a thumbs-down.
“Okay,” Snow Queen said, straightening. “Your guy is comin’ back so I’m skedaddling. Just keep us updated on this situation, huh?” She grinned and left.
Burke saw the woman pilot leave Angel’s side as he approached. Angel was scowling again, biting into a drumstick like a wolf biting the hand that fed it. “Here you go.”
Wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, Angel muttered, “Thanks…”
Getting situated, Burke gave her a conspiratorial look. He leaned over, his voice low. “Is this normal?”
“What?”
“All the women staring at me?”
“How’s it feel? Now you know how a woman feels when she goes by a group of men who start callin’ and whistling and embarrassing her.”
Raising his brows, Burke leaned back and began to eat. “I thought it was kind of nice.”
“You’re a man. You would.”
“Tell me something?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you hate men?”
“No. I just don’t like that most of them have their brains between their legs. You can’t think your way out of a paper bag with that kind of anatomy.”
Burke roared with laughter. His male voice, deep and rolling, momentarily broke through the feminine chatter in the mess. Every single woman stopped talking, lifted her head and looked in their direction.
Angel cringed. She bit down hard on the chicken leg. Though she tried to ignore the looks of her squad mates, she could have killed Gifford for his laughter. Of course, he had a nice laugh, if she was honest with herself. And his entire face changed—remarkably. He was actually quite good-looking when he smiled. Unhappy with her response to him, she snapped, “I just insulted you.”
“No, you called that one. I’m finding out you like a fast game of tit for tat. I’m okay with that, insults and all. In fact, I’m ready, willing and able to go head-to-head with you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself too much, Gifford.”
“With you around, I won’t have to, will I? You’ll keep me in line.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lindsay-mckenna/her-healing-touch/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.