A Soldier's Reunion. Cheryl Wyatt
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like an idiot, Mandy slipped her hand from it. “It softens the children toward me in the hospital, makes them less afraid.”
As if sensing her discomfort—and her omission of the main reason she couldn’t take it off—he politely averted his gaze.
She tried not to look at his left ring finger, though it called to her like an emergency page on night shift. Forced herself not to care that his finger had no ring. Or how soft, warm and capable his hand felt as it brushed expertly over her injuries. He obviously knew what he was doing medically, not just what he was doing to her emotionally.
“Hurt anywhere?”
How ironic the question. Bottomless eyes bored into hers.
“Mostly my wrist.” Mostly.
He ceased staring only to check those areas. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. “Look, Mandy, I know this is awkward. If you’d rather someone else—”
“I’m fine.” For the most part. What else could she say? Admit her heart still ached from ten-year-old trauma? No. She refused to show herself weak around him again. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable, then rejected and abandoned her. She could never put herself in that position again.
Not liking his knowing, penetrating visual inquiry, she glanced at his uniform. “I see you made it through boot camp.”
That caused him to laugh.
“Barely.” He splinted her wrist then wrapped a sling around her arm. “You know how I was never a morning person. Those o’dark-thirty wake-up calls nearly did me in.”
She fought nostalgia with a vengeance.
“I see you made it through med school.” Pride sparkled as his eyes viewed the title embroidered on her rumpled scrubs.
She nodded because the emotion in his words disabled her voice.
“I’m proud of you, Mandy.” His smile gleamed genuine and warm. His gaze lingered, reaching deep, almost desperate, as if searching for something lost. Yet glowed radiant as in fascinated wonder of something found.
Heat came to her cheeks. She averted her gaze. How had she forgotten how deep his dimples were? How smooth and suave his voice. And how exquisite his eyes.
Cold. Be cold.
Do. Not. Thaw.
She lifted her chin. She supposed he made it through pararescue training, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. Must have been one of those brave, uniformed men making a grand entrance from helicopters. Both of which had enraptured the children’s attention, and helped them momentarily forgo their fears. Had even caused her to forget for a few moments they were all on the brink of death.
How would an elite, world-class airman end up in a small town calamity? Did he live nearby?
Oh, please no. She forced herself to stop wondering about him, the one thing on earth that could undo her and unravel her future. She’d ask Miss Ivy, town matriarch, landlady and owner of Ivy Manor where Mandy lived. She straightened her shoulders and spine and adopted a professional air.
He studied her carefully, almost comically. As if he knew her drill. Using coping mechanisms to prove to both of them his presence wasn’t affecting her.
“I see you’re still military.” She eyed emblems on a maroon beret, peeking out his side pants pocket.
“I see you’re still Manchester.” His gaze dealt heavy inquiry as it dipped to brush her name tag before reaching for her face again. The tender way his eyes held hers reminded her of an all-consuming embrace. His embrace.
She swallowed. Of course she’d never married. Why would she after having her heart ripped out and stomped on by his proverbial combat jump boots? What business was it of his?
She shoved to her feet before her mind could wonder why.
Quick as a blink, he surged closer, hand out as if to steady her, but stopped when she took an unsteady step back.
Disappointment clashed with concern across his face, and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Regret?
Well, so what? Too late for sorry. It didn’t change the past or kill the pain.
“It’s good to see you.” He cleared his throat when she didn’t nod or agree.
He took a deliberate step back from her and aimed a slow thumb behind him. Same thumb that used to swipe away her tears and tilt her chin up for good-night kisses. Memories brought warmth to her cheeks.
“I’m going to check on the others.” He nodded toward a group of elderly women. “I’ll have one of my teammates direct you to an ambulance.”
She nodded.
He motioned toward her hand. “You need to have those bones X-rayed and set. Of course, being a doctor, I imagine you know that.” He met her gaze and held it like his strong arms had the children going up the hoist rope.
Her mind flashed back ten years ago, to the day he left on a bus to Air Force boot camp. It had taken every ounce of strength not to chase it down the street. While her heart had cried for him to come back, her feet had stayed firmly planted because he’d promised to write every week. In the midst of a heart raging with titanic emotions, her mind and common sense reasoned that he’d enlisted and legally there’d been no getting out of it.
But months later after no letters, her bleeding heart had won, convincing her mind that Nolan had left for something better. Just like her dad had left her mom and Mandy. A better life and she wasn’t part of it.
And she’d felt no less abandoned by Nolan. Especially after all the loneliness, emotional trauma and family tumult he’d helped her through. Doing what he was meant to: rescue. He was doing that now but he’d always shown tendencies.
But she wasn’t that needy person anymore. She clenched trembling fingers against her side as well as her injuries allowed. All the while he gauged her as though searching for signs of life.
Or lack of.
She dipped her head toward other victims. “Go on. I understand triage. And I’m not that hurt.”
His chin lifted and his expression took on a knowing manner, as if he’d picked up on the terse tones of the last sentence.
He pivoted, not seeming to be able to remove his gaze. His mouth moved as if to say something.
Slowly, he walked backward as though seeing her was like witnessing someone dead coming back to life.
Yet there resided a deep pain in his eyes that also looked like he’d just seen someone die who’d previously lived.
“Glad to see you’re okay, Mandy.” His voice sounded unmistakably thick as his eyes, genuine and reminiscently tender, canvassed the dark, swirling water.
At her reply of silence, his wide shoulders drooped as if weighted with something that wasn’t pressing on them before he’d seen her. Slowly, he turned.
And then he was gone. Just like that.
And Mandy could not breathe. Could not think. Could not slow her pulse or still her thoughts from reeling or stop her heart from squeezing. Or keep herself from thinking of chasing after him with all her might.
Again.
Chapter Three
“What’s up, bro?” Brock clapped a hand on Nolan’s shoulder.
Vince hawk-eyed him. “Yeah. Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Nolan swallowed. “Feel like I have.”
Petrowski looked up. “Don’t tell me. You just saw that woman you always used to talk about.”
Brock leaned in. “You mean the one he never got over? The reason he won’t go on dates, least not second ones?”
Nolan