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  The soldier who’d been checking out the wound now sat back on his heels. “It needs to be immobilized. But we’ve got to get that bleeding stopped first. We can’t wait.” He looked up at the other soldiers still forming a circle around their comrade. “You and you, hold his shoulders.” He pointed at the man who had initially tried to stop the flow of blood and one other. The men nodded and took position where he indicated.

  The men followed his orders as if he were their commanding officer. Yet he was the one who had died within five minutes of the battle’s beginning, she was sure of that now.

  “Take off his gear and lay him down flat. And one of you get a pulse rate.”

  Lauren adjusted her grip as the soldiers moved the man. They took off his rifle and the white bullet bag as well as a canteen and some other stuff Lauren didn’t understand the purpose of. Through it all, not so much as a drop of blood slipped past her fingers.

  The man under her hands had gone quiet now and she saw him shiver even though the sun beat down as if to roast them all. He was going into shock. She gave an order of her own. “Put your coats over him. Keep him warm.”

  For the first time, the soldier at the man’s feet looked straight at Lauren. His eyes bored into hers as if taking her measure. She’d seen the look hundreds of times before. How many times did she need to prove herself? How many doctors would judge her worthiness? She returned his gaze, lifting her chin in an unconscious challenge. He gave her a nod and a warning.

  “Keep that pressure up.”

  “I’m steady.” Lauren resisted the urge to shake her head to rid herself of the sudden flashes of other fields, of other broken legs and arms. IEDs did more damage than gopher holes. She could handle this.

  “Cut the strap on that canteen. Will, hand me his bedroll and the leather strap he used to hold it on.”

  Lauren concentrated on her task but understood what the soldier intended to do. She nodded her approval, even though he never looked at her.

  “Shouldn’t we put a tourniquet on him to stop the bleeding?”

  She drew a breath to answer, but the soldier at the man’s feet was faster. “No, let the pros do that. We just need to keep him from going into shock.

  His hands deftly positioned the wool blanket around the wound. “Hold this,” he instructed a man on his right who gingerly held the blanket in place. Skillfully winding the straps around the blanket, the soldier successfully immobilized the leg.

  The whirl of the helicopter blades made her shiver. Lauren would’ve covered her ears against the deafening noise as it landed on the other side of the field but her hands were occupied. She bent her head against the wind but didn’t dare close her eyes. Too many memories lurked not far enough beneath the surface.

  The clank of a metal gurney being dropped beside her made her jump, but she didn’t remove her hands. The man under her fingers was not out of the woods. He’d lost a lot of blood and would lose more if she let go. A flash of uniform beside her told her the paramedics had arrived. The doctor/soldier greeted them with information.

  “Good to see you guys. Pulse is…” The soldier pointed to the man he’d put in charge of getting that information.

  “Fifty-six, sir.”

  “Broken femur, compound fracture. Bones are now in place but the femoral artery is compromised. Definitely not entirely severed, however.”

  One of them murmured, “Good work,” as the two of them set to getting their own data. A blood pressure cuff was placed around one arm even as the other set out the materials they’d need.

  “What about you, miss? How much longer can you keep up the pressure?”

  Lauren was beginning to wonder that herself. “A few minutes more, I think.”

  “Good. Let me get this ready then Josh’ll put a tourniquet around his leg.”

  She nodded, her arms suddenly very tired.

  True to his word, the paramedics were ready in hardly any time at all. The one called Josh applied a pressure-adjustable tourniquet around the man’s thigh. “Hold on and slowly release when I tell you to,” he told her. Quickly he tightened the clamp then nodded to Lauren and she watched for a flow of blood as she released her grip.

  But nothing got past the tourniquet and she stood and backed up, flexing her sore hands and letting the paramedics do their jobs.

  The soldiers moved back, giving the paramedics the room they needed to work, but when asked, several lifted him onto the metal frame. They waited patiently as the paramedics strapped their comrade to the board then helped carry the litter up the hill to the waiting helicopter.

  Lauren watched it all in detached silence. Someone gave her a wet cloth to wipe the blood off her hands. She used it without looking, being sure to rub the cloth hard over every surface of her hands and arms. Concentrating on the spire of the Victorian church she could see on the other side of the trees helped keep her in the present, but Lauren knew she would have nightmares tonight.

  A police officer came over and asked for her version of what had happened for the accident report, but Lauren didn’t have much to say. No, she hadn’t seen him fall, she’d only heard him cry out. No, she didn’t know his name or the names of any of the other soldiers for that matter. Yes, she was a trained nurse. No, she did not currently have a job. The officer didn’t ask why and she didn’t volunteer. How could she ever go back after what she’d been through?

  Through it all she remained very conscious of the solder/doctor going through the same drill with a different officer. She couldn’t hear his responses, but his bearing said it all. His broad shoulders remained square, his strong hands accepted a towel with ease and tossed it into the red bag with nonchalance. Saving a man’s life was all part of a normal day for him.

  “That was cool, Aunt Lauren. You saved that man’s life! Beth told me so!”

  Ian came bounding up, followed by Beth pushing the stroller. The baby looked sated and Ian’s face sported the remains of a chocolate ice-cream cone all over his cheeks. Lauren took the wet wipe Beth offered and bent down to clean him up, her smile tighter than she wanted it to be. “Beth exaggerates.”

  “Is he gonna be all right? He looked awfully white when they put him on the stretcher.” He spoke with the authority of an eight-year-old who thinks he knows everything.

  “He’s going to need some blood transfusions, I suspect. But yes, I think he’s going to be okay.”

  “He’s gonna need blood ’cause you’re wearing a bunch of his.”

  Ian’s voice was matter-of-fact, but Lauren looked down in a panic. He was right, her shirt and shorts were spotted with bloodstains turning dark in the sunlight. Beth handed her another wipe and Lauren dabbed at the worst of it, already knowing she’d throw these clothes away as soon as she possibly could.

  Beth handed her another wipe, concern in her eyes. “What about you?” she prodded. Few knew of the nightmares that plagued Lauren since her return. Beth, however, was her best friend and Lauren confided much to her. Perhaps too much, she thought now as she saw the mothering side of her friend come front and center.

  “I’m fine,” she hastened to reassure them. “Not a scratch on me!”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  Lauren cut off her retort as she noticed the soldier/doctor coming toward them. He held his cap in one hand and had his wool jacket thrown over one arm. For the first time, she got a full look at the face of the man who stepped into a crisis without a qualm, who ordered the men around him with innate authority, who most probably saved the man’s leg with his quick actions, and her breath caught. Irritated, she pushed down the reaction and studied him as he strode to where they stood.

  His buzz cut was considerably shorter than all the other reenactors’ hairstyles. He also wore a close-shaved goatee instead of a full beard. Of course, that drew her attention to his lips and idly she wondered what kind of kisser a man with a goatee might be.

  Lauren became acutely aware of his height as he drew closer. Somehow down o
n the battlefield she’d thought him near her own stature, but now realized he stood a head taller than her own five-foot-four frame. In fact, the man was huge. Body-builder huge. Huge as in over six feet tall with shoulders wide enough to land a plane on. The summer heat made his cotton shirt stick to his skin in all the right places. On him, rather than look obscene, the blood spatters gave him a dangerous air. In spite of her intent to remain coolly aloof, his eyes were so piercingly blue, his gaze so intimate, she quickly looked away lest he see the problems she took such pains to hide.

  John flashed a tight smile to the woman with the stroller and the kid he assumed to be her son as he approached the small group. The boy grinned back at him with something close to idol worship so he sent him a wink before turning to the woman the kid had called “aunt”. Now that the moment of crisis had passed, he paused to take a good, long look at the woman who hadn’t flinched at the sight of blood and who so competently followed his orders.

  She stood maybe a foot shorter than him, but that was pretty normal. He tended to look at the tops of heads a lot. Being a little over six-three gave him some advantages in views, both out and down. The woman’s T-shirt clung quite nicely to her curves, although the blood spatters dampened his more lustful thoughts. Still, the woman had ample breasts that stretched that knit material quite nicely.

  He was just getting around to noticing the blend of colors in her auburn hair when she turned those dark eyes toward him. John felt a small shock—he’d expected the competence and hoped for the interest, but the haunted, tired look that lurked behind the first two surprised him. This woman had issues. The red flags went up and his greeting became cordial instead of warm and inviting.

  “I just wanted to say thank you for your help.”

  She put out her hand in greeting and John took it, accepting her firm grip as a matter of course.

  “You did good work down there. Not the first bone you’ve handled.”

  Her voice had a musical quality to it that he couldn’t quite identify, but liked in spite of the warnings he tried to give himself. “Had to learn a thing or two about first aid in the last job I held.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That went far beyond first aid.”

  John shrugged, not rising to the bait. She wasn’t the only one with a demon or two in her background. His years leading men through desert mountains, dodging sniper fire and mortar shells had given him far more practice patching up bodies for transport than he really wanted to remember. Not that he wasn’t proud of his military career, yet here in this museum park with the sun beginning to slant long rays through the trees, the sound of children’s laughter and tour guides telling stories just seemed to be the wrong place to bring it up. He sent the probe back to her with a deft twist.

  “You seemed to know your way around a man’s groin yourself. Good hand work.”

  Her eyes flashed once and she gave a quick glance toward the boy who hung on their every word. But the kid gave no appearance of having understood the innuendo. The woman with the stroller, however, laughed out loud.

  “Oh Lauren, this one’s a keeper. Be sure to get his number.” She turned the stroller and took the boy’s hand. “C’mon, Ian. Let’s get you cleaned up the rest of the way.”

  “Beth…” The petite woman started to protest, but with a saucy wink at the two of them, her friend—sister?—pulled the kid and pushed the stroller toward the restrooms. His erstwhile nurse apologized.

  “I’m sorry, my friend likes to play matchmaker…”

  “It’s okay,” John told her, taking her arm and turning her toward the ice-cream stand. “I’m John…John McAllen. And you’re Lauren.” When she didn’t answer, he glanced down and prodded her. “Does Lauren have a last name?”

  She shook her head as if coming out of a reverie. “Sorry. Yes. I’m Maj—” She stopped herself and gave a little shake of her head before stopping entirely, setting a determined smile on her face and holding out her hand. “I’m Lauren Carr. Nice to meet you, John McAllen.”

  Okay, now he was intrigued. She’d been a major. Army field hospital, if he had to guess. That would explain the competence and the brief flash of irritation when he’d asked her if she could handle it down on the meadow. It would also explain the demon that haunted her eyes.

  He pointed to the cart a little ways farther down. “Looks like he’s about to close up for the day. How about an ice-cream cone before he does?”

  She smiled for the first time and the change in her face amazed him, giving him a glimpse of all her possibilities. “We were on our way over there when your friend broke his leg. Beth and Ian got theirs, but I didn’t.”

  “Then ice-cream cones it is.” He gestured her forward and they wound their way through the dozen or so people who still hung out, licking ice cream and taking their time. John took a deep breath, smiling and nodding to those they passed. He paused only once when a pretty young woman put her hand on his arm and asked for a picture. Lauren waited for him, seeming bemused by the request, but John felt happy to comply. Not only did it appeal to the innate theatrical vein in his psyche, but the real-life blood staining his uniform would give this couple a reminder of the realities of warfare, even if the accident had happened after the fact. To drive the point home, he told the woman and her boyfriend about some of the medical conditions of the mid-1800s, including the fact that, in all likelihood, had such an accident happened during a real battle, the chances were the man would have died, or at the very least, have lost the leg entirely. Now, due to modern medicine, he’d be up and walking within weeks.

  As a result of the delay, they got to the stand just as the vendor flipped the sign to “closed”. Undeterred, John knocked on the window to get the man’s attention.

  “It’s been a long afternoon and this little lady really needs an ice-cream cone to cheer her up,” he told the man through the glass. When Lauren gave a little pout and batted her eyelashes at him, the man acquiesced and lifted the window once more.

  “But only for you two and only ’cause I saw what you did down there.”

  “Thanks.” John leaned on the counter and turned to Lauren. “So what’re you having?”

  Lauren bit her lower lip as she quickly scanned the choices to make sure her favorite was there then announced, “Mint chocolate chip.”

  “Make it two,” he told the man, reaching for his wallet. He saw her pull a small wallet from her jeans pocket, so he put his hand on her arm to stop her. “I’ve got this.”

  Color came up in her cheeks. “It’s not necessary—”

  “Didn’t say it was. Let’s just chalk it up to the uniform and a bygone era of gentlemanly behavior.”

  Lauren nodded, conflicting emotions running rampant inside her. Reading people was second nature to her. One didn’t have a lot of time to make a call when the medics brought in their buddies. And there was more than one way to bleed.

  But this John McAllen, so far, was an enigma. Obviously used to being in charge, yet out on this imaginary battlefield as a private. Smooth, definitely sexy—she’d seen the way the young woman reacted to him when he posed with his arm around her. Lauren had to admit she felt a little of the same herself. The way he looked right at her, as if she were the most important person on the planet right now. The way he steered her with small touches on her arm or back, not as if she were incapable, but as if he were protecting her.

  That was it, right there. In his presence, she felt safe. As if he had the strength of body and will to fight off all her demons, both real and imagined. For a brief moment she thought of the two of them standing on a hill in a time period even longer ago and knew he’d be wearing armor and riding a white charger. Or maybe chaps and spurs and a white hat.

  The vendor came with their cones and Lauren took a good, long lick, letting the mint settle deep inside her. A slow smile spread across her face. “Is there anything better for the soul than mint chocolate chip?” she commented.

  “I can think of a few things,” John answere
d her, taking a lick of ice cream, twisting the cone around in his fingers. Yet his eyes never left hers, reading her body language far more easily than she read his. He had to. Lauren knew she was no good at hiding her emotions after the crisis had passed. Right now she felt safe, secure…and sexy in his eyes. She lifted her chin and took him up on his offer.

  “Oh really? Name one.”

  “Tying a woman down and making love to her all night long.”

  Lauren choked on her ice cream. Of all the answers she’d been expecting from years of bad pick-up lines, John’s answer came out of the blue and smacked her right in the pussy. She felt herself grow warm all over despite the ice cream she tried desperately to swallow.

  And it didn’t help to have him stand there, looking nonchalant, gallantly offering her a paper napkin as if they were discussing the weather. Her eyes watering from swallowing too much ice cream too fast, she tried to look up at him, but the sun was behind him.

  “No fair. Can’t see you,” she muttered and pushed him to her other side so she could give him the glare he deserved.

  Except he took one look at her and laughed out loud. A good, hearty, infectious chuckle. When her glare turned to puzzlement, he reached over with his own napkin and wiped the green ice cream off the tip of her nose. She rolled her eyes and relented.

  “Okay, so your answer wasn’t quite what I expected,” she started.

  “But you’re intrigued enough that you’ll go out to dinner with me tomorrow night,” he finished.

  Lauren opened her mouth to demure, but Beth’s voice superimposed itself over hers. “Of course she is, and she’d love to. What time?”

  “Beth, I can arrange my own calendar.”

  “Seven o’clock.” John spoke directly to Beth. The conversation continued as if she wasn’t there.

  “Here’s her address and phone number. I took the liberty of writing it down for you.”

  “That was kind of you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”