Her Healing Touch

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.”