Her Healing Touch

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.