Winter Soldier

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. That has nothing to do with it. My behavior was uncalled-for.”

“I have your watch,” she said unexpectedly.

The statement and the change of subject caught him off guard. “My watch?”

“The one you bought for your son.”

He’d forgotten all about it. He’d forgotten everything but the past the moment he heard the smallest of the street urchins begin to cry. Leah reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out the wristwatch. She handed it to him. It was warm from the heat of her body. “Thanks,” he said.

“I had the shopkeeper engrave it.”

Adam turned the watch over. To Brian. With Love, Dad. Saigon, 1999.

With love. How long had it been since he’d told his son he loved him?

She waited as the silence grew between them. A frown creased her forehead. “It’s my turn to apologize, it seems. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed. I’ll pay to have the inscription removed.”

He stuck the watch into his pocket and twisted his mouth into a smile. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for taking the trouble. Thanks for everything.” He turned to walk away. Leah reached out and laid her hand on his arm. A current of energy had passed between them when his hand had brushed hers moments before. He’d ignored it. This time he couldn’t.

“What happened there at the marketplace? Why did you take off like that?”

“It was nothing. Not enough sleep and too much sun.”

“It was more than that.”

The storm had rolled down off the mountain. Now the thunder crashed directly overhead. She didn’t even flinch. He knew he was going to have to tell her something, perhaps even the truth, or at least a portion of it.

“Was it being in that marketplace? Or was it being in Saigon?”

Damn, she’s persistent. “It was—” The lights went out. There was no blinding flash of lightning or crash of thunder, but the room was suddenly dark except for the small rectangle of light coming from the window. The rain still pounded on the roof, but the rhythmic stutter of the generator had ceased. It was a distraction, the answer to an unvoiced prayer. “The generator’s out,” he said unnecessarily.

“Do you think it was hit by lightning?” There was a quiver in her voice.

“No. It’s right outside the window. I think we would have known if lightning had struck it.”

“Of course. How stupid of me. It probably just ran out of gas.” He heard Leah suck in a sharp breath, saw her turn toward the light.

He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of storms.”

She slid off her stool, looking at him over her shoulder. She moved toward the window, a darker silhouette against the pale rectangle of murky light. “Of course not.” She laughed a little self-consciously. “But I’m not very comfortable in the dark. Isn’t it silly? I’m thirty-one years old and I sleep with a night-light.”

“Don’t tell me you lay awake all night staring into the darkness to keep the monsters at bay.” Why had he said that? Because it was what he did every night?

“I’m not sleeping alone,” she said.

“Does it help not sleeping alone?” He had a sudden vision of her in bed with a man. He didn’t like it. Some of what he was thinking must have seeped into his voice.

She spun around, bringing them within a step of each other. He reached out and steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. He couldn’t see her blush, but he was certain she did. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, having a roommate. Besides, I have a clock with an enormous fluorescent dial. It’s practically as good as a night-light.” She turned the tables on him. “What comes for you in the dark?”

“No, Leah.” Then he stopped her from saying more with his mouth. He’d meant only to silence her, but her lips were so soft and warm....

She pulled away. “You don’t have to kiss me to shut me up. I won’t insist that you explain to me what happened yesterday,” she whispered, her breath warm against his lips.

“I’m not kissing you to shut you up. Not anymore.” She opened her mouth and let him inside to explore. She tasted of mint and cola. Her tongue touched his and something inside him flared with a white-hot flame, searing his heart. He pulled her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her softness against his sudden erection. He kissed her harder. He could go on kissing her forever, more than kissing her, making love to her over and over again. Adam found the fantasy taking hold of his heart and his brain. He wanted all of her, the way he hadn’t wanted a woman for a long, long time. “You don’t have to be alone in the dark, Leah. Stay with me tonight,” he said before the barriers of self-control could slam down on his need for her.

She shook her head, but didn’t step out of his arms. “That’s not a good idea.”

He could hear voices beyond the wall, a mixture of French, Vietnamese and English. People were working on the generator. Before he knew it the lights would come back on. The intimacy of near darkness would be erased. “What’s wrong with both of us taking comfort from each other?” He could feel her pulling back and he tightened his arms around her. “Don’t go,” he whispered against her hair. It was half plea, half command. He found her mouth again.

She relaxed against him for a handful of heartbeats, kissed him back and then pushed away, her hands on his chest. Her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breathing. There was a look of wonder on her face, and he knew their kisses had affected her as strongly as they had him. It was a warning signal he should have heeded, but he did not. “Stay with me, Leah.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t sleep with colleagues. I don’t do one-night stands.” She took another step away. He let his palms slide along her arms, then manacled her wrists with his hands, keeping her close.

“This wouldn’t be a one-night stand.”

“I’m not good at short, intense affairs, either.”

“Leah. I...” He couldn’t say “I need you” because she would demand to know why, and maybe he would tell her, and then the thin plate of armor separating him from his private version of hell would buckle and melt away, and he would be lost. “We would be good together,” he finished lamely.

“Another reason it’s not a good idea.”

He felt a chuckle working its way up into his throat and didn’t hold it back. “Thank you, I think.”

She smiled, too, but it was a little off center. “There is something between us, physically. I’m not denying it. But there are other reasons it’s not a good idea. You’re heartsore, Adam, and I’m not the woman to take away your pain. I know, I’ve tried before....” She lifted her hand to his cheek just as the generator kicked in beyond the wall, and the lights flickered back to life. “The truth of the matter is that I don’t think we should be alone with each other outside this room anymore.”

CHAPTER FOUR

LEAH RESTED HER HEAD against the back of the old, canvas chaise longue and closed her eyes. They had been in Vietnam ten days. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. There would be turkey, dressing and cranberry sauce, of a sort, freeze-dried and foil-wrapped. This was the first Thanksgiving she’d spent away from home since Desert Storm, but she was almost too tired even to be homesick.

Kaylene Smiley joined her in the screened hospital veranda, two cans of soda in her hands. “You look like you could use a drink,” she said, handing Leah one. Kaylene had come straight from the surgical suites. She was wearing green cotton scrubs and a paper surgical hat that framed her round, good-natured face like an old-fashioned mobcap.

The soda wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm, either. Leah accepted it with a grateful smile, popped the top and took a long swallow. “Thanks, I needed that.”

Kaylene sank into the chair next to Leah’s. “I’m getting too old for this. I should be thinking about retiring and playing with my grandchildren, not hiking off to the back of beyond to play Florence Nightingale.”

“I thought you told me you came on the mission to get away from your adorable crumb crunchers.” Kaylene had five grandchildren, all under the age of seven and all living within a few miles of her home. Leah had gathered from the pictures Kaylene showed her that the little ones spent as much time as possible at Grandma’s house.

“I did. But now I miss them. I even miss my husband.” She grinned and settled into the chaise with a sigh of relief. “Sixty-eight surgeries in eight days. It might not sound like an awful lot back home, but under these conditions we must be setting some kind of record. How’s your pituitary tumor doing?”

Early that morning Adam had operated on one of the Vietnamese nurses whose infertility was likely caused by a tumor of the pituitary gland. The tumor was benign and the surgery had gone well. Their patient was already awake and alert “Adam thinks she shouldn’t have any trouble conceiving now.”

“Another little miracle. Justifies my aching back and feet.”

Leah murmured agreement. The sun had dropped from sight behind the mountains that surrounded the valley where the hospital and several small villages were located. The air had already begun to cool. At dusk the church bell would ring to call Father Gerard and the sisters and their flock to prayers. Evening here was the most pleasant time of day. It reminded her a little of Slate Hollow with the smell of wood smoke in the air, the laughter of children at play and dogs barking in the distance.

“I really should bestir myself to take a shower before the hot water’s gone,” Kaylene said a few minutes later.