A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (6 page)

The first chance he got, he’d say so and pray she’d say yes. But with the fighting tonight, who knew when that would be.

Pete hurried through the snow to her. “We need to get you to a dugout before it starts again. Come on.” He helped her to her feet— a much slower process than it should have been, as Anna’s legs moved stiffly. “Are you in pain?”

“Some,” she said with a forced cheerful tone and a half nod. “My feet feel like blocks of ice.” She chuckled, but the sound fell flat, which only made Pete want to pick her up and carry her into a dugout, but he didn’t trust himself to be steady while carrying her in the dark over thick snow and ice. Instead, he put one arm beneath both of hers to support her weight. His other hand braced her from the front of her waist in case she pitched forward. That was the best he could do.

“I’m a bit stiff,” she whispered, limping with each step. “Sorry.”

“You’re doing fine,” Pete said.
But we do need to hurry.

He didn’t use his flashlight— too much chance of being noticed, and besides, both hands were occupied by keeping Anna upright. Their pace was much slower than would be ideal; every nerve in his body screamed to get her to safety
now.

Anna tripped on a tree root and winced. He held her close it seemed her pain had subsided, smelling the faintest hint of lavender in her hair, a scent so Anna. A scent from before he’d been a fool.
Please give me chance to make things right.

She turned her face and looked into his eyes. With their faces an inch apart, Pete almost forgot to breathe. Their lips were only a breath from each other; he could have easily closed the distance and kissed her.

I have no right to do that. Soon again, I hope. And we have no time for that now anyway.
He gritted his teeth and nodded at the path. “Let’s go.”

What a chicken-livered, yellow-bellied ninny he’d been to walk away last month without telling her why. The night he’d left, he’d known that Anna would try to convince him to stay— and that she’d likely succeed if he gave her the chance, yet he’d done it anyway, thinking he was somehow being honorable. He lacked the fortitude to stick to his decision in the face of her eyes, her voice, her touch…

She still deserved an explanation.
As he’d left her house that night, he’d felt as if his heart had died. He hadn’t realized that hers had too.

I think she still cares, after what I did.
He could hardly fathom it.

Pete had to distract himself from the havoc his emotions were wreaking on the situation. He’d tell Anna what had happened in the attack to refocus on why they were here in the first place. “Some Russians broke through and attacked from the rear,” he said. As soon as the words left his lips, he realized that they were ridiculous; she’d surely figured that much out on her own.

“But why did the fighting stop?” Anna asked. “Surely Finns in a non-combat unit couldn’t overcome a surprise ambush.”

Trying to distract himself by telling about the ambush had been an idiotic decision. Pete didn’t want to put any haunting images of starving men into her head. He bought some time by deflecting the question. The women’s dugout wasn’t too far now. Keep talking, and maybe they’d reach safety without her ever needing to know the details. He knew she’d find out soon enough, and that she needed to know to write about it, but not tonight.

“That’s the irony. The Russians stopped attacking. Had they kept going, they could have completely broken the Finns’ defenses here, circled around south, and attacked the Mannerheim Line from the rear.”

“And the Mannerheim Line is the most important front. They lose that line, and Stalin wins, right?” Clearly, she’d researched the war and geography.

“Right.”

“Which brings us back to my original question.” Anna put a hand on Pete’s arm and forced him to pause in his step. “What aren’t you telling me? I can tell there’s more; your voice always gives it away when you’re trying to hide something.”

Curse the fact that she knew him so well. For a moment, he didn’t answer; he stared forward where, only moments ago, he’d seen another unexpected horror of war.

Finnish staff members still buzzed about, rushing to and fro, collecting more objects they could use as weapons. He sent a silent prayer upward that the telephone lines hadn’t been cut, so the call for backup troops had been received. They were the only hope of the camp, and, likely, of the entire Finnish nation.

Anna squeezed his arm. “Pete. Tell. Me. Why did they stop attacking?” Her tone brooked no argument. He might as well tell her now anyway; she’d learn for herself soon enough.

Pete studied her and had a sudden realization that Anna could handle the information. She had more strength in her five-foot frame than he’d given her credit for, in character if not in body. As he tried to put the images into words, the horrors returned to the fore of his mind. If he’d doubted why the Russians had stopped their attack, the memory of their faces erased it.

“The Russians are starving,” he said simply. “They stopped attacking to… eat soup.” The words were true, yet they didn’t convey— not remotely— what he’d seen in the haunted eyes of the Red army.

“Let’s go,” Anna said, shifting directions, pulling Pete away from the path leading to the dugout and back toward the mess tent— the battle area.

“No.” Pete planted his feet and pulled her toward him.

Anna turned to face him, her eyes steely. “We’re here to do a job. To witness and report. I don’t know about you, but I intend to do my job.”

She wrenched her arm from his and marched, stumbling a bit, into the darkness in the general direction of the mess tent. Pete stood there, debating what to do. Anna was a strong woman. He shouldn’t treat her like some fragile flower. Yet he didn’t want to see her put into a dangerous spot, especially if he could prevent it.

Yet she was right; reporting on this war was why they were here. One thing he loved about Anna was how determined she was to do a professional, top-notch job. He’d never known a more passionate journalist, whether her assignment had been to cover a library event or a city government scandal. She always did the best job possible, and she’d worked her way up to better, harder jobs— she’d earned a level of prestige.

Helplessly, he watched her slip into the darkness, knowing that he had to let her do this. He still debated: should he go after her? They were a team, after all. Or, he could probably make it back to his dugout for his equipment so he could snap a few photos— although he’d need to use a flash, which would certainly draw unwanted attention from the fighters. But maybe it would blend in with rifle flares when the fighting resumed.

He looked to his left, in the direction of the dugout then back toward the path Anna had taken. The job could go hang; he wanted to be
with
her, at her side, if only to be sure she was safe. He debated for only a moment, but it was long enough for the fighting to pick back up and become ferocious. Lantern, flashlights, and rifle flashes lit up the night like some kind of sick fireworks display. He spotted bayonets used to skewer men and leave them to die on the ground, gored like an animal. Pete brought a hand to his mouth, sure he’d be sick.

Several Finnish men running past him, carrying hand-sized bottles with liquid inside— Molotov cocktails, the poor soldier’s grenade. Word said the State Liquor Board in Helsinki had sent cases of bottles to the front for just this purpose, and the makeshift bombs had done their fair share of incapacitating tanks and causing other chaos. All well and good on paper, and when soldiers were throwing them into those air vents. But not here, in the vast expanse of night.

A soldier at some distance lit a cocktail and hurled the burning bottle through the darkness. Pete wanted to yell at the man to be more careful; he could hit a tent. Or a dugout. The soldier moved to light another cocktail. Before he finished, Pete set off at a dead run in the direction Anna had disappeared.

But the bottle arced and exploded. Pete stumbled to a stop as a shocked cry rang out, and a cry that soon escalated into shrieks of pain— female shrieks.

Please, God, no!

Caring nothing for the fighting going on around him, Pete rush forward, dodging Finnish and Red soldiers locked in hand-to-hand knife combat, homing in on the sound of Anna’s cries. This camp had plenty of other women around— nurses and secretaries and typist and Lotta Svärd, the female war support group members.

But Pete knew the inhuman cries didn’t come from any Finnish woman. The next words he heard confirmed his fears

“Help! Oh, it hurts!”

A burst of energy went through Pete. He ignored the brutal slashing feeling that went through his lungs with every breath. He forgot the bitter cold, the darkness, and the reality that he could be on the receiving end of a bayonet. He had one thing as his focus, and one thing only: to reach Anna.

He found her a couple of yards from a tent, her skirts aflame from a Molotov cocktail gone astray. She half sat with one arm propped under her as she vainly reached for enough snow to put out the flames. Pete raced to a snowbank and scooped an armful of the white stuff, which he unceremoniously dumped it onto her legs, followed by another and another. He dumped snow, and she moved it about until they were certain the flames were out. She sat there panting, face a mask of pain. He wanted to add more snow, knowing that the heat in her burns would still be there, but something stopped him— the memory of the frozen man in the forest.

Anna began shaking hard, whether from the pain, exhaustion, or cold, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps all three. Pete knelt beside her and cradled her head against his chest, stroking her face and whispering, “You’re going to be all right.”

He knew now, as he never had, that he couldn’t live without Anna. Break his camera and send him to live in a hut in the middle of the wilderness, and he’d be happy, as long as Anna was with him. He’d have to convince her to take him back, to give him another chance to prove himself. He give her any life she wanted.

Anna moaned in agony. Pete looked around frantically, trying to find something he could do to ease her suffering. “Pete…” Anna said weakly, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter Six

A heavy weight seemed to fill Anna’s mind, as if she were at the bottom of the ocean, trying to break the water’s surface. She blinked, in an attempt to gain her bearings. Where was she? What had happened?

Sharp pain shot through her legs and hand, making her suck breath between her teeth.

Right, I’m burned.
That much came back to her, but nothing else seemed to make sense. She opened her eyes and saw her own breath. Why was the room so cold?

This isn’t home.

The full truth came back in a horrid rush. She was thousands of miles from home. She was alone, except for Pete, who didn’t want her. She remembered that moment behind the trees, when it seemed that maybe Pete did still care, that maybe he’d even kiss her there in the snow. But now she was burned. Would she walk again? Be able to travel with Pete after all? Was her face burned? She thought of the words they’d exchanged only moments before she’d been struck.

If he thought of reconciling before, he’s surely changed his mind.

She was probably a cripple. How could a man— any man, let alone her beloved Pete, who climbed and hiked and traveled the world— want her now? She simultaneously wanted to see how bad it was and never wanted to look at her body again. The future rolled out before her, empty, desolate.

If I’m a cripple, even my career is over.

She found herself groaning from both physical pain and inner heartbreak. She turned her head on the flat pillow and saw several more beds in a long row, each holding someone injured. She grew more conscious by the moment; the hospital smells hit her in a wave as she fully comprehended where she was— the same field hospital tent she’d visited… had it been only yesterday? Or was it today? What time and day was it?

“I think she’s awake.” A feminine voice, tinged with a pleasant, familiar accent. Kaisa, perhaps?

Rushed footsteps sounded, followed by the legs of a wooden chair dragging on the floor. “Anna,” came a soft voice. “It’s Pete. Can you hear me?”

Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice, but fell almost immediately. She would not be the object of his pity.

She turned her head the other direction. “Go away.” Her voice croaked. Speaking just those two words seared her throat, and she winced.

“Here.” Pete reached over to her lips and pressed a moist sponge to them.

The drops of water trickling into her mouth felt like manna from heaven. She breathed deeply in relief.

“You gave us quite a scare,” Pete said.

Anna ventured a look at him. He sat beside her bed, leaning close, his arms against his thighs. He swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. He did pity her. He clearly felt obligated to stay with her now that she was ugly and wounded and...

Yet she couldn’t look away; this might well be her final chance to look at him. She tried to memorize every hair— the cowlick by his right temple, every line— the crinkles by his eyes, even the tiny mole by his chin, so she could recall it all one day when she’d need the comfort.

Pete pressed the sponge to her lips again, soothing her parched throat. “Anna…” His voice trailed off, and he looked over his shoulder as if making sure no one was listening.

An ache went through her at that; he was embarrassed to be with her, but she knew he was too noble to be a “coward” again. He’d stay even though her legs were scarred, damaged— maybe crippled.

He leaned forward and whispered. “Kaisa says you’re too fragile for me to talk to yet, but she doesn’t know the strong spirit inside that I do.”

Anna furrowed her brow. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She braced herself for whatever was coming; it couldn’t be good if Kaisa worried she wouldn’t be able to tolerate it.

“The moment I saw you in the medical tent, I knew—
knew
— I’d done the most foolish thing a man can— I let you go. Pushed you away. I thought I was being noble and good, making sure you were free to have a life I assumed you wanted.”