Dawn of Valor (21 page)

Rachel sat next to Chase’s bed, her fingers resting tensely on his gowned shoulder. It was eight in the morning, and the recovery ward was beginning to stir, the doctors making their rounds. Chase was pasty white, his mouth slack. Walnut-colored strands of hair swept across his wrinkled brow. Gently Rachel pushed his hair back into place. His flesh was cool even though recovery was kept warmer than normal for the patients. Two IVs hung on either side of his cot, the liquid dripping into the veins of his arms.

Numbly Rachel moved her fingers gently against his shoulder. Soon Chase would come out of the anesthesia. And as he did, she was sure it would be rough on him. No one escaped the nausea and vomiting that occurred all too frequently after such a long and complex operation.

Doug Thornton dropped by on his rounds. He gave her a concerned look. “How you doing, Rachel?”

She shrugged. “Better than Chase, that’s for sure.”

“He rallied during surgery,” Thornton told her, pulling back the covers and placing his stethoscope against Chase’s chest, listening intently. A satisfied look crossed Thornton’s face as he wrote some notes on the clipboard he carried. Bringing the covers up, Thornton muttered, “The man’s got the constitution of a bull.”

Feeling guilty because she thought she should be working, Rachel started to get up.

“Stay put,” the doctor ordered her sternly. “We’re trying to rest as many of our people as we can between these spurts of casualties coming in from the front. Just stay with him, hear?”

Rachel wanted to hug the doctor for his understanding. He was married and had three children back in South Carolina. “Thanks, Doug.”

“You’re off for the next twenty-four hours, so I don’t care if you stay glued to his bedside or go back to your tent to sleep.”

“I’m going to stay here until he’s conscious.” Doug’s smile told Rachel everything. The doctor, who was forty-five, was giving her special privileges under the circumstances, and she was grateful. He walked off, going to visit his next patient. Rachel returned her attention to Chase and saw beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. She took a cloth and dipped it into a basin of warm water sitting next to the cot.
Live,
her heart told him.
I want you to live, Chase. You just have to…

Chase moved his head, muttering something unintelligible. He saw the MiGs ganging up on him. He’d just dropped a load of bombs, climbing up and out of the Yongchong area, when they jumped him from behind a line of hills, coming directly out of the sun.

Chuck Dancey screamed a warning, and Chase powered the agile Mustang to a higher altitude, jinking violently to throw the first MiG off his tail. For the next five minutes, he fought for his life, taking down three enemy jets. Then, six other MiGs cornered him. A cannon shell fired from the nearest MiG struck just ahead of the cockpit, an explosion tearing through the Mustang.

Pain had ripped up his leg, digging deeply into his gut. Chase gasped, remembering that slicing pain and the jerk of the parachute seconds later, the icy cold of snow stinging his unprotected face. He remembered swinging like a pendulum through the gray sky, heading down toward the safety of the U.N. lines. As the ground came up to meet him, Chase remembered screaming out Rachel’s name.

“Sh, Chase, I’m here. I’m here….” Rachel gripped his hand. Worriedly she sponged his face and neck as he fought off the anesthesia. He kept muttering her name and fragments of sentences. Hovering in the background was her fear that he no longer loved her—that he would reject her presence as soon as he became conscious.

Rachel’s voice penetrated the fog Chase lay suspended within. He dragged his lashes upward. Seeing only a wall of white, he closed them again. Little by little, he became aware of a warm, small hand gripping his larger one. Weakly Chase squeezed back.
Rachel.
It had to be Rachel!

“Don’t fight so hard,” Rachel begged softly. She stood up, leaning over Chase, keeping her hand firmly on his shoulder to prevent him from moving around and possibly hurting himself. “I’m here, and I won’t leave you, Chase.”

Rachel saw him open his eyes, saw how dilated his pupils had become. She gave him a wobbly smile, her fingers stroking his roughened cheek. “Chase, can you see me? It’s Rachel. You’re safe, and you’re going to live.”

It took Chase several minutes to digest the message she repeated slowly over and over again. He clung to the sight of her face and her lips now pursed at the corners. He saw the anxiety in her forest-green eyes. Nausea stalked him, and he felt sick and hot, breaking out in a heavy sweat. Weak beyond belief, Chase struggled to keep his eyes open and on Rachel. It was impossible. Surrendering to the mélange of sensations, Chase gripped her hand, as if to lose hold of it would mean spiraling forever back into the darkness.

Rachel jerked awake, stiff from sitting in the straight-backed chair beside Chase’s cot. Quickly she transferred her attention to him. Weak sunlight was filtering through the tent, giving more light to the ward as she sat up and checked on him. Her heart slammed violently in her breast. His eyes were open and less dilated, telling Rachel that the anesthesia was wearing off. Would he ask her to leave? In utter misery, Rachel had to admit she wouldn’t blame him.

“Chase?” She placed her hand against his sweaty brow and forced a smile she didn’t feel. All of her brisk nursing facade fell aside as he shifted his limited attention to her.

Frowning, Chase fought the wall of pain surging up through him. His vision was fuzzy, everything out of focus, but he recognized her voice and touch. “Rachel?” The word came out like sandpaper. His voice was raw and unsteady.

Swallowing against a barrage of feelings, Rachel stood and caressed his cheek. “Yes, it’s me. How do you feel?” Right now Chase would be semicoherent, and speaking too fast would only serve to confuse him. Risking everything, she slid her fingers across his hand, holding it. Would Chase reject her?

Rachel was here, with him. His heart pounded hard, underscoring the sudden realization. God, he’d been lonely without her. His life had been hell since he’d lost Rachel’s smile and her fiery, spirited nature. “I—like hell…” Chase closed his eyes, feeling her cool fingers against his hot flesh. Flashes of the fight with the MiGs haunted him. Tensing against a savage tidal wave of pain, Chase sucked air between his clenched teeth. His fingers tightened around Rachel’s hand.

Biting back a cry as Chase’s hand squeezed hers until the bones ground together, Rachel froze. The drug to halt his pain was wearing off. Checking the medication chart hanging at the end of his cot, Rachel saw it was time to give him another shot. She called to an orderly, asking him to get the necessary items.

Barely aware of the bite of the hypodermic needle, Chase rolled his head back and forth, the pain nearly unbearable. Rachel’s voice entered his hazy awareness, only to fade away.
I love you, I love you.
Afraid he was dying, Chase tried to form the words on his lips, tried to force out how he felt. The pain crashed over him, and with a groan, Chase surrendered to the blackness.

Chapter Eleven

T
he third time Chase awoke, he had clarity. Sweat was dribbling into his eyes, and he lifted his hand to wipe it away. He was incredibly weak, barely able to lift his arm from the cot.

“Chase?”

He looked up and to the left. Rachel’s face was drawn, shadows accentuating her beautiful bone structure. Exhaustion haunted her eyes. A light from the end of the tent made everything look ghostly. Chase surveyed his surroundings then moved his gaze back to Rachel. She looked so damned good.

“Where?”

Wringing out a cloth, Rachel got up, gently dabbing the sweat from Chase’s tense face. “You’re here at the MASH unit. You got shot down two days ago.”

Her voice was as tremulous as he felt. Fragments slowly began to surface between the bearable waves of pain drifting up his leg. “Yeah. Two days ago?” His voice was little more than a croak, and he was dying of thirst. Rachel must have read his mind because she set the cloth aside and slid her arm beneath his shoulders.

“You’ve been through a six-hour operation and slept all day yesterday. Here, drink as much as you want.” Rachel supported Chase’s head against her neck and shoulder as he noisily slurped water from the glass. Her scent was welcome against the smells of anesthesia and alcohol that surrounded him.

“Thanks,” he whispered. Unable to support himself any longer, Chase leaned against Rachel. “Do you know how many times I dreamed of you holding me? Hell of a way to get held, isn’t it? I have to get shot down and wounded.”

It was four in the morning, and the ward was quiet except for an occasional snore or moan from a patient. Rachel winced inwardly as she made Chase comfortable on the cot. “You have a terrible sense of humor, Captain, but am I ever glad to hear you teasing me again.”

A vague smile pulled at the corner of Chase’s compressed mouth. Rachel picked up his wrist to take his pulse. Her fingers were warm and his were cold. More memory tumbled back as Rachel walked to the end of the cot and picked up a clipboard. He watched as she duly recorded his pulse rate. In the gray shadowy world of the ward, she looked clean and wholesome, soothing the clutching fear inside him.

“Am I going to live?” he asked when she came back and sat down, facing him.

Tears suddenly sprang to Rachel’s eyes as he slid his hand those few inches, placing his fingers across hers. “Yes. You had two of the best surgeons.”

A ragged sigh pulled from Chase, his narrowed eyes on her. “My leg. I remember a lot of pain—thinking it felt like it was being torn off.” Automatically he felt downward, reassured that it was still attached.

Taking his other hand, Rachel whispered, “It’s all right, Chase, you have your leg.” She tried to prepare herself for the eventuality that he no longer loved her. Rachel wanted to cry because she was a novice at love and didn’t know how to handle the terrible rift she’d created with Chase. His eyes were dark with drugs and pain, and she could read nothing beyond that to give her any inkling of his real feelings for her. His teasing could be a cover-up for how he really felt.

Chase slowly flexed his fingers, feeling the softness of her hand on his. Rachel’s tears glimmered like drops of dew down her cheeks. “I want the bottom line on my wound,” he croaked. “What happened?”

Trying to muster a brave front for Chase’s benefit, Rachel gave him a detailed explanation. “Dr. Thornton says the next forty-eight hours are critical.”

“Critical? To what?”

Rachel lowered her lashes, holding his hand tightly. “To whether you keep your leg.”

Chase stared at her, digesting her strained words. Immediately he rejected the idea. “No one’s taking my leg. No one.”

“It’s not that simple, Chase—”

“Like hell it isn’t!” he exploded softly.

“You’re getting upset. I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I never want you to lie to me.”

She sat very still, seeing the anger and determination in his blue eyes. “What we share,” she began in a low voice, “is built on misconceptions on my part, Chase, but never lies.”

He flinched, turning his head away from her. The idea of losing his leg was too much to deal with. “I’m sorry….”

“Chase, no matter what happens, I—”

“I’m not,” he gritted through his teeth, “going to lose my leg.”

Rachel clung to his hand, watching the sweat form on his brow, his face naked with pain. She swallowed all her admissions, though they were begging to be said. Chase was fighting it with every breath he took. Leaning forward, she murmured, “What can I do to help you?”

Dragging in a deep, halting breath, Chase uttered, “Believe in me, Rachel.” He met and held the gaze that so clearly broadcast her suffering for him. He loved her so damn much that the pain of knowing that outstripped the agony of his leg. She was fragile, he could see it in her eyes and in the tortured line of her beautiful mouth. Chase wanted to say so much, but the darkness was pulling at him, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Chase pulled out of sleep, the pain awakening him. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was daylight. Rachel was gone, the chair beside his cot empty. Orderlies and nurses moved quietly up and down the aisle, attending to their duties. A doctor in a green smock came into view.

“Captain, I’m Dr. Doug Thornton.” He held out his hand.

Chase shook his hand weakly. “You’re the guy that saved my neck?”

Doug grinned and sat down, a clipboard resting on his thigh. “I am, and leg would be more like it. You’re looking better. How are you feeling?”

“Like hell right now, but I’m not losing my leg, doc.”

The doctor frowned. “Rachel must have told you the status of your injury.”

Eyes narrowed, Chase nodded. “I asked her to cut to the bottom line.” He made a weak jab at his leg, tightly bandaged beneath the blankets. “There’s no way in hell I’m losing it. I know I’m in bad shape, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.”

Doug scratched his thinning blond hair. “It’s not that easy, Captain. I admire your fighting spirit, but I can’t guarantee you’ll keep the limb. Damage was maximum.” He glanced down at the chart, noting the temperature and blood pressure readings that had been taken every two hours. “You’re coming back strong, but I want to caution you on your optimism.”

Glaring at the doctor, Chase bit back, “Not only will I keep this leg, doc, but I’ll be back in the cockpit of a plane in six months.”

Doug grinned and patted Chase’s shoulder. “Okay, Captain. Let’s take this one day at a time. I’m in your corner and rooting for you.” He rose and placed the clipboard on the hook at the end of the cot.

“Where’s Rachel?” Chase asked.

“Sleeping right now.”

“Oh.”

“That’s quite a lady you’ve got, Captain. I hope you appreciate her. She slept in that chair, held your hand, gave you the necessary shots and took care of you. Right now, Rachel’s under orders to rest.” He smiled good-naturedly. “I don’t need my best surgery nurse half-asleep at the operating table.”