Off Limits (6 page)

Jim's stomach knotted. Alex was right: if he didn't do something, she would worsen—could even die. And more than anything, he didn't want that to happen. “I wish,” he rasped, “that none of this had happened, Alex. You don't deserve to be in this situation, to be stuck with me.”

“It's a little late for regrets, isn't it?”

With a shake of his head, Jim slowly got to his hands and knees. “Yeah, it is. All I've got is my Ka-bar knife and a clean compress—plus soap and water.” He glanced over at her. “I'm all thumbs when it comes to delicate work.”

“I don't believe that,” Alex said. She tried to sound confident and in charge. “Sterilize your knife the best you can. And get the compress, soap and water ready to use after you dig out the shrapnel.” Her heart was pounding, and she was scared—scared of the pain she couldn't avoid. But there was no choice: if the shrapnel didn't come out, she was as good as dead. And suddenly, Alex didn't want to die. Surprised at the depth of her survival instinct, Alex found a startling determination flowing through her for the first time in her life. Maybe it was that backbone that Jim had talked about earlier. What did he see in her that she didn't see in herself?

“Okay, gal, I'll get the supplies together. You just lie there and try to relax.”

“Yeah...sure. I'm scared to death, Jim. I'm afraid of the pain—of maybe bleeding to death once you take out the shrapnel....”

Leaning over, Jim pressed his hand to her good shoulder. “Hush, gal, you're gonna get through this just fine. I've got a good sense about it.”

With a whisper, Alex said, “I'm glad you do. I'm just so scared—”

“Don't let the fear make you freeze, Alex, make it your friend. That's what I always do.”

Alex tried to do as he counseled. She watched him light a small, oblong piece of metal, a magnesium tab. It flared to life, its white flame making the entire tunnel bright as daylight. A shiver of anticipation threaded through Alex as she watched Jim slowly and carefully pass the point of the evil-looking Ka-bar knife through the flame.

“If I remember my anatomy,” Alex said, her voice strained, “there's an artery somewhere in the vicinity of the shrapnel. If it's cut, I'll bleed to death.”

Jim looked up sharply. “I'll be careful.” His heart twinged. Alex was too brave, too good, to die—especially at his hands. He'd already killed—Again Jim slammed the door shut on the haunting memory. Still, his hand shook in remembrance, and he released a long, unsteady breath.

“Just think that I'm Tonto, and you're the Lone Ranger come to help,” Alex joked weakly, feeling sweat form on her brow and run down her temple.

“Right now, I wish I could be a doctor,” Jim muttered. The knife point was sterilized. Jim picked up a small piece of wood. “Here, put this between your teeth like before.”

With a nod, Alex took the wood. Her heartbeat rose to a furious rate, and she tensed. As Jim carefully removed the bandage and dressing, Alex shut her eyes and bit down hard on the wood. Oh, God, it was going to hurt. She tried to think of another time—when she'd broken her arm trying to emulate her two brothers by jumping from the roof of the house to a nearby oak limb. They had derided her, called her a mouse, a coward, until finally, out of hurt and anger, she'd jumped. It hadn't worked, and Alex had fallen twenty feet to the ground below.

Alex remembered screaming with the pain that had reared up her arm from the broken bone. Her mother had run out of the house to her rescue. Alex recalled sitting on the ground as a ten-year-old, holding her right arm, seeing her mother's distraught features. Her two brothers had gathered around her, frantic and unable to help. More than anything, Alex remembered her mother wrapping her arm in a towel. Then, when Alex had tried to stand, she'd fainted from the pain. If only she would faint from the pain this time. If only...

* * *

Jim sat tensely in the aftermath of digging the shrapnel from Alex's shoulder. She'd fainted seconds into the cruel procedure, and he was grateful for that. It had made his job easier. Still, there was no way he could shield his own raw emotions from the pain she'd endured so bravely. Looking at the fresh compress and bandage on her shoulder, Jim wondered if he'd done well enough. The wound looked nasty, red around the torn edges of her flesh. Gently, he touched Alex's slack features. Easing the wrinkles from her brow, Jim absorbed her quiet beauty into his heart. Even her lips were colorless.

“Little brown mouse,” he murmured, and he continued to gently stroke her cap of sable hair as a mother might soothe a hurt and frightened child. Somehow he couldn't seem to distance himself from Alex, or the problems he saw ahead. She hadn't asked to be shot down, or to be here with him. The decision he'd made after—He shut his eyes and groaned. Well, at any rate, Alex was the innocent in this whole mess.

Jim knew his leg was healing, although he was in constant pain. But pain was something he'd learned to live with a long time ago. He looked down at Alex and knew his heart had no defenses against her. What could he do? He couldn't allow her to die. He certainly couldn't sentence her to the life he'd chosen to live. His hand rested on her blanketed right shoulder, and he shut his eyes.
What was he going to do?

* * *

Alex groaned. The sound of her own voice pulled her out of her unconscious state. She felt a man's hand on her hair, stroking it slowly, and the sensation eased her pain momentarily.

“Alex?”

It was Jim's voice, low and next to her ear. She forced her eyes open to slits. He was leaning over her, his face shadowed, sweaty and tense. He placed his finger to her lips and she slowly realized she heard other noises...voices.

Jim gripped Alex's hand and looked up toward the tunnel's concealed opening. He recognized the voices as belonging to the VC who owned this territory. It was nearly dark, and they probably were aware of this abandoned tunnel. Alex had been unconscious, moaning off and on for an hour. He'd kept his hand over her mouth, fearing someone would hear them. Now, the VC were very close. Too close.

Sweat trickled down the sides of Alex's temples. She felt Jim's grip tighten on her hand. VC were nearby! Her already uneven heartbeat sped up with new terror. In Jim's hand was the Ka-bar. The dull ache in her shoulder seemed nothing compared to the fear surging through her. She saw the shadow of a man above the concealed entrance. Her breath lodged in her throat. Jim turned, tense and ready to meet any VC coming down the camouflaged access.

How long Alex lay dripping in her own fearful sweat, her heart thundering in her breast, she didn't know. The shadow disappeared. Gradually, the VC voices drifted off. Closing her eyes, Alex sank back against the hard ground. She felt Jim's reassuring squeeze on her hand, as if to reward her for remaining utterly silent. Opening her eyes, Alex stared up into his tense, harsh features. The changes that took place in him never ceased to amaze her. One moment, Jim was a country boy with a soft, Missouri drawl telling stories about his growing-up years, the next he was a tiger, ready to strike and kill without any sign of remorse. The change was frightening, but it also made Alex feel protected. She knew Jim would fight to save her life if the VC came down that tunnel entrance.

The danger was past—for now. Jim sat down and gave Alex his undivided attention. He took two pain pills from his first-aid kit and held them up for her to see.

“Take these,” he rasped hoarsely, then slid his arms beneath her shoulders and lifted her upward.

Alex took the pills in her mouth. Grateful for the water, she swallowed them. As he laid her back down, she whispered, “Thank you....”

Awkwardly, Jim drew the blanket across her again. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell.”

“Your eyes look better.”

She nodded. “There's not as much pain in my shoulder now.”

Jim held up the piece of twisted shrapnel. “If you were a marine, you'd get a purple heart for this.”

Alex stared up at the piece of metal that had been lodged in her shoulder. “No wonder I fainted.”

“Right after I started,” Jim said. “I'm glad. It saved you a lot of suffering.” He placed the shrapnel in her right hand. “A souvenir from the war.”

She shook her head slowly from side to side. “What an awful reminder.”

Jim couldn't argue. “Most of the wounds our guys carry around aren't the kind you can see, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“My pa carried a lot of invisible wounds. I recall him screaming and waking us up at night years after the war. Ma said they were just bad dreams. But after Pa had one, he'd be in a dark mood for at least a week. Now,” Jim admitted, “I understand why....”

Alex desperately wanted to know more about Jim, what had made him run, but the pills were already beginning to work. She began to feel light-headed, some of the pain receding from her shoulder. “My father was a navy pilot in World War II. I remember him telling me about some of his flights,” she began, her voice slurring. “I never heard him scream or have nightmares.”

“The air war's clean in comparison to being a grunt on the ground,” Jim said. He wiped Alex's forehead and cheeks with a damp cloth. She was beginning to sweat heavily, and that bothered him. “Pa was on the ground, at Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima and other islands. He never spoke to us of those times, but I remember seeing the haunted look in his eyes.” With a shake of his head, Jim added, “Don't look too closely at mine. I'm afraid they've seen worse than Pa's.”

There was such anguish in Jim's eyes at that moment that Alex wanted to cry for him, for whatever terrible trauma he'd survived. “I—I'm sorry.”

He smiled gently and bathed her neck. “You have nothing to be sorry for, gal. You're innocent.” He added painfully, “It's always the innocent women and children who get caught in the crossfire of war....”

Alex wanted to pursue the utter sadness she saw in his eyes, but without warning, her eyelids closed and she felt a deep, spiraling sensation. On the edge of exhaustion and sleep, Alex dreamed of the Lone Ranger and Tonto riding together.

M
orning came slowly and with a lot of inner pain for Jim. Off and on through the night he'd tended Alex because she'd grown feverish. Afraid the VC might still be near, he hadn't dared to sleep. Instead, he'd lain on the ground next to her, his nearness seeming to quiet her. Sometimes he'd nodded off for half an hour or so before her restless sleep had jerked him awake again. Now, as the bare hint of light from dawn crawled into the darkened tunnel, Jim grew even more worried.

Alex was delirious, and when he lifted the compress to examine her wound, he saw how red and inflamed the flesh had become. Grimly, he bathed her face, neck and arms, trying to lower her temperature. She needed antibiotics, or she would die. And that couldn't happen. His mind worked over his limited options. Each time he looked down at her vulnerable features, a little more of his resolve to remain a deserter was chipped away. Yes, he'd made a decision to live in peace, to stop contributing to the war effort. But that decision hadn't included Alex. As he took in her glistening features, he could no longer deny his conscience: he had to get her help.

Alex's lashes fluttered and opened. Jim smiled uncertainly down into her dulled gray eyes. “'Morning, gal. How you feelin'?”

“...Rotten...I'm so thirsty, Jim....”

“Figured as much. Hold on.” He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and gently brought her into a sitting position. He saw her lips set into a line as she struggled not to cry out. The movement of sitting upright, he was sure, hurt her shoulder, creating massive pain for her to manage. She lifted her hand to hold the wooden cup, but he continued to guide it to her lips, realizing how weak she'd become in the twelve hours since he'd removed the shrapnel. Thirstily, Alex drank three cups of the water.

As Jim laid her back down and pulled the blanket back over her, he said, “I've gotta get you some antibiotics. That wound of yours is infected.”

Alex nodded slightly. “I feel light-headed, and I'm seeing crazy things.”

“You're going in and out of delirium,” Jim agreed as he pressed his hand to her forehead. She was burning up. He feared her fever was around a hundred and three, but he didn't tell her. No sense in alarming her. Her being a nurse put her in touch with those possibilities anyway.

Jim's hand steadied Alex's whirling, tilted world, and she forced a slight smile. “Last night...last night I dreamed crazy dreams.”

“Like what, gal?” He took a cloth, wrung it out and placed it across her forehead.

“You were the Lone Ranger and I was Tonto. We were running from the VC together.” Alex closed her eyes. “Isn't that stupid? I hate war, I hate guns, and there I was, right in the middle of it with you.”

“Better to dream it than do it for real,” Jim said in a low voice. When she opened her eyes, he smiled. “Did we outrun them?”

“Yes...but it was awful.”

“Dreams, my ma once told me, are a good place to work out your feelings and fears.” He gently touched her tangled hair. “I think that's what you were doing.”

“Your mother sounds wonderful.”

“A real practical lady,” Jim agreed. “I miss her wisdom—I miss her cooking.” He grinned. “I remember waking up mornings as a kid growin' up and smelling corn bread bakin', eggs fryin' and coffee brewin'. Hunger drove me out of my attic bunk, and I'd sit at the table with blue john, corn bread and eggs, eating as if there was no tomorrow.”

“Blue john?”

He laughed softly. “Missouri slang, gal. Blue john is skim milk to you city folk.”

When Jim smiled, the terrible tension in his features eased. Alex stared up wonderingly at his lean face. “Your whole face changes when you smile.”