Susan as she surveyed her patients. Yes, these were her men, and she felt a trickle of pride. There was nothing like the feeling of being able to help another human being; it was something Susan lived for.
As she walked quietly down the aisle of the ward, her gaze fastened on Craig’s bed. Again, he lay with his arm across his eyes, and to her surprise, he wasn’t wearing his pajama top. She could see it wadded up on the deck where he’d evidently thrown it, along with his bedspread and sheet. His chest, covered with a carpet of dark, curling hair, glistened with sweat. Worried that he might still be running a fever, she rushed forward.
Her mouth dry, Susan watched Craig withdraw his arm from his eyes at the sound of her footsteps. His gray gaze narrowed speculatively. Dragging himself into a sitting position, he watched her.
“I had Dr. David call down to San Diego about your man, Larry Shelton,” she said in a quiet tone, knowing he didn’t want to waste time on social pleasantries. “He’s out of unstable critical and they’re listing him in fair condition.” She managed a small smile. “Shelton will live.”
Relief flooded through Craig, and he released a long, ragged breath of air. “Thank God,” he rasped. For nearly a minute, he wrestled with his relief—and with his joy at seeing Susan again. Tonight, she looked pale, he noticed, and her eyes had darkness in them. He could see smudges beneath her eyes—telltale signs that she hadn’t slept well. Looking away, he muttered tightly, “Thanks for finding out about Shelton.”
Forcing herself to move, to start her rounds, Susan set the clipboard aside and came around the bed to check his IV drip. “Actually, you can thank Dr. David. She’s the one who made the call.”
Craig lifted his head and watched Susan’s every movement. Her hands were trembling. He tried to steel himself against the touch that would come as she checked the point where the IV entered his left arm. As she leaned down, he could smell the perfume she wore. The fragrance was in direct contrast to the antiseptic smells of the ward, and, almost unwillingly, Craig inhaled deeply. Her touch was butterfly light.
“You asked her to make the call,” he growled, willing his body to not respond to her touch.
Craig was so close, so powerful. Susan tried to hurry her IV check, but to her disappointment, she saw that it needed to be reinserted and bandaged. “You’ve been moving around too much,” she said, trying to protect herself from his aura of fury. If only he wouldn’t lash out at her again….
Craig looked down at the dark bruises on his left arm. He scowled, barely able to will himself not to touch Susan in return. Her fingers were cool against his heated flesh. “So what?”
His gray eyes seemed to bore into hers. Her mouth flattening, Susan said in a clipped voice, “I’m going to have to shift the IV to your other arm.” She drew in a shaky breath. The IV apparatus was on wheels. As gently as she could, she removed the needle and pressed a bandage onto his arm so it wouldn’t bleed. Craig lay stock-still, and she could feel his gaze following her every move.
He turned over his right arm so she could look for a vein. Each of her feathery touches only magnified his agony for her. He tried not to look at her soft lips, tried not to think of that sole kiss they’d shared. Forcing himself to think coherently, Craig said, “You look like hell. Don’t they give you time off between shifts around here?”
Susan froze momentarily, pressing her lips together to hold back the anger threatening to bubble out at Craig. She sat down to insert the IV needle. “This is only my second day at Camp Reed,” she said tightly. “And there are lots of new sounds to get used to at my apartment….”
Craig saw the unmistakable mixture of hurt and anger in her blue eyes when she inadvertently looked up at him. His breathing became suspended as he met and held her luminous gaze, which was shadowed with exhaustion.
“Why did you come here to Reed?” he snarled, pushing his emotions back down deep inside, where they belonged.
Susan blinked, taken aback by the harshness of his voice, the iciness in his eyes. Her hands stilled over his arm. “Why?” she repeated numbly.
“Coming here was stupid, Susan. You haven’t changed at all since I knew you at Annapolis. For once in your life, why don’t you stop helping others so much and learn to help yourself? You look like hell warmed over. You obviously haven’t gotten any sleep. If you think you can keep this up, you’re mistaken. Get a transfer back to wherever you came from,” he snapped. “You aren’t cut out for this kind of stress.”
Anger bled through Susan’s shock at his attack. Grimly, she focused on getting the IV back into his arm and taping it up properly. The silence grew between them as she finished the job and stood up. She took the clipboard from the end of his cot and studied it. His eyes never left hers.
“Well?” Craig goaded as she came back to his bedside. “Why did you come here?”
Susan saw the tears glittering in her patient’s eyes. Intuitively, she realized he was grieving over Hayes’s death. Sitting down, keeping her voice low, she said, “You’re raw over your man’s death, Craig. That’s what’s really bothering you. It isn’t me!” She stabbed at his chest with her finger. “Don’t forget, I know how guilty you’ve felt over David’s death. Ever since he drowned, you’ve been scrambling to atone for some crazy guilt. Well, it wasn’t your fault!” Her voice cracked. “I know you, remember? I saw for a year how much you cared for the men under your command at Annapolis. I saw how you cared for me. Why don’t you just keep crying until you get your grief out for Hayes? There’s nothing wrong with that!”
Craig watched her start to rise again. His hand shot out. “Hold it,” he ordered, his fingers closing tightly over her wrist. “Just where do you get off accusing me of guilt? There’s no such thing as an officer caring too much for the men of his command. And who do you think you are, bringing up David’s death? How the hell do you know how I feel?” He saw her eyes go wide, but he was unable to stop the hurt from spilling out. “You talk about martyrs—well, you’re one of the best, Susan! You bleed yourself dry helping others, but when it comes to helping yourself, you can’t do it.”
“Let me go,” she rattled.
Craig held her shaken gaze. “Not until I’m done,” he snarled. “What’s the matter? Wasn’t marriage to Steve exciting enough for you? Didn’t it fulfill you, Susan? Is that why you came here? The martyr in you just had to keep giving herself away to those in need. I guess Steve’s needs weren’t enough. What did you do, volunteer to come here? More than likely.” He released her wrist.
Susan jerked her hand back against her. Stunned, her emotions reeling under his attack, she whispered angrily, “I may enjoy helping others, but at least I know who I am, what I’m doing here, which is more than what I can say for you! Who do you think you are, accusing me like this?” Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let Craig see her cry. She held up her left hand. “Just for your information, Craig Taggart, Steve is dead! I didn’t come to Reed because I’m a martyr, damn you! I’m here because I know I can make a difference.”
Shocked, Craig opened his mouth. Steve was dead? When? How? Oh, God…
With a small cry, Susan spun around and headed up the aisle and out of the ward, fighting back the tears, the hurt. She found Randy and asked him to finish the rounds. “If there’s a problem, come and get me,” she said, trying to control her shaking voice. “I just need some fresh air.”
Randy looked at her strangely but nodded his agreement and said nothing.
