isn’t some academic statement, Sergeant Gifford. It’s spoken from hard-earned experience in the field. Frankly, I wish you were a woman. It would make this six weeks a lot easier on both of us.”
Chapter Three
When he learned that he was staying in the TDY Quonset hut—a place where temporary duty personnel were housed—Burke went there to change. His room was small, spare and simple. This was a no-frills gig, but that didn’t bother him. At least he had a bunk to sleep on and hot water to shower and shave with. After getting into his uniform, which consisted of a pair of jungle fatigues, a dark green T-shirt, black boots and a black baseball cover with a BJS patch on it, Burke met Angel over at the dispensary.
Shaking off the exhaustion of the flight, he tried to steel himself for the prickly but exotic Sergeant Paredes. As he walked across the uneven black surface of the cave floor, he once again marveled at how large the compound was. Around him, women personnel worked swiftly and tirelessly, loading ammunition on board the Apaches, or performing maintenance on them. The two workhorses, the Blackhawk helicopters, sat farther back in the complex, behind the gunships, and he saw that one was being loaded with supplies as he made his way to his destination.
Letting his thoughts return to Angel, Burke scowled. Where had he gone wrong with her? He didn’t like the fact that they were getting off on the wrong foot with one another. She was really defensive, and didn’t like men for some reason. She could have had an experience or series of experiences that made her feel that way.
Great. Well, that didn’t help him, did it? Slowing his pace, Burke opened the door to the Quonset hut that had Dispensary painted in red on it.
As he entered, familiar smells of alcohol, bleach and other cleansing agents greeted him. He saw a tall red-haired woman in a white lab coat, stethoscope around her neck, sitting at a green military desk at one end, filling out paperwork. She was tall, with a narrow face. Closing the door, Burke said, “Ma’am? Are you Dr. Elizabeth Cornell?”
She smiled. “Yes, I am.” Putting down her pen and shoving away from her desk, Elizabeth stood and walked toward him. “Angel said you were coming over, Sergeant Gifford. Welcome to BJS.”
The doctor’s hand was long and lean, appropriate for a surgeon, Burke thought, as he took it. He liked her large, warm green eyes. “Yes, ma’am, that’s me. Where’s Sergeant Paredes?” he asked as he released her hand.
“Oh, in the back, in supply. She’s off-duty for the next six weeks, but is helping me out anyway. We just got in a bunch of IVs and other medical equipment, and she’s putting it away.” Elizabeth smiled a little. “She’s experiencing a lot of frustration at the moment being one-armed. I think you’d better go back there and help her out.”
“Be glad to,” Burke lied. It would be like going into a room with a pissed off, cornered cougar. Walking through the door, he entered a clean and brightly lit room. Seeing Angel down on her knees, putting away the bulky IV kits, he came over to her.
“Need some help?”
“No,” Angel muttered when she realized Gifford was standing above her as she struggled to put away the supplies. The shelf for IVs was on the bottom, and the kits needed to be filed by size. But IV kits were bulky and awkward to handle. Ordinarily, Angel had no problem with them. Ordinarily, she had two hands to wrestle them neatly into stacks. However, working with one arm was making her frustrated—and irritable.
Burke hunkered down beside her. “Sure?”
“Damned sure.”
“I thought I was supposed to be your hands for you while you rested up,” he said as lightly as possible.
“You are when I ask you to be,” she said, gritting her teeth. There! Finally, the stubborn IV slid into place. Awkwardly, Angel straightened up. Pushing the hair off her face with her good hand, she glared up at Gifford. His mask was back on, but she saw the look in his eyes; it was one of concern for her. She saw compassion for her plight, too, and that threw her. After their earlier clash with one another, she’d thought he’d be prickly as hell and ready to carry a grudge.
“How can I help you then?” Burke asked, looking at the unopened cardboard boxes that littered the center of the room—the same ones that had been flown in with him earlier on the Bell helicopter.
“Why don’t you go ask Dr. Liz if she needs your help?”
“Okay.” He rose, turned around and left. The door shut behind him.
“Alone. Good.” Angel crawled over to the next box. The tape across the top had to be cut. Grabbing the knife, she stabbed at the tape, but the box slid away across the highly polished, white-tiled floor. Without two hands, she couldn’t hold it in place. The knife blade pierced the cardboard and got stuck.
“Let go!” Angel snarled, yanking at the knife.
The door opened.
Just as the blade became unstuck, a pain shot through Angel’s sensitive left shoulder. The shock was like a cold electrical current. Gasping, she released the blade and it went flying out of her hand.
Burke ducked as the knife sailed past his head and slammed into the door beside him. Glass shattered, sprinkling over him and the surrounding area.
Eyes widening, Angel gasped again as she cradled her left elbow with her right hand. If Gifford hadn’t moved as fast as he had, the knife would have hit him. Gulping, she sat there in the middle of the floor, feeling completely embarrassed.
“That was close,” Burke murmured with a slight grin. He saw the shock and humiliation in Angel’s face. Somehow, he wanted to let her know it was okay, that he knew it was an accident.
“I didn’t mean it—”
“I know that,” he soothed. Turning, he opened the door. One of the panes had been shattered.
Elizabeth stuck her head around the door. “Angel?”
“Aww, the knife just slipped out of my hand, Doc.”
“Everyone okay?” She looked at them worriedly.
“Yeah,” Angel mumbled. “I’m fine.”
“No injuries,” Burke told her. “It was an accident….”
“Okay.” Elizabeth frowned. “Angel, why don’t you let the sergeant help you? I have nothing for him to do, and getting these supplies logged in is the most important activity right now.”
“Yeah…okay,” she muttered, defeated.
Burke looked around and found a small broom and a dustpan. He went about collecting the glass shards, pouring them into the wastebasket in the corner. Glancing toward Angel as he dumped the last pan, he saw the humiliation in her face. What could he say to her that wouldn’t make her more angry? Or defensive? Unsure, he put the broom and dustpan away.
“How’s the pain in that left shoulder? Pretty intense?”
Glumly, Angel looked up as Gifford squatted down in front of her, his long, lean hands dangling between his opened thighs. The expression on his face had thawed, and she saw his concern. Biting down on her lower lip, she mumbled, “Yeah, I was trying to open that
