Читать книгу Craving Her Soldier's Touch - Wendy S. Marcus - Страница 9

“THIS is unbelievable,” Jaci said. An honest to goodness lake rippled where the heavily traveled thoroughfare of Westchester Avenue should be. After two failed attempts to find a passable road to get to her office to pick up her work car, each wasting valuable time, Jaci had agreed to let Ian drive her around today. And boy was she glad she had.

At the orange barrels blocking entry, Ian turned around. Again.

The annoying GPS voice said, “Recalculating route.” Again.

Jaci started to wonder if she would, in fact, be able to keep her promise to Mrs. Lewis.

“I have an idea,” Ian said, pulling onto a side road. The man was completely unflappable. While she stared at the horror of murky brown water raging along swollen riverbeds and flowing down roadways into shops and homes, he kept focused on the street ahead of him, steering around downed tree limbs, debris, and standing water, avoiding hanging power lines—some still twisting and sparking.

He sounded official when interacting with law enforcement and emergency personnel who routinely stopped them and cautioned against being out on the roads. A few words from Ian and they were offering directions and detours.

Jaci’s phone rang. She looked at the screen. Mrs. Lewis. “Hi, Mrs. Lewis. It’s taking a little longer than I expected—”

A male voice interrupted. “This is Barry, Laney’s husband. She’s frantic. The doctor told her to take her insulin around the same time each morning. She was due at seven and it’s almost seven-thirty. She says she feels her heart racing.”

“Tell her we’re very close. Maybe five minutes. Ten tops.” But who knew what they’d find around the next corner.

“Problem?” Ian asked when she ended the call.

“The patient is very anxious about her new diagnosis.” Gestational diabetes, on top of being an already nervous, first-time pregnant, soon-to-be new mom.

The car accelerated.

“Thank you for offering to drive me,” Jaci said. “This is much worse than I’d imagined.”

Ian cut through a grocery store parking lot. “This is nothing. In Iraq there were sand storms and mud storms that made driving next to impossible.”

“A mud storm? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s when it starts to rain during a sand storm. Clumps of mud fall from the sky.” He swerved to avoid a plastic garbage can blowing in their direction. “I’d rather deal with the remnants of a weakening hurricane than the IEDs and RPGs intent on killing me,” he mumbled.

She’d read about IEDs—improvised explosive devices—and RPGs—rocket propelled grenades—and the threat they posed to the armed forces.

“I think we’re here.” Ian made a left turn and shot his arm over to hold her in her seat as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a front-end collision with a huge tree that blocked the road. About ten feet beyond it lay a huge pool of dark water that completely obscured what, according to the sign on the corner, was supposed to be Ashley Court. Luckily the houses were up on small hills so only the bottom portions of the driveways were affected.

“Good thing I wore my rain boots,” Jaci said, pulling up her hood and opening her door.

Ian put the Jeep in park and asked, “Where’re we headed?”

“I’m going to house number thirty-seven, which if the description I was given is correct, is that yellow colonial with blue shutters just before the cul-de-sac.” She pointed. “The one with the American flag on the mailbox. You’re going to wait for me right here.”

As Jaci reached in the backseat to retrieve her nursing bag, Ian turned off the car and climbed out which gave him a perfect view of her expression when she lifted the heavy bag with her right hand and received a very sharp, very painful reminder of the large bruise on her upper arm.

He rounded the front fender. “Let me carry that.”

“I’ve got it.” Jaci slid the straps onto her left shoulder and the bag connected with her sore ribs. She sucked in a breath, her discomfort a reminder, reinforcing her commitment to help women out of abusive relationships because no one should suffer pain at the hands of another. Ever.

Ian lifted the bag and eased it down her arm, his touch gentle, his eyes concerned. “You okay?”

“What I’m feeling is nothing compared to what I’m sure Merlene is feeling this morning.” And thousands of other women.

Ian closed the door and held out his hand. “Come on. We don’t have time to argue. Your patient is waiting.”

“You can’t come with me.” As if she hadn’t spoken, he took her hand and guided her up a lawn and around the large root ball of the tree that’d fallen. “Patient privacy. Patient confidentiality.” The grass bubbled and squished under her feet. “And your leg.” She’d been too angry to care about his limp last night. But this morning … What’d happened to him?

Ian gripped her hand and walked faster, pulling her along, his expression fierce. Determined. “Okay, then.” Apparently he felt quite strong about accompanying her. “But only to the driveway.”

About halfway to their destination, a tall blond-haired man ran toward them. “Are you Jaci?” he yelled over the wind.

“Mr. Lewis?” she called back, holding on to her hood.

“You have to hurry. Laney’s chest feels tight and she can’t catch her breath.”

Jaci started to run. A sure-footed Ian took the lead, holding tightly to her hand.

“What if she needs to go to the hospital?” Mr. Lewis asked, keeping up beside them. “We’re surrounded by water. How the hell am I supposed to get her there?”

“If she needs to go to the hospital, we’ll transport her,” Jaci said, confident because Ian was there to help. They reached the driveway and ran up it. “But I’m hoping it’s an anxiety reaction, and once we calm her down she’ll be okay.”

Mr. Lewis opened the front door and Jaci entered into a small, dark foyer. “I’m here, Mrs. Lewis.” She took the bag from Ian, who remained on the porch.

“Please. Come inside,” Mr. Lewis said to Ian.

“I’m fine out here,” Ian said. “Go take care of your wife.”

Jaci removed her boots and coat.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Lewis said. “I’m not going to leave you standing in the rain. If not for you, Jaci wouldn’t have made it out here.”

Ian laughed. “You don’t know her,” he said. “She’d have found a way.”

He’d grown to know her so well in such a short period of time. But rather than comment, Jaci left the men and approached her new patient, a dark-haired beauty in obvious distress, sitting at the edge of the couch, her fist clutched to her chest. Despite her rapid, deep, gasping breaths, her color—though pale—was without any signs of cyanosis.