No Quarter Given. Lindsay McKenna

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Dana sat down very carefully at the table, her legs feeling a bit unstable. Maggie stood at her shoulder, concern on her face. “I’m okay, Maggie. Go sit down.”

      “Naw, I’m going to get the camera for this one. This goes in our Sisterhood scrapbook: How To Help An Injured Sister.”

      “Don’t you dare!” Dana gave Maggie her best glare.

      Grinning, Maggie turned and left the kitchen.

      “This won’t be so bad,” Molly soothed, bringing the pan over to the table. She set it on a hot pad. Wiping her damp brow with the back of her hand, she smiled. “It smells awful, but I’m sure it will help.”

      Dana eyed the mixture in the bottom of the pan. “Good God, Mol, that stuff smells horrible!”

      “Well…it’s a mixture of horse liniment, crushed comfrey leaves and—”

      “Don’t tell me any more. It probably contains eye of newt and tail of frog.”

      “Oh, no! They’re just herbs, Dana. Grandma wasn’t a witch. She was a healer all her life. You have to smear it all over the swollen part of your face,” she explained apologetically. “Grandma said it will reduce swelling in twelve hours or less.”

      “It better,” Dana growled, holding her nose. “I’ll put it on myself. Is it hot?”

      “No, just warm.” Molly sat down, watching eagerly.

      Maggie appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, camera in hand. Dana glared at her. Maggie laughed.

      “If you ever show these pictures to anyone, you’re dead meat, Donovan. Got that?”

      “Roger, read you loud and clear.”

      Molly groaned. “You two! You’re always threatening each other. Aren’t you ever going to stop?”

      Dana carefully dipped her fingers into the black mixture. It felt like slimy glue. “Our friendship’s based upon mutual irritation,” she told Molly.

      “Go on,” Maggie urged, waiting impatiently to click the camera, “put that stuff on your face, Coulter!”

      “Ugh! Molly, this smell’s enough to kill a person!”

      “I’m sorry, Dana.”

      Muttering under her breath, Dana spread the ointment across her cheek. The smell was horrendous. “God, I’m going to get better just from the smell alone.”

      Maggie giggled and the camera flashed.

      “By morning, the swelling ought to be down quite a bit, and your eye will be open,” Molly said enthusiastically.

      “I can’t show up for flight school with my eye closed,” Dana complained sourly. She applied the mixture liberally. “If this works, I’ll kiss your granny’s grave, Molly. But if it doesn’t, I’ll come looking for you.”

      “Oh, dear….”

      Dana instantly felt contrite. Molly’s flushed face showed genuine distress. “I didn’t mean it,” she denied quickly. To prove it, Dana slathered more of the goo across the injured area.

      “How’s it feel?” Maggie called, taking advantage of another photo opportunity.

      Dana shrugged. “Surprisingly, it feels pretty good. There’s heat in it.”

      “That’s the horse liniment. My grandma said it was good for everything.”

      Dana knew the liniment contained a stimulant to increase blood circulation. That in itself should reduce swelling. “I feel better already, Mol. Thanks.” A good night’s sleep would ready her for tomorrow’s first grueling day at Whiting Field. Her stomach clenched with fear. It was a familiar feeling, and Dana didn’t respond to it. All three of them had butterflies in their stomachs. What would tomorrow bring? As Dana smeared the last of the paste on her face, she wondered if she would dream about Griff again tonight, when she closed her eyes.

      * * *

      Griff awoke in a foul humor. He’d cut himself shaving, having refused to look into what he knew were bloodshot eyes. Dreams had kept his sleep restless. The first half of the night his mind had run over and over Toby’s unexpected death and the funeral Griff had attended yesterday. Near morning, unwilling thoughts of Dana, of all things, had filled his head.

      Irritably, Griff turned on the shower. He threw the disposable razor into the wastebasket and stripped off his light blue pajama bottoms. The material pooled around his feet, and he kicked the pajamas aside. Dana. The word echoed gently in his heart. Tendrils of warmth flowed through him, and he savored the wonderful feeling her name evoked. Absently, Griff rubbed his chest. Since his divorce, he hadn’t felt much of anything except anger, frustration and loneliness. And realizing that the healing process must take place first, he hadn’t been much interested in women, either.

      As he stepped into the hot, steamy shower, Griff closed his eyes, allowing the water to wash the stench from his body. He’d awakened last night sweating heavily, replaying Toby’s crash in his mind. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed himself savagely, trying to escape the numbness that came with thoughts of Toby.

      There would be no familiar phone call from his friend this morning. Griff was an acknowledged grump in the morning, and Toby often called to cheer him up as he drank his first cup of coffee. No more. As he shut his eyes and allowed the water to hit his face, Griff saw Dana’s face dance before him. Miraculously, the pressure in his chest disappeared and the tightness gripping his heart eased. Shaking his head like a dog coming out of water, Griff turned off the faucets and allowed the water to drip from him.

      How could a woman he didn’t even know take away his grief? An awful numbness that inhabited him since he’d been notified of the accident, and his recent dislike of women had soared alongside his grief over Toby’s loss. Over the past five days, he’d tasted real anger toward women. It was unreasonable, Griff knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was the divorce, compounded with Toby’s death. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. His emotions felt raw and shredded.

      After toweling dry, Griff stepped out of the bathroom and pulled a clean one-piece flight suit from his bedroom dresser drawer. Dana came back to his thoughts. She wasn’t beautiful. No, she had an arresting face; and her huge blue eyes were her finest feature. Pressing the Velcro closed on his flight suit, Griff sat down on the bed and pulled on his dark blue cotton socks. Next came his highly polished flight boots, shining like mirrors. They weren’t patent leather like what a lot of the IPs had. Griff lovingly and carefully shined the leather for hours with polish—the old-fashioned way; the way it was done before patent leather invaded the military.

      Sitting on the huge king-size bed, Griff looked around, feeling the awful silence that seemed to sit heavily in his chest. His hands on his long thighs, he stared toward the hall. Funny, even after six months, he missed Carol. Well, maybe not her, but their routine. Griff missed waking up with a woman’s warmth beside him and having her make him breakfast before he left for Whiting Field at 0630.

      Frowning, he stood, automatically checking to make sure his name tag was in place over his left pocket, his IP badge over his right. Locating a bunch of pens on top of the dresser, СКАЧАТЬ