One Man's War. Lindsay McKenna

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      Giving him a curious look, Tess said, “What an odd thing to say.” What had happened to Pete to make him that doubtful of one of the most beautiful feelings in the world? “There are so many kinds of love,” Tess began softly. Smiling up at her next patients, she said, “The love of a mother for her child. The love of a brother for a sister. The love of a husband for his wife.”

      Scowling heavily, Pete fixed the last syringe and handed it to Tess. “Yeah, well, I’m not too well acquainted with any of the above. Maybe that’s why I don’t put much stock in this thing called love that everyone thinks is so great.”

      The vibrating anger beneath his words made Tess turn and study him for a moment. She returned to the last few vaccinations. “Tell me about your mother. What kind of woman is she?”

      Pete snorted violently and shoved his hands into the pockets of his flight suit. “A bitch.”

      Tess froze momentarily beneath his grated words, then finished the injections. She slowly turned around to face Pete. His eyes refused to meet hers, but the anger banked in them was very real. And so was the thundercloud-dark expression on his hardened features. Instinctively, Tess knew she was treading on some very painful ground.

      “Tell me about her,” she coaxed gently as she gathered up the used syringes and empty vaccine bottles.

      He shrugged and his mouth quirked. “What’s there to tell? I was the unwanted brat. The minute after I was born, my mother gave me up. She abandoned me, according to her older sister, because she was only sixteen years old at the time. I was a mistake that happened, and believe me, her whole family thought so, too. No one in the family would take me for various and sundry reasons, so I ended up in a string of foster homes until I was twelve. By that time, I was past the cute and cuddly stage, so no one wanted me. I spent time in a Chicago orphanage until I was eighteen. When I got out, I headed to college to make something of myself. I never wanted to look back. I never wanted to hear from any of my so-called `real’ family again. They didn’t want me, so I don’t give a damn about them.”

      Pete nailed Tess with a lethal look. “Don’t talk to me about love. I don’t know what the hell it is. I never did. Now, rejection—I can tell you a whole lot about that. And quitting—that, too. I come from a family of gutless wonders who would rather let a little kid go than try to keep him.” Darkly, he looked down at his dusty flight boots. Why the hell was he telling Tess about himself? It was the cardinal rule in his book of life never to divulge anything of himself to anyone—especially a woman. She could do too much damage with that kind of information.

      Tess packed the medical supplies into the small cardboard box, at a loss for words for several moments. She felt Pete’s pain as if it were her own. Glancing around the village, where so many children played happily, she looked up at him, her face filled with compassion. His mouth was a tight line holding back a deluge of suppressed feelings. Somehow, some-where in her heart, Tess knew she could unlock that buried grief and pain for Pete. But at what price to herself? He didn’t acknowledge love, and with good reason. He could take, but he wasn’t going to give to her or anyone.

      “I’m sorry if I touched a raw nerve.”

      “Hell, that nerve’s been dead a long time,” he said explosively. Exasperated, he added, “Look, I didn’t mean to talk about myself. Let’s forget it.” He moved like a tightly coiled spring to where he’d set the box, and brought it back to the makeshift table. In an effort to shake off all mention of his dark and unhappy past, Pete struggled to put on a smile and tuck away all his emotions. “I’ve been gathering things all week for you. Go on, take a look.”

      Hesitantly, Tess stood up and moved over beside Pete. As he folded open the flaps of the cardboard box, she gasped. There was an incredible array of medical supplies—adhesive tape, several thermometers, huge rolls of gauze, brand-new scissors, Mercurochrome and at least fifty bottles of penicillin. With a gasp, she reached out, barely touching the items.

      “Pete...” she breathed disbelievingly. “How—”

      “Now, honey, don’t go asking a scrounger how he got what he got for you. Those are trade secrets.” He forced a smile he still didn’t feel, although Tess’s glowing features assuaged some of the pain that lingered in his chest. Still in shock that he’d admitted his anger toward his mother to Tess, he felt awkward.

      “This is wonderful! Oh, look! Typhoid, diphtheria and whooping cough vaccine! The babies won’t die from any of those, now.” She held up a huge amber bottle. “And malaria tablets!”

      A hot, powerful feeling moved through Pete as Tess made a big deal over the supplies. Something good and clean flowed through him, erasing much of the ugliness that roiled within him. Her joy was genuine, the look in her lovely green eyes telling him everything. It struck Pete that Tess simply didn’t play the games other women played back in the States. There was a straightforward simpleness about her, that soft Texas drawl of hers touching him like a heated fever, changing him in ways he’d never be able to logically categorize. But his body was responding of its own accord, and the ache building in him was more than just physical. He ached to capture and tame that smiling mouth of hers, to absorb the beauty and happiness he saw in her eyes. In that moment, Pete felt like a man bound for hell getting his first and only look at what heaven might have been like.

      “This is incredible, Pete. Wonderful!” Tess turned and threw her arms impulsively around his broad, powerful shoulders and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice off-key. “Thank you for your gifts.”

      The shocking touch of her body against his own made him dizzy. Automatically, Pete reached out to place his arms around Tess, but she was gone as quickly as she had embraced him. Her cheeks were flushed, the freckles across her cheeks darker, making her look even more desirable, if that were possible. Her red hair, straight by nature, was slightly curled and damp against her temples. Pete longed to touch her hair, just a strand of it, to see what it felt like. Would it be strong yet soft, like Tess?

      His mouth went dry, and his heart picked up in beat as he met, held and drowned in her gaze, now awash with tears. Tears?

      “Now,” he muttered gruffly, “don’t cry! I can’t stand it when a woman cries. It bothers the hell out of me.”

      Tess blinked them away and managed a sliver of a laugh. “They’re tears of happiness, Pete. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that feeling is, either.”

      Bashfully, he shrugged and turned away. If he kept staring down into Tess’s upturned face, he’d do something they’d both be sorry for later. The blinding urge to kiss her, to take her bodily and bury himself in her loving depths, nearly unstrung all his carefully made plans to woo Tess into his bed. Fighting to get a hold on his unraveling feelings, he felt Tess’s hand grip his arm.

      “Pete?”

      “I’m okay.”

      She smiled up at him. “And you keep saying you’re such a bastard.” A flood of incredible light and heat swept through Tess. “You foster such a bad-boy image, yet you turn around and do this. Pete, something’s not making sense here.”

      “It’s just a way of getting your attention, is all,” he muttered defensively, aware of her firm grip on his arm. Her touch was galvanizing, hot coals against his flesh. “Don’t read anything more into it than that.”

      “When a man courts a woman, he usually brings chocolates and flowers,” Tess teased and glanced at the box, “not medical supplies.” If she didn’t let go, СКАЧАТЬ