Protecting His Own Read online

  “Oh…okay.” Sam shrugged. “Ernie, you’re next. And then Lin.” She smiled at them. “And I’ll bring up the rear with Captain Gunnison.”

  The other two marines joined the straggling group at the distance dictated by Roc. Sam stood and watched everyone move out at a good, striding pace. Then she picked up her pack, which weighed around forty pounds, and struggled with it until Roc came over and lifted it so she could get her arms through the shoulder straps.

  “Thanks,” she said. Turning, she saw the radioman, PFC Lorenzo Gonzalez, moving out. “I guess it’s our turn?”

  “Yeah,” Roc said. He’d seen her expression change wonderfully when he’d come over to help her. She was such a softie underneath that bristling pit bull demeanor, he was discovering.

  Strands of her hair were trapped beneath her shoulder strap. “Hold on,” he murmured, walking up to her after slinging his rifle across his left shoulder. “Your hair….” He slid his fingers beneath the strap and gently pulled the thick strands free.

  Her hair was silky. Strong, like her. Even in the gray light of dawn, Roc could see the gold threads gleaming. When he looked up, his hand a bare inch from her cheek, he saw her green eyes grow huge with surprise. And then some other undefined emotion flitted through them. What it was, Roc wasn’t sure. Feeling awkward and uncertain all of a sudden, he quickly pulled his hand away, as if burned.

  “Time to go,” he growled.

  “Uh, yeah,” Sam muttered, frowning. Roc’s touch had been strong, yet gentle. Her scalp tingled pleasantly where he’d touched her hair. The look in his eyes…well, it had reminded Sam of a hunter who had his sights fixed on a target. Gulping nervously, she stepped away from his powerful presence. Right now, in his uniform, with his rifle in his hands, and wearing that helmet, he looked positively dangerous.

  And he was, Sam decided as she turned, her gloved hands holding the straps of the heavy pack she carried, which bit into her shoulders. Roc Gunnison, she was discovering, was dangerous to her in ways she’d not counted on. That made her even more scared of him.

  Roc moved with a fluid stride and easily caught up with Sam’s jerky one. She wasn’t used to wearing a pack, he could tell. The ground was uneven, the light still poor. Though the eastern sky was becoming lighter by the minute, deep shadows darkened the huge mall parking lot, which had been chewed up and spit out by the devastating earthquake, leaving nothing but rubble. Shadowing Samantha Andrews, he watched as she fumbled, tripped and finally got her balance and rhythm for the trek ahead. When she was marching steadily, Roc moved to her side. Far ahead, he could see his point man leading, with everyone else moving at a reasonable pace and keeping the necessary distance between them.

  Sam turned her head, and smiled at him. “I have a new appreciation for what marines do.” She jerked a thumb toward the pack she was carrying.

  It was tough to be serious with her when she gave him that girlish smile. He could see the enthusiasm for adventure in her large, expressive eyes. Grudgingly, he smiled.

  “Yeah, we operate under a lot of physical demands, as well as mental ones.”

  The morning was cool and invigorating. Sam was beginning to come alive now that she’d been up almost an hour and her sluggish metabolism had picked up. Glancing toward the eastern horizon, she saw the light turning a pink color, the sky above brightening by the minute from a deep, dark blue to a diluted aquamarine. “What’s ‘point’ mean?” Sam asked, referring to the order she’d heard him give Barstow earlier.

  “Point is a man who’s put out at the head of a column to nose around like a wolf. He’s our first warning that there’s trouble around.” Roc gestured ahead toward where Corporal Barstow was walking alertly, swiveling his head constantly from side to side, then looking down to see where he was placing his booted feet on the rubble. “Barstow is from the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. A hill boy. He grew up hunting and trapping with his father, so he’s got a keen eye, good ears and plenty of brains between them.”

  “I see him looking around,” Sam said. “What’s he hunting for? Diablo?”

  “Yes, but also trip wires.”

  “Mines?”

  “Yep. Even though there’s been no report of Diablo setting up trip wires for claymore, or rockets hidden beneath the dirt that we might step on and blow ourselves up with, we can’t take any chances. For us, this is hostile territory, and we take nothing for granted.”

  “Especially us,” Sam teased, grinning. She took a close look at Roc. She knew he’d recently shaved because she could see where he’d nicked himself along the hard line of his jaw. His profile was tough looking. Sam knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t want to run into him in a back-alley fight. She’d already had the experience in her E.R., and she knew how much of a warrior he could be.

  “Yes, especially you.”

  “We’re your precious cargo.”

  Snorting, Roc saw that she was teasing him. “Is this what a cup of coffee does for you, Doctor?”

  “What?”

  “This early morning teasing?”

  “I suppose. You don’t like it?”

  “Naw, I didn’t say that….” Roc didn’t want to let on how much he liked this side of her. She was like a bubbly teenage girl, full of enthusiasm, full of life. He liked it immensely.

  “I guess I should don my serious doctor mask.”

  “No…don’t do that. Not if it means we’re going to do battle again,” he said, referring to the very first time he’d encountered her in doctor mode.

  “No kidding,” she joked.

  “I like peace, not war.”

  “Really?” To Sam he seemed girded for war.

  “Yeah. I’m a peaceful person at heart.”

  “I’d never have figured that one out.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have because of our past experience in the E.R. that day.”

  “Right about that.”

  “My mother always said there was hope for the hopeless.”

  “Oh? You mean us? Instead of being two pit bulls circling one another, we might actually come to respect each other? Maybe even—gasp—like one another?”

  Roc managed a strangled sound, part laughter and part groan. “You’re fast on your feet, Doctor.”

  “Thanks to you. To that coffee. This is your fault, you know?”

  He met her smiling eyes. “I like your bedside manner, Doc. It becomes you. Remind me to wake you up tomorrow morning.”

  Laughing liltingly, Sam slid her fingers beneath her pack straps and readjusted them again. She was glad their group only had three miles to go. Looking at Roc’s frowning face, she felt her heart expand euphorically. The sensation took her breath away for a moment. What was there about sourpuss Captain Gunning that made her feel as nervous as a schoolgirl? Sam couldn’t figure it out. Yet here she was, teasing him, being light and happy with a marine whose head she had been ready to rip off only yesterday. Was it the fact that he’d come, woken her up and given her that lifesaving cup of coffee? That had been really thoughtful of him. He’d surprised her with his sensitivity.

  They walked along in silence for nearly thirty minutes. Gunnison consulted the map constantly and had his GPS—global positioning device—in his hand to make sure they were going where they were supposed to. Sam watched him when he called Gonzalez back and made a radio call to the point marine. There was a brief conversation, then Gunnison put the phone back on the pack the private first class was carrying and gave him orders to move ahead once more.

  The terrain around them had changed shortly after they’d left the destroyed shopping mall. Sam had seen people straggling back to the clinic tent to line up as before. She knew the medical team from San Diego would be able to help those people today. Sam vacillated between the weight of the immense responsibility before her and the near euphoria she felt taking this trek with Roc Gunnison.

  Unable to explain why she felt so giddy this morning when she shouldn’t, really, Sam bowed her head, her hair falling like a sc
reen on either side of her face, and marched at a steady pace. Finally, her curiosity got the best of her.

  “Where do you come from, Captain Gunnison?”

  “From?” He looked up from his map briefly. “Where was I born? Is that what you mean?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “I was born in Portland, Maine.”

  “Ah, that fits.”

  “Really? What does?”

  “Your sense of individualism. You know how Maine people are seen—as hardy, independent and tough.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I would.”

  He grinned. “What about you? Where do you hail from?”

  “White Bear Lake, Minnesota. I’m a cold-country girl.”

  “That’s why you knew how to wrap up like a mummy last night, with only the top of your head exposed,” Roc said.

  Chortling, Sam said, “Oh, yeah, me and cold. I know how to dress for it and sleep in it. My dad used to take us ice fishing up at Lake Milac, which is north of where we lived. I used to sit for hours in an unheated shed out on the ice, my pole dangling in the water, hoping some poor northern pike would come by and nibble on it.”

  “You’re an outdoor type, eh?” Roc hungrily absorbed this information about her. Right now, her cheeks were a glowing red from the temperature and her exertion. He wanted to focus his attention on her but he didn’t dare. The suburban neighborhoods on either side of them, the houses in shambles, the small groups of people huddled around campfires, also claimed his attention. Diablo were known to fade into the landscape, assume the same kind of clothing innocent civilians wore, and it would be hard for him to separate friend from enemy. It was just as it had been in Somalia; one never knew who might be hiding a handgun under his clothing. So Roc kept his gaze constantly moving and stayed on high alert. Sam seemed unaware of the possibilities, but then, she was a medical doctor, not a trained field specialist.

  “I love the outdoors,” she said with a sigh. She again readjusted the pack, which was becoming burdensome. After thirty minutes her shoulders were beginning to ache. She wished that she was in better physical condition for this. She didn’t want Gunnison to think she was unable to carry her share of the load.

  “I do, too,” he murmured.

  “You grew up in Maine hunting and fishing, I bet.”

  “You’re on target,” Roc said. He saw people from the suburbs they passed lifting their heads and studying them intently as the two teams made their way down the broken asphalt street between the homes. Roc could see even from that distance the bedraggled state these civilians were in. There was no water available for them to wash with. Their clothes were filthy. Few homes were left standing. In most cases, the roofs had cracked and fallen, flattening the walls, so that people were unable to get in to salvage anything of value, such as blankets, clothing or food. He felt sorry for them.

  Focusing on the conversation once more, he said, “My uncle took me out in the woods on weekends.”

  “What about your father?” Sam asked.

  “My dad owns a computer company,” Roc said gruffly. “He was flying around the world on business most of the time. His brother, my uncle, helped him run the corporation from Portland. On weekends, my uncle would take me and his two sons into the mountains.”

  Glancing up, Sam saw the line of Roc’s mouth hardening. She heard emotion behind his last statement. “Wow. A geek for a dad. That’s pretty cool.”

  His mouth twisted. “Yeah, my father’s a geek, that’s for sure.”

  “So you rarely saw him?”

  “I didn’t see as much of him as I wanted.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  Roc liked her ability to sympathize. “Yeah, as a kid, I didn’t understand it very much. My mother…well, she didn’t handle it well, either.”

  “Oh?” Sam felt a change in Roc. Again she saw his mouth tighten.

  “My mother was always very…weak. Weak-willed, maybe, is a better word. She cried a lot. She was depressed because he was gone so much. He’d fly in for a day or two, come home late at night, be gone early the next morning. Eventually, over the years, her depression got worse.”

  “Are you an only child?”

  “Yeah. I guess after they had me, they figured one was more than enough.”

  “Did your mom ever seek medical treatment for her depression?”

  Roc shrugged. “With the money my father made, and still makes, she was able to have the best medical intervention the world has to offer.”

  “And?”

  Shaking his head, he muttered, “She’s still depressed.”

  “And he’s still flying around the world?”

  “Yep. Not much changes, does it?”

  Hearing the wistful note in his voice, Sam met and held his stormy gaze. “I’m really sorry, Captain. That doesn’t sound like much of a childhood for you. I’ve treated a lot of patients for depression and I’ve seen how it affects the rest of the family, especially the children involved.”

  “Now, don’t get that sorry look on your face for me, Doc. I survived.”

  “Yes, you did. But knowing what you went through helps me understand you, too.”

  Though he arched an eyebrow, Roc said nothing. He’d probably divulged too much of that vulnerable part of himself, he decided. Still, the soft look in Sam’s green eyes nearly undid him. There was more, much more to her than he’d ever thought. She was the diametric opposite of his mother. In fact, she wasn’t anything like the women he’d had the sorry luck to have had relationships with. Heart thumping once in his chest, as if to underscore that realization, Roc felt disgruntled around the red-haired doctor. He wanted to conveniently place her in a box and label her as a spitfire. Instead, she was surprising the hell out of him, and he wasn’t sure of anything anymore except that his silly heart was expanding in his chest with a joy he’d never before experienced.

  Roc didn’t know what to do with it, or how to handle it. Dr. Samantha Andrews was an enigma to him, upsetting his established view of women and the world. She was like no other woman he had ever met….

  Chapter 6

  February 4: 0700

  Sam couldn’t keep her burning curiosity about Gunnison at bay. As they walked briskly along the rubble-strewn streets, through suburbs wrecked beyond belief, she decided to get nosy.

  “Do you have any kids of your own?” That was pretty nervy, she thought, seeing him give her a surprised glance. Holding up her hand, she grinned apologetically. “If I’m getting too personal, tell me to butt out.”

  Shrugging, Roc shifted the rifle from his left hand to his right. “No…I’m not married. No rug rats.”

  “Ah, yes, the quaint nickname marines give their children.”

  “Aren’t they, though?”

  “Absolutely not! Kids are precious. Like little uncut gems. You get to watch them be born, watch life hone them, shape them, then you get to see them grow up. You watch their facets develop, until they shine in the world.”

  “Not all of ’em are diamonds,” Roc told her dryly, holding her dancing gaze. He liked talking to Sam. She was engaging and animated today, the doctor’s facade nowhere in sight. Her thick hair bounced with each of her short strides as she strove to keep up the pace he was setting. The sun was climbing higher now, often striking her hair and making golden highlights in the fiery strands. “So, you have kids?” he asked, after clearing his throat.

  “Me?” Sam sighed and opened her hands. “No…”

  “You sound wistful. Like you wished you had them.” He saw her brows scrunch and she tore her gaze from his. He sensed that he’d hit a sore spot, and the realization made him scowl. When she finally looked back at him, her smile was gone and there was a turgid darkness to her large eyes.

  “I love kids. All of them. When I was made chief of E.R. a year ago, special efforts were made at our E.R. at Camp Reed to have a room just for children. We had it painted bright colors, with book characters that all
kids read about, a teddy bear with green scrubs on…They love it.”

  “I imagine it helps lower their anxiety, too,” Roc noted somewhat distractedly. Coming up on their right, he spotted several people around a large fire. They were cooking a meager breakfast, from what he could see. Immediately he was on full alert. Diablo was known to infiltrate the populace, he knew, assume their clothing and stance. According to Quinn Grayson, that had happened to him and Kerry Chelton; they’d come upon what looked like a typical group of civilians. Only gang members hiding behind them had opened fire. The situation had turned ugly, and Kerry had been wounded twice by bullets.

  Roc’s heart squeezed with sudden terror as he held Sam’s thoughtful gaze. Under no circumstance did he want her or any of her team harmed. It was his responsibility to keep them safe.

  “Yes, the kids love that room,” Sam said wistfully.

  “I do a lot of off-duty clinic work around here,” Roc told her, relaxing slightly as he became convinced that the group cooking breakfast looked nonthreatening. Everyone around the fire was too busy hovering over the small amount of food the skillet held over the flames. It smelled like beans to him. Judging from the thinness of their faces, Roc knew they weren’t receiving supplies of food from the area 5 HQ. Every can of tinned goods they came across would be a treasure at this point. Could mean the difference between living and dying. He would be glad when the medevac facilities were established, because they would automatically become food and water distribution centers, as well.

  “So, you never wanted to get married?” Sam asked. “Because of your mother’s depression?” She knew it was another highly personal question, but something was egging her on to find the real human underneath that hard marine exterior. She saw his mouth hitch upward.

  “Is this twenty questions?”

  “It can be if you want it to be.”

  “Well,” Roc murmured, “how about if I answer one of yours, and then you answer one of mine?”

  Sam laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll bite. Me first, though.”

  “Of course.” He moved the heavy pack on his shoulders, then said, “Let’s just say the women I seem to attract are a lot like my mother.”