Chapter Five
Of all the damned luck. Bren was pretty much cursing any higher power who might have been listening as she examined the extensive bruising on her ankle that was displaying more interesting colors by the hour.
They’d reached a river and caves half an hour after the sun had set, and she’d never been more grateful for the simple pleasure of being able to sit down. The team’s field medic, Bartlet, had come over with a first aid kit. He’d administered an injection directly into her ankle—a cocktail to reduce pain, swelling, and bruising, and heal the sprain in a few hours. By morning, she should have little more than a niggling ache. He’d then given her a special gel pack that became ice-cold when snapped. While the others had set up camp, she’d sat and iced her ankle—twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off.
After bedrolls were laid out and a small fire lit, everyone sat down to share a late dinner of MREs—meals ready to eat—and protein bars. She’d foregone the MRE and had an extra protein bar instead. The shock and pain of nearly having her ankle snapped, plus the long day spent hiking before that, had left her feeling queasy.
As everyone finished up with dinner, Bartlet asked the colonel if he was ready to have his injury examined. McAllister shrugged out of his jacket and stripped off his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top as Bartlet had checked the wound and decided it needed stitches.
She tried not to take any notice of what was happening on the opposite side of the fire, but it was hard to ignore the way the flickering orange light played over the sculpted muscles of the colonel’s biceps and shoulders. Even if she didn’t like him, she had to grudgingly admit the man was very nicely put together. He was clearly comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t flaunt any brute strength or use his size to intimidate, though she imagined he could easily bench press more than most men. Instead it just seemed to be an innate part of him that he didn’t need to advertise.
And despite her reservations about his character, what she’d come to know of him so far had intrigued her. She’d assumed he was a bully, both from his build and what Jordie had told her. But after spending the past twenty-eight hours with him, she’d started to realize that wasn’t the case. Yes, he could be an ass—she’d seen that firsthand when he’d ordered her to cover up her curls. But apart from making demands about her hair, he hadn’t been unreasonable.
Speaking of which…
She tugged the scarf from her head, hair feeling matted and itchy after wearing the material all day. She scratched her fingers over her scalp, loosening the strands and no doubt making the curls more mussed and wild than they usually were.
McAllister had accused her of indulging herself by allowing her hair to be shoulder length. Well, maybe there was a small amount of truth to that. But she’d always felt her curls were in direct defiance to her boring, bland name. Theresa was the kind of person who kept her hair neat and tamed. Bren was the one who didn’t care and liked the freedom in letting it go wild.
She glanced up, curious to know if McAllister had noticed her little rebellion in removing the scarf. They were in a cave, so it wasn’t like anyone would see them. That was why they’d allowed themselves the luxury of having a small fire.
Still, she was surprised to catch McAllister staring at her. Probably because every other time she’d thought he was looking at her, she’d never once caught him actually doing it. His expression was unreadable, but something was definitely going on in those intelligent gray eyes of his. Her heart rate picked up speed, sending her pulse thrumming.
Though the fire and a few feet separated them, as they stared at each other, she got a sense of intimacy, just like those few moments she’d been in his arms after he pulled her from the trap.
For a few confusing seconds, they’d held tightly to each other. A kind of warm shiver had rippled through her when she’d been pressed against him, his heat surrounding her, the earthy, masculine scent of him overlaid with whatever soap or aftershave he’d used lacing her every breath and creating a hum deep within her.
It’d been like stepping into an alternate universe. As if reality had fractured, and she no longer knew what was right or what was truth. Only that Cam holding her against him felt so good.
But then he’d let her go and she’d seen the face she’d come to associate with Jordie’s death. Ice had injected into her chest, which put her back on solid ground.
Except, the feelings from those few long seconds hadn’t gone away. They were a constant presence in the peripheral of her awareness, altering the way she saw him every time she looked at him.
Bartlet finished with the colonel’s stitches and started packing up the first aid kit. McAllister thanked him as he picked up his shirt and then made his way around the fire. When she realized he was heading for her, she dropped her attention to the fire, avoiding his gaze as he sat down beside her.
He slipped his shirt back on, but didn’t bother fastening it.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Fine.” She clenched her teeth after the word came out. It was ridiculous how many times she’d used that word in the last day. Especially because the more she used it, the easier it was for certain people to see through it.
“You mind if I take a look?”
She shook her head, since he was already reaching for her foot.
The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin zapped through her body, and she jerked, which sent a wave of embarrassed heat through her.
McAllister glanced up at her, concern in his gaze. “I’m sorry. It hurts?”
“No.” The word came out all husky, and if she could have gotten away with slapping herself and not looking like a crazy person, she would have. Her mind teased her with the image of him sliding his hand up her leg in a way that was anything but impersonal. “Just a bit sensitive.”
McAllister gentled his touch, examining her ankle in the light cast by the fire. Dammit, when he was being an ass, she knew where she stood. When he was acting like he cared, when he had his hands on her, she didn’t know what to do with that. Her mind fought the warmth coursing through her body.
“The swelling is definitely coming down. It doesn’t look too bad. Could have been much worse.” He returned his attention to her face, but didn’t let her foot go. “Bartlet said you’d be fine to walk on it come morning. You think that’ll be right?”
Was he still trying to get rid of her? No chance in hell she was turning around, sore ankle or not. Shen needed Seb and her. This rescue was already taking longer than she would have liked, as if it was happening in slow motion. If she pulled out, Shen’s chances of being recovered unharmed went from small to miniscule.
“I’m sure.”
“Well, then,” he returned, a slight smile kicking up his lips. “How do you feel about first watch?”
Honestly, she could have laid her head down and slept for about fifty hours after the day she’d had. But everyone would be expected to take a turn watching over their camp while the others slept. Getting assigned first watch was always the easiest.
She didn’t want to think he was making concessions for her, but her tired, aching body couldn’t muster up the indignation if he was.
“Yes, sir. For how long?”
At last, he let go of her ankle, placing it back on the log where Bartlet had propped it, as if her use of “sir” had reminded him of their respective positions.
“Two hours each should get us through to the morning. Rayne can take second watch.” He turned away from her, allocating the remaining hours and leaving himself for last watch in the early hours of the morning.
Within fifteen minutes, everyone had bunked down in their bedding rolls, leaving her sitting up by herself, listening to the crackle of the fire and the night inhabitants of the forest beyond the cave.
She slouched against her pack, letting her guard down, a long sigh escaping from her.
All day, she’d been on edge. As if she were in constant, silent battle with McAllister. Like she had to watch what she said and did, even as she took note of every move he made. She didn’t realize how tense she’d been, how much mental energy it had taken up until all the men had fallen asleep and left her in blissful solitude.
To add to the mental exhaustion, thoughts of Jordie had been hitting her all day, reopening the wound she’d thought long closed.
It had to be McAllister’s constant presence that brought the memories back. Not only that, but he was confusing the hell out of her. He wasn’t turning out to be anything like she’d thought. She couldn’t help but ask the question: If he hadn’t been indirectly involved in Jordie’s death, would she have still disliked him so much?
She was beginning to think that without her preconceived beliefs of the colonel’s character, he probably would have been someone she highly respected. More than that, he may have been someone she really liked. She was wavering, wondering if it was really fair to the colonel to still be holding so much antagonism toward him after nearly a decade. But nothing would change the fact that if not for Colonel McAllister, her brother might still be alive.
The old heartache kept pushing upward, until her throat went tight and her eyes started stinging. Using the sleeve of her jacket to blot the tears as they fell, she thanked God that everyone was asleep and there was no one to witness her little meltdown. She’d hoped to never have a day where she got dragged so low again.
Trying to smother the sadness only prolonged it, so she took a moment to completely embrace and accept the grief of missing her brother, making the tears come faster and her breath catch. After that, it was easier to swallow down the last of the sorrow, leaving her able to breathe more easily. Until he’d died, Jordie had been the only one she could depend on to be there for her without question, even though as they’d gotten older, their roles had reversed somewhat and she’d taken to looking out for him.
Their parents had owned a small business, and while it had kept a roof over their heads and put food on the table, it’d never been very successful and what little time they’d spent with their parents had been tainted by her mom and dad constantly fighting. In the end, it’d been easier for Jordie and her to only rely on each other.
Jordie wouldn’t want her to grieve over him for the rest of her life. Yet, when she had a particularly bad day, she still almost picked up her comm to call him. But those days were getting fewer and far between. Maybe in another decade, she’d stop having them altogether.
The two hours of her watch time went by surprisingly fast, and when she got to her feet gingerly to go wake Seb, her ankle wasn’t as sore as she’d expected.
She shook Seb’s shoulder, and he woke quickly, obviously not in a deep slumber. As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, she returned to her pack where her bedroll was laid out and scooted herself in.
Though the ground wasn’t anywhere near comfortable, she was so exhausted she instantly fell asleep, made easier by the fact she didn’t have to wake again until morning. Her last thought before going under into the relaxing darkness was thankfulness McAllister had given her first watch.
Unfortunately, the sadness she’d tried to shove down ambushed her in her dreams.
She was back on her home world, on an impossibly bright sunny day, standing above Jordie’s grave, the pain in her chest like what she imagined having a heart attack must be.
This wasn’t just a dream, this was the day of his funeral. Everyone had left, even her parents. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the place he’d been buried. As if walking away would make it final.
She’d wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed until her head ached and her whole body was exhausted from the unending cascade of grief tearing through her.
Someone touched her shoulder. The touch became a solid grip, bringing comfort, telling her she wasn’t alone. Blind with tears, she turned into his chest, a swell of relief lifting and washing through her as his arms had closed around her.
He held her tight, like he’d never let her go again. Like he’d be there for her no matter what happened. Like he was the piece that had been missing. Something to fill the emptiness. Someone who would soothe and temper the ache when it got too much.
“Are you okay?” His voice was not much more than an intimate rumble above her ear.
She looked up, and in her dream, the relief intensified, even as her body filled with a different, warmer sensation. But her logical mind separated itself out of the dream in confusion, because she knew this wasn’t right.
Cameron McAllister smoothed a hand through her hair, slate gray eyes filled with tenderness and heat. “I wish I could make this better for you.”
Except he could never make it better. Nothing but time could do that. Yet, in the dream, she didn’t let him go. She didn’t step back. She didn’t get angry or put up the walls she’d made especially for him. She didn’t want to do any of that. She just wanted to stand there in his embrace, feel the solid warmth of him against her, and pretend like he could make it better.
She wanted to feel his lips on hers—
The gasp woke her fully, yanking her out of sleep the same way a nightmare would. Which was a pretty apt description.
Hell, that couldn’t have been anything but a nightmare—wanting the man she’d loathed for years.
What the hell was wrong with her? That damned incident with the trap had screwed with her head. She’d been grateful he’d saved her from a broken ankle and her mind seemed determined to make it into something more.
A hand landed on her shoulder and she jerked away, palm landing on the pistol she’d left near her pack.
“Whoa, it’s just me.”
McAllister’s whisper brought her attention up to his face. He held his hands up and out, either to show her he wasn’t armed or to prove he wasn’t going to touch her again. The fire had long died down; the cave was mostly dark, apart from the first gray light of morning beginning to creep in at the mouth. Everyone else was dead asleep.
It’s just me, McAllister had said. That was the problem, though. It was him. Bad enough she was stuck with him for the next few days, but now he was invading her dreams in the worst way possible. How was she ever going to look at him again without remembering what it felt like to have his arms around her?
Her emotions were heightened with all this stuff about Jordie fresh in her mind, so it had blown one single rescue-hug into something it had never been.
“Are you okay?” Reality escaped her as the words he’d said to her in the dream whispered across the darkness between them.
She shook her head, wishing she could erase the dream from her mind, because she’d never be able to look at him the same way again.
“What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?” He eased closer, slowly, as though she was a skittish animal and he wasn’t sure how she was going to take his presence. “Bad dream?”
If only he knew. The question grounded her, and the dream suddenly seemed kind of ridiculous, which almost left her laughing.
“The worst you can imagine.”
“Yeah, I have them occasionally myself.” He shifted from crouching to sitting next to her.
The easy admission startled her, and obviously showed in her expression, because that quick half grin she was coming to know surfaced for a moment.
“Any soldier who’s been deployed for more than a handful of years has nightmares. And if they tell you otherwise, they’re either a damned liar or a sociopath.”
The chill of the air belatedly registered, and she shivered, pulling the bedroll up and around herself, not sure what to say in return. Not when she was so confused about him. Because how could she hold on to her antipathy for him when his actions were the complete opposite of everything she’d expected?
Fine. Maybe she didn’t hate him after all. But if she didn’t hate him, where did that leave her? Adrift, and that was not a place a person wanted to be in the middle of a mission behind enemy lines. Unfortunately, it was looking more and more like Cameron McAllister was a solid anchor. And that was something she’d been missing since Jordie had died.
Except the stubborn side of her—the same one that wouldn’t let Alpha help her with the desk duty side of being CAFF—reminded her that she didn’t need anyone else to be her anchor. She was quite capable of taking care of herself. She’d been doing it for ten years already.
“There’s only about half an hour until I’ll be waking the others,” Cam said, filling the silence between them. “You want me to stoke the fire and boil some water for coffee?”
Coffee sounded like the best damned thing that had happened to her all week.
“I’ll go get some more wood,” she offered.
Besides, nature was calling, and her head felt wooly, both from crying last night before she’d gone to sleep and from the confusing dreams. She needed to splash some of that ice-cold river water on herself to clear the lingering fog.
“Don’t go too far from the mouth of the cave,” he said as he went to his pack, presumably to get what he needed for the coffee.
The unspoken warning being that he didn’t want to waste time looking for her if she was dumb enough to get lost. She could agree with that call. If she was a big enough idiot to get herself lost on a clandestine op behind enemy lines, then she probably didn’t deserve to be found.
When she got to her feet, she was gratified to find her ankle had only the slightest, niggling ache. It certainly still looked terrible, like a bad tattoo of rainbow colors encircling her entire lower calf, but at least it wouldn’t slow her down today.
More than ever, she needed to prove to McAllister that she deserved to be here. That she could hold her own. That things would stay as they’d always been and whatever was going on with her now and the confusion she’d felt toward him was just some kind of temporary insanity.