Awol Bride

It still worked, damn him.

“I also stocked the bathroom with candles and some kerosene lanterns, so you’ll have light in there, anyway,” he said.

He was so confident, so sure of himself. No wonder she’d believed in him when she’d been at her most distressed...

“I’ve been in worse,” he concluded. “We’ll be fine, we just need to conserve what resources we have.” He’d finished with the firewood and he stood up, unbuttoning his coat and taking it off. “Let me get a lantern and check your head,” he said next. “Any nausea or are you getting hungry?”

Food was the last thing on her mind. But she said, “I’m not nauseous.”

“Good. For tonight I just want to get some food and water in you, and get you to bed.”

There wasn’t any insinuation in that but still it set off a tiny titillation in her that she tried to tell herself was just the chill.

“Where are you sleeping?” she heard herself ask.

He laughed.

No, no, no, not his laugh. She’d always had a weakness for his laugh, too...

“I’ll take the couch,” he assured her. “But we’re playing hospital tonight so I’ll be in every couple of hours to check on you.”

And crawl into bed with her and hold her and keep her warm with those massively muscled arms wrapped around her?

Ohhh, that was some weird flashback to the teenage Maicy’s fantasies...

A blow to the head... I’ve suffered a severe blow to the head. It must have knocked something loose...

Something she would make sure was tightened up again.

“We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow,” she heard him say into the chaos of her thoughts.

“So I can’t shower tonight?” she said when that sank in.

“Nope. I’ll heat enough on the stove for you to clean up a little better, but I want you down until tomorrow. We’ll see then if you can shower,” he decreed, before heading to get the lantern.

And as much as she didn’t want to, Maicy couldn’t help checking out his walk-away.

That had gotten better, too.

But it’s what’s inside that counts, she lectured herself.

And she didn’t mean what was inside those jeans.

It was what was inside the man that counted.

The man whom she had—once upon a time—asked to marry her.

Only to have him turn her down.

Chapter Three

Maicy would have slept much better on Sunday night had Conor not come in every two hours to check on her—the way he’d warned her he would.

The four-poster bed was the most comfortable thing she’d ever slept on. Conor had given her a brand new T-shirt and sweatpants straight out of the packages to use as pajamas, the sheets were clean, and with two downy quilts covering her and the slowly burning fire in the shared fireplace—that Conor also kept watch over all night—it would have been heavenly if not for her headache, and the interruptions.

She awoke Monday morning to the sound of wood being split outside. Using the blanket that had covered her on the sofa the night before as a robe, she tested her strength and balance rather than bounding out of the bed.

She was still weak and sore in spots, but much better than the night before. So she left the bedroom and went into the kitchen.

Looking out the window over the sink she could see that the wind had calmed slightly, but snow was still falling heavily on top of what looked to be more than two feet already on the ground.

Conor had shoveled a path to the woodpile and was there, splitting logs with the swing of an ax.

That was a sight to wake up to!

One she was leery of standing there to watch.

She was not going to be sucked into admiring the fine specimen of a man he’d become. There was nothing personal between them at all anymore, and that was the way it would stay. Their former connection had died an ugly death. And even before it had, it clearly hadn’t been as meaningful to him as it was to her. So what he was doing for her now was merely being a good Samaritan, there wasn’t anything else to it.

She just had to stop cataloging—and yeah, okay, admiring—his physical improvements, and make certain that she didn’t read anything into his behavior. He was a doctor—taking care of injured women who fell in his path was just part of his job. It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t want it to mean anything. She was indifferent to him now. So she didn’t let herself stay at the sink and watch him splitting logs. Instead, she moved across the room to the front window to survey that side of the cabin.

He’d shoveled off the front porch and cleared the snow from his SUV but she wasn’t sure why he’d bothered. There was no driving on the road with all that snow.

“Come on, snow, just stop,” she beseeched the weather to no avail, plopping down onto the couch dejectedly.

Conor came in not long after and made powdered eggs that weren’t too unpalatable, and then removed the dressing from her head.

As he did she said, “So you did become a doctor, but what about career military?”

“Yes, that too—so far,” he answered as if there was some question to that. But she didn’t explore it. Something seemed to be on his mind today, troubling him. He was checking for cell service obsessively and with every failed attempt the frown lines between his eyebrows dug in a little deeper.

But the days of feeling free to just ask him anything, the days of confiding in each other, were long gone.

Once he’d checked her wound and judged that it was healing properly, he cleaned around it, redressed it and sealed it in a makeshift wrapping that allowed her to take a shower and very carefully wash her hair.

It wasn’t the best shower or shampoo she’d ever had but it still made her feel worlds better.

Then she put on another pair of Conor’s gray sweatpants and a matching gray sweatshirt that were many sizes too big for her but were warm and soft inside.

The trouble was—despite the fact that they were clean—the sweats smelled like Conor.

Not that it was a bad scent. The opposite of that, actually. They carried a scent she remembered vividly, a scent that was somehow clean and soapy yet still all him. A scent she hadn’t been able to get enough of when she had feelings for him. A scent that brought back memories that she had to fight like mad to escape.

But fight them she did. And mostly failed.

After a lunch of potato soup made from dried potatoes—and making sure that Maicy was well enough to be left alone for a while—Conor decided to snowshoe down the road that led to the cabin in hopes of finding a cell signal.

He left her with orders to rest but because Maicy felt well enough to look around a bit, she spent the afternoon getting the lay of the land, for her own peace of mind.

It wasn’t as if she thought Conor wouldn’t come back this time. It was just that her past had taught her to always make sure she could take care of herself in any eventuality.

So she explored the supplies in the mudroom, counting bottles of water and calculating how long they would last, and learning what types and quantities of foodstuff were available.

She located flashlights, lanterns and kerosene, an abundance of candles, boxes of matches, more snowshoes, heavy gloves she hoped she never had to put her hands into because they were pretty gross-looking, and a second ax.

She even opened the back door and stuck her head out so she could get an idea of how to reach the woodpile from there.

Then she found the stairs that went from the mudroom to the basement and she made her way down.

She checked everything out, read the instructions attached to the generator so she could feel as if she had a working knowledge of its operation. She located the two extra propane tanks and studied how the one that was currently attached to the water heater could be replaced if necessary. She also discovered where Conor had come up with the additional blankets and pillows that he’d used to sleep on the couch.

Then she returned upstairs and opened every cupboard door to see what was inside, figured out how to work the wood-burning stove, and decided she was going to make the evening meal—canned chili and cornbread from a mix.

The only thing she didn’t go through was Conor’s duffel bag. But as daylight was waning and he still hadn’t come back, she began to plan what she would do if he didn’t return. How she could use a pair of the snowshoes that were in the mudroom and layer on more of the clothes he must have in his duffel, if she needed to go in search of him.

But then she heard stomping on the porch just before the front door opened and in came Conor.

He was so covered in snow that he barely looked human, bringing with him her suitcase, purse and the pink cake box she’d snatched from her wedding when she’d run out of the church basement.

“You went to my car?” she exclaimed, thrilled to have access to her own things—especially to clothes that didn’t smell like him.

“I was almost there before I got cell reception, figured I might as well go the rest of the way to get your stuff.” He set everything down, took off his gloves and coat and opened the front door again to shake the snow from them before laying them near the fire to dry.

“You kept the fire going—that’s good. I didn’t think I’d be out this long. And what are you doing over there? You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, surveying things.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m cooking. And you brought dessert.”

“I did?”

“That pink box. It’s the top tier to the wedding cake. My friend Rachel Walsh made it. We met in college.”

“I wondered what that was. I just figured I’d bring everything I found. I have to make a confession and ask a favor, though,” he added.

“What?”

“I, uh... I got into your purse to find your cell phone.”

Maicy did not like the idea that he’d gone through her purse. But there was something grim in his attitude as he removed his boots and put those by the fire, too, so she curbed her own reaction to that and gave him an excuse. “Were you thinking that mine might work better up here than yours?”

“I already tried that on the way back. It doesn’t. But the favor I need is for your phone to be a backup so when my battery is drained, I can use yours while I recharge in the car—which we shouldn’t do often because we don’t want the car battery and the gas depleted, either.”

“Bottom line,” Maicy said, “is that even if I can get service on mine at some point, you don’t want me to use it.”

He bent over so his head was toward the fire and ran his hands through his hair to rub the water out of it with a punishing force.

Maicy couldn’t help the glance at his rear end—until she realized that was what she was doing. Then she put a stop to it by putting the cornbread in the oven.

When she turned back to the utility table Conor was standing with his back to the fire, apparently to get warm.

“I’m sort of sitting on a powder keg,” he told her. “And the phones—for what little good they’re doing—are my only hope.”

A single explanation occurred to Maicy and it hit her hard enough to make her blurt out, “You have a pregnant wife somewhere who could deliver any minute.”

And why had there been a note of horror in her voice?

Or, for that matter, horror at the thought. She’d been about to get married. She would be married right now had things gone differently. Why was it unthinkable that he might be?

But it didn’t matter. She still hated the idea.

“No. I’m not married and nobody is pregnant,” he said as if he didn’t know why she would even suggest such a thing.

“Do you have kids?” Another burst she couldn’t stop.

“No,” he repeated, adding a challenging, “Do you?”

“No.”

“This is about Declan,” he said then, getting back to the issue.

“Your brother,” Maicy said, trying to follow what he was saying while gathering her scattered thoughts.

“Declan was hurt in Afghanistan a few months back. In an IED explosion,” Conor explained.

“That’s a bomb, right? An IED?”

“Right. It stands for improvised explosive device.”

“And he lived?”

“He did, thank God. But he’s been critical for a long time—”

“I’m so sorry. Is he going to be all right?”

“I thought so. I took leave time to follow him from hospital to hospital to make sure everything was done right—he was so messed up that I worried something minor might be overlooked while his major injuries were being dealt with.”

Some things about Conor clearly hadn’t changed—like his need to control any potential problems.

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” he added.

She’d heard that from him before.

“I can’t treat family,” he was saying, “but I could damn sure be with him through it all and get everything that needed to be done, done.”

The right way—it wasn’t what he said but for Maicy it was an echo from the past.

The right way according to Conor.

He definitely hadn’t changed, which left Maicy with no doubt that he’d been vigilant on his brother’s behalf.

“We’ve been stateside for two weeks and he was doing well enough that he wanted me to make this trip to meet Kinsey in Northbridge. Yesterday I checked with him the minute the plane landed. He sounded a little off to me, but he said he was okay. On the way up here—before I lost service—I called again and discovered that he’d developed a fever.”

“Not good,” Maicy said, interpreting his dire tone.

“Really not good,” he confirmed. “A fever that comes on that fast is a red flag on its own. But then I couldn’t get through again until today and when I did, the news was what I was afraid of—he has sepsis.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“You’ve heard of blood poisoning?”

“Sure.”

“Well, that’s sepsis. An infection has gotten into his blood stream, and depending on how his body fights it and how it’s treated, it could kill him. He hasn’t gone into septic shock but he’s back in intensive care, and he could go into shock in the blink of an eye and—”

“You’re trying to keep tabs on what’s going on with him.”

He nodded. “I have to stay on top of it. VA hospitals here are overcrowded—the staff doesn’t have enough time for sufficient individual care. I can’t let Declan go down because something gets missed or mishandled. Plus he’s allergic to a lot of the antibiotics it would be best to use and I need to make sure he gets the combination he can tolerate that’s still strong enough to give him a chance.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maicy repeated because she didn’t know what else to say.

“I should have gone with my gut and stayed with him,” Conor said, more to himself than to her. “But there’s been stuff with Kinsey and...” He sighed disgustedly. “And then I was up here, stuck in this damn storm.”

Ooo. Maicy had never heard him curse the way he did following that statement. He was really upset.

Collecting himself, he shook his head, drawing back those broad shoulders and stiffening up as if it helped contain some of his stress. “I also got through to Rickie while I had service to see if he could get up here, if he could get me to somewhere I could fly out of.”

“Could he?” Maicy asked hopefully.

“Not any chance in hell,” he said with disgust. “The Billings airport is still closed—along with most of Billings—and now so is the highway between here and there. And there’s been an avalanche and rockslide just outside of Northbridge, on the only road in or out. That’ll keep everybody stuck there until the storm passes. Then they’ll have to bulldoze through the slide before anybody will be able to get to us from that direction. That’s why I went the rest of the way for your things—we’re looking at being here longer than I thought.”

And he was irritated and more shaken up than she’d ever seen him. More like she’d been yesterday when she’d realized what was going on and with whom she was stranded.

Maybe it was her turn to have the cooler head that prevailed, Maicy thought, because Conor looked like he could put a fist through a wall at any moment. And it didn’t seem like he’d be deterred by the fact that these weren’t just walls, they were tree trunks.

“I’m not a medical person,” she said calmly. “I don’t know anything about that kind of thing, so help me understand... Do you feel like Declan’s doctors are incompetent?”

“No, they’re good. They’re just overworked. His primary is actually a guy I was with for a while on a tour on an aircraft carrier—Vince Collier. I’d let him treat me.”

“So his doctor is competent and conscientious,” she said, then, “I know I’m always asked if I’m allergic to anything when I see a doctor, so you must have told everyone about Declan’s allergies, right?”

“I made sure it was noted in big letters everywhere, and yeah, I’ve said it to everyone who’s come near him.”

“Plus Declan knows his allergies and he hasn’t gone into shock, so double-checking his antibiotics is something he can make sure of himself.”

“I don’t know about that—a fever like he has could leave him confused.”

“Okay, but you’ve been there with Declan, so everyone knows you, too—that you’re a navy doctor, that you’re keeping an eye on them and everything they do, yes?”

“Yes, but I’m not there to do that now,” he said impatiently, as if he didn’t see the point of any of what she was asking.

“But the groundwork is laid,” she said. “And you’ve got two brotherhoods working for you—the brotherhood of doctors, and the whole military brotherhood. It seems to me that whether you’re there or not, everyone is going to try that much harder not to drop the ball with Declan.”

That gave him pause for just a moment before he conceded. “I don’t know...maybe... This is just really serious...”

“But you said Declan was doing pretty well before this—it would be worse if this had hit him when he was even weaker, wouldn’t it? Now he’s in good enough shape for you to feel like you could leave him, so he must have a little bit to fight this with.”

“Sepsis is dangerous no matter what,” he insisted.

“And if you were there with him, what would you be doing?”

“Keeping watch!” he said, again as if she was clueless.

“And you’d see a lot of people doing their jobs—which is what’s still happening. Sitting in a chair in his room would make you feel better, but it wouldn’t necessarily change anything,” she reasoned. “So yes, we’ll keep my phone as backup and you’ll still keep trying to get through so you can put your two cents’ worth in, but maybe you can trust—at least a little—that you’ve gotten Declan this far and put him in the best position, and whatever he needs will be done now with or without you being there?”

Conor drew his hands through his hair again, pulling so hard on his scalp that he yanked his head back and glared at the ceiling.

From her vantage point Maicy saw his upturned jaw clench and she wondered if she’d pushed too far, if reason wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

Then he took a deep breath and sighed hard as he dropped his hands and brought his head down again to look at her.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. “About all of that. And I did talk to Collier for a few minutes before the phone cut out again. I think—think—he’s doing what he should. It’s just that this is really bad,” he said in a tone that was thick with fear and worry. “And I should be there...” His voice dwindled off, letting Maicy see just how much this bothered him.

But before she could think of anything more to say he let out a mirthless chuckle. “I guess this must be what Kinsey feels like with us all in active service—afraid for us and helpless as all hell.”

Knowing nothing about what that might be like, Maicy agreed with that observation only with a raise of her eyebrows.

That inspired a shock of pain that reminded her that she was injured. She thought that they were quite a pair stuck here snowbound—her with a head injury and him climbing out of his skin with worry about his brother.

Then Conor drew himself up as if coming to grips with some of his demons and said, “I’m gonna heat the water and take a quick shower.”

“Sure. Good idea,” Maicy said.

Conor disappeared downstairs. In the meantime Maicy retrieved her suitcase and purse, feeling as joyful as a kid at Christmas to have them with her again, and took them into the bedroom.

Then she relocated the pink cake box to the kitchen, setting it aside for later.

By the time Conor’s shower was finished the cornbread was cooked, the can of chili she’d opened was simmering on the stovetop, she had plates, bowls and bottles of water waiting, and she’d lit some of the candles she’d found in the mudroom to add a little light.

Not in any romantic way, she made sure to tell herself. Just so they could see what they were eating.

What she wasn’t prepared for was the impact of looking up from her tasks to find the freshly showered and shaved Conor rejoining her in that candlelight.

He was wearing navy blue sweatpants and a matching hoodie with NAVY emblazoned across his expansive chest.

His dark hair was shower-damp. His face was bare of whiskers and even more handsome with all the sculpted lines and planes revealed. And that soapy scent that had tormented her from his clothes wafted out from him and went right to her head.

But only for a minute before she got a hold of herself. She focused on stirring the chili so she didn’t have to look at him, thinking that this was a dirty trick on fate’s part. If Conor had aged into a troll of a man it would have been bad enough to be in this situation with him. But as it was, his appeal had doubled from what it had been when he was eighteen and this was turning into a constant test of her resistance that she didn’t appreciate.

“I’ll shut off the propane on the water heater but we should still have enough warm water in the tank to do the dishes,” he said as he headed for the basement again.

Maicy didn’t respond to that, working to remind herself not to let the way he looked have any effect on her.

She thought she had it under control until he came back. But one glimpse of him rattled her all over again.

It doesn’t matter how hot he is, she lectured herself, think about who he is and what he did.

Holding fast to memories of old injuries, she ladled out the chili and cut the cornbread, then he took his plate and she took hers to the coffee table to eat, sitting side by side on the sofa, facing the kitchen rather than each other.

After a few bites, Conor said, “Now that you’ve talked me off the ledge—thanks for that by the way—tell me about this wedding of yours so I can think about something else and stop obsessing over Declan and things I can’t do.”

Maicy wondered if it had rocked him at all to think of her with someone else—the way it had rocked her earlier when she’d thought he might want cell service to keep up with a pregnant wife. But there were no indications of it.

Before she’d said anything he said, “I know you didn’t stay in Northbridge—my mom said you left a year after I did and never came back—but you were getting married there?”

“I got a scholarship to the University of Colorado in Boulder, I went there for undergrad. Then I got my masters at CU Denver campus and stayed,” she explained.

“What did you get your degrees in?”

“Career counseling and development. I own my own career counseling service in Denver.”

“So you went to Colorado, live in Denver, but went back to Northbridge to get married?” he said, returning to the original subject.

“A little over a year ago I ran into Gary Stern on the street—”

“That little dorky guy from your graduating class?”

“He evolved out of the dorkiness,” she defended even though she didn’t feel particularly inclined to support her cheating former fiancé. Granted, she couldn’t argue that he wasn’t little—only two inches taller than Maicy’s own five feet four inches and slight enough that if she’d been wearing Gary’s sweatsuit now it would have fit her perfectly.