A Soldier's Christmas Read online

  "Thanks," she got out. "I'm, uh, pretty well thawed now."

  Ha! She was melting from the inside out.

  She knew at that moment that whatever happened with her career, she wouldn't let Eric take their relationship to the next level, as he wanted to. She'd dated him on and off for almost six months. They shared the same professional calling and a good many personal interests. Yet his touch had never detonated small incendiary devices all over her body the way Dan Maxwell's did.

  Curiosity about the man behind the major's leaves tugged at Abby. In the eight days they'd worked together, he'd been all business. She knew he was divorced. Also knew he was from California. That was about it.

  "How about you?" she asked as he slumped more comfortably in his chair and stretched out his long legs toward the fire. "Do you have someone special waiting for you?"

  "No."

  O-kaay. That subject was obviously off-limits.

  "I understand you call California home. Do your folks still live there?"

  "My mother died when I was five. My father…"

  He didn't move, but Abby sensed the shutters coming down. His expression hardened, and his muscles seemed to tighten under the easy slouch.

  "Your father?" she prompted.

  He slanted her a glance, as if trying to decide how much to tell her. Evidently she passed some sort of test.

  "I haven't seen my father in going on ten years," he said with a shrug that was meant to come across as careless but didn't quite make it. "He's an alcoholic. Has been since shortly after my mom died."

  Dear Lord!

  Abby had grown up surrounded by love and laughter. She couldn't begin to imagine losing both parents at the same time, one to death and the other to drink.

  "How awful for you. You must have been so lonely."

  Lonely? That had been the least of Dan's burdens. Deliberately, he shut his mind to the memory of his father's crying jags. The days on end without food in the house. The childish hurt and confusion that slowly, inexorably turned to rage. He started to give Abby the same flip answer he always gave whenever anyone probed too deeply. The grudging admission that came out instead surprised both of them.

  "I was."

  Where the hell had that come from? He'd never talked about his father or his childhood, even to his ex. Maybe because she'd never indicated any particular interest, Dan thought cynically. Thoroughly embarrassed by his descent into sloppy sentimentality, he pushed to his feet.

  "It's going to be a long night. We might as well chow down, then I'll take the first watch."

  She blinked at his abrupt transition from personal to professional. "Fine."

  They feasted on fiesta chicken, lasagna and a variety of vegetables, snacks and condiments washed down with the chocolate shakes. Abby tried not to think of the mashed potatoes, dressing and cranberry sauce being dished up at the site.

  "I saw a latrine out back," Dan said when they'd finished. "I'll take the flashlight and check it out."

  Abby hid a grimace. Being assigned to a Red Horse unit often meant making do with a ditch or a hole in the sand. An outhouse wasn't much better. Thank goodness for those Wet Wipes!

  Dan came back and gave the all clear. When Abby returned from her trip to the latrine, he was on the floor, shoulders to the wall, ankles crossed. He'd positioned his sidearm at his side. Abby passed him the radio before poking her head into the dwelling's one bedroom.

  The residents had stripped the coverings from the bed and carted them away when they fled. A thin mattress still rested on the metal bed frame, but Abby's appearance caused a sudden flurry of activity. Several small creatures scurried across the mattress and disappeared into a hole they'd gnawed in the covering. She decided against joining them.

  Returning to the front room, she put her shoulder blades to the wall and slithered down beside Dan. He lifted a brow.

  "Mice," she explained succinctly.

  A low rumble started in his chest. Next thing Abby knew, his whole body was shaking.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Think about it."

  "What?"

  Grinning from ear to ear, he launched into a singsong falsetto. "'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring…"

  "Not even a mouse," she finished, helpless with laughter.

  Abby couldn't believe it. A few hours ago, she'd ached with homesickness. All she could think of were her mom's bright red dress, her dad's smoking jacket, her sister and brother-in-law and nieces gathered around the tree. Now laughter filled her heart.

  Correction—Major Dan Maxwell filled her heart.

  Without thinking, she lifted a hand and laid it against his cheek. His five o'clock shadow had come in with a vengeance. His skin was bristly under her palm and warm to her touch.

  "Merry Christmas."

  The amusement left his eyes. She saw herself reflected in their blue depths. Saw something else, as well. Something that made her breath catch.

  "Back at you," he said softly.

  She expected him to kiss her again. Okay, she ached for him to kiss her again. But it felt right when he didn't. Felt even more right when he hooked an arm around her shoulders and snuggled her against his chest.

  "Get some sleep. I'll wake you when it's time for your watch."

  * * *

  IT WASN'T DAN WHO JERKED HER FROM SLEEP some hours later, but Sergeant Davis. His voice came crackling through the radio, tense and urgent. "Red Horse One, this is Red Horse base. Come in, please."

  Abby's lids flew open. Confused and disoriented, she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes and the grogginess from her mind. She jolted up and stared blankly at the solid chest just inches from her nose.

  "Red Horse One, come in, please."

  "Here." Dan thrust the radio into her hand.

  Abby keyed the mike, forcing her sluggish brain to function. "This is Red Horse One. Go ahead, base."

  "We just got word. The spotters at the east end of the pass reported a small band of irregulars headed toward the village. They're moving up the pass on the west side of the river."

  The same side she and Dan were stuck on. Her stomach lurching, Abby keyed the mike. "No indication whether these irregulars are friend or foe?"

  "Negative. It was too dark for the spotters to ID them."

  "How many?"

  "Eight to ten."

  Dan was listening in. "Ask what kind of arms they're carrying."

  "Assault rifles and what looked like shoulder-held missiles," the sergeant returned grimly when Abby relayed the question. "Tell Dervish Six his unit is prepared to launch air cover, but the weather is still working against us."

  No way Dan was going to call in an air strike. Not in these treacherous mountains, with zero visibility.

  A brief consultation with Abby resulted in a new game plan. They decided to douse the fire and find a more secure spot to hole up until the weather cleared and Dan's unit could fly in a chopper.

  "We're going to seek cover," Abby advised Sergeant Davis. "Maintain radio silence unless and until we contact you."

  "Roger that."

  As she scrambled to gather her gear, she realized the brief interlude of peace had passed. Christmas, she thought grimly, was over.

  She and Dan left the house a few minutes later and went into the frigid night. The mist was as heavy as ever, slicking the cobbles and making walking an exercise in fierce concentration. She was so absorbed in keeping her footing that she almost missed the faint clatter of the cans they'd strung on dental floss.

  Dan caught it, however. Whipping up his pistol, he spun toward the sound.

  It came again, followed by a low, keening cry that ended on a sob. A young girl's cry.

  "Constantine's sister," Abby breathed. "That has to be her."

  A second later, a figure stumbled out of the mist. She held one hand outstretched in a desperate plea. The other cradled her huge, distended belly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

 
WHEN DAN SPOTTED THE GIRL'S BULGING stomach and pain-racked face, he had one thought.

  Holy crap!

  "I thought Constantine said his sister was sick," he growled at Abby, as though this was all her fault.

  "He did. She is."

  If you equated sick with very, very pregnant.

  When they approached the girl, it was obvious their uniforms terrified her. She stumbled back, her eyes dark pools of fright as she took in Abby's field BDUs and Dan's bomber jacket.

  "It's okay," Abby assured her. "We're friends, Maria. We came to find you."

  The sound of her name stopped the girl's awkward retreat. Pressing both hands against her belly, she let loose with a torrent of frantic sentences.

  "I'm sorry." Abby shook her head. "I don't understand."

  Despite the icy mist, the girl's face was beaded with sweat. She was older than her brother by some years. Abby guessed her age at sixteen or seventeen. A kerchief covered her dark hair and was tied under her chin. Her hand-tooled, sheepskin-lined boots looked warm enough, but her bulky coat wouldn't button over the mound of her stomach.

  She launched into another passionate plea, only to break off in midsentence. Gasping, she crossed her arms over her belly and bent almost double. A low, tortured cry cut through the night.

  "Oh, God!" Abby's heart ping-ponged around inside her chest. "I think she's in labor."

  Dan swallowed the curse that wanted to rip free. Swearing wouldn't resolve the problem of a destroyed bridge, a heavily armed and as yet unidentified band headed their way, and a girl about to give birth. It would have made him feel better, though.

  "Let's get her to shelter," he bit out instead.

  The girl cringed when Dan approached but let him slip an arm around her waist. He half walked, half carried her back to the house they'd just vacated.

  Abby hurried ahead. Dashing into the bedroom, she thumped the thin mattress to dislodge its four-legged occupants and dragged it into the front room, close to the fireplace. Dan lowered the girl onto the makeshift bed while Abby stirred the embers and added more logs.

  "I saw a bucket out back," he said grimly. "I'll go down to the river and get some water."

  Right. They always needed water in the movies. Hot water, for boiling the instruments.

  Gulping, Abby looked around the hut. She spotted a few pieces of crockery, but no pots or pans. And nothing that remotely resembled instruments.

  A sharp, keening cry from the girl dropped Abby to her knees beside the mattress. Maria groped wildly for her hand and locked it in a bone-crunching grip. Wincing, Abby tried to sound calm and confident.

  "It's okay. You'll be okay."

  It seemed like hours before Dan returned with the water. He plunked the bucket down beside Abby, frowning as the girl bent her knees and thrashed them from side to side.

  "How's she doing?"

  "I don't have a clue. The closest I've come to a live birth is when I waited at the hospital for my two nieces to make an appearance." Gritting her teeth against the pain in her hand, Abby angled him a look that was two parts hope and one part desperation. "I don't suppose you know anything about childbirth?"

  "You suppose right."

  "Great."

  "We've got the radio," Dan reminded her. "You can contact the medic on your team."

  Senior Airman Haskell wasn't a real medic, but a combat engineer who'd received a crash course in emergency medical training. He could splint breaks, stitch cuts and administer morphine if necessary, but Abby seriously doubted his training had included a section on delivering babies.

  On the other hand…

  He could patch her through to Red Horse headquarters. HQ, in turn, could patch her through to a doc. Abby was reaching for the radio when Dan angled away from the girl and drew out his 9 mm Beretta. A quick click ejected the magazine. He checked the load, snapped it back in again and swung back around.

  "You stay with the girl."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Downriver. I'll keep a watch for the irregulars."

  "How will you see them in the dark?"

  "There's only one dirt track leading through the mountains on this side of the river. I'll find a spot where I can see it. If they show and look like they mean trouble, I'll create a diversion to lead them away from the village."

  Abby bit her lip. Coward that she was, she wanted to suggest they reverse roles. He could darn well stay while she performed sentry duty. If necessary, she could create a heck of a diversion.

  But Maria still had her hand in a vise and Abby couldn't bail on her.

  "Go," she muttered. "We'll manage here."

  Somehow.

  * * *

  THE NEXT ELEVEN HOURS WERE THE LONGEST of Abby's life. She spent them alternating between calls to headquarters, bathing Maria's sweat-filmed forehead and listening for the stutter of gunfire.

  She didn't realize the damp, foggy night had given way to a damp, foggy dawn until slivers of gray showed at the edges of the blankets Dan had draped over the windows. Abby hooked one to the side to let in the light and returned to the girl's side. She dipped a cloth in the bucket, then wrung it out. Shadowed, worry-filled eyes pleaded with her as she dabbed at the runnels of sweat.

  "I'm so sorry, Maria. I wish I could do something besides wipe your face and time the contractions."

  They were coming about ten minutes apart now. The doc at headquarters said the baby might present soon. Or not. Nature had a way of taking her own sweet time in these matters. At this point, Abby was ready to give Mother Nature a hard, swift kick in the butt.

  The girl muttered something in her own language and groped across the mattress. Hiding a grimace of pure pain, Abby twined her fingers with Maria's.

  The minutes crawled by. The hazy light outside grew brighter. With the morning came a rather pressing need. Abby had to make a trip to the outhouse. Like, bad. But she hated to leave Maria without communicating the reason why. She was resorting to a rather ignominious pantomime when the radio crackled.

  "Red Horse base to Red Horse One."

  Tugging her now-numb hand free of Maria's grasp, she snatched up the radio. "Go ahead, base."

  "We've just been advised the weather's cleared enough to launch. There's a Pave Hawk en route to your location as we speak."

  Thank God! The Pave Hawk had to be coming from Dan's Special Ops unit. A highly modified version of the army Black Hawk transport helicopter, the HH-60G carried enough firepower to blast a hole through the surrounding mountains. It could also perform such humanitarian missions as civil search and rescue, disaster relief, international aid and emergency aeromedical evacuation.

  "Please tell me there's a doc aboard," Abby begged.

  "That's affirmative, One."

  "What's their ETA?"

  She held her breath, praying the chopper's estimated time of arrival would coincide with the baby's.

  "We put them at forty minutes out."

  That was thirty-nine too many for Abby's peace of mind, but she knew the Pave Hawk crew would push their aircraft to its max airspeed.

  "We'll patch you through to the doc on board, One. Hang tight."

  As if she could do anything else!

  While she waited for the doctor's voice to come over the airwaves, Abby's mind raced. She didn't know how far Dan had traveled downriver. Nor did she have any means of contacting him to advise him the chopper was on the way.

  She'd stay with the girl until the Pave Hawk put down, she decided. There was a chance Dan might hear its approach and return to the village. If not, Abby would get Maria safely on board and go after him.

  At least she'd be able to take some backup with her. The Pave Hawk crew consisted of a pilot and co-pilot, a flight engineer, an aerial gunner and two pararescuemen, still known throughout the air force by their former designation of parajumpers, or PJs. The PJs she'd met during her months on active duty were a breed unto themselves. As tough as tempered steel, they could battle their way through jungles,
over mountains and across deserts to rescue a brother in arms.

  * * *

  EVER AFTER, ABBY WOULD SWEAR SHE aged a year for every one of those forty minutes she knelt beside Maria. She tried to tell the girl help was on the way, but her hand gestures and arm flapping produced only a confused, wary expression.

  Together, she and Maria sweated through several more contractions. They were coming fast and furious now. Between regular radio updates to the doctor and the preparations he advised her to take, Abby grunted and groaned and sweated along with Maria.

  The chopper was less than five minutes out when the girl gasped and drew up her knees. With a hoarse cry, she spread her knees. Abby took one glance and knew they'd just run out of time.

  "The baby's crowning," she advised the doctor as she positioned herself between Maria's legs. "I see the top of his head."

  "Good. Support the head with your palm as it emerges. As soon as it's clear, check to make sure the umbilical cord isn't wrapped around the baby's neck."

  "Roger."

  Abby would have traded everything she owned at that moment for a pair of surgical gloves. She'd managed to boil some water in a dented tin cup. It stood at the ready, steam rising, along with the tube of antiseptic ointment and the stack of Wet Wipes she'd positioned close by.

  Clenching her jaw, she poured the still-simmering liquid over her hands. Tears popped into her eyes. Abby blinked them away, swiped her hands with a towelette and made a special effort to dig the dirt from under her nails. After smearing on the ointment, she summoned a breezy smile.

  "Okay, Maria. I'm ready when you are."

  She knew the girl couldn't understand her. That was okay. They were beyond communicating by words.

  A few moments later Maria's face contorted. She rose up on her elbows, emitted a fierce grunt and pushed. Hard.

  The baby's head popped out. Slimy and slick and crowned with thick, black fuzz, it was the most amazing thing Abby had ever seen.

  "I've got him."

  Maria fell back on the mattress, panting. Abby supported the head with one hand while probing its neck with the other. She didn't encounter anything that felt like an umbilical cord, but then again, she'd never encountered anything that felt like an umbilical cord.