A Soldier's Christmas Read online

  She was so caught up in the drama of the moment she barely registered the whump-whump-whump of the chopper setting down close by.

  "Another push, Maria. Just one more."

  The girl was still gathering her strength when the cavalry arrived. The door burst open and Abby threw a look of sheer, unadulterated relief over her shoulder.

  Three men rushed in. Two toted assault rifles. The third carried a medical field kit and wore a jaunty red Santa Claus cap.

  Abby gaped at the cap. She'd completely forgotten this was Christmas Day. She felt as though ten years had passed since Dan had kissed her under the mistletoe.

  Dan! God, where was Dan?

  With her thoughts zinging from the missing major to the tiny head still cradled in her palm, Abby edged over an inch or two.

  "You want to take over here, Doc?"

  "Looks like you're doing fine."

  He flashed a reassuring smile at Maria and said a few words in her native language. Between hard, swift pants, she darted a doubtful glance at the Santa Claus hat. A moment later, she scrunched her face again and grunted.

  "Okay," the doc said cheerfully. "Here we go."

  * * *

  LONG MINUTES LATER, THE FUZZY-HAIRED infant lay tucked in Maria's arms. The doc—Lieutenant Colonel Howie Donaldson by name—snapped his medical kit closed.

  "Mother and son are both doing fine," he assured Abby, "but we don't want to leave them here alone. We'll take them back to base with us until the girl can get word to her family."

  Abby didn't tell him Maria's only family in the area was a very young brother. She'd advise Father Dominic of the girl's situation when they reached the base. The priest could take the young mother and her son under his wing.

  Abby had already decided to contribute what she could to their health and welfare. She'd contact her folks back in Philadelphia, too. They donated generously to several charities and international aid organizations. Maybe they could direct some aid to this war-torn corner of the world.

  The heavily encumbered PJs reached for the stretcher. When their assault rifles bumped against the handles, Abby offered to relieve them of part of their burden.

  "I can carry your weapons."

  She slung one rifle over a shoulder and tucked the other in the crook of her arm. The grateful pararescuemen hefted the stretcher bearing mother and child. Still wearing his jaunty red hat, Colonel Donaldson led the way outside. Abby took a last look around and followed the small entourage into the bright, cold morning.

  The Pave Hawk had set down in a cleared patch along the riverbank, about fifty yards beyond the Roman bridge. When Abby got her first good look at the bridge in the bright light of day, she winced. One stone support column still stood, but the little that remained of the arch soared into nothingness.

  Deliberately, Abby closed her mind to the damage. She didn't have time to regret the loss of the ancient structure. Her thoughts now centered on Dan, and only on Dan.

  "We need to go after Major Maxwell as soon as we have Maria and the baby on board," she said to the closest PJ, pitching her voice over the whine of the chopper's engines.

  "Roger that, Captain."

  "Any update on the irregulars that were spotted heading upriver last night?"

  "Nothing firm, ma'am. The word we got is that they were locals who melted into the mountains."

  Abby sincerely hoped that was the case. She was pretty sure Dan hadn't been forced to resort to diversionary tactics. She hadn't heard so much as an echo of gunfire throughout the long, endless night.

  The thought had no sooner popped into her head than a sharp crack split the air. This one did not sound anything like ice breaking.

  Abby, the doc and the PJs all dropped into an instinctive crouch. Maria jerked onto her side, trying frantically to shield her child.

  When an answering volley rifled on the cold, clear air, Abby didn't hesitate.

  "Get Maria and the baby aboard!"

  Dropping one assault weapon, she ripped the other from her shoulder and took off at a dead run. The PJ at the front end of the stretcher shouted for the doc to take over for him. Scooping up the rifle Abby had dropped, he raced after her.

  He'd either run track in college or was in a lot better shape than she was. He caught up with her before she reached the ruins of the bridge.

  "Sounds like small-arms fire," he said grimly.

  She nodded, her heart pumping pure adrenaline. "It's coming from the far end of the village."

  "Better let me take the lead, ma'am."

  Since he had already outpaced her, Abby didn't have an opportunity to cast a vote. She charged after him…and almost crashed into his back when he skidded to an abrupt halt.

  Just ahead, a figure had bolted out of a side street and was pounding down the lane toward them. The PJ whipped his weapon up. Abby reached around his bulk and knocked the barrel down.

  "That's the major! Major Maxwell!"

  She might not have recognized him if not for the bomber jacket. Mud coated his hair, his face, the lower half of his body. He must have spent the night burrowed into a ditch.

  "Get back to the helo," he shouted, racing toward them. "The rebels are behind me, and they're not feeling particularly friendly."

  Abby didn't need any further encouragement. Wheeling, she pounded back the way she'd just come. The two men caught up with her in a few strides and flanked her for the last twenty yards or so.

  The Pave Hawk's pilot saw them coming and powered up. The engine's whine increased to a shriek. The slowly spinning rotor blades picked up speed. Her hair whipping wildly around her face, Abby ducked under the blades, tossed the assault rifle through the open side hatch and reached for the hands waiting to haul her in.

  Once aboard, she scooted out of the way. Her breath came in sharp, stabbing pants as she crouched beside Maria's stretcher. The girl pushed herself up on one elbow and hunched over her child, once again trying to shield it. Her dark eyes frantic, she watched with Abby as Dan and the rest of the crew piled aboard.

  While the flight engineer scrambled into the cockpit and strapped himself into his seat, the gunner swept the village through the sights of his .50 caliber machine gun. The two PJs took up positions on either side of the open hatch, their assault rifles leveled. Dan pitched to his feet, wrapped a fist around a cargo strap and prepared to add his firepower to theirs.

  The Pave Hawk rocked on its skids, gathering power. Before it could lift off, one of the rebels burst from the same side street Dan had. As he charged toward the chopper, Abby formed an instant impression of curly black hair, a young, desperate face, and a metal tube that could only be a shoulder-held rocket launcher.

  The chopper lifted. The young rebel skidded to a halt. Dan, the gunner and the two PJs took aim.

  "Hayir!"

  Maria's piercing shriek carried clearly over the engine's roar. The cry jerked Abby's head around and startled the baby into a high, thin wail. Maria screamed again, her frantic eyes locked on the ragtag rebel.

  "Hayir! Hayir!"

  Abby had picked up enough Turkish to understand the word for no. Unfortunately, she didn't have sufficient vocabulary to assure the hysterical girl that the Pave Hawk crew wasn't about to let the guy launch a missile.

  He gave every indication of intending to do just that, though. Crouching, he brought the tube to his shoulder. The men aboard the Pave Hawk took aim.

  Sobbing now with sheer terror, Maria grabbed Abby's arm and levered herself upright.

  "Nedim!"

  Waving wildly, she shrieked the same word over and over again.

  "Nedim! Nedim! Nedim! Nedim!"

  By some miracle, her piercing cries reached the young rebel over the whap-whap of the rotor blades and roar of the engine. A look of utter astonishment crossed his face. Slowly, he lowered the launcher.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ABOARD THE CHOPPER, A DESPERATE MARIA yanked on Abby's arm. As the aircraft lifted off, the girl stabbed a finger at the young rebe
l on the ground and poured out a torrent of incomprehensible pleas.

  "Do you know him?" Abby shouted. "Is he a friend?"

  "Nedim," Maria sobbed. "Nedim."

  She accompanied her cries with unmistakable gestures signaling she wanted the chopper to set back down again. Dubious, Abby yanked on the pant leg of the man closest to her. That happened to be Dan.

  "Maria knows the kid," she yelled.

  "What?"

  "The rebel. Maria knows him. She wants us to go back for him."

  Dan shot a look at the tears streaming down the girl's face. Maria stretched out a hand in supplication. By now the chopper was in the air and banking hard.

  After an endless second or two, Dan got on the intercom to the cockpit. Abby couldn't hear what he said to the flight crew, but they brought the chopper back around and into a hover. Slowly, it descended toward almost the same spot it had lifted off from just moments ago.

  Fifty yards away, a look of incredulous joy replaced the astonishment on the young rebel's face. The launcher hit the dirt. So did his backpack and all his other accoutrements. Then he was running headlong for the Pave Hawk.

  The men at the hatch kept their weapons trained on him every step of the way. Jumping onto a skid, he flung himself through the hatch.

  "Maria!"

  He scuttled across the floorboards on his hands and knees. Like the girl, he was sobbing unrestrainedly. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see both were crying tears of joy.

  * * *

  ONCE THE CHOPPER HAD LIFTED CLEAR OF the village and was zooming through the mountains toward the Special Ops main base, the pilot got on the radio to request a translator.

  The flight engineer came back with headsets for Abby, Dan and the boy crouched beside the stretcher, his hand gripping Maria's. Up close, he looked a little younger than Abby had first thought. He couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen.

  Tapping the kid on the shoulder, Dan showed him how to put on the headset. Abby listened to the three-sided conversation as the pilot rapped questions at the interpreter, who in turn fed them to the young rebel. The young man confirmed his name was, in fact, Nedim, and that he was from Maria's village. He'd been marched away at gunpoint and forced to fight with the rebels.

  He was also, the translator informed his small audience, the father of Maria's baby.

  Oooh, boy! Abby thought. She'd bet Father Dominic would have something to say about that.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, the Pave Hawk touched down at the sprawling Turkish military facility that housed Dan's Special Operations squadron. An ambulance waited to transport Maria and her son to the base hospital. The doctor climbed in with her. So did Nedim.

  He hunched beside Maria in the ambulance, gripping her hand as though he'd never let it go again. His face filled with wonder every time he glanced at his son. Maria had her heart in her eyes but turned a pleading look on Abby before the ambulance doors closed.

  "I'll see you at the hospital," she assured the young mother through the translator. "I'll come as soon as I get cleaned up."

  She and Dan stood shoulder to shoulder as the ambulance drove off, threading its way through the aircraft crowding the flight line. The Turkish flag with its new moon and single star set in a red field showed prominently on the tails of many of the craft, but Abby spotted the flags of at least a half dozen other nations. UN forces used the Turkish air base as a staging area to support their growing involvement in the peacekeeping efforts in neighboring Iraq.

  Surveying the jumble of transports, gunships and surveillance aircraft, Abby appreciated more than ever the need for the forward operating location she and her team had almost finished laying out. The site would relieve some of the overcrowding and move a detachment of Dan's Special Ops squadron closer to the action.

  "You said you wanted to get cleaned up." His deep voice rumbled close to Abby's ear, breaking into her thoughts. "My squadron is hard-quartered in a hotel just off base. You can shower there before we head back up to the site."

  Joy leaped through her veins. "Are we talking a real shower? Hot water? Steam?"

  "The works," he confirmed, grinning.

  "Lead the way!"

  After arranging a flight to ferry them back to the site later that afternoon, Dan did just that.

  * * *

  THE HOTEL'S EXTERIOR WAS STRICTLY utilitarian, but its interior boasted the incredibly diverse architectural elements of a country that formed the bridge between Europe and the Far East. Abby followed Dan through the lobby, craning her neck to take in the brilliant Byzantine mosaics, splashing Mediterranean fountains and marble columns topped by fanciful capitals, imposts and architraves.

  The guests at the hotel represented the same mix of East and West. Men in business suits mingled with associates in the more traditional baggy pants, collarless shirt and richly embroidered vests seen throughout Turkey. Abby spotted several other women in uniform, a number in smart dresses and several wearing the ornate headdress decorated with gold coins that indicated their marital status, wealth and standing in their clan. She and Dan raised a few brows as they made their way to the elevators. Dried mud still coated his hair and face. After helping deliver a baby, Abby didn't want to think about what coated hers.

  "Oh, look!"

  She stopped in her tracks, transfixed by the sight of a window displaying an array of stuffed toys. Although the ChristianTurks celebrated the feast of Christmas, the hotel shops owned by those of other faiths were open and doing a thriving business.

  Delighted, Abby pointed to a large stuffed pony with a bright red bow tied around its neck. "I have to buy that for the baby."

  "Let me guess." Laughter rumbled in Dan's chest. "A present from the Chargin'Charlies of Red Horse."

  "You got it."

  Since she didn't have any Turkish lira on her, he charged the stuffed animal to his room.

  Abby, Dan and the pony took the elevator to the sixth floor, most of which was occupied by personnel from Dan's Special Ops unit. They passed a number of people in the corridor. Several did a double take when they recognized Major Maxwell under his layers of dirt. All wanted to know the scoop on the action up at the forward site.

  "I'll give you a full report," Dan promised. "Later."

  Grasping Abby's elbow, he steered her to the room at the end of the hall. She stepped inside and sighed. After eight days of living, sleeping and working out of tents, it was heaven to sink her boot soles into a thick Turkish carpet and look out through real glass windows.

  "I'll give you first dibs on the shower," Dan offered magnanimously.

  Abby wasn't about to argue. Depositing the pony on the sofa, she shed her layers on the way to the bathroom. Stocking cap, field jacket and BDU shirt all hit the floor. Her boots, pants and long johns came off inside the bathroom. Grimacing at the thought of putting them back on after her shower, she twisted the knob to full blast.

  Within moments, steam billowed from the glass stall. A few moments more, and Abby had died and gone to heaven.

  * * *

  SHE HOGGED THE SHOWER UNTIL HER CONSCIENCE started to ping at her. Sure she'd never experience anything as glorious as that hot water again, Abby wrapped herself in an oversize Turkish towel and poked through the personal items on the shelf below the steamed-up mirror. To her delight, she discovered a spare toothbrush still in its plastic wrapping.

  Abby appropriated it without a qualm. Scrubbed, shampooed and reveling in the taste of Crest, she gathered her scattered clothing and left the steamy bathroom.

  "It's all yours."

  Dan's glance made a quick trip from her wet hair to her bare feet and back up again. His mouth opened, snapped shut. That interesting little muscle at the side of his jaw began to twitch.

  Abby noted the twitch with a raised brow. Her wet hair straggled down her back. She hadn't come close to anything resembling makeup in eight days. The thick towel covered her from her neck to her knees. Yet she suddenly felt naked and ex
posed.

  And seductively, erotically female.

  Her skin heated everywhere Dan's glance touched. Already flushed from her shower, she started to sizzle under the towel. She was seriously considering dropping it when Dan took one step toward her. Only one.

  To her immense disappointment, he stopped and scraped a hand over his jaw. Little flakes of dried mud drifted to the carpet.

  "Don't go away," he ordered, his voice husky. "I'll be right back."

  Abby wasn't going anywhere. She couldn't have moved if she wanted to. Her breath seemed to have deserted her and every one of her muscles had coiled tight.

  Gulping, she stood in the center of the room. Her glance shifted to the bed. To the tall, curtained wardrobe where Dan's spare uniforms hung. To the chair where she'd deposited the stuffed pony.

  A slow smile tugged at her lips.

  * * *

  DAN SET A NEW WORLD RECORD FOR SHOWERING, shaving and scraping twenty-plus hours of fuzz off his teeth.

  He hadn't pulled in a full breath since Abby had strolled out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a smile and a Turkish towel. One glimpse of her bare shoulders and long, slender legs had pooled his entire blood supply below his waist. He'd gone into the shower hard and aching and almost doubled over with wanting her. He'd come out the same way. As he hitched a towel around his hips, he retained just enough sense to know what he had in mind was crazy—for a whole lot of reasons.

  One, the air force tended to take a dim view of field-grade officers jumping junior officers'bones. He rationalized that problem away by the fact that Abby wasn't in his chain of command.

  Two, they only had a couple of hours until they had to get back to the flight line. Less, if they wanted to swing by the hospital to see Maria and the baby. What Dan wanted to do with and to Captain Abigail Trent would take all night. Hell, all week!

  Three, there was the matter of that high-priced architect back in Philadelphia. Abby said she'd told him not to wait, but the man would be a fool to do anything else. Dan was beginning to suspect a woman like Abby Trent only came along once in a lifetime.