Lucy didn’t have the chance to inspect it, the doctor across from her yelling before she finished her sentence, ‘Gunshot wound! Let’s get this bullet out.’
She stared at the soldier, the man she’d fought to save, saw his eye flutter, saw his dark red blood covering her hands.
Please don’t die. She held her breath, feeling a connection with the man lying in front of her, wanting to do anything, something, to save him. She wasn’t going to lose this one, not after what they’d done to save him.
‘Nurse! He’s losing blood.’
She moved quickly, leaning across his body, applying pressure to the wound now spurting out blood. He was losing too much; something was wrong.
‘Into surgery. Let’s go.’
‘Lucy, you need to get some sleep.’
She blinked and focused on the person standing over her. She lifted her head, hadn’t realised she’d slumped forward. How long had she been like this?
‘Scarlet?’ She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes.
‘Come on. This might be the only chance you get to rest. You can’t sit with him for ever.’
She put her hands on the side of the bed and pushed back. It was a wonder she’d been allowed to sit for so long without being reprimanded.
‘I wish she could.’
The sound of a deep, husky male voice made Lucy freeze.
‘He’s awake!’ Scarlet gasped.
Lucy stared down at the soldier, his one open eye trained on hers. ‘I can’t believe you’ve pulled through,’ she said, amazed at the man staring back at her and now also feeling incredibly embarrassed about falling asleep over him.
‘Water,’ he managed. His accent was American.
She reached for water and Scarlet helped to hold him up slightly so she could tip a little into his mouth. He gulped it down and she let him have more.
‘You’re so lucky to be alive,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t think . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘You saved me,’ he croaked. ‘I’ll never forget your voice. Never.’
She stared down at him, shaking her head, close to laughing. How could a man who’d been so close to death be talking to her like this?
‘I hate to break this up, but your nightingale here needs some rest, and I’m going to be the one to drag her away.’
Scarlet’s hand closed over her shoulder and Lucy knew there was no point fighting her. She looked around, saw how full the hospital was even though for some reason there had been a slight reprieve in wounded arriving.
‘Will you make sure he has something to eat?’ she asked Scarlet.
‘Yes. Now go.’
Lucy took one last look at the soldier, squeezed his hand when he reached out to her, then turned and walked away. Of all the patients she’d had, all the men she’d seen die and suffer around her, there was something about him. Something that gave her hope and made her want to do anything she could to save him.
‘His name,’ she muttered, turning back.
She stopped, met Scarlet’s gaze for a moment and saw her bend low over him.
‘Soldier, what’s your name?’ Scarlet asked.
Lucy watched. Scarlet shook her head and lowered again.
‘Soldier? Tell us your name.’ Scarlet stood up. ‘He keeps shaking his head. I’ll ask him again later.’
Lucy slipped away then, too tired to worry. The past forty-eight hours had been a blur, with hundreds upon hundreds of injured soldiers arriving. But for some reason, the American soldier was still there, hadn’t been airlifted out or sent home.
She walked across the wooden plank, numb, and so tired she could hardly lift her feet one after the other. The only thing she could think about other than sleep was that he’d better darn well still be alive when she went back.
Lucy stretched and stifled a yawn as she walked into the hospital. It had been a long week, and instead of staying in bed a little longer on the one morning she didn’t have to report for work at the crack of dawn, here she was. She looked around, relieved that the number of patients being admitted had steadily slowed. If they’d kept taking in hundreds like they had been . . . She shuddered, the motion sending goose pimples down her spine. It was awful.
She walked down to where she knew she’d find him – her one and only reason for coming in so early. His outline in the bed was becoming familiar, as was the brightness in his gaze and the big smile he seemed to reserve for her. She had no idea why she was so drawn to him, but she was telling herself that it was the fact she’d helped to save him. That if it hadn’t been for her actions, he might be dead instead of being nursed back to health.
‘Hey, gorgeous.’
Lucy tried not to smile at his upbeat words, but it was impossible. Maybe it was his American accent, but every single time he spoke to her like that he melted her heart. She chewed her lip. All this time being immune to the charm of soldiers, and here she was, grinning like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, but after months of being focused on nothing other than work, she kind of liked it.
‘You’re sounding chipper today,’ she commented, checking his chart out of habit before looking down at him.
He winked and she noticed that the swelling round his right eye was finally starting to disappear. Now she could look into a pair of gorgeous, twinkling brown eyes instead of just the one.
‘It’s this beautiful nurse I have. If you had her you’d be smiling all day, too.’
She turned and looked over her shoulder, playing along, pretending to look for someone. ‘I can’t see her. Who’s this nurse you keep talking about, soldier?’
Lucy’s laughter died in her throat when his fingers closed over hers, lightly but very much connecting with her. She had no idea where her witty response had come from, but it certainly didn’t sound like her!
‘She’s right here, believe it or not,’ he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.
Lucy sighed and looked into his eyes, meeting his gaze. She hated the way he made her feel and loved it at the same time. She’d never been shy around men, and had managed to hold her own through her training and the time she’d already spent abroad, but something about this man made her feel differently. She should have known better than to have feelings for a Yank; she knew all about their sweet talking, and besides, there were so many things he didn’t remember, things she . . .
Lucy took a deep breath and squeezed his fingers back lightly before pulling away. She reached into his top pocket and pulled out a small photo, the image of which continued to haunt her every time she had a spare moment to herself or before she fell asleep.
‘Have you thought any more about this lovely young woman?’
The woman in the picture had blonde hair, plaited into a long braid that framed a beautiful face. Her dark eyes were friendly, mouth pulled into a gentle smile.
And the handsome man in front of her had no idea who she was.
‘Thought? Yes. But I still don’t remember anything. I mean, I have flashes, but . . .’