Chapter 446
[ 504 words ]
Chapter 446:
On the truck, the army medic immediately began emergency treatment. Jarrod stood over them, his eyes locked on her face, never leaving her for a second.
“Sir,” Captain Hayes reported quietly. “She’s in bad shape. Hypothermia, severe dehydration. Possible internal injuries.”
K.C. Bell added, “We need to get her to the field hospital. Immediately.”
Jarrod didn’t speak. He just gave a single, sharp nod, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes were filled with a storm of self-loathing and pain.
He had failed to protect her. He had let this happen.
Jarrod stood outside the private room in the field hospital like a statue carved from granite. K.C. Bell and the head physician, Dr. Evelyn Reed, kept a respectful distance, afraid to approach him.
Finally, Dr. Reed cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Colonel, Ms. Thompson’s vitals have stabilized. She’s still unconscious, but she’s out of immediate danger.”
T𝗵𝖾 𝘣𝖾𝗌𝘵 𝘳𝖾𝗏𝘪𝗲𝘸𝗌 о𝗻 𝘨al𝘯𝘰v𝖾𝗹𝗌.𝖼𝗼m
He gave a curt nod, his gaze still fixed on the closed door.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and went inside. He sat on the edge of her cot, carefully lowering himself to avoid jarring his right side. He took her hand in his. It was still so cold. With his one functional hand, he pressed her palm against his own, holding it close to his chest to offer her the warmth of his body, unable to use his bandaged left hand or his splinted right arm to perform any complex movements.
He remembered the moment he’d seen her in that hole, the gut-wrenching certainty that she was dead. He never wanted to feel that again. He would burn the world down before he felt that again.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek. He was mapping her face, reassuring himself that she was real, that she was here. His lips finally settled on hers, a kiss that was not about passion, but about a desperate, terrified relief.
Meanwhile, a young nurse named Ashley Wright was given her assignment: deliver a tray of warm broth to the Colonel’s “special patient.” She was consumed with curiosity about the woman who had turned the famously icy Colonel Romero into a nervous wreck.
She approached the room and saw the door was slightly ajar. Assuming she had permission, she pushed it open without knocking.
The scene inside made her stop dead.
The handsome, formidable Colonel Romero was kissing the woman on the bed with a raw, unguarded tenderness that stole her breath. A sharp, ugly pang of jealousy shot through her. She looked at the patient—plain, unconscious, nothing special—and couldn’t understand what he saw in her.
She accidentally bumped the doorframe, making a soft noise.
Jarrod’s head snapped up. The tenderness in his eyes was instantly replaced by a murderous rage. His private, vulnerable moment had been violated.
“Who the hell are you?” he growled, his voice low and lethal. He remained seated, his body radiating menace despite the fact that his right arm remained immobilized and his left fingers were heavily splinted.
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