Page 79 of Keeping a Warrior

Rhys irrigated the wound again and packed it with blood-absorbing gauze, then wrapped the whole thing up in a clean, white bandage. As a final indignity, he rolled the boy onto his side and plunged a needle into his butt cheek.

“A horse dose of antibiotics,” he said. “Devon, tell them to keep the bandages as clean as possible. We’ll be back in a few days, op tempo permitting.”

Devon translated as best she could, some of the medical terms escaping her in Pashto, but she was able to get the gist across. A woman nodded vigorously as she listened carefully to the instructions.

“We’re going to leave you like this,” Devon said gently, referring to their flex-cuffs. “That way no one will think you asked for help.”

The woman nodded again. “My sister comes by every morning to weave with me.” For the first time, Devon noticed the loom set up in one corner of the room. Making rugs must be how the family supported themselves. “She’ll set us free.”

Rhys packed up all his supplies and checked the boy’s pulse and blood pressure before hooking him to a saline IV. Mercifully, the child had slipped into unconsciousness, worn out from his ordeal.

“Best we can do,” Rhys muttered. “Let’s go.”

They made their way back to the outpost as silently as they’d come, slipping through the front gate just as the sun started to peek over the top of the mountain. With weary but triumphant fist bumps, Matt, Shane and Aaron headed off to shower and sleep before the next recon mission kicked off.

“Gonna go brief the El-Tee,” Rhys said. “Then do you wanna work out? I won’t be able to sleep right now.”

“Sounds good.” The adrenaline was roiling through Devon’s body, too, along with residual grief at the horror of the wound. She grabbed Rhys’s arm.

“Is he going to make it?”

Rhys shook his head. “I don’t know. What he needs is a surgeon and a sterile environment, but—”

Devon thought about the mud hut, the dirt floors, an environment about as far from sterile as it could be.

Still...these people were survivors. The boy would be all right. He had to be.

“We gave him a fighting chance,” she said fiercely. “At least we did that.”

“We did.” Rhys nodded, his freckles standing out in sharp relief against his pale face. “You were amazing in there. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Rhys headed for the TOC while Devon went to her room to stash her gear, then change into PT clothes. Outside again, the air was cool, the ever-present scent of human and animal waste lingering on it, along with the smoke from the village cooking fires and the faint odor of pine. She inhaled deeply, letting Afghanistan sink into her pores, her very being.

“Hey!” The note of excitement in Rhys’s voice made Devon spin around. He was jogging toward her balancing a large box on his shoulder. “Care package from Sarah. Want to help me open it?”

His enthusiasm proved infectious, and soon they were kneeling on Rhys’s plush handmade rug throwing the packing material around like kids tearing into Christmas presents.

“Yes!” Rhys exclaimed, holding up a large canister of shortbread cookies. Devon was excited to find a bag of lemon drops, and she popped one into her mouth, savoring first the burst of sweet, then tart.

Lying down on her side, she watched as Rhys inventoried the rest of his bounty before flopping onto his back with the tin of cookies in the crook of his arm.

“Gimme some,” she demanded, and with his mouth crammed full, Rhys refused, rolling over and curling around them in a fetal position.

“Mine,” he mumbled. “Get your own.”

“Gimme some!”

Devon pounced, and they grappled lightly, which ended with Devon straddling Rhys’s hips, the canister held high in triumph. She ate a couple of cookies just to rub it in, then set the tin down and stretched out full length on top of him.

He rested his hands on her hips, his eyes warm, and Devon brushed some crumbs from his beard, her thumb lingering on the corner of his mouth.

“I’m pretty crazy about you, you know that?” Her whisper was soft but heartfelt.

Rhys gave a rueful smile. “I’m so far gone over you, darlin’, it ain’t even funny.”

Lowering her head, Devon kissed him, their lips clinging lightly—almost chastely—together before separating with a lush sound.