Resisting Her Army Doc Rival
Moisture filled her eyes. That had to be the nicest, kindest thing anyone had said to her in a long time. Her family had learned to keep those thoughts to themselves after she’d broken down one day saying they were undermining her efforts to be strong and capable alone. That had hurt them but since then they’d all tried hard to follow her wishes. Now, after a simple comment from Sam, nearly a stranger, she understood she’d been wrong. ‘I’ll be doing my damnedest to keep anyone, especially my family, from hearing any such news.’ Suddenly she missed her mum and dad, her sister and those nieces so much her arms ached to hold them and her heart slowed with sadness.
‘You’d better.’ Sam’s voice had become gruff, deeper and darker, full of an emotion she didn’t recognise. Maybe he cared more about what happened to people than he’d admit.
‘Sam?’
‘Better get on with the last patient.’ He quickly turned to snatch up a piece of paper from the nearest desk and headed to a man and his son, waiting quietly.
Sam was in a right old pickle. That page he’d grabbed was the score sheet from last night’s medics’ snooker contest, not notes about any patient. Maddy chuckled. Sam in a stew was like a small boy trying to decide which flavour ice cream he was going to have.
* * *
Downing his water, Sam nodded to the sergeant behind the bar. ‘Another thanks, Randy.’ No such thing as drinking too much water out here.
At long last the day was over, and unless, touch wood, there were any incidents during the night, he was free to do as he pleased. That did not include kissing Maddy, something that was becoming a bit of an obsession since the idea had first struck. No, he needed to find another way of letting his hair down and eliminating the pent-up needs keeping him on tenterhooks since he’d gone and told Madison he’d be worrying about her.
‘Up to some rock?’ Jock leaned a hip against the bar.
‘Exactly what I need.’ An hour getting lost in the guitar with the band would knock him into mental shape. ‘Boyse and Carter around somewhere?’ The drummer and xylophonist were integral to their band.
Jock, the voice and other guitarist, nodded. ‘They’re on their way over.’
‘Show time, then.’ Sam stood up. Friday nights in the officers’ mess were his favourite. He’d play his guitar and try to get lost in the music, something not always possible since the quality of music depended on who was stationed on base at the time. There’d been some clangers in the past all right but tonight he’d have no trouble getting immersed in the music.
As he settled on a stool and picked at the guitar strings, tightening two, he glanced across to the corner of the room where a group had gathered with Madison in the centre. Of course. Not that she looked overly comfortable, wasn’t putting on the charm or being too friendly with any of the men. When she glanced his way and met his gaze she nodded and gave him a knowing smile.
Knowing what? Racking his brain didn’t toss up any ideas of what that had been about.
‘You joining us?’ Jock nudged him.
‘Try and stop me.’ For the next half-hour Sam played whatever tune the other band members started, letting himself go in the rhythms of rock music. His mind was blank apart from the keys he played, the strings he strummed and picked. The music flowed over him, eased the tension he’d been carrying since Madison’s arrival on base.
Ah, Madison. Snap. The tension was back. He scanned the room. There. Parked on a stool, a soda in one hand, her feet tapping in time to the music, and a smile of pure happiness lightening her face. For the first time she appeared to have no worries in the world. Then she looked his way and stood up with a determined expression and placed her drink on the counter.
Now he remembered. ‘Hide the microphones.’ Last year at school. The senior’s social, Maddy and her pals on stage.
‘She can’t sing?’ Jock asked into the silence that came with the end of their current song.
Her voice had been strong, alluring, sweet, but having her up here beside him...? Not happening.
‘She doesn’t know a C scale from a fish scale.’
Don’t drop a bomb on me tomorrow for lying. If Maddy picked up a microphone he was leaving. One guitar down wouldn’t matter, the other guys could make great music without his input, while having her standing beside him, belting out words in a voice made for an angel, would stir him up even more. Wouldn’t matter if she was in tune or not.
‘Let’s do something heavier,’ Jock said, and started banging out another rock song.
Maddy’s face lit up some more, and that smile would now blind a city with its intensity. Her feet were done with tapping; now she was moving on the spot, her hips swaying and her arms moving above her head in time to the music.
Sam needed a drink—fast. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat so dry he couldn’t even squawk along with Boyse’s singing. Just as well. The guys would fire him on the spot.
‘Get that down your throat.’ A can appeared in his line of vision.
He nodded thanks to Jock. Still couldn’t talk. How was it his mate seemed to know what was going on in his head almost as soon as he did? Damn but that cold liquid was good. Wet in the right places, cooled the heat in his throat, even tasted wonderful. Did absolutely nothing to chill down the heat tightening his groin.
‘Can I join in?’ Madison stood in front of him, that supple body the only thing his eyes could see.
Of course he nodded agreement; of course he did. Damn it.
Boyse called out the next song, and began the beat. Not a tune Sam had been expecting, but with a bit of luck it would be beyond Maddy. She’d sung the light girl band music that got everyone up dancing. He began playing his guitar, refusing to watch as she stepped between the guys to stand legs wide, head back and a microphone to her mouth. He did not see her lips almost swallow the mouthpiece. He did not feel apprehension and awe alternatively cool and heat his skin. No, not at all.
And then the first words came out of her mouth and Sam forgot to play, forgot where he was, forgot everything but Madison.
So much for thinking she couldn’t sing rock. She was rock. She owned the song, took it from ordinary to sensational. She moved with it, became it, striding, swaying, dancing from one edge of the band to the other and back again, her head tipped so far back it seemed impossible she wouldn’t crash into something or someone. Where was her long hair when he needed it to be hanging behind her?
He knew his mouth had fallen open and his eyes were wide, felt his lungs stall, his stomach sit still in shock, and the beat of his heart was so out of whack with the song it was awful.
What happened to sweet? What was spilling out of Maddy’s mouth was raw emotion. Deep, husky notes that played his senses like a bow on violin strings, that lifted goose bumps on his skin and sent prickles of heat down his spine. This was nothing like her speaking voice. She’d stepped into the song as though she’d experienced what was behind the words. Maybe she had. Maybe they’d hit on the one song she could relate to so deeply.
And then—And then she took it up a level. Sam’s gut tightened. Where did that come from? The drama behind the words filled the air, stopped everyone except the band in their tracks, drinks frozen in hands on tables or halfway to mouths. Sam’s guitar rested on his thighs, his fingers slack against the strings. He was beyond playing, had lost the ability to pick a tune. This was not a one off—Madison would sing every song as though she’d lived it.
As she proved again and again over the next thirty minutes. She had the room mesmerised. The guy behind the counter was out of a job while she sang. Sam reckoned every male fell in love with her during those loud, emotional, magical minutes.
But not him. Of course not. Somehow he finally managed to play his guitar, keep in tune and not look like a three-year-old with a plastic toy. Somehow he didn’t give Jock an elbow when he co
cked a knowing eye at him and said, ‘If that’s not knowing her scales, what is it?’
Sam didn’t have an answer. What could he say that wouldn’t dig a bigger hole for him to fall into?
Four days and counting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MADDY WAS BUZZING. Joining the guys for a few songs had been a blast. She hadn’t sung as though there was nothing else in the world but the message in the song for a long time.