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Lauren shook her head. “I know, Beth. I
know. I just need more time, that’s all.”

“Time and a date with Big John.”

“Beth!” Lauren pretended shock and
playfully hit her friend on the arm.

“Well, you do.” Beth dropped her voice.
“And if you’re smart, you’ll let him get lucky on the first date and ride him
all the way to mindless fucking!”

The shock was real this time. “I’ve never
heard you use that word…ever!”

Beth’s smile was full of mischief. “Sarah’s
been a bad influence on me.”

Lauren highly doubted that. Lauren, Beth
and Sarah Simpson—Sarah Townshend now—were part of a group of that got together
every few weeks just to celebrate their friendship. Lauren and Beth had known
each other since grade school. Sarah had joined them in high school where she’d
earned the label “Most Pure and Innocent”. With her clean-cut look, big brown
eyes and quiet ways, everyone agreed she deserved the title.

Any retort Lauren intended to make,
however, had to wait as the crowd filed through the narrow exit from the museum
grounds. Beth went ahead, pushing the baby, and Lauren ended up several people
back, holding tightly to Ian’s hand so she wouldn’t lose him in the crowd.

But then the way opened again and Lauren
saw her friend halfway through the parking lot to the car. With Ian in tow, she
headed in the same direction. Ian pulled her up short, though, pointing through
the trees at the white tents of the Union soldiers.

“Look, Aunt Lauren. That’s where they
sleep. You can see the tents from here and there’s John.”

In fact, she’d seen John before Ian pointed
him out. How could she not? He’d taken off his soiled coat and shirt and stood
by one of the tents in nothing but his wool pants. Suspenders hung at his
sides, but she noted those only in passing. His back was to her and she could
see the broad expanse of shoulders and the strength of muscles as he stretched
to reach inside the tent and pull out a clean shirt. A simple motion, really.
And yet her breath caught again as he gathered the shirt in his hands and swung
it up, dropping the folds of material down to cover those magnificent muscles.
He shrugged his shoulders to settle the material and laughed at something
someone said. She couldn’t hear the conversation. It didn’t matter. All she
could think of was that back and his parting words to her—tying a woman down
and making love to her all night long. She’d felt such protection while near
those arms, that back. To have him tie her down…and make love to her?

“Aunt Lauren, come on. Beth’s calling us.”
Ian tugged impatiently on her arm and brought Lauren back to the present.

“Right. Right, Ian. Let’s go home.”
Determined not to think of that sexy back or of the fact that she had a date
with it, she turned and walked away.

Chapter Two

Lauren stretched, sauntering over to the
window to watch the rain puddle in the street. After a spate of beautifully
sunny summer weather, she welcomed it, especially as it came down as an all-day
rain. They could really use this long soaking for the gardens and fields.

And the rain suited her mood. Since her
discharge, Lauren had read, on average, three to five books a week, losing
herself in romance novels, fantasy stories, even science fiction. Anything to
avoid examining her life and deciding what to do next. Today she’d used the
rain as an excuse to curl up on her living room couch, throw an afghan over her
knees and sit with a cup of hot tea and an erotic romance novel. She’d finished
the entire thing in one sitting and now felt primed and ready for a night on
the town with Big John.

Stepping into the shower, she thought about
Beth’s advice to let him get lucky tonight. Overseas, one-night stands and
quick flings got everyone through the worst of the stresses and strains and
boredom that went along with working in the emergency department of a military
hospital. Except she was home now. Did she want another one-nighter? Or did she
want to play this one out and see where it went?

The water splashed over her skin and she
ducked under to chase away the solemn thoughts. “One thing at a time, girl,”
she cautioned herself. First, she had to get through the date. He might turn
out to be a total jerk. If that were the case, she’d leave him at the
restaurant, take a taxi home and be done.

But she remembered his touch on her elbow
yesterday, his hand on the small of her back guiding her through the crowd, the
overall feeling of protection he emanated and hoped John wouldn’t fall into the
asshole category. He might, however, fall into the dangerous one.

Beth’s instructions as to which dress to
wear had been very specific. “The V-neck, black dress with the chiffon-skirt
overlay. And wear your red scarf with it, but don’t tie it so you can’t see your
cleavage. Just drape it over your shoulders like a wrap.”

“Yes ma’am.” Lauren had laughed at the
time, but as she stood, surveying her figure in the full-length mirror on the
back of her bedroom door, she shook her head. The slinky dress showed off every
curve, every hollow, every movement. The red scarf, with its oriental
patterning, gave her an exotic flair. Beneath her makeup, however, she could
still see the dark circles under her eyes that gave away her restless night.

As she had feared, Saturday’s incident had
provoked a nightmare. She’d awoken in a cold sweat, the shouts and confusion of
a bomb blast still echoing in her ears. It had taken several hours of mindless
TV watching before the images faded and she managed to drift off to sleep again
on her living room couch.

Lauren straightened her shoulders and
plastered a smile on her face. That was done, she told herself. Nothing but a
bad dream now. She’d closed that chapter of her life and moved on to the next,
even if she had no idea what the next looked like. The image in the mirror
reflected a woman in her early thirties, no gray yet in her shoulder-length
brown locks although, if heredity had anything to say about it, those gray
hairs should be showing up any day now. She still wore it parted on the side as
she had since her high school days, finding the easy style to be versatile
enough to wear up when at work or down for a night out.

Not that she had a job just yet. Soon.
She’d get out and look for one. When she was ready. One that didn’t involve
hospitals or doctors or blood. She’d had enough of all three to last her
several lifetimes.

The door chime stopped her reveries,
reminding her tonight marked a step out of the shell she’d formed over the past
few years. One-night stands might take the edge off in battle zones but did
little for the psyche. Despite Beth’s admonition that she just needed a night
in the sack, Lauren longed for so much more.

Her plastered-on smile turned warmer the
moment she opened the door and saw John standing there. He stepped inside and
filled her hallway with those magnificent shoulders. The way his eyebrows rose
when he saw her in the dress Beth had instructed her to wear didn’t hurt any
either.

“Very nice,” he said by way of greeting.

Lauren dipped a small curtsey. “Thank you.
Just a moment while I get my bag.” She left the door open as she hurried into
her bedroom for the forgotten tiny purse. Styles had changed while she’d been
overseas and all today’s purses seemed huge. She’d found this one at a discount
store and had cut off the long strap that was meant to go over her shoulder,
all the while missing the pockets of her uniform. Coming back to the door, she
picked up her keys from the table and stepped beside him in the hall.

“All set now.” She locked the door and smiled
at him, calling over her shoulder, “And good night, Mrs. Boorman. Don’t wait
up!” as they headed for the stairs. Behind them they heard a small snick as a
door shut down the hall.

“Mrs. Boorman keeps track of you, does
she?”

“Of me and most others on the floor. There
are six apartments on each of the two floors and I swear, each floor has its
version of Mrs. Boorman.”

He chuckled and his baritone echoed in the
stairwell. “Every apartment building has their version of Mrs. Boorman. And
that’s a good thing.”

“Is it?”

“We all need someone to keep track of our
whereabouts. Having people care, even if in a busybody sort of way, gives
purpose to our lives.”

They’d reached the first floor. Only the
presence of another couple also making their way out for the night prevented
Lauren from continuing the conversation. Lauren peeked through the door, hoping
her wrap would be enough. The rain had stopped and the vivid pinks and oranges
of the clouds promised a better day tomorrow. Once outside, John opened the
passenger door of his SUV and handed her in, so she still didn’t have the
opportunity to respond. But as they pulled from the curb and headed into
traffic, she picked up the train of thought he’d started in her.

“Our lives can have purpose all by
themselves, you know. You don’t really need others to validate your existence.”

“Not to validate, but to give it purpose.
You know you’re alive, but without others, of what use would you be?”

Lauren turned to face him, her eyebrows
knitted in a frown. “You can’t be purposeful by yourself?”

Clearly Lauren’s emotions lay close to the
surface. Stirring them didn’t take much effort at all. He found himself
enjoying the banter, glad for the confirmation that she was more than met the
eye.

“Let’s put it this way. A hermit in the
woods needs no one to validate his existence. He knows he’s alive, he knows he
breathes and thinks and has things to do.” John paused as he maneuvered around
a vehicle parallel parking in front of him. He noted the way Lauren seemed to
look in several directions at once as he did so, checking out the cars at the
side of the street, the ones in the oncoming lane as well as giving the parking
car a very thorough going-over. He continued, however, as if he’d noticed
nothing.

“But he has no purpose in life. He simply
exists. Without interaction, a person doesn’t grow as a human being and the
world is not enriched.”

“So the purpose of life is to enrich the
world…?” Lauren left the end of the sentence trailing, inviting him to further
argue his point. Or dig himself in deeper, he wasn’t sure which.

“Yes, I’d say that’s part of it. Isn’t Mrs.
Boorman’s life enriched by watching yours? She’ll have a juicy bit of gossip to
share with the other gossips of the building. That’ll raise her status, and
thus, your purpose in life.”

“My purpose?”

“To give Mrs. Boorman something to talk
about.”

Lauren’s laugh sounded a little rusty, as
if it weren’t something she did very often. He liked hearing it, though. While
he didn’t know the particulars of her past, he knew the haunted look far too
well. He’d been given a second chance for a real life after serving his
country—she deserved the same.

“So tell me your preference, Miss Lauren,”
he drawled in his best Southern-gentleman voice, “do you prefer the nightlife
of the High Falls area? Should we dine at one of the upscale nightclubs and
dance the night away? Or would you prefer somewhere quieter, with perhaps a
lounge lizard playing Billy Joel and Frank Sinatra?”

“You don’t like Billy Joel and Frank
Sinatra?”

“I do, when played by Billy Joel and Frank
Sinatra.”

“Well, I’m not really a nightclub kinda
gal…”

If John hadn’t glanced at her at that
precise moment, he would’ve missed the brief shadow that crossed her features.
Her voice, besides the slight pause that could’ve been for effect, gave no hint
of anything wrong as she continued. “I could do dinner in a nice restaurant
that
doesn’t
have a lounge lizard in the bar pounding out oldies on an
out-of-tune piano.”

“I know just the place.” A spot quiet and
intimate, yet with good food that filled the soul as well as the belly. He took
the next left.

“So you’re a doctor?”

Her question startled him. “No, I’m a
teacher. Why would—” He stopped. “Oh, because of yesterday?”

“Well, yeah. I’m a—was—a nurse. You set
that bone as if you’d done it a hundred times. Speaking of which, how is your
friend?”

“Chuck? He’s fine. He lost a lot of blood,
but your good work kept him from losing more. The surgery on the artery went
well and his leg will be in traction for a while, but he’ll heal.”

“Because of your quick action with the
compound fracture.”

“I’ve tended enough of them in my life. Not
all legs, but the technique doesn’t really change, whether it’s a finger, an
arm or a leg.”

“But you’re not a doctor.” He heard the
amusement in her voice.

“Nope. Teacher. High school social studies
with a specialty in American history.”

“Civil War in particular?”

Now it was his turn to grin. “Actually,
that’s one of my weak points. But a friend of mine is a reenactor and he talked
me in to giving it a try. Said maybe I’d learn something.”

“And have you?” She swayed as he made the
right into the parking lot at Bonacci’s, an upscale Italian restaurant, and
John wished he didn’t have bucket seats. He wouldn’t mind feeling her against
his arm. On second thought, maybe the bucket seats made better sense.