Memory Between Us (Wings of Glory Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Sarah Sundin

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227 pages

English

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Major Jack Novak has never failed to meet a challenge--until he meets army nurse Lieutenant Ruth Doherty. When Jack lands in the army hospital after a plane crash, he makes winning Ruth's heart a top priority mission. But he has his work cut out for him. Not only is Ruth focused on her work in order to support her orphaned siblings back home, she carries a shameful secret that keeps her from giving her heart to any man. Can Jack break down her defenses? Or are they destined to go their separate ways?A Memory Between Us is the second book in the WINGS OF GLORY series, which follows the three Novak brothers, B-17 bomber pilots with the US Eighth Air Force stationed in England during World War II.

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441213549
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2010 by Sarah Sundin
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2011
Ebook corrections 02.13.2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-1354-9
Published in association with the literary agency Books & Such, 52 Mission Circle #122 PMB 170, Santa Rosa, California 95409.
“The U.S. Air Force” by Robert Crawford. Copyright © 1939 by Carl Fischer, Inc. Copyright renewed. All rights assigned to Carl Fischer, LLC. All rights reserved.
“Der Fuehrer’s Face” by Oliver Wallace. Used by permission of Southern Music Publishing Co., Inc. All rights reserved.
“I Can’t Get Started.” Words by Ira Gershwin. Music by Vernon Duke. © 1935 (renewed) Ira Gershwin Music and Chappell & Co., Inc. All rights for Ira Gershwin Music administered by WB Music Corp. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Alfred Publishing Co. Inc.
“Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer.” Music by Jimmy McHugh. Words by Harold Adamson. © 1943 (renewed) EMI Robbins Catalog Inc. and Jimmy McHugh Music. Rights for the extended term of copyright in the U.S. assigned to Cotton Club Publishing (administered by Universal-MCA Music Publishing, a division of Universal Studios Inc.) and Harold Adamson Music (administered by the Songwriters Guild of America). All rights reserved. Used by permission.
“Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer.” Words and music by Jimmy McHugh and Harold Adamson. © 1943 (renewed 1971) Cotton Club Publishing and Robbins Music Corp. All rights for Cotton Club Publishing in the United States controlled and administered by EMI April Music Inc. Rights for Robbins Music Corp. assigned to EMI Catalogue Partnership. All rights for EMI Catalogue Partnership controlled and administered by EMI Robbins Catalog Inc. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission. Reprinted by permission of Hal Leonard Corporation.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
In loving memory of Roderick M. Stewart, my great-uncle, who served in the squadron of B-17s flying into Pearl Harbor during the attack, commanded a squadron with the 94th Bombardment Group, and piloted a Flying Fortress under the Golden Gate Bridge.
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
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Discussion Question
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Sarah Sundin
Ads
Back Cover
1
2nd Evacuation Hospital; Diddington, Huntingdonshire, England
March 3, 1943
Lt. Penelope Ruth Doherty braced open the window and drank in cool air to settle her stomach. “There, gentlemen. Isn’t it nice to have fresh air in here?”
In the bed next to the window, Lieutenant Lumley snorted. “Ma’am, I’m from Arizona. To me, this soggy English air is more lethal than Nazi bullets.”
Ruth smiled at her patient, who had broken an ankle when his P-38 Lightning crashed on landing. “Good air circulation is important for wound healing.” And for clearing the nauseating smell of breakfast sausage from the tin can of a ward.
“Say, Red, you know what would heal my wounds?” The new patient, Lieutenant Holmes, pointed to his lips and dropped Ruth a wink.
Ruth gave him a sweet smile. “You’d like another dose of castor oil?”
“And it’s Lieutenant Doherty to you.” Ruth’s medic, Technical Sergeant Giovanni, set his supply tray next to Lieutenant Holmes’s bed. “Now, time to swab your wounds.” A German shell had filled the navigator’s back with shrapnel.
“Besides, her hair is more auburn than red.” Lieutenant Lumley’s gaze had a softer cast than usual. Thank goodness, he was due to be discharged.
“I’ll be back with the morning meds.” Ruth passed one of the potbellied coal stoves in the aisle.
“Ouch!” Lieutenant Holmes cried out.
“Whatza matter? Does it sting the widdle baby?” Sergeant Giovanni’s voice oozed fake sympathy.
“Better not be iodine. Makes my throat swell up something fierce.”
Ruth’s feet stopped along with her heart, and she slowly turned to her medic. Sergeant Giovanni’s burly face stretched long in horror. Of course he was using iodine.
Anaphylaxis. She needed to act quickly without alerting her patient, keep a level head, and control her emotions as she had been trained. Panic would make his condition worse.
She returned to Lieutenant Holmes’s bed and put on her cheeriest smile and voice. “What would feel good on those wounds would be a nice rinse with cool water. Sergeant, would you please fetch Dr. Sinclair? I’d like to discuss Lieutenant Lumley’s discharge with him.” She locked her gaze on her medic. “Now,” she mouthed.
“Sure thing, boss.” The sergeant strode for the door.
Ruth grabbed towels from the drawer in the bedside table and braced them on either side of her patient’s torso, and then gently poured water over the brown stains and dabbed them with another towel. Too late, but she wanted to reduce the amount of iodine in the poor man’s system. “Now, doesn’t that feel nice?”
“I’d rather have a kiss.”
“And I’d rather have a million dollars, but neither is going to happen.”
“I don’t know about that. I can feel that kiss already. My lips are all tingly.”
Ruth’s hand tightened on the towel. He was going into anaphylaxis, but where was Dr. Sinclair? Only he could give the adrenaline needed to save this man’s life. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
At a fast clip, Ruth went to the medication room, where Lt. Harriet Marshall was completing her narcotic count from the end of her night shift. “Excuse me. I need to get some adrenaline and morphine. Lieutenant Holmes is going into anaphylaxis.”
Harriet’s elfin face blanched. “Oh no. Thank goodness Dr. Sinclair is on the ward.”
“Not yet.” Ruth grabbed a tray and put two sterilized syringes on top.
“So—so why are you already getting the meds?”
“I want to be ready when he comes. I can’t waste any time.” One vial of adrenaline.
“But he hasn’t ordered them yet.”
Ruth leveled a look at the girl. “I know the treatment for anaphylaxis.”
“That—that’s presumptuous of you. You’ll make the doctor angry.”
Ruth pulled a vial of morphine. “I don’t care about the doctor’s feelings; I care about my patient’s life.” She ignored Harriet’s gasp and returned to Lieutenant Holmes’s bedside.
He stared up at her with wild eyes. “My throat—it itches, it’s swelling up. Was that iodine?”
“Yes, sir, it was, but Dr. Sinclair is on his way.” She gave him her most soothing smile. “Now, let’s get you in a more comfortable position.” Ruth patted his back dry and helped him roll over.
Lieutenant Holmes clawed at his throat. “I can’t—I can’t breathe.” Red hives dotted his fair skin.
“Sure, you can breathe. Stay very calm. Very calm, and think about something else. Where are you from, Lieutenant?”
“New—Hampshire.” His chest heaved out the words.
Ruth filled a syringe with adrenaline. “So you’re used to this cold weather, unlike Arizona over there. Me too. I’m from Chicago. In fact, this must feel warm and balmy to you.”
The patient’s only response was a series of raspy, labored breaths. Where on earth was that doctor? “Lord, help me,” she whispered.
Ruth pulled up a dose of morphine and chattered about the way the snow filled the streets of her slum and made them look clean for a change, until the thaw made them look worse than ever. But as Lieutenant Holmes gasped for air, all she could see were Pa’s last breaths as the blood clot settled in his lungs and Ma’s wheezes as she wasted away with pneumonia.
As a nursing student, she couldn’t help her parents, and now as a nurse, she couldn’t help this young man. She glanced at the clock on the wall. If Dr. Sinclair didn’t come in the next sixty seconds, she’d give the adrenaline herself.
And lose her position? As the oldest of seven, she had a responsibility to her brothers and sisters. How could they get by without her support?
Images of those beloved faces swam before her—her purpose, her joy. Why did it always have to be this way? Why did she have to choose between doing the right thing and protecting her family?
Dr. Sinclair burst through the door, his white lab coat flying, and Ruth let out a deep sigh.
“Lieutenant Doherty, get me some adrenaline.”
“Right here, sir.” She handed him the syringe.
He stared at it. “Three two-hundredths of a grain?”
“Yes, sir.”
His jaw jutted forward, but he administered the dose and followed it with morphine.
Within the course of an hour, they had stabilized Lieutenant Holmes. Ruth cleansed his wounds, replaced his dressings, and changed the wet bedding. Then she took the empty syringes and vials back to the medication room, where she dropped the syringes into a pan filled with blue green bichloride of mercury solution.
“I suppose I should be mad at you.” Dr. Sinclair leaned his tall frame against the open door.
Ruth shook the pan until the syringes were submerged. “My job is to care for the patient.”
“And to anticipate my needs. I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. I know proper treatment.”
“You should have been a physician.”
Ruth shook her head. If he only knew what she had to do to scrape up money for nursing school. “Too smart for that.”
His chuckles drew nearer, and Ruth stiffened. She didn’t feel like fending off another pass from this man.
“I know thi