Her Healing Touch

“That was close,” Burke murmured with a slight grin. He saw the shock and humiliation in Angel’s face. Somehow, he wanted to let her know it was okay, that he knew it was an accident.

“I didn’t mean it—”

“I know that,” he soothed. Turning, he opened the door. One of the panes had been shattered.

Elizabeth stuck her head around the door. “Angel?”

“Aww, the knife just slipped out of my hand, Doc.”

“Everyone okay?” She looked at them worriedly.

“Yeah,” Angel mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“No injuries,” Burke told her. “It was an accident….”

“Okay.” Elizabeth frowned. “Angel, why don’t you let the sergeant help you? I have nothing for him to do, and getting these supplies logged in is the most important activity right now.”

“Yeah…okay,” she muttered, defeated.

Burke looked around and found a small broom and a dustpan. He went about collecting the glass shards, pouring them into the wastebasket in the corner. Glancing toward Angel as he dumped the last pan, he saw the humiliation in her face. What could he say to her that wouldn’t make her more angry? Or defensive? Unsure, he put the broom and dustpan away.

“How’s the pain in that left shoulder? Pretty intense?”

Glumly, Angel looked up as Gifford squatted down in front of her, his long, lean hands dangling between his opened thighs. The expression on his face had thawed, and she saw his concern. Biting down on her lower lip, she mumbled, “Yeah, I was trying to open that box over there. I musta moved the wrong way, because I got such a sharp pain down my left arm, it surprised me.”

Looking around, Burke said quietly, “Want me to slit them open?”

“I guess….” Brows flattening, Angel decided she was saddled with this guy whether she liked it or not. “Go ahead, open them all.”

Burke nodded and slowly rose. He retrieved the errant knife and began to open the boxes, one after another. Angel pulled one toward where she was kneeling, to start to put the contents away, but before she knew it, Gifford had opened all twenty cartons and was handing the knife back to her.

“Can I put any of the stuff away?” he asked, pointing to the various-size dressings and bandages it contained.

“Yeah, over there, up on that shelf,” Angel said quietly, gesturing to a row of green metal shelves along the other wall. Relieved that he was going to take a box other than the one she was working on, she gave a little sigh.

Taking his time, Burke began to familiarize himself with how the supply area was laid out. It was obvious Angel didn’t want him anywhere near her. Too tired to try and think his way out of a paper bag at this point, Burke settled for distant civility from her. Militarily, Angel was the same rank as he, though she was in the Peruvian army instead of the U.S. one. In a sense, Burke was glad of the common ground, because if one of them had a higher rank, especially him, it would have probably added more fuel to the conflagration between them. And then everything would have gone to hell in a handbasket, as his pa would have said. Not that it hadn’t already. How could he save what was left of their tattered relationship? Burke didn’t know at this point. He felt as if he was walking on land mines every minute with Angel. She might have a wonderful name, but in his eyes she was acting like a devil.

“Tell me about your people,” Burke said casually as he stocked the shelves. “I didn’t get much of a briefing on you before I left. I’d like to try and understand so I don’t keep setting off land mines between us.”

Giving him a dark look, Angel hesitated. She was standing on the opposite side of the room, putting away syringes. “Are you familiar with the Incas?” Over the years, she had found that North Americans really weren’t up on history, especially involving anyone outside their own country. She found that amazing. World history had been a very important part of her own education.

“Not really.”

“Thought so.”

“Excuse me?” Burke twisted to look over his shoulder, his hand poised in midair. Seeing the scowl on Angel’s face, he wondered what she was so upset about now.

“How much history did you have in school, Sergeant?”

“Not much.”

“That’s my point. I find norteamericanos sadly lacking in knowledge of anyone but themselves.”

“You’re right,” Burke said, putting the dressings away. “We need to widen our horizon to include everyone else.” Giving her a brief smile, he said, “So enlighten me, will you? I’m all ears.”

That slight, boyish smile he gave her, stunned Angel. For a moment, Gifford’s face had magically transformed again. The sight left her breathless. And interested in ways she didn’t want to be.

Taking a steadying breath, she began. “The Inca Empire stretched from Ecuador down through Chile at one time. The Incas’ descendants—my people—are called the Quero. We speak a language known as Quechua. The Quero live in scattered communities across Peru. There aren’t many of us left, and those that are left are looked down upon like rats or something worse by descendants of the Spanish people who conquered us.”

“More prejudice,” he murmured, realizing that some of her prickliness might be due to how other Peruvians viewed her and her people.

“Yeah, for sure.” Angel bent and picked up another box of syringes. “My village is in Rainbow Valley, above Agua Caliente. The Quero are farming people. We live with the land, not on it. Our belief system formed the underpinnings of the entire Inca Empire.”

“Which is?”

“What religion are you, Sergeant?”

“Protestant. Why?”

“Well, by your standards, I’m a pagan,” Angel said with a savage grin. “Years ago I would have probably been burned at the stake, because my belief system is an earth-centered one.” She pointed down at the floor. “You know about Mother Earth. My people believe we’re all related and connected, and that everything comes from her.”

“I see.” Burke turned and folded up the box he’d emptied, then placed it in the corner. Moving to another box near Angel, he took a risk and sat down about six feet away from her. “My pa is part Choctaw Indian, even though he goes to a Protestant church with my mother,” he said. “I grew up hearing a lot of Choctaw stories, so I’m sort of familiar with what you’re talking about.”

“Well,” Angel said darkly, “at least you’ve got some Indian blood runnin’ through your veins.”

“Is that good?”

She managed a sour smile. “To me, it is. Indians are Indians. Full-or part-blood doesn’t matter.”

“What does it mean to you?” he asked, folding his hands in his lap.

“Blood is memory, Sergeant. Through it our ancestors speak to us, from the past into our present.”

“You can call me Burke if you want.” He held out the offer like a tentative olive branch. Perhaps the fact that he had Choctaw blood in him would help her open up more to him. He saw her sit back on her heels, studying him with her intense brown eyes, her lips compressed as she considered his request.

“Yeah…well, okay…but continue to call me Paredes or Sergeant.”

“Great. How about a coffee break? Or do you get those around here?” he asked wryly. “I’m about twenty-four hours without sleep and I want to keep going today and crash tonight.”

“Oh…” Angel felt foolish. She was being very self-centered right now. Overly so. Why hadn’t she considered that the sergeant—Burke—had had a long, hard flight and was probably sleep-deprived? If he’d been a woman, Angel would have instantly considered that possibility. Angry with herself, she realized she was being prejudiced toward him because he was a man. Well, men weren’t exactly stellar in her universe, anyway—and it had taken five long years for her to get over the last man she’d allowed herself to love. At that time, Angel had sworn she’d never tangle with another one. The pain of lost love was too much to ever bear twice.

“Er, sure. We can take a break. Let’s go.” She quickly scrambled to her feet, her right hand beneath her left elbow to stabilize her shoulder.

“Music to my ears,” Burke said to her, slowly unwinding in turn. Dusting off his knees and the seat of his pants, he followed Angel to the door. He didn’t make the mistake of trying to open it this time, letting her do it, instead.

Angel gave the gaping hole in the door a sad look. “I gotta get someone over here to fix that,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. At the front of the dispensary, she saw the doctor still working on paperwork at her desk.

“We’re gonna take a break, Liz.”