it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead right now,” she whispered, suddenly emotional.
“You’re a fighter, so my money’s on you to pull through,” Jim offered. When he saw her cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment, he murmured, “Sorry I had to undress you.” And then he managed a slight smile. “I don’t make a habit of undressing ladies without their permission.”
His quiet words dissolved Alex’s humiliation. “It wasn’t your fault.” Alex twisted her head enough to look at the compress over her wound. “You saw the shrapnel?”
“Yeah. It’s a pretty big dog-ugly piece.”
She grimaced at his colorful description. “Were you able to clean the wound out?” she asked as she lay back, exhausted.
“The best I could. You fainted as we reached the tunnel, so I took advantage of the situation. I used soap and water to clean it out before I dressed it.”
“Is it still bleeding?”
Jim shook his head. “No, it’s swollen and bruised-looking, but there’s no more bleeding.”
Relief shattered through Alex. “Good. Is there any redness around the wound? Any red streaks?” she asked, thinking of infection or blood poisoning.
“None so far.” Jim glanced at his watch’s luminous dial. “You’ve been asleep all night. That’s good.” He gazed upward toward the source of meager light. “It’s almost dawn.”
Alex stayed quiet a long time, thinking. “How near is the closest marine firebase?” she asked finally.
Jim set the bowl and cloth aside. He wrapped his arm around his drawn-up knee while keeping his other leg extended. “About ten miles, if memory serves me correctly.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Alex said, her voice quavering. “I’ve got enough nursing knowledge under my belt to know that if I don’t get this piece of shrapnel removed fast, I’ll be in real trouble.”
McKenzie heard the fear in her voice. Even in the waning moonlight gradually being replaced by dawn, Alexandra Vance was beautiful. The way her full lips moved, the fear in her eyes, touched him as nothing else had since that horrifying incident—Jim savagely shut down his thoughts, not wanting to relive that tragic day. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Alex, we aren’t going anywhere. We can’t.”
Her eyes rounded. “Why not?” she demanded, her voice going off-key.
Jim pointed to his leg. “I busted up my left leg three weeks ago. My recon team was hattin’ out for our prearranged pickup point when the VC discovered our presence. We were runnin’ hard, and I told my lieutenant, Matt Breckenridge, that I’d hang to the rear to protect the group. I got pretty far behind, and I wasn’t watching where I was going as closely as I should’ve been.” He grimaced. “I fell into this underground tunnel. It knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I woke up five hours later in the bottom of this place, my leg busted up, and alone.”
“My God. Didn’t your friends come back to get you?”
Jim shrugged. “Normally, no marine leaves a buddy in the field, but I think the tunnel brush hid the hole after I’d fallen into it, and they couldn’t find me. With the VC hot on their heels, they couldn’t spend the time to look long for me, anyway.”
“That happened three weeks ago?” Alex gasped, her gaze flying to his poorly splinted leg.
“Yeah. Recons are taught to be self-sufficient. I regained consciousness, realized I was in this place—” he raised his arm to encompass the space “—and started thinking about survival. This is an old, caved-in tunnel the VC used years ago, probably in the fifties, when they were fighting the French. That stream eventually weakened the dirt walls and the tunnel caved in. The VC haven’t been in here for years, from what I can tell.”
Alex could see more now that dawn light was cascading through the hole in the roof. The tunnel was about ten feet across and thirty feet long. At one end, loose dirt was evidence of the cave-in. She looked up.
“That ventilation hole doubles as an emergency exit,” Jim offered. “Probably was a ladder there at one time, but they took it with them when they left. When you fainted, I lowered you down here as carefully as I could. I didn’t want to start that shoulder of yours bleeding again if I could help it.”
Alex met and held his exhausted blue gaze. The ceiling was about five feet high, and she began to understand and appreciate Jim’s strength and vigilance. “You splinted your leg yourself?”
“Yes. There were plenty of sticks lying around on the floor. I had my knife, so I made these splints.” Pride sounded in his voice.
With a shake of her head, Alex whispered, “Did you have any pain pills?”
He patted the webbed belt at his waist. “All recons carry a pretty good first-aid kit. I had some pain killers, and used a couple of them, but they made me too groggy. VC were all around the place. I had to keep a clear head.”
“But...how did you eat that first week or two?” He wouldn’t have been able to get far with a broken leg.
With a one-cornered grin, Jim said, “Well, now, I’m not sure you want to know.”
“I do.”
With a shrug, he said, “There were a number of banded kraits—poisonous snakes—that were makin’ this place their home. That and rats...”
“Oh, dear...” Alex’s stomach surged and nausea overwhelmed her. She shut her eyes, fighting the reaction.
“Sorry,” Jim apologized. “Now, this past week, I can get around with the crutch I made, and I’ve mostly been living off edible roots topside. I found a VC camp nearby and stole some rice from them. Recons are taught to grub off the land in order to survive.”
“Where are you from?” Alex asked, purposely changing the topic.
He grinned boyishly for the first time. “I’m from the Show Me state, Missouri.” Pointing to his bare feet, he added, “I come from hill folk, and my ma and pa still live in a little cabin in a place known as Raven Holler. Ma makes quilts, and Pa, well...he makes ends meet by making white mule.”
“White mule?”
Jim smiled fondly, thinking back to his family and the growing-up years he’d loved. “Ever heard of white lightnin’?”
“Corn liquor?”
“The same. Pa makes two-hundred proof in stills he’s got hidden around the hills. So far, he’s avoided the law. He sells all he can make. He’s kinda well known for his white mule.”
Alex smiled gently, seeing Jim’s features relax in that moment. There was a burning flicker of hope in his eyes and a kind of dreaminess, as if he were back in Missouri.
“I like your Southern accent,” she offered. His voice, the softness of his drawl, was in direct opposition to his rough-hewn features.
“And you’ve got a voice like a nightingale,” Jim returned.
Alex smiled, feeling heat nettle her cheeks. “I wish I could sing like one. Thanks, anyway.” For the first time since the crash, she felt hope thread through her. “I’ve never met anyone from Missouri.”
“Outsiders call our people hillbillies, but—” Jim looked significantly around the tunnel “—everything I ever learned from my pa has helped keep me alive these past three weeks. None of those people who made fun of us or our lack of book learnin’ would have survived this long.”
Alex hurt for Jim. “People can be cruel,” she whispered. Her father came to mind.
“What about your family?”
“I’m the only girl,” Alex offered.
“Don’t make it sound so bad.”
She