Kindle Edition
Amazon
Becky Lower Author
Category:
Romance
Publisher: Books To Go Now
ISBN-10: 1497582873
Type: Fiction
Pages: 139
Copyright: April 9, 2014
ISBN-13: 9781497582873
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Evelyn Hammer is a woman on the run, even after twenty years. Max Bainbridge is a news reporter who smells a huge story in her, but his heart gets in the way of the headline.
Max Bainbridge is an ace newspaper reporter who gets all the biggest assignments, most recently covering the fighting in Afghanistan. When he is shot on the battlefields, he is operated on and then flown home. The nurse responsible for his subsequent care is Evelyn Hammer, a 35-year-old woman who ran for her life, and from the musical spotlight, when she was 17 and on the cusp of fame. Her new identity has been in place, and impenetrable, ever since. Over the years, she’s found singing is a more soothing way to wake people from surgery, and they are usually so foggy they don’t realize she’s been singing to them. Until Max, that is.
Evelyn knows she’s breaking one of the cardinal rules of nursing by dating a patient, but she can’t resist Max. What begins as an innocent affair with a definite expiration date when Max leaves for his next assignment becomes a real threat to unmasking Evelyn’s hidden identity. Max can’t control his journalism instincts as one clue after another emerges and he realizes he doesn’t know the person he’s fallen in love with.
Only by uncovering Evelyn’s secret past can they move forward with their future. But her past is still there, and threatening. Some secrets are better left alone.
Excerpt
Max thought he must be in heaven, because a host of angels was singing in his ear. Well, maybe not a host, just one. But what a voice—soft, gentle, perfect and clear. And the song she sang sounded so haunting and pure, a tune he recognized. It reminded him of something he’d heard before, long ago. But what? And by whom?
"It's time to wake up now, Max," the voice said softly, and a hand tapped his arm.
Although he wanted to sleep for days, Max opened his eyes, and then closed them again to blot out the harsh glare of the room. This wasn't heaven! No fluffy clouds, no angels with white wings, plucking on harps and singing gently to him. He cautiously opened his eyes again and glanced around the room in confusion. Machines beeped, and heavy sunlight streamed in through the window. From somewhere, a loudspeaker blared, paging a doctor, and a strong smell of antiseptic assaulted his nose. His mouth was as bone dry as the dust he’d left behind in Afghanistan. Even with the sun, the room was cold, hard and metallic. So he focused on the one thing in the room that was none of those things.
The woman stood next to the bed, dressed head to toe in medical scrubs—moss green ones. Max noticed they matched her eyes perfectly. The color of both her scrubs and her eyes made her appear soft in the harsh room. Almost as if a pastel painting from another era had been superimposed on a twenty-first century sterile hospital room. She smiled at him as she took his cold hand in her warm one, and the chill of the room disappeared.
"Hello, Max. Welcome back to the land of the living." Her fingers encircled his wrist and took his pulse.
He remembered, in a sudden rush, where he was and why. "So I made it through surgery?" His voice croaked, as if he was an old man.
"Not just one surgery. You were treated in a triage unit in Afghanistan, set up near where you were hit with shrapnel. Then, you were flown out to Ramstein Air Base in Germany and transported to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, where you were operated on again. From there, you were flown stateside. You were kept sedated during all that travel to lessen the stress on your body. But you’re at the end of your journey now. You're back in Washington, D.C. You've got a really strong heart. Even though quite a bit of shrapnel was removed, you'll live to tell your grandkids about it.”
Max twisted in the bed, and tried to move his legs. His jerky movements brought the nurse back to his side.
"Take it easy," the woman in scrubs cautioned as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've been through a lot, so it's natural for the body to need time to recuperate. Just returning home from Afghanistan would be enough to tire out most men, even if they’re not injured. Do you need another cover?”
He was weak as a baby bird, and just as vulnerable. Besides, the warmth of her hand on his shoulder was comforting—human contact, after months of living in fear. He did as she bid, wincing as he moved his arm and placed his own hand over hers, to keep her near.
"No, no more blankets. You know my name. What's yours?”
"I'm Evelyn, your nurse for the next seven hours.”
"Did you sing to wake me up?”
She smiled. "It must have been in your head. I don't sing.”
"But it was the most beautiful voice, beckoning me to wake up...almost a siren song.”
She glanced down at him. "Well, however it happened, I'm glad you're awake. Now, may I have my hand back?”
Reluctantly, he let her go. A blast of cold air hit his body when she removed her hand from his. She bustled around the room, checking monitors, straightening sheets, adding a blanket to his bed. He kept his eyes on her, fighting against sleep. He feared she was an apparition, and if he fell asleep again, when he woke, she'd be gone. Just his luck, to have found his soul mate at last, and not be in any condition to hit on her.
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