I LOVE ALL OF MY FOLLOWERS, FAVORITES, AND REVIEWERS! YOU ARE AMAZING. NOW THAT THE HOLIDAYS ARE WINDING DOWN, EXPECT MORE FREQUENT UPDATES. I HOPE THE HOLIDAYS FOUND YOU ALL HAPPY, HEALTHY, AND SURROUNDED BY LOVE. 2016 HOLDS AMAZING THINGS FOR ALL OF US, AND I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST! KEEP READING AND REVIEWING!

**WINTERS POV**

"The company has been welcomed in and bedded down inside the church, sir. Lipton made this roster of the men. It seems as though we lost about half in the time we've been here. There is probably still one or two that need to be evacuated, but morale has improved considerably."

Spiers delivered a brief report upon returning to Battalion. I had not seen Rose since Foy, and I tried not to be too obvious as I probed for details.

"The remaining wounded. How are they? Have the medics been able to see to everyone?"

"Yes sir. It appears that Perconte will need to go to the hospital, and perhaps a case of trench-foot or two. James seems to be doing much better, Captain. Roe was able to stop the bleeding and clean her up. It was a graze from the sniper. Fairly deep and dangerously close to her artery, but he has it dressed and says that it will heal on its own. It doesn't seem that she will need to be evacuated."

"Too bad." I had not meant for the thought to leave my head, much less loud enough for anyone to hear, but Spiers looked at me curiously and Harry and Lew seemed to be fighting back laughter. "I mean, I'm sure Perconte would enjoy having a familiar face if he has to go to the hospital."

"Yes sir. I'm sure he would."

I dismissed Spiers and sat back down at a small desk, ignoring the other two men as I began jotting down notes for the After Action Reports that I still needed to write. They stood, arms crossed, biting back smiles until I finally gave in and looked up.

"Can I help you two? Or are you just hanging around to help me write these reports?"

"I can have her sent over so that you can check her out for yourself, Dick."

"And what exactly is wrong with me inquiring about the well-being of the wounded? Just because she happens to be one of them? I'm sure that Doc is taking care of everyone. I just wanted to make sure that he had all the supplies he needed."

"Uh huh," Nix nodded, watching me take a sip from my canteen. "So it wouldn't bother you to know that she was curled up, sound asleep in Bull Randleman's arms when I stopped in on my way here?"

I choked on the water, coughing and sputtering until I finally managed to get out a weak, "No. Why should it?"

He just raised an eyebrow at me, shaking his head as he followed Harry out of the room. I watched them go and sat back down, intent on finishing my reports, but it was useless. My concentration destroyed, I gave in and tried to get comfortable on a small cot, willing my mind away from her as best I could. Still, try as I might, she haunted my dreams because in those dreams, there was nothing to prevent me from sweeping her off of her feet and into my arms. In my dreams, I could touch her and hold her and kiss her. In my dreams, we could be together.

Several restless hours later, I pulled myself away from my dreams and the cot to attend a briefing for which I had been summoned. Hitler, I learned, had launched a counteroffensive in Alsace. Instead of being pulled from the line to rest, we were ordered to Hagueneau, France to hold the line. There was some loose discussion about ways to obtain prisoners of war for interrogation, at which Nixon and I exchanged looks that said we both hoped no hard plan for such materialized. Things were finally looking up. We had come too far to risk more lives on something so pointless. Still, we prepared the battalion and moved out toward the unknown.

I saw her climb into the truck just ahead of my jeep or, rather, I saw Randleman lift her effortlessly into the truck. I tried to avert my gaze quickly but she caught my eyes as she settled onto the bench seat nearest the tailgate, tucked safely under the tree-trunk-sized arm of her constant companion. I froze for the briefest second, unsure of whether to turn away or acknowledge her. In that moment, I tortured myself silently, still acutely aware of that Nixon-devil on my shoulder. He was laughing at me.

Turning away when I had so clearly seen her might hurt her feelings. But what if it didn't hurt her feelings? What if it just confused things? If she'd decided to be will Bull now, did I want to create confusion? What if she didn't care to be acknowledged by me any longer? Did my concern for her matter anymore, beyond just that of a commanding officer? And then there was the problem of Nix, seated just beside me in the jeep. If I made any gesture, he would certainly notice. I couldn't single her out without listening to him needle me for the duration of the ride back to France. In that moment, the decision was made for me. She smiled. At me. And despite my best efforts to minimize my reaction, I could feel the burn of the blood rushing to my cheeks as I instinctively returned the gesture.

Without thinking, I stepped away from the jeep I had been climbing into and approached the rear of the truck where she was sitting. Perconte lay sprawled in the bed, hitching a ride toward the hospital nearest to where we were headed and, to my relief, providing me with an excuse to feed Nixon about why I had briefly delayed taking my place in the jeep.

"How are you holding up, Perconte?"

"Doing okay, sir. Doc's keeping me pretty comfortable."

"Good. Take care of yourself, and don't go rushing back once we get you to the hospital. We need you, but we need you healthy."

"Yes sir," he answered, offering his trademark grin and settling back comfortably on the blankets the rest of the troopers had piled up to pad his ride.

I turned toward Rose and found her already watching my face, her own etched with something between relief and uncertainty.

"Rose…" I wanted to ask how she was, but I wasn't sure if I could do it without revealing that it was more than just a passing inquiry.

"Sir."

"Are you… um… I mean, was Doc able to get you taken care of?"

"Yes sir."

Bull Randleman, the source of so much of my anxiety over the last month or so, seemed to sense the tension and uncertainty in the air. Bless him, he took one look at my face and saw all of the questions I couldn't ask in my eyes.

Carefully pulling the bandage back away from her neck, he gave me a small nod as he said, "Here, Rose. Doc wanted me to put a fresh bandage over this before we started moving. We might get bounced around a bit, and even though it didn't hit the artery, he didn't want those couple of stitches opening back up. Looked a lot worse than it was, but you can't be too careful, right sir?"

As he asked, he turned her toward him so that I could get a good view of the wound. I immediately felt the knot in my stomach loosen. He was right. It had been close to the artery, but now that she was no longer covered in blood, it was clear that she would be alright.

"Absolutely! You can never be too careful. I can't afford to have you bleeding nearly to death again," I replied a little too quickly, and the large man gave me a smirk that let me know he had indeed seen right through my ruse. In an instant, I knew that he knew everything. Of course she would have told him. It shook me a bit, and I quickly added, "Take care of her, Randleman," and backed away from the truck.

I felt three sets of eyes following me all the way to the jeep. Two held knowing and mild amusement, and the third held confusion and, to my own discomfort, a tinge of hurt. My last statement had come across as a bit curt, even dismissive. It was then that I realized that lingering in this sort of purgatory, pushing her away because it was what my head told me must be done and not wanting her to move on from those moments we had shared in Paris because it made my heart twist uncomfortably to imagine her with someone else, was making life as difficult for her as it was for me.

As I climbed silently into the jeep beside my smirking friend, I resolved that I would find time to have a frank discussion with her once we had settled into Hagueneau. I had to let her go. Out loud. Make a clean break. It was for her own good, and mine, and the good of all those under my charge. She was professional. She would understand. She had always understood. We just didn't make the clean break we should have in Paris. I certainly hadn't helped matters when I let my heart take over in the Bois Jacques. She could move on with her life, wherever that might lead her. If that path took her to Bull Randleman, then so be it. As the convoy rumbled forward, I steeled myself with a new resolve. My head was back in control and I was determined to keep it that way, even as the memory of her chapped-but-still-soft lips burned against my own. My fingers touched them reflexively. No. I was a logical, reasonable, well-trained officer. I could banish these feelings to the back of my mind. Beside me, Nix chuckled.

"Keep telling yourself that, Dick."