Taking Cover

Tanner held his right hand up and kept walking, if his shuffle-swagger could be called that. Frustration fired within her until she could almost feel the snowflakes steaming off her. Of all the thick-headed, arrogant stunts he’d—

Reluctant remorse encroached on her anger as she watched him struggle to board the bus.

But what could she do? She couldn’t force him to seek treatment if he wouldn’t admit to a problem. If she were a gambler, she would bet he hadn’t even been the one to place the call for a flight surgeon in the first place.

Not that she was one to waste her money, time or energy on chance. Logic served better.

And more faithfully.

Kathleen clambered back inside the ambulance, her exasperation over his senseless testosterone dance igniting again. Logic told her Tanner Bennett wouldn’t be able to roll out of bed by morning, and she was the flight surgeon on call until noon.

She slammed the ambulance door shut. Hard. With any luck the big lug would oversleep and someone else could treat his wounded back and tender ego.

Too late, Kathleen recalled she’d never believed in luck any more than chance.

Chapter 2

Two hundred twenty-three. Two hundred twenty-four.

Tanner counted the tan cinderblocks in the wall for the eleventh time that morning. Not much else to do since he couldn’t move. His reach for the telephone fifteen minutes ago had left him cursing—and shaking.

He cut his gaze toward the clock, not risking more than half a head turn.

The time—8:30 a.m.—glowed from the clock in the dim room, the only other light slanting through a slight part in the curtains.

He sure hoped Cutter had gone on call at eight.

After waking and realizing he couldn’t haul his sorry butt out of bed, Tanner had shouted for Lance in the next VOQ—Visiting Officer’s Quarter. Their rooms, connected by a bath, were close enough that Lance would have heard had he been around. No luck. The telephone call to the clinic had been a last-ditch resort.

Where was Cutter? Didn’t the guy ever check his messages?

Tanner hiked the polyester bedspread over his bare chest. Even the small movement hurt like a son of a gun. How long before it let up? Lying around left him with too much time to think. He preferred action, needed to be back out on the flight line.

The flight line.

Images of Kathleen O’Connell looking mad enough to chew rivets blindsided Tanner when he didn’t have any chance or the physical capability of ducking.

Had he actually touched her?

Awash in postbattle adrenaline, he’d found her fire stirred his, as well. With a will of its own, his hand had swiped that silky strand of hair away from her face.

Surely the impulse was only combat aftermath, emotions running high. He didn’t think of her that way.

But he had before.

Tanner’s head dug back in his pillow as if he might somehow dodge memories he couldn’t suppress. His first day at the Air Force Academy, he’d seen Kathleen walking across the parade ground, vibrant, toned and radiating a confidence that had found an answer within him. Every hormone in his eighteen-year-old body had roared to life.

Until he’d noticed she wore a beret with her uniform, the distinguishing symbol of an upperclassman.

Relationships between upperclassmen and freshmen-doolies were forbidden. Grounds for expulsion. And he wasn’t throwing away his career for anyone.

Maybe later, he’d thought….

Later she’d become his training officer and his own personal ticket to hell. Training officers were universally resented by the doolies they hammered into Academy material.

Tanner had stuffed his hormones into his footlocker and concentrated on getting through his freshman year. Becoming a pilot meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t risk it.

Something that hadn’t changed in twelve years.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Closer. With a light tread that launched a wave of foreboding in Tanner. Unless Cutter had lost about seventy pounds and developed a decided glide to his walk, those footsteps didn’t belong to him.

Two quick raps sounded on the door.

Foreboding death-spiraled into certainty. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door swung wide, revealing Kathleen O’Connell.

His libido crashed and burned. And damn, but it was one hell of a plunge.

She lounged against the door frame, wearing lime-green scrubs, instead of her regular forest-green flight suit. Cotton hugged gentle curves her bulky uniform usually disguised. Her leather flight jacket hung loose as she hooked a hand on one shapely hip. “Well, good morning, hotshot. How’s the back?”

Did she have to sound so chipper, look so hot? Small but fit, her tight body tugged his gaze into a slow glide he didn’t have the reserves to resist. She came by those taut muscles honestly. More than once over the past year, the two of them had pitted themselves against each other doing sit-ups during physical training.

A stethoscope dangled around her neck, nestling between breasts that were as understated and damned irresistible as the rest of her. Apparently, the attraction hadn’t left after all, only slipping out of formation while waiting to rejoin without warning.

Time to pull out the old footlocker and replace the padlock on his hormones.

A strange thought taunted. Could their arguments have been a way of rechanneling his lust? Damn it all. “Figures you would be a morning person.”

Kathleen’s wicked smile creased her blue cat eyes. “And with next to no sleep. Imagine that? Come on. Hop up and let’s go to breakfast. What? Having a little trouble moving are we? Hmmm.” She pressed a slim finger against her pursed lips. “Guess that’s to be expected when someone ignores his doctor’s advice. Word around the water cooler has it that you even skipped out on your last chiropractor appointment.”

Tanner tapped precious energy reserves to tuck his good arm behind his head casually. “What are you gonna do, bludgeon me with your pocket edition UCMJ manual?”

“My, we’re cranky today. Just think, you could have been languishing in a Demerol daze as we speak. But, nope. You had to play the tough guy.”

“Doc, your bedside manner sucks.”

Her smile tightened. “Chalk it up to sleep deprivation. Two house calls in less than twelve hours qualifies as more TLC than you’re issued, soldier. In the civilian world I could have financed a summer home with the overtime you’re demanding.”

He might as well have been a freshman again, pumping push-ups over some infraction. She wasn’t going to cut him any slack. “And you’ve opted to take it out of my hide, instead.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She smoothed her already immaculate hair. No sneaky strands slipping loose today, her red mane was swept back into her traditional French braid with the short tail secured under.

Tanner frowned. When had he started noticing how she styled her hair? She’d kept it cropped at the Academy, he remembered that much. Until he’d seen it loose on the flight line, he hadn’t given much thought to its longer length hidden inside that braid.

Now he couldn’t think of anything but wild red strands wind-whipped around her composed face.

Kathleen uncrossed her feet and flicked on the overhead light. “While the conversation is positively stimulating, I’ve got other patients to see. Ones who want to get well. Sit up and let’s take a look.”