She refused to think about that. Gray would patch them up and board them. When it came to his job, the man was determination personified.
Lori flipped her braid over her shoulder. "What do you need from me?"
His eyes snapped to hers. "Going for a little rule breaking yourself, huh?"
She shot him her best withering stare. "In the examinations."
A self-deprecating smile flickered across his face before disappearing altogether. "Keep the flow moving, bring me a child, pass the one I just finished with over to the load-masters so we can board them. The faster we get out of here the better."
"I thought we had four hours?"
"The sooner we're out of here, the better," he repeated. Bombs growled in the distance as if applauding him. Uniformed workers didn't even break stride. Children barely winced. "Thank God the Red Cross already gave them their immunizations and TB tests. Saved us time and the kids' irritability in-flight. For now, anything you can do to calm them, hugs, pats, whatever, will speed things along."
"Like their mothers would have done for them in a checkup." Her own mother hadn't been much for chicken soup, but she'd always ordered the best of room service. Hugs and an afternoon of cartoons rounded out the treatment. Hugs. The cure-all for kids. She could do that. Longed to do that.
"Exactly." Gray's gaze swept the roomful of children who would never see their mothers again. His cheeks puffed on an exhale. "Just do what you can for them."
"Got it."
A representative from the orphanage brought the first child forward—a toddler, not more than a couple of years old but with none of the chubby-cheeked health of the babies in Lori's dreams. Carefully she scooped him into her arms. So frail. Even needing a bath and fresh clothes, he carried that precious baby scent universal to all small children.
Cocking his head to the side, the boy studied her with dark, curious eyes. Quick as a flash, he yanked her braid.
"You're a little stinker." She grasped the tail of her braid and tickled his chin, earning a gurgling giggle. She passed him to Gray, their eyes locking over the tiny head. Their arms brushed in the exchange.
For the first time in a year he touched her, and the pure pleasure of that careless caress closed her throat. She wanted more, like a dangerous, addictive narcotic. She wanted his hands on her again.
Lori transferred the toddler to Gray and backed away.
He plopped the child on the edge of the gurney. With a broad, gentle hand he chucked him under the chin and tipped up the boy's name tag pinned to his tattered sleeper. "Well, hello, Ladislov. What a big name for a little guy."
Gray kept his tone low and reassuring as he skimmed off the sleeper, stripping the baby down to his diaper.
Those big hands were so tender with the child, Lori had to look away. "Sorry. I should have done that for you."
"Next time. We're fine now. Right, Ladislov?" Gray ran his hands along spindly legs and arms, explored a bump on the boy's head, listened to his chest, continuing the physical with relative ease until he tried to peer inside the child's ears.
Ladislov made his displeasure known.
Loudly.
He lurched off the gurney.
Gray and Lori both caught him in midair.
Lori took control and cradled the screeching child. "Hang on. I'll have him settled in a second."
She tucked her chin on top of his head and swayed from side to side, humming reassurance. The oddly domestic scenario wrapped around her and squeezed with suffocating force.
Life wasn't playing fair today, either.
The baby's shrieks dwindled to hiccuping sobs. Gray scratched his jaw. "Just sit on the gurney. Hold him, but turn him to face me and I'll finish up."
Lori hitched onto the edge, a difficult maneuver with at least twenty pounds of baby crawling to snuggle closer. Gray braced her elbow and balanced, lifting until she perched in front of him. His hand dropped away a second too fast.
Her elbow burned.
Gray selected an instrument from the tray. "I need to check his ears. Hold his arms for me." Gray flipped the light off and on in front of Ladislov's face. "See, pal. Just an otoscope. Nothing scary, right?"