Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

"Overnight in the infirmary should have him back on his feet, ready for desk duty within twenty-four hours. Two weeks on muscle relaxants. I'll reevaluate then, but he'll likely be on flying status again within four weeks. As long as he keeps up with his chiropractor appointments, there shouldn't be a repeat."

The commander shot her a thumbs-up. "That works."

Tanner studied his boss for signs of impatience over the lost air time and found none. No gripes or pressure to get him into action? Unusual for Dawson. "Thanks for stopping by, sir."

"Just checking on one of my men. And having O'Connell here saves me arranging a meeting later." The commander plucked a metal chair from the corner and straddled it, his arms resting along the back. "Doc, how about pull up a seat and let's chat."

Eyes wary, Kathleen lowered herself to the recliner by Tanner's bed. "Yes, sir?"

The commander scrubbed a hand along his close-shorn hair, taking his sweet Texas time. "See, I've got this morale problem in my squadron, and that concerns me.">The door swung open and Major Grayson "Cutter" Clark strode through, wearing a flight suit and a cocky grin. "Hey, pal. Check out the nifty nightie they issued you."

Tanner shifted in the cotton hospital gown. Damn thing didn't fit right anyway. "About time you decided to drop in. Where were you when I needed you, bud?"

"Sorry, but I wasn't on call. Only just now heard the news over at the clinic. I thought for sure O'Connell would have you in traction. Too bad. I had the big piñata joke all ready to go."

Tanner snorted, then winced. He could always count on crew dog camaraderie to lighten his mood. "Don't make me laugh."

"Builds character." Cutter snagged the clipboard from the foot of Tanner's bed. He flipped pages. "Hmmm. Good stuff she's got you on. Demerol, no less. You must have wrecked yourself to be hurting through all this."

Tanner grunted. "A day off my feet and I'll be fine."

"Then you and O'Connell can tangle it up again."

Thoughts of her dressing him slid right through that Demerol haze. "What do you mean?"

"Your set-to on the flight line last night is all the talk around the briefing room."

"Great."

Cutter sank into a chair, hooked his boot over one knee and dropped the chart to rest on his leg. "Don't get your boxers in a twist. Nobody expected anything different from the two of you when O'Connell showed."

"What do you mean?"

A brow shot right toward Cutter's dark hairline. "You're yanking my chain, right? Your arguments are legendary. Tag once suggested tying you two together, gladiator-style, and just tossing you into the arena to have it out. Two walk in. One walks out. Colonel Dawson giving that signature thumbs-up and thumbs-down of his."

Laughter stirred in Tanner's chest, begging to be set free even though he knew it would drop-kick him right between the shoulder blades.

"Stop! No more jokes." A chuckle sneaked through anyway, punting his muscles as predicted until he groaned. "Did she send you in here to torture me so I would laugh myself into traction?"

"Sorry." Cutter smirked as he resumed flipping chart pages.

Tanner sagged back on his pillow. The gladiator image began to take on an odd fantasy appeal in his drug-impaired mind. At least the drugs offered a convenient excuse. Damn, but Kathleen would have made a magnificent warrior goddess. That woman never needed anyone.

The ultimate loner. Tanner's muscles tightened in response. That loner mind-set proved a threat to the crew mentality essential to his Air Force doctrine. The Air Force, the team spirit, was everything to him.

Never leave your wingman.

Tanner raised the bed higher, ignoring even thoughts of discomfort. "Can't you do something about this? Get me outta here and back in action with my crew. Man, you're one of us. You have to know how crazy this is making me."

While all flight surgeons specialized in treating flyers and their families, a handful of those doctors were also flyers themselves. Cutter being one of the few. Tanner couldn't help but hope that might nudge the scales in his favor. "Well?"

"Sorry. Can't help you, my friend. I've seen your chart. I know your history. O'Connell's dead-on with her diagnosis, and there's no mistaking her notations."

"Figures I lucked into the one doctor on the planet with perfect penmanship." Time to invest in an Armed Forces Television schedule.

"Yeah, you are lucky. Lucky she didn't string you up like a piñata. We flight docs don't take well to having our orders disregarded. If I were you, pal, I would start thinking up an apology."

"The piñata sounds less painful." Deep down, he knew be owed her better than that. She'd kept him in the game years ago when he'd wanted to quit.