"Kick back, pal. Take care of yourself. You were only weeks away from leaving your crew, anyway. You should be up to speed in time to upgrade."
Should be. The words didn't comfort. Tanner any more than the Demerol.
What if the grounding became permanent? What would he do without his wings? His mother swore his first word had been plane. While other kids drew puppies and trees, he'd already perfected his own depiction of Captain Happy Plane. "Six weeks is a long time in a war. If something happens and I'm not there…"
Cutter closed the chart. "I hear you, and I understand what you're feeling. But there's nothing I can do."
Last down and his field goal had fallen short. Tanner scrambled to salvage what he could for the rest of his team. "Look out for Lance. Okay? Make sure he gets a solid copilot."
Cutter stilled. "Is there something I should know about?"
"Nothing specific. He's just not … up to speed. He and Julia are having trouble again. Deployments and stress messing with another Air Force marriage—" Tanner stopped short. Hell of a thing to say to a guy only weeks away from the altar. "Oh, hey, sorry, bud."
"No sweat Lori and I know what we're up against. Nobody said Air Force life was easy on the family. It's going to be work." A full-out smile creased all the way to his eyes. "She's worth it."
Tanner gave his friend an answering smile. "Congratulations."
Cutter nodded, then thunked the bed rail with Tanner's chart. "Now get well. Lori'll kill me if my best man falls on his face halfway through the ceremony. Look on the bright side. You won't have to haul yourself across the Atlantic on a civilian flight to make the wedding. You can head back on the tanker with me next week."
"Great. Nothing like sitting in the back seat." Tanner's hands already itched to be in control.
From the day he'd drawn that first airplane, he'd known he would be a pilot. Forget he was a poor kid working two after-school jobs to help support his single mom and twin sister. Course set, he'd achieved his goals, Air Force Academy, pilot. He'd never wavered in his focus. Except for the night he'd heard his sister died.
The night he'd kissed Kathleen O'Connell.
Chapter 3
Kathleen hovered in the doorway of Tanner's hospital room, unable to draw her gaze away from the man who had filled her thoughts too often that morning. Flat on his back, he took up the whole bed. A dimple flashed in his unshaven jaw as he laughed with Cutter. Tanner's exuberance for life hadn't dimmed, even after a downing injury and a hefty shot of Demerol.
She watched the two men talk with their hands, typical flyer "talk," their hands flying tandem aerial maneuvers.
Her guard perilously shaky of late, she envied them their camaraderie, the easy exchange apparent in most flyers. She knew better than to blame their exclusion on her being a woman. Years of growing up the misfit in her family had left her with the assurance she simply didn't get it. Relationships. Her ex had confirmed the conclusion through his lawyer.
So she stood alone in the hospital doorway, feeling too damn much like the little girl who perched in trees with a book about bugs. All the while peering down at a blanket full of her sisters and their friends having a tea party picnic.
Tanner's laughter rumbled out into the hall. Teams and partnerships bemused her. She understood in theory, but in practice … she couldn't make it work. The flyers respected her yet didn't include her. Her nickname—or lack of one—being a prime example.
Flight surgeons were sometimes given honorary call signs, like Grayson "Cutter" Clark or Monica "Hippocrates" Hyatt. Kathleen was just "Doc," the generic appellation afforded any doctor who hadn't received the distinction of a naming party.
Not that she wanted to change herself just to be a part of some flyers' club. Flying solo offered fewer risks.
Before she'd helped Tanner into his clothes, she'd regained her objectivity, barely. She wouldn't let her guard further crumble, regardless of how cute he looked in that incongruous hospital gown.
Kathleen rapped two knuckles on the door just beneath a miniature Christmas wreath. "Hello, boys." She gestured to their flying palms. "Shooting down your watches with your hands again?"
Tanner started, looking up at Kathleen in the doorway. A painful twinge worked its way through the Demerol, but he resisted the urge to wince.
Her half smile, wry though it was, shook his focus. His hands stopped aerial maneuvers and landed on the bed. "Hi, Doc."
Cutter glanced from one to the other, his brows pleating. "Did it just get chilly in here? Time for me to punch out." He passed the chart to Kathleen on his way to the door. "I'll check in with you both later."
Her smile faded as Cutter left. Disappointment nipped Tanner. Too much.
He wanted to bring that smile back. What a crazy thought. Must be the drugs again. Regardless, Cutter was right. Kathleen—
Kathleen?
Tanner frowned, and refocused his thoughts. O'Connell deserved an apology. "I'm sorry about last night."