"The pinky I twisted. I need to make sure I didn't break it."
He folded his arms over his chest, holding his cup in one hand, tucking his other out of sight. "You didn't."
"Pardon me if I don't trust you to be honest about your medical condition." She snapped her fingers as she set aside her mug. "Hand, please."
With a you-asked-for-it look, he unfolded his arms. He rested his hand in hers, slowly, precisely, so damned seductively she stifled a tiny moan. His roughened skin rasped against her as it had the night before. Calluses marked him a physical man. That hand could have immobilized her with its strength, yet instead he'd paralyzed her with a gentle caress.
Could do so again.
Scavenging for every professional instinct she'd ever honed, she cradled his hand in both of hers and examined him. Routine comforted her, her science the one dependable thing in her life. She finally released his hand. "Sprained, but not broken. I don't suppose you iced it last night?"
"I had other things on my mind." His eyes deepened from warm blue to something molten hot with memories.
She needed to reestablish those boundaries post-haste before she ended up in full retreat. The ice machine might not be as far away as Kansas, but it would have to do.
Kathleen snagged a paper cup from the table and strode to the machine. Scooping the cup through, she filled the makeshift ice pack. "Stick your finger in this on the way over to the hangar."
He fished the keys from his pocket. "You're determined to make me suffer."
"I'm determined to do my job." Kathleen shoved the cup in his hand. While he was distracted, she snagged the keys from his other hand and spun on her heel, making tracks for the parking lot.
Driving to the hangar, Kathleen found that five minutes dragged on interminably without conversation. She had too much time to think, and her reasonable mind settled on the obvious. She needed to cut ties officially as his doctor.
Not that she planned to pursue a relationship with him.
But the attraction had escalated until it interfered with her judgment. That was inexcusable. She'd made the mistake before. While she hadn't been the one to sign her ex-husband's medical waiver to fly, she'd known it was questionable, likely given as a favor to her. And she hadn't said a word because she'd feared kicking another prop from under her already shaky marriage.
Failure was unacceptable.
Sometimes she wondered if she was more upset over facing her family's disappointment yet again than she had been over losing Andrew.
Her hands trembled. Kathleen gripped the steering wheel to steady them, careful to keep her ten-two hand positioning. Middle of the lane. Three miles an hour under the speed limit. In control of her world.
She would contact the Edwards AFB Clinic for a consult with one of their flight surgeons. He could care for Tanner temporarily, and when they returned home, one of the other flight surgeons could take over the big lug's treatment. With her blessing.
For now, she needed to focus on safeguarding the investigation. Her promotion recommendation.
And her heart.
Kathleen pulled into the parking lot outside the airplane hangar housing the damaged aircraft. Planes lined the ramp alongside—a row of fighters, another for trainers, then bombers and airlifters. The airlifters belonged to her.
A rogue thought blindsided her. Did she, plain ol' Doc, belong to them? It had been a long time since she'd wanted to belong somewhere. Solitude seemed safer. "Come on, hotshot. Let's get to work."
Without a word Tanner pitched the ice from his cup onto the cement tarmac. He followed her toward the hangar. It loomed large and "boring brown" like every other hangar in the Air Force. The familiarity of the building only drove home the knowledge that this could have happened anywhere, anytime, to anyone of them.
Had, in fact, happened in her world before.
Tanner stopped in front of a smaller door set in the framework of the larger garage-style door. He punched in the combination on the cipher lock.
Inside, the C-17 filled the metal cavern. A bird flapped through the webbing of rafters overhead, startled from its perch by the opening door.
A heavy coating of dust remained on the cargo craft from its emergency landing on a dried-up lake bed. Even towing it to the hangar hadn't shaken loose the caked-on crust.
Kathleen circled the wreckage. While she wasn't a believer in things mystical, even she had to admit the wounded plane seemed to hum with memories. Suddenly she understood why flyers and sailors called their crafts a personal "she" rather than an impersonal "it." The empathetic physician within her could feel the pain radiating from the damaged aircraft.
She traced a ragged metal edge as if assessing a patient for treatment, for healing. "Explain to me what I'm seeing."
Footsteps sounded, closer, slowing until Tanner stopped just behind her. The fresh scent of his shower, soap and coffee drifted her way with precise navigation. It would be so easy to lean back and let his arm drape around her while they talked. Too easy.