Tanner clasped his hands between his knees, massaging the scratch on his palm, eyes scanning the horizon. "I'm not so sure all this has anything to do with lousy luck."
She tried to sort through his cryptic statement, but couldn't think through the foggy ache. She needed to be checked out by a doctor. "Do you think we're closer to base? Or town?"
"Base, but we're still talking about a helluva haul. We might shave a few miles off if we made a direct path. All the same, I'd rather stick to the road. Maybe someone saw the explosion and has already called for help. If we stay with the roads, we may luck into a car before dark, or at least find one of those old missions we passed heading out. Either way, we've got to walk."
"I figured as much."
He feathered a blunt fingertip over her forehead. "Are you up to it?"
She willed her eyes not to drift shut at that skimming caress. "No choice is there? And don't even offer to carry me."
"Hey, plenty of soldiers carry wounded comrades off the battlefield. No shame in that. You're a hell of a lot lighter than Lance or Cutter." He smiled, but couldn't quite hide the sudden tension between them, a quiet intensity flickering like the lingering flames reflected in his eyes.
He could joke all he wanted, but he had to know she needed a trip to the E.R. Given his need for control, this would be a tough one for him to swallow. She needed to play it straight, because he would recognize a lie. "If I have a concussion, it's better for me to walk. It will keep me alert."
He stared into her eyes as if weighing her words or perhaps checking her pupils again. He must have been reassured by what he saw because he stood, extending a hand to help her.
She gripped his wrist. "Uh, is your back okay?"
"O'Connell…" he growled, his hold twitching around her wrist.
"It better be, because there's not a chance I can carry you out of here, hotshot." She gave him a gentle squeeze and stood.
"I'm fine." His eyes burned with a battlefield determination. "I'm going to get you out of here and to a hospital, Kathleen."
Her smile pulled tight. "How about we do it together?"
"Right." He grunted, dropping her hand. "May as well get started."
Her skin tingled as if she'd singed her palm in the fire. She skimmed a restless hand along her dusty jeans. "What a way to spend Christmas Eve."
"We're both alive. Santa's earned his cookies." The gruff edge to his response made her recall he'd had worse Christmases. His sister's death had to hit him hard this time of year.
Remembering she had a lot to be thankful for in spite of the hideous day, Kathleen nodded. "Good point."
The road stretched out ahead of her, long, narrow, fading into the horizon. Kathleen wished she had an extra pack of Oreos on hand for hitching a ride on Santa's sleigh.
With her luck so far, they wouldn't reach town until the new year. And the last thing she needed was the temptation of a night under the stars with Tanner.
A coyote howled as the sun inched its way into the horizon. Tanner eyed the crumbling adobe mission in the distance and knew they didn't stand a chance of reaching it until at least an hour after sunset.
The temperature already dipped below freezing. Kathleen's pale face had him ready to fling her over his shoulder and double-time it to the highway. She'd insisted she was fine every time he'd asked, but what else would she say?
Not a damn car in sight all day. Apparently no one else knew about Crusty's detour.
Kathleen trudged beside him. Dogged determination marked her face with an expression he hadn't seen since cross country rims at the Academy. They could have been transported back.
Except for the bruise on her brow.
Across her temple, the purplish stain had spread. The jagged edges of her cut pulled together, no longer oozing but still looking nasty as hell. All because of a simple flat tire.
His brain screamed warnings at him. Two flat tires. That wasn't right. Their string of bad luck went beyond stepping out of the wrong side of the plane or missing a sardine breakfast. Except he couldn't do anything about that now. Just concentrate on getting Kathleen to shelter for the night.
She skirted a creosote bush, her feet tangling as she sidestepped. A fresh fist of dread pummeled him. He had to keep her alert. Talking would help him gauge her state of mind. "What did you mean about wanting a keg party?"
"Huh?" Her eyes shifted from watching her feet to Tanner.
The sunset fingered explosions of vibrant reds behind her, the same awesome shade of Kathleen's hair. He reminded himself that the brightness was merely a by-product of some light refraction on airborne dust and sand. That didn't diminish the view in the least.