Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

Then she saw them. Letters carved in the wood.

A-T-H-E-N-A.

"Sorry I can't offer you an Officer's Club keg party to go with that name," he said, his voice low, so quiet yet intense. "I thought 'Athena' would be a good fit for you since she's the goddess of both wisdom and military victory.">If he hadn't been so damned worried.

She seemed alert now, her eyes a clear shade of blue, that pretty sky blue that made him want to…

Damn it, she should be in an emergency room, not wrestling him off. He would keep her safe if it meant carrying her the whole way. He wouldn't add another death to his list of Christmas memories.

Tanner shifted to sit beside her on the pew. "About Tara. I never said thank you."

"For what?"

He could still envision Kathleen from that night, see her walking into his room, telling him to grieve for his sister, go to her funeral, but not to drop out of college because of it. His sister wouldn't want that. He'd silenced the words he wasn't ready to hear with a kiss. "For dragging me through that night twelve years ago. For not slapping my face."

For being there for him while he'd cried.

"Anyone would have helped. I just happened to be there."

Remembering just how she'd distracted him, he quirked a brow. "Anyone?"

"Okay, maybe Crusty wouldn't have helped you quite the way I did."

Shock sealed off a response until he saw the wicked twinkle in her eyes. She'd cracked a joke. Well, damn. "Thank goodness you were around rather than Crusty."

Their light laughter swirled with the smoke, lifting, curling through the hole in the roof. He'd never noticed her sense of humor before. She wasn't much for crowds and rousing crew jokes, more of a silent observer. But one-on-one…

Okay, no dangerous thoughts of one-on-one.

Tanner tipped his head back on the pew, the hardwood solid against his neck, and gazed up at the stars peeking through the cracks and hole above. "Did I tell you we were twins? Tara and me."

Kathleen sat silently beside him, a good listener. She always had been. He liked that, had needed it as much as her kiss twelve years ago. "You wouldn't have guessed it from looking at us. Other than sharing the same hair and eye color, we weren't anything alike. She was petite, kind of like you."

"Petite?" Kathleen snorted an indignant protest.

"Buttoned," he inserted with a smile. "And stubborn. Man, was she a pit pull."

She twisted on the pew to face him. "I thought you said the two of you weren't alike."

That humor again. He turned to look at her, the pew rubbing along his neck. "Who me? Stubborn?"

Humor, great listening skills and pretty blue eyes. How much could a man be expected to withstand in one night? Tanner shifted his attention back to the sky and lost himself in memories.

"Mom worked long hours, waitressing most nights so she could have weekends off to make it to our games. Tara played, too, softball, basketball, track. We spent a lot of time together at the gym, after-school jobs, at home. She was responsible for making sure I ate. It was up to me to make sure no one messed with her." His voice hitched. "Tara held up her end."

Tanner cleared his throat, sat up, scrubbed a hand across his bristly jaw. Wondered why he'd blabbed all this when he'd only meant to say thanks.

Kathleen's hand drifted to his thigh, offering an odd mix of comfort and arousal. "You've got to know it wasn't your fault. You weren't kids anymore. You were at the Academy when she died."

"I know. What you say sounds logical." He let himself cover her hand with his because she looked so earnest, so in need of fixing his problems. Not because her hand felt so good in his he could almost believe her. "But I knew that by accepting the Air Force Academy appointment I was locked into active duty for four years after graduation. No ball contracts straight out of college. And I knew even then I wouldn't opt for one later if the chance came. So when you're eighteen and already feeling guilty about chasing some aviator dream rather than offering your mom and sister an easier life…"

"Things get muddy."

"Yeah."

Her head bowed, and she turned their hands over, flattened her palm against his as if comparing the size, while she decided what to say next. "Even all those times you made me crazy and I thought you were some jock skating on his blocking skills, I always respected the way you turned down the big bucks to serve your country." She slid her fingers along his. "I've never been much of a gambler, but I'm willing to bet your mother agrees with me. A woman who brought up a son to make that decision would be proud of the choice you made."

One at a time, she traced his fingers—slow caresses, whisper-light, that unkinked his tension stroke by stroke, slowly replacing one with another. He focused on that, not ready to accept her words now anymore than before.