Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

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."

"What?" Still no smile in sight, not a surprise since her face looked frozen with shock.

Tanner inched up. "I shouldn't have given you hell on the flight line. It's not your fault my back's out. Are there some torturous tests you want to run so I can pay my penance?"

Her gaze skittered away, and she flipped through his chart, avoiding his eyes. "Just follow the recovery plan."

"I intend to be a model patient."

"Music to my ears."

"The sooner this is over, the sooner I can get back on a crew. I don't expect you to understand, Doc."

Her head snapped up. The diamond glint in her eyes could have cut glass. "Why not, hotshot?"

"Hey, I'm trying to apologize here." He raised his hands in mock surrender. What had he done this time? Not that either of them ever needed much of a reason to argue. "The least you could do is be gracious."

Hugging the chart like a shield, she pulled a tight smile again. "Pardon me. Must be something else this 'Doc' didn't learn in medical school. Apology accepted."

"Great."

"Thanks."

"Fine!"

A cleared throat sounded from the hall just before Lt. Col. Zach Dawson knocked on the open door with exaggerated precision.

The Squadron Commander. The boss. Tanner wondered if a plague of locusts might be next, because his day couldn't get much worse.

Lt. Col. Dawson ducked inside. "Hey, you two want to fire it up some more? I don't think they heard you in Switzerland."

Kathleen popped to attention. "Good afternoon, Colonel."

Tanner sat as straight as he could, mentally cursing the hospital gown. "Colonel."

"Captains." The Squadron Commander nodded. His Texas twang echoed in the silent room as he ambled to a stop at the foot of Tanner's bed. "So, Doc, when're you going to cut my guy here loose?"