Taking Cover. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.”
“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?”
“Overnight in the infirmary should have him back on his feet, ready for desk duty within twenty-four hours. Two weeks on muscle relaxants. I’ll reevaluate then, but he’ll likely be on flying status again within four weeks. As long as he keeps up with his chiropractor appointments, there shouldn’t be a repeat.”
The commander shot her a thumbs-up. “That works.”
Tanner studied his boss for signs of impatience over the lost air time and found none. No gripes or pressure to get him into action? Unusual for Dawson. “Thanks for stopping by, sir.”
“Just checking on one of my men. And having O’Connell here saves me arranging a meeting later.” The commander plucked a metal chair from the corner and straddled it, his arms resting along the back. “Doc, how about pull up a seat and let’s chat.”
Eyes wary, Kathleen lowered herself to the recliner by Tanner’s bed. “Yes, sir?”
The commander scrubbed a hand along his close-shorn hair, taking his sweet Texas time. “See, I’ve got this morale problem in my squadron, and that concerns me.”
Tanner frowned, sweeping a hand over his face to clear away the Demerol fog. “Sir?”
“Morale is the glue that bonds a unit. And when there’s a problem in that department, say infighting among my officers, especially in front of my enlisted folks, it needs to be addressed.”
Their flight line incident. Cutter had said it was the story of the day, apparently for everyone. Icy prickles started up Tanner’s back that had nothing to do with pinched nerves.
The commander pinned Tanner with his deceptively easygoing stare. “Bennett, what’s the first thing I do when I’ve got dissenting fliers who need to establish camaraderie?”
Those icy prickles turned into a veritable shower. He knew where this was headed, and it didn’t bode well for either of them.
“Well, Captain?”
Tanner voiced the inevitable. “You send them TDY as a group.”
Dawson shot him a thumbs-up worthy of Caesar at gladiator games. “Exactly. A little temporary duty together is just the ticket.”
Kathleen’s light gasp tugged Tanner’s gaze. Every last drop of color drained from her already pale face until freckles he’d never noticed popped along her pert nose.
Lt. Col. Dawson continued as if Kathleen’s telling gasp hadn’t slipped free. “Get away from the rest of the squadron. Work together. Ride together. Eat together. Play together. Spend every waking hour with each other until things settle out.”
It wasn’t the waking hours that worried Tanner. “And what will be our official function during this TDY?”
“I’m sending you two to check out a C-17 accident. Put all that money spent sending you to safety school to good use.”
“Crash?