Page 5 of A Spark of Luck (The Defenders #2)

Nerves were normally unknown to Cait. She’d learned a long time ago to put those feelings aside.

Bad days were another story. She worked most of the day on two civilians who had been severely injured in an explosion, losing the child and his mother after hours of surgical time.

The car bomb at the mosque had done its job, and the mood around the emergency room settled to solemn and quiet.

Hunt showed up to have his stitches removed on exactly day ten and stepped into the chaos. Surprised, she mentally gave him a pat on the back. She, however, had convinced herself the zing was a lie.

Even if it wasn’t, she would not get on a crazy train involvement with a SEAL.

Sex aside, there was no place to go with it, and she had no room for the distraction.

Neither did he. This wasn’t fun and games in a prime vacation spot of the world.

This place could beat a person down and did on a regular basis.

Tired, frustrated, and struggling mentally, she schooled her heart not to stop at the sight of him.

He was a gorgeous package with his height and muscle and sex appeal stretched out on the exam room table again.

With his lower half covered with a sheet, she won a hard-fought battle with the memory of that spark.

“Sorry, that took so long, LT. Bad day around here.” She purposely used his rank to keep herself in check.

“I heard.” His voice gave away no impatience, but she hurried to the sink anyway. She washed her hands and dried them, taking more time than necessary to snap on gloves because she needed calm, confident control. The silence weighed on her, but she stifled an impulse to be chatty.

She pulled the light over to the table. “Let’s have a look. You’ve put weight on the leg?”

“Yeah, Doc. Several days now. It’s pulling, but I’ve been babying it like you said. Had my full weight on it yesterday with no problem.”

“No pain?”

“Some, but mostly soreness. Stiff. Not pain.”

She imagined his body was more accustomed to the vagaries of discomfort, so she didn’t comment. “Pulling will minimize after I get the top stitches out. A few rounds of therapy after that should solve the problem.”

She picked up the scissors. “My hands are cold, so heads-up.”

He nodded. “No worries. Air conditioning is turned down against the heat. ”

“Yeah, I read the weather graph, too. The heat here is ridiculous.”

“You have a favorite time to be here?”

She paused at the sarcasm in his tone and couldn’t stop the snort of humor out of her mouth. “No, but I’m not a fan of cold weather. I’m from California originally.”

“Cali girl, huh?”

“All my life.”

“Second tour?”

“Yeah, my first was during the spring. Can’t say I’m loving September, either.”

She pushed the sheet aside, exposing pale skin and the results of her handiwork.

She dropped into silence, studying the stitches. “The wound looks good. Let’s get these out.” She started snipping and continued her silence with an extreme force of will. LT followed suit. He had his head on his arms and stared at the wall, not watching her like he had last time.

Twenty minutes later she stretched her back and dropped the scissors on the tray. She reached over and pulled the sheet over his bare hip. Out of sight out of mind was a lie, but necessary to the fragile nature of her emotions.

She picked up her iPad and started typing into his chart.

“Finished. The skin is a bit puckered from the stitches, but it’s healed and that should smooth out.

Go easy stretching it until the skin gets elastic again around the scar.

Might try rubbing Vitamin E in the surrounding skin.

That should help. There’s no bleeding so you’re well on the way to being healed.

You can work out again, but start gradually, wear a wrap on it when you exercise, and seek out help from physical therapy if you have problems. Test out the flexibility and use that as your guide. ”

He finally shifted to look at her. “Cleared for duty?”

She couldn’t help giving his face the once over from green eyes to stern mouth. “Yes, you’re cleared. Go slow for a couple of days until you know your limit.” She pushed back in her chair, putting distance between them, and continued her entry.

He sat up, shifting the sheet over his lap. Breath jammed in her throat. She wanted to see this man naked in a personal way, and the feeling rose to choke her. A hum throbbed between them.

“Need authorization for your command?”

“Yeah, Doc.”

His voice caused an epic tremor to skitter from her girl parts to the tips of her toes. “I’ll get that taken care of. Pick the authorization up from the head nurse. Take care now.” She turned to exit but he stopped her .

“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate the care.”

She was a sucker for sincerity. Because his tone was laced with professionalism, she followed his lead.

“You’re welcome, LT. Be safe out there.” She escaped, determined to let this feeling go.

This was no place for romantic entanglements, regardless of whether other people did it.

People were dying and needed her, and the LT’s life was a mass of classified assignments and handling nasty situations.

Sex wasn’t a commodity for her, and entanglements were exhausting, emotional, and messy.

If regret niggled, she refused to listen.

§§§§

Hunt stared at the ceiling in his quarters, damn sure it was time to rise but not moving.

He would make any trade for a decent cup of coffee.

He could journey to the mess instead of drinking the swill made in the Command Center, but he couldn’t find the necessary motivation.

The team had spent tedious days sweeping miles of travel routes before dignitaries arrived in Kabul for a summit.

In the interim, he hadn’t slept. He could make an excuse that his leg was bothering him, but he didn’t lie to himself.

It was a constant irritant, but that wasn’t his sleeplessness problem .

Now, they were getting a break to check their gear, resupply, and clean up.

Minus meeting Doc Michaels, this deployment stayed stuck in his craw, an unusual circumstance for him.

Did this sexual attraction to Doc trigger this constant irritation at the missions, his leg, and the food?

Or did he need a break from Doogie’s nagging and the guys’ antics?

He couldn’t be sure which one or whether it was both.

When you lived in each other’s pockets, determining honest friction from job fatigue stayed a challenge.

Cait threw a kink in his routine, in his internal dialogue, in his habits.

The minute he joined the Navy, he’d developed a need for good coffee and a good breakfast. He’d never had an attraction to a woman that he couldn’t walk away from. Why this time was different when nothing happened was scraping his last nerve.

The knock on his quarters told him it was time to quit dwelling and get his ass out of bed. He shifted his legs off the bunk and pulled on his fatigue pants. “Come,” he yelled.

Doogie entered and closed the door.

Hunt eyed the man. “Up early or didn’t sleep?”

The man made a rude noise in his throat.

“I never sleep here. I’ll get a combat nap later.”

“What’s up? ”

Doogie shifted to the single chair in the room and sat. “That’s what I was going to ask you. You’re preoccupied.”

He bit back a denial and reached for his t-shirt. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Don’t blame the job, man. You shut down after your stitches. What is it?”

Hunt sat on the edge of the bed and fitted his socks and stomped into his boots before he could even try to answer. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Dr. Michaels. It’s her, right?”

Hunt grabbed his watch and kept his silence.

“Life is short. Grab the highlights while you can.” Doogie stayed focused on his face.

He was too tired and too frustrated to try to cover. “Look, there might be a spark there, but . . .”

“But, what? She’s smart and sassy, and the tension off the two of you was a ten. Get her in bed.”

“There’s women you hustle into bed and then there’s ones who might be more.” Where that bit of wisdom came from Hunt did not know. It wasn’t his philosophy.

“Might be more? You’ve hardly talked to her, and I’ve never seen you hustle a woman into bed in your life. Maybe it’s time.”

“You’re keeping track? ”

Doogie huffed. “No, but I know you keep yourself on a tight leash around alcohol and women. A war zone is not the place to break that pattern.”

“I know that.” But he still had a feeling in his gut that left him teetering on an edge. If he let this go, would he be sorry?

He had no frame of reference for deciding on that, and he didn’t make any moves in his life without having a full picture and a commitment to a course of action.

“Fastest way to find out is to talk to her, see what she thinks.” Doogie stood and grinned. “Look at us. Talking about girls like we were in high school.”

Hunt growled, irritation riding him to an edge. “I’m not now nor have I ever participated in a conversation about girls.”

Doogie went to the door. “Women then. I’m not the one to give advice, but I think if you feel strongly about her, you should test it.”

SEALs kept a low profile when they were in country, and dividing his focus with a woman wouldn’t age well.

On the other hand, the sparks between them hit an unusual mark.

He wasn’t going to try to coax her into bed and be done.

He had to come up with a way to make a connection last. Because he cared.

He’d done nothing but think about her for days.

Doogie was right – he was distracted. It was time to quit dancing around that fact and figure out how to approach her.

Something he’d never done in his life. Flexible, adaptable, innovative, intelligent – that’s what his instructors had to say about his abilities and his skill as a leader.

But in this, he might need a manual or a romance novel to figure out what next.

Because he planned to jump in the deep end and see if he would sink or swim.