Page 6 of A Spark of Luck (The Defenders #2)

Cait shifted on her narrow, hard bed, eyes on the gray ceiling, and contemplated life, in general and hers specifically.

Wrinkled and stained, her green scrub pants needed to be shed immediately.

Instead, she collapsed onto her bed as soon as she shut and locked the door.

Privacy was a need not a want. She had managed to dump her boots and her scrubs top, but barely.

Hers was an unsteady road in her medicine quest. She decided to be a doctor when her father and little brother died in a drunk-driving accident.

That hadn’t been the original plan. She’d had no plan.

She became a paramedic in college. How she’d earned her chemistry degree while working full-time in a fire department was a feat of her young age.

Emergency medicine had been her specialty though, an extension of that paramedic work.

But then medical school rolled through, and she followed the spark in her gut to trauma surgery, discovering a skill for the precise profession.

She hadn’t planned to join the Army either, but again circumstances dictated a change in plan.

It wasn’t a path she regretted, but war zone duty wasn’t for the faint of heart.

The hard challenge of it sometimes beat her down and changed her.

She’d found strength and confidence in her newfound occupation.

She couldn’t claim a desire to serve her country when she signed the paperwork to join.

Her goal was to escape. But in the ten years since, she could claim a deep affinity with what she was here to do – take care of the troops.

She did her duty day in and day out with as much dedication as she could muster.

The blood and the death she filed away, saving them for a time when she could release the horror and sadness, when it wouldn’t affect anyone’s care.

But she teetered against the door that held it back, and working on LT Hunter had a sexual surge attached that she did not need. She released him a week ago yet still thought about him, dreamed about him in technicolor. Miles of skin, sweet intent in his eyes, and a flash of heat across her skin.

The food he’d dropped at the desk for her a couple of days ago – the fruit and pie welcome – sent a confusing message. Was it a thank you or an ask for more?

Nothing to do about it now. She’d released him on purpose. She could have drawn it out. Made him come back for another check. But all it would amount to was a desire to touch him again, and that was so far past inappropriate – even if no one knew – that she couldn’t do it.

She sighed and slipped over on her side, feeling sticky from work, and yet not wanting to move to fix that.

She planned her path, her goals, her attitude to the minute detail, and yet here she was, derailed by warzone depression.

The dreams aroused her, and not sleeping and avoiding meals didn’t help. None of that good.

The hard knock on the door had her glancing at the clock. Probably Colonel Jo Cartwright. The hospital charge nurse had a way of dogging her people.

Another light knock sounded.

She swung her legs around and sat up. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

Her messy space glared and pushed her guilt. Bed not made, clothes laying over the lone chair. Not up to an inspection and another glaring sign of depression. She kept her stuff together. Usually.

She reached the lock and twisted, the click loud to her ears. She paused with a hand on the knob, no way to tell who was there, but she wasn’t hiding. In the interest of security, she eased the door open and froze.

“Can I come in?” Travis Hunter pushed through without waiting for an answer and closed the door behind him. He immediately put a hand up. “No worries, Doc. I don’t want anyone to see me lingering in the hall.”

She stepped back, disguising her sharp gasps. “Not supposed to be here?”

“I don’t know what your rules are, but we’re supposed to stick close to our area for a lot of reasons. I’m off duty for six hours.”

“And you decided to look me up?” His black hair was shorn close to his head. A sunburn across his nose stood against his dark tan. His eyes, a deep green, studied her, waiting for a reaction.

She was too tired to come up with one.

“Are you all right, Doc?”

She took a rough breath. “Long day.”

“I heard. Seems like you’re always too busy with nasty stuff. Some kind of shootout at the marketplace? How many patients?”

The quiet concern pierced her. He struck her as a rugged and no-nonsense kind of man. That was to be expected as a member of one of the toughest units in the world.

She finally found her voice. “Too many. Too tired. Sorry.”

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

“First rule of a job that tires you out. Fuel.” He held up the sack he had in his other hand.

“Where did that come from? ”

“The mess. Sandwiches. An apple. I’ll share.”

“You’re going to feed me? Again?” She hadn’t meant for the words to imply he was crazy, but her tone came out wrong.

“The first time was a thank you. This one isn’t. Once in a while I do the unexpected. It’s what makes me good at my job.” He slipped a hand to her elbow and turned her around, leading her to the bed – the only place to sit.

Okay, this was not good. Her body throbbed at the simple warm contact of his fingers. Defensive, she shrugged his fingers away. “What are you doing here?”

“Thanking you.”

“For?”

“Leg is working great, Doc.” He lifted the bag. “I was at the mess, heard the news, and figured maybe you needed a boost.”

The fact he cared skittered down nerves gone haywire with his presence. She narrowed her eyes. “So you thought you’d feed me?”

“We were first in line for chow.” He gave her an easy shove. She sat rather than argue. The scent of him – outdoorsy earth mixed with masculine sweat and gun metal – wove around her. Typical smells but refined by presence. She forced herself not to sink deeper into the sensations .

The bag rattled and she looked up. “You’re about to fall asleep, Doc.”

“Escape mechanism mostly, but today I’m way past tired.”

He handed her the wrapped sandwich. “Ham and cheese.”

“Where’s yours?” She took the food in hand and unwrapped the offering.

“I ate at the mess.”

“And then went back for my sandwich?”

“Pretty much. There’s a cookie in here, too. Waited until the guys left and did a fast gathering for you.”

“So no one knows?”

“No, Doc. Gossip around here kills careers.”

“Don’t I know that one.” The sandwich smelled appetizing. Not what she expected. She hadn’t connected with meals for a while. She took a bite, tasted the mayo and mustard – her favorite with ham – and groaned. “How did you know I like ham?”

“I didn’t. Food is food in this environment. I got lucky I guess.”

She studied his face, expecting charm or smiles, but got neither. All serious, he pulled out his knife and carved the apple where he stood.

She patted the bed. “I don’t bite if you won’t. ”

“I didn’t want you to think that this was anything but honest looking after. We sat in the mess long enough to see some of the hospital personnel. You weren’t among them. So, I gathered, checked the hospital, and then tracked your quarters.”

“How did you do that?”

“You don’t want to know.” He grimaced. “Info stays with me. I know how tough this place is.”

“And if I’d eaten already?”

He shrugged, easing onto the bed, and leaving a foot between them. “I would have eaten it. No need to waste food.”

“Personal philosophy or military one?”

He stayed silent so long; she couldn’t figure out the nerve she’d hit.

“Both. But mostly know from the field that fresh food beats Meals Ready to Eat hands down.”

“I agree. MRE’s aren’t my favorite either.” Cait rotated her shoulders to loosen the stiffness and ate the rest of the sandwich. The lack of conversation should have jarred, but she was too tired to care. He seemed comfortable with it. He handed her apple slices, focused on the task.

“How long have you been in the Navy?”

“Twelve years, five enlisted, degree earned, then officer school, then SEALs training. ”

“I have eight. Did medical school first before joining. How many times have you been here?” She lifted a finger to indicate the camp.

“I’ve been on missions all over Afghanistan, Doc. It’s not a matter of time. I don’t keep track like that.”

“This is my second time here, and I feel like I’m still stuck seeing the same thing day in and day out.”

“Not a site-seeing place, Doc. Too dangerous.”

“I have a name, Lieutenant.”

“I know.”

She shifted her position, coming close to bumping his legs. “Cait. My name is Cait.”

Those green eyes sparked. The circle of gray in the core of his eyes stopped them being pretty.

But they didn’t come across gray either.

She knew she wouldn’t forget them, but she could read nothing of his expression.

Like he’d shut it down hard on purpose. A good skill to have as a SEAL but not as a friend.

But she wasn’t his friend, was she? She was the doctor who’d sewed up his ass.

He stayed silent and gazed at her, eyes never breaking contact with her face. Most men would have at least checked out her boobs. But not this man.

“As you already know, my friends call me Hunt.” He handed over the last three apple slices, wiped his knife on a napkin from the bag, and then flicked it closed. It disappeared into one of the big pockets on his pants.

“Are we going to be friends, Hunt?” She finished off the slices before he answered.

“I’m not here long enough to make friends, Cait.”

Something hummed in his tone and a wash of pleasure went down her spine. Her nipples beaded, shooting heat to her core. This wasn’t any kind of come on she’d ever experienced. Was that what this was or was he warning her off?

The way to find out was to ask, but did she have the nerve? She swallowed the last of the apples and reached for the water on her bedside table. Taking a swig to clear her dry throat, she dug deep for the guts. “What are you here for?”