Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(88)

“Yeah,” was the answer to both questions. “They keep retuning the springs as I get used to it, though they’re pretty well done with changes now. The harder I push down, the more reaction back I get. They say I can run on it. That won’t be anytime soon, I can promise you. Even with the socket, it weighs less than my real foot. Great weight loss plan, huh?”

The engineer in him came out as he tapped a finger against a couple parts of the armature. It was so personal—almost as if he’d just stroked his hand down her bare foot. She must have reacted somehow, because he suddenly jerked his hand back, looked up at her in shocked apology, and proceeded to tip back onto his butt in an effort to withdraw.

“Crap!” He’d landed on the wet grass, which responded with a distinct squishing sound. Then he looked up at her again. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

He was trying to get up without placing his hands in the mud, as well.

She braced herself and offered her hand to help him up. He took it and, after testing that she could take the load, managed to get back to his feet and stand.

He twisted to inspect the damage, his hand still in hers. She gave his hand a slight tug, causing him to expose his wet and muddy behind. He had big hands, good ones. She’d witnessed a thousand times how delicate they were on the controls and how powerful when taking a chopper apart to inspect it for wear and tear.

“Superman with a wet butt.” She could feel the laugh bubbling up inside her. It came out slow and rough. Her voice was long out of practice with making such a sound, but it did come out. She clamped down on it for fear it would go a little hysterical on her. She retrieved her hand, a bit reluctantly. It was her first non-medical contact in six months, and it was surprisingly powerful. So starved for human contact that even clasping hands for a moment had roared through her nervous system and left her jittery. Pitiful, Lois, really damn pitiful.

He flexed his hand as if terribly conscious of their contact, as well.

“Pretty super move there, Clark,” she ribbed him to cover her own unease.

“Damn! I’ve got a meeting in about twenty minutes. I don’t have a change of clothes in the car.”

And he lived off post. She remembered a nice party at his house, a bunch of Black Hawk pilots from the 4th and 5th Battalions, a summer’s eve barbecue in a suburban backyard. She and Clark had spent much of the evening chatting quietly beneath the arching branches of an old cherry tree. It was a good memory.

“Here.” She dug out her key. “Unit 32. Don’t make too much of a mess. Towels and a hair dryer under the bathroom sink. You can bring me the key after your meeting. I’ll be over at the MEB offices. Have to do all the Eval Board paperwork about no longer being medically qualified for active duty.” She rapped her cane against her foot with a dull clank for emphasis, then wished she hadn’t.

“Sorry about that, Lois. You were damned good.”

She had been, but it felt different having the resident Sikorsky guy say it. “Thanks. Real fun begins after they boot me over to the PEB. The Physical Evaluation Board is going to medically retire my ass no matter what I say. You better scoot if you want to make your meeting.”

“Right.” He held up the key. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She turned and began clomping off toward the MEB office. This was not what she planned to be doing with her life. A pair of the big twin-rotor Chinooks lumbered by low overhead, hammering their way aloft on a training flight. That’s what she wanted to be doing. Flying. They faded away.

“Hey, Superwoman!” she turned at Clark’s call and almost ate dirt. Only a quick stab with her cane kept her upright after the unexpected motion.

He should be halfway to the apartment by now, but he still stood where they’d talked; she’d made a good dozen paces from there. He’d been watching her walk like a total Terminator machine, not like the woman she’d once been. She hoped they were far enough apart for him to not see her blush. She kept her chin up so that her embarrassment wouldn’t show.

“Unit 32,” she told him, risking a point with her cane, the Chinooks moved off enough that she only had to shout a little to be heard. With someone so sharp, he always forgot the strangest things.

“Knew that.” He inspected his feet for a moment as if to see if they were prosthetic or as if he didn’t want to look at hers.

Fine. She didn’t need anyone’s symp—

He looked up. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“I’m free the rest of my damned life.”

“That’s a yes then?”

Was she low enough to take a sympathy date? After she was done with the Medical Eval Board, she’d be low enough for anything to look good. It didn’t really seem fair to a guy as nice as Kendall to use him to cheer herself up, but he had asked.

“That’s a yes.”

“Great! I’ll get your key back before then.” He spun around, stepped off the edge of the concrete walkway, and almost went down in the grass again. Then he righted himself, waved, and rushed off. Odd, he wasn’t a clumsy guy, not at all.

Lois turned herself carefully and aimed back along the path. She was surprised to discover that her step was a little lighter than it had been when she started out.

? ? ?

“So, did the MEB go like you expected?”