Excerpt of Sniper Fire by Kathy Lane

The pounding in his head woke Kyle. He groaned as the throbbing seemed to pulse from the back of his skull to the front and back again. It wasn’t fair. There should be a way to just stay drunk and oblivious without the pain of a hangover intruding. Damn if he’d ever found it, though.

The pounding intensified. It took him a moment to realize some of that pounding was centered in the area of his front door instead of inside his head.

“Kyle!”

Oh, crap. Farrah.

Kyle groaned again and opened his eyes. Yep, his brace still lay over against the wall. So did the walking stick. He vaguely remembered hurling them both over there at some point last night. It was going to be a bear to pull himself up and get to the damn things. He’d much rather stay where he was and go back to sleep. Maybe if he stayed quiet, Farrah would give up and go away. More pounding.

“Kyle? I know you’re in there.”

F**k.

He shifted his legs off the foot rest one at a time, ignoring the complaints from stiff muscles. Standing wasn’t fun. The room spun. He stood still, one hand on the chair’s arm, until things settled down a bit, then he took a limping step. Walking without the brace or aid of the cane was a losing fight between his determination and pure physics. Weak muscles just wouldn’t hold weight no matter how much he willed it otherwise.

Kyle flung out a hand to break his fall as gravity took over. His fingers clipped the corner of the table next to the chair hard enough to tip it over. The table and everything on it joined him on the floor. The lamp made the biggest crash, but the empty beer bottles from last night’s binge made the biggest mess. They hit the tile floor and shattered, a few pieces skittering half-way to the kitchen.

With a groan, Kyle rolled to his back. He’d only put on a pair of cotton shorts after his shower and the shock of the cold tiles against his bare skin kick-started a flow of cuss words. He was finishing up Rashid’s list of favorites when he heard the front door open. The sound jolted him into action. He sat up, stretched out an arm, and managed to snag the light blanket he kept on the back of the recliner. He tossed the cloth over his legs—more specifically, his ruined leg—just as Farrah came into the room.

“Kyle? Oh, my goodness, are you all right?”

He threw a hand up to stop her. “Stay back, there’s glass.”

She made a huffing noise that might have made him laugh if his head didn’t hurt so much.

“I see it. I’m not blind. Where’s your broom?”

“Kitchen closet.” He didn’t bother trying to get up, but lay back down. This time he was braced for the cold, which was actually helping to clear his head. He listened to Farrah locate, then rummage in said closet. “How the hell did you get in, anyway?” he called. He couldn’t recall ever giving her a key to his house.

She came back in the room and began sweeping. “Medicine wasn’t all I studied in college. One of my roommates was from a family of locksmiths. She taught me how to pick locks.”

Neat trick. Especially since the lock on his door wasn’t just a simple tumbler model. It’d take a bit more than a casual skill with a hairpin. He eyed her through half- closed lids, wondering what other skills she’d picked up over the years that he didn’t know about. She glanced at him a couple of times as she swept, but quickly looked away. With her thick, red-gold curls pulled back into a pony tail, he had no trouble seeing her face. No pity in her eyes this morning. That was good. No coldness either, which was even better. What was she—

Farrah bent over to place the dust pan on the floor, her jeans cupping every dip and curve of her ass like a second skin. Ah, hell.

Kyle quickly opened the blanket a little more so it would cover his lap. No sense advertising his frustration.

Settling back again, he put both hands behind his head, trying to look as if lying on the floor was something he did every morning. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? After the way you slinked off yesterday, I thought it’d be at least a month before I saw you again, if then.”

Still sweeping, she shrugged one shoulder. “You thought wrong. And I didn’t slink, I stomped. I was very angry with you.”

“I had to walk back to my truck.”

“What you said was rude.”

“It was a mile away.”

“I want an apology.”

“Through a thunderstorm.”

She huffed and turned around to face him. “Are you going to lay there and complain all day? Because if you are, I have better things to do than stand here and listen to a grown man whine like a three-year-old.”

Kyle had been enjoying their banter, but her last words stung. He tightened his abdominals and sat straight up. “I do not whine like a three-year-old.”

She arched her brow. For a second, he thought the dust pan full of glass in her hand was going to star in a repeat performance of the dropped towel from last night. Inside he cringed, preparing his aching head for the crash. Instead, those luscious lips of hers pursed provocatively and she said, “Yes, you do.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. “Do you need help getting up, or can you manage? I can call Bill Watson and have him bring his winch if need be.”

A chuckle slipped out before Kyle knew what hit him. There she went again, making him laugh when he didn’t want to. Winch, indeed. What did he need a winch for when he had a wench like her? “You know, you’re not a bit funny,” he called back, raising his voice over the sound of broken glass going into the garbage can. Between bracing against the chair, and his determination not to play the part of a weak invalid in front of her, he was standing by the time she came back into the room. He held the blanket like a shield in front of him. Only his feet and ankles were visible from the waist down.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her gaze shifting from his face to his feet, before sweeping around the room. “I got a chuckle out of it.” Her attention fastened on the brace and cane. She didn’t say anything, but that damn eyebrow rose again.

“I can get those,” he growled, damning all evidence to the contrary.

“I know,” she said matter-of-factly. She crossed the room and picked up the brace, turning it over in her hands, examining it. “But like I said, I don’t have all day.”

Kyle shook his head, unable to get a handle on her mood. She wasn’t exactly acting cold, but the brusqueness of her attitude, not to mention some of her frank comments, had his head spinning. Where was the compassionate angel he and Joshua had gone to school with? Was she still angry with him about yesterday or was it a hold-over from getting her involved in the Cairo mess? It was true his injury had essentially screwed up her time with the WHO, but that hadn’t stopped her from opening her own clinic in Clear Springs. She was a full-fledged doctor, damn it. Didn’t they teach bedside manner in medical school anymore?

He inched around and plopped his butt back in the recliner. Once seated, he carefully straightened out his leg under the blanket. He’d have to wait until she left to put the brace on. No way was he going to let her see what was left of his leg. True, she’d worked on it, but that was months ago. What was left wasn’t pretty. Kyle held out his hand for the device when she approached him.

“No, let me,” she said, kneeling in front of him. “I want to see how this fits and where it fastens.” She reached for the blanket.

He slapped a hand down to hold the blanket in place. Leaning forward, he tried to snag the brace away from her. Damn wench scooted back just out of reach.

“What’s wrong? You’re not afraid to let me see your leg, are you?”

Kyle ground his teeth to keep from cursing. Afraid wasn’t exactly the word he’d use. He just didn’t want to see the revulsion on her face—or the pity. Just looking at the mish-mash of scars and twisted flesh made his own stomach roil, and he was a hardened veteran. He couldn’t stand it if Farrah turned away from him in disgust.

She sighed heavily, fingers tapping the brace in her hands. “I thought you said you weren’t a three-year-old. You know I’m a doctor, right? The only doctor in the valley? You’re going to have to let me see your leg sooner or later.” She reached out and placed her hand against the one he had anchoring the blanket in place. “Besides, this is me, Farrah. Your friend, remember? I’ve been sick with worry ever since the military made me leave Egypt and fly back home. Joshua kept in touch. He said you were doing as well as could be expected, but I still worried. Having you home helps, but it’s not enough. Please, Kyle, let me see.”

Kyle stared helplessly into her pleading eyes. Were those tears? Damn, he’d never been able to stand against Farrah’s tears. Each one was like a knife in his chest.

With a forced shrug, he slipped his hand from beneath hers. “Fine. Knock yourself out.” And me too, while you’re at it. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Maybe if he concentrated on his pounding headache he wouldn’t notice her exclamation of disgust.

*****

Farrah watched Kyle lean his head back and close his eyes. The relaxed pose didn’t fool her. The slight wrinkles in his forehead and tension around his eyes told her he had a headache. Considering the empty bottles of alcohol she’d swept up, she wasn’t surprised. But the headache wasn’t the problem. Every muscle in his body was locked up, tense as bow strings. She was almost afraid to touch him.

Quickly, before either of them changed their mind, she reached down and flipped the end of the blanket aside. She almost gasped, but caught herself in time. She’d seen worse, she told herself. Though at the moment, she couldn’t remember when or where. So much damage. She didn’t remember it being so bad. Whole sections of flesh were gone around the knee. Tendons stood out in stark relief, stretched tight beneath too thin skin. Other places were thick with scar tissue, the flesh so twisted, she couldn’t imagine how the leg functioned. And this was only the damage she could see on the surface. That the limb bent and flexed at all had to come at a great price. No wonder he’d drowned himself in alcohol last night. Just bending his knee must be excruciating.

Guilt rose up and almost swallowed her. Not just because her skill hadn’t been enough eight months ago. She’d pushed him into the pool last night and then left him to make his way back to his vehicle by himself. Could she be any more cold-hearted?

She was grateful when she glanced up and saw his eyes were still closed. Carefully, Farrah reached out and placed the tips of her fingers against the side of his knee. Not even a muscle twitched.

“Can you feel this?” Applying a light pressure, she ran a finger down his calf from knee to ankle. Some of the skin was smooth and tight, some rough with scars, and some normal, the hairs tickling as she passed over them. Kyle cleared his throat. The words still came out rough as sandpaper.

“Yeah. Some.”

She started at the knee again, this time moving up along the outside of his thigh. “How about here?” Farrah noticed her own voice was a little uneven, not at all the crisp, professional tone she usually adopted when examining a patient.

“Yes,” Kyle whispered.

Still watching his closed eyes, Farrah moved to the scars on the inside of his thigh over the femoral artery. Leather creaked. Farrah paused, her gaze shooting to where Kyle’s hands tightened on the arms of the recliner. Was he watching her? She thought his eyes were closed, but was she wrong?

She let her finger make contact with his skin. His leg jerked.

“Sorry,” he said.

She wet her lips. “Does this hurt?”

“No, it’s just…your hand is cold.”

“Oh.” She stopped herself from automatically pulling away to rub her hands together. Her hands didn’t feel cold. In fact, compared to the skin of Kyle’s leg, she felt decidedly warm. And not just her hands. This examination was affecting her more than she thought it would. Having his bare chest at eye level didn’t help. The only thing keeping her touch from drifting up into forbidden territory was the fact that in all their years of friendship, Kyle had never shown the slightest interest in her as anything but a friend. Unless she planned to make a complete fool of herself, prolonging the current situation would be a mistake.

Clearing her throat, Farrah gathered what was left of her professionalism. “Just bear with me another minute, I’m almost done.” She took her eyes off his face and concentrated on his leg, forcing herself firmly into doctor mode. After checking for sensation in a few more key points, she examined the knee. She asked him to bend it several times to observe the contraction and expansion of the visible muscle. She also felt the joint as it moved, wincing a little at the slightly audible catch and grind. When she was done, Farrah concluded that Joshua was right. Kyle was lucky to still have his leg, much less be walking on it.

After slipping the brace into place and fastening the straps and buckles, Farrah found herself hesitant to stop touching him. Something in her wanted to sooth him, take away the hurt, and it wasn’t her medical side. She ran a hand over his knee, the focus of his physical pain, fingers slipping between metal bars to caress the abused joint.

Yes, caress. She wasn’t going to lie to herself.

His hand landed on hers. “Don’t you have a clinic to run or something? I don’t need you to sit here and babysit me.”

The snarl in his voice sounded totally foreign. Kyle had always been the comedian to Joshua’s straight man. Hearing him growl at her was a new experience. The buried anger and pain in his voice made her want to cry. She jerked her hand away and choked out a laugh instead.

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Heavens, Kyle, you still haven’t realized the world doesn’t revolve around you, have you? Oh, wait, I bet the last few months did little to abuse you of that notion.” She stood and waved a dismissing hand in the direction of his leg. Indifference and bluntness was the only approach she could think of that might break through that wall of anger he’d erected. Sympathy and compassion would only build it up, make it thicker. “Bet that little injury got you a lot of notice from all the pretty nurses. Is that why you refused to see the new doctors Joshua told me your boss brought in? Why refuse, Kyle? Are you afraid that if your leg gets fixed, you’ll lose all the attention?”

For a second, she thought she’d pushed him too far. The frostiness on his face made her shiver inside. If he ever looked at her like that and meant it…

He leaned forward, very deliberately, and picked his cane up from where she laid it on the floor. Then he stood. No hesitation, no straining, no clumsy movements. Just a smooth rising to his feet.

“You,” he said, never taking his gaze off her, “are an inch shy of stepping over the line. You and Joshua both. You can tell him for me that I am not going back to the VA. I’m through with that shit. No more doctors, no more hospitals, and definitely no more damn surgeries. If I lose my leg, so be it. It won’t be anyone’s fault but my own. Not Joshua’s, not some nameless doctor’s, and damn sure not yours.”

Farrah swallowed, not daring to believe him. Of course he’d blame her. Why wouldn’t he? Still, despite his aggression, she made herself stand her ground. The anger rolling off him washed over her in nauseating waves. She wasn’t about to let him bully her into going away before she was good and ready. If she left him alone, he’d have no reason to face his foolish decision to give up.

“In that case…” She reached around and snagged the folded paper from her back jeans pocket. “You need to sign this form giving me access to your medical records.”

She couldn’t believe it was possible, but his scowl darkened. “What the hell for?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You may not want to go back to the VA, but you’ll still need to see a doctor to tell you when that leg needs to come off to keep it from killing you. Infections can crop up overnight, you know. You don’t want to let them get out of hand.” She wrinkled her nose. “Gangrene is such a nasty condition to deal with. So many complications.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair. “Why you?”

“Don’t be dense, Kyle. I’m the only doctor in the valley, remember?” She slapped the paper against his chest. For a second, she thought he wouldn’t catch it as she lifted her hand away, but he did. He glared at her. Then, growling like a grumpy bear, he jerked into motion, limp-stomping around her to the desk in the corner. Since his back was to her, she let herself smile. Ah, the growl of a frustrated male.

She strolled over and propped a hip on a corner of the desk as he scratched his name on the paper, almost ripping it with the last flourish. He threw the pen down. “There, you happy now?” Without waiting for her to answer, he stalked past her again, this time heading for the kitchen.

“It’s a start,” she said, folding the paper and putting it back in her pocket.