If he hadn't been so damned worried.

She seemed alert now, her eyes a clear shade of blue, that pretty sky blue that made him want to…

Damn it, she should be in an emergency room, not wrestling him off. He would keep her safe if it meant carrying her the whole way. He wouldn't add another death to his list of Christmas memories.

Tanner shifted to sit beside her on the pew. "About Tara. I never said thank you."

"For what?"

He could still envision Kathleen from that night, see her walking into his room, telling him to grieve for his sister, go to her funeral, but not to drop out of college because of it. His sister wouldn't want that. He'd silenced the words he wasn't ready to hear with a kiss. "For dragging me through that night twelve years ago. For not slapping my face."

For being there for him while he'd cried.

"Anyone would have helped. I just happened to be there."

Remembering just how she'd distracted him, he quirked a brow. "Anyone?"

"Okay, maybe Crusty wouldn't have helped you quite the way I did."

Shock sealed off a response until he saw the wicked twinkle in her eyes. She'd cracked a joke. Well, damn. "Thank goodness you were around rather than Crusty."

Their light laughter swirled with the smoke, lifting, curling through the hole in the roof. He'd never noticed her sense of humor before. She wasn't much for crowds and rousing crew jokes, more of a silent observer. But one-on-one…

Okay, no dangerous thoughts of one-on-one.

Tanner tipped his head back on the pew, the hardwood solid against his neck, and gazed up at the stars peeking through the cracks and hole above. "Did I tell you we were twins? Tara and me."

Kathleen sat silently beside him, a good listener. She always had been. He liked that, had needed it as much as her kiss twelve years ago. "You wouldn't have guessed it from looking at us. Other than sharing the same hair and eye color, we weren't anything alike. She was petite, kind of like you."

"Petite?" Kathleen snorted an indignant protest.

"Buttoned," he inserted with a smile. "And stubborn. Man, was she a pit pull."

She twisted on the pew to face him. "I thought you said the two of you weren't alike."

That humor again. He turned to look at her, the pew rubbing along his neck. "Who me? Stubborn?"

Humor, great listening skills and pretty blue eyes. How much could a man be expected to withstand in one night? Tanner shifted his attention back to the sky and lost himself in memories.

"Mom worked long hours, waitressing most nights so she could have weekends off to make it to our games. Tara played, too, softball, basketball, track. We spent a lot of time together at the gym, after-school jobs, at home. She was responsible for making sure I ate. It was up to me to make sure no one messed with her." His voice hitched. "Tara held up her end."

Tanner cleared his throat, sat up, scrubbed a hand across his bristly jaw. Wondered why he'd blabbed all this when he'd only meant to say thanks.

Kathleen's hand drifted to his thigh, offering an odd mix of comfort and arousal. "You've got to know it wasn't your fault. You weren't kids anymore. You were at the Academy when she died."

"I know. What you say sounds logical." He let himself cover her hand with his because she looked so earnest, so in need of fixing his problems. Not because her hand felt so good in his he could almost believe her. "But I knew that by accepting the Air Force Academy appointment I was locked into active duty for four years after graduation. No ball contracts straight out of college. And I knew even then I wouldn't opt for one later if the chance came. So when you're eighteen and already feeling guilty about chasing some aviator dream rather than offering your mom and sister an easier life…"

"Things get muddy."

"Yeah."

Her head bowed, and she turned their hands over, flattened her palm against his as if comparing the size, while she decided what to say next. "Even all those times you made me crazy and I thought you were some jock skating on his blocking skills, I always respected the way you turned down the big bucks to serve your country." She slid her fingers along his. "I've never been much of a gambler, but I'm willing to bet your mother agrees with me. A woman who brought up a son to make that decision would be proud of the choice you made."

One at a time, she traced his fingers—slow caresses, whisper-light, that unkinked his tension stroke by stroke, slowly replacing one with another. He focused on that, not ready to accept her words now anymore than before.

He'd heard her just fine, could even see her logic. But she didn't understand how it felt for a man to realize there were things he couldn't control.

Linking her fingers with his, Kathleen squeezed gently. "You're not responsible for everyone."

Tanner didn't bother answering. She just didn't get it, and he wasn't in the mood to explain. He'd had enough maudlin confidences for one night. He wanted the lightheartedness back, the humor Kathleen had only just started to share with him. Thanks to his preparations while she'd slept, that was one thing about the whole insane day that he could control.

He was going to give Kathleen O'Connell one helluva Christmas to remember.

Kathleen stared up at the overbright stars beyond the hole in the roof and congratulated herself. She'd done it. She'd listened, comforted him and kept her lips off his.

Heaven knew it hadn't been easy to keep her arms from going around his neck and pulling that ruggedly beautiful face to her breast. She'd offered him her hand, instead.

Of course, there were a few too many nerve endings in her hand and every one of them was screaming on full alert at the moment.

But, by God, she hadn't kissed him.

A persistent beeping tickled her from her self-congratulatory musings. Tanner's alarm? He pulled his hand from hers and silenced the watch.

"I didn't fall asleep, did I?" she asked, worried about time fugues. She knew she'd hit her head hard, likely had a concussion, but she didn't want to consider there might be a more serious injury lurking.

"No, you didn't."

She sagged against the pew.

"I reset it for midnight so we wouldn't miss Christmas."

"Oh. All right." She smiled weakly even though she would have just as soon let the hour pass unmarked.

Tanner stood in front of her. "Close your eyes."

Kathleen sat upright. "What?"

"It's Christmas. While you were sleeping, I worked on a surprise. Now close 'em." The devilish twinkle in his eyes matched that dimple too perfectly.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm trusting you not to play some prank."

He palmed his chest in overplayed innocence. "Who me?"

"Yes, you. Something like gluing Lance's checklist pages together. Substituting the hard-boiled eggs in Tag's flight lunch with raw ones. Changing Cutter's mouse from right-handed to left."

"Hey, that was just a little joke to cheer up Cutter after he and Lori split last year. Apparently he didn't appreciate my meddling."

"Not that it stopped you."

"So I threw them together? What's the big deal? It wasn't like you wanted to hang out with me as the flight doc on that rescue mission to Sentavo. Cutter was happy to step in. If Lori just happened to be the relief worker accompanying us…"

Tanner shrugged, the most unlikely overgrown cupid Kathleen could imagine.

"And I fell right in line by jumping at the chance to get off that flight." Kathleen shook her head. "Geez, when did I get so predictable?"

"Predictable? You? Whatever." He tucked his thumbs in his back pockets. "You have to admit though, my plan worked. The Grayson Clark happy nuptials are just days away. Soon they'll all be settled in at Cutter's new assignment in Washington. As you can see, I only use my powers for good. Now close your eyes."

"All right. But you better be nice or don't bother coming to me for pain meds next time your back's a mess."

"So noted."

Warily she let her eyes drift shut. She heard his footsteps trek to the pew behind her, followed by a rustle and clank before he walked back in front of her. She waited, cautious, but oddly excited by his game.

"Open."

She hesitated, reluctant to end this moment of anticipation or have it ruined by some crew dog prank.

"Come on, O'Connell. No time for a catnap now. Open."

A bracing breath later she opened her eyes and stared straight into his. Breathing became momentarily optional as he stared back at her, so big, blond and ruggedly handsome, the bump on his nose reassuring in its familiarity. Frighteningly so.

He nodded to the floor. "Well?"

She tore her gaze from his, a task more difficult than a third-year med-school exam. A creosote bush waited at her feet. A decorated bush. From the prickly branches, makeshift ornaments dangled. Flattened tin cans, his car keys, a German mark, his dog tags, a fishing bobber some optimist must have carted along into the desert.

It beat her mother's best designer-decorated Douglas fir, hands down.

Tanner swept an open palm toward the scraggly little bush, his other hand behind his back. "Merry Christmas, Kathleen. Your very own survivalist spruce."

Kathleen slipped from the pew to kneel beside her "tree." "It's wonderful. Where did you find all of this?"

"Around the church. In the courtyard." He dropped to one knee beside her. "There's an abandoned miner's shaft a few yards out back full of garbage, some blankets we're better off not using, even old ropes, cables, pulleys."

"You've been busy." She touched each ornament with reverence, tapped the dog tags until they swayed. "Thank you. This is really sweet."

"Sweet?" He grimaced. "Lady, I'll have you know I'm a honed combat veteran. I am not sweet."

"I won't tell."

"Thanks." He winked.

Kathleen winked back. "No problem."

"Close your eyes again."

She plopped on her bottom. "Now comes the prank?"

"You guessed it. Now close 'em again."

She did, and all her other senses promptly kicked into high gear. Tanner's soap mingled with the musky smoke swirling around the old church.

He was watching her. She could feel it, the weight of his stare, the caress of his eyes along her mouth. Her lips tingled, full and needy. She swallowed, started to flick her tongue across her top lip before rethinking.

Why was he so quiet? If he was going to kiss her, he needed to get to it before she screamed.

"Kathleen?" he called from a step farther away than she would have expected.

She caught herself before she toppled forward. "What?"

"Hold out your hands."

His voice soothed over her like the low rumble of thunder in a spring shower. One of nature's sounds that prompted thoughts of staying tucked under covers and indulging in a sensual cat stretch.

His knees popped as he knelt. He canted closer. Not that she could hear him so much as sense him, feel his heat warm her. He placed something wooden in her hands. Something flat, long.., and full of splinters?

"Open."

She looked down at … a fence picket. "Oh."

He stared at her with eyes so intensely blue they matched his well-washed denim. This obviously meant something to him. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but what was she supposed to say?

Kathleen struggled to figure out his reasoning for giving her what basically looked like a vampire stake. Something to feed the fire and keep her warm? A club for his head next time he made her angry?

Then she saw them. Letters carved in the wood.

A-T-H-E-N-A.

"Sorry I can't offer you an Officer's Club keg party to go with that name," he said, his voice low, so quiet yet intense. "I thought 'Athena' would be a good fit for you since she's the goddess of both wisdom and military victory."