I hesitated. The truth was that I was on a first-name basis with the rest of my patients. Most of the time, calling them by their name put them at ease and built trust, and they felt more comfortable with Tasha than they did with Ms. O’Hare. But I’d intentionally kept Captain McTavis at a little distance, never venturing into that particular territory or inviting him to use my given name.
Of course, now that he’d called me on it, I had a decision to make. I might have made a snarky retort, but before I could answer, I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. For just a half-second, I saw something there, a vulnerability and a need that he’d never shared with me. I knew that if I didn’t tread carefully, I might miss the chance to form a connection that could make all the difference.
Taking a deep breath, I inclined my head a little. “Okay, then. Tasha.”
“Tasha.” He tried it out, as though he was tasting it on his tongue. “It fits you. Although it doesn’t sound Irish, and you clearly are.”
I laughed. “Guilty on both counts. My dad is a true son of Ireland, but my mom’s grandmother was Russian, and that’s where my name comes from.”
“Very international.” He stretched out one leg, flexing his foot experimentally. “I’m named for a great-great grandfather, many times over.Derekis actually short for Dederick. It’s a family tradition that one boy in every generation has to be called Derek.”
“‘In every generation, there is a chosen one.’” I quoted Joss Whedon. “And now, it’s you.”
“Yeah, exactly. That’s me. The slayer.” He snorted. “Maybe I thought I was, at one point. Now ...” He shrugged. “I’m feeling more like the slain.”
Without thinking, I slid from my chair to the floor next to him and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re not. And this is me speaking as your physical therapist, not some well-meaning person who wants to pump you up.”
I knew I’d made an error in my choice of words even before I saw the glint in his eye, and I held up one finger. “Don’t. Don’t even go there, mister.” I poked his chest. “Time for you to get back to work. We’ve only got another ...” I checked the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes wouldn’t be enough time for how I do things, true ...” He cocked his head. “But I’m thinking it would be plenty of time for you topump me up.”
“I asked you nicely not to go there, but you did it anyway. Now you pay the price.” I gave his shoulder a little shove. “On your back. Lift your bent knees to your abdomen and rock to release the vertebrae.”
Derek groaned, but he did as I directed. I made a point of not looking at the way his nylon shorts stretched over his ass and his—
“So, are you from around here? You don’t have an accent.” Derek’s voice roused me from my preoccupation with not noticing his physical attributes.
“Ummm ... no. No accent. I’m an Army brat. I didn’t live any one place long enough to pick up speech patterns.” I never assumed that most people knew who my father was, but I never assumed they didn’t, either. I had a feeling that Derek had been too focused on himself recently to wonder about other people, particularly when it came to me.
“Really?” He lowered his feet to the floor and peered at me between his parted knees. “Are your parents stationed here now?”
“Yep. Brace your feet hip-width apart, please. We’re going to try something new.”
He sighed, but he did as I asked, frowning up at me. “Your dad—or mom—would have to be pretty close to retirement, right? I mean, unless ...” I saw the moment realization hit him. “O’Hare. Are youGeneralO’Hare’s daughter?”
“The one and only. Now, slide your hands beneath your lower back and then raise your hips.”
“Seriously, what is this? A pelvic thrust?” He scowled. “The things you make me do.”
“Yeah, you know, it’s all really for my own amusement. I stay up late at night, devising new ways to torture you, Derek.”
“Huh.” He grunted as he raised and lowered his hips. “So ... a general’s daughter. That must’ve been fun, growing up.”
“It wasn’t bad. I never knew anything different. Moving wasn’t always easy, but I adjusted.” I watched him with a critical eye. “Keep your shoulders pressed into the mat, please. Two more. One and ... two. Okay, take a break.”
Derek blew out one long breath. “Aren’t you kind of old to still be living with your folks?”
I raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s any of your business ... but I don’t live with my parents. I have my own apartment. I just happen to live near their current post, because this was the clinical residency I wanted.” I stood up and circled around to my desk. “All right, get up and have a seat here for a moment, please.”
“Thank God.” Derek rolled to his side, pushed up to his knees and rose to his feet. I noted that he did it with considerably more speed and less visible distress than he had a week before. He paused by the edge of the mat and used the hem of his T-shirt to wipe off his face. I couldn’t help staring at the expanse of skin exposed. Despite the way he carried on about being out of shape and weak, there was no pudge or flab on him. I’d touched him there, as I’d guided him through exercises. But seeing him ...
I gave my head a little shake.Gah, I had to pull myself together.Getting emotionally involved with a patient was a serious no-no—and then there was the fact that I had no desire to get involved with anyone. I didn’t trust my own ability to judge—not yet. That part of my self-confidence hadn’t recovered from Wes.
“Are you okay?” Derek was in front of my desk, watching me curiously. “You looked like you were thinking of something that pissed you off.”
“Really?” I’d been afraid that he was going to say I’d looked sad. This was progress. “Uh, no, sorry. I just had an idea about your homework. Do you have a stability ball?”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’ve just got regular balls.” When I cast him a reproving glare, he lifted his hands in feigned innocence. “Footballs. Baseballs. Volleyballs. Geez, Tasha, what wereyouthinking?”
