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probably a good thing there was pain. It kept him from focusing on anything else. Like the sensation of her warm hands on his bare skin.
    She frowned. “That hurts, doesn’t it?”
    “A little,” Philip lied.
    “Look, Gunny, you have to level with me if I’m going to do the best I can for you.” She let go of his arm and dropped onto a small rolling stool. She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him.
    “I know you Marines are a macho bunch of guys. And tough guys don’t like to whimper no matter how much something hurts. But pain is a symptom of something not being right. And the most effective way for me to do my job is to know all the symptoms. Got it?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” She was so earnest. With her brow furrowed and wisps of her rich dark hair escaping from the ponytail she’d pulled it up into, she looked so much like she had fourteen years ago. Philip found himself wishing he could go back in time and do things differently. The intensity of the wish hurt.
    “Good,” she went on in her businesslike tone. “I’m glad we’ve got that straight. So, suppose you start by telling me just how much pain you experience, both with the shoulder and with the hand. And when. Like, does it ache when you’re doing nothing? Do you wake up in pain? On a scale of one to ten.” She pointed to a chart on the wall that depicted ten round faces ranging from smiling and happy to flushed with agony.
    An hour later, if he was honest, Philip had to admit to somewhere around a seven. He was definitely flushed, but prayed that his face didn’t display agony. She hadn’t gone easy on him, but it was clear she worried about the level of pain she was inflicting.
    “By now, you have to know healing isn’t going to happen overnight, so try to be patient. In the meantime . . .” She reached into a drawer in a cabinet against the wall and handed him a small tub of what looked like brightly colored silly putty. “It might be a little early for this, but if I know you, you’re more than a little anxious to get back to where you want to be so you might as well give it a try.”
    “Ya think?” he snapped. Partly due to frustration and partly the pain. He hadn’t been in a good mood when the workout began, and it hadn’t gotten better.
    Ignoring his surliness, she pried the lid off and pulled the contents out. Then she reached for his right hand and placed a lump of brightly colored putty in it.
    He almost dropped the neon-green ball. He would have, had she not kept two fingertips balancing the glob on his stiff, unresponsive fingers.
    “Watch what you’re doing instead of looking at me,” she said. “The sensitivity isn’t there yet, so you need to keep your eyes on what you’re doing.”
    He looked down at his hand. And hers.
    She pushed the putty toward his palm, then closed his fingers over it and took her hand away. “To build up strength, just make a fist around the putty and squeeze. Ten reps, then rest. Repeat four or five times several times a day. Eventually, we’ll get to tennis balls but for now, just use this.”
    She reached behind her and retrieved a second tub. “Put one in your desk at work and keep the other in your quarters. You can try pinching it, too. Like this.” She demonstrated plucking a fold of the stuff between her thumb and forefinger and squeezing hard enough to leave a deep impression.
    He tried it and barely made any impression at all. He grunted in frustration.
    “Be patient with yourself.”
    “Easy for you to say.” His whole life was on hold while he learned to pinch globs of silly putty and did his best not to notice the longing that flooded through his body every time she touched him.
    “Well, we’re done here for the day.” She stood, gathered up her file and glanced at her watch. “You want to grab a cup of coffee?”
    “Coffee?”
    “Yeah, you know. That black stuff with caffeine in it.”
    Philip swallowed uneasily. “Why?”
    “I thought maybe we should