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slip past the Union blockade. Then back to London and more specialists, all poking and prodding, and finally the visit to the creator of the device.
    Jon drew a deep breath. The history was painful but had to be recited. “The bones were broken, shattered. They healed, but the amount of damage to the muscles and tendons was impossible to repair.
    They were crushed, torn, mangled beyond repair by even the best surgeons in London.” He swallowed hard, feeling the tightness increase in his chest. No matter how often he told the tale, it still stuck in his throat. “So I have a hand in name only. The lack of muscle control makes it impossible to use. I still have the feeling…” The words faltered as her soft touch landed on the back of his hand, throwing sensations spiraling out that he thought he’d never feel again.
    “The wires,” she whispered, her slender fingers running along the bare skin of his forearm. They continued their conquest of his body, hovering around his elbow and sending a shiver down his spine.
    “They attach to various muscle groups under the copper bands, anchoring itself to your shoulder.” The gentle touching carried on, moving up his arm. “Allowing you to duplicate hand and finger actions to a degree that hides your disability almost totally.” She looked up at him. “May I request a demonstration?”
    Without a word, Jon pulled his fingers into a fist. The tiny strips of metal bent and twisted to his whim, curling the digits in towards the scarred palm. All except for one finger, the little one, that lay limp and unmoving. He winced at the glaring weakness.
    “Ah…” Sam moved around to stand in front of him. Bending over, she cradled the lone finger in both hands, so close he thought she was about to kiss it. “The spring, here.” A chipped fingernail tapped a minute hole not far from the unwilling appendage. “The spring isn’t here.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. Her pink tongue darted out, wetting dry lips.
    “Actually, it’s in my pocket. In two pieces.” Jon coughed, trying to hide his discomfort. He was no stranger to having people pick over his crippled arm and examine the brace, but this woman wasn’t like any of the others. The doctors inspected his broken hand with cold, quick, efficient jabs. The few women he had dawdled with afterwards had treated his hand like a china doll with short, gentle touches as if he would shatter into a thousand pieces if they got too close. But this woman, this frontier engineer, had no idea the effect she was having on him. The way she kept touching his bare skin, feather-light strokes that threatened to break down his iron will.
    “Hmm.” After striding over to the workbench, Sam opened up a drawer. She withdrew a set of spectacles enhanced with a number of smaller lenses on an extension bar. Putting them on, she returned to her scrutiny of the small brace, leaning over the naked arm again.
    A flick of her finger brought a second magnifying lens into play, then a third. A fourth hung off to one side, waiting to be called into action if necessary. Sam chewed on her bottom lip, tugging at the delicate flesh. Jon’s heartbeat increased, like he were running a race instead of merely standing here, leaning over a desk, stripped from the waist up.
    “I might, just might, be able to find you a replacement.” She pressed her lips together tightly for a second before continuing. A huff of air revealed her concern with the previous statement. “It seems to be an odd size of spring. I doubt I’ll be able to find one that size in our supplies. It’ll have to be handmade or modified from what we have. I cannot promise it’ll be a perfect fit, however. It may still not give you the full mobility that you need, but it’ll be better than you have now.” The words ground out between her teeth as if she hated to admit anything other than perfection.
    “I understand the limitations. But a replacement would suffice until I return back