She continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Of all the immature BS I've ever heard."
"Hey, simmer down." His mouth kicked up with a pacifying smile.
Major Smiles-and-No-Confrontation-Please would just have to suck this one up. "Don't defend their sixth-grade prank." She blinked back the weak tears. "All good intentions aside, they meddled in my life, and I don't appreciate it. And neither should you."
"I don't. But it's over and done with. Working yourself into a frenzy doesn't change a thing. Lighten up, Lori."
"Grow up, Gray." She snapped without thinking. But then that was the whole point. Arguing was instinctive for them. She pressed two fingers to her temple. "Sorry. That sort of remark pretty much negates my thanks. I guess old habits are hard to break."
Gray's hand fell to rest on her knee with the familiarity of old lovers, his eyes gentle as his light squeeze. "At least we've made it a little easier to get up in the morning."
And forget? The heat of his hand on her knee made a lie of his words. Her body refused to forget the gentle rasp of his hands along her bare skin, the caress of his mouth against the vulnerable curve of her neck, the shimmer while unraveling in his arms.>Hesitation could kill them. He chose words he knew well would fire her feet and distract her while they ran. "Why couldn't you have stayed home and baked cookies?"
"Fat chance." Her chest pumped for air as she shouted over the latest whistle. Explosion. Trees falling, burning. More running. "There's no one around to eat them."
Her accusation sprayed him like shrapnel. He'd fired her more than he could have hoped. Restraints fell away on his control in the madness of the moment. "You walked. Not me."
"I just," she gasped, cradling Magda's bandanna-covered head to her breast, "got to the door first."
And Lori was right.
His feet found purchase on the load ramp. More relief than he wanted throbbed through him. He plopped the toddler in a seat, then reached for Magda. She plastered herself to Lori, bandanna and Barbie secure.
"Stubborn women." Gray twirled Lori by the arm onto the red webbing. She sat, still and poised, with Magda in her lap. Both sets of wide brown eyes promised one great big distraction.
He jabbed a finger in Lori's face. "No more saving the world today, lady. Sit. Don't move until we get this plane off the ground."
Not waiting for any argument, he shouldered through the swell of bodies crowding onto the aircraft.
Lori's whisper dogged him all the way to the cockpit. Be careful.
Operating through life solo was a hell of a lot easier.
* * *
Gray stared out at the night stars blanketing the sky beyond his windscreen. The bombing in Sentavo was a world away. Or at least ten hours past.
Lori, little Magda, everyone had made it out unharmed. Gray didn't let himself dwell overlong on those seconds he'd stood horrified, watching Lori sprint into a shower of shrapnel. He focused on the plane, stick in hand, rudder pedals beneath his boots.
Only the fluorescent glow of the green instrument panel lit the confined space. Bronco sprawled to his right in the copilot's seat reading a paperback. The aircraft hummed contentedly across the Atlantic.
Forget autopilot, he loved to fly.
The sky had been his salvation for years. As a child he'd dreamed of flying with his bomber gunner father. Later Gray's dreams had shifted to piloting a rescue for his POW father, easing the strained lines around his mother's eyes, bringing back her smile.
But he couldn't.
He'd settled for earning her smile in other ways. He was good at that, joking, keeping things light.
After his father's return, his mother still hadn't smiled. No one did. Before long, Gray traveled the skies in his mind to escape.
He was good at that, too. Running.
Gray called in a position report. In the homestretch, they only had three more hours before landing in Charleston. The children would be whisked away to their sponsor families. Lori would go home and find some great man, bake cookies for him, make babies with him.
The thought soured in Gray's brain, not at all comforting. As a matter of fact, it was damned depressing.
Gray reached to tighten his bandanna tied around his calf over the mortar nick. The bleeding was minimal, his need for a Band-Aid nothing compared to the other pilots' need for sleep. Air safety came first.