Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (Wingmen Warriors 6)

Without moving his eyes from his warrior wife, Jack asked the question that had niggled at him for the past few hours. "Colonel, how did you know Monica and I would take care of the grenades?"

"I didn't," the Colonel answered without missing a beat.

Jack nodded. Understood. Would have played the scenario out the same way had he been in the commander's shoes.

Together they stood and watched the women. Their women.

Cro-Magnon to be so possessive? Sure. But since it was just three guys hanging out, there wasn't any need to pretty up the emotions.

The Colonel reached under his Kevlar helmet, scratched his head. "Looks like we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other come family reunion time."

"Damn," Blake folded another piece of gum into his mouth, "just what every enlisted guy wants, senior officers sitting down with him for Thanksgiving dinner. A lifetime of 'please pass the mashed potatoes, sir.'"

"Mashed potatoes?" The Colonel shook his head. "Korba, is that what you were eating for the holidays last year? 'Cause it sure wasn't what I was served. Hell, last Thanksgiving I was chowing down on MREs in the desert while SEAL boys' exploits hogged the glory in the news and you were eating turkey leftovers."

Ah, the familiarity of service rivalry. Ooh-rah. Future Thanksgivings would be a blast. "You guys are just jealous because my idea of roughing it is no HBO when I'm TDY."

"Chair Force," Blake muttered on a cough.

"Hey," Jack groused, "last time I checked, I was the one who got shot in the ass on this mission."

Laughs rumbled low, back and forth. Yeah, Thanksgivings were going to rock, especially with the three women to rile up the mix. Regardless of whatever other flaws Cheryl Lynn Hyatt Halibiz may have had, she'd given birth to three daughters who sure knew how to kick ass in their own ways.

Willowy Sydney with an unbreakable spirit.

Petite Yasmine who could spit fire with the best of them.

And his warrior Monica with a tender heart and unstoppable drive to heal the world.

Ah, hell. Jack punted a rock with his boot. This was a little more in touch with emotions than he wanted to be. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight to his uninjured leg and turned to his two future brother-in-laws. "Wanna go shoot guns or something?"

"Hoo-ya."

"Hoo-uh."

"Ooh-rah."

The radio in the Colonel's hand squawked, yanking them back to the present and their jobs.

Jack pivoted to face the older officer, snapped to attention, popped a sharp salute and held. "An honor working with you, sir. Cover your ass till things are wrapped up and I'll see you back in the States."

"That you will, Major. That you will." He returned the salute, then to the SEAL, as well, before lifting his LMR to his mouth and answering the radio call.

Gardner strode ahead to Sydney. Once Yasmine was safely escorted with Gardner, as well, the Colonel turned his attention to the call at hand. Not that he left the sight line of the runway, something that Jack suspected wouldn't change until they were safely in the air.

Jack ambled over to Monica, and damned if she didn't meet him halfway. "You about ready to head out, Mon?"

"Whenever you are. Guess we'll be sitting together after all."

"Well, that's one way for a married couple to get to ride in the same plane together. Have the other plane shot out from underneath you."

Monica shuddered, that vulnerable soul of hers more visible now that he knew to look for the signs. He slung an arm around her shoulders, brought her close to his side, her heart slugging a double pace under his draped hand.

He kissed her temple. Let her lean on him. Discovered the surprise pleasure of leaning on her, as well. "When do you want to tell everyone about being married?"

"How about we tell our families first? Then we can cut the news loose in the squadron."

"I'm guessing that piece of gossip will likely take the heat off you on the Tiara jokes for a while."