Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

Good or bad? Did he want to see her? After so many years together she still couldn't read him except in bed. There, she knew his every want, desire. And God, was he ever a man of endless desire.

She shivered in spite of the ninety-five-degree spring day. Rena wrapped her arms around herself and strode past him.

"I left work early and had a friend drive me over to pick up Chris's car from the garage." She stopped at the porch railing, reached to the hanging fern to snap off a dead frond. Her marriage might have withered, but at least she knew bow to keep her plants alive. A skill she'd developed in their early days together, an attempt to fill an empty apartment.

"A friend?"

Her fingers stopped midsnap. Jealousy? From J.T.? No way. Even considering it started a slow spiral of hope that would lead nowhere. Besides, she wouldn't play those kinds of games.

Shifting to face him, she crumpled dead leaves in her fist. "Julia Dawson took me. Then we had a late lunch."

Rena searched for relief in his eyes even as she told herself it shouldn't matter. She waited. Wanted… What? She didn't know anymore around this man. Although being able to hold on to her pride would make a nice start.

Heavy boots thundered across the planked porch until he stood beside her.

She swallowed.

He hooked a boot on the low rung. "The new paint job on Chris's car looks nice, don't you think?"

Paint job? So much for jealousy. Argh! Couldn't the man even acknowledge a normal emotion and throw her a bone here?

She wanted to scream. Stomp her foot. Even smack him. But that was one line neither of them had ever crossed, no matter how heated their arguments became and how many plates she pitched. Never once had their fights turned physical.

Well, except for the very physical release of sex that inevitably followed.

O-kay. No arguing today. Paint talk sounded good after all.

The story of their marriage, talking about things that didn't matter when so many more important things loomed. Divorce papers to sign. Children to bring up in a split home.

Whatever hell he'd endured during his nine-day detainment in Rubistan.

The capture had left bruises on his body, broken bones on another crew member. Heaven only knew what bruises and breaks on J.T.'s soul accompanied those new strands of gray. Part of her longed to hold his big solid body, while another part of her raged over him shutting her out—again.

He gestured toward the blue Cavalier. "The body shop did well sanding down the rust spot. Can't even see it. Just keep on Chris not to park so near the beach at work."

"He's doing well with his job at the restaurant. He's picking up some waiter duties as well as his regular busboy job. Better tips." She pivoted, rested back against the railing, late-afternoon breeze sweeping her hair over her shoulders. "And his grades are holding steady. He's keeping it together in spite of everything that's going on with us."

"He's a great kid."

Side by side, they looked into each other's eyes. Memories leapfrogged back and forth between them as tangibly as her loose dark curls floating on the breeze. Memories of Chris's birth. J.T.'s pride in his son. J.T.'s stoic features softened by a smile when he'd held their daughter, their firstborn.

And in that special moment twenty-one years ago with his daughter, Rena had thought maybe, just maybe everything would work out after all. Even if he'd married a woman he didn't love—a spoiled rich teenager who didn't know how to cook and clean, much less balance a checkbook or clip coupons.

She brushed the windblown hair from her face, tossing the long strands back over her shoulder, J.T.'s eyes watching her every move. Lingering on her hair.

More memories filled the air between them while countless cars cruised past. Images of her hair draped over his bare chest, of J.T. twining a long curl around his finger, tugging her closer. Closer still.

She swayed. "We did a good job with Chris. And Nikki, too. We got that much right, didn't we?"

So much for keeping things light.

Magnolia-scented gusts whispered around them while the hammock squeaked a taunting song from behind J.T. She thought for a minute he might dodge answering a question that delved into deeper waters. She wasn't sure why she even bothered pushing him anymore, pushing herself as well, because deep waters were dangerous for them, both with so many secrets unshared.

"Yeah, Rena. We did." His broad hand fell to rest beside hers on the white railing, not touching. But still she remembered well the pleasure of his calluses rasping against her bare skin.

She knew better now than to ask him what went wrong. If she did, he would sigh, dig in his boot heels to weather the storm while she did all the talking. Or yelling. She didn't like what she was becoming around him.

And she didn't want him to step away yet.