"You're on a training flight. Monday. Showtime 0600."
"Uh, okay. Got it. Thanks." J.T. peered through the sheer lace and still the car didn't leave. He moved closer until he could discern … Rena slumped over the steering wheel. Her forehead rested on her hands.
He forced himself to stay inside when every muscle inside of him screamed for action. "How long's the flight?"
"You're scheduled for five hours local area, instructing Airman Brad Gilmore."
J.T. winced. "Good God, not Gabby. That guy talks more than a four-year-old overdosing on Mountain Dew and Pixie Stix."
Bo's chuckles turned downright wicked. "What'll you give me not to stop by the flight kitchen and sweet-talk someone there into adding extra caffeine and cookies to his lunch?">"Great. Just make sure he packs extra bug spray. West Nile virus and all that, you know." Closing the door and hopefully sealing away at least a few more of those tempting memories made in a bed upstairs, she couldn't stop babbling about everything her son should pack. At least she wasn't throwing herself at J.T. as she'd done the last time they'd been alone together.
How flipping unfair that he should look better at forty-two than at twenty. And he'd looked mighty fine at twenty with those brooding eyes focused intently on her while she gobbled up the vision of shoulders stretching his uniform to the limit. Fine enough back then to entice her out of her clothes and virginity in less than two months.
Of course, when he'd returned from Rubistan, it had taken him less than two minutes to talk her out of her clothes.
Rubistan. Her heart clenched tight.
J.T. was alive, she reminded herself. Much more than that she didn't know because this man wouldn't talk to her. He never talked to her. Never had, not about anything that mattered, just let her keep babbling on to fill the silences in their marriage.
And just that fast, her words dried up.
J.T. blinked slowly, gray eyes as shuttered as ever. "I didn't expect to see you here. Your car's not out front."
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."