The Captive's Return (Wingmen Warriors 10)

"Well, kid, technically you're not walking," he mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"I wanna go home."

Sara drew up alongside them, steam rising from her drying clothes. "We will, chica, very soon. When we get there, you'll have all your favorite things to eat and fresh clothes."

"And a pool? I'm hot. I wanna swim."

"As soon as possible," Sara reassured her, taking over the conversation, thank God.

"How much more? Are we there yet? You said one day."

He prepped for another Lucia litany of grown-ups are sure wrong a lot.

Instead, Sara pressed a finger to her daughter's mouth. "Remember when our bridge broke?"

"Uh-huh." Her voice quivered.

"That means we have to take a longer way," Sara explained for the thirty-seventh time.

Yet her voice stayed patient, even if her eyes looked weary. In fact, every inch of her appeared dog tired.

He studied the sun, took a quick navigational reading. They hadn't made it as far as he would like, and they still had at least an hour's daylight left. Did Sara have sixty seconds, much less sixty minutes, of energy left?

She'd been a dynamo before, wearing him out on more occasions than he was comfortable remembering at the moment. But maybe he had unrealistic expectations. Heat, rain and stress could take its toll, too.

"Lucas," she huffed, "don't even think about stopping for me. You need to see a doctor for your arm before it turns green and rots off."

He'd forgotten that uncanny knack of hers for reading his mind—and for making him laugh. "Turns green, huh? What do you think of that, Lucia?"

"Ewwww," the imp groaned.

Sara's mouth pulled tight. "Don't you laugh at me, Lucas Quade."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

God help them if she saw into all of his thoughts since she could lynch him for any number of them— ranging from how he wanted to peel off her damp shirt or kiss the tight pucker from her lips, even though he wasn't sure he trusted her anymore.

He whacked a protruding bush, scattering butterflies and lizards. "I wouldn't be stopping for you. I'd be stopping for the chatterbox on my back."

"Uh, chatterbox has fallen asleep."

No way. That fast? He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, he found a tiny face tucked into the curve of his neck, even though her arms stayed locked tight around him. Her eyes were closed, bow mouth open just a little, puffy sleep breaths gusting.

A fresh pool of drool spread on the shoulder of his flight suit.

"Lucas!" Sara called. "Look out."

He jerked around—just in time to keep from running smack into a low branch. "Damn it. Thanks."

Regaining his footing, he knocked aside palms with extra force. A toucan squawked.

Sara continued to cruise alongside him. He slowed, even though she insisted she didn't need it. They wouldn't get anywhere if she gave out.

Sara smiled up at him. "I do that a lot, too."