Under Siege (Wingmen Warriors 3)

"Uh, Colonel, everything can go in the hall." For once grateful he wouldn't even consider letting her help, she sagged into a wooden porch rocker. "Patrick and I will sit here and enjoy the breeze."

"Perfect." Zach placed the car seat beside her before loping down the steps to the car.

"How did Ivy's ballet auditions go?"

"Graduated a level." He hefted out her suitcase.

"She made it up on pointe?"

"You mean all that torturing her toes stuff?" His cowboy boots thudded up the steps.

"Yeah."

"Good for her!" Julia cheered, taking refuge in their safe territory of familiar discussions about his girls. She did not need to think about all that lanky appeal encased in soft, faded denim. Her hand draped over the armrest to rock Patrick's car seat while Zach carried load after load of roses, carnations and daisies. "How's Shelby?"

"Don't ask." He battled a bouquet of balloons from her passenger seat.

"That good, huh?"

"You got it." A salty breeze gusted off the ocean, dragging the balloons behind him as he took the steps in two strides. He looped the dangling ribbons around a post into a slip knot and tucked his hands in his back pockets.

Nothing left in her trunk, no safe territory remaining to explore, Julia's gaze skittered from the gaping door of her empty house, back to the too-intriguing man on her porch.

"Uh, do you want to sit for a minute? Patrick should sleep for at least another hour."

"You need to rest."

"I can rest in the rocker."

He checked his watch. "Sure. I have another few minutes before I have to pick up Ivy."

Zach hitched up onto the porch rail across from her. Palmetto trees rustled in the silence, a barge horn blaring in the distance.

He jerked a thumb toward the casserole dish on the top step. "I brought chili. Light on the spices since you're— uh—nursing."

"Oh. Thanks." Heat tingled up her face, an answering tingle settling in her br**sts as she even thought of nursing. Of Zach seeing her. Let-down reflex, of course. Nothing more, she reassured herself. "You didn't have to, but we'll be gracious receivers. Patrick and I can't very well live off my one claim to culinary fame. Slice-'n'-bake cookies."

"Last I heard," Zach said, his drawl twining around her like the warm fall breeze,

"gourmet cooking skills weren't on St. Peter's list of mandatory requirements for passing through the pearly gates."

"Good thing."

Twenty-four hours ago, they would have shared a laugh and now she couldn't even meet his eyes. She missed the comfort of their unlikely friendship. Needing the precious reassurance of her baby in her arms more than ever, Julia bent to unbuckle Patrick.

Baby nestled on her shoulder, she kicked off her sandals, her head lolling back to rest.

She propped her feet on the bottom brace of her porch rail and rocked, arching and flexing her bare feet.

Zach's gaze fell to her legs, then her feet, lingering on her painted toenails.

Uh-oh.

Before she could blink, he reached, grabbed the porch eave and hefted himself up.

Swinging a leg onto the roof, he disappeared overhead. Heavy footsteps thudded from above.

"Colonel?"