Under Siege (Wingmen Warriors 3)

He leaned back, one boot braced against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm sure they've called me plenty of names around the squadron, but I feel downright confident Colonel Doll wasn't one of them."

"That's too bad. It's catchy, far more cuddly and approachable than Wolf One, don't you think?"

"Demoted from Colonel Doll to Colonel Cuddly?" A low chuckle rumbled free along with his mock wince. "Now that has a ring to it I'm sure the crewdogs will appreciate. But I think we can save those cute and cuddly labels for the little fella you're holding."

She relaxed into her pillows, grateful the awkwardness of her "flasher" moment had dissolved and the ease of their friendship had returned—a friendship no doubt born of obligation on his part.

He'd been so hell-bent on helping her lately. She felt like an ingrate for resenting him when he mowed her lawn. Changed a tire. Removed a squirrel from her chimney.

She'd done everything in her power to become strong and independent for her baby. She was proud of taking her woodworking to a new, professional level with her playhouse-manufacturing division in the company. It galled her to accept help that could well be a threat to her newfound independence.

And here Zach Dawson was again, fulfilling his obligation by visiting her. God, she hated being anyone's obligation.

Julia rubbed her wrist over the Band-Aid covering a tender IV puncture wound. "Colonel, please don't think I'm not grateful for your visit, but don't you have anything better to do on a Friday night than hang out with a lactating new mother?"

"Can't think of a single thing." His thumb sawed absently back and forth against the radio clutched in his hand.

"Surely you'd rather be back on base at the club with the guys." Her eyes narrowed as she realized he might well have very different plans. He was an attractive bachelor after all, probably not more than thirty-seven or thirty-eight. Of course she was only thirty-one, but felt closer to ninety-one some days. "Or out on a hot date."

All hints of a smile faded as he held up his radio. "Not unless she's willing to meet me on the flight line in an hour when the next plane lands."

Flight line. Planes. Fearless pilots.

Without warning, that blue cloud threatened a proverbial thunderstorm. She needed Zach Dawson to take his flight suit, military radio and all other reminders of the Air Force out of her room before she totally lost it.

The guy already carried that sense of obligation to the extreme. She didn't need to make it worse with a crying jag that would have him changing her oil by sunrise. "I appreciate your stopping by, but it's late and you probably want to finish up at the flight line in time to say good-night to your girls."

"I do need to head out soon. But before I forget, I have something for you from Ivy." He swung his boot up onto the chair and unzipped the thigh pocket. Zach tugged free a folded piece of paper. "Doc Bennett's call about your delivery came just before the kids left for school. Ivy drew this for you."

Julia tucked Patrick to her chest as she leaned to take the homemade card. Neon marker colors sketched out a rainbow over a playhouse with a little boy on the steps, a playhouse just like the one Julia had designed at work the month before. How like quiet Ivy to remember from a brief stop at Julia's office on their way to the mall.

Shopping trips with the Dawson girls had been a welcome distraction lately. And she'd soon discovered the only way Zach would let her pay him back for all his help was through his daughters.

"Thank you," she said, tracing a finger over the arch. That rainbow tugged at her.

Peacemaker Ivy always plastered rainbows over everything, an endless task given the year those girls had weathered after their mother walked out. "You've got a great kid there, Colonel."

"Blind luck on my part, but yeah, she sure is." He smiled again. Lieutenant Colonel Dawson didn't smile often, but mention of his children reliably earned his lopsided grin.

"Tell Ivy the card will go in Patrick's baby book at home." Julia inched up in the bed, wincing at aches in more places than she could have predicted. "For now, I'm going to give it a center-stage spot with the other cards and flowers."

"No need to get up. You should take it easy while you can." He reached for the card.

"Tell me where you want—"

Their fingers brushed.

Just the tips, not much of a touch, but it zipped a spark through her she'd never expected to feel again. She certainly hadn't expected to feel it thirteen hours after giving birth.

Surely the reaction was only a byproduct of an emotional day and the crazy intimacy of that moment when he'd opened the door. After eight lonely months, her body craved the comfort of human touch.

Except the spark searing her fingertips had very little to do with comfort.

She might want that comfort, even the spark too in about six weeks, but she didn't want all the baggage that came with it. She'd fought a draining battle to salvage something with Lance because she'd made a commitment to the marriage, only to lose him anyway.

Never again would she risk offering her bruised heart to any man but her son. Patrick needed a steady environment and a strong mother to thrive.

Julia snatched her hand away. The paper crackled in her tight grip. "I can do it. The doctor said it's good for me to walk."