Soldier's Christmas (Wingmen Warriors 8)

Fun. That described Alicia well. Dating her had been a wild ride, full of the unexpected. Like the time she'd called and insisted he put on his mess dress uniform before she arrived. She'd been wearing a hot-pink formal gown with ridiculous ruffles. Since he'd never had a senior prom, she'd planned to treat him to the whole experience...a few years late.

At the first sign of resistance from him, she'd threatened to make him wear a tux with a fuchsia cummerbund and bow tie to match her dress.

He'd relented—and had an uninhibited blast.

Ah, shit. He didn't want to remember falling in love with her. He needed distance from Alicia, a damned tough proposition considering they were stuck in a tree. "So back to your cotton panties. What color are you wearing under all those uniform layers right now?"

God, her husband could be such an ass sometimes. And right after being so sweet listening to her sappy childhood stories and distracting her from her numb toes.

Nothing to do but ignore him and his obnoxious question, try to forget the steady comfort of his hand on her arm while she'd talked about her mother.

Wind whistled through the trees even though the storm had eased. Thank heaven they weren't out in the open and only had to wait a few hours until daylight. Still, her hands shook from the cold. She ached all the way to her bones from sitting still so long.

She tapped her thumb against her pinkie in a quick check to make sure her fingers still worked. Which made her worry about Josh. While she wouldn't see her siblings for Christmas since they were all stationed at different Air Force bases, at least she had siblings to call, unlike Josh.

Sympathy tweaked harder than the bite of bark pressing through her protective clothing. "What holiday memories do you have?"

"More traditional ones, I guess. My mother collected menorahs, some really fancy like your mother's perfect tree and others that would probably fit in with your more eclectic tastes."

"Which one was your favorite?" The classic beauty or the eclectic surprise? And now, wasn't that fishing for a flipping reinforcement that maybe she'd been at least partially right for him during their short-lived, messed-up marriage?

"This one my nonni has that looks like a moose."

A moose?

Eclectic, sure, but not quite the complementary analogy she'd been seeking. Still, his quirky answer warmed her frostbitten feet that just happened to be sporting quirky reindeer-patterned toe socks under all the other layers of socks. "A moose? How so? I'm having trouble picturing it."

"With candles on each antler."

"Ah. Okay, now I can envision it." Why had they never taken the time for this before when she could have fully enjoyed it, when she wasn't a frozen ice sculpture? Drawing her knees up to her chest, she tucked her face down, arms inside. The bough held. "Sounds like something a boy would enjoy. What else?"

"I had a dreidel to play with, but, man, did I ever want to play with Nonni's old one up on the mantel.

Mother said no, but Nonni said I could if I helped her make potato latkes."

"You in an apron? Now, there's an image."

"Hey—" his deep bass growled from the other side of the pine "—I make a mighty damned good potato latke."

"I'll trade you some for my grandma's fruitcake recipe." She tried for lighthearted, except she knew better. They would never swap squat again, and the knowledge wedged itself in her throat like dried-out leftovers. "It's about time to climb down, isn't it?"

"Soon," he agreed, his voice sobering. "We need to make tracks the minute daylight breaks. We have to put space between us and whoever sicced these Cujo spawn on us. If we stay in the woods, covering our tracks should be easier. Of course, that also makes it tough as hell for anyone to rescue us."

"Well, don't those options all suck."

"Pretty much. Someone will have stayed at the pickup point. We'll just keep trying to make our way there."

"How far off do you think we ran?"

He stayed silent. Not good.

All right, then. One problem at a time. She pointed down at Fluffy still sharpening his fangs on their radio.

"Do you have any ideas on how to make the big guy there abandon his favorite new chew toy?"

"I've been praying for another killer icicle for the past hour. Doesn't seem to be working."

Her low laugh spiraled out into the horizon glowing orange and purple with a cresting sun. Not how she'd planned to spend the dark hours with him, and oddly somehow as intimate as sleeping in his arms.