Fully Engaged (Wingmen Warriors 12)
“Whereas your friend’s mortality isn’t in question since his isn’t a life-threatening illness.”
She nodded.
“There’s no question that this job of ours is more than a job, a calling, service to country, to others above self. Those PJs really push themselves—That Others May Live.”
“Their motto.”
“Think about your cancer, how you fought so damn bravely, but all the while preparing yourself to die.”
Ah. The clue bird landed on her head. “He has prepared himself to die, but never prepared himself to live.”
“And since I’m the boss and know everything, you might want to take those words to heart yourself.”
An image flashed to mind of Rick’s face as they’d driven around base earlier—the hunger in his eyes as he’d stared out at the flight line at the airplanes. Planes he’d once jumped out of to save lives.
Just as her boss had said. She’d faced the possibility of death. But she’d never thought about living—and losing her dream.
Rick faced that nightmare every day, something far less clear-cut in its healing. How could she have been so dense? Hell, she lived with a man who couldn’t face losing his dream. She’d seen how it tore apart her ex-husband watching her put on her flight suit each day.
Rick would help her, but this had to be painful for him in ways he never would have anticipated. And—ouch—that stung her in a way she hadn’t foreseen, either.
Self-revelations hurt as much as any incisions. This healing process just went on and on and on. Sheesh, when would she get to just live a normal day?
Maybe this was normal. The good and the bad. Learning and moving ahead. Time to quit grousing and start embracing those lessons so she could live each day a little stronger and wiser before she moved on to the next.
Definitely ouch.
Chapter 6
“So I’ve finally found your vulnerability,” Rick pronounced from the passenger side of the rental SUV, working to inject levity in his tone.
He hurt like hell. The rehab folks here took torture lessons from the same folks as the technicians in Texas. His legs hurt. His head hurt.
And after three nights sharing a room with Nola, other parts of him hurt even worse.
He was grouchy as all get-out and determined not to show it.
“Huh?” Nola glanced from the road to him then back to the street, turning off the interstate.
“Your weakness.” He hooked his elbow on the open window. Tough to believe tomorrow would be Thanksgiving, with temperate weather like this. The time for family dinners. He squelched thoughts of Lauren at two with mashed potatoes all over her chubby cheeks. Patience. “Your tender spot.”
“Fat chance. I have no tender spots. I am a warrior woman, invincible.” She winked.
“Yeah, right. Okay, warrior woman.” Actually, there was something to what she said. She did have training he hadn’t given as much thought to as he should. She could fight her stalker, maybe better than he could right now with his exhausted body. God, he needed a nap, but she’d been all psyched up to go car shopping and he wasn’t letting her out of the house without him or one of her flyboy buddies.
He shifted in his seat, his legs protesting—loud—at the lack of space. He needed a half hour of Jacuzzi jets massaging his sore muscles. “Aren’t you curious as to what I’ve determined?”
“Do tell.” She pulled off the access road into the auto-mall.
“You’re scared of car dealers.”
“Not hardly.” Poorly masking her distaste, she stared at the line of dealerships proclaiming holiday sales, multicolor triangular flags flapping in the wind.
“Then why ask me along?”
Her knuckles went white, her jaw set, she put the car in park. “Because you’re supposed to be watching out for me and making this stalker guy think I have a big-ass tenant. And by big-ass, I do mean that you are being an ass today.”
“Why thank you, ma’am.” He’d forgotten how prickly women could be. Living alone in a cave had its appeal. Well, except for the no sex and soft womanly curves part. “I do believe we may have more in common than we thought.”