"Tell me what you and Patrick need from the base, I'll make it happen. Medical benefits, family services, you name it. What red tape do you need slashed? Who should I lean on?"
Julia shook her head, wavy curls dancing above her solemn eyes. "There's nothing for you to do. I'm keyed in with a local group for EIS, early infant stimulation. We're fine with medical. He's blessedly healthy. Half of babies with Down syndrome are born with a heart defect, but not Patrick. We're very lucky."
She reached for her son.
Zach tucked Patrick closer. "Sounds like you've done your homework. When did you find out?"
Julia paused for a guilty second. "My second trimester."
"That long ago." The squadron patch on the sleeve of his flight suit seemed to burn a tattoo into his arm.
Anything. Anywhere. Anytime.
The stitched motto mocked him. He'd failed the Sinclair family on all three counts if Julia had felt she couldn't turn to him. "So you've had months to prepare."
"The alpha-feto protein test came back low in my fourth month. An amniocentesis confirmed it."
A shot of anger pierced his defenses. "You should have told me."
"So you could do what?" She forked her hand through her rumpled hair. "Rotate my tires? Clean leaves from my gutters at 6:00 a.m. again?"
What was wrong with wanting to help? "I could have placed some of those calls for you.
Paved the way. Made things easier. Been there."
"There's nothing you could have done that I couldn't do for myself. He's my son, and I'm a single parent. I'm on my own with this one. Thank you for caring, but I'm not your obligation." Her hand fluttered toward his arm, then stopped just shy of touching him.
Her hand drifted back to her side. "This is life, Colonel, and I intend to make sure Patrick has the best one any child could wish for."
"I'm sure you will."
"Damn straight." She met his gaze dead-on.
"I believe you."
"But you still want to rotate my tires."
The familiar playful glimmer in her eyes crackled over him with an unfamiliar intensity, like St. Elmo's Fire zipping through the cockpit. Dangerous. Exciting.
He wanted his perspective back. He flat-out didn't have time for hormonal insanity, especially with a woman who needed a helluva lot more than tire rotation.
"Stop it, Julia. I don't feel much like laughing right now. I'm..." Mad. Frustrated. In need of a wall to punch. "You should have told me."
She could insist all day long that he wasn't obligated, and it wouldn't change a thing.
Regardless of why Lance Sinclair's plane had gone down, Zach knew he would never stop feeling responsible. It had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with duty.
Honor.
That plane had smacked a mountain on his watch, which made Zach responsible for the family left behind.
Julia gently grasped Patrick's flailing foot. "I understand you don't feel like smiling, but you're going to do it for me anyway. Because I'm asking you, and you know that in spite of everything you've done for me, I've never actually asked you for anything."
His jaw clenched. "Julia—''
"Well, I'm asking now. I want Patrick to see flowers and smiles. I want him to hear laughter and songs, everything a baby deserves for a welcome." The playful glint faded altogether. "Can you do that for me? For Patrick."
He still didn't feel much like smiling, but she was right in thinking he would. Because she'd asked and those glistening green eyes had haunted his dreams.