Had she imagined his momentary glance due to leftover wishful musings from her midnight pedicure? Julia stood as quickly as her aching body would allow and padded barefoot down the four steps into her yard so she could look up at him. "What are you doing?"
"Last week's storm tore up your trees."
Shading her eyes, she watched him stomp across the roof punting branches to the ground.
"Please be careful. I don't have the energy to cart you to the ER."
"Not a chance. Walking around up here's nothing. I was scaling oil rigs while other kids were climbing monkey bars. Kinda like flyin' without the plane if you swing out just right."
She couldn't miss the edge of excitement in his voice as it rambled out over her yard, or how at home he looked that much closer to the sky even now.
He scooped a handful of leaves out of her gutters and sent them fluttering to the ground.
"I'll head back over later and clear out the rest of these."
"Do you ever sit still for more than two minutes, Colonel?"
"Nope. Waste of time. Call me Zach."
"Relaxing's never a waste of time, Colo— What did you say?"
"Call me Zach."
Standing on her roof, feet braced, sun at his back he'd never looked less like a Zach and more like a commander. He towered, inky-black hair as dark as the shadow he cast across her slate roof. His frown equally as dark. The whole image so fascinating she would call him the Easter Bunny if he asked.
Julia snuggled her son closer as a reminder for safer thoughts. As much as she might be tempted to toss caution off like a pair of sandals, she wouldn't let herself fantasize about gazing out on the world from the roof with Zach.
Zach.
She shivered at the intimacy implied by the name. An intimacy she had no intention of exploring.
Zach stared down from the roof at Julia below him and thanked heaven for his sure-footed instincts gained from years of climbing oil rigs.
She looked so damned beautiful. Sun glistened off her wheat-colored curls. Her flowing dress—made out of that scrunchy fabric—swirled around her, twisted and molded to her mile-long legs.
Except she wouldn't be exchanging pleasantries with him if she knew what topped his schedule Monday morning when he began an extensive review of her husband's flight history.
Julia shifted under his scrutiny, her bare feet tracing a restless dance in the grass. God, he would far rather stare at her than think about what he had to do. Those surprisingly sexy painted toes had sent him vaulting off the porch before he fell into a repeat gape of the night before.
What color polish did she wear? He hadn't allowed himself the indulgence of finding out.
Now he couldn't tell for certain from such a distance and for some reason he had to know.
Zach scaled to the ground, landing beside her. Overgrown lawn masked her toes. Damn.
"You said back at the hospital you aren't my obligation. Fine. So forget I was your husband's boss. I'm your friend helping out which means you can stop calling me Colonel and start calling me Zach."
"Okay."
He waited. Where had the whole name request come from in the first place? Strange, but he hadn't thought much about the fact that not many people used his given name anymore. As he had climbed the ranks, his circle of familiars narrowed. And then with the divorce...
He wanted to hear his name. From Julia.
She shuffled, scratching her toes over the top of her other foot. Pink. The polish was pink.
Soft, pretty pink—with those damned alluring sparkles. A lot like her.
"Well, Julia?"