How strange that when her ex-fiance had pushed her-to the wall about quitting her job she couldn't imagine backing down. Yet, she knew she would do whatever it took to make Jack happy and give him peace.
"I'd be lying if I said I don't want to wrap you up in cotton and keep you as far away from this kind of shit as I can." His arms banded around her, loosely, supporting without constricting. "But I know you. I respect you. The last thing I want is to change you. When push comes to shove, I'm there for you. Whatever you need or want or choose, I'm behind you."
No wonder she loved this man.
And he had been there for her today. Even though she'd sensed his fear of losing her, he hadn't tried to stop her. Not even for a second, much less the prolonged battle of wills they'd gone through a week ago.
She wasn't naive enough to think they would never argue or knock heads. But bottom line, they now had unreserved love, and, yes, respect for each other. "What did I ever do to deserve you?''
"That's just it, babe. Things like trust and respect are earned and deserved. But love? Well, it just exists of its own free will. What a damned fine thing, because otherwise we'd always have to worry about it being taken away the first time we screwed up. And the way I figure, it's a sure bet I'm going to screw up on occasion down the line."
That simple and clear. He loved her. It made so much sense now that she'd stopped to listen to him instead of always telling him what he should be thinking and saying.
She toyed with the tab on his flight suit zipper. "Making up is fun."
"So I hear." He flicked her zipper tab right back.
Just because he was laid-back and loping through life didn't mean he wasn't very aware and always planning. She could learn more than a few things from this wise and oh-so-funny man she'd married. "I really do love you, Jack."
"I know."
And she saw that he did. She'd been given the gift of his love, but she'd also won his trust.
A planeload of people waited behind them. Still she couldn't stop herself from taking a few more seconds to savor the moment. She glided her hands over his bristly face full of hard angles, strength and sun-bronzed laugh lines. Exhaustion carved a few extra creases around his eyes, reminding her he was her patient as well as her husband today.
"Okay, flyboy, as your doctor and your concerned wife, I'm telling you it's time for you to get in that plane and take a load off. You've been up for over twenty-four hours. Fought in a war. And been shot in the ass." She jabbed a finger toward the load ramp. "Move it."
He hooked an arm over her shoulders again, making his way toward the open load ramp. "God, I love it when you get bossy."
She wasn't sure if his leaning came from a need for support or a need to touch her. Either way, she wasn't complaining, not even when he grew heavier during the last few steps. "I'm not bossy. Just assertive."
"Uh-huh. Whatever you want, I'm game."
She pinched his side just as they reached the aircraft. "Zipper-suited sky gods and their egos."
"Mouthy and bossy." His boots thundered on the base of the metal ramp. "Babe, you're turning me inside out."
"Get used to it, flyboy," she whispered in his ear. "I've got ideas for what we can do in those retirement rocking chairs."
"Anything. Anywhere. Anytime. I'm your man."
Epilogue
Five minutes more and he could peel off his flight suit.
Jack hauled his weary body down the long corridor of the Warrior Inn toward his VOQ room at Nellis AFB, debrief for his flight completed before sundown. What a way to spend his one-year wedding anniversary. TDY alone in Vegas. Monica TDY elsewhere. But that was military life. They would just have a helluva celebration in Charleston in a couple of days.
Making tracks through the crew dogs packing the halls, Jack smiled, tossed nods, turned down invitations to head out to eat. He only wanted to find his bed and the telephone so he could call his wife.
He angled sideways around a cleaning cart, eyeing his door and already thinking up at least eleven different ways to romance Monica over the phone. Life was good.
"Sir," the uniformed maid called, steadying a tottering pile of towels, "I went ahead and let your wife into your room. I hope that was all right."
Wife? In his room? Life was about to get a helluva lot better. Anticipation punted exhaustion clean away. "Absolutely all right. Thanks!"
His double-timed steps thundered down the carpeted hall. A swipe of his key card and he swung the door wide to find, oh, yeah—his wife.
Major Monica Hyatt Korba reclined on his bed in her flight suit, her sock-clad feet crossed at the ankles. Crooked in the corner of her arm, she held his box of Froot Loops. "I hope the King's not too tired for a chorus of 'Are You Lonesome Tonight' followed by breakfast in bed."