Page 69 of A Hero Comes Home

Jake could tell that something was wrong with Sally, but she wouldn’t tell him what it was, claimed she was just tired. He suspected that she was repulsed by his battered body and what she would have to do to help him regain some mobility.

She wouldn’t be the first woman unable to deal with a partner’s war wounds. A pilot back at Landstuhl, who’d been badly burned in an explosion, mentioned in a group therapy session one day that the first time he got naked with his wife to have sex, she vomited all over him. A sexual buzzkill if there ever was one!

He would deal with that issue later. No way would he want Sally working on his body if she was gagging as she did so. And, frankly, Jake didn’t know how much longer he would be around. He was like the long-haul trucker traveling at night; he could see only as far as his headlights. Unlike the trucker, though, Jake didn’t have a GPS map in place. His final destination might be California, or Alaska, but a vehicle breakdown might cause him to end up in the Rockies, so to speak.

That comparison is so lame, Jake thought.

In the meantime, he sought to take Sally’s mind off whatever was bothering her by engaging in love play. Yes, love play in a car. It wasn’t the first time they’d done it, but it had been a long, long time ago. Back when they were easier with each other.

“Hey, Sal, remember that time when we were driving back from Fort Bragg? Matt was asleep in the infant seat in the back, and I was so tired you were afraid I would nod off at the wheel. I had just come off a three-week deployment to Nigeria.”

“I don’t remember,” she said, even as her face flushed to a pretty shade of pink.

“You came up with a car game for us to play to keep me alert.”

“That was not my idea,” she said indignantly.

“Ah, so you do remember.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What brought this on?”

He yawned, wide and loud, and said, “I’m suddenly feeling really tired. Hope I don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Nah. I’ll get by.” He sighed.

“I could sing.” She immediately went into an improvised version of “The Wheels on the Car Go Round and Round.” then asked, “Would that work?” Even with her excellent voice, that children’s song—which was about a bus, not a car—got old fast, as he well knew from days when his boys were younger and more than a half hour in the car was an ordeal for them. Sally and the kids would sing it over and over till they reached their destination and his ears were ringing.

“Not even close. I have something else in mind.”

“You have a wicked mind.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled, and from this angle, gave him a perfect view of her slightly crooked incisor on the left side. Somehow that imperfection gave her an impish look. A sexy imp.

“You first,” he said.

“Okay, I spy something blue. Two guesses. One minute.” She glanced at her watch and began counting down the seconds.

Jake glanced up through the moonroof, pretending to look at the sky. Then he looked out the driver’s window at the ocean. But then he announced, “My eyes—well, my one eye.”

“You rat. You are too good at this,” she accused him. “What’s my penalty?”

“Take off your panties.”

She pretended to be shocked, before asking, “How do you know I’m wearing panties?”

What? “Are you kidding me? With the wind earlier, you could have been mooning all those people on the ferry.”

“My bad!” she said with a little moue of apology, then reached under her dress and pulled out a black lace thong, tossing it onto his lap. “Fooled ya!”

“Brat!” he said. “My turn now. I spy something rose-colored.”

“Knowing you . . . my nipples,” she said.

“Good guess, if I could see your nipples. But, no, that’s the wrong answer.”