He had half lifted her out of the helo before the slap of cold air woke her. “No, wait. Put me down before you hurt yourself.”
Mark laughed and held her closer. If anything, ranch work had made him even more powerful than the first time he’d held her thirteen years ago. Retired and mid-forties, he’d mellowed from that long-ago company commander…but not changed all that much. Nothing she’d like to do more than curl up in his arms and be carried to their bed—as long as he let her sleep.
“The girls?”
“It’s a school day.” One p.m. her time had become noon local. Which meant?—
“Dilya.”
“What about her?”
“Where is she?”
Mark looked down at her. “Dilya?”
Emily sighed. The girl could be bloody invisible when she wanted to.
“Hi, Emily.”
Mark banged his nose on the back of Emily’s head as they both twisted to look down at her. Except Dilya wasn’t down anymore. She’d been a little slip of a girl when their unit had rescued the war orphan from the middle of a battle in northern Afghanistan. She’d been starved for too many years to ever be more than slender. Her dark brown hair still ruffled long down her back, and her green eyes still seemed too large for her narrow features, especially highlighted by her mid-tone skin.
Mark set Emily down rather abruptly as he grabbed for his nose. Thankfully he first let go of her feet rather than her head. Still, a hand on Mark’s shoulder was all that kept her from dropping to the snow-dusted dirt.
“You’re in Montana.” Emily didn’t know quite what comfort she’d found in stating the obvious.
“So are you.” Dilya smiled at her, and her dog, a too-smart Sheltie named Zackie, wagged her tail in agreement. “We need to talk.”
“So you said.”
Mark looked from one to the other of them as he held his nose before cursing, “Dabbit!” And he stalked off without even giving her a kiss. Mark knew about the Tac Room, probably knew its purpose, but he wasn’t one of the four authorized to enter there. Usually he liked it that way. Not at the moment.
Of course Dilya wasn’t authorized either, but that hadn’t stopped her. She’d had years of practice, first at the secret forward military base they’d rescued her to, then later as the First Child’s nanny and the First Lady’s dog handler in the White House. Emily still hadn’t heard the story of how Dilya ended up owning the First Lady’s dog when she left the White House.
“Sorry,” Dilya looked more sad than sorry.
“Your timing has been better.” Then she recognized the new pained look on Dilya’s face as clearly as Mark had recognized that nothing important would happen as long as he remained within earshot. “New Hampshire?” Last she’d heard, Dilya had been living with a boy near Mount Washington, the tallest point north of Tennessee and east of the Black Hills.
“All he cared about was his trains.”
“Trains?”
“He works on the tourist cog-rail line that goes up to the top of Mount Washington. I thought he’d be…”
“…interested in the same things you were?”
Dilya sighed so heavily that even the irrepressible Zackie looked sad. “He was, still is, into tactical online war games. But that’s as far as he wants to take it. Ultimately, we just annoyed the crap out of each other.” She stroked Zackie’s head. “Our Shelties grew as grouchy with each other as we did.”
“I’m sorry.” Emily was never brilliant at moments like this. She knew what to do when she was someone’s commander and superior officer. But Dilya was the adopted daughter of the man she’d met at West Point, then flown with for years, and the woman who’d been Emily’s top gunner back in the day. Emily and Dilya were more friends than anything else. Out of other ideas, Emily rested a hand on Dilya’s arm in sympathy.
Dilya nodded hard, brushed once at her eyes, and retreated without moving a muscle. “We need to talk.”
Emily dropped her hand. “Is it okay if I get some sleep first?”
Dilya’s look said no.
Now it was Emily’s turn to sigh sadly. Well, she wasn’t going to leave the high-pressure world of Fort Campbell only to crawl into the high-pressure world of the Tac Room, no matter how anxious Dilya was.
Emily looked about the Montana ranch compound; she might be barely conscious but at least she was home and that was a blessing in any form.
