by Mark Harritt
Jo looked down at her husband and roughed his sandy, blond hair with her non-coffee hand. His hair always turned blond during the summer months as the sun bleached it out. In the winter, it was a light brown. Mike looked up at her. She was amazed that he was thirty-three and still, at times, the expressions on his face would make him look like a little boy. She looked at the scars across his body, and knew that she was lucky that the little boy was still around to smile mischievously at her.
Truth was, Jo was the reason that he was able to put his job out of mind. She was the reason that he stayed sane. She was the anchor in the storm.He put his arms around her waist and squeezed softly.
“Whoa, cowboy, you’re crushin’ the stuffin’ out of me. You’re going to make me spill my coffee.”
He grinned at her as he let the pressure off, “I was hoping to talk you into coming back to bed for a while.”
Jo knew that this was going to be his argument against going to Denver that morning. Like any other man, Mike was not a guy that enjoyed shopping, especially for furniture. She brought the coffee into the bedroom as a line of defense against this very thing. Still, Mike’s wide shoulders, strong arms, and skinny waist made her resolve waiver. But she had to be strong, for the baby. Or at least that was what she told herself.
She leaned back, and took a swig of the coffee, and tried to keep the emotion, the thrill off of her face. Three years, and they still acted like honeymooners. But not today. Today she was harsh taskmaster, albeit an iron fist in a velvet glove.“Baby, could you get up and make me an omelet. I haven’t had one in awhile.”She could see the pout starting on his face, and then he sighed, kissed her on the stomach again. Jo moved back as he stood up.
“Okay, Jo, we’ll go to Denver today.” He headed towards the door of the bedroom. Jo took pity on him, wrapped her hand around his bicep and pulled him in close for a kiss.“Thank you. And Rachael thanks you as well.”
He smiled as he turned his head, “you mean Samuel, don’t you.” As he walked away, his shorts hung low, showing the top of his ass. Jo stared at his butt and legs, and started to reconsider the omelet. Then he scratched his butt, and the mood was gone. He opened the door and the sound of nails on wooden floors announced the dogs. Fiona came into view, looking up at Mike, hoping that he had a treat in his hand. Mike leaned over to scratch her behind the ears. Fiona’s back leg kicked as he found the sweet spot.
Jo watched the interplay between Mike and Fiona. Jo thought to herself, “He has that effect on me too.I have an itch I’d like him to scratch. Maybe when we get back from Denver.”A smile came to her lips,“If only he knew how close hecame to getting me back in bed.”
Mike walked to the kitchen and started pulling utensils, the skillet, and spices out onto the counter next to the stove. Both of the dogs were under foot. They knew that if Mike or Jo were in the kitchen, there was a good chance that they might find a treasure that had landed on the floor.
Jo walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist as he looked into the fridge. She laid her head against his back. The dogs were sticking their noses in the cold of the fridge, trying to smell everything that they could get to.
Mike placed his hand over hers, “Hon, where’s the butter and cheese?” Jo reached in and flipped up the cover to the butter holder on the door, “Cheese is in the crisper.”
He leaned over to open the crisper. “What’s the cheese doing in the crisper?” He felt Jo’s hand smack him on his rear.He stood up with a package of three cheese blend, grabbed the butter out of the holder, and turned to Jo, put his arms over her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and told her, “good answer. Did you plan for me to grab the cheese and get a smack on the ass, or did it just turn out that way?”
Jo smiled. “Serendipitous, I swear.”
Mike smiled back. “Well, if you want that omelet, you need to give me some space so that I can get to cooking.”
Jo pecked him on the cheek and moved out of the way. She turned and walked to the front of the house. Her voice drifted back to him, “I’m going to get the newspaper.”
Mike chuckled then replied, “You might want to put a robe on. Mr. Jenkins cross the way might have a coronary if you walk out like that.” As he closed the refrigerator door, he used his feet to push the dogs out of the way. They thought that it was a game, because of course, to them, everything is a game. They jumped, darted and yipped at his feet.
Jo’s disembodied voice replied, “Serve him right, he’s been trying to get a peek at me since we moved in here.”
“Hey, just because he’s older, doesn’t mean that he can’t appreciate the ladies.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just glad he isn’t a little more mobile. I wouldn’t ever get a chance to get a tan in the back yard.”
“Ah, he’s harmless. You’re probably the hottest thing he’s seen in a long while.”
“Mike, you said that he was a paratrooper in Vietnam. From what I’ve seen, and have learned about them from our time living in the greater Fayetteville metropolitan area, no paratroopers are ever harmless.”
Mike smiled. “You have a point, honey. But he’s dangerous to meth addicts and thieves, not to you. The only people that have to worry are the local meth heads that are looking for something to jack. Unless you’re stealing something from him, say anything derogatory about the 82nd Airborne, Special Forces, any paratroopers, or the United States of America, you don’t have to worry about First Sergeant Jeremy Jenkins, 10th Special Forces, Retired. Besides, you’re a lady, and he treats ladies like royalty.” Mike took a deep breath after that sentence.
“What about when he tries to look down my dress?” Jo replied, standing next to him with the paper in her hand. Mike started, not expecting her to sneak up on him like that.
“Damn Jo, don’t do that!”
“Do what,” she asked?
“Sneak up on me.”
“Are you saying that my scary, terrorist murdering, super-secret operator is scared of little me,” she asked, eyes wide, trying to look very innocent.
The smell of bacon was permeating the house as Mike started whipping cream into the eggs. There was a, “don’t feed me bullshit,” look on his face as he stood with the clear bowl cradled in his arm, and the whisk in hand. He dropped a piece of bacon to Moira, and one to Fiona.
Jo noticed. “Mike, I’m never going to be able to train them if you keep feeding them when you cook. Besides, the dogs are going to get fat.”
Mike steered the conversation back to the previous point. “First, I don’t murder them, I terminate them with extreme prejudice,” he stated, ripping off the major motion picture industry. “Second, they deserve exactly what they get, because they, unlike me, are murderous bastards who are willing to kill innocent women and children. And, last, if a man is not trying to get a glimpse of what you conceal in your sweater, he has no pulse and is rapidly turning room temperature.”
“Aww, you say the sweetest things. Mike, you’re the only one I know that can take military jargon and turn it into a complement.”
“Well, that is technically not military jargon; it is a tongue in cheek description of what happens to bad guys when they meet a highly motivated paratrooper on the battlefield. Or in a perceived safe house in the suburbs.”
Jo shook her head, “you’re such a geek. Why perceived.” She walked to the table and started to pull the sections apart. She sat down, and then asked, “what if said man is gay?”
“Which said man?”
“The one that you said should be interested in looking down my shirt. What if he’s gay?” she asked, mischievously.
Mike pulled off the last of the bacon, folded the omelet, and replied, “Well, if he’s turning room temperature, then he’s a dead gay man. If he still has a pulse, any gay man that you meet would instantly wish he was straight.”
“Aww, that is so sweet.”
“Is it working,” Mike asked.
“No, but it is still sweet that you said it.” She tilted
her head and smiled at him, returning his no bullshit look back at him.
“Fishing for complements today, are we,” he smiled as he asked.
She sat up and wagged her head from side to side, “maybe.”
He replied to the other question, “It is a ‘perceived’ safe house, because if my team goes in looking for the bad guys, it is a very unsafe place to be. At least for the bad guys.”
He kissed her on the top of the head as he finished talking and placed the omelets on the dishes, setting the bacon next to the omelets, and started moving plates to the table. Jo had been busy while he cooked. There was jam and buttered toast on the table. Cold glasses of milk were set out. The comics section was folded so that Mike could start reading as soon as he sat down. Jo knew him well, Sunday comics before international affairs or politics, and sports last. She like to think of him as her highly motivated, extremely fit, science geek, and his choice in what to read on Sunday morning emphasized this. Both the dogs moved to the table and took up positions to eat anything that fell from the table onto the floor.
Mike sat her omelet in front of her. She picked up her knife and fork, and, oh so daintily,tasted the omelet, then put a pepper and salt on her it. She started delicately and slowly eating small bits, savoring the omelet.
He sat down at the table, and moved his legs so that they were around her legs under the table. They played footsie under the table while they ate. Occasionally a leg would jerk as one of the dogs licked, sniffed, or otherwise tried to start the game again. Every so often, part of a biscuit would make its way under the table.
“Anything interesting in there,” she asked.
He nodded his head, “Oh yeah, that Beetle Bailey is plotting against Sarge, and I think he’s finally going to get it right this time.”
She shook her head, this time with a smile on her face, “You’re such a nerd.”
With his legs tight around hers,he locked one foot behind the other. He gently pulled her by the upper arm to him and started to kiss her on the cheek.
“Yeah, but you still love me.”
She dodged his kiss, “you have a bit of egg on your mouth. Wipe your face.”
“I’m trying to, but you keep moving,” he smiled as he replied.
“Oh, you’re so gross,” she stuck out her tongue at him.
“Yum,” he replied, as he moved from her cheek to capture her tongue.
She finally relented and allowed him to plant a kiss on her lips. As soon as he moved away, she made a big show of grabbing a napkin and wiping her face.
“What a perv,” Jo stated.
Mike nodded his head, “I can be.” He smiled a lascivious smile at Jo, “but you do that to me.”
Jo smiled and shook her head, “Nothing about that is perverted. That is strictly fun time.”She pointed at a story in the newspaper, “and, not you, another perv. Evidently, the new North Korean dear leader likes coke and young girls. And I don’t mean Coca-Cola.”
“So you mean he’s exactly like his old man. I bet there is some Viagra in that pharmacological cabinet somewhere.”
“Evidently, and more than likely.” She said to emphasize both points. She stretched, her arms moving towards the ceiling, “I’m going to take a shower.”
“You need any help with that,” he asked, the innocent, boyish expression on his face again. Jo threw the napkin at him and went into the bedroom. He watched as her butt swung from side to side.
“You’re staring at my ass, aren’t you?”
He nodded his head, and slowly, but emphatically stated, “Yes I am.”
An exasperated sigh hung in the air. It was a game they played, and one they both enjoyed. She smiled, knowing that he couldn’t see her expression and walked towards the bathroom. She played coy, but she loved Mike’s attention to her.
Mike read some international news about the new North Korean Dear Leader, who had a fondness for coke, other recreational drugs, and young girls. The leadership in China seemed to be perturbed about his fondness for young, Chinese girls, and the fact that quite a few of them seemed to be missing from the Chinese side of the border.
After reading that particular bit of news, he folded the paper as he heard the shower start. He picked up the plates and scraped the leftovers, what little there was, into the dogs’ dishes. Tails wagged as the food in the dog dishes suddenly seemed a lot more interesting than anything else. As the dogs tucked into the food, Mike took the plates to the sink and made sure there was no hardened egg on the plates before he put them into the dishwasher. He walked to the table, picked up the paper. As he grabbed the papers, he took a good, long look at the picture of the coke head that was now in charge in North Korea. You never know who you would be staring at through a rifle scope. Then he took the papers and threw them into the trash can.
Mike started whistling as he went into the bathroom. He closed the door, dropped his shorts on the floor, then he walked to the shower. The mirrors in the bathroom were steaming up. He was smiling as he opened up the shower and stepped in.
“Hey!”
A long pause, and then, “We’re still going to Denver.”
Mike replied, “I never said we weren’t.”
The bathroom was quiet as the water in the shower kept running.
--------------------------------------
“You bought a what?”
“A bassinet.”
“What the hell is a bassinet?
“It’s like a small crib for new born babies.”
The three men walked from Everett’s SUV to the compound. Mike loved Fort Carson, surrounded as it was by the mountains in the distance. They had gone out to lunch, and were returning to the office. Master Sergeant Everett Calhoun looked at Staff Sergeant Roberto “Rob” Torres y Torres.
“Rob, I can tell you have never been around a nesting female.” Everett was a handsome, fit man, thirty-eight, African American, with Cherokee blood on his mom’s side. He had a reddish cast to his tan skin.
Rob flashed the smile that was famous in bars and bedrooms around the local area. The man was a magnet to attractive woman. He could walk into any bar, announce that he was Roberto Torres y Torres, in a serious deep voice, and then start making jokes about his mom and dad having the same last name. His easy smile showed bright white teeth against dark skin. His thin waist and wide shoulders cut an imposing figure, combined with the easy grace of a natural dancer when he was on the dance floor. Women’s eyes naturally gravitated towards him.
“No, I try to leave that to other men. I avoid the messy part of the biology.”
MSG Calhoun looked at SSG Torres. “That’s not what I hear. I heard it got pretty messy the other night when that 1st Lieutenant got pissed that you were dancing with his girl.”
Rob nodded his head, “Different kind of mess, but, yes, though I did buy him a beer after he went over the couch. He’s lucky, I talked to the bouncers, and told them that he was a friend of mine and it was private disagreement. So, they didn’t kick his ass on the way out. Plus, with all the blood on his shirt, he had to leave early. After the beer of course.”
Everett smiled at Mike, drawing him into the conversation. “Mike here has a friend that was asking about you. Seems nobody knows the name of the Hispanic male, medium height, 180 pounds, who split the lip of their company executive officer.”
Mike nodded, “Yep, you may want to stay away from 3rd Armored Cav land for awhile. There may be a few fellows looking for you after this weekend. Or, if you do go that way, you may want to take D’Inazio with you.”
Mike was talking about Sergeant First Class Mickey D’Inazio, the “Beast of Brooklyn,” as he styled himself. Most of the team was of average build, slim, muscular, but not anything to really stand out in a crowd. It was different with D’Inazio. Irish mother, Italian father, right out of Brooklyn. He had been lifting weights since he was thirteen years old. At six feet, three inches in height, he was a good 240 pounds, with very little body fat. He complained about all the run
ning he did for the job, because of the increased carb and protein load he needed to maintain his muscularity. With Mickey in tow, Rob wouldn’t need anybody else to watch his back. Plus, SFC D’Inazio was one of the team medics. If a fight broke out, he possessed the skills to patch people up. It was usually the other guy that needed patching up, though.
All of the team took their combat skills seriously, but it was not as if Rob went out of his way to get into bar fights. If he was that unstable, he wouldn’t be on the team. The bouncers and patrons knew Rob as a fun guy, no real harm in him. It was usually a pissed off boyfriend or potential boyfriend he had to contend with.
MSG Calhoun said, “One of these days, some pissed off male is going to shoot you in the dick.”
“You’re one to talk, Everett. How many ex-wives do you have, three or four?” Rob asked.
The master sergeant replied, “That would be three ex, and four kids. Plus, I’m always on the lookout for my next ex-wife.”
Rob asked, “That is different than me because . . . ?”
Everett replied, “Because I believe in holy matrimony, and think that it is a sin to co-habitat without the blessing of God.”
“And your priest . . . ?” Rob asked.
Mike chuckled, “Rob, Mike is a protestant. He doesn’t have to ask forgiveness for his sins from a priest. He goes straight to the source.”
“You Protestants are a crafty bunch. I have to get up early on Sunday to get to church, otherwise my priest gives me grief about not going to church when I’m in confession, and adds that to my act of contrition.”
Everett nodded in agreement, “Thank the lord for Martin Luther and Henry the 8th.”
Rob looked at Mike, “And you and Jo?”
Mike replied, “We’re straight up heathens. I find my religion in Jo’s arms.”