behind him, too, and one “Yeech!”
“Well, not as good a surprise as that.” He turned to smile at her before returning his attention to the road.
“Dolt!” she muttered.
Britta had to be terrified over this first ride in a car, but she never showed it as they cruised out of the base and toward the Coronado Bay Bridge. Her knuckles were white where she held on to her knees, but brave girl that she was, she never let out a peep.
The Bay Bridge had a high arch in the middle to allow for oceangoing vessels to pass through. When a tugboat let loose with a loud foghorn under them, Britta jumped as far as her seat belt would allow and muttered what must be a Norse curse, something about Thor’s bloody toenails.
Out of the relative quiet, Sammy said, “Scaredy cat!” As if he hadn’t practically peed his pants the first time he’d heard it. Then Sammy remarked to Britta’s back, “You sure are big.”
Uh-oh!
Britta turned slightly to look back at Sammy.
“Are those boobs for real?”
A stunned silence met his question. Where did the kid learn this stuff? Well, some of it came from the mercenaries that had lived in the rebel camps in Afghanistan. But some of it had to come from TV or Zach’s buddies or, okay, himself. He had to be more careful.
Even Cage and JAM had no smart remark to make, or none they were about to speak aloud, and Britta probably didn’t even know what he meant.
She soon proved him wrong.
“Dost know what they do with boylings in my country who misbehave?”
Sammy raised his chin defiantly.
“We boil them in oil.”
Sammy’s chin dropped, and for once he didn’t have a quick comeback.
“I think you should apologize, Sammy,” Zach said into the rearview mirror.
After a moment, to Zach’s surprise, Sammy murmured, “Sorry.”
Zach turned on the radio. He wouldn’t be able to carry on much of a conversation with Britta, but then she wouldn’t be able to hear Sammy’s crude remarks.
Britta remained quiet on the half-hour ride while he pointed out various landmarks. And the country music station told her all about cheating hearts, low-down men, and redneck women.
Soon they pulled into the driveway of Mac and Madrene’s modest oceanfront cottage. There were a half dozen other cars around, indicating the party was already in full swing.
He got out, then walked around to help Britta, who was struggling with her seat belt, complaining about being a prisoner. Since it was a two-door, the guys had to wait till they were out first to emerge.
“What does that say?” Britta asked, pointing to a banner that had been draped across the bay window in front. She seemed to have no trouble understanding the spoken language here but apparently could not read. Yet.
He smiled and squeezed her to his side. “Welcome, Britta.”
“Well, ’tis past time you offered me welcome to your country. And keep your tempting fingers to yourself.”
He kept his tempting fingers right where they were, pressing against the bare, warm skin of her exposed waist, and smiled. “Not me, honey. That’s what the banner says. Welcome, Britta.”
“Huh?”
Just then, Sammy came up to him, having been released from his car seat by one of the guys. Adjusting the matching Polo for Kids shorts outfit Zach’s mother had bought for him, complete with its very own mini-golf shirt, Sammy said, “I look like a dork.”
“A cute dork,” Cage remarked.
“Bite me!” Sammy replied. “Everyone’s gonna laugh at me.”
“No, they’re not,” JAM said. “They’re gonna pinch your cheeks and tell you what a handsome little fella you are.”
The guys were not helping at all, which was probably their intent.
Sammy snarled and narrowed his eyes.
Zach recognized the crafty gleam in the kid’s eyes, which presaged his bolting to parts unknown, like the proverbial roadrunner. Quickly, he grabbed him by the belt of his shorts with his free hand, then wrapped the same arm around his waist, lifting him off
“Well, not as good a surprise as that.” He turned to smile at her before returning his attention to the road.
“Dolt!” she muttered.
Britta had to be terrified over this first ride in a car, but she never showed it as they cruised out of the base and toward the Coronado Bay Bridge. Her knuckles were white where she held on to her knees, but brave girl that she was, she never let out a peep.
The Bay Bridge had a high arch in the middle to allow for oceangoing vessels to pass through. When a tugboat let loose with a loud foghorn under them, Britta jumped as far as her seat belt would allow and muttered what must be a Norse curse, something about Thor’s bloody toenails.
Out of the relative quiet, Sammy said, “Scaredy cat!” As if he hadn’t practically peed his pants the first time he’d heard it. Then Sammy remarked to Britta’s back, “You sure are big.”
Uh-oh!
Britta turned slightly to look back at Sammy.
“Are those boobs for real?”
A stunned silence met his question. Where did the kid learn this stuff? Well, some of it came from the mercenaries that had lived in the rebel camps in Afghanistan. But some of it had to come from TV or Zach’s buddies or, okay, himself. He had to be more careful.
Even Cage and JAM had no smart remark to make, or none they were about to speak aloud, and Britta probably didn’t even know what he meant.
She soon proved him wrong.
“Dost know what they do with boylings in my country who misbehave?”
Sammy raised his chin defiantly.
“We boil them in oil.”
Sammy’s chin dropped, and for once he didn’t have a quick comeback.
“I think you should apologize, Sammy,” Zach said into the rearview mirror.
After a moment, to Zach’s surprise, Sammy murmured, “Sorry.”
Zach turned on the radio. He wouldn’t be able to carry on much of a conversation with Britta, but then she wouldn’t be able to hear Sammy’s crude remarks.
Britta remained quiet on the half-hour ride while he pointed out various landmarks. And the country music station told her all about cheating hearts, low-down men, and redneck women.
Soon they pulled into the driveway of Mac and Madrene’s modest oceanfront cottage. There were a half dozen other cars around, indicating the party was already in full swing.
He got out, then walked around to help Britta, who was struggling with her seat belt, complaining about being a prisoner. Since it was a two-door, the guys had to wait till they were out first to emerge.
“What does that say?” Britta asked, pointing to a banner that had been draped across the bay window in front. She seemed to have no trouble understanding the spoken language here but apparently could not read. Yet.
He smiled and squeezed her to his side. “Welcome, Britta.”
“Well, ’tis past time you offered me welcome to your country. And keep your tempting fingers to yourself.”
He kept his tempting fingers right where they were, pressing against the bare, warm skin of her exposed waist, and smiled. “Not me, honey. That’s what the banner says. Welcome, Britta.”
“Huh?”
Just then, Sammy came up to him, having been released from his car seat by one of the guys. Adjusting the matching Polo for Kids shorts outfit Zach’s mother had bought for him, complete with its very own mini-golf shirt, Sammy said, “I look like a dork.”
“A cute dork,” Cage remarked.
“Bite me!” Sammy replied. “Everyone’s gonna laugh at me.”
“No, they’re not,” JAM said. “They’re gonna pinch your cheeks and tell you what a handsome little fella you are.”
The guys were not helping at all, which was probably their intent.
Sammy snarled and narrowed his eyes.
Zach recognized the crafty gleam in the kid’s eyes, which presaged his bolting to parts unknown, like the proverbial roadrunner. Quickly, he grabbed him by the belt of his shorts with his free hand, then wrapped the same arm around his waist, lifting him off
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