Page 15 of The Hero
“We’d make a good pair. You love to cook and I hate it,” Marlowe said. Then she blushed and bit her lip. “I mean, you know, if we were together. Which we aren’t! I mean ... shoot.”
“I know what you meant,” Bob said gently, letting her off the hook. But he was thinking the same thing. If she was his, it would be his pleasure to cook for her every night. To make sure she got the nutrition her body needed.
“I usually bring MREs with me on a dig. To help supplement the local food. Along with a bag or two of candy, although that’s usually gone way too fast,” she admitted with a shrug.
“What’s your favorite?”
“What, candy?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything with sugar in it,” she said with a small laugh. “I mean, you know, not chocolate. Smarties, Spree, SweeTarts, Runts, that kind of thing.”
Bob couldn’t help but smile. “Sweet tooth,” he muttered.
“Yup,” she said without a shred of embarrassment.
Bob made a mental note to find her a bag of candy as soon as he could manage it. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but she yawned then, quickly covering her mouth.
“Sleep,” he ordered, pointing to the pallet on the floor.
“I can’t sleep there,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, that’s theirbed. First of all, that’s rude. Secondly, and this is going to sound ridiculous, considering where I just spent the last month, but ... I can’t help thinking about what they might’ve done on those covers.”
Bob snorted. “Right. How about this?” He walked over to the dresser and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out a man’s shirt, then went over to the wall and spread it out on the floor. He sat next to it and patted his leg. It wasn’t ideal, but now that Marlowe had brought it up, the thought of lying down on the pallet where the man may or may not have made love to his wife hours ago wasn’t exactly high on his list of things to do either.
“It’s probably not all that comfortable, but ...”
“It’s perfect,” Marlowe said with a small smile as she approached. She lay down on her side, resting her head on his thigh. “Are you sure this is okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” Bob assured her. And once more, she’d impressed him. She could’ve pitched a fit about having to sleep on the floor, but she didn’t. She was grateful for what she had. He supposedbeing in prison had a lot to do with her easy acceptance of her situation, but he also had a feeling it was just who she was naturally. “Sleep, Punky,” he told her.
“Has anyone told you that you’re bossy?” she asked sleepily.
“Yes.”
“Well, they weren’t lying,” she said.
Bob chuckled again, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and stroking his hand down her hair. It was then that he realized she was still wearing the wig. “Lift up,” he told her.
“What?” she asked, lifting her head from his thigh in confusion.
He quickly pulled the wig off her head, and she sighed in contentment.
“Oh, that feels so good.”
Bob ran his hand over her hair, feeling the sweaty strands at the back of her neck.
“Kendric?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming for me. For keeping me safe.”
“You’re welcome,” he told her, but he wasn’t sure she heard him, as she was already snoring. She was out so fast, it was as if she hadn’t slept for days or weeks. He had a feeling he wasn’t too far off. When he’d been a POW, he hadn’t slept much at all. Always aware of every little sound, waiting and wondering when it would be his turn to be tortured again.
Turning his attention to the woman next to him, Bob refused to think about that time in his life. He and his friends had been rescued, and now he was paying back the debt he owed to the men and women who’d restored his freedom by returning the favor. Helping others in need.
But being here for Marlowe didn’t feel like a favor. It felt like fate.
