“They do, and their estrogen levels increase as they grow older.”
He frowned. “That explains a few things.”
Then Jenna had to ask. “Where did you get this scar?”
The scar was L-shaped and sat near his left hip bone.
“I did a HALO jump and got blown into a damned fence post.”
“It’s a good thing you weren’t impaled.” She kissed the big bullet scar on the right side of his chest. It was darker than the other scars, proof it was newer than the others. “This must have come close to killing you.”
“I took a round trying to protect Laura and spent some time in ICU. They told me my heart stopped on the operating table. Obviously, they got it going again.”
Thank God.
“What about this one?” She ran her fingertip along a thin white line below his ribs on the right side of his belly.
“Knife. Some Talib tried to gut me in a village outside of Jalalabad. He ended up dead. I got a dozen stitches.”
“And this one?” She touched a finger to a gouge in his right shoulder.
“Bullet graze. Hurt like a son of a bitch.” He took her hand, brought her fingers to his right cheek. “Do you feel that?”
Beneath his skin, there was a little indentation.
“That’s where I broke my cheekbone. That came from Jimmy.”
Jenna’s throat went tight.
Derek ran a big hand up the bare skin of her arm. “I’m sorry. Did that make you sad? All the happiness just faded from your face.”
“Yes, it made me sad, but not in the way you think. The brutality of war—it’s written all over your body.”
“A hazard of the job.”
He might be able to brush it off, but she couldn’t. “I hate knowing that you’re in danger all the time, risking your life. I mean, I know that’s what you’re doing for me—and I am grateful—but I wish your job were safer.”
“We analyze the risks, and we do our best to manage them.”
She stretched out on top of him, rested her head against his chest, his heart beating steadily beneath her ear, one strong arm coming to encircle her. “Have you ever thought of doing something else—something less dangerous?”
“Not really. I enlisted straight out of high school. I had no interest in college and no way to pay for it. I’m not sure I’d be good at anything else. I think being a loner made it easy for me to excel in special operations. I never had anyone to worry about, no one waiting at home for me to call, no one telling me not to go or holding me back.”
She wanted to tell him that there could be more in his life than work and war, but she didn’t want to come across as cloying. She tried to keep it light. “Well, if you’re ever in Timbuktu or Hong Kong and you want to call someone to gossip or talk about whatever, feel free to call me.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” He kissed the top of her head. “What about you? What inspired you to be a midwife?”
“At first, I just wanted to be an RN. My father didn’t like the idea. He thought it was beneath me.”
“Which only made you want it more.”
She smiled. “Exactly. While I was in school, I was drawn to labor and delivery. I loved the idea of helping women give birth safely and welcoming new life into the world. So, I got my master’s degree in nursing and became a CNM—certified nurse midwife.”
“You must like babies.”
“There’s nothing like holding a newborn—the little sounds they make, their smells, their tiny fingers and fingernails.”
“Do you want kids of your own?”