Make Mine a Ranger (Special Ops: Homefront Book 4) by Kate Aster Page B
Authors: Kate Aster
Ads: Link
had seen Dan.
She really should try out that treadmill some
day. Work out the muscles that were atrophying in her legs. Chasing after a
three-year-old was exhausting, but probably not the kind of exercise her body
desperately needed. There was just never enough free time.
She hmmphed to herself. Free time .
Time was exactly what she had now, yet how was she planning on spending it? Dipping
her finger into the bowl as she concocted another Saturday morning sinful
confection.
Tyler was right. Abby needed a strong mama,
certainly more than she needed a dozen pinwheel rolls this morning. Apprehensively,
Bess stepped into the room, the cumbersome equipment somehow mocking her.
Come on in, Bess, it seemed to beckon. You
won’t last long in here.
Narrowing her eyes, she turned on her
heel and headed up to get her running shoes. They weren’t the fanciest kind,
certainly not what a real runner would wear. But they’d likely do well enough for
whatever speed she could manage to muster.
Shoes on, she strode back down the stairs
on a mission, staring down the intimidating room as she approached. Anyone
else, she imagined, would have real workout clothes to wear. But all by herself,
her t-shirt and frayed pajama shorts would do just fine. She had no one to
impress here.
She stepped onto the treadmill and gazed
at all the buttons, feeling hopeful at the sight of one labeled, “Quick Start.”
She pressed it, and it began to move. Slowly—too
slowly even for her out-of-shape self. What was a good running speed for a
beginner? Shrugging, she punched up the speed to five miles per hour, and it
slowly sped up. And sped up more, until her legs were striding along at a
comparable pace to what she’d seen from joggers in the street. She wouldn’t win
any 5K at this speed, but it was respectable.
Yet her legs were struggling to keep up. Feet
pounding, she wobbled. Was she supposed to run flat-footed, or up on the balls
of her feet the way she always chased Abby when she was running astray?
As the arches of her feet fired off pain,
she answered her own question, switching to a flat-footed run. She pounded
onward, feeling the jarring in her knees. Everything soft on her body, which
was pretty much everything on her body, bounced.
Suddenly she understood why women
invested in good jogging bras. Even if she had her normal bra on, it probably wouldn’t
have given her the support she needed right now.
Trying not to glance down at the elapsed
time, her lungs actually ached. Thirty seconds. Sixty seconds. And oh dear
Lord , only ninety seconds and she was already heaving, tapping furiously at
the button that reduced her speed till she found herself walking at a more
manageable 3.5 miles per hour. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the warning label
affixed to the machine. Contact your doctor before beginning any exercise
regimen, indeed.
Ninety seconds? She could only run ninety
seconds? That was pathetic. What if there was an emergency? What if Abby was in
some kind of trouble and the only way to get to her was to run? She’d collapse
by the time she made it to the end of her block.
Seriously, this just wouldn’t do.
She stopped the treadmill and raced
upstairs to get her iPod. About 55 minutes till Abby woke up. And if she was
going to spend it torturing herself getting stronger, she might as well do it
listening to Lady Gaga.
***
Pulling into the driveway, Tyler’s back seized
up even putting the damn car into park. He was too young to start having back
problems, but his last mission had caused a little more damage than he cared to
admit. It wasn’t enough to send him to seek a medical profile, and thank God
for that, because the Rangers would have no place for him. But it did make
grappling on the mats with the guys a helluva lot more difficult some mornings,
especially when he was trying to get out of a rear naked choke.
Feeling like an old man, Tyler had finished
up early, deciding to spend the rest of the morning on his
She really should try out that treadmill some
day. Work out the muscles that were atrophying in her legs. Chasing after a
three-year-old was exhausting, but probably not the kind of exercise her body
desperately needed. There was just never enough free time.
She hmmphed to herself. Free time .
Time was exactly what she had now, yet how was she planning on spending it? Dipping
her finger into the bowl as she concocted another Saturday morning sinful
confection.
Tyler was right. Abby needed a strong mama,
certainly more than she needed a dozen pinwheel rolls this morning. Apprehensively,
Bess stepped into the room, the cumbersome equipment somehow mocking her.
Come on in, Bess, it seemed to beckon. You
won’t last long in here.
Narrowing her eyes, she turned on her
heel and headed up to get her running shoes. They weren’t the fanciest kind,
certainly not what a real runner would wear. But they’d likely do well enough for
whatever speed she could manage to muster.
Shoes on, she strode back down the stairs
on a mission, staring down the intimidating room as she approached. Anyone
else, she imagined, would have real workout clothes to wear. But all by herself,
her t-shirt and frayed pajama shorts would do just fine. She had no one to
impress here.
She stepped onto the treadmill and gazed
at all the buttons, feeling hopeful at the sight of one labeled, “Quick Start.”
She pressed it, and it began to move. Slowly—too
slowly even for her out-of-shape self. What was a good running speed for a
beginner? Shrugging, she punched up the speed to five miles per hour, and it
slowly sped up. And sped up more, until her legs were striding along at a
comparable pace to what she’d seen from joggers in the street. She wouldn’t win
any 5K at this speed, but it was respectable.
Yet her legs were struggling to keep up. Feet
pounding, she wobbled. Was she supposed to run flat-footed, or up on the balls
of her feet the way she always chased Abby when she was running astray?
As the arches of her feet fired off pain,
she answered her own question, switching to a flat-footed run. She pounded
onward, feeling the jarring in her knees. Everything soft on her body, which
was pretty much everything on her body, bounced.
Suddenly she understood why women
invested in good jogging bras. Even if she had her normal bra on, it probably wouldn’t
have given her the support she needed right now.
Trying not to glance down at the elapsed
time, her lungs actually ached. Thirty seconds. Sixty seconds. And oh dear
Lord , only ninety seconds and she was already heaving, tapping furiously at
the button that reduced her speed till she found herself walking at a more
manageable 3.5 miles per hour. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the warning label
affixed to the machine. Contact your doctor before beginning any exercise
regimen, indeed.
Ninety seconds? She could only run ninety
seconds? That was pathetic. What if there was an emergency? What if Abby was in
some kind of trouble and the only way to get to her was to run? She’d collapse
by the time she made it to the end of her block.
Seriously, this just wouldn’t do.
She stopped the treadmill and raced
upstairs to get her iPod. About 55 minutes till Abby woke up. And if she was
going to spend it torturing herself getting stronger, she might as well do it
listening to Lady Gaga.
***
Pulling into the driveway, Tyler’s back seized
up even putting the damn car into park. He was too young to start having back
problems, but his last mission had caused a little more damage than he cared to
admit. It wasn’t enough to send him to seek a medical profile, and thank God
for that, because the Rangers would have no place for him. But it did make
grappling on the mats with the guys a helluva lot more difficult some mornings,
especially when he was trying to get out of a rear naked choke.
Feeling like an old man, Tyler had finished
up early, deciding to spend the rest of the morning on his
Similar Books
