by Gail, Stacy
“I’m saying that when you guys got together, you had no clue Sully was going to be bitten by the G.I. Joe bug and change his recruiting contract. He entered the 75th Ranger Regiment while barely even mentioning it to you. Becoming a Ranger was the last thing you wanted him to do, because it not only dropped him in the most dangerous hot spots in the world, it also added another year of service thanks to that new contract.”
“Even if I’d had a crystal ball to see that Sullivan would one day be in Special Forces, what would that have changed? He’s always protected those who can’t protect themselves, and I’m damn proud of him for that. He stood up for me whenever someone picked on me because I came from Garden Court, remember?”
“I remember you wouldn’t give him the time of day until your senior year, even though he followed you like a shadow all through high school.”
“The only reason I held him off was because I didn’t want anyone thinking bad about Sullivan and his interest in trailer-trash.”
Coe swore sharply. “You can’t be serious.”
“Don’t worry, I got over that insecurity. By the time Sullivan was a college freshman and I’d been working at Pauline’s long enough to realize I wanted it as a career, I figured if I could dream about a future, I could dream about one with Sullivan in it.”
“You should have dreamed bigger.”
“Point to one person more determined to always do the right thing than Sullivan. One.”
“See? You’re defending him again.”
“It’s easy to defend a man who was born to be a hero.” But she took a swallow of beer to erase the bittersweet taste the words left in her mouth. “The problem is that I think we got married too early. Twenty-one and twenty-two. Who the hell knows what they want at that age? I don’t think I was prepared to be the wife of an Army Ranger.” The only thing that had inspired her to keep going had been the knowledge that no matter how tough it had been on her, it was nothing compared to what Sully endured wherever he’d been deployed.
“That leads me to the next thing you let Sully get away with.” Coe pointed his beer at her. “Originally that asshole promised he’d only be in for three years for the G.I. Bill, right? Then another year was added, along with Ranger School. Then he went on mission after mission, where you didn’t hear from him for months at a time.”
“Oh, this is fun, reliving the worst times in my life,” she muttered, the bottle at her lips. “For an encore you should eat a kitten.”
“But miracle of miracles, Sully made it through his tour without a scratch. The plan was for him to come home so you could finally settle down and start a family.”
The beer turned to acid in her stomach. “You know what? I don’t want to hear any more of this crap.”
“That’s when that bastard sprang his biggest surprise of all last Christmas Eve—he’d signed up for another tour of duty, leaving you high and dry again. And what do you do? You send him a box of Pfeffernüsse with a sweet ‘I love you’ note.”
She’d done that only after bombarding Sullivan with enraged hysterics and absolute silence when he’d whispered he loved her right before he’d shipped out. In the military, sending a soldier off without even one word of love or encouragement was a sin right up there with murder.
“You need to listen up, Coe, because I’m only going to say this once. Military families are trained to be supportive. There’s a program called Yellow Ribbon that teaches us how to cope with both the stresses of having our loved ones in the line of fire, and to be the support they need when they get home. Because of that, I’m not going to apologize for giving Sullivan whatever he needs now.” Jaw knotted, Lucy gripped her bottle so hard she was amazed it didn’t shatter. “Yes, I spent many sleepless nights with the phone in my hand, waiting for any kind of word. Yes, there were times when I worried myself sick when they were deployed under information blackouts. Every time I heard a car door slam I thought it was someone coming to tell me Sullivan was never coming home. But he did come home. Not whole, and not the man I knew. But he came home, and I’m thrilled about that. If you think that makes me weak, or if you think my putting up with the shit that comes with being a military wife makes me a doormat, you can get the hell out. You have no idea how much strength it takes to be the family that gets left behind.”
“I’d never suggest you should apologize for being a good wife.” The genuine horror in Coe’s tone barely touched her razor-straight hackles. “It was Sully’s lack of care about you that needs one big-ass apology, but that’s not going to happen now that he’s had his brain blasted. But not completely blasted, and that makes me even more furious. He can remember so many things—this town, his dad, even everything he went through as a Ranger. The only thing he can’t remember? You. The one person who sacrificed so much. Tell me how that’s fair.”
“It’s not. Life isn’t fair, I’m stupid enough love a man who doesn’t know me, and God obviously hates my guts. End of story.” She shrugged like she didn’t care, and hardened her heart so the agony inside could almost—almost—be ignored.
* * *
“This is worse than tangled wire coat hangers.” Swearing under his breath, Sully wrestled with a knot of Christmas lights the size of a basketball. Now that the wind had subsided and the sun was out, he and his father decided that doing ordinary chores would be good therapy for him.
So far, they were sort of right. While Lowell had gone out to get their tree, Sully began to unpack the Christmas decorations. A flood of warm memories came back when he found the old stocking his mother had made. He smiled when he found the simple brass star tree-topper he’d made in shop class in high school. The sight of a hand-painted angel a neighbor had given them when his mother had passed away brought tears to his eyes. Underneath that, he’d found a plate with Santa’s Cookies written on it, and without any effort he had a sudden memory of placing a glass of milk and a plate piled high with Christmas cookies next to the hearth.
Mmm. Cookies.
Finding that plate was when Sully had decided to go ten rounds with the balled-up mess of Christmas tree lights. It was bizarre, but he’d been craving cookies for months now. He’d eat them morning, noon and night if he could get away with it. It was only when he noticed his abs were starting to disappear that he’d tried putting the brakes on the cookie craving, but it was never far from his mind. He wasn’t even sure what kind of cookie he wanted; nothing satisfied him. Nothing in life satisfied him. For all he knew, this incessant craving was a manifestation of what he truly wanted—completion. To no longer have so many blank spots in his memory.
The biggest blank spot of all was Lucy.
Sully scowled at the lights without really seeing them. In his mind, his first memory of Lucy was when he’d come to in a hospital bed with her at his side, cuddling his hand to her cheek as she dozed. It had startled him, this woman, and he’d jerked away yelling something...he couldn’t remember what. He only knew he’d wanted to get her as far away from him as possible.
Even now he couldn’t explain that fear. He didn’t remember what her reaction had been, but considering what he knew now—that she’d been his wife loyally comforting him in his time of need—he could only imagine her shock and hurt.
A stab of regret lanced his chest, and absently he rubbed at the ache. She seemed so good, this Lucy Crabtree. Smart-mouthed and sassy, but sweet as hell. And damn, she was an absolute stunner. Any man would be lucky to have her. That was why he’d felt compelled to sever the ties he couldn’t remember making between them. She deserved better than to be chained to a man who couldn’t remember or appreciate her.
Dammit all, he just knew she deserved better than him.
A bonging sound chimed, and after only a second he nailed the sound down as the doorbell. What a crazy brain he had, he couldn’t help but think, grinding his teeth in frustration as he made his way to the foyer. Cou
ldn’t remember his own wife, but he knew that bell belonged to the front door. Go figure.
Shock froze him in place when the woman occupying his thoughts stood on the welcome mat, fussing with a couple of pink bakery boxes. She looked up with a ready smile, which vanished in a wave of horror when she saw him standing in the doorway.
If he’d had any doubts about how Lucy viewed him, that pretty much laid them all to rest.
“What are you... I mean, I thought you were living over there now.” She nodded in the direction of the detached garage about twenty yards away, the apartment where she’d lived during his final tour. “What are you doing here?”
“Currently I’m being outsmarted by a knot of Christmas tree lights.” Her hair was down, and he had no idea if he’d seen it that way before. He liked it though. The rich toffee-colored waves that brushed her shoulders made his fingers itch to sift through them. “It’s Christmas-decorating time here at the Jax house.” Too late, he realized she’d once been a Jax and could have bitten his tongue out at the flub.
Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, that’s nice. Is Lowell here? I’m here for Lowell.”
Not you. She may as well have screamed the words. “Sorry, you just missed him. He’s gone out tree shopping, so he won’t be back for some time yet.”
“Ah.” She hesitated only a moment before offering up the boxes with one of those over-bright fake smiles—nothing like the lovely work of art she’d gifted that bastard Coe Rodas with a couple of nights ago. “I guess you’re stuck with playing delivery boy. I made Lowell his Pfeffernüsse, so hopefully this’ll tide him over until Christmas.”
He felt the weight of the packages and lifted his brows. “Man, I sure hope so, with two boxes.”
“Actually, one’s for you. I was going to leave instructions with Lowell to give you one, but since you’re here, feel free to arm-wrestle Lowell for his share. Who knows? You could walk away with both boxes.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“You’re a big fan of these cookies, so I wouldn’t put it past you,” she added, gesturing at the boxes even as she took a backward step. Her retreat hurt his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. “Give them a try with a glass of milk. You used to call them ‘thirsty cookies’ instead of Pfeffernüsse, which kind of makes sense. All the powdered sugar they’re covered in makes for a very dry mouth.” She stopped suddenly as if realizing she was babbling before she raised a hand in farewell. “Enjoy. Tell Lowell I said—”
“Stay.” The word was out before he knew he wanted to say it. But once it was out there, a sense of rightness settled over him. “You can tell him yourself. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”
All traces of the faux smile vanished. “I’d better not.”
“Why?” He knew why. Maybe she even had the right idea, letting sleeping dogs lie. But the need to earn one of her dazzling smiles—and not that pretend crap she kept giving him—was fast becoming an obsession. Just once, he wanted to make her happy enough to smile. “Is there someplace else you have to be?”
The way she looked at her watch made him suspect she was trying to think of an excuse, and he almost rescinded the offer. He was probably being a selfish bastard and making her feel uncomfortable—
“I have a shift at Pauline’s, but it starts an hour from now.”
“Downtown Bitterthorn is seven minutes away.” He opened the door wide, promising himself he wouldn’t press her if she still balked. No matter how much he might want to. “You can spend the other fifty-three minutes helping me untangle the worst Christmas light knot the world’s ever seen, eat some Pfeffernüsse and drink some milk.”
The step she took toward him made his blood sing. “Gee, what an offer.”
“Irresistible, right? And who knows—if I have some help with the lights, I might not work myself into a migraine.”
Dirty pool or not, the emotional blackmail worked. A flash of concern touched her face, and while it wasn’t the smile he’d hoped for, at least the tension that usually hovered around her whenever he was near faded. “I’ll help you with the knot, but I’m going to have to pass on the cookies.”
“Why? Don’t you like your own cooking?”
“I love it, smarty, which is why I don’t eat it. I’d be as big as a house if I ever allowed myself more than a taste.”
“Ah, so it’s your iron will that’s behind your tiny figure.” He couldn’t look away from those sky-colored eyes as she closed the distance. “I wondered.”
“You’ve wondered about my figure?” There was something so absurdly adorable in the way her jaw unhinged. The desire to cover that mouth with his own came out of nowhere, leaving him stunned and breathless. God help him, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did at that moment. To sample the crushed-silk softness of her lips. To be caressed with the excited flutter of her breath. To stroke her tongue with his until she moaned... “Sad to say, agonizing deprivation’s pretty much the key to success. Um, after I help you with the lights, I really am going to have to be on my way.”
“Right.” The response left his mouth on automatic as he shut the door, and he gripped the knob for an extra second to stop from reaching for her. That would be one hell of a mixed message, making a grab for the woman who was his ex-wife. “Hopefully this won’t take too long. Thanks for helping out, by the way. I appreciate it.”
“I’m just trying to stay off Santa’s Naughty list.”
“Uh-huh.” Still wrestling with all the naughty things he wanted to do with her mouth—and to hell with Santa’s list—Sully set the boxes on the foyer table and helped her with her coat. As he did, the scent of vanilla and warm spices filled his senses. “Wow. That’s nice.”
She shot him a distracted frown as she unwound the red scarf from her neck, wafting her scent all the more. “What’s nice?”
“You smell like a bakery.” His mouth watered as he hung up her coat, fighting the urge to bury his face in it like some creepy perv. It was even harder fighting off the image that swam through his mind—an image of nibbling along the side of Lucy’s neck while she leaned back against him, whispering his name. His heart thudded while a deeper pulse began in his dick. What the hell. Was that a memory? Or something he simply wanted to do? Considering he’d been too busy battling for the return of his health to even think about anything else—much less sex—he couldn’t be sure this wasn’t a simple horny response after a long dry spell. “It’s a great scent.”
“Sugar and spice and everything nice. Even if that’s nowhere near my personality, it pretty much sums up what bakers smell like.” Stepping away, she laced her hands in front of her and gave him another one of those fake smiles. “So, where’s your Gordian knot? I want to see how many F-bombs I can drop in under an hour.”
“In the living room.” Grabbing one of the cookie boxes, he led the way and put the package down on the coffee table next to the wadded-up ball of lights, which he held up for her inspection. “Can you tell me how a string of lights can get like this without someone actually trying to do this?”
“We need to find an end.” With a determined expression, she took the knot and perched on the edge of his father’s recliner while he opened the box of cookies. The scent of warm spices and sweet vanilla hit him, and for just a flash he could almost see...something. He popped a snowball-like cookie into his mouth and bit into a heaven that was sweet, dark with a hint of molasses and spicy enough to tingle his tongue...
And familiar.
“I’ve been craving something like this.” He took another cookie, then closed the box in a determined fashion before he could plop his entire face into it. “Damn, you’re a good cook.”
“Baker. And I’d better be, since I’ve got six dozen cream puffs to make today, in addition to all the usual bakery items that never stick around for long. Aha, there’s the little
stinker.” She held up a plug in triumph. “Okay, we’ll have this knot untied in no time.”
Like our marriage. The words came up so fast he thought he’d said them aloud. “And then you’ll be leaving.” So what else was new? She was going to leave him again.
You’re leaving me. Why do you keep leaving me? Is it that you don’t love me?
No. Wait. That wasn’t right. He was the one who’d wanted the divorce.
And she’d let him go. Without a fight, she’d let him go.
Is it that you don’t love me?
“Sullivan? Is it one of your headaches?”
He opened eyes he didn’t remember closing, and realized he had a hand cupped over his forehead. The room rocked and he collapsed back onto the couch with a curse, the fractured thoughts swarming like bees in his head. God, he hated this, he hated it... “You’d better go.”
“I’ll call your father before—”
“Leave. Now!”
The sound of the front door closing barely reached his ears.
Chapter Three
Lucy’s fingers were frozen by the time Lowell skidded into the driveway, his tree-buying task abandoned thanks to her summoning call. As soon as he arrived, she removed herself from her sentry station on the front porch, where she’d been peeking through the living room window like some skeevy peeper to make sure Sully was all right.
Except he wasn’t all right. For a second he’d been as violently opposed to her existence as he had been when he first surfaced from his coma. When he’d initially returned to consciousness his reaction to her presence had stunned everyone, including the doctors. Usually loved ones had a calming effect on patients, but every time Sully became aware she was nearby he’d scream until she was no longer visible. Ducking from the room to get out of his line of vision was now a habit the moment he showed signs of agitation.
It had been painfully obvious even to the most casual observer—Sully might not know who she was, but he couldn’t stand the sight of her.