by Joey W. Hill
Dana lightly touched the screen. It was as if it connected her with the picture, the way sight would for others.
"She's an angel."
“Shoe store,” Cass announced abruptly. The ladies laughed as Max automatically braked and started looking for an open spot to deposit them in front of the boutique.
“What is it with women and shoes?” Ben asked. Cass lifted a brow.
“You’re the one who didn’t want Peter to throw you into the bushes because of your shirt. The price of which could likely feed a small country.”
“Thank you, I’ve sent in my donation to nourish the Third World this month. But I have a select number of shirts and shoes. Quality over quantity. Shoes are not supposed to be potato chips.”
“Who doesn’t like to eat more potato chips?” Marcie said, tickling his side with playful fingers.
Max had found a spot and left the driver’s seat to open the passenger door. The ladies started to slide out, each taking his helping hand to exit. Ben expected the sight of so many head-turning women coming out of a limo, shepherded by a guy who looked like he could teach the Secret Service a thing or two, was going to have people snapping pictures, thinking they were someone famous.
Ben would let Max handle Instagram maniacs. He put a hand on Dana’s arm, holding her in place. Rachel was the last to go before them, so Ben directed his message to her. “Dana’s going to stay here and neck with me and Max. She has combat boots for every day of the week, so she’s set.”
Rachel’s expression of concern about her best friend eased into a smile and nod to Ben. As Max closed the door after he helped her out, Ben watched the women proceed into the store, comfortably chatting. The limo driver returned to his seat in front, but he kept his eye on the street traffic around the store. While the worst the women would encounter would be the inevitable bane of panhandlers, once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Ben felt comfortable turning his full attention to Dana.
“Necking with both of you, hmm?” She attempted another smile. “Max is going to need to get back here with us for that to work. Unless you have some crossing-sword phobia and want me to clamber back and forth over the seats like a four-year-old.”
“Well, you’re not much bigger than one.” Ben linked an arm over her neck again and took the elbow to the ribs with a grunt. Instead of retaliating in kind, he tangled his fingers in the beaded chain she wore. It was threaded with a handful of jasper beads and a silver framed set of Peter’s dog tags, the “collar” she wore out in the vanilla world. “How about you tell me what’s bringing you down today?”
“Don’t worry about it, Ben. I’m fine.” Dana drew her knees up so she could rest her cheek on top of them and angle her head in his direction. “Let’s go do shoes. I bet they have some lace-trimmed combat boots. A woman can’t have too many pairs.”
“Maybe in a minute.” He removed her dark glasses, so he could see her pale green eyes, and put the accessory on the cushioned seat beside him. She might be blind, but he could still pick up a lot of cues from her eyes. “I know you’re fine. You’re tough. The strongest of all of us. Except maybe Matt.”
When she looked surprised by that analysis, Ben nudged her. “You’re the one who decided to be a minister, make a life out of giving people hope and pointing them the best way toward their own inner strength.”
“I’m not a saint.”
“No shit. Unless those bearded guys immortalized in stained glass windows were into threesomes, bi-sexuality and getting their ass spanked by a tit-obsessed muscle head.”
She picked at an invisible thread in the upholstery. “I’m not the strongest after Matt. Peter is.”
Keeping his one arm around her, Ben twisted the fingers of his other hand in the necklace, tightening it around her throat and tugging. It snapped her attention right to him, and he saw the little quick breath, an involuntary sub reaction that was as impossible for her to stifle as her own breathing.
“That’s the way you’re supposed to think about your Master,” he said mildly. “If he’s doing his job right. Or is he being an asshole? I can kick his ass for you.”
“Yeah, right,” she snorted.
“It’s not impossible,” he said. “Especially if I get Max on board and, if Peter’s being a dickhead to you, Max is totally on board. Right, Max?”
“Roger that,” the limo driver responded.
“And I’ve been known to take Peter one-on-one,” Ben added. “Creeping up behind him with a blunt instrument, true, but playing fair isn’t part of my rep.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered, putting her hand on the one he had tangled in her necklace. “You know what that does to me.”
“Yeah, I do. Makes me hard to watch it, which, in the absence of Peter and Marcie to enjoy the effect, gets us both in trouble. So, you better start talking. Because if Max starts to get a hard-on, then we’re in trouble with Janet. I’ll take three Peters over one Janet, any day.”
Her little smile came back, though it had a sadness he didn’t like. He saw Max had glanced at them in the rearview mirror, possibly because of the Janet comment. He and Janet were playing around the edges of seeing one another, but to the rest of them, it was clear where it was going, so Ben didn’t mind teasing.
He expected Max was also looking back here because of Dana. Max loved all the women like family, but he and Dana had a special bond because of their military service. Plus, Max had been her primary driver ever since she and Peter had married. Ben knew he’d have Max’s backup coaxing the problem out of her if she wouldn’t relent. But she gave him the opening with her next words.
“Well, I told Peter to fuck off and leave me alone this morning, so I’m probably in far bigger trouble.”
“I’d say.” Ben did a quick rewind to the impending cookout and realized Dana hadn’t made her good-byes to her man in the same affectionate way the others had. In fact, Dana had been keeping a wide berth around Peter. The former National Guard captain’s gaze had flicked to her, more than once, with a hint of frustration. “He knows he’s upset you,” Ben realized. “You know that hurts him worse than anything, baby girl. C’mon. What gives? Tell me.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “He’s back on the whole having-a-baby thing. I said some things I didn’t mean to say; then he played the Master card at the wrong moment and said we’re having one and that’s that… Hence the fuck off part.”
Ben pursed his lips. “Well, normally I wouldn’t advocate using one’s ordained Mastership, so to speak, to impose a decision that’s going to affect you as husband and wife partners for the rest of your known life, but he may have a point. You’re standing on the edge of a pool, baby girl, knowing you really want to learn to swim, but until someone pushes you in, you’re going to keep thinking it to death.”
“I’m the only one who drowns if I jump. A baby is awfully different.”
“You won’t be raising him or her alone, right?” He touched her face, a slide of his knuckle along her soft cheek. Though the cosmetic surgeons had done a fan-fucking-tastic job trying to restore the fresh beauty she had before the IED exploded under her, he could still feel traces of the scar tissue. She’d come back a hell of a long way in confidence, much closer to her former self, since that had happened. If Peter was pushing the baby agenda, then Ben knew her Master was pretty damn certain she was ready for it.
“Why won’t he leave it alone?” she complained.
“You’re kidding, right? Milk-engorged breasts.”
Another despairing chuckle strangled out of her. Ben touched her knee. “But beyond that, it's because he knows you want one, and you'd be great parents. Final reason? He loves you more than anything. Even more than breasts.”
“Don't I know it.” A rusty laugh escaped her. “I wear the smallest-sized bra of any in this group.”
“Your tits are fine. Peter says they're like perfect little apples, fallen straight from a tree and smelling summer sweet.”
“He did not say that.”
“Was I sober that day?”
He pinched her, and she squirmed, swatting at him. “Ow. You leave bruises, Peter will be pissed.”
“Not if you deserved them. Shut up and listen. During your toast, you said ‘I never had the chance to see most of you with my eyes. But I can see you in my heart.’”
“How did you remember that, word-for-word? That’s scary.”
“I forget nothing. That’s why I’m the world’s most awesome lawyer. Don’t change the subject. A kid’s going to be just like that. Your heart will know what the rest of you isn’t sure about. Peter’s loaded. Get a housekeeper slash childcare person to back you up, make you less worried about safety stuff. I guarantee you are going to love that kid so much, he or she will be grateful to have you for a mom. But let’s get down to the root of it. Do you want to have a baby?”
She sighed. “Have you ever known Peter to try and talk me into anything he didn’t already know I wanted so bad it makes me cry into my pillow at night?” She shook her head at herself. “But I can’t even see pictures of other people’s babies. How exactly am I supposed to raise one of my own?”
“Like every other parent does,” Ben responded. “With lots of stumbles and falls, sleepless nights, occasional brilliant victories, and a never-ending well of love. No direct experience on this in any way, but I hear that’s the way it looks when it’s right. Not perfect, but even a flawed brick house can stand up to a lot of bad weather.”
He touched her face. “Dana, you know how crazy you being scared to have a kid sounds, right? You work in one of New Orleans’ toughest neighborhoods. You scold gang members and make them come to church.”
Not too long ago, he’d helped Peter exercise a nice punishment on her pretty ass for that kind of risky behavior. Not that it would stop her from doing more of it, but Peter had needed it. Like all the K&A executives, he was a sexist bastard. It was sometimes tough to accept the women in their lives were just as determined to do the right thing, regardless of personal risk, as any in the group with a dick.
But that kind of risk was okay for the men because…they were men. It didn’t have to make sense, loving their women’s strength and courage so much, and yet wanting to protect them from everything.
He thought of Marcie and some of the things she’d done as a corporate investigator. And how she sometimes made noises about wanting to be a New Orleans cop. God help him if she persisted on that. That is, if God hadn’t already written him off long ago. But if He had, that was okay. Just so long as He protected Marcie.
“You can do all that,” he told Dana. “But raising a kid scares you?”
“Yes. Hell yes.”
“Well, get the fuck over it.” He winced as a tiny smile appeared on her face. They had a strict “no cursing in front of women” rule, one Matt had instituted and for some reason they all followed. Ben was the worst at it. On the honor system, he was supposed to give a hundred to charity every time he screwed up. At this point, he expected the Salvation Army had been able to install Olympic swimming pools in all the regional summer camps, thanks to him.
“Don’t say it,” he warned her, and got back on point. “Look at it like that day you confronted those gang members recruiting some of your boys from the church. You knew you were going to get in their faces, and the second you started down that path, the fear disappeared, because you were committed to your path. From there you run on adrenaline and pure courage, which you have in abundance. And faith, which again, double helpings for you. It will all work out.”
Her lips twisted. “Your advice boils down to, ‘Throw away the fucking rubbers and just get it done. Once conception happens, there’s no turning back, so no use worrying about it anymore’?”
“Precisely. From there, you’ll just love the ride. I mean, you babysit Angelica without any worries, right?”
“With Peter. And Savannah and Matt’s live-in housekeeper.”
“Remember what I just said about staff and Peter’s bank account? I’m sure there’s a sharp-eyed grandmother at that church of yours who wouldn’t mind having a part-time job that involved doting on a cute toddler.”
She digested that. He expected she wasn’t just going over his dubious pearls of wisdom. She was probably also remembering things Peter had said, before he’d managed to piss her off and the words had been obscured by feminine temper. A few moments later, she set her jaw in a way he recognized well enough to bite back a satisfied smile. Meeting Max’s gaze once more, he saw the same approval there.
“Okay. I’ll think about it.” She took a breath and put her hand out for her glasses. He picked them up and perched them on her nose. Their position made her look owlish as she turned her face in his direction and spoke dryly. “You’re all big talk when it’s about me and Peter. What’ll you do when Marcie says she wants a baby?”
“We haven’t even set a date,” he informed her. Or done a formal proposal, but he didn’t add that. “But if a baby’s in the mix, marriage is coming first. I’m traditional that way.”
“Marcie isn’t the hold-up on a date. So, when you do marry her, what will you do when she wants a baby?”
“We really need to stop letting you women talk to one another.”
“Yeah, like that would ever happen. Avoiding the question, counselor.”
Ben sighed and pinched her again, this time hoping to leave a bruise. From her yelp and swat, he figured he was successful, but he relented and answered.
“Freak the fuck out and then give her what she wants. As always.”
Dana chuckled. “That’s two hundred. And you’re already freaking out about the marriage thing.”
“We’re working on it.” He flicked her ear. “Don’t be a pest. And you curse worse than I do, Army grunt.”
She snorted, but cocked her head with that mischievous look that told him she was feeling more herself again. “Sooo…this necking thing?”
“Sorry, I prefer this face to launch ships, not be keelhauled by one. Namely, your husband’s Bass boat.”
“Well, why don’t you and Max neck, and I’ll ‘watch’.” She fluttered her fingers in tactile illustration.
He shuddered. “Out. Go buy more combat boots.”
“You have to come in,” she reminded him. “That’s part of the conditions of the shopping spree. You are a full participant in the whole torturous thing.”
“Don’t remind me. But I’m not trying on any stilettos. Those things pinch my toes.”
She chuckled, but paused, putting a hand on the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Yes, I will text your husband and tell him you don’t think he’s a total a-hole. But we both know you still love me better.”
The shoe store was one of those artsy places where the shoes were purportedly limited edition unique designs, as much art as functional. At least, that was what Ben picked up from the pink, flowing script teaser line etched on the double doors. When it came to his own preferences, he was good with anything with a four-inch plus toothpick heel, and wanted to mandate that women wear them all the time. The thought called to mind the pleasing vision of Marcie’s hips swaying when she wore that style of shoe to work at Savannah’s office, and met him for lunch.
True to an upscale boutique, the store had eye-catching wall art and sculptures to frame their shoe selection displays. Fashionable print sofas and easy chairs, as well as gilt-edged mirrors, ensured their patrons could try on the shoes in a so-not-Pic-n-Pay atmosphere.
The women had spread out. Though there were other patrons, Ben noted that the storeowner and her one employee were quick to respond to any questions from his group. Even if they hadn’t seen them emerge from the limo, they recognized women with ample money ready to spend.
He found his
brat and her sister oohing over a pair of clear glass-slipper-style heels in the toothpick style he appreciated. Delicate beadwork formed a star-shaped flower on the top and trimmed the sides. The beadwork glittered with the understated luster of diamonds, though Ben assumed they weren’t actual gems, since the shoes weren’t locked under glass.
Marcie took a seat in one of the chairs, and removed her boots and the thin socks she wore beneath them. The sleek-looking brunette employee in a pencil skirt and elegant blouse who’d brought her the size she wanted asked if she needed help fitting the shoes, but Marcie shook her head with a smile.
Ben drew closer as the employee went to see if anyone else needed her help. Marcie lifted her brows in surprise as he dropped to a knee beside her.
“I am a full-service shopping escort.” But when he would have pulled the first shoe out of the tissue-lined box, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“I have to put on some of those first,” she explained.
She nodded toward a silver box, one of several mounted in accessible but discreet locations near the shoe fitting areas. The boxes contained little brown silky balls. At a closer glance, he deduced they were foot hosiery, to help the women try on the dressy shoes. Another little silver box beneath it was apparently to discard the shoe protectors after use.
“Since I’d wear hose with these, it also helps me check the fit,” Marcie said. “My socks, thin as they are, aren’t as thin as stockings.”
He’d settled his hand on her thigh as she spoke, and her gaze went to it before her hand did, resting over his fingers. She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a lower tone. “I was thinking of wearing these with my wedding dress.”
His heart did a skipped beat, as it always did when she took wedding talk from the general to specifics, but he maintained a poker face with effort. “Really? Somebody ask you to marry him?”