Some Kind of Wonderful

by Maureen Child

  "Maybe you shouldn't."

  "Huh?"

  "I mean it, Carol." Phoebe glanced down at the sleeping baby and felt her uterus contract in regret. "If Jack is what you want, maybe you should go for it."

  "And forget about what happened the last time?"

  "You were a kid."

  "I was twenty-two."

  "Exactly."

  "I loved him." Carol stared at the ceiling. "I really did, you know? And he let me build up all these fantasies about us and having a family and how good it would all be. He never said a word. Never told me that he didn't want what I did. Never told me about—" She stopped, as if she'd changed her mind abruptly about what she'd been about to say. Then in a heartbeat, she started up again. "Never told me that he was sleeping with the bimbo down the hall from his place. I almost married him, Phoebe."

  Phoebe watched her with sympathetic eyes and felt a really strong urge to go and hunt down the little bastard who'd hurt Carol, just to punch his lights out. " 'Almost' is the key word in that sentence, honey."

  "Yeah, I know." Carol shot her a look. "But I was wrong about him, Phoebe. So way wrong, it's amazing. If I didn't see what a jerk he was ... how can I be sure I'm seeing the real Jack?"

  Phoebe sighed. "Your ex was a total creep and he hurt you. But that doesn't mean Jack will, too."

  "He keeps warning me off of him," Carol admitted "Even last night, I could see it in his eyes, that he wanted me to say no. To turn away. But I couldn't Didn't want to."

  "See?" Phoebe said, delighted when the baby opened her big blue eyes and stared up at her. "The jerk didn't try to warn you off. He just sucked you into his orbit, chewed on you for a while, then sent you spinning off into space. Jack's already trying to keep you from getting hurt. Which means, at the heart of him, he's a nicer

  guy."

  "Maybe you're right," Carol said as she sat up. "And speaking of nice guys ... how's your favorite carpenter?"

  Phoebe's smile slipped just a little. "Ah, Cash has moved on."

  "Really?"

  "Yep." Phoebe knew she'd miss Cash's company, but her heart wasn't wounded and that's how she liked it. She wouldn't get so involved with a man that losing him would kill her. Not again. "He finished my new closet, then packed up his little tool belt and stole off into the night. Well, okay, not night. Late afternoon. But you get the picture."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Don't be," Phoebe assured her as she stood up, still cuddling little Liz close to her chest. "Cash was ... well, amazing, really. But we both knew it wasn't a permanent thing. Want to see my new shoe and purse rack?"

  "You bet."

  "Afterward, we'll nuke our popcorn and watch the movie." She glanced over her shoulder at Carol. "Which one did you rent?"

  "Star Wars."

  Phoebe sighed. "Han Solo and popcorn. Does it get any better than that?"

  Remembering the night before, Carol thought, oh, yeah. It got way better than popcorn and a great movie.

  But on the other hand, Han Solo couldn't reach into her chest, pull out her heart, and stomp on it. Now, could he?

  Carol got home late.

  Liz was sound asleep and didn't even stir when Carol gently lifted her from the infant carrier to the crib. Standing over the baby, she tucked a soft, pale yellow blanket around her, then smoothed the palm of her hand over the baby's wispy cap of dark hair.

  "We're home," she said, her voice a whisper as soft as the moonlight trailing through the window to lay in silver squares along the floor and the end of her bed. Smiling to herself, Carol turned on the baby monitor, picked up the receiver, and then looked down at Quinn, already curling up in sentry position beside the crib.

  Her heart twisted and she bent down to stroke the big dog's head. He pushed into her hand and Carol obligingly scratched behind his ears. 'Take good care of our girl, okay?"

  He huffed out a breath, then dropped his head to his paws, prepared to drift into doggie dreams of giant biscuits and wide-open meadows.

  Still smiling, Carol left the bedroom door open and walked into the living room. For some reason, she was antsy. Didn't really feel like going to sleep, but couldn't find anything to occupy her enough that she couldn't think. Even during the movie, her mind had kept sidling back to the night before. And when Han Solo couldn't keep your brain busy, you were in bad shape.

  Jack, she thought, giving in to her mind's insistence on thinking of him.

  She hadn't even seen him today.

  Between working and then the movie with Phoebe, she'd hardly been home. But remembering the look on his face when he left her bed the night before, she had the distinct impression that even if she'd been hanging around outside his front door, he would have walked right past her. Back to avoidance.

  Walking through the shadow-filled living room, she stopped at the wide front window and stared down at the dark street below. Why did she feel so... unsettled? Stupid question, she told herself. It was him. It was all Jack.

  Her body was still thrumming in memory of his touch. And fires that hadn't burned inside her in years were now nearing flash point. Resting her forehead on the cool glass windowpane, she closed her eyes and remembered it all. Every touch. Every sigh. Every rocketing sensation that had splintered through her body and left her eager for more.

  Blowing out a breath, she opened her eyes and turned from the window to walk the confines of the room. Her steps were slow, measured, as steady as her heartbeat, which really wasn't all that steady at the moment. God, she missed those midnight walks with Quinn.

  She'd had time then to wander through the darkness and let her mind drift. But she couldn't be taking Liz out in the damp night air, so the walks were history now.

  Holding on to the baby monitor, she came around the corner of the sofa and spotted the box. She'd forgotten all about it earlier. And now... she checked the antique pendulum clock hanging on the wall above the television set—it was midnight—too late to take it to him.

  But she could set it outside his door so he'd find it in the morning. Hooking the monitor receiver onto the

  pocket of her shorts, Carol bent down and picked up the big box and was grateful that despite its size, it wasn't heavy. Opening her own door, she stepped across the hall and set the box down again.

  Then she straightened up and laid one hand on Jack's door as if she could sense what was going on inside. Dumb. And even while she told herself to go back to her own apartment, she was leaning closer to his door, listening. If she heard a TV or a radio, she'd just knock on the door and give him the box tonight. If she didn't... she'd just have to talk to him tomorrow, she thought.

  And that's when she heard it.

  Jack's voice.

  Shouting.

  Her heart jolted. She whipped her head around and looked at the closed door to Jack's bedroom. His voice sounded ... desperate.

  "Will!" he shouted. "No!"

  Her heart jolted. Was he being attacked? Carol went on instinct again. She grabbed up a nearby lamp and hefted it high in her right hand, ready to use it as a weapon if she had to. Running across the room to the bedroom door, she grabbed the knob, gave it a turn, and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, she came up short as she realized that Jack wasn't under attack.

  He was asleep.

  Carol's heart pounded in her chest and she had to fight to even out her breathing. All prepared for a fight, she paused in the open doorway to give the adrenaline still pumping through her bloodstream a chance to fizzle out.

  Moonlight danced across the bed where Jack lay tangled in the sheets. Sweat beaded on his bare chest and his features were screwed up into a mask of frustration and pain. His hands fisted in the sheets as his legs thrashed like a drowning man trying to kick his way to the surface of the water.

  She set the lamp she still held down onto the table beside the door. Then, rushing to the side of the bed, Carol leaned over and looked down at him. He wasn't under attack by an intruder. This was Jack's own mind turning on him. He wa
s tortured, fighting his way through a nightmare that was so vicious it even gave her cold chills.

  She reached for him, laying one hand on his bare shoulder. His skin was damp with sweat and cold despite the warmth of the room. She felt the tension in his bunched muscles as he battled whatever demons were chasing him through sleep. Her heart ached for

  him even as her stomach pitched with worry. "Jack ... Jack, wake up."

  "No!" The word charged from his throat in a frantic cry. Then he came up swinging. Sitting straight up, eyes wild and still focused on the images clouding his mind, he grabbed her. Throwing her across the mattress, he pounced, straddling her, pinning her shoulders to the bed and glaring down at her as though she were the guardian to the gates of hell.

  "Jack!" Carol's breath heaved in and out of her lungs as she stared up into the eyes of a stranger. Wide and glassy, those pale blue eyes didn't even see her. Carol knew that to him, she was just another part of the dream that he was still fighting free of. His jaw tight, his mouth a thin slash of fury, he hissed in air through gritted teeth as his hands tightened on her upper arms.

  Backlit by the moonlight, his silhouette was dark and huge. Sitting on her abdomen, his weight pressed her down into the mattress, and Carol realized that she was way out of her depth. But still, she wasn't scared. Not of him. Never of him. "Jack," she said softly, as soon as she got her breath back. "It's me. Carol."

  His grip on her shoulders loosened slightly, but he made no move to get off her.

  "It was a nightmare, Jack," she said, her voice softer now, soothing, as she tried to ease him down from whatever visions were still clinging to the edges of his mind. As she watched, breath caught, his eyes cleared, slowly losing that wild, almost feral gleam.

  "Carol?" He shook his head. "What the hell... ?"

  "I heard you shouting—"

  "Dammit." He let her go and sat back, still straddling her hips.

  "I had to make sure you were all right."

  "I'm fine." His voice sounded like a tightly strung wire close to snapping.

  "Yeah, I can see that."

  "You shouldn't have come in here," he said and eased off and away from her. He rolled to one side, then slipped off the edge of the bed in one smooth action. It was only then she noticed he was naked.

  He grabbed his jeans off a nearby chair and tugged them on, keeping his back to her as if he couldn't bear to look at her—or for her to look at him. But naturally, she couldn't take her gaze off him. Carol sat up on the mattress, pushed her hair back and out of her eyes, and told herself to breathe. Just breathe. Not an easy order to follow when Jack turned around again to face her. Chest bare, his jeans unbuttoned at the waist, he braced his feet wide apart and faced her with his chin up as if daring her to take a punch at it.

  Moonlight slanted over his skin and spotlighted him like an actor on a stage. His broad, muscled chest looked as though it had been carved in marble by a master sculptor. And even in the dim light, she saw the shadows in his eyes. Felt the chill of his ghosts still haunting the room.

  "I scared you."

  "Surprised me," she corrected, needing to let him know she hadn't been scared. Worried about him. Concerned. Startled, when he flung her over his body onto the mattress. But not scared.

  He reached up and shoved both hands along the sides of his skull as though trying to keep his head from bursting. When he let his hands fall to his sides again, he just stared at her. A long, heavy sigh slid from his lungs as he hunched his shoulders and looked at her steadily. "Did I hurt you?"

  Carol's heart twisted. Was there anything harder to see than a strong man brought to his knees? Guilt shimmered in the air between them, but she wouldn't let him suffer over this. Whatever else was happening here, he was trying to keep his private demons from touching her. She wouldn't add to the misery stamped on his features, so she resisted rubbing her upper arms where bruises were probably already blooming in the shape of his fingerprints. "No. You didn't."

  "Thank God." He scraped one hand across his face, as if trying to wipe away the memory of the last few minutes. Then he inhaled wearily and folded his arms across his chest. "Go home, Baker."

  "Jack—"

  "I mean it. Get out."

  Oh, he meant it. She could see that in every furious line of his body. Tension shimmered off him in thick, dark waves that reached out long tentacles to tug at Carol's heart. How could she walk away from him when he was so alone already, it tore at her?

  "Not a chance." It might have been the smart thing to do, but she could feel his pain from across the room and couldn't pretend she didn't. No matter how much easier it might have been. "You were having a nightmare."

  He snorted a laugh that sounded like sandpaper on a chalkboard and turned away from her, staring out the window at the dark beyond the glass. "Yeah, you could say that."

  "Who's Will?"

  He snapped her a hard look over his shoulder. "What'd I say?"

  "You warned him to get down," she said, scooting to the edge of the bed and then off of it. Standing up, she walked through the patch of moonlight to stand beside

  him. She laid a hand on his forearm and felt him flinch. But he didn't pull away. Maybe he needed the contact too much to pull back, even though that was clearly what he wanted to do.

  "Who's Will?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  "You were shouting at him in your sleep." She tightened her grip on his arm when she felt the muscles beneath her hand clench. Tipping her head back, she tried to look into his eyes, but he kept his gaze on the window in front of him and the night beyond. His eyes narrowed, his brows drew together, and she knew he was seeing it all again. The images from his dream were still with him. Still hurting him. "It matters."

  He closed his eyes briefly. "Leave it alone, for crissake."

  She couldn't. Wouldn't. This was as close as she'd come to discovering the reasons for the shutters in his eyes. For the secrecy. For the emotional distance that radiated around him like a circle of barbed wire, keeping out trespassers. "Because leaving it alone's done you so much good, right?"

  He slanted her a quelling look from the corner of his eye. "What the hell do you know about it?"

  It was going to take a lot more than a replay of his snarling and sniping to keep her from trying to reach him. That growl of a voice of his had become a part of her everyday world. She knew it as well as she knew the deep-throated rumblings from Quinn. And she knew that neither of them were as dangerous as they liked to think.

  Carol stepped out in front of him, forcing him to look at her instead of the night that had him so damn fascinated. When he finally met her gaze she steeled herself against

  the echo of pain she read in those icy blue depths. Pulling off a bandage—especially an old one—hurt. But pulling it off quickly was bound to ease the pain in the long run. He'd been tugging at the edges for too long. It was time for a quick yank.

  "What do I know?" she asked, challenging him. "I know that you're making your family nuts with worry." She poked him in the chest with the tip of her index finger and had the satisfaction of seeing him scowl in response. "I know that you're miserable. That you avoid coming home—the one place most people run to when they're hurt or in trouble. But not you. You lock yourself away and turn into a crab-ass to keep everyone at a distance. And when you do come home"—she poked him again for good measure—"you act like being here is a punishment. I want to know why."

  "And I should tell you because ... ?"

  "Because I'm Switzerland," she said, reaching up to smooth his hair back from his face. He flinched again, pulling away from her touch, but when she followed his movement, he gave it up and allowed the tenderness. "I don't have a stake in your life, Jack. I'm not family, m—

  One eyebrow lifted and a small, almost wistful twist of his lips gave her heart a little jab.

  "Yeah?" he asked. "You're what, exactly, Baker?"

  "An innocent bystander?" she offered.

  His eyes went c
old and dark again as he said, "Haven't you heard? It's always the innocent bystanders that get the shaft."

  "I'll take my chances." She wouldn't let go of this. Old wounds were tearing at his soul. And she had to at least try to help.

  He sighed and fatigue seemed to fall on him like a

  shroud. His body slumped, shoulders drooping. His eyes closed, then opened again so that he could look at her. "Go home. Take care of the baby."

  "Got her covered," Carol said and unhooked the baby monitor from her pocket. She set it down on the table beside her, turned up the volume, and then looked at him. "Spill it, Reilly. Who knows, maybe it'll make you feel better."

  Jack stared down at her and wished he could share in that lollipop-and-roses outlook. But he knew damn well that talking about a nightmare only made it more real. Gave it definition. Gave it life beyond the dream world where he'd fought to keep his own personal demons locked away. If he let them out now, there'd be no shoving them back into the shadows.

  They'd be here.

  In the room with him.

  With Carol.

  And what, he wondered, would she say if she found out about him? Would she still give him that wide-eyed look that turned his insides into a churning mass of need and confusion? Would she still be so damn willing to look on the bright side, when she found out his best friend was dead because of him?

  Hell. If the truth chased her off, then maybe that was what he should do. He'd tried to stay away from her for all the good it had done him. Maybe if he could prove to her that he was a son of a bitch, she'd catch on and stay away.

  And if she did?

  Well, it would be no more than he deserved, though God knows, he'd miss her. Miss arguing with her. Miss hearing about her weird devotion to science fiction movies. Miss seeing her with Liz.

  Just miss her, dammit.

  His eyes felt gritty and his throat as dry as an August night. His heart still thundered in his ears and felt as though it was about to jump out of his chest. And it wasn't just the aftereffects of the dream, this time. No, this was a whole new set of variables.