by Eileen Wilks
Back in her bed with the lights turned off and a warm pair of pajamas pulled on, snuggled into the sheets that smelled of him – and of sex – she hugged her pillow. Was she wrong to have held back the words she wanted to give him? He hadn't spoken of love. No, he'd warned her not to depend on him. But his eyes…
For a while, when he'd been truly naked, his eyes had sung all the poets' words to her. Hadn't they?
Maybe she was fooling herself. Lord knows she wasn't great at reading people. Gwen punched her pillow into a different shape, plopped her head down on it and closed her eyes, determined to sleep.
Duncan wondered why she'd chosen him, instead of Ben. It was hard to put into words. There were so many reasons. Passion, of course – the sheer physical splendor they shared did matter. But great sex by itself wasn't reason enough to gamble everything on a man she'd known for less than a month.
She admired him – his courage, the clear-eyed compassion he offered everyone but himself. Then there was the loyalty he felt for his family. Even if that loyalty had taken him away from her tonight, she admired it. And his silence, that deep, calm well of silence … oh, she loved him for that. His was the kind of quiet that listened, an involved, accepting sort of quiet. With him, she felt free to be the woman she was becoming.
But what could she give him in return? So far, it seemed she'd brought mostly grief. The older brother he loved wasn't speaking to him. He'd moved out of his home because of her.
Another woman, she thought, flopping over onto her back, might be able to mend the breach. She didn't have the foggiest idea how to do that.
But she wasn't giving up. She wasn't going to back away from the choice she'd made, no matter how risky the road ahead looked.
But May first was only nine days away. She didn't have much time.
Her eyes snapped open. This wasn't working. Maybe she should see if meditation helped with lovesickness as well as it did with other anxieties.
I breathe in, my body is calmed. Breathe out…
Every breath brought the scent of him into her lungs. Gwen sighed and promised herself a nap tomorrow. She was going to need it.
* * *
The basketball looped the edge of the rim once, twice – and fell through.
"I think it's coming back to me," Charlie said. He was bent over, his hands on his knees, dragging in air.
"Your aim, maybe. Your wind is still lousy." Duncan was breathing hard, too. He used the hem of his sweatshirt to wipe his face and caught a glimpse of his watch. Their time was up. The girl at the front desk had said one of the YMCA teams would need the court at six.
"Speaking of coming back, when are you? Coming home, I mean. Jeff must be sick of you by now."
"I'm not coming back to Ben's house." Duncan walked over to retrieve the ball. "Want a Coke?"
"If you're buying, sure. Make it a Dr. Pepper." Charlie headed with him to the hall, where half-a-dozen preteens were giggling and dripping on the floor. Swim class was over, obviously. "Ben wants you to come home."
"Try again." Duncan fed quarters into the machine.
"Maybe he … thanks," Charlie said, taking the can Duncan held out. "Anyway, it's your house, too. And I want you there. Unless you've got a better deal? Are you and Gwen—"
"I haven't moved in with her." Duncan started walking, unable to handle the conversation standing still. God knew, leaving her got harder every time. Not that there had been that many times, he reminded himself. They'd only been lovers for four days … and nights.
He was leaving in six days. He'd made the reservations yesterday.
"I think Ben does want you to move back into the house. You know him – he won't come out and say it."
"Oh, he's said a few things," Duncan replied dryly, popping the top on his can.
"I, ah, gathered you'd spoken to him. That's progress."
"You could call it that, I guess." When Ben came looking for Duncan yesterday, he'd had plenty to say, all right – but even the most confirmed optimist couldn't have found much to encourage him in any of it. Duncan shoved the big glass door open and stepped out into the slanting sunshine of late afternoon. "He doesn't want me anywhere around him right now, Charlie. He's hurting."
"A grizzly with a sore paw," Charlie agreed. "But he's not nursing a broken heart."
"That's what Gwen believes." He would see her soon. For the first time he was taking her out for an adult evening – dinner and dancing. Zach was staying with Ben tonight because they were going hiking in the morning.
"But you don't?" Charlie shook his head. "Usually you're so sharp about this sort of thing, too. Ben isn't in love with her. He's in love with the idea of being married. Sooner or later it will occur to him that he could marry someone other than Gwen."
Maybe Charlie was right. And maybe, when that did occur to Ben, he'd forgive Duncan.
"He does seem to have some screwed-up ideas," Charlie went on. "Seems to think you're using Gwen. I told him that was bullshit. You wouldn't have started something with her, not under these circumstances, if you weren't serious."
Duncan didn't know what to say to that. He stopped and took a deep drink of his cola, then stood frowning at the can. "He told me I'd damned well better be planning on marrying her."
"Hell, Duncan, you know Ben. He couldn't just ask if you've set the date yet."
"I told him I wasn't going to marry her."
Charlie grimaced. "And you're supposed to be the smart one – the one who's good at handling our pigheaded brother. I know Ben can make a saint curse sometimes, but you usually keep your temper when he starts throwing orders around. Why didn't you just tell him it was too soon to talk about marriage?"
"Because it isn't true." Duncan was tired. Not the healthy tired that comes from a good workout. Bone-deep, used-up tired. "I won't marry her."
"You want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours? Because I don't buy that. I've seen how you look at her."
"I'm heading back to the base next week." Duncan started walking again, heading into the parking lot for his car. Tired or not, he couldn't stand still. "I've only got six more days with her."
Charlie's long legs kept pace with him easily. "I know it would be hard, working on a relationship when she's here and you're in Georgia. But I don't think that was what's bugging you."
Oh, it was bugging him, all right. Maybe that was why he was so tired. It took a lot of energy to keep from thinking about how little time he would have with her. "You're assuming I re-up. That I'm staying in the service."
"If you don't, where's the problem?"
He spun and slapped the hood of the nearest car. "I'm the problem, Charlie! Don't you remember what happened when you woke me up? I was freaking over a nightmare and damned near choked the life out of you for your trouble!"
Charlie just looked at him, his long face grave. "Tense," he pronounced at last. "Real tense. I would have thought a man getting sex as regular as you are would be more relaxed. What happened when I woke you up that night…" He paused, scratching his chin. "I have to think you can tell the difference between me and Gwen. Even when you're mostly asleep, that should be obvious. She's a lot shorter."
Duncan's laugh was short and harsh, but it did ease him slightly. "Yeah," he said. "She's got better legs, too."
"There you go."
In unspoken agreement, they started walking again. After a moment Charlie asked, "You heading over to see her tonight?"
As if he could stay away. He nodded.
"Tell her hello for me, then. And, Duncan…" They'd reached his car. Charlie's old Ford was parked on another row. "Gwen strikes me as a patient woman. Hell, she must be to put up with you, right? Besides, seems she's willing to wait, give you time to work things out for yourself. The least you can do in return is be patient, too. With yourself, I mean."
* * *
An hour later, showered, shaved and wearing dress slacks and a dress shirt, Duncan was in his car again. Gwen's place wasn't far from Jeff's apar
tment, where Duncan had been staying the past four nights – whatever portion of the nights he didn't spend with Gwen, that is. In fact, on the way he passed the 7-11 where he'd run into Jeff all those weeks ago. Sure enough, Jeff's car was there this evening.
That was one good thing, anyway. He'd managed to leave before Jeff got home. Much as he appreciated Jeff letting him bunk on his couch and use the facilities, he didn't need another sales pitch for the Highpoint PD.
Gwen's street was two blocks past the 7-11, in a mixed neighborhood. Some of the old houses were on the seedy side, while others had been renovated or converted to offices. The sidewalks here were canted, the street steep. The trees were old, their branches spreading over the narrow street. There were a few kids still out – he passed a pair on in-line skates, and a teenager was washing his car on the lawn with the bass on his stereo turned up to earthquake level.
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about what Charlie had said. And the more he thought about it, the madder he got.
Gwen hadn't said one word to him about what he planned to do when he went back to the base. Not one word. And it wasn't because she didn't care, he thought, pulling up to the curb. Maybe she hadn't put her feelings in words, but she was in love with him. It fairly shone from her.
And what did the damned woman do when the man she loved planned to leave her and hadn't had the basic decency to explain himself? Not one blasted thing. She left it all up to him.
She deserved better, dammit. She should insist on being treated better. And if she didn't see that, he'd make it clear to her.
He took the stairs two at a time and pounded on the door.
Seconds later, she opened it. She took one look at him and frowned. "Are we going to fight? You know I'm not good at it."
Just like that, she punctured his anger. It drained out, hissing like a wet cat as it went. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. "What am I going to do with you?"
She snuggled close and kissed his chin. "You've come up with some pretty good ideas so far. I hope you'll delay any new notions until after dinner, though. I spent a ridiculous amount of time shopping and then primping for our first date."
Holding her was having a predictable effect on him. He eased back slightly and looked down at her. She'd smudged dark, sultry stuff on her eyes. Her dress was short and sleek and shiny red, like her mouth. There wasn't much of it. "I'm not sure I should take you out in public in that dress. You might incite a riot."
That turned her smile pleased, a little cocky. "You think so? Wait until you see the back." She pulled out of his arms and did a slow twirl.
"Gwen, I hate to mention this, but you've been gypped. There is no back to that dress."
She craned her head, looking over her shoulder. "Why, I believe you're right! Imagine that." She looped her arms loosely around his neck. "Too late for a refund now. I'll just have to wear it, anyway."
He couldn't ignore that shiny red mouth a second longer, so he kissed it. And showed his approval for the backless dress in other ways.
Several minutes later she handed him a tissue. "Now that we've settled that," she said, slightly breathless, "do you want to tell me what was really bothering you?"
He wiped his mouth carefully. "Nothing reasonable."
"I don't insist on reasonable."
"You don't insist on anything!" He paced away, picked up a book she'd left on one end table, then put it down again. He wanted to hurl it against the wall. "You haven't asked me a single question, Gwen. Not one. You know I'm leaving in six days, and you haven't asked me anything about what happens after that."
She didn't say anything until he turned to face her, then she spoke quietly. "I haven't asked because there was no point in it. You don't know what you're going to do. If you did, you would have told me. You don't need me badgering you for decisions you can't make yet, or throwing out ultimatums. Especially since I wouldn't mean them. I'm not going to toss away the best thing that's ever happened to me just because it might not last."
His eyes squeezed closed. When he opened them, she was still standing there, looking beautiful and sexy and sad. He crossed to her and took her hands in his. "I don't deserve you."
"Usually you only speak when you have something worth saying. Not always, apparently." She tipped her head to one side, smiling. "Come on – you promised me dancing."
* * *
Chapter 17
«^»
One of the slats in the blinds was stuck and hadn't closed completely. Moonlight slipped through the opening, striping the sheets and the naked back of the man lying beside her, one arm curled over her waist. He was asleep.
He must be very tired to have dozed off so quickly. She knew he didn't intend to stay the night with her. She'd have to wake him soon. But not yet. Not quite yet.
How very strange men are, Gwen thought, her fingers lightly stroking the nape of Duncan's neck. She'd given him exactly what he asked for— Don't expect too much of me, he'd said. And that had made him angry.
But for once the reason was obvious, even to her. Or maybe she was getting better at reading him. Duncan hadn't really been mad at her. He'd been furious with himself. He still was, she thought, watching him sleep. And maybe that was at the heart of his problems. He hadn't forgiven himself for whatever had happened when he was shot.
He hadn't forgiven himself for wanting a woman he thought belonged to his brother, either. At least, she thought that was how he saw it. Men were quite irrational about some things.
Gwen sighed and let her mind drift back over the evening. Duncan was a marvelous dancer. She'd thought he might be from the way he moved, the way he made love. Dancing had taken them away for a while into a world with only the two of them.
Unfortunately that world didn't really exist. They'd gone to the ski resort just outside town. It was one of those expensively rustic places, and did a booming business during the ski season, Duncan had said, when they had a live band every night at the supper club. Tonight, being off-season, there had been a deejay.
Before the dancing, though, they'd run into a couple Duncan knew. The man had gone to school with Ben. They'd known who Gwen was. And whose son Zach was.
The woman's eyes had held the gleam of gossip. Her prying questions hadn't bothered Gwen all that much, though Duncan had been terse to the point of rude. It was the man who'd upset Gwen. His eyes had been cold with disapproval, and it had been aimed at Duncan.
Why did people who knew nothing about a situation feel compelled to judge, to take sides?
Of course, Gwen reflected ruefully, the woman had done her best to find out everything she could.
Gwen hummed a few bars of one of the songs they'd danced to, dreaming a little on the memory. Duncan didn't stir. He was sleeping so soundly she was reminded of Zach, and smiled. How lovely it would be if this were their usual life – both of them working in the days, staying home with Zach most evenings but going out once in a while, just the two of them. Then coming home to make love. Or even coming home just to sleep together. It was so lovely, lying here with him this way…
Her eyelids were heavy. I'll just close them for a minute, she thought. She still had to wake him up, after all. In just a few more minutes…
* * *
Something jabbed her in the side. Hard. Gwen's eyes flew open.
"No," Duncan muttered. His head thrashed back and forth. "No, no, no." He flung out one arm.
This time she saw it coming and rolled away, ending up kneeling at the foot of the bed. Her heart pounded. Her mouth was dry. She didn't know what to do. She remembered very clearly what had happened when Charlie shook Duncan awake from a nightmare.
So she wouldn't shake him. "Duncan," she said firmly. "Duncan, wake up."
His lips moved, inaudibly this time. His face was shiny with sweat and twisted with pain.
Sooner or later he would wake up on his own even if she did nothing – but he was suffering. She couldn't stand it. But what … oh, he wasn't Duncan in his nightm
are, was he? She made her voice as deep as she could and barked, "Sergeant McClain! On your feet right now, Sergeant!"
His eyes flew open. His chest heaved once, twice. "Oh, God," he said, and sat up, holding his head in his hands.
She licked her lips. What was she supposed to say? "You were having that nightmare."
He made a harsh noise that was closer to a groan than a laugh. "No kidding. Now you know why I don't want to sleep over."
"Is this a male-ego thing? You don't want me to see you when you're … upset?"
He lifted his head. "I don't want to belt you one in my sleep."
"Oh. Well, you didn't. I mean, you did poke me in the ribs, but any restless sleeper might do that." She tried a smile. "I'm fine."
"You're perched on the edge of the bed as far away from me as you can get." His mouth twisted. "Good thinking."
So far she was failing dismally at reassuring him. She tried another tack. "It's not easy to talk about this sort of thing, but it helps. What's your nightmare about?"
"Death."
She sat back on her heels, her breath huffing out. "Okay, that's a start, but you might help me out a little here. Add a few details."
"It's a good thing you decided to be a lawyer, not a head doctor. Cross-examining the witness isn't the accepted style for therapists."
"I'm not a courtroom attorney." Worry wrinkled her forehead. "Duncan, can't you talk about it at all?"
"I killed Pat."
She jumped.
His mouth twisted bitterly. "Oh, not personally. But I'm responsible for the bullet that pulped his brains." He twisted, sitting on the edge of the bed, his clenched fists between his knees.
She swallowed, sorted through myriad questions clamoring for answers and picked one. "Who was Pat?"
"A corporal in my squad. My friend. The best damned poker player I've ever crossed aces with." He shoved to his feet. "I dream of him. Night after night, I dream of him with his face blowin off, trying to talk to me."
Gwen bit her lip and thought frantically. The therapist who had led her cancer-survivor group used to say that everyone who appeared in a dream represented some part of the dreamer. What part of Duncan was faceless and bloody? She shivered. "Maybe you should ask him what he's trying to say?"