“But?”
She carried the water into the living room, kicked off her shoes, and curled up in the recliner. How was he able to hear that but in her voice when she barely heard it herself? “Therese had a really tough day, so she was really down. She made a difficult decision, and I’m afraid it’s the wrong one, but she’s got to live with it, you know.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Are you coming over?”
“I’m leaving right now.”
“Good.” Maybe this time you’ll spend the night.
Surprised by the words, she blinked before awkwardly tacking on, “I’ll be, uh, waiting.”
Where had that come from? They’d kissed—a lot—but mostly hello and good-bye. They didn’t sit around and make out, but they weren’t hormone-driven kids. They were adults proceeding at their pace. They were in no rush. They could take their time, as if they had their entire lives ahead of them.
Besides, she hadn’t done a thing about losing those fourteen pounds. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be seen in her bare skin by anyone besides her gynecologist. She doubted her underwear even matched tonight, confirmed by a peek: cream-colored bra, pink bikinis with blue and purple dots.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to see another man in the bed she’d shared with Jeff. And she was nervous—more than nervous—about making love for the first time with only the second man ever.
All perfectly reasonable worries…if Dane had ever hinted that he wanted to have sex with her. She had invited him over, remember? Because she’d wanted to see him tonight if only for a few hours. Because she’d brought back that huge slice of cake as an excuse.
But if things happened to move that way…One thing she and Dane both knew too well was that life was short.
And a wise person lived accordingly.
She considered turning off some lamps and lighting some candles, changing underwear to something prettier and a bit sexier, refreshing her makeup or even putting on some perfume. Anything that might tempt him to do more than kiss.
In the end, she was making coffee when he knocked at the door. There was nothing special about tonight. She would see him tomorrow and probably the next day, too, and several more times before next weekend. And she would start a diet tomorrow.
When she opened the door, he greeted her with a sweet, satisfied smile. She imagined it was the way she greeted him each time. There was just something so right about being with him, some contentment and gratitude: He’s here again and he’s happy to see me.
He stepped in, closing the door behind him, and rested his hands on her waist. “This is how you dress to go out with the girls?”
“Hey, I could wear this to work.” But she didn’t. The white denim skirt was long by a lot of standards, nearly reaching her knees, and hugged her hips and butt more snugly thanks to the fourteen pounds. Her shirt was orange, sleeveless, the top button just low enough to reveal some cleavage. Sandals and a wood-bead belt, along with dangly wood earrings, finished the outfit. A little more length, a little less boob, and then she could wear it to work.
He eased her closer, his hands skimming along her spine, bending his head to nuzzle her ear, the day’s growth of beard prickling and tickling. “You smell good.”
“I probably spilled some of that incredible beef gravy somewhere.” Her eyes fluttered shut when he reached her mouth and for an instant, she thought, yes, she was ready to be naked with this man, extra pounds, Jeff’s bed and all.
Then she simply stopped thinking for a while.
She experienced a moment of utter silence when he finished the kiss—no sound, no thought, no sensation, while she found her way back to reality. Looking as dazed as she felt, he turned her toward the kitchen and gently pushed her that way. “Show me this cake,” he said, his voice husky and heavy. “I want you to know that while you were enjoying incredible food with your friends, I was eating cold Bueno all alone in front of the TV.”
“Hey, the only Mexican fix I got before the club formed was Bueno. Besides, don’t you have a microwave?”
“That’s cute,” he said as he took out coffee mugs and began fixing their drinks. “You think a microwave is a substitute for fresh, hot food.”
“Don’t tease or I won’t share.” Using a pancake turner and a fork, she transferred the wedge-shaped slice of cake from its box to a dinner plate, then showed it to him. It was two huge layers, slathered with caramel frosting between, on the outside and on top.
They carried dessert into the living room and settled on the couch, mugs on the coffee table, plate balanced on his right knee. After totally agreeing with her how good the cake was, he asked, “What’s up with Therese?”
Carly repeated the story with a little knot in her gut.
“The kid slapped her. Wow.”
“I know. I’d be furious. I am furious. But Therese…she’s just…hollow. She says she’s not letting Abby live there anymore, that when school’s out, so is Abby.”
“And you think she’s acting in the heat of the moment.”
Carly took a last bite, then set her fork down, too stuffed to consider even another swipe of frosting. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“And you think she’s wrong.”
“Well, yes. Don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I can’t tell you how many heat-of-the-moment decisions saved my life or someone else’s.”
“But you’re talking combat.”
“Sounds like that’s what Therese and her stepdaughter are engaged in.” He ate another bite, too, before setting the plate on the table between their coffees. “We all get that the kid’s had some bad breaks, but has it occurred to you that, putting all the grief aside, she’s an angry, self-absorbed, bitter person who likes to make other people suffer?”
Actually, no, it hadn’t. Now she considered it. It was easy to blame Abby’s problems on her mother’s abandonment and her father’s death—wasn’t that enough to turn any sweet angel into a screaming banshee? But from what Therese had said, Abby had been no ray of sunshine before Paul died. She’d been happy when she got her way, sullen when she didn’t, and sometimes just plain mean. Was Therese bending over backward to accommodate not a grief-stricken child but a common-variety mean girl?
Dane took her hand, drawing her attention back to him. “I always figured I’d have kids, but I never wanted to be a father to someone else’s kids. I could have done it, for the right person, but it’s a hard job when they’re your own flesh and blood. You see with Therese how hard it can be when they’re not.”
She watched as he gently bent the fingers of her right hand back and forth. When he held her hand, it was always the right one. Just coincidence? Or was the reminder of her wedding ring on the left hand too much?
“So if there was a little Jeff Junior, toddling around here, you wouldn’t be here?”
Was he slow answering, or was it only her sense of time that suddenly crawled? Only hers, she decided, watching the seconds tick past on the clock.
He folded his fingers over hers, then slowly tugged her toward him. When they were so close she could smell the intoxicating mix of caramel and coffee on his breath, so close that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke, he responded, “Like I said, I could do it. For the right person.”
She wanted to bounce, to clap her hands with delight as Lucy had done at the restaurant, to chant, I’m the right person, I am! But it was impossible to do anything at the moment because he was kissing her, deep and sweet and hot, his hands pulling her closer, her own hands clutching his soft T-shirt, trying to get as close as two people could be without absorbing into each other.
His tongue was in her mouth, his fingers fumbling with the first, then the second, button on her blouse when she snuggled a little too close and lost her balance. He fell back against the sofa arm, and she landed on top of him with a soft but satisfied grunt. He was strong and solid, and she’d missed strong and solid for so long. She’d missed contact with a man’s body, missed that feeling of completeness and safety
and belonging. She belonged with Dane, and he knew it. He wanted her, and she wanted him, Lord, more than she could remember wanting.
Vaguely, though, she realized that the tenor of their kissing and touching had changed. He wasn’t thrusting his tongue into her mouth any more but twisting his head to avoid her, and his hands weren’t fondling her breasts. They’d moved to her shoulders, pushing her back, lifting her away almost in a panic.
Confusion bloomed through her, along with embarrassment and hurt, and she scrambled to her knees, clutching the undone fabric of her blouse while he straightened to sit, practically hugging the sofa arm. The expression on his face was stark, but she couldn’t identify it. Panic? Dread? Mortification? Had she misunderstood his words or his kiss? Had she jumped to conclusions about being the right one? Had he meant the kiss to be just like the others they’d shared—incredible and needy but nothing more?
He was aroused. She’d felt it, could see it despite his rigid posture.
Aroused by need. Not necessarily by her.
She sank back on her butt, leaving most of the couch between them. Her fingers eased on the handful of fabric they held, then tightened spasmodically. Looking down—far easier than looking at him—she refastened the buttons, then tugged the neckline higher, as if it might cover more now than it had before.
They spoke at the same time. “I, uh—”
“I should—”
Clamping her lips to keep them from quivering, she smiled tightly and nodded to him to continue. Avoiding her gaze, he did. “I should probably go.”
“Yeah. It’s late.” All of eleven ten. And here she’d had fantasies about him spending the entire night.
She felt foolish and small and sad.
He didn’t move for a moment, but when he did get to his feet, his leg buckled and he nearly lost his balance. She reached out a hand, too late and too far away to be of any use, of course, but he steadied himself on the sofa arm, then carefully circled the coffee table and headed to the front door.
She stood, hugging herself, walking to the door but keeping her distance.
They stood there, not close enough to touch, neither looking at the other. The door creaked when he opened it, then immediately he closed it again and turned back. From her peripheral vision she saw him drag one hand through his hair—not much there to tousle—then he sighed heavily. “Listen, Carly—”
Though she’d rather clap her hands over both ears and sing lalala to block out his voice, she didn’t move, hardly breathed and listened, but he didn’t go on. How hard was it to say I like you but not that way or not that much?
Fearful that he would find the words, she spoke in a rush. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” When she finally found the courage to look at him, he looked as pained as she felt.
“It’s not okay. And it’s not you, Carly, honestly. It’s just—”
She cringed inside. The old It’s not you, it’s me? Granted, she’d been out of the dating game for a long time, but did men even still use that line?
He reached out, but clearly not with the intention of actually touching her. “I didn’t— I just— It’s been so damn long…but not long enough. I can’t…not yet…not until…”
Before she could say anything—not that she had a clue what to say—he leaned forward, pressed his mouth hard against hers, only long enough to steal her breath, then he was gone.
Carly slowly raised her fingers to her mouth, the closing of the door echoing in her brain, the emptiness creeping in around her. How had things gone from so toe-curlingly good to—to this in a matter of minutes?
Despite the hour, as soon as she was ready for bed, she crawled under the covers with her phone and dialed Lisa. Her sister-in-law sounded wide awake. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, Leese. Sorry about the time. Dane just left a bit ago, and— I needed to talk to you.”
There was a click over the phone, then the background noise on Lisa’s end disappeared. “Is that man trying to get you into bed?” She feigned outrage, then laughed. “Good for him.”
“I wish. I thought maybe tonight, but…” Though heat flooded her face, Carly went on. Lisa knew every moment in her life, good or bad. “For whatever reason, he didn’t want me.”
Lisa uttered one succinct syllable that made clear what she thought of that. “He’s a guy, right, and he’s breathing. If I were a guy, I would so find you hot.”
Despite her mood, Carly couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, Leese, if you were a guy, I would so find that awkward. After all, you’re married to my brother.”
She laughed, too, then sighed. “Aw, Carly, who understands the minds of men? It’s like trying to explain the nuances of m theory to a rock. But one bump in the road tonight doesn’t mean things are over. You two have been seeing each other, what? Four, five weeks? It hasn’t been that long.”
It’s been so damn long…but not long enough, Dane had said. Then he’d kissed her.
Too long for him? Not long enough for her?
“It’s just…I really like him a lot.” A bit of an understatement. “And I want…more. You know Jeff is the only guy I’ve ever been with, and I’m not exactly brimming with a lot of confidence, and Dane started this tonight and when it got hot, he looked so mortified and mumbled something about it not being long enough and left. He even used that old line, It’s not you, it’s me. But he kissed me before he left.”
“Did you consider, Carly, that it’s true—it’s not you, it really is him?” Lisa paused. “Obviously, I don’t know the guy. I only know what pitiful little bit you’ve chosen to share with me.” Her voice carried a bit of a pout. “But the guy’s a soldier. He’s been to war, multiple times, I’m guessing. Maybe he’s got some sort of hang-up with that. Maybe he’s worried about competing with Jeff’s memory.”
“He was a paratrooper,” Carly acknowledged, “and he hurt his leg badly enough on the last deployment that he can’t jump anymore.” But what were a few scars? He was alive and healthy and whole. As far as competing with Jeff’s memory, he’d been extraordinarily understanding about Jeff. Surely he understood there wasn’t any competition going on. She’d loved Jeff, still did, always would, but he was gone. And she loved Dane, who was here.
“For whatever reason, he just needs a little time. Don’t go all insecure on yourself and think it’s somehow your fault. You remember how much trouble I had getting Roger to realize that I was even a woman? Trust me, if I hadn’t been patient and stubborn as hell, Isaac and Eleanor wouldn’t even be motes in the cosmos. And I’m talking a lot more than four or five weeks.”
She was right, Carly admitted. Roger had admired a great deal about Dr. Lisa Varner for a very long time before her gender or beauty or personality had registered. But Lisa had the advantages of being a genius, beautiful, and a perfect size four.
Not that Dane would care whether Carly was a genius. And he seemed to think she was pretty enough. And if her less-than-perfect size bothered him, it never showed.
Maybe Lisa was right: It was him. And all Carly had to do was be patient and stubborn.
Luckily for her, she excelled at both.
Dane couldn’t sleep.
He’d taken a long shower. He’d sworn—and regretted—a lot. He’d blamed his leg and taken pain pills. But still, there he lay, wide awake and pissed with himself, at three in the morning.
When had he become such a damn coward? When had he lost his ability to deal with a situation like a grown man?
Unfortunately, he could pinpoint it to the day, hour, and approximate minute.
He punched his pillow a time or two, rolled onto his side, then, after a moment, turned to his stomach. Bracing his arms, he rose onto his knees—make that knee—like he was doing a push-up. Like he was leaning over a beautiful woman. Over Carly.
His balance was shaky, his stump falling well short of the mattress. He had the upper body strength to hold the position, but it was awkward and unfamiliar and uncomfortable as hell.
&nb
sp; With a grunt, he lay facedown, half wishing he’d fall asleep and suffocate in the pillow. Remembering Ed immediately made him regret even the thought.
So the first time he had sex, he could lie on his back. It wasn’t his favorite position, but it was doable. He wasn’t likely to fall on his face and make a fool of himself. And maybe sometime later they could try different stuff. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t adapt to, the cadre preached.
Even if he hated the idea.
Shifting back onto his side, he stared into the darkness until finally he drifted off. When he awoke again, the sun was up, his head felt like he’d been on a binge, and the first clear memory to come to mind was the hurt, stunned look on Carly’s face when he’d pushed her away.
Damn.
He should call her, but it was Sunday. She always went to church on Sunday.
He could go, too—see her there. God knew, it’d been long enough since he’d attended regularly, and a sermon might do him a world of good. But he didn’t know which church she attended, and if he went—Sorry, God—he wanted more than just a sermon for his efforts.
In the end, he got dressed, washed down a couple of aspirin tablets, grabbed a protein bar, and headed to his truck. Within minutes, he was on the highway heading out of town, no particular destination in mind. The windows were down, there was good music on the radio, and he wanted to just be. Not think, not talk, not do anything but find a little peace if he could.
He found that peace in the pasture full of palominos. Leaning against the board fence and watching the animals move took him back to his grandparents’ place and the horse he’d kept company on his visits.
Life had been easier then. He’d known he would join the Army and see the world. He’d even expected to see combat at some point, but to a little Texas kid, that had seemed like a big adventure. It had never occurred to him that he would lose so many buddies or a part of himself. He’d never dreamed that at thirty, he’d be self-conscious, scarred, and scared about what the rest of his life would hold.
A Hero to Come Home To Page 26