After lunch Jax disappeared into Pickett’s office with the textbook. He reappeared a half hour later to ask if he could borrow a note pad, only to disappear immediately. Since she couldn’t do housework and couldn’t access her case notes, Pickett gave herself permission to read her new Jennifer Cruisie novel.
Tyler and Lucy, with Patterson refereeing, had started a noisy game of hide-and-seek in the hall that involved much running up and down the stairs with accompanying squeals, barks, banging of doors, clatter of boy feet, and clicking of dog toenails.
Jax came into the living room, one finger marking the place in the Braselton text. He gestured with his head toward the stairs. “Are you supposed to let him make that much noise in the house?”
“Are you asking whether I’m supposed to or whether you’re supposed to?”
“Whether one is supposed to.”
“I don’t mind it. I kind of like it, really. It’s happy-sounding and there’s not much trouble they can get into. Let them be free to run and play and make noise.”
“Isn’t it necessary to teach children to be quiet?”
“When appropriate, yes. But when a child’s too quiet, it’s not a healthy sign.”
Jax digested that for a moment, then took a seat at the other end of the couch, spreading out the book and his notes. “I have some questions.”
Pickett pointed to the book opened to a page about three-quarters through. “You’ve already read that much?”
“Finished it. Now I’m going back and reading for detail.”
Pickett knew her amazement showed on her face. His quick grasp of things had been obvious from the start, delighting her with his ability to keep up mentally with her. But somehow she hadn’t expected a man so obviously physical to be willing to really study.
“Why are you surprised? You gave me the book to read. I read it.”
Pickett didn’t feel inclined to tell him that she’d imagined he would leaf through the book at most, then set it aside. It wasn’t the kind of book that anybody who wasn’t interested in child development would read all the way through.
She also thought he wouldn’t be flattered to know she expected him to turn Tyler’s care over to her, as soon as he found out what was in the book.
“What are your questions?” she asked.
“Check me out to see if I’m understanding this and getting the most important points.”
He quickly summarized his study, then moved on to discuss sections of the book which described children of Tyler’s age group. In moments they were deep into discussion of height/weight charts, sleep and nutritional requirements, developmental milestones.
Once again Pickett was amazed that he had acquired so much information and understood its significance to Tyler in so short a period, and said so.
“SEALs never stop training. You have to be able to learn fast and thoroughly to keep up.” It was said with such simplicity that Pickett wondered if he really thought it was no big deal. No. He knew it was a big deal. He glanced at his notes. “I have some more questions.”
The room was stuffy. Heavy gusts of wind and downpours still accompanied fast-moving squall lines, but the roaring center of the storm was well past. Even with the windows closed, moisture-laden tropical air had seeped into the house, and Pickett wished it were possible to at least turn on a fan. She felt a film of perspiration coating her arms and legs, sticking her bra and panties to her skin. She shifted on the sofa, trying to find a position that was both ladylike and didn’t require any part of her skin to touch to any other part.
She settled for propping her feet on the chest that passed for a coffee table. She tried folding her hands over her middle but sweated through her shorts in a matter of minutes, so she just let her arms dangle at her sides.
Jax had no such constraints. He sat in a loose-limbed sprawl, one arm along the back of the couch. He was gleaming with sweat, and yet it made him more attractive, defining the contours of his arms and thighs, the strong column of his neck, even emphasizing the almost ascetic quality of his features that took his face from good-looking to compelling. He didn’t look uncomfortable. He didn’t even look like he noticed that the room was uncomfortable.
A surge of pure resentment tightened the back of Pickett’s throat. It was so unfair. Being sweaty made him gorgeous. She probably looked like—she didn’t want to think about what she looked like. She pushed at tendrils of hair that kept escaping the clip to cling damply to her neck. What had he asked? Did she think Tyler was typical in development for his age?
His focus seemed to be absolute, but to keep hers Pickett found herself slipping into the old trick she had used in college of dividing her mind into a part that paid attention and another that observed.
Did he really have to be smart, single-minded, well built, and good-looking? Some remnant of fairness forced her to acknowledge that it really wasn’t his fault that he had it all, while she still felt like fat, nerdy Pickett, perpetual disappointment to her family. On the outside she had changed, but it seemed like the old feelings were there to trip her up anytime she let herself be tempted to wish, or dream.
Pickett recognized the slippery slope from resentment to self-pity and jerked herself up short. That was the past. If she was attracted to this man, she should let him know that his attentions would not be unwelcome.
Being attracted was the problem. He affected her with a sensual blast, the likes of which she had never before experienced. Finding out he was brilliant had ratcheted up the sex quotient by a factor of ten. Just when she was sure he was a shallow jerk—he had married Danielle for no better reason than that she was beautiful, for goodness sake—and when that didn’t work out—surprise!—he’d abandoned his son. It didn’t matter what Jax’s excuses were; that’s what Tyler would believe had happened. And then Jax would do something that showed he really cared for his son, and was trying to be a good father, however belatedly. Like reading a reference work on child development from cover to cover.
From one moment to the next Pickett couldn’t decide whether she should kick his butt, or throw him on the sofa and have her way with him (after reading a book to find out how).
Pickett could hear herself answering questions. Yes, she agreed Tyler was more like a five-year-old than a four in language skill. Motor development seemed on track. He was possibly a little immature for his age in emotional/social development but children commonly regressed under stress.
“Stress?” Jax seized the word. “You think Tyler is under stress?”
“Aren’t you under stress? Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I thought he was unhappy to be with me, maybe that he didn’t like me.”
“That may be true, but I would guess he’s seriously worried about what is going to happen to him. His mother abandoned him, his grandmother left him with you, and he probably thinks you will do what you’ve always done: show up for a short while and then leave again. And then he’ll be alone. Absolutely alone.”
“His mother didn’t abandon him. She died.”
“I doubt if the difference means much to someone who is not quite five.”
Jax was silent for a moment, gazing sightlessly out the window where a momentary break in the clouds bathed the dripping yard in sunshine.
When he looked back his gray eyes were dark with pain. “Does he really think I would abandon him—just go off and leave him behind to fend for himself?”
A lesser person might have turned away from the look of tragic horror on his face, or tried to paper over the moment with platitudes and reassurances.
Pickett felt her own eyes grow moist, yet she did neither.
Her great gift was her willingness to stay with someone, not shielding either herself or them, while they went through the sometimes harrowing process of uncovering their own inner knowledge about the deep truths of their life.
Suddenly a loud thump, followed by a wail, sounded from the room above.
TWELVE
Before Pickett coul
d shift her legs from the pine chest, Jax had vaulted over the sofa and was out of the room. Pickett got to the door in time to see his powerful legs cover the stairs in no more than four easy-looking strides.
Knowing she couldn’t hope to match his speed, Pickett stayed where she was. In moments Lucy and Patterson raced down the stairs clattering and jingling, followed much more slowly by Jax carrying a red-faced Tyler.
He pushed out his lower lip and turned accusing eyes on Pickett. “Patterson made me fall down.”
“He did? That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“No. And I bumped my head.” He rubbed a tiny red spot on his forehead, then tucked his face into the crook of Jax’s neck.
A look passed between Pickett and Jax. An odd sense that he was sharing with her his fright, his relief, his vulnerability to his child’s pain.
“So, I guess you’re just going to let Daddy hold you, until it feels better.”
Tyler stiffened in momentary surprise, then nodded while snuggling his face deeper against his father’s shoulder. A tiny starfish hand came up to rest against the other side of his father’s neck.
Jax shifted his precious burden to allow the child to settle more comfortably against him.
The sun chose that moment to come out again, spilling the golden light of late afternoon through the high window on the landing. Like a benediction it gilded the two heads and illuminated the man’s tender expression. The tiny body lay against its father’s broad chest in complete trust.
This was their moment. Pickett quietly excused herself to go to the kitchen to make snacks.
Pickett’s one loaf of bread was running low so she fixed apple slices and peanut-butter crackers. Tyler didn’t like the rice crackers, which was all Pickett had, so he licked the peanut butter off them, alternating with bites of apple. Jax pronounced the extremely crunchy texture of the crackers to be interesting, but Pickett thought he didn’t much like them either.
He asked if they had fewer calories than regular crackers and looked surprised when Pickett said she didn’t know. Having found her knowledgeable about child development, she wondered if he now expected her to know everything about everything.
It wasn’t worth pursuing, however, so she pointed out that they should take advantage of the break in the rain to walk outside for a few minutes.
The sun was warm, the air soft with moisture. Unpredictable puffs of breeze blew glittering showers from the trees, and swift-moving gray tatters of cloud chased across the pale blue sky.
Silver sheets of water covered much of the lawn, green bristles of grass breaking the surface here and there. Leaves plastered the walk and even the sides of the porch pillars. Though twigs and some larger limbs littered the ground, there was little evidence of serious damage from the storm.
Patterson and Lucy, reveling in freedom from the confinement of the house, galloped madly from bush to tree, and Hobo Joe appeared from underneath the porch, stretching and opening his mouth in a wide pink yawn. Even Quackers waddled out squawking with excitement at earthworms washed up everywhere.
Lucy found an acceptable spot and squatted almost immediately. Patterson, more contemplative by nature, sniffed the bases of several bushes, before lifting his leg.
“Pickett.” Tyler pulled at the leg of her shorts. “Pickett, look! Patterson is peeing on the bush!”
“Yes, he is,” she replied calmly. Children his age were extremely interested in anything having to do with excretion. “That’s what boy dogs do.”
“Oh.” Tyler looked thoughtful, then walked over to examine the spot Patterson had favored. He studied it for a minute, then pulled down his elasticized shorts in the front while digging for his own equipment.
Jax, who had been examining the roof for signs of damage, caught sight of the boy just as his intention became clear. Protest mingled with confusion on Jax’s face as Tyler balanced carefully on one foot while lifting the other.
It said much for Tyler’s coordination that he was able to balance at all on one foot with both hands occupied; however, the lowered shorts restricted his movement. Nor had he reckoned that lifting his leg would cause the shorts to snap back to his waist, clipping everything in between. He gave a little yip, dancing to stay upright.
Jax winced.
Pickett lost it. Not wanting Tyler to see her laughing, she turned her face against the closest thing, which happened to be Jax’s arm. Because the top of her head came just to his shoulder, he made an effective shield.
“It’s not funny,” hissed Jax, automatically curving a hand around her shaking shoulders. “That could have hurt.”
“That’s not why I’m laughing. He was trying to do like Patterson. Like dogs.” She lifted one foot. “You know.”
Jax looked at his son who was now the soul of nonchalance. His hard belly heaved. He carefully turned their backs to Tyler, then buried his head against her hair, pulling her tighter to muffle both their chuckles.
They broke apart just in time to dash to the porch, calling Tyler and the dogs, before the wind picked up and another rain band swept across the sound.
THIRTEEN
Hours later in the bedroom, Jax watched his son sleep. In the combined glow from the bathroom nightlight and the almost-full moon, he could see the cowlick at the right temple, so like his own. Tyler lay, arms above his head, one knee cocked as if he had flung himself to sleep.
Jax hadn’t known this was how Tyler slept. Had he ever sat and watched his son sleep before? He couldn’t remember. It seemed unlikely.
There was so much he didn’t know. Take bedtime, for instance. Tyler might look like he had flung himself to sleep, but nothing could be farther from the truth. What on earth had made him think he could say, “It’s bedtime, Tyler,” and Tyler would go to bed?
“I’m not sleepy. I don’t have to. Gan-gan doesn’t make me.” Then tears. “I want a drink of water. I want Lucy to sleep with me. I don’t want to sleep with you. I want my own bed.”
The book—his only guide at present that was rapidly assuming the status of The Book—mentioned that four-year-olds could be difficult about bedtime. It also gave specific guidelines about how much sleep a child required at each stage.
It would have been easier to allow Tyler to fall asleep wherever he was, as he had done the night before. Jax snorted wryly. The easy day really was yesterday. Okay. He could live with that. Tyler would get fourteen hours of sleep. And he would learn that rules were rules.
If he was honest, though, he wasn’t sure if Tyler would be asleep yet if Pickett hadn’t intervened with one of her directions that were orders, without ever sounding like an order.
She had produced a children’s book from the store that she kept for her nieces and nephews, and agreed with Tyler that he wasn’t sleepy, and didn’t need to go to sleep. In fact, it was something he really shouldn’t try. Best that he just get comfortable in bed so he could listen to a story that his father would read, and rest his eyes for a few minutes. His father would probably have to read the book two or three times, because he didn’t know it. But Tyler did, so he could just rest his eyes.
Shivering, Pickett turned off the shower in the bath connected to the therapy room, and reached for a towel. Thanks to Jax the generator was working so that they had water, even if it was cold. A day of humidity and no air-conditioning had left her so sticky she couldn’t bear to go to bed without rinsing off.
Drat! Her lotions were in the master bathroom. She could forego her nightly ritual. But wait, she didn’t have to go through her bedroom where Jax and Tyler were sleeping. A quick dash through the kitchen, across the back hall, and she could nip in through the hall to the master bathroom with no one the wiser.
Quickly she slipped on her thin sherbet-green cotton gown and adjusted its tiny straps.
Pickett peeped into the hall. A wedge of light showed under the living room door. Good. Jax hadn’t gone to bed yet. He was still in the living room reading. She could be in and out without making a sound.
He ought to turn off the light in the living room, Jax thought. He wasn’t going to read anymore. Maybe he’d take a shower before crawling in beside Tyler.
Tyler did an amazing back-to-front flip. Sleeping with Tyler did not make for a restful night. Something else he hadn’t known about his son. He had been in countries where the whole family slept in one bed, but this was the first time he had ever slept with his son. The list just kept growing.
The room was growing cooler now that the windows were open. A brisk breeze brought scents of pine trees and ocean air into the house. Tomorrow, he and Tyler would return to the beach cottage. He hoped Tyler’s willingness to smile would survive the transition. It would be nice if they didn’t have to leave.
It would be nice if he was sharing Pickett’s bed with her.
Sometimes he saw her looking at him with the female interest he was used to, though she usually tried to hide it.
Sometimes he got inside her physical space just to watch her try to cover up her reaction.
But sometimes those changeable eyes studied him to see how he would handle the next challenge Tyler threw.
She could make him feel like he was back in BUD/S training. Knowing that every exercise was both a lesson and a test. That he was being evaluated at every moment. That he was being watched to see how he would measure up.
A nightlight burned in the master bath, so Pickett didn’t turn on any lights. The door to the bedroom was open, but knowing how badly it squealed she didn’t try to close it, lest she wake Tyler.
She had only intended to apply her face lotion, but hearing no sound from the bedroom, she uncapped the body lotion as well. She loved its silky feel, the way it smelled of wind and rain and green leaves.
Until the past year, Pickett had never appreciated the feminine dedication to grooming rituals, nor understood how much self-rejection her lack of attention to her own body represented. Now she reveled in the cool feel of the lotion on her skin, the soothing massage. She propped a foot on the counter in order to reach her legs. She enjoyed the feel of her calves, smooth and firm and supple under her massaging fingers.
Mary Margret Daughtridge SEALed Bundle Page 11