“So you’ll have something to sleep on.”
“Is an air mattress the same as a bed?”
Jax was forcibly reminded just how much a four-year-old—even one who was almost five—didn’t know. “Not exactly. You put air in it to make it soft, and you put it on the floor to sleep on it. It’s like camping out.”
Tyler took a moment to think this over. “It’s not a bed?”
“No.”
“I want a bed.”
“An air mattress will work fine.”
“I want a bed.”
What was he supposed to say? It was the oddest sensation, this pull of knowing his child wanted something. “Why do you want a bed?”
“Because it’s not a bedroom if it doesn’t have a bed,” replied Tyler impatiently.
“But we can’t just put a bed in Pickett’s house.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Pickett’s house.”
“She wouldn’t like it?”
“No. You can’t just go putting furniture into people’s houses.”
“But she needs a bed. I know! We can get a bed Pickett likes.”
Jax just shook his head. He didn’t feel up to explaining subtleties of respecting people’s space.
But wait! What was it she had said about an antique bed she wanted?
“That’s a great idea, Tyler.” Jax was a generous man. He enjoyed buying presents and, since he had a fondness for fancy lingerie, often showed up at his current lady’s house with a little something. But this was different. Tyler would be satisfied, and Jax liked the thought of giving Pickett something that she wanted, too.
“You mean we can buy a bed? Yippee!”
Uh-oh. What if Pickett didn’t agree?
“Slow down Tyler. We have to talk to Pickett first. She might not want a bed.”
“She wants a bed. I know she does.” Pause. “She does! She really, really does!”
“We’ll see.” Like cogs slipping into a different gear, Jax felt himself grow older between one second and the next. Now he knew why adults said that to children.
SIXTEEN
Pickett was almost late to her brainchild and pet project, her at-risk-mothers’ group, something she had never allowed to happen before.
Women, identified by the base social workers as being at risk either to be abused or to abuse, were referred to the group to overcome social isolation—the most common characteristic of abusive families.
Research had shown there was something about being in a group with other women that was specifically healing and life-enhancing to women. And yet, tragically, women with a history of abuse were frequently suspicious of other women, and ignorant of how to bond appropriately. Pickett liked to be present when the women arrived to make sure they were greeted by a friendly face.
It wasn’t as important now as it had been before the group jelled, of course. Many of the women had become friends with each other. But still there were those who needed to be reassured of their welcome every time. And those who were looking for an opportunity to speak with her privately. Often they needed reassurance it would be okay to bring up a certain topic.
Today she entered the conference room at two minutes to the hour. The room was as grey and utilitarian as ever. For the thousandth time Pickett wished she could improve the ambience of the room to make it a more welcoming, nurturing space—a place that felt safe. However, the women there had already arranged the chairs and made coffee. Regardless of the room’s dreary pragmatism, they were making themselves at home.
“Come on in, Pickett,” called the irrepressible Faye. “We’ve got everything ready.” Several other women smiled and called out greetings as well.
“Thank you.” They were welcoming her. Pickett smiled, despite the lump in her throat, at the sudden reversal of roles. It was important that the women take ownership of the group, but Pickett had never considered what she would feel when they did.
It awed and humbled her to suddenly be the recipient of the group’s energy. The analytical portion of Pickett’s mind also noted a new sensitivity in herself that caused her to feel their welcome, and the affection it implied, as she never would have before.
She’d been opening a lot of old wounds lately, allowing them to drain so the process of healing from within could begin. This new keenness of perception was the result. Or was it the result of her relationship (did she have a relationship?) with Jax?
The group spent most of the hour trading hurricane stories. As always, they were stories of women coping alone. Several of them lived in mobile homes and so had moved to shelters for the duration of the storm. They had used the group-making skills that they had learned to transform the experience of fear and hardship into one of bonding and sharing. They had all gone to the same shelter and turned the night of the hurricane into a giant camping trip and sleepover for themselves and their children.
“Were you alone during the hurricane, Pickett?” asked Maribeth shyly.
The picture of Jax, sitting on the other end of the sofa, his broad chest burnished by candlelight, rose unbidden. And with it a blush. The women could barely conceal their curiosity about Pickett’s love life. Pickett had gently discouraged questions since anything she revealed would become fodder for gossip at the base. Even having been raised in a small town had not prepared Pickett for the intense scrutiny and gossip of a military base. Her position as a part-time consultant was anomalous enough without adding gossip to the mix.
“Um, no. A friend came over.” Maybe they would leave it at that.
Fat chance. Faye was as irrepressible as she was sharp-eyed. “A friend, hmm? Have we heard about this friend?”
“No,” Pickett attempted to soften the negative with a smile, “and there’s nothing to tell. Just someone who needed a place to wait out the storm.”
That was the truth, wasn’t it? Except that she had thought about sex from the moment he’d sat down on the sofa. And he had been about to kiss her in her bathroom. And had kissed her the next morning. And maybe she should count the kiss they’d shared as they spied on the sleeping Tyler, though she wasn’t sure then or now what that had meant.
“Really,” drawled Faye. “Girl, you are a terrible liar.”
Pickett had a lifetime of experience listening to women talk about relationships but no idea how to talk about her own, even if it had been appropriate. And yet she didn’t wish to lie, even by indirection. These women trusted her, and were fond of her. They deserved the truth, or as much of it as she could tell.
“Faye, don’t ask me, please. It isn’t appropriate for me to talk about. And there’s not really much to say.”
Faye’s face took on a wise look. “Is it someone from the base here?”
At last something she could answer with perfect truth. “No.”
“But he’s military, right?”
How in the world did she guess that? Or was it just a shot in the dark? “Yes.”
“You be careful, you hear?” Faye’s caring was evident despite the aggressive tone. “We all know you don’t mess around. You don’t have much experience with this kind of thing. Half these guys can’t tell hungry from horny from lonely. But you can bet on one thing. They might come, but they don’t stay.”
Several of the group snickered at the double entendre.
“You got protection?”
Pickett wondered how things had gotten so out of hand that a member of her group was giving her, the leader, the safe-sex talk. The look on her face must have been answer enough, because Faye went right on. “You don’t, do you? You don’t have anything in the house. And I’ll bet you don’t carry anything on you.” Pickett shook her head. “Well, pretending like you don’t know it’s gonna happen is the stupidest form of contraception there is.”
“Yeah, that’s how I got Samantha.” Everybody laughed.
“And remember condoms have an expiration date.” Maribeth, who rarely spoke up, chimed in.
“God yes! And no going down on him without a condom,
either. You can get the clap in your mouth,” opined Jan, who would say anything.
That did it. Suddenly everyone was speaking at once.
“That is so gross!”
“It’s the truth!”
“Did it happen to you?”
“No, but it did to a girl I knew. And the dog said she was his only girlfriend.”
“Okay, okay,” Pickett let her voice rise over the clamor. “I get the point. Safe sex it is—in the unlikely event I have any sex at all.”
SEVENTEEN
Jax was hosing down all three dogs when Pickett pulled into the drive. Apparently even Hobo Joe had insisted on joining Tyler’s swimming lesson in the warm, shallow water of the sound.
Late afternoon sun striped the lawn with deep green and gold. A man, brown and strong, in blue swim trunks, performing a simple domestic task. A child romping and dashing through the spray. Bright arcs of water flying from the dogs’ coats. A large white duck flipping water from his wings, then folding them back with a self-important air. The simple rightness of the scene settled warm and solid in Pickett’s heart. It filled a space she hadn’t known was empty until this moment. It felt like—it felt like coming home.
They weren’t going to stay, of course, and there would be a price to pay later, but in this moment Pickett was glad Jax and Tyler had come and glad they would be staying for a while.
Tyler danced across the grass to the stopped car, hair standing in wet spikes, goose bumps dotting his skinny ribs.
“Aren’t you going to get out of the car, Pickett?”
“Not until the dogs finish shaking.” Just then Hobo gave a mighty shimmy, flinging droplets all over Tyler.
Tyler laughed with delight. “Hobo gave me a shower, Daddy.”
“Well, come over here and I’ll give you another one. I should have realized that I needed to rinse the dogs first.” Jax ran the hose over his squealing son, turned off the water, and scooped him up in a beach towel.
He carried the boy over to the car and smiled at Pickett through the open window. “All clear. It’s safe to get out now.”
Tyler suddenly flung himself through the open window to wrap Pickett in a wet hug. Jax balanced the little body, reveling in the boy’s implicit trust, then pulled Tyler back.
Pickett was dressed in one of her tailored-slacks outfits, which, though expensive and well cut, seemed designed to conceal rather than enhance her attractiveness. For once he didn’t feel a skitter of annoyance. Considering where she worked maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. He knew what that randy bunch of Marines were thinking, and suddenly he didn’t like the idea of other men seeing her delicious curves.
Jax pointed to a wet hand print on the silk shirt. “Sorry about that.”
Pickett waved away his apology with a laugh and opened the car door. “How did the swimming lesson go in the sound? Did he like it better than the ocean?”
“I think we made some progress, but he still trusts me to hold him up more than he trusts the water.”
“At least he’s trusting you. That’s a beginning.” Her eyes, as warm as the Gulf Stream, and as blue, sparkled with understanding. The turquoise of her shirt doubled the impact of her changeable eyes. “I know you want to share the water with him, but that will come.”
How did she do that? How did she know it had almost killed him when he realized his son, his, didn’t love to swim? He had just assumed Danielle was teaching him. There was a lot that he had just assumed about Tyler. Too much. A sudden thought struck him. “Pickett, can you swim?”
Pickett opened the car door. “Sure. Not like you can, but I managed to pass swimming in college.”
“Hey, Pickett!” Tyler hopped up and down, clutching the towel around himself. “Can we go get my bed now?”
Pickett looked at Jax questioningly.
“Um,” Jax covered his sudden nervousness with what he hoped was a charming grin. “I was going to lead up to that gradually. Tyler convinced me that buying the bed you want is better than buying an air mattress.”
Pickett gave him a long, thoughtful look, then pulled her purse and a bulging plastic bag from the car and started for the back door. Jax closed the car door behind her.
Damn. Why didn’t she say something? Jax moved around her to open the screen door to the back porch. “It’s what Tyler wants, Pickett. For some reason he doesn’t want an air mattress.”
Pickett smiled kindly at his son who had followed them, the ends of his towel dragging on the floor. “Tyler, can you find some dry clothes and put them on all by yourself?”
The boy raced away toward the bedroom he shared with his father.
Pickett put the bag with a drugstore logo on the kitchen counter and turned her ocean eyes directly on Jax. “Are we talking about the antique bed I mentioned?”
At last she was speaking to him but she didn’t look as happy as he thought she would. She looked worried and a little angry. “That’s it. I thought you would like it.”
“I would. But I can’t afford it. I had to cancel clients for two days because of the hurricane. I don’t have a salaried job. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid.”
“I’m going to pay for the bed.”
“No.”
This was not going at all the way Jax had envisaged. Danielle would have jumped at the chance to get an item of decoration she couldn’t afford. In fact Jax wasn’t used to getting a flat no from any woman of his acquaintance. He found himself getting a little angry at having his offer of a gift summarily refused.
“So what’s the problem? You want the bed. Tyler wants a bed. I can buy the bed. Everybody wins.” She looked so closed. So contained. He unconsciously took a step closer.
“It’s not appropriate, that’s why.”
Not appropriate? He wasn’t trying to get her to accept something in her house that she didn’t want. He took another step closer.
Pickett thrust out a hand in the universal stop gesture. “And don’t you dare try to physically dominate me! This conversation is over.” Pickett swiped the drugstore package from the counter and started toward the door.
“I wasn’t trying to dominate …”
Pickett hadn’t gotten a good grip on the bag, and overfull to begin with, its contents tumbled to the floor. There on the wide pine boards lay a bottle of shampoo, some lotion, a box of tampons, and a box of condoms.
They both froze.
The top had come loose on the lotion and a creamy puddle slowly formed.
Jax recognized the scent that had filled the bathroom the night before. The image of Pickett in her thin green gown stroking her legs, innocently erotic, but also sweetly vulnerable, tangled in his mind with the tough, closed woman who dared him to approach her even as she knelt to pick up the scattered items.
Maybe things were looking up. Jax grabbed a handful of paper towels and went down on one knee beside her.
He handed her the paper towels and picked up the condoms. “Are you planning on going to bed with somebody?”
The effect of the mean-eyed squint she attempted was somewhat spoiled by her flaming cheeks. She gave the lotion cap a twist so vicious that Jax almost laughed aloud. Damn she was cute. And the urge to tease her when she was on her prissy high horse was overwhelming.
Jax feigned innocence. “It was a reasonable guess. It was either that or you were planning to drop water balloons on me in my sleep.”
Though she focused on wiping the lotion from the pine boards, her shoulders shook with unwilling laughter. “I hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it, the idea has merit.”
“So sleeping with someone was plan A.”
Pickett sat back on her heels, her expression wry. “Actually, my group convinced me that not being prepared for what might happen, and I emphasize might, is irresponsible.”
“You talked about us to your group?” Jax worked to keep his voice level, but the thought made his skin crawl.
“No, of course not. But I sometimes forget that they’re as busy wa
tching me as I am watching them. They could see something, I’m not sure what. They guessed.” Pickett took a last swipe at the floor and stood.
With an abstracted nod, she acknowledged the bag of replaced toiletries Jax handed her. Obviously still deep in thought, she leaned against the kitchen counter.
“It was pretty funny really. I didn’t admit to a thing,” she smiled philosophically, “but the next thing I knew I was being lectured about the dangers of unprotected sex.”
“A reversal of roles, huh?”
“Yes, and fairly humbling, when I realized just how much I needed to hear it.”
So Pickett was thinking about sex with him, and the vibes were strong enough for her group to pick up. He didn’t want to mess that up, but felt compelled to follow the glimmer of connection he suddenly saw. He tossed the box of condoms in one hand. “So. Do these have anything to do with why you don’t want me to buy the bed?”
“I don’t know.” Her curls made a bolt for freedom from the restraint of the clasp. She swiped at them, mussing them further. “The boundaries in this situation are getting so blurred I don’t think I could find them with global positioning. I’m lost and I’m getting more lost by the second.”
“Boundaries, huh? Is that therapist talk?”
“Don’t insult your own intelligence,” she snapped. “You’re an officer in a group using a team model within a strongly hierarchical organization. You must deal with boundary issues, and probably extremely subtle ones at that, all day long. You know what I’m talking about.”
“You’re right. Let me ask the question so that it is perfectly clear to both of us. Do you think that if I buy the bed, I will expect sex in return?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
What the hell did she think of him? It made him mad, insulted him that she looked for ulterior motives. He had been so proud to think he was offering her something that would please her. He didn’t give women gifts to get sex. He didn’t need to.
He thought briefly of scraps of silk and lace. That didn’t count. He already knew what was going to happen before he bought them.
No, he had only thought that she was sweet, and gentle, and kind, and very generous, and he had liked to think she would get some pleasure from the gift. It galled him to have it thrown in his face with his motives impugned.
Mary Margret Daughtridge SEALed Bundle Page 14