Nail polish. She had pink nail polish on her toes. Probably hadn’t been able to get any green.
He’d stood there in the doorway, just looking at her, knowing that despite all he’d silently told himself about the basis for the emotion behind hostage-and-rescuer relationships, he was lost. He was truly and desperately lost.
He’d wanted this woman more than he’d ever wanted anyone….
Wes’s voice broke the silence. “You think they’re gonna put us up in the Marriott, too?” the shortest member of Alpha Squad wondered aloud.
Bobby, Wes’s swim buddy, built like a restaurant refrigerator, shook his head. “I didn’t see anything about that in the FinCOM rule book.”
“What FinCOM rule book?” Joe Cat’s husky New York accent cut through the noise of exploding spacecraft. “Blue, you know anything about a rule book?”
“No, sir.”
“This morning, FinCOM sent over something they’re calling a rule book,” Bobby told their commanding officer.
“Let me see it,” Cat ordered. “O’Donlon, kill the volume on that damn thing.”
The computer sounds disappeared as Bobby sifted through the piles of paper on his desk. He uncovered the carefully stapled booklet FinCOM had sent via courier and tossed the entire express envelope across the room to Cat. Cat caught it with one hand.
The phone rang and Wesley picked it up. “Alpha Squad Pizza. We deliver.”
Catalanotto pulled out the booklet and the cover letter. He quickly skimmed the letter, then opened the booklet to the first page and did the same. Then he laughed—a snort of derision—and ripped both the book and the letter in half. He stuffed it back into the envelope and tossed it back to Bob.
“Send this back to Maryland with a letter that tells the good people of FinCOM no rule books. No rules. Sign my name and send it express.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey, Cowboy.”
Cowboy looked up to see Wes holding up the telephone receiver, hand securely over the mouthpiece. “For you,” Wesley said. “A lady. Someone named Melody Evans.”
Suddenly, the room was quiet.
But then Harvard clapped his hands together. “Okay, coffee break,” he announced loudly. “Everyone but Junior outside. Let’s go. On the double.”
Cowboy held the phone that Wes had handed him until the echo from the slamming door had faded away. Taking a deep breath, he put the receiver to his ear.
“Melody?”
He heard her laugh. It was a thin, shaky laugh, but he didn’t care. Laughter was good, wasn’t it? “Yeah, it’s me,” she said. “Congratulations on making lieutenant, Jones.”
“Its really just junior grade, but thanks,” he said. “And thanks for calling me back. You sound…great. How are you?” He closed his eyes tightly. Damn, he sounded like some kind of fool.
“Busy,” she said without hesitation, as if it was something she’d planned to say if he asked. “I’ve been incredibly busy. I’m working full-time as an AA for the town attorney, Ted Shepherd. He’s running for state representative, so it’s been crazy lately.”
“Look, Mel, I don’t want to play games with you,” he told her. “I mean, we’ve never been anything but honest with each other, and I know you said you didn’t want to see me again, but I can’t get you out of my head. I want to get together.”
There. He’d said it.
He waited for her to say something, but there was only silence.
“I can get a weekend pass and be up in Massachusetts in five hours.”
More silence. Then, “Jones, this weekend is really bad for me. The election’s only a few weeks away and…It’s not a good time.”
Now the silence belonged to him.
He had two options here. He could either accept her excuses and hang up the phone, or he could beg.
He hadn’t begged back in March. He hadn’t dropped to his knees and pleaded with her to reconsider. He hadn’t tried to convince her that everything she’d told him about their passion being false, about their relationship being based on the adrenaline rush of her rescue, was wrong.
He was a psych specialist. Everything she said made sense—everything but the incredible intensity of his feelings for her. If those feelings weren’t real, he didn’t know what real was.
But his pride had kept him from saying everything he should have said. Maybe if he’d said it then, she wouldn’t have walked away.
So maybe he should beg. It wouldn’t kill him to beg, would it? But if he was going to beg, it would have to be face-to-face. No way was he going to do it over the phone.
“Nothing’s changed,” Melody said softly. “Ours wasn’t a relationship that could ever go anywhere.”
I miss you, Mel. Cowboy closed his eyes, unable to say the words aloud.
“It was nice hearing your voice, though,” Melody said.
She said she was busy this weekend. Maybe it wasn’t just a transparent excuse. Maybe she was busy. But even busy people had to grab a sandwich for lunch. He’d take that weekend pass, head up to Boston, rent a car and drive out to Appleton.
And then, face-to-face, he’d get down on the ground and beg.
“Yeah,” Cowboy said, “yeah—it was nice talking to you.”
“I’m sorry, Jones,” she said quietly, and the line was disconnected.
Cowboy slowly hung up the phone.
For all these months, he’d sat around, waiting to get over this girl. It was definitely time to stop waiting and take some action.
He saved his file on the computer, then set it up to print. As the laser printer started spewing out his psych summary, Cowboy pushed his chair back from his desk.
He left the Quonset hut and headed toward the barracks where the unmarried members of Alpha Squad were being housed. He would pack a quick bag, do the necessary paperwork for a weekend pass, then bum a ride to the air base.
As Cowboy pulled open the screen door, the inner door opened, too, and he nearly walked into Harvard. The older man took one look at the grim set to Cowboy’s mouth, then sighed.
“No good, huh?” Harvard stepped back to let Cowboy into the spartanly decorated bunk room.
Cowboy shook his head. “Senior Chief, I need a weekend pass and information on flights heading north to Boston.”
Harvard smiled. “Way to go, Junior. You pack your things, I’ll handle the paperwork. Meet you by the gate in fifteen.”
Cowboy forced a smile of his own. “Thanks, H.”
First thing tomorrow, he’d be face-to-face with Melody Evans.
She didn’t want to see him because she knew damn well that if she saw him, she wouldn’t be able to resist the pull of the attraction that lingered between them. Face-to-face, she wouldn’t be able to resist him any more than he could resist her.
And by this time tomorrow, he’d have her back in his arms. And maybe, if he played his cards right, if he got humble and got down on his knees and begged, maybe then he’d have her back in his life for as long as it took for him to be satisfied—to get over her once and for all.
For the first time in a long time, Cowboy’s smile actually felt real.
4
Melody spotted him from across the town common and her heart nearly stopped.
The Romanellas’ new foster kid, Andy Marshall, was fighting with two boys who had to be at least three years older and a foot and a half taller than he was.
The three kids were in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the town playground. As Melody watched, Andy was knocked almost playfully to the ground as the two older boys laughed. But the kid rolled into the fall like an accomplished stunt fighter and came up swinging. His fist connected with the nose of one of the other boys, sending the taller one staggering back.
Melody could hear the bellow of pain from inside her car. She heard the shouts change from taunting laughter to genuine anger, and she knew that Andy was on the verge of getting the spit kicked out of him.
She took a quick left onto Huntington S
treet and another left the wrong way into the Exit Only marked drive of the playground parking lot, leaning on her horn as she went.
“Hey!” she shouted out the car window. “You boys! Stop that! Stop fighting right now!”
One of the older boys—Alex Parks—savagely backhanded Andy with enough force to make Melody’s own teeth rattle before he and his friend turned and ran.
As Melody scrambled to pull her girth from the front seat of her car, Andy tried to run, too, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do better than to push himself up onto his hands and knees on the grass.
“Oh, Andy!” Melody crouched down next to him. “Oh, God! Are you all right?”
She reached for him, but he jerked away and she backed off.
His knees and elbows were raw, and his nose was bleeding pretty steadily. He had a scrape on his cheek underneath his left eye, and his lip was already swollen and split. His brown hair was messy and clotted with dirt and bits of grass, and his T-shirt was bloody and torn.
He’d had the wind knocked out of him and he struggled to regain his breath as tears of pain and humiliation filled his eyes.
“Go away,” he growled. “Just leave me alone!”
“I can’t do that,” Melody told him evenly. “Because we’re neighbors. And here in Appleton, neighbors look out for each other.”
She sat down in the grass, crossing her legs tailor-style, fighting a familiar wave of nausea, thankful they were sitting in the shade.
He was checking the watch he wore on his skinny left wrist, examining the protective surface over the clock face and holding it to his ear to be sure it was still ticking.
“Did they break it?” Melody asked.
“What’s it to you?” he sneered.
“Well, you seem more concerned with your watch than with the fact that you’re bleeding, so I thought—”
“You’re the unwed mother, right?”
Melody refused to acknowledge the tone of his voice. He was being purposely rude so that she wouldn’t know he was on the verge of dissolving into tears. She ignored both the rudeness and the threatening tears. “In a nutshell, yeah, I guess I am. My name’s Melody Evans. I live next door to the Romanellas. We met last week, when Vince and Kirsty brought you home with them.”
He sat down, still catching his breath. “You know, they talk about you. They wonder exactly who knocked you up. Everyone in town talks about you all the time.”
“Except when they’re talking about you,” Melody pointed out. “Between the two of us, we’ve got the gossips working full-time, haven’t we? A foster child from the big, bad city who blows up lawn mowers. There’s probably a betting pool guessing how long it’ll be before the police become involved in your discipline.”
Her bluntly honest words surprised him, and he actually looked at her. For a brief moment, he actually met her eyes. His own were brown and angry—far too angry and bitter for a twelve-year-old. But then he looked away.
“The hell with them,” he said harshly. “I won’t be here long anyway.”
Melody feigned surprise. “Really? Vince told me you were going to be staying with him and Kirsty at least until next September—that’s almost a year.” She fished in her handbag for some tissues. She wished she had a can of ginger ale in her bag, too. She was trying to make friends with this kid, and God knows throwing up on him wouldn’t win her big points.
“A year.” Andy snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ll be gone in a month. Less. A week. That’s all most people can take of me.”
She handed him a wad of tissues for his nose. “Gee, maybe you should try a different brand of mouthwash.”
There was another flash of surprise in his eyes. “You’re a laugh riot,” he said scornfully, expertly stemming the flow of blood. He seemed to be a pro at repairing the damage done him in fistfights.
“You’re a sweet little bundle of charm and good cheer yourself, munchkin.”
He held her gaze insolently. He was James Dean and Marlon Brando rolled into one with his heavily lidded eyes and curled lip. He’d successfully concealed all of his pain and angry tears behind a “who cares?” facade. “I broke your window yesterday.”
“I know.” Melody could play the “who cares?” game, too. “Accidents happen.”
“Your sister didn’t think it was an accident.”
“Brittany wasn’t born with a lot of patience.”
“She’s a witch.”
Melody had to laugh. “No, she’s not. She’s got something of a volatile temper, though.”
He looked away. “Whatever.”
“Volatile means hot. Quick to go off.”
“Duh. I know that,” he lied.
She handed him more tissues, wishing she could pull him into her arms and give him a hug. He was skinny for a twelve-year-old, just a narrow slip of a little boy. His injuries from the fight—and probably from the battles he’d been fighting all of his life—went far deeper than a split lip, a bloody nose and a few scrapes and scratches. Still, although he may have looked like a child, his attitude was pure jaded adolescent, and she gave him a smile instead.
“You’re prettier than what’s-her-name, the witch,” he said, then snorted again. “But look what being prettier got you. Preggo.”
“Actually, being careless got me…preggo. And to tell you the truth,” Melody said seriously, “not using a condom could’ve gotten me far more than just pregnant. These days, you have to use a condom to protect yourself against AIDS. But I’m sure you already know that. Smart men never forget—not even for a minute.”
Andy nodded, acting ultracool, as if sitting around and talking about condoms was something he did every day. It was clear he liked being spoken to as if he were an adult.
“What was the fight about?”
“They insulted me.” He shrugged. “I jumped them.”
“You jumped them? Andy, together those boys weigh four times more than you.”
He bristled. “They insulted me. They were making up stories about my mother, saying how she was a whore, turning tricks for a living, and she didn’t even know who my father was—like I was some kind of lousy bastard.” He glanced down at her belly. “Sorry.”
“I know who the father of my baby is.”
“Some soldier who saved your life.”
Melody laughed. “Gee, you’re up to speed on the town gossip after only a few days, aren’t you?”
Another shrug. “I pay attention. My father’s a soldier, too. He doesn’t give a damn about me, either.”
Doesn’t give a damn. Melody closed her eyes, fighting another wave of nausea. She hadn’t exactly given Harlan Jones a chance to give a damn, had she?
“So you gonna keep it or give it away?”
The baby. Andy was talking about the baby. “I’m going to keep it. Him.” Melody forced a smile. “I think he’s a boy. But I don’t know for sure. I had an ultrasound, but I didn’t want to know. Still, it just…he feels like a boy to me.”
As if on cue, the baby began his familiar acrobatic routine, stretching and turning and kicking hard.
Melody laughed, pressing her hand against her taut belly and feeling the ripple of movement from both inside and out. It was an amazing miracle—she’d never get used to the joy of the sensation. It made her sour stomach and her dizziness fade far away.
“He’s kicking,” she told Andy. “Give me your hand—you’ve got to feel this.”
Andy gave her a skeptical look.
“Come on,” she urged him. “It feels so cool.”
He wiped the palm of his hand on his grubby shorts before holding it out to her. She held it down on the bulge close to her belly button just as the baby did what felt like a complete somersault.
Andy pulled back his hand in alarm. “Whoa!” But then he hesitantly reached for her again, his eyes wide.
Melody covered his hand with hers, pressing it down once again on the playground-ball tightness of her protruding stomach.
Andy laughed, revealing cro
oked front teeth, one of which was endearingly chipped. “It feels like there’s some kind of alien inside of you!”
“Well, there sort of is,” Melody said. “I mean, think about it. There’s a person inside of me. A human being.” She smiled. “A little, wonderful, lovely human being.” And if she was lucky, that little human being would take after his mother. Her smile faded. If she was really lucky, she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life gazing into emerald green eyes and remembering….
“Are you okay?” Andy asked.
It was ironic, really. He was the one who looked as if he’d been hit by a train. Yet he was asking if she was all right. Underneath the tough-guy exterior, Andy Marshall was an okay kid.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Melody forced another smile. “I just get dizzy and…kind of queasy sometimes.”
“You gonna barf?”
“No.” Melody took a deep breath. “Why don’t we go get you cleaned up?” she suggested. “Maybe I should take you over to the hospital…?”
He pulled away, slipping instantly back into surly James Dean mode. “No way.”
“You’ve got dirt ground into your knee.” Melody tried to sound reasonable. “It’s got to be washed. All of your scrapes have to be washed. My sister’s a nurse. She could—”
“Yeah, like I’d ever let the Wicked Witch of the West touch me.”
“Then let me take you home to Kirsty—”
“No!” Beneath his suntan and the dirt, Andy’s face had gone pale. “I can’t go there looking like this. Vince said…” He turned abruptly away from her.
“He told you no more fighting,” Melody guessed. Violence wasn’t in her next-door neighbor’s vocabulary.
“He said I got into another fight, I’d get it.” Andy’s chin went out as he pushed himself to his feet. “No way am I gonna let him take his belt to me! Hell, I just won’t go back!”
Melody laughed aloud. “Vince? Take his belt to you?”
Tall, Dark and Dangerous Part 1 Page 81