The Majors' Holiday Hideaway

by Caro Carson

  She grinned at him. “The last time I ate at McDonald’s, I was in Barcelona. Do you know what they served there? Gazpacho.”

  “They don’t serve fries?”

  “Well, they do, but the ketchup isn’t the same.” She picked up another ketchup packet just as she realized a family with little children was heading for the booth across from their table. “Shoot. We didn’t get away from them after all.”

  “From who?” Aiden turned.

  “Don’t look,” India said, feeling like she was in a school cafeteria.

  The family settled into the booth. The dad was in the army, obvious by his camouflage uniform, so this was probably his lunch break. The mom was trying to sort out which burger was destined for which child. The children apparently thought it would be helpful to announce their likes and dislikes: No pickles! I don’t like cheese!

  She looked to Aiden with a grimace and an apologetic shrug—it had been her idea to eat in a place that was almost guaranteed to be full of families, after all. “Sorry,” she said under her voice.

  He cut his gaze back to her. He’d been looking at the children like they were cute or something, she belatedly realized. “For what? They’re just kids.”

  Had she imagined a subtle rebuke in his tone? “Maybe we’ll luck out and they’ll be the kind that don’t scream.”

  “There’s no such thing.” Aiden smiled at her as he said it, not chiding her at all. She’d imagined it. “They’re kids. What’s your excuse? You were screaming along with the radio on the way here.”

  “That was singing, and I still think you’re a lot of fun to be with, even when you refuse to sing along with the radio.”

  “I know my skill level.” He finished off his hamburger.

  She loved this, this normalcy. They were having an everyday conversation, as if they didn’t have a limited time together and had to make every moment count.

  “Aerosmith is hard to sing along with,” he said, “unless you’re Steven Tyler.”

  “True, but you have to blast hard rock when you’re driving off-road. It’s mandatory.”

  “Country music is mandatory for mud-dogging.”

  “Uh-oh.” She ate another fry. “I think we’re going to have our first disagreement.”

  “No, I love Aerosmith. I just can’t sing it.” He gave her such a look before he winked. “Neither can you.”

  “Aerosmith was my very first concert, did you know?” She caught herself. Listen to me, just talking away like he would want to know every little detail of my life. Like we’re dating.

  Like this was an open-ended relationship, like they were seeing how far it would go, how long it would last.

  “Tell me about it.” Aiden laid his hand on the table between them, palm up, inviting her to take it.

  She did, of course. She loved all this touching. Who would touch her when she returned to her real life? She touched no one. She didn’t even shake hands with people at work. She saluted, was saluted, returned salutes. Tears pricked at her eyes.

  Don’t ruin what time you have with him. Don’t lose your next three nights.

  She told her story brightly. “I had to sit with my mother. In fact, she wouldn’t let me go without her. I think she thought Aerosmith was too hard-core heavy metal for her little baby girl. She was ready to whip me out of there if anything got too adult.” India leaned back in her chair and gave his hand a squeeze, ready to deliver her punchline. “I was nineteen.”

  Aiden was, unsurprisingly, surprised. “You had overprotective parents, then?”

  “Parent. It was just me and Mom. Anyhow, Aerosmith and I go way back. I feel like I have the right to sing along whether it’s above my skill level or not.” She didn’t want to talk about her family; it got too embarrassing. It was time to steer the conversation into safer waters. “What’s the last concert you saw?”

  “Aerosmith. A few months ago.”

  She wanted to shiver at their like-mindedness, but she forced herself to laugh at the coincidence—and gloss over it. “Not with your mother, I hope?”

  That question had been a mistake. She didn’t want to talk about his mother, because then she’d be expected to talk about hers. Her mother always came off as weird in comparison to everyone else’s. Even the mother in the booth across from them had managed to settle her little brood in. She was now eating her fries like a normal woman.

  India couldn’t remember her mother being so calm in public. Her mom was the weird one compared to practically every other mother in the world. If India wasn’t careful and told too many stories, everyone would start looking at her differently, as though her upbringing must have made her weird, too.

  Everyone, this time, meant Aiden. She did not want Aiden to know how weird her family—or lack of it—was.

  She rushed to fill in the space before he could answer. “You took a date to the concert, didn’t you? But you’re not going to kiss and tell.”

  “I wish it had been you.”

  Her world stopped. For one second, there was no chatter, no bustle, nothing but Aiden and his warm palm against hers, his steady gaze holding hers.

  The next second, she tried not to panic. They’d agreed to be a couple for one week. He wasn’t supposed to say he wished she’d been part of his life before this vacation. How had this conversation become a minefield?

  She pretended he hadn’t just blown up the boundaries they’d set. “Well, since I was in Belgium at the time, I can’t really be upset that you took another woman on my dream date. Now, if I’d been in town and you’d taken someone else...” She attempted a saucy, sexy shrug. “Then I might be jealous. I do so love... Aerosmith.”

  He laid his other hand on the table, palm up. Not a demand, but an offer. My hand is here if you want to hold it.

  Funny how it would be easier to get naked and play in bed with him. In the middle of a busy McDonald’s lunch hour, she placed both of her hands in his, and felt vulnerable.

  “When you’re in town,” he said, “you are who I will be with.”

  He shouldn’t make her want things she couldn’t have. She would not be in his town again. She had no reason to return to Fort Hood. She would never be stationed here.

  “Could you come to Belgium?” Now she was the one blowing their boundaries.

  He shook his head sadly, but he leaned in. “India, we need to talk.”

  Those words were ominous, whether Gerard-Pierre wrote them or Aiden said them.

  “Change of plans? You can’t stay through the week, after all?” Her questions sounded casual. Her hands clutched his.

  “I can stay. But then it will be Christmas Eve, and my family will arrive. I’d—I’d like you to meet them.”

  Oh, no. Not this. “I’ll be in San Antonio.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “I do. They’re doing this sealant on the floors and the windows have to stay open for a day. It’ll get freezing cold. Helen got me a place in San Antonio because the fumes are—”

  “Or you could stay at my house.”

  “Or you could come to San Antonio.”

  His silence was just surprise, wasn’t it?

  “It’s a romantic bed-and-breakfast. Come spend Christmas with me.” Please, Aiden. Choose me. Aren’t we good the way we are?

  He dropped his chin to his chest for a moment. “I really can’t. I have to be with my family for Christmas.”

  The children in the nearby booth had started getting wound up again, but the mother had produced crayons from her giant tote bag of a purse. Crayons. Adolphus’s sister and her adorable, handmade card. His grandma, patting India’s cheek and telling her she was such a pretty girl. Bernardo’s entire family, so concerned because she didn’t have one. Every man’s mother, every boyfriend’s sister...

  India was single, because she’d failed them all, hadn’t
she?

  “I understand.” She let go of Aiden’s hands. “You only had this one week. I knew that. We’ve both known that from the start.”

  “I want more than a week, but my family will be here.”

  “I don’t do families.”

  He went still. “What does that mean?”

  She didn’t want to go through this, not again, not with Aiden. She shouldn’t have to. They had such a wonderful thing going. Why did he want to change it?

  Obviously, he didn’t think it was as wonderful as she did.

  Tears pricked her eyes again. Don’t cry, India.

  She smiled. “What we have right now is perfect. Consenting adults. Nothing complicated. That’s all I do. It’s all I’m good at.”

  “You’ve never met a boyfriend’s family?”

  Crayons were hitting the ground now, rolling into the aisle. She watched them instead of Aiden. “Of course I have. I don’t know what it is, but meeting the parents, the grandparents, the brother or sister... It’s the kiss of death. It kills the relationship every time.”

  They don’t like me, and then my boyfriend doesn’t like me anymore, either.

  Except for Adolphus. The reverse was worse: his younger sister had wondered why India didn’t like her enough to keep dating her brother.

  “What about children in a boyfriend’s family?” Aiden asked. Such a quiet question.

  She flinched as if a drill sergeant had shouted it. “I know my limits. My skill set in that area is nonexistent. I won’t compete with a child for a man’s time and attention.”

  I won’t, because I’m not a horrible person. God knew she’d hated being the child who was neglected by the father. She’d been very young, but she’d known she couldn’t compete. Adult women had won her father’s attention, every time. Neighbors had called the police when her father had left her home alone in favor of those adult women, again and again.

  The third time, her mother had been called back from her first attempt at a trip around the world. She’d been angry at her ex for neglecting their daughter and ruining her lifelong dream. I’m sorry, Mommy.

  India had known she’d failed to keep her father’s attention, and so she’d had to change houses, change primary parents. Her mother had been so angry, forced to settle down, forced to rent an apartment near a good elementary school. Not your fault, Indy. I’ll just put my life on hold while he has fun with his women.

  Now India was the adult woman. “It’d be like stealing candy from a baby. I’d be stealing a father from a baby. I don’t date fathers.”

  Aiden was looking at her, watching her, analyzing her. If there was one subject India wanted to broach less than her mother, it was her father.

  She rushed in to fill the silence again, smiling too brightly. “Besides, everyone says that having children kills their sex life. What would be in it for me, then? Consenting adults need something to consent to.”

  But Aiden was looking so utterly serious, and she was feeling so utterly miserable, that she gave up trying to steer the conversation anywhere at all. She started crumpling up paper wrappers, consolidating the trash. Her emotions were balling up in her chest, tighter, bulkier, something like hurt. Something like anger.

  Aiden wanted to see her past the twenty-third. That ought to have made her happy—from the beginning, her heart had been warning her that their week would never be enough. But Aiden only wanted to keep seeing her if she could fit in with his family over Christmas. She didn’t want to take that test.

  She’d fail.

  The soldier across the aisle had given up eating in order to chase crayons. He’d awkwardly kicked them out from under the table with his clunky combat boot and was half off the bench seat now, bending down to retrieve the crayons. He smacked his head on the table; a mighty warrior laid low by a preschooler’s toy.

  India stood with her tray of crumpled paper, causing Aiden to stand, too. She led the way to the giant trash can by the door and dumped the remains of their lunch date.

  She pushed her way through the glass door, out into the sunshine. She’d drive home cross-country, after all, with Aerosmith blasting the whole way to drown out any more mine-filled conversation with Aiden. She didn’t want to think about December 24. She didn’t want to even imagine meeting his family and screwing everything up, as she inevitably did.

  Maybe she’d arrive at the house with a clear mind. She was going to need it to deal with her foolish heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Aiden watched India’s profile as she pulled into Tom and Helen’s drive. She had driven hard to get here, yanking off her hoop earrings when the wind had tangled her hair in them. The wind and the drive hadn’t cleared her mind. She was frowning. Still.

  A work truck was in the space where the Jeep was usually parked. Two ladders were angled against one side of the house, one man topping each.

  “Gutters today,” India said. It was the first thing she’d said since lunch.

  Worst goddamn lunch of his life.

  How can you even think that? Remember eating in the hospital cafeteria?

  He sighed and looked at his ringless left hand. That was one thing about being a widower: he’d always have a heart-wrenching loss to compare all other losses to. It pissed him off most of the time, but right now, it gave him perspective. He wasn’t any worse off than he’d been before lunch. This morning, he’d had three more nights with India ahead of him.

  He still did.

  He lifted his gaze to her profile. She was beautiful, windblown, healthy. She was a pleasure to spend time with out of bed. She was ecstasy in bed. If the timing had been different, if this was a different year and he’d never been anything but a single man, they wouldn’t have talked about meeting families yet. They wouldn’t have talked about children at all, not on their fourth day in one another’s lives. They were lovers and becoming friends, but he’d tried to switch tracks as if they’d already become more. Perhaps they hadn’t, not yet, but she was still his—for three more nights.

  If she’d speak to him.

  She did, turning to him, perfectly polite. “Do you want to come inside? They could be hammering on the roof awhile. If you needed time at your own house to get anything done, this is probably a good time for it. You’ll avoid a headache. I could drive you over, if you don’t want to walk the bridge. I’m sorry. I should have asked you that sooner.”

  “Do I want to come inside?” How can you even ask that?

  They had three days. He’d been trying to get more, but the bottom line was that only so much more was possible, whether she dated fathers or not.

  Testing things out as a couple with his children had been a pipe dream. Working toward becoming a family of four instead of three? Foolish.

  His children weren’t the only obstacle. Even if he and India could be a couple instead of a family, their future was limited. Aiden didn’t believe for a minute that India spent her days writing speeches for generals in Danish. She was too sharp for that.

  She had some kind of extraordinary language skill that the US Army valued, and she would not be able to move here. She’d be in the service at least another eight years. With her skill set, she could remain on active duty longer if she chose to, almost certainly.

  They’d be apart for eight years after this week. He would be able to leave the girls with his family for a week, maybe, each year. No more. One week of bliss every year—would he still be addicted to her eight years from now? Pining for her? Waiting for her?

  He was afraid the answer was yes.

  The answer would be yes if he returned home right now, and the answer would be yes if he stayed and made love to her for three more nights.

  There wasn’t a choice there at all. He would take the three nights.

  “India. Do I want to come inside?” He picked up her hand from the steering wheel and brought it
to his lips. “How can you even ask that?”

  Her fingers jerked a little in his. “That lunch conversation made it pretty clear that you aren’t comfortable with things the way they are. If you need to go... If this isn’t working out for you...”

  “Baby, wild horses couldn’t make me miss the next three nights of our lives. I won’t miss the chance to spend more time with you, ever.”

  “Oh.” Her silver-gray eyes were on him as he kissed her knuckles. She looked away, blinking rapidly, but he saw the tears she was trying to hide.

  “Don’t cry, India. Everything is going to be okay.” It had to be. There was some way it was going to be. He just needed more time to figure out how to make a handful of days this year and every other year suffice.

  She recovered enough to shoot him a bit of a skeptical look. “The last time you said that, you were quitting on me in the middle of sex.”

  “I’m a fast learner, India. I’m not quitting on you.”

  * * *

  December 23 was a cool, sunny day. Perfect weather.

  For lunch, Aiden had taken India to his favorite barbecue joint, something she couldn’t find in Europe, and they’d been able to enjoy brisket and corn bread on an outdoor patio, because the day was not too hot, not too cold. A perfect meal.

  Working in the garage was easy on a day like today. The double door was raised, the sky was blue beyond it. Aiden was nearly done with his daughter’s bookcase. He’d designed it, then measured and cut the boards. It had been sanded, painted, assembled—the only thing he had left to do was use a nail punch to drive each nail head just below the wood surface, so nothing would scrape or catch on a person in passing. A perfectly smooth finish.

  He placed the tip of the punch precisely on the head of a nail and tapped lightly to sink it. It was precision work, when he wanted to drive nails hard with a hammer. Hell, he wanted to take a sledgehammer and smash a wall, tear it down, destroy it, because this perfect day was his last day with India. This perfect day was one of the worst days of his—

  How can you even think—