He felt as if the ground had shifted under his feet, changing forever his internal landscape.
“Mom . . .”
She smiled at him, brows a little arched, the same questioning, patient look he remembered from his childhood. Who left out the lunch meat? Did you study for your chemistry test? How did tryouts go?
What could he say? Sorry for taking you for granted? Sorry for taking so long to grow up? “Thanks.”
Her cheeks turned pink with pleasure. “Oh, honey. You’re welcome. What else?”
“What?”
“I know that look. Something’s on your mind.”
He barely resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. “I, uh, invited Kate Dolan for dinner.”
Tess tilted her head. “Really?” An interested trill like a bird’s.
Manfully, he continued. “On Christmas Day.”
Her eyes widened. “Tom! Tom, come here.”
Oh, shit.
His father appeared from the living room at the front of the house, where he was setting up the train set around the big tree.
Tess took his arm. “Tom, Luke’s invited Kate for Christmas.”
His father’s bushy gray eyebrows climbed. “You dating the lawyer now?”
Dating. Having sex with. “Yes.”
Tom nodded, hearing what Luke did not say. “You could do worse. Bit soon to have her around for Christmas dinner, though.”
He could tell them she didn’t have anywhere else to go, play on their sympathies. Or he could tell them the truth. “I want her here. She hasn’t said yes yet.”
Tess’s eyes narrowed at this perceived slight to her younger son. “Why not?”
“She doesn’t want to horn in on family time.”
“Hm,” was his mother’s only comment.
“You haven’t known her long,” Tom said.
Luke held his father’s gaze. “Longer than two weeks.”
It was one of their family’s stories. Tom Fletcher met Teresa Saltoni when he was at Great Lakes Naval Base and she was waiting tables at her parents’ restaurant in Chicago’s Little Italy. Two weeks later, they were married.
Tom grunted. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
So did Luke.
Kate was itchy enough over this whole family business without taking flak from his folks. He loved them a lot, but as a group, they could be pretty overwhelming. There was no telling what Meg would say. Or Josh. Or Taylor.
He glanced out the window at his daughter, scooping poop in the yard.
His life right now.
He went out on the deck to supervise.
Taylor glowered and bent to her work. He was still not forgiven, then. But the puppy wandered over the grass to greet him, tail flopping cheerfully. Luke rubbed its tummy. The dog, at least, was delighted with the poop-hunting game. As soon as Taylor stooped with her trowel, JD bounded over to investigate before licking her face. Taylor jerked her head away and then grinned, pure kid.
Luke relaxed, feeling less like a prison guard. He reached for his cigarettes, glanced at Taylor and shoved his hands deep in his pockets instead.
A blue-and-white patrol car crunched over the oyster shell drive and parked behind the inn.
Dare had its own police department now, Luke remembered. The town had taken the unusual step of incorporating to give the residents more control over the forces of tourism and development on their island, to protect them against outsiders.
But the cop who got out of the patrol car was a stranger.
Luke shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been gone a long time. And the population on Dare shifted over time like the barrier islands themselves, constantly eroded and renewed by the tides.
He watched as the cop came up the walk, not swaggering, but moving deliberately, aware of his surroundings. Midthirties, Luke judged, boxer’s build, a little over average height. Dark and closely shaved in navy blue uniform pants and shirt. Unassuming. Confident. Like he knew what he was doing.
What was a guy like that doing writing traffic tickets for drunk tourists on Dare Island? And why the hell was he here?
He stopped a few yards away from the bottom of the steps. Out of the kill zone. Ex-military, maybe. “Staff Sergeant Fletcher?”
Luke hid his surprise. “Luke.”
“Jack Rossi.”
They shook hands. Rossi’s grip was solid and strong, nothing to prove. His gaze was dark and direct. Nothing to hide.
“Hi, Chief,” Taylor said.
Rossi glanced down, his hard face softening. “Hi, Taylor. How’s it going?”
“You know each other?” Luke asked.
“I swing by the school most days,” Rossi said easily. “Part of the job.”
“Hearts and minds,” Luke said.
They exchanged looks. “Exactly.”
“The chief came to talk to our class about drugs,” Taylor said.
“In fourth grade?” Hormones and drugs. Jesus. Couldn’t she stay ten forever? At least until he got the hang of this fatherhood thing.
“Early intervention,” Rossi said.
Taylor gave Luke a pointed look. “We learned about smoking, too.”
Ten, going on thirty.
“Nice dog.” Rossi squatted and offered a hand to JD, who promptly peed in excitement. “Yours?”
Taylor nodded. “My dad brought him home. From Afghanistan.” From the pride in her voice, Luke deduced he was now forgiven for making her clean the yard. She looked at him directly. “Can I go to Madison’s now?”
“Wash your hands first.”
She nodded and ran to the cottage. JD trotted after her.
“Nice kid,” Rossi said in the same tone he’d used for the dog.
“Yeah.” Enough with the pleasantries. “What can I do for you, Chief?”
“Jack.” He stood. “Heard you had a little excitement at the courthouse the other day.”
“That’s out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it, Jack?”
The chief shrugged. “I’ve got friends in the sheriff’s department. I was wondering—now that you’re on this side of the bridge—if there’s anything else going on I haven’t heard about yet. Some guys get back, they don’t handle things too well. They hit their wives, they drive too fast, they drink too much. I just want you to know I’m here.”
Reassurance? Or threat?
“Everything’s fine,” Luke said.
Those dark eyes met his. “I was in the Tagab Valley myself—2004, before I got out.”
The Tagab Valley in the Surobi District of Afghanistan. In 2004, Luke had been on embassy security in Kabul. “MP?” Luke asked.
“Sniper.”
O-kay. All Marines were riflemen. But even among Marines, the brutal intimacy of the snipers’ job set them apart.
Jack smiled briefly. “I’m not much for war stories. But if you need an ear, I’ll listen.”
Every day a vet committed suicide. More Marines were falling to the enemy within than to the Taliban. It was easy to understand the chief’s concern.
And hard not to resent it.
Sniper. If anybody should have problems adjusting, it should be a guy who made a personal ID of each kill.
“Appreciate the offer,” Luke said. “But it’s not necessary.”
The back door opened.
“Chief Rossi!” Tess said. “I thought I saw your patrol car. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Was just welcoming your son here home.”
“Well, that was nice of you. You’ll be going home yourself soon, won’t you?”
“Ma’am?”
“For Christmas. Don’t you have family up north? New Jersey or someplace.”
Luke narrowed his eyes. Was his mother flirting with the new police chief?
“Pennsylvania,” Rossi said. “But I won’t get up there this year.”
“Too far?” she asked sympathetically.
“Too busy.” Another brief smile. “I’ve got one part-time officer for backup. U
ntil I can hire more staff, I’m working a lot of holidays.”
“Then you’ll have to come here for dinner. You do get time to eat, don’t you? On Christmas Day?”
“I’ll eat, yes.” He glanced at Luke. “But I don’t want to intrude.”
Well, hell. Luke didn’t want Jack Rossi here for Christmas. He wanted Kate.
But Rossi was a fellow Marine, alone for the holidays.
Luke smiled. “Looks like we’ll have a chance to swap war stories after all.”
• • •
A THIN RAIN fell over Beaufort harbor. Many of the boats had been dry docked for the season, and those that remained were shrouded, floating on the gray water like gulls with folded wings. But the drab scene outside only made the inside of the bar seem snug and warm. The beer signs and Christmas lights glowed and twinkled.
Kate swirled her pink Moscato d’Asti cocktail. She’d never had one before. She was doing all kinds of things she’d never done before, including grabbing a holiday drink with Alisha.
Alisha took a sip of gingerbread martini. “I’m just saying, I’d be happy if Luke Fletcher was coming down my chimney.”
Kate smirked. “Ho ho ho.”
“‘Ho,’ yourself,” Alisha retorted. “So, how often is Staff Sergeant Sexy stuffing your stocking?”
Kate laughed and almost choked on her drink. She swallowed hastily. “‘Stuffing my stocking’? Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“All those long, lonely nights with nothing to do but paint my toenails. You know how it is in this job. Half the guys I meet are deadbeat baby daddies and the other half are junkies. So tell me everything. And give details. I want to live vicariously.”
Kate felt her face heat. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve only seen him a couple of times since the hearing.”
“So, where did you go?”
“We don’t go anywhere. He comes over.”
“Well, that can be good,” Alisha said. “Long, romantic evenings in front of the fire . . .”
“No fire. I don’t have a fireplace.”
“But you’re having hot sex.”
“Amazing sex,” Kate confirmed.
“And now you’re just being smug,” Alisha complained. “So, are you like a booty call? Or friends with bennies? Or what?”
Kate toyed with her orange twist. “We’re definitely friends.” Friends was good. She needed more friends in her life. “I don’t want to . . . We’re not rushing into anything.”
“Does he spend the night?”
Kate shook her head. She had been the one to set limits on their relationship. She couldn’t complain if they occasionally felt . . . limiting. “He has to get home to Taylor.”
Alisha picked thoughtfully at the cookie crumbs on the rim of her glass. “Maybe you should go to his place. Then you could fool around after his little girl goes to bed.”
“He says he doesn’t want me to have to drive home alone late at night.”
“Then sleep over.”
“Alisha, you’re a social worker. Are you honestly suggesting we have sex while there’s a young, impressionable child in the next room?”
Alisha grinned. “Honey, how do you think most parents have sex?”
“I’m not Taylor’s mother.”
“But you like her.”
“She’s a wonderful little girl. That’s why I’m trying to protect her. I don’t want her to be hurt. Or disappointed. In case things don’t work out.”
“How can they work out if you don’t give them a chance?”
“Now you sound like Luke.”
“Do I? Good. I was afraid maybe he was the one dragging his feet.”
Kate thought of Luke, laughing, urgent, doing her against the wall of her apartment last night, and a blush worked its way from her toes to her hairline. “No, he’s more the ‘full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes’ type.”
Alisha arched an eyebrow. “Torpedo, huh? And you had problems with ‘Christmas stocking.’”
Kate laughed. Drew her finger through the water ring on the table. “He wants me to come for Christmas,” she confessed. “To his parents’ house.”
“That’s great.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too soon.”
“Too soon for what?”
“Too soon for me to know how I feel. Certainly too soon to trust how he feels.”
“Honey, it’s obvious how you feel. It’s all over your face.”
Kate felt a jump in her belly that could have been pleasure or panic or acknowledgment. Or all three. “What if I go and it’s a bust?” she blurted.
“What if you don’t go and regret it?”
Kate exhaled shakily. “Is that a social worker thing? Answering a question with another question?”
“Is that a lawyer thing? Not answering at all?”
They smiled at one another.
Kate took a solid gulp from her glass. “We should have done this before.”
“Never too late.” Alisha raised her martini in a toast. “Or too soon.”
“Sneaky,” Kate decided.
“All I’m saying is, you think about it. But if you decide you’re not ready for his family, you come with me to my mother’s.” Alisha reached across the table and patted Kate’s hand. “Nobody should be alone on Christmas.”
• • •
NOBODY SHOULD BE alone on Christmas.
Alisha’s words followed Kate home to her empty apartment. Luke’s flowers gleamed white against the gloom, breathing the fragrance of roses and pine into the still, chill air. Kate stood listening to the rain against her windows, but the sound did not fill the silence.
Kate sighed. Maybe she should get a cat.
But it wasn’t Snowball she was missing.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled her phone from her bag and hit CONTACTS.
Three rings. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom. It’s Kate,” she added, even though her name and number must have shown up on her mother’s phone display.
Silence.
Kate swallowed. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, dear.” Brenda Dolan sounded faintly puzzled, as if she couldn’t imagine why her only child would be calling two days before Christmas.
Kate tried again. “How was your drive?”
“Traffic was terrible. Well, you know how it is around the holidays.”
“I’m sorry.” Kate tried to find another, more pleasant subject. “And Aunt Sharon? How is she?”
“Very busy with her family. Everyone is here,” Brenda said. “Julie and Christopher and the children.”
“That’s great,” Kate said, squashing her feelings of guilt. Her aunt had not invited her for Christmas. And Brenda had turned down Kate’s offer to come home, claiming there was no point in cooking a big meal and putting up a tree for just the two of them. She preferred to go to her sister’s, where she could enjoy all the trappings of the holiday without any painful reminders of Christmases past.
“I guess you all have a lot to catch up on,” Kate said.
It was the only verbal cue her mother needed. Brenda launched into the news of her sister’s family, her monologue like one of those Christmas newsletters. Lots of accomplishments, no awkward confessions or messy emotional details. No unpleasantness.
See? The list said. I made the right choices in life. I don’t need your pity.
“Mom,” Kate said abruptly.
“Yes?”
“Don’t you want to ask about my day?” My life.
“I assume you went to work.”
“Well, yes. I mean, I met with clients today.”
“Breaking up families? Taking children away from their parents? Why would I want to hear about that?”
“Protecting children in abusive situations? Yeah, I can see that wouldn’t be an interesting topic for you.”
An offended silence rolled from the phone.
“Mom.
Mom, I’m sorry.”
“I think this conversation is over,” Brenda said with chilly dignity.
“Mom.” The words stuck in Kate’s throat like a hair ball. “I love you.”
“Oh. Well, I . . . Well, thank you, Kate.” Brenda’s voice shook slightly. “I have to go. It’s almost dinnertime. Tenderloin tonight.”
Kate closed her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, dear.”
Kate sat a long time, gripping the phone. Whatever it was she wanted, she would not get it from her mother. Ever.
You could find substitutes, surrogates, for a mother’s love. But the hope, the expectation, never went away.
And the wound never healed. If your own mother could not love you, who would?
Eventually, Kate ordered herself to move, to put on the kettle for tea, to sort the day’s mail.
There was a Christmas card from the Blakemores, the wronged wife, the cheating dentist, and their three beautiful children, picture perfect in matching holiday sweaters.
Kate sighed. She’d had another tearful phone consultation with Tammy Blakemore this week. I can’t leave him, Tammy had sobbed. Not at Christmas. How would it look? Where would I go?
And so Tammy stayed, letting her fear keep her with a man who did not love her the way she deserved to be loved.
Kate wanted to scorn the dentist’s wife for her decision. But was Kate any better, was she any braver, letting her fears keep her away from seeking love at all? Keep her away from Luke.
Her phone lit up and buzzed on the counter. Kate tensed until she recognized the number.
Her heart lifted. It was Luke. Maybe he was calling to tell her he could get away tonight after all. Booty call? Maybe.
Whatever he wanted, whispered her heart.
Whatever she had it in her to give.
“Hi,” Kate said breathlessly. “Are you coming over?”
“I wish. You coming for Christmas?”
The word escaped before she could catch it. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
She bit her lip. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble. That’s . . . God, that’s great. I’ll tell Mom.”
Carolina Man Page 20