"I thought about that sitting there. I thought, yeah, I could play it safe and not go out at night. Or I could do what my father did and hide in some nice well-to-do suburb. Or I could join the Navy and become a SEAL, and at least that way the risks I took day after day would be worth something."
Harvard let himself drown for a few moments in P.J.'s eyes. "The next morning, I found a recruiting office, and I joined my Uncle Sam's Navy. The rest, as they say, is history."
P J. reached across the armrest and took his hand.
He looked at her fingers, so slender and small compared to his. "This for me or for you?"
"It's for you and me," she told him. "It's for both of us."
Harvard's mother smelled like cinnamon. She smelled like the fragrant air outside the bakery P.J. used to walk past on her way to school in third grade, before her grandmother died.
The entire house smelled wonderful. Something incredible was happening in the kitchen. Something that involved the oven and a cookbook and lots of sugar and spice.
Ellie Becker had P.J. by one hand and her son by the other, giving them a tour of her new house. Boxes were stacked in all the rooms except the huge kitchen, which was pristine and completely unpacked.
It was like the kitchens P.J. had seen on TV sitcoms. The floor was earth-tone-coloured Mexican tile. The counters and appliances were gleaming white, the cabinets natural wood. There was an extra sink in a workstation island in the centre of the room, and enough space for a big kitchen table that looked as if it could seat a dozen guests, no problem.
"This was the room that sold us on this house," Ellie said. "This is the kitchen I've been dreaming about for the past twenty years."
Harvard looked exactly like his mother. Oh, he was close to a foot and a half taller and not quite as round in certain places, but he had her smile and the same sparkle in his eyes.
"This is a beautiful house," P.J. told Ellie.
It was gorgeous. Brand-new, with a high ceiling in the living room, with thick-pile carpeting and freshly painted walls, it had been built in the single-story Spanish style so popular in the Southwest.
Ellie was looking at Harvard. "What do you think?"
He kissed her. "I think it's perfect. I think I want to know if those are cinnamon buns I smell baking in the oven, and if the chocolate chip cookies cooling on the rack over there are up for grabs."
She laughed. "Yes and yes."
"Check this out," Harvard said, handing P.J. a cookie.
She took a bite.
Harvard's mother actually baked. The cookies were impossibly delicious. She didn't doubt the cinnamon buns in the oven would taste as good as they smelled.
Harvard's mother did more than bake. She smiled nearly all the time, even when she wept upon seeing her son. She was the embodiment of joy and warmth, friendly enough to give welcoming hugs to strangers her son dragged home with him.
P.J. couldn't wait to meet Harvard's father.
"Kendra and the twins will be coming for dinner," Ellie told Harvard. "Robby can't make it. He's got to work." She turned to P.J. "Kendra is one of Daryl's sisters. She is going to be so pleased to meet you. I'm so pleased to meet you." She hugged P.J. again. "Aren't you just the sweetest, cutest little thing?"
"Careful, Mom," Harvard said dryly. "That sweet, cute little thing is a FInCOM field operative."
Ellie pulled back to look at P.J. "You're one of the agents being trained for this special counterterrorist thingy Daryl's working on?"
"Yeah, she's one of the special four chosen to be trained as counterterrorist thingy agents," Harvard teased.
"Well, what would you call it? You have nicknames for everything-not to mention all those technical terms and acronyms. LANTFLT, and NAVSPECWARGRU, and...oh; I can never keep any of that Navy-speak straight."
Harvard laughed. "Team, Mom. The official technical Navy-speak term for this thingy is counterterrorist team."
Ellie looked at P.J. "I've never met a real FInCOM agent before. You don't look anything like the ones I've seen on TV."
"Maybe if she put on a dark suit and sunglasses."
P.J. gave him a withering look, and Harvard laughed, taking another cookie from the rack and holding it out to her. She shook her head. They were too damn good.
"Do you have a gun and everything?" Ellie asked P.J.
"It's called a weapon, Mom. And not only does she have one," Harvard told her, his mouth full of cookie, "but she knows how to use it. She's the best shooter I've met in close to ten years. She's good at all the other stuff, too. In fact, if the four superfinks were required to go through BUD/S training, I'm sure P.J. would be the last one standing."
Ellie whistled. "For him to say that, you must be good."
P J. smiled into those warm brown eyes that were so like Harvard's. "I am, thank you. But I wouldn't be the last one standing. I'd be the last one running."
"You go, girl!" Ellie laughed in delight. She looked at Harvard. "Self-confident and decisive. I like her."
"I knew you would." Harvard held out another handful of cookies to P J. She hesitated only briefly before she took one, smiling her thanks, and he smiled back, losing himself for a moment in her eyes.
This was okay. This wasn't anywhere near as hard as he'd dreaded it would be. This house was a little too squeaky clean and new, with no real personality despite the jaunty angle to the living room ceiling, but his mother was happy here, that much was clear. And P J. was proving to be an excellent distraction. It was hard to focus on the fact that Phoenix, Arizona, was about as different from Hingham, Massachusetts, as a city could possibly be when he was expending so many brain cells memorizing the way P.J.'s silken shirt seemed to flow and cling to her shoulders and breasts. There was a ten-year-old boy inside him ready to mourn the passing of an era. But that boy was being shouted down by the thirty-six-year-old full-grown man who, although desperately wanting sheer, heart-stopping, teeth-rattling sex, was oddly satisfied and fulfilled by just a smile.
He couldn't wait until the flight back tomorrow afternoon. If he played his cards right, maybe P.J. would hold his hand again.
The absurdity of what he was thinking—that he was wildly anticipating holding a woman's hand—made him laugh out loud.
"What's so funny?" his mother asked.
"I'm just...glad to be here." Harvard gave her a quick hug. "Glad to have a few days off." He looked at P.J. and smiled. "Just glad." He turned to his mother. "Where's Daddy? It's too hot for him to be out playing golf."
"He had a meeting at school. He should be back pretty soon—he's going to be so surprised to see you." The oven timer buzzed, and Ellie peeked inside. Using hot mitts, she transferred the pan of fragrant buns to a cooling rack. "Why don't you bring your bags in from the car?"
"We were thinking we'd get a couple hotel rooms," Harvard told her. "You don't need the hassle of houseguests right now."
"Nonsense." She made a face at him. "We've got plenty of space. As long as you don't mind the stacks of boxes..."
"I wasn't sure you'd have the spare sheets unpacked." Harvard leaned against the kitchen counter. "And even if you did, you surely don't need the extra laundry. I think you've probably got enough to do around here for the next two months."
"Don't you worry about that." His mother glanced quickly from him to P.J. and back. "Unless you'd rather stay at a hotel."
Harvard knew the words his mother hadn't said. For privacy. He knew she hadn't missed the fact that he'd said they'd get hotel rooms, plural. And he knew she hadn't missed the fact that he'd introduced P.J. to her as his friend—the prefix girl intentionally left off. But he also knew for damn sure his mother hadn't missed all those goofy smiles he was sending in P.J.'s direction.
There were a million questions in his mother's eyes, but he trusted her not to ask them in front of P.J. She could embarrass and tease him all she wanted when they were alone, but she was a smart lady and she knew when and where to draw the line.
"Hey, whose car is
in the drive?"
Harvard couldn't believe the difference between the old man he'd seen in the hospital and the man who came through the kitchen door. His father looked fifteen years younger. The fact that he was wearing a Chicago White Sox baseball cap and a pair of plaid golfing shorts only served to take another few years off him.
"Daryl! Yes! I was hoping it was you!"
Harvard didn't even bother to pretend to shake his father's hand. He just pulled the old man in close for a hug as he felt his eyes fill with tears. He'd been more than half afraid that, despite his mother's optimistic reports, he'd find his father looking old and grey and overweight, like another heart attack waiting to happen. Instead, he looked more alive than he had in years. "Daddy, damn! You look good!"
"I've lost twenty pounds. Thirty more to go." His father kissed him on the cheek and patted him on the shoulder, not having missed the shine of emotion in Harvard's eyes. "I'm all right now, kid," the elder Becker said quietly to his son. "I'm following the doctor's orders. No more red meat, no more pipe, no more bacon and eggs, lots of exercise—although not as much as you get, I'm willing to bet, huh? You're looking good, yourself, as usual."
Harvard gave his father one more hug before pulling away. P.J.'s eyes were wide, and she quickly glanced away, as if she suddenly realized that she'd been staring.
"Dad, I want you to meet P.J. Richards. She's with FInCOM. We've been working together, and we've become pretty good friends. We got a couple days of leave, so I dragged her out here with me. P.J., meet my dad, Medgar Becker."
Dr. Becker held out his hand to P.J. "It's very nice to meet you—P.J. is it?"
"That's right," P.J. said. "But actually, believe it or not, Dr. Becker, we've met before." She looked accusingly at Harvard. "You never told me your father was Dr. Medgar Becker."
He laughed. "You know my father?"
"Oh!" Ellie said. "It's the small-world factor kicking in! Everyone's connected somehow. You've just got to dig a little bit to find the way."
"Well, you don't have to dig very far for this connection," P.J. said with a smile. She looked at Dr. Becker, who was still holding her hand, eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at her. "You probably don't recall—"
"Washington, D.C.," he said. "I do remember you. We got into a big debate over Romeo and Juliet."
"I can't believe you remember that!" she said with a laugh.
"I've done similar lectures for years, but you're the only student who's asked a question and then stood there and vehemently disagreed with me after I gave my answer." Harvard's father kissed P.J.'s hand. "I never knew your name, kiddo, but I certainly remember you."
"Dr. Becker was a guest lecturer at our university," P.J. explained to Harvard. "One of my roommates was an English lit major, and she, um, persuaded me to come along to his lecture."
"I remember thinking, "This one's going to be somebody someday,'" Dr. Becker said.
"Well, thank you," P.J. said gracefully.
"You know, I've been thinking about everything you said for years, about wanting the language of the play to be updated and modernized," Dr. Becker said, pulling P.J. with him toward his office, "about how the play was originally written for the people, and how because the language we speak and understand has changed so much since it was written, it's lost the audience that would relate to and benefit from the story the most."
Harvard stood with his mother and watched as P.J. glanced at him and smiled before his father pulled her out of sight.
"I love her smile." He wasn't aware he'd spoken aloud until his mother spoke.
"Yeah, she's got a good one." She chuckled, shaking her head at the sound of her husband's voice, still lecturing from the other end of the house. "You know, he's been acting a little strange lately. I've chalked it up to his having a near-death experience and then losing all that weight. It's as if he's gotten a second wind. I like it. Most of the time. But I might be a little worried about his interest in that girl of yours—if it wasn't more than obvious that she's got it way bad for you."
"Oh, no," Harvard said. "We're friends. That's all. She's not mine—I'm not looking for her to become mine, either."
"Bring your bags in from the car," Ellie said. "You two can have the rooms with the connecting bath." She smiled conspiratorially. "Sometimes these things need a little help."
"I don't need any help," Harvard said indignantly. "And I especially don't need any help from my mother."
Chapter 11
P.J. found Harvard standing on the deck, elbows on the railing, looking at the nearly full moon.
She closed the sliding doors behind her.
"Hey," Harvard said without turning.
"Hey, yourself," she said, moving to stand next to him. The night was almost oppressively hot. It was an odd sensation, almost like standing in an oven. Even in the sweatbox that D.C. became in the summer, there was at least a hint of coolness in the air after the sun went down. "I've been wanting to ask you about what you said tonight to your sister—to Kendra?"
He looked at her. "You mean when she was making all that noise about how dangerous your job must be?"
P.J. nodded. Kendra had made such a fuss over the fact that P.J.'s job put her into situations where bad guys with weapons sometimes fired those weapons at her. Her arguments why women shouldn't have dangerous jobs were the same ones Harvard had fired off at P.J. the first few times they'd gone head-to-head. But to P.J.'s absolute surprise, Harvard had stepped up to defend her.
He'd told his sister in no uncertain terms that P.J. was damn good at what she did. He'd told them all that she was tougher and stronger than most men he knew. And then he'd made a statement that had come close to putting P.J. into total shock.
Harvard had announced he would pick P.J. as his partner over almost any man he knew.
"Did you really mean that?" P.J. asked him now.
"Of course, I meant it. I said it, didn't I?"
"I thought maybe you were just, you know..."
"Lying?"
She could see the nearly full moon reflected in his eyes. "Being polite. Being chivalrous. I don't know. I didn't know what to think."
"Yeah, well, I meant what I said. I like you and I trust you."
"You trust me. Enough to really believe that I'm not someone you need to protect?"
He wanted to tell her yes. She could see it in his eyes. But she could also see indecision. And he didn't try to pretend he wasn't sure.
"I'm still working on that," he told her. "I'll tell you this much, though—I'm looking forward to the next few days. It's going to be fun going into the field with you—even if it's only for a training scenario."
P.J. met his gaze steadily, warmed by the fact that he'd been honest with her. She was also impressed that he'd confronted his prejudices about working a dangerous job alongside a woman and had managed to set his preconceived notions aside. His opinion on the subject had turned a complete one-eighty.
"Senior Chief, I'm honoured," she told him.
Senior Chief.
The title sat between them as if it were a barricade. She'd used it purposely, and she knew from the way he smiled very slightly that he knew it.
The moonlight, the look in his eyes, the heat of the night and the way she was feeling were all way too intense.
She looked over the railing. The Beckers' small backyard abutted a golf course. The gently rolling hills looked alien and otherworldly in the moonlight. The distant sand traps reflected the light and seemed to glitter.
"They gave up an ocean view for this," Harvard said with a soft laugh. "There's still a part of me that's in shock."
"You know, I spent about forty minutes in the garage tonight with your father, and he didn't mention Shakespeare once. He spent the entire time showing off his new golf clubs." P.J. turned to look at him. "I suspect he likes this view much better than the view of the ocean he had in Massachusetts. And I know your mother loves having those adorable nieces of yours within a short car ride."
"You're right." Harvard sighed. "I'm the one who loves the... ocean. My father just tolerated it. My father." He shook his head. "God—I can't believe how good he looks. Last time I saw him, I was sure we'd be burying him within the next two years. But now he looks like he's ready to go another sixty."
P.J. glanced at him, thinking about the way his eyes had filled with tears when his father had walked in this afternoon. She hadn't believed it at first. Tears. In Senior Chief Becker's eyes.
She remembered how surprised she'd been when she'd found out Harvard had a family. A father. A mother. Sisters.
He'd come across as so stern and strong, so formidable, so completely in charge. But he was more than that. He listened when other people spoke. His confidence was based on intelligence and experience, not conceit, as she'd first believed He was funny and smart and completely, totally together.
And one of the things that had helped him become this completely, totally together man was his family's love and affection.
It was a love and affection Harvard returned unconditionally.
What would it have been like to grow up with that kind of love? What would it be like to be loved that way now?
P.J. knew Harvard wanted her physically. But what if—what if he wanted more?
The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
But totally absurd. He'd told her point-blank he wanted friendship. Friendship, with some sex on the side. Nothing that went any further or deeper.
"Your family is really great," she told him.
He glanced at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Kendra's ready to join with Mom and Daddy and become co-presidents of your official fan club. After she came at you with her antigun speech, you know, after she said the only time she could ever imagine picking up a gun was to defend her children, and then you said, 'That's what I do.'" He imitated her rather well. '"Every day when I go to work, I pick up my gun because I'm helping to defend your children.' After that, Kendra pulled me aside and gave me permission to marry you."
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