"Or our bishop convinces the doctors involved to donate their time and skills," Harry White put in. "He's pretty good at arm-twisting."
"Which is why Harry and I will be on another plane less than a week after hotfooting it out of Ca-ribe," Janice said dryly. "But only after we get Paulo settled. He carries some psychological scars in addition to his physical disability," she warned. "He wouldn't tell us much about what happened before he came to us, but from what we could gather he saw his mother raped and shot by the rebels."
"Dear Lord!" Pity flooded Deb's brown eyes. "What about his father?"
"He doesn't know who his father is, or was. Nor does the Caribe government." She hesitated, let her glance linger on Deb's rounded belly. "You have four children of your own and another on the way. Are you sure you want to take on one more, even temporarily?"
Cari smiled as her sister's chin lifted to a determined angle. Anyone in Deb's rambunctious family would have recognized the warning signals and immediately ceased doing whatever had generated that look.
"I'm sure," she said firmly. "So is my husband. We wouldn't have driven down from Shreveport otherwise."
Satisfied, Janice nodded and sat back. Deb wasn't quite finished yet. Turning to the church officials, she demonstrated the shrewd mind behind her small, heart-shaped face.
"To avoid any potential difficulties, we'll want to meet with the INS. We also want to have our attorney look over the temporary guardianship papers."
"Yes, of course."
"And I'll need a crash course in sign language, so I can understand Paulo's needs."
"We can arrange that, as well."
"This is all dependent on Paulo wanting to stay with us," Deb conceded, recognizing that the issue of temporary custody was far from decided. "He might not take to a family as noisy and lively as ours."
"I don't think that will be a problem," Janice said, truly relaxing for the first time since she'd learned the couple who'd applied to adopt Paulo had hit the divorce courts. "He was a godsend at the mission, helping us with the other kids."
"Then I guess the next step is for me to meet him."
When she planted both hands on the arms of her chair and would have levered herself up, Cari waved her back. "Stay put. I'll go get him."
She made her way down the hall, both relieved and regretful that Paulo would have to make yet another wrenching transition before he gained a sense of permanence and stability.
The door to Mac's room stood partway open. She heard the unmistakable sound of canned laughter coming from the TV and rapped twice before poking her head inside.
"Mac?"
He was stretched out on the bed, sound asleep despite the raucous cartoon on the TV. His blue hospital pajamas were gone, traded for cutoffs and a gray USMC sweatshirt with the arms ripped out. The sickly pallor that had tinged his face after the loss of so much blood had disappeared as well. Cari's glance lingered on the sling and bandages strapping his right arm to his chest before drifting to the boy curled up at his good side.
Paulo was zonked out, too. His dark head lay tucked right next to Mac's chin. He wore his favorite Spider-Man T-shirt, of course. Janice had confessed that she washed it out for him every evening.
A little ache started in Cari's chest and spread to her throat. The thought flashed into her head that here was her family, ready-made and waiting. Just as quickly, she pushed it out again. She couldn't let herself start weaving fantasies like that. Not yet, anyway. They all faced too many uncertainties at this point, not the least of which was whether Mac reciprocated this confused feeling Can was becoming more convinced by the moment was love.
Extracting the TV remote from Mac's slack grip, she clicked off the cartoons. "Hey, you two," she said in the blessed quiet that followed. "Wake up."
Mac pried up one eyelid, then the other. "Aren't you supposed to wake your sleeping prince with a kiss?"
"You're not real up on your fairy tales, are you? The prince is the one who wakes up Sleeping Beauty."
"Hey, I'm easy. Either way works for me."
Cari grinned, but the realization that Paulo had blinked awake and was listening to the silly exchange kept her from accommodating Mac's wishes right then and there.
"No time for fairy tales right now. You two need to haul your buns out of bed and come meet my sister."
"She's here?"
"Yep. With a promise to take Paulo to the fast-food joint of his choice while they get to know one another."
"Hear that, kid? You can have your pick. Pizza, tacos or hamburgers."
His brow knitting, the boy eased upright, but the magic last word killed his scowl before it could fully form. He signed something neither Mac nor Cari could interpret. Impatient, he shaped a high arch with his hands.
"That didn't take long," Mac said, laughing. "One trip to McDonald's and you're already hooked. Come on, kid, let's go meet Lieutenant Dunn's sister."
Mac swung his feet off the bed. The rest of him followed without so much as a wince, Cari noted. The man was leather tough, she thought with a stab of admiration that got all mixed up with greedy hunger when he maneuvered into a pair of black rubber flip-flops. His cutoffs ended about midway down hard, muscled thighs. The ragged armhole his gray sweatshirt afforded a tantalizing glimpse of more male flesh.
As they exited the room and started down the hall, Paulo's hand slipped into Mac's. The boy would never admit it, Cari was sure, but he had to be scared. Once again his world was about to shift around him.
Deb, bless her, knew exactly how to ease his fears. She sent Mac a curious glance, but focused her warm smile on the boy. "Hello, Paulo. I'm Deb. I'm hoping you'll come and stay with me and my family for a while. I should warn you, though, we have two dogs. Big dogs. And two cats. Here, I'll show you a picture."
Janice said something quietly in Caribe. The boy edged closer to Deb's chair. His expression remained wary as she pulled out the photos she'd brought.
"The one with the curly hair is Pierre the Poodle. The one with the dirty face is my son Ben. He's about your age and heavy into action figures. He sent one lor you, as a welcome gift."
She delved into her tote again and produced a plas-tic, lizard-headed toy.
"This is Darcon. Or Dracon. I'm not sure which. He's for you," she prompted, holding out the figure.
Paulo glanced at Janice, who signaled he should accept the gift. He played with the movable arms and legs for a moment, then tucked the figure against his side and flashed a quick sign.
"He says thank you."
"You're welcome," Deb returned. "I'm sorry I can't understand sign language. I'm going to learn, though. Will you help me?"
Paulo's quick nod led to another warm smile and more photos. Fifteen minutes later the boy left with Deb, Janice and the dapper church official to find the closest hamburger joint. Harry White departed for another session with the attorney the church had flown in, leaving Mac and Cari alone for the first time since those quiet hours just before dawn in Caribe.
The memory of how they'd killed those hours started a tight curl of desire deep in her belly. Mac's edgy restlessness when faced with the prospect of going back to his room had her suggesting an alternative.
"If Nurse Ratchet gets an okay from your docs, are you ready to blow this joint for a few hours?"
"More than ready."
"Let me go talk to her."
Nurse Ratchet, otherwise known as Lieutenant Commander Smallwood, got the okay.
"Dr. Atwater agrees it'll do the major good to get away from here for a while," she related, her glance on the tall, tanned marine at the far end of the hall. "He wants to talk to him in the morning, though."
The guarded note in her voice brought Can's head around. "Has he heard from the orthopedic surgeons about Mac's shoulder replacement?"
The lieutenant commander hesitated. "From one of them."
She wouldn't say more. She didn't have to. Cari walked back down the hall praying that the second specialist would offe
r a different assessment of Mac's candidacy for replacement surgery.
Twenty minutes later, she parked her rental car outside a waterfront restaurant that advertised the meanest crabs in south Texas.
Chapter 11
"I like your sister," Mac confided over a late lunch of steamed crab and fried clams.
"You'll like her even more after you see her in action." Smiling, Cari dunked a clam in creamy tartar sauce. "Deb swears she could never take the discipline of military life, yet somehow manages to get her kids off to school, the dogs and cats to the vet and her husband on his way to work each morning wearing a silly grin."
"A four-star general in the making," Mac agreed.
"My whole family is like that. I don't ever remember my mom raising her voice to us kids—and I know we gave her plenty of opportunity—but she kept the troops in line."
"Must be where you inherited it," he commented. "You've got a core of solid steel inside that pint-sized package."
"That's a compliment, right?"
She was never quite sure with Mac.
"That's most definitely a compliment." Smiling, he wrapped his fist around a giant-sized mug of iced tea. "If your sister has half your bullheaded determination to see things through, she's a remarkable woman."
Her skin warmed with pleasure. The flush added to the heat generated by the sight of Mac downing a long swallow of his tea. She found her glance riveted to the strong column of his throat, the smooth play of muscle and tendon, the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow darkening the underside of his chin. Suddenly, she ached to rub her cheek against his, to enjoy the scratchy contact.
One lascivious thought led instantly to another. In the blink on an eye, she was imagining how it would feel to rub areas other than his cheek. Heat speared through her, and the muscles low in her belly spasmed.
"What about you?" she asked, as much to recover from the sudden wallop as to keep the conversation rolling. "Any brothers or sisters?"
"None that I know of, although..."
"Although?"
"My mother departed the scene when I was about ten. For all I know, she could have produced a whole passel of additional offspring."
"What about your dad?"
"He departed shortly after that."
His tone was easy, but Cari sensed the walls going up. This time, she decided to go around them.
"So who raised you?"
"A series of foster families."
He deflected her rush of pity with a wry smile.
"I wasn't the easiest kid to take in. Like your sister, I had a distinct aversion to discipline."
"Uh-huh. That's why you chose the U.S. Marine Corps."
The smile deepened. "It was either the marines or jail. For once, F made the right choice. Looks like you need a refill on your iced tea."
With that neat change of subject, he turned and signaled the waiter. The windows behind him were hooked up to allow the breeze from the Gulf to skip through the restaurant, fluttering the paper napkins. The late-afternoon sun bounced off the water in a thousand sparkling pinpricks and framed Mac in a nimbus of light. Another wave of heat washed over Cari again as she took in the rugged masculinity of his profile.
Her glance slid down to the bandages encasing his shoulder. She had no idea how much pain he was experiencing, if any. The nurses had told her he'd stopped taking the pain medication two days ago and refused so much as an aspirin to get him through the past few nights.
It was the night ahead that occupied her thoughts.
"How's your shoulder?" she asked when they departed the Crab Shack and made for her rented vehicle.
"It's there."
"Are you in a hurry to get back to the hospital?"
"What do you think?"
"What I think," she said, sliding into the driver's seat, "is that it's still early. Why don't we detour by the visiting officers' quarters? You can take a look at the final draft of the report," she added conversationally. "I have it on my laptop."
Cari let him go on thinking she had work on her mind until the door snicked shut behind them. She leaned against it, intending to inform him her intentions were somewhat less than honorable.
She never got the chance.
Mac's intentions evidently ran along the same lines as hers. He propped his good arm against the door, leaned his body into hers and swooped in for a kiss that knocked the breath back down her throat.
"So I guess you're not interested in the draft report," she teased when they both came up for air.
"Not as interested as I am in the buttons on this shirt," he replied, zeroing in on her red-checkered blouse.
One by one, the buttons gave under his ringers. Shivers danced just under Cari's skin as his knuckles traced a path from her neckline to her waist. One-handed, he shoved the material aside. When his breath left on a long hiss, she gave silent thanks that she'd opted for a lacy bra and high-on-the-thigh bikini briefs this morning instead of her usual cotton and spandex.
"If you hadn't suggested coming back to your quarters," he growled, his palm hot on the soft mound of her flesh, "I was going to prop a chair under the door handle of my hospital room and ravage you."
"You've been wounded in the line of duty. How about I do the ravishing this time around?"
His hand stilled. Eyes glinting, he gave her a wolfish grin. "Works for me."
"Okay, Major. The first step is to get you semi-horizontal."
Hooking two fingers in the waistband of his cutoffs, she tugged him to the sofa.
"Sit!"
"Yes, ma'am."
He lowered himself to the sofa and watched with interest as she unzipped her slacks. They slithered down her hips, landed in a heap on the carpet. She stepped out of them and undid the last few buttons on her blouse. It followed her slacks to the floor. Yanking at the clip that held her hair up in a loose twist, she shook the thick brown strands free. A moment later she'd kicked off her sandals, planted a knee on either side of Mac's hips and straddled him.
"This is nice," she observed, brushing his lips with hers. "We're eye to eye and mouth to mouth."
"Very nice."
She dropped a string of kisses that trailed from his lips to his chin to the taut cords at the side of his neck. He took advantage of her crouched position to find the curve of her bottom with his good hand.
As he fondled her through the silky fabric of her briefs, fiery hunger ignited in Cari's veins. She wanted to crawl all over him, chew him up and swallow him whole. Nipping at his warm flesh, she issued a husky demand.
"Promise me you'll tell me if I hurt your shoulder."
Mac couldn't help himself. Laughing, he squeezed her butt. "Oh, babe, you've already got me hurting so bad you could sit on my shoulder and I wouldn't feel it."
He slouched against the sofa back, taking her with him. Her tight, trim behind filled his hand. Her breasts brushed his chest. All inclination to laughter fled as Mac met the thrust of her hot, wet tongue with his own.
He hadn't lied to her. He was hurting from his neck to his knees. Had been, one way or another, since the first time he'd laid eyes on this stubborn, seductive, incredible woman. He'd buried his hunger for her all those weeks in New Mexico. He'd had a job to do. So had she. She'd also been on the phone to that wuss up in Washington almost every night.
That was then, he thought on a surge of desire so hot and raw it seared his entire body. Now...
Now, she was his.
The primitive male urge to possess her, to leave his scent on her, slammed into him. It took him a moment to remember he was a United States Marine, not some Roman mercenary or robber baron who could cart a woman off as plunder. Another moment to admit Cari wasn't the carting-off type. She'd probably deck him if he tried any Neanderthal tactics on her. Besides, he didn't have a single damned condom anywhere on him!
Cursing his lack of foresight, Mac slid his hand between her thighs. His thumb rubbed back and forth, generating a friction that soon had her gasping and Mac sweatin
g. Gritting his teeth to keep from hooking his arm around her waist and dragging her under him, he found the leg opening of her briefs.
Her inner flesh was smooth and hot. Mac slipped a finger inside her, then two. With slow, sure thrusts, he stoked the fires that flushed her skin and left it slick and damp. Fierce satisfaction gripped him as Cari's head went back. Writhing, she rode the waves of wild sensation.
Suddenly, she went stiff. Her eyes flew open. "Mac, I'm too... I can't..."
"So don't."
She tried to wiggle away. "I'm supposed to be...doing the rav...aging here."
"We'll take turns."
Ruthlessly suppressing his own raging need, he exerted just enough pressure with his thumb to produce a long, ragged groan. Once more Cari's head went back. Her eyes squeezed shut. Violent shudders racked her small, perfect body.
Mac almost lost it himself right then and there. She was his most erotic fantasy come to life. Slender curves. Hot flesh. Her back arched. Her hair was a spill of dark, tangled silk.
Slowly, her thighs relaxed and she sank down onto his. Mac ground his back teeth together until the last throes of her climax passed and she opened her eyes.
"Wow!" She essayed a wobbly smile. "Give me a minute and I'll take my turn."
Still in the grip of his own aching desire and the primal need to possess this woman, Mac started to tell her he intended to give her a whole lifetime of minutes. Just in time, he bit back the words. He wasn't in any shape to stake that kind of a claim on her. Not yet.
Once the docs fit him with a new shoulder, though, she couldn't run far or fast enough to get away from him. Forcing himself to bide his time—mentally and physically—he stayed perfectly still until Cari had regained enough strength to slide off his lap onto her knees.
With a small, wicked smile, she popped the snap on his cut-offs. The zipper came down. Her hands found him, freed him, gripped him. She trailed the tip of a finger down the rigid shaft. Drew it back up again. Wet her lips.
Then it was Mac's turn to throw his head back and let out a long, low groan.
The rap on the door came while Mac's heart was still trying to pump blood back to his outer extremities. He dragged his head up and rasped out a hoarse query.
The Right Stuff Page 11