"It might not blow over until tomorrow," Cari warned as he led the way into the living room. "Kate—our associate from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration—says the front has set-tled over this corner of the Gulf."
Jack didn't seem to find the prospect of being cooped up in a small condo with a pregnant wife, five children and an eighty-pound poodle the least daunting. That was only one of the reasons Cari loved him. The goofy smile that came over his face when his glance rested on Deb was another.
Her sister sat at the table set strategically near the sliding glass with their panoramic view of the Gulf. Her youngest was nestled against her distended belly. The rest of her brood were in chairs crowded around the table.
"Thank goodness!" Deb exclaimed when she spotted the newcorners. "Reinforcements! Grab a chair and help me fight off this hoard of warlocks."
"Not warlocks, Mom." His eyes serious behind his round, Harry Potter-style glasses, her eight-year-old corrected her. "Wizards."
"Right. Wizards. Major, this is our eldest, Ben." She gave each of the kids crowded around the table a quick nod. "In order of age but not importance, these are Julie, Logan and Pitty-Pat, also known as Patricia. Paulo you already know, of course."
From her precarious perch on her mother's almost nonexistent lap, two-year-old Pitty-Pat thrust her thumb in her mouth and regarded Mac with wide brown eyes. He returned her solemn look before knuckling Paulo's dark head.
"Hiya, kid."
The boy tried for one of his scowls at this rough and ready treatment, but couldn't quite disguise his relief at seeing a familiar face. He settled back in his chair, making no effort to shrug off the hand Mac rested on his shoulder while the older kids peppered the newcomer with questions about the badges and ribbons adorning his uniform shirt.
"Are you in the coast guard like Aunt Cari?"
"What's that shiny metal thing?"
"Do you know how to navigate by the stars?"
The last came from Ben, who, his father explained, was working on a merit badge for scouts on celestial navigation.
"I'm in the United States Marine Corps," he answered with an easy smile, "not the coast guard. This is an expert marksmanship badge. And yes, I can find my way using celestial navigation but prefer to use GPS."
"Then you should be really good at hunting down witches and wizards," Deb said cheerfully. "Here, take my place. I need to make a potty nan."
"Again?"
"Mo...om!"
From the groans that rose from the group at the table, this wasn't her first potty run of the game. Nor, Cari suspected, would it be her last. Unperturbed, Deb shifted Pitty-Pat off her lap onto the one next to hers, which happened to be Paulo's. The toddler went willingly, and the boy caged his arms around her with the same casually protective air he'd used with little Rosa.
Jack dragged a chair in from the living room for Cari and wedged it in next to the one Deb had turned over to Mac. She took it willingly, but wouldn't let them abandon the game in progress to start over and include her.
"I'll just watch while you finish this game."
Jack and Ben did their best to explain the complex and apparently fluid rules of engagement to Mac, Deb's stand-in. To Cari's amusement, the marine was soon racing for his life through nests of giant spiders and smacking into castle walls that inexplicably moved when he did. After his third encounter with one of these board-jumping walls, even Paulo was chuffing with laughter.
"Think that's funny, do you?" Mac rattled the dice. "Better watch it, kid. I'm hot on your tail and coming after you."
The noise levels rose with each roll of the dice. Squeals of delight, shrieks of dismay, exclamations of triumph all reverberated through the condo. Pierre the Poodle added to the pandemonium by dashing back and forth. Torn between the action at the table and his self-appointed duty of warning off the pesky seagulls swooping down outside, he emitted nonstop growls, yips and woofs.
Despite the pandemonium, Cari found herself wishing the game would go on forever. This was what she wanted. For herself and for Mac. A noisy room filled with love and laughter and children. All happy, all giggling. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took in the sight of Mac and Paulo trading mock scowls while engaged in seemingly mortal combat.
Deb returned from the bathroom, but waved Mac back when he would have relinquished her place at the board. "You're doing great. Keep rolling those dice and I'll order the pizza. Who wants what on theirs?"
She noted the long list of particulars with the mental agility of a waitress and ambled into the kitchen. Cari abandoned her observation post to join her. Thankfully, the swinging door to the kitchen cut the noise level from ultra high frequency decibel level to almost bearable.
"I don't know how you maintain your calm in the midst of all that chaos," Cari commented with a wry smile.
Laughing, Deb dragged the fat local phone book out of the drawer under the wall-mounted phone. "The same way you maintain yours when you take your coast guard cutter out in near gale-force winds to chase down some dope smuggler."
Pizza ordered, the two sisters set out soft drinks and plastic cups, then claimed the rattan bar stools set at the kitchen counter. With their backs to the swinging door and a view through the windows over the sink of the storm-tossed Gulf before them, they stole a few moments of relative calm and comfort.
"I like your major," Deb commented while waiting for the fizz in her soft drink to subside.
"Funny, he said exactly the same thing about you."
"What's funny about that? He's obviously a man of discerning taste and unerring judgment. But then we already knew that. He hooked you, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Cari admitted softly. "He did."
"So what's the deal with you two? When are you going to take him home to meet the folks?"
She answered the easier question first. "Not any time soon. The docs are sending him back to his duty station on restricted duty while he completes a regimen of physical therapy."
Deb's brow knit. "They're not going to do that shoulder replacement you told me about?"
"Apparently he's not a viable candidate."
"Bummer!" She digested that for a few moments. "Back to the first part of my question. What's the deal with you two?"
"There is no deal. Yet. The surgeons just delivered the bad news this morning. Mac and I haven't had a chance to talk about where we go from here."
"What's to talk about? It's obvious you're crazy about him. If the feeling's mutual, why don't you just go for it?"
"That's pretty much my plan, but it's not as simple as it sounds. Mac has to return to the marine corps base at Cherry Point, North Carolina, for one thing. I'm heading off in a different direction. For another, he won't know whether he'll remain on active duty until after he meets a medical evaluation board."
"I don't see the problem. You love him. You think he loves you. You should do what comes naturally and work through the problems as they come."
Leave it to Deb to strip matters down to basics. Her husband and her family came first. Everything else came a distant second.
"Besides which," she added, "that boy needs a home. A permanent home."
"Paulo?"
"Yes, Paulo. Don't tell me you haven't thought about adopting him. I saw the way you watched him and Mac together. You want the whole package, sister mine. I could read it in your face."
"Yes, I do. But it can't happen, Deb. Not any time in the foreseeable future, anyway. My duties take me away for long stretches at a time. Mac is facing months of painful therapy before he meets that eval board. The therapy could take months, even years. No court is going to grant us custody of a child under those conditions. Particularly when the child himself may have to undergo a series of operations."
Deb's jaw locked in stubborn lines. She wasn't about to concede the point, but had trouble coming up with cogent counterarguments. Absorbed in the discussion, neither sister noticed the boy who'd nudged the swinging door open a few inches, an em
pty glass in his hand.
His young face twisted into an expression too old for his age. As silent as a shadow, he backed out of the kitchen.
Chapter 13
The battle of the boards carried over until the doorbell buzzed. Instantly, the kids lost all interest in witches and wizards.
"Pizza!" five-year-old Logan shouted.
"Peasa!" Pitty-Pat echoed joyfully.
"Okay, kids." Their father shoved back his chair. "You know the drill."
Mac watched the resulting scramble with an appreciative eye. The Hamilton clan could have shown a platoon of new recruits a thing or two. With a furious burst of energy, Ben and Julie cleared the table and put away the board game. Logan dashed into the kitchen to help his mom and aunt Cari bring in plastic plates and drinking glasses. Pitty-Pat's chubby fingers curled around Paulo's to draw him into the whirlwind of activity.
"I show you."
His mouth set, Paulo jerked his hand free. The toddler's face screwed up for a moment but she was too well used to the vagaries of older siblings to make a fuss. Curling her rosebud lips around her thumb, she trotted off.
Mac noted the exchange. He also noted that Jack was reaching for his wallet. "Lunch is on me," he said easily, dropping a hand on Paulo's shoulder. "Come on, squirt. Help me carry in the pizza."
The deliveryman was huddled under the skimpy front overhang. Rain splashed off his red carrying case onto the cardboard boxes Mac piled in Paulo's outstretched arms. He gave the man a generous tip for braving the weather and closed the door on the storm.
When Paulo started for the living room, Mac stayed him with a gentle hand. "You okay, kid?"
The boy's eyes lifted. Mac caught a flash of something he couldn't interpret in their dark depths. Frowning, he eased the boxes out of Paulo's hands onto a handy hall table and dropped down on one knee.
"What is it? Why did you suddenly get so quiet in the middle of the game?"
Paulo hesitated, then used his hands in an attempt to communicate. Frustrated by his inability to understand, Mac shook his head. "Sorry, I don't get what you're saying."
Scowling, the kid reached out and lightly touched his sling.
"Are you worried about my shoulder?"
Paulo answered with a quick jerk of his chin.
"I won't lie to you. It hurts like hell, but it'll get better. Eventually."
The boy's fingers fluttered upward, dusted over the gold oak leaf on the collar of Mac's khaki shirt.
"What?"
Small white teeth bit down on a lower lip. Once more Paulo fingered the oak leaf, this time with an urgent question in his eyes.
Hell! The kid had picked up more than Mac had realized during his visits to the hospital.
"Did you hear I might get booted out of the marines?"
The nod was slower this time.
"Well, I might. But not for a long time yet. They're going to make me do some exercises for a while, see how the shoulder works before they make any decisions."
The urgency faded from the black eyes. It was replaced by something that hovered between resignation and despair. His thin shoulders sagging under the Spider-Man T-shirt, he reached for the pizza boxes.
"Listen to me, kid." Curling his good hand under Paulo's chin, he tipped the small face to his. "I know you've got some tough times ahead, too."
Tough didn't begin to describe it. Mac knew all too well what it was like to move into a strange house and try to fit in with a new family, all the while knowing both were only temporary.
Added to that, the kid faced the possibility of a series of operations followed by the excruciating experience of learning to speak through an artificial voice box. Mac decided right then and there that wherever he was, whatever private hell he might be going through himself, he'd be there when the kid went under the knife.
"I'm going to talk to the Hamiltons. Ask them to keep me posted on how you're doing. I'll talk to you, too. Regularly. And if you decide to have the operation Dr. White told you about, I'll fly in to be with you. I promise."
Paulo didn't believe him. Mac could see it in the kid's expression. He'd been abandoned too many times to pin his hopes on anyone but himself.
Not for the first time Mac cursed the bullet that had landed him in this frigging state of limbo. He couldn't plan, couldn't act, couldn't direct the course of his own life much less affect anyone else's. Savagely, he shoved aside his crazy, half-baked idea of standing sponsor to the kid and sharing a hospital room while the docs gave Paulo an artificial voice and Mac a new shoulder. The shoulder wasn't going to happen, but he'd damned well go AWOL if necessary to hear the kid speak his first words.
"I'll be there," he promised again. "When you go into the hospital or any other time you need me. You just have the Hamiltons call, okay? One call and I'll hotfoot it down to Shreveport. Got that?"
Paulo nodded but wouldn't meet Mac's eyes. Retrieving the pizzas, he carted them into the other room.
Coming on top of the grim verdict on his shoulder, Mac's inability to offer the boy more than promises frayed the edges of his temper. The easy smile stayed on his face. He downed his share of pizza. He even managed to hold his own against Pitty-Pat and Logan in a rowdy game of Mr. Potato Head. But he was coiled as tight as a cocked pistol by the time Cari told her sister they had to leave. Although the kids raised an instant chorus of protests, Deb didn't try to strong-arm them into staying. Mac got the distinct impression Cari had indicated the two of them needed to talk.
Talking wasn't the only item on his agenda. Nor was it the first. The need to tumble this woman into his arms and into bed grew with each whishing roll of the car's tires on the rain-soaked pavement.
His rational mind said he should put the skids on. Now. Despite Cari's assertion that they were already in too deep, he knew he could slice through the web of desire they'd woven around themselves. One swift cut, that's all it would take to sever the silken ties. Then all he'd have to do was get through the months and years ahead knowing he'd shoved the one woman he'd ever wanted in his life right out of it.
Not that Cari was the type to let a man shove her in or out of anything. She had her own agenda, Mac discovered when they dashed through the rain and gained the dry warmth of her rooms at the visiting officers' quarters. An agenda that didn't rank discussing their future within the top two must-do's.
Her first priority, she informed him on a husky note that put an instant kink in his gut, was to get them both naked. Her second, using up the contents of that box of condoms.
She set about the first task almost as soon as the door thudded shut behind them. Her hands eager, she tugged his shirt free of his pants and worked the buttons. As each button slipped through the hole she treated him to nipping little kisses.
Mac held back, reminding himself of all the reasons they should talk before making use of his emergency supplies. Cari's tongue and busy little hands torpedoed the last of his rapidly disintegrating restraint. She got his shirt down his good arm, but the sling stymied her.
"How the heck do you get your clothes on and off over this thing?"
His mouth curved. "Very carefully."
Unbuckling the sling, he eased down the straps. He ignored his shoulder's instant scream of protest and kept his arm bent. Frowning in concentration, Cari carefully removed his uniform blouse and undershirt. They hit the floor while Mac rebuckled the sling.
"You're pretty good with that left hand," she observed, trailing her fingertips down his sternum. As light as it was, her touch set every one of his nerves jumping like sailors on a hot steel deck. And when her fingers slid inside his belt, he gave up any thought of postponing the inevitable.
He wanted this woman with a hunger that gored a hole right through his middle. The flush of desire staining her cheeks told him she wanted him with the same vicious need.
"Come into the bedroom with me," he said on a low growl, "and I'll show you just how good I am with my left hand."
He was better than good, Cari
thought on a rush of heat some moments later. He gave a whole new meaning to the term ambidextrous.
Wedging pillows under his injured shoulder, he propped himself up enough to explore her sprawled body. He took his time about it. Skimming his left hand from her neck to her knees, he traced every curve, every valley. The calluses on his palm raised little pinpricks of sensation everywhere they brushed. The lazy circle his thumb rasped over her nipple drew it into a tight, tingling bud.
Within moments he'd progressed from her breast to the curve of her belly. When he slid his hand between her thighs and pressed the heel against her mound, Cari shot straight from tiny pinpricks to giant waves of pleasure. Her belly clenched. The sensations piled up, receded, came crashing in again like the surf pounding the south Texas coast. She arched up, careful not to jar his shoulder, and locked her mouth on his.
His hand pressed harder, his fingers probed deeper. Cari teetered on the edge and pulled back only by a sheer effort of will.
"We took turns last time," she panted. "Let's do this together this time."
More than willing, he rolled onto his back and fumbled for his stash of emergency supplies. Cari usually made it a point to take the necessary precautions herself, but the fact that Mac would put her protection before his pleasure melted her heart and left her swimming in a puddle of want.
This task he couldn't manage one-handed, though. Grinning at his muttered curse, she leaned across him and made short work of the foil wrapper. Her hands slow, her smile wicked, she rolled the thin sheath down his rigid, straining length.
Her smile stayed in place until she'd straddled him. It slipped a little as he positioned himself, and disappeared completely when he flexed his thighs and drove upward. Gasping. Cari fell forward and planted her hands on either side of his head.
Her climax came too fast, too hard, too damned soon! Groaning against Mac's mouth, she clenched her muscles and rode the wild, tossing waves. He tangled his hand in her hair, kept her mouth hard on his and flexed his thighs again. A moment later, he followed her over the edge.
The Right Stuff Page 13