“If you’re still good for a visit this weekend, Ben and I will take you up on the offer of a minihoneymoon.”
“I’m still good.”
“Any chance you can fly up Friday morning?”
“As a matter of fact, I can. My boss at Flamingo hired another dancer, like, three hours after I gave notice. Right now I’m mostly just training her and otherwise killing time.”
“Great. I’ll go online as soon as we disconnect and get your plane ticket.”
“You don’t need to buy my ticket. I volunteered for this gig, remember?”
“Do not argue. It’s a done deal.”
She yielded gracefully, then wanted to know, “Have you and Ben decided where you’re going?”
“Someplace with solid soundproofing.”
Chelsea’s laughter bubbled through the phone. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Chapter Nine
Alex picked Chelsea up at the airport just after 10 a.m. on Friday morning. Her former roommate wasn’t hard to spot among the throng streaming out of the controlled concourse. She measured five-ten in her stocking feet. Add her brand-new four-inch, ankle-strap sandals in screaming red and she towered over most of the other passengers.
Then there were the pushed-up, pushed-out breasts displayed to perfection by one of Alex’s designs, complemented by the turquoise and silver streaks in her otherwise glossy black hair. Practically every head in the waiting area swiveled as she swept in.
“I love it,” Alex declared after they’d exchanged fierce hugs and she got an up close look at her former roomie’s hair. “You matched the colors in the T-shirt perfectly. You’re a walking advert, Chels.”
“I live to serve.”
Hooking her arm through Alex’s, Chelsea moderated her long-legged stride so the two friends could cruise through the terminal hip to hip. She then filled the drive to the casita with a lively commentary on her new gig, all the while dismissing Alex’s concerns about her aquatic abilities. Ben hadn’t made it home yet when they arrived but Sox provided an enthusiastic welcome.
“Whoa! What’s this?” Dropping her weekender in the tiled hallway, Chelsea scooped up the kitten and aimed a quick glance at Alex. “I thought you intended to hold firm against Maria’s pleas until the adoption went through?”
“I got outvoted.”
“Interesting.” Chelsea nuzzled the gray-and-white puff. “Any other changes I should know about?”
“Well...”
“What? Oh, Christ, Lex! You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“We’ve been married just over three weeks, Chels. Hardly time to start reproducing. Besides, we’re being careful.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s what they all say. So what other changes are you making?”
Alex stalled long enough to pour them both tall glasses of iced tea. They settled at the kitchen table, the kitten now nested comfortably between Chelsea’s breasts.
“You remember how my plan called for a no-fuss, no-frills divorce a suitable time after the adoption went through?”
“Like I could forget?”
“Ben and I have decided to, uh, delay the divorce.”
“Delay? For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
Her friend’s brows soared. “Well, well, well. Didn’t I predict something like this at the wedding?”
“Did you?”
“Yes, sweetcakes, I did. So what’s the story? Is there something going on here I should know about?”
Alex smudged her finger along the rim of her glass. “It’s complicated.”
“What in your life isn’t?” Chelsea huffed. “C’mon, Lex, spill it. What’s the problem?”
“Oh, Chels, I feel as though I’m riding a roller coaster and can’t get off. The wedding, Ben’s accident, his moving in here, Maria’s dad up for parole, the judge making—”
“Whoa! Back up! The Slime is eligible for parole?”
Chelsea’s exclamation startled the drowsy kitten. Sox blinked awake and dug her claws into the warm, tender flesh of her nest.
“Ow!” Wincing, Chelsea extricated the sharp little barbs and repositioned the fur puffball. “When is this supposed to happen?”
“Within the next couple of weeks. And now the judge is making noises that he might delay the adoption hearing pending the decision of the parole board.”
“Damn! That sucks.”
“Big-time,” Alex agreed. “My lawyer’s fighting any further delay. He’s also advised the court of my new marital status. We’re not sure now, though, that the fact I’m married will make that much of a difference.”
“Why the hell not?”
“This particular judge has a record of ruling in favor of natural over adoptive parents. If Eddie Musgrove gets out, lands a job, finds a decent apartment and continues to object to giving up his parental rights, my chances are iffy at best.”
“But Maria doesn’t even know El Slime. She’s seen him, what, all of four or five times since your sister died?”
“Three.”
The ugliness of those three visits could still raise a bad taste in Alex’s mouth. On each occasion Eddie had shown only minimal interest in his daughter. His primary motivation the first two times was to get Alex to stop hounding him for child support. The final visit involved a desperate demand for cash to pay off the distributor who’d threatened to break a few bones if Eddie didn’t deliver on what he owed.
Alex hadn’t shared the sordid details of those visits with Maria. The girl was too young, too vulnerable. She didn’t need any more trauma or turbulence. Now, though, Alex couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake shielding Eddie Musgrove’s daughter from her father’s real persona.
He’d been a mediocre guitarist at best. A skinny, ponytailed wannabe who wouldn’t have hit the big leagues in a dozen lifetimes. Yet the bastard could ooze charm when he wanted to. Enough to dazzle the groupie who’d given birth to his daughter before she dumped the kid on Eddie and took off for parts unknown. Enough to convince Alex’s sister that he really meant all those lies he spewed. He might ooze that same slick charm with the judge, too. The possibility made Alex feel physically ill.
“Maria loves you,” Chelsea said, breaking into her grim thoughts. “Every bit as much as you love her. No way she’ll want to go with a father she barely knows. Won’t her wishes count with the judge?”
“God, I hope so.”
Chelsea reached across the table. Her fingers were wet and cold from the condensation on her glass but the grip on Alex’s forearm was tight and comforting. She and Alex might have totally different personalities. Their approach to life and love diverged at several critical points. Yet there was no one Alex trusted more.
Except maybe Ben. The realization sliced through her chaotic thoughts and brought a fresh wave of guilt.
“Then there’s the fact that I’ve sucked Ben into a legal morass,” she continued glumly. “If there’s any hint our marriage isn’t real... If the judge or the hearing officer or whoever comes out to interview us suspects I jockeyed him into marriage just to get custody of Maria...”
“But you said the two of you have decided to put all talk of divorce on hold,” Chelsea said, obviously trying to make sense of the confusing situation. “Doesn’t that mean you want to make a go of your marriage?”
Alex nodded, but the expression on her face had Chelsea cocking her head.
“Again I ask, what’s the problem? You jumped at my offer to hang here with Maria so you and hubs could rack up some us time. Sounds like a genuine attempt at making it work to me.”
“It is. And we’re both grateful to you. It’s just...”
“Yes?”
Alex smudged the rim of her glass again. “The more I get to know Ben, the guiltier I feel about fast-talking him into marriage. He’s a great guy, Chel
s. Smart, dedicated to the service, supermacho yet—and he’d never admit to this—surprisingly sensitive. He’s also amazingly patient with Maria.” A smile tugged at her heart. “She’s already decided she’s going to be a pilot, just like Ben.”
“Uh-oh.”
Chelsea transferred the kitten from the valley between her breasts to her lap and sat up. Sox protested the displacement with a little mewl and a show of claws but curled right up again.
“I begin to see the problem,” the dancer announced. “You’re in love with the major, and he’s in like with you and the kid.”
“Yes. No. I mean, I’m not quite there but I’m close. Too damned close to want to hold him in a one-sided relationship. He deserves more.”
“Maybe this is enough for him. You. Maria. A kitty and a home to come back to after his military missions.”
“He gives that impression but...” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure it’s enough for me. I told Ben I didn’t need hearts and flowers, but I guess I’m still stupid enough to want them.”
“Christ, roomie! Only you could get this whole thing ass backward. What’s that stupid saying? First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes—”
“Some twit with a baby carriage,” Alex finished drily.
“Right. You’ve got the kid. You’ve got the wedding ring. You’ve also got a man who’s jumped through hoops for you. So you need to take him up to Santa Fe or wherever you’re going for the weekend and make love to him until his brain slides sideways and every muscle in his body weeps. I guarantee you’ll both come home awash in hearts and flowers.”
Alex had to laugh. “Trust you to reduce things to bare-knuckle basics.”
“More like bare-assed basics.” She scooped Sox up and pushed away from the table. “Now show me what you feed this little critter, then go get packed.”
“I’m already packed, and feeding him is Maria’s job. Also cleaning the litter box, although she may need a little assistance with that.”
“No prob.”
* * *
Alex had just finished giving Chelsea a rundown of the kitty’s routine when Ben got home. He was in uniform when he joined them in the kitchen. Surprised, she saw he’d traded his crutches and cast for a black orthopedic boot and cane.
“What’s this?”
“Saw the doc this morning and he says I’ve got exceptionally strong bones, so the cast came off.” He stumped across the tiles to drop a kiss on Chelsea’s cheek. “Good to see you again.”
“Ditto.”
“Thanks for volunteering to Maria-sit this weekend.”
“My pleasure. And,” she added with a sly smile, “hopefully yours.”
Ben responded with a grin and a quick nod to Alex. “Give me ten minutes and we’re on our way.”
He was true to his word. Showered, changed and toting a leather carryall, he insisted on carrying Alex’s weekender, too.
“Remember,” Chelsea murmured as Alex headed out the door. “Brain sideways, muscles weeping.”
* * *
Tantalizing visions of just how she’d bring Ben to that extreme condition occupied Alex’s thoughts for the better part of the hour-long drive to Santa Fe. She’d made the trip many times since moving from Vegas to Albuquerque, usually to check the silver-and-turquoise jewelry crafted by Native Americans and sold in every shape and size and price range to the hoards of international visitors who crowded the plaza. As a result, she wasn’t particularly interested in the passing scenery that included a sweep down to the Rio Grande on the left and the Sandia Mountains standing stark against the sky on the right. Nor did she anticipate that Ben would want to play tourist once they arrived.
He didn’t, but he surprised her with a request just as they hit the outskirts of the city. “Mind if we make a short stop to visit a buddy of mine?”
“No, of course not. Who is it?”
“Guy I was stationed with at Kadena. We flew a bunch of missions together and pretty much kept the economy of Okinawa afloat when off duty.”
“Barhopping?”
“Karate,” he replied, grinning. “Okinawa is actually the birthplace of karate. The schools there teach different styles than those taught in traditional Japanese schools.”
Alex would have to take his word for that. She’d taken a few self-defense classes but they mostly involved knees to the groin and the heel of the hand to the nose.
“Joe was a 5th-dan black belt,” Ben said as he flipped on the turn signal and took the exit for the Santa Fe bypass. “That’s more or less equivalent to holding a master’s degree in martial arts.”
The city outskirts began to appear, the flat-topped adobe structures looking small and humble compared to the distant Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Snow glistened on the highest peaks, and the air was noticeably clearer. Sharper. More translucent. Santa Fe was two thousand feet higher in elevation than Albuquerque, which itself sat a mile above sea level.
“Joe was determined to get me to at least the high school level of karate,” Ben continued, “but we shipped out before I passed muster.”
“Shipped out to where?”
“Can’t say, except to tell you it was hot as hell and twice as nasty.”
He flipped on the turn signal again and moved into the left lane, following the sign directing them to downtown and museums. As soon as they crossed the overpass, Ben took a left onto Guadalupe Street, then another quick left. And there, directly ahead of them, was the entrance to the Santa Fe National Cemetery.
Alex gave Ben a startled glance as he drove through the gates.
“Joe’s aircraft took a hit from a SAM—a surface-to-air missile—our last mission in that hellhole,” he explained. “The plane exploded midair. We lost the entire crew.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too. Joe was one of the good guys.”
He steered the Tahoe down a wide asphalt drive toward a towering flagpole. On either side of the drive, curving lines of tombstones wove through shady pines and fragrant piñon trees. The markers were all uniformly white and elegantly simple.
Except one. Ben slowed so Alex could take in a rough-carved sandstone monument that showed a reclining soldier wearing boots and a cartridge belt, his back slumped against a tree trunk.
“That’s Private Dennis O’Leary,” Ben told her. “According to legend, he was a miserably unhappy loner who didn’t fit in with his fellow troopers at Fort Wingate, here in New Mexico. He went AWOL for several weeks and was sentenced to a stretch in the guardhouse when he returned. After his release, he waited until April 1, then shot himself.”
“Oh, no.”
“The story doesn’t end there.” Keeping his foot on the brake, Ben hooked an arm over the steering wheel and gazed past Alex at the reddish-brown monument. “O’Leary left a note instructing his bunk mates to take a wagon to a certain location in the mountains to retrieve a ‘memento’ he’d left there. When they got there, they found this tombstone. Can you read the inscription?”
Alex lowered the window and squinted at the sandstone scroll propped against the tree trunk. “I can’t quite make out the words.”
“‘Dennis O’Leary,’” Ben recited for her. “‘Private, Company 1, 23 Infantry, died April 1, 1901, age twenty-three years and nine months.’”
“He carved his own tombstone?”
“With the date of his death.”
“Now, that is even more sad.”
“He was interred at Fort Wingate, but when that fort shut down all the graves there were moved here.”
Ben’s gaze moved to the rows of white tombstones that flowed down the grassy slope behind Private O’Leary. Once again the Sangre de Cristos formed a dramatic backdrop, with cottony clouds drifting among their peaks.
“Joe was Native American,” he told Alex quietly. “From the Cochiti Pueblo. A number of his
relatives are buried here, including several who served as Navajo Code Talkers in World War II. Joe always said he was looking forward to joining them someday and hearing their war stories. His someday came a little sooner than anticipated.”
Alex wasn’t sure what to say so she kept still until Ben’s mouth kicked up in a small grin.
“The Badger orchestrated the memorial service here at the cemetery. It was quite a send-off. Probably made a few of those code talkers wonder what the hell their relative had done to warrant that kind of demonstration.”
Releasing the brake, he followed a winding road to a section of the cemetery shaded by pines. He pulled over, put the Tahoe in Park and killed the ignition. When he got out and rounded the hood to lean against the front fender, Alex joined him.
“That’s Joe,” he said, nodding to a tombstone just a few feet from the road. The marble was noticeably whiter than many of the older markers, but the inscription was as simple and moving as those on those around it. Just his name, rank, branch of service, birthday and the day he died.
“I swing by here every trip to Santa Fe,” Ben commented, loose and relaxed against the fender. “It’s so peaceful, and the memories are good.”
For him, maybe. Staring at Joe Wilson’s marker brought back those awful moments after the early morning call saying Ben had been involved in an accident. Alex had barely known him then, yet the panic had been so real, so sharp.
Gulping, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how she would react if she got that same call now. Didn’t want to imagine it. Suddenly cold despite the bright sun and warm May breeze rustling through the trees, she crossed her arms and rubbed away the goose bumps.
Ben finished his silent communion with his buddy a moment later and pushed off the fender. “I’m starving. How about we check in to the hotel and grab some lunch?”
* * *
Since Alex had left the choice of a hotel for their getaway weekend to Ben, he’d decided to make up for not being able to stay at a plush Vegas honeymoon suite. A few queries at the squadron and some serious sleuthing via the net narrowed the choices to two five-star hotels. One was part of a high-priced chain. The other was an even higher priced boutique hotel a block off the plaza. Since the only room available was their ultraluxurious Governor’s Suite, Ben had ignored the four-figure tab for the weekend and gone first class.
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