11 Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (6 page)

“That—I’m sorry—that doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to you.” The quiet apology trembling under the fear rent his heart. “Not all Marines are heroes.”

“No, ma’am. They aren’t. Most are good men and women. But we have our share of bad apples—because every Marine is a person, too.” Whatever happened between her and her husband had left scars in her attitude and behavior.

“My husband was a Marine.”

He held his breath and covered by taking a quick swallow of the coffee. It was strong, the way he liked it.

“But he wasn’t a good man.” She damn near whispered the words. He did his best to erase any sense of judgment from his expression and forced himself to listen. The quaver in her voice left him with the urge to deal violence on someone—but that someone was already dead. So he couldn’t fight that battle for her. “He wasn’t a terrible man either, just—he—” She sighed and rose from the sofa. “I need more coffee. Would you like another cup?”

She glanced at the baby. She did that a dozen times every minute. Looked at Libby, studied her, almost assessing her. The need to check on her daughter—particularly one with a heart condition—must be automatic for her.

He drained the last bit from his cup and nodded. “I’d love one.”

“Thank you.” She headed for the kitchen.

He’d just turned the wheelchair when a rapid knock hit the door. She jerked and fell back two steps, her wide eyes fixed on the door, and her chest rising and falling. Panic engulfed her features and Joe’s resolve hardened.

If nothing else confirmed his suspicions about Tuck Carter, his widow’s reactions did.

“It’s the pizza.” he said, reminding her she wasn’t alone. He calmly rolled the chair forward to answer the door. But with one hand on the knob, he waited for her nod. “Go ahead and take care of the coffee. I’ve got this.”

She fled. His heart squeezed. Her fear pissed him off and left him shaken at the same time. He wanted to fix it. He pulled the door open, coordinating the movement by rolling his chair back. The pizza kid couldn’t have been older than seventeen, all long limbs and scrawny features. A late bloomer.

“Two pizzas. Mushroom and sausage, and a pepperoni with extra cheese.” The kid pulled them out of the warmer packet, and Joe retrieved his wallet from the inside pocket of the chair. He counted out a twenty and a ten and gave them to the kid, accepting the pizzas in exchange. They were hot, but he could balance them on the arm.

“Keep the change.”

“Thanks! Have a great night.” The kid didn’t need any further urging and jogged up the path to his car.

With one hand on the pizzas to keep them steady, Joe eased the chair back an inch, pushed the door closed then nudged forward again to drop the locks into place.

The pizzas wobbled, but he balanced them and with a series of one-armed maneuvers, circled back into the living room. His lower back didn’t appreciate the strain, but he ignored the twinge. He was close to getting the damn back brace off. His body could survive a little stress.

Melody stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her pale face giving her eyes a darker, larger appearance.

Holding up the boxes, he smiled. “Mushrooms and sausage is my favorite.”

“Yeah?” The single word shook.

“‘Yep.” He needed to be on his feet. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her nothing would hurt her again. Not without going through him first. But the wheelchair was his key to being there—she seemed to trust his incapacitated state. “Ready to eat?”

“You deserve an explanation.”

“Nope, but I do deserve some pizza.” He beckoned her over. “If you carry them over to the table, I can grab the paper towels.”

“Oh.” She pushed away to claim the pizzas from him. “I can do that and get the coffee.” She hurried before he could respond, and he bit back a sigh of frustration. She lingered in the kitchen long enough to make him worry, but he forced it aside.
How long does it take to make coffee
? If she needed time, the least he could do was give it to her. She returned with two fresh mugs and the paper towels. Her gaze tracked to her daughter, but Libby had barely moved in her absence. Reclaiming her seat on the sofa, Melody avoided his gaze and studied the pizza slice in her hand.

“Melody?”

She blinked at him almost owlishly. “Yes?”

“The game starts in a few minutes if you want to pass the remote.” He swallowed amusement at the baffled expression on her face. “Football game?”

Her quick grimace did manage to draw out his amusement. “I forgot we were going to do that.”

“We don’t have to, but since we’re here, we can watch and you don’t have to try and come up with conversation to fill the silence.” He meant the offer to be genuine, but her expression crumpled.
Way to go asshole, you made her cry
.

“I am a complete and utter mess.”

“So you said, and I disagree. You’re a tough mom. You’ve been holding it together for your little girl and living every moment of every day for her. You’ve put her needs ahead of your own.” The words came out sharper than he intended, but the tears leaking down her cheeks dried up. “Being tough is hard. Being the strong one is hard. Being the one who has to look everyone in the eye, shoulder all the burdens, and stay positive is impossible. No one can do it twenty-four hours a day.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Well, tonight you do. Tonight, we’re going to watch football, eat pizza, drink coffee, and relax. I’ll even give you a hand with Libby.” He didn’t take offense at the skeptical frown on her face. “I’ll have you know I can change a diaper one-handed on babies bigger and a lot meaner than that.”

The declaration worked. She laughed. “You know, I think I do want to watch the football game. But I still owe you….”

He held up his hand. “Nope. You tell me when you’re ready and if you’re never ready—well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Remote, please.”

“Why do you get the remote?” A brief spark of defiance flared in her eyes, and he relaxed for the first time since arriving at the apartment. She wasn’t broken.

Bent, yes.

Broken, no.

“Because I am the football expert and I know what channel the game is on.” He lifted his eyebrows daring her to challenge him again.

“You could just tell me the channel.” The weak effort didn’t diminish its existence.

“True. But then how much fun would that be?”

“I’ll trade you the remote for two more slices of pizza. This is good and I hate pepperoni.”

He threw his head back and laughed, long and throaty. “Deal. I happen to like pepperoni, so I’ll fall on that grenade for you.” They swapped pizzas and she gave him the remote.

Flipping the television on, he set the volume to low so it didn’t bother the sleeping angel, and found the right station. The pre-game rundown flashed the week’s stats. The Giants lost. The Jets were ahead. Cowboys didn’t play ’til Sunday. They ate their pizza in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. In fact, whenever she met his gaze, her fleeting smile grew wider and fed the heat inside of him. He liked seeing the shadows fade from her eyes—maybe she didn’t know anything about sports, but she relaxed.

Halfway through the first quarter, she’d fed and changed the baby and tucked her back into the pen. He couldn’t really tell which of the pair was the most tired, but Melody didn’t make it to the third down before she fell asleep. He nudged his chair forward and dragged a blanket over her then settled next to the playpen.

Libby looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “’S okay, kid. I got this. You and your mom sleep.”

Funny enough, it was the best college game he’d ever watched. Particularly since he didn’t see a single throw.

Chapter Five

She slept for hours. Somewhere between the pizza, coffee, and feeding Libby, she drifted off and woke to a late night talk sports program and Joe cradling Libby in one arm while he fed her a bottle. The alarm on her apnea monitor shrilled, jerking her out of the sleep-blurred state. She reached over and silenced the noise, but couldn’t quite wrap around the sight, and a tidal wave of guilt flooded her. Sitting up abruptly, she fumbled for an apology, but the quiet smile on Joe’s face arrested the words.

“Hey sorry,” he murmured. “I was trying to be careful with that. She woke up about five minutes ago. You had a bottle in the diaper bag, so I changed her and gave it to her. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s—”
Amazing, wonderful, heart-stopping. Do guys like you really exist
? In the six months since her daughter’s birth, Melody had done it all. Struggled through Libby’s illness, taken care of her, visited the doctor regularly, fought the failure to thrive, and soldiered through diagnosis after diagnosis.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” He cocked his head, glancing down at the blonde angel in his arms. “She’s fine and I think she’s not going to be awake much longer. Her eyes are closed.”

Melody rubbed her face, trying to scrub away the sleep. “I should apologize….”

He lifted his eyebrows as though asking,
for what
?

“We were supposed to watch the game and you’re—you had to sit here by yourself—and now you’re feeding her…and….” She tripped over the words, a yawn splitting her jaw on the last one. Rubbing her face again, she pinched her cheek and fought to focus and wake the hell up. She needed coffee—a lot of it.

“Well, see I don’t think we can agree on that.” He worked the empty bottle free from Libby and set it on the coffee table before shifting her, almost rolling her onto her side. She let out an indelicate belch, but her eyes didn’t open. He settled her back into the crook of his arm and tugged the blanket around her.

For the barest of seconds, she envied her daughter. Envied the safety and security nestled in Joe’s very capable arms.
What would it feel like if he held me that way
?

“Melody?”

She dragged her wandering attention back to him. “What?”

“I said I don’t think we can agree on that.” His gentle voice held a trace of a tease in it and she couldn’t contain her smile.

“Why not?”

“Because I wasn’t alone, you let me hang out here and it was nice. It’s nice to be needed.”

The words sent a jolt through her. “Okay, maybe I’m sleep deprived….”

“No maybe about it, darling. You’re exhausted.” The absolute lack of judgment coupled with genuine sympathy softened the words.

“Yeah, okay. I’m definitely sleep deprived. But I’m not getting how it’s nice to be needed….”

“I like being useful. I’ve been at Mike’s Place for weeks, recovering. My family’s great, but they all had to get back to their lives and their work, although they call regularly. In fact, I talked to my momma before I came over. My guys are great, too. But I’m the patient here. Folks look after me—they don’t let me do the same for them.” He glanced down at Libby. “And it’s nice….”

“You’re a natural with her.” Resting her elbows on her knees, Melody stared at him. He was a natural with her, too. She barely knew him. They’d met less than two days ago, not even thirty-six full hours and yet she felt comfortable with him being in the room. Hell, more than comfortable. She liked having him there.

“She’s sweet like her momma, and she’s smart, too. She’s sleeping.” Joe studied Melody and heat warmed her cheeks.

“I can’t ask you to babysit while I sleep.”

“Don’t have to ask. I told you, I like it. I like listening to both of you sleeping. It’s peaceful. But if you’re not going to sleep, why don’t you go take a bath or whatever it is women like to do to pamper themselves?”

A shower
. She sighed in half-forgotten longing. A shower she didn’t have to rush through and could actually enjoy. She bit her lip. The intensity in his expression should have scared the hell out of her, but it fanned the flames of quiet passion—dying embers she thought extinguished a long time ago.

“Go for it. We’ll be fine.”

She hesitated. Did she really trust a stranger with Libby?

Joe divided his attention between her daughter, the television, and her. Curiously, the lack of staring actually made her feel better. Still….

“Maybe I should wait.” Hadn’t she already trusted this stranger to be in her home? Trusted him so much she went to sleep. Indecision racked her.

“Melody, I promise your daughter will be fine when you come out. I’m going to stay right here with her to make sure.” He patted his chair. “Right here. Not going to move an inch away from her. Go take a shower. Spend a few minutes by yourself. Then come back and play cards with me if you won’t go to sleep.”

The soft encouragement nudged her and she rose. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She promised herself she would hurry, but she didn’t. She actually let the shower warm up, brushed her teeth, and found something clean and less wrinkled to wear. Peeking back into the living room, she found Joe watching the television, still cradling Libby. He seemed so relaxed and at peace, her heart warmed up further. Tiptoeing back, she closed and locked the bathroom door. Pressing her ear to the cool wood, she listened but could hear nothing more than the television.
I can do this. The door is locked. He’s out there. He’s not going to do anything
. Her heart thundered, but she stripped. The faster she got into the shower, the faster she could get out. The hot spray hit her body like nirvana.

The quick shower turned into a thirty-minute spa. She luxuriated in scrubbing her hair, conditioning it, and gave in to the impulse to shave her legs—even if it meant slipping out of the shower wet to find the razors she’d bought and never opened. By the time she re-emerged from the bedroom, she felt like a whole new woman. Wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, she padded out barefoot. It wasn’t classy, but it was comfortable.

Joe glanced at her the moment she walked out and whistled. “Nice.”

Spinning on the ball of her foot, she showed off her blow-dried hair tumbling down her back, free of the earlier pony tail. She’d actually used a little product to soothe the tangles and frayed ends. She desperately needed a trim.