Joint Forces (9 page)

Then when there'd been another night after his first night home, she'd thought maybe, just maybe they had enough to keep them together after all. She'd married him because of his strength, his honor, the reassurance that never would J.T. Price expose his family to men with concealed guns and shifty eyes.

The "Price" last name would never show up in the news with reports about questionable acquittals and hung juries.

Once she'd entered J.T.'s world, people stopped whispering behind her back. Good, honest people no longer kept their families away from her.

Growing up, the promise of security had been everything to her, and she'd found security for herself and for her children. For years she'd thought it greedy to expect more. Finally, she'd learned to respect herself enough to demand everything.

But the cost was so much higher than she'd expected.

Chris scraped his chair back from the table, gathering his plate. "Gotta run. My shift starts in an hour. I'm closing up tonight, so I'll be late."

Nikki shoved back from the table, too, passing her plate to her brother on his way past. "Hold on a second before you go, runt, so I can say goodbye. I need to hit the highway soon to make it back up to Chapel Hill for the study session. Just need to talk to Mom for one more sec."

As Nikki rounded to her mother, Rena took her daughter's hand and squeezed. "Thanks for coming down, hon."

Crouching down beside the chair, Nikki leaned in with a wide-open hug as exuberant as those childhood embraces, even though she now topped her mother by at least six inches. Rena let herself enjoy just holding on to her daughter and savoring those baby-shampoo and gummy-smile memories of her firstborn.

Finally, Nikki pulled away, rocking back on her haunches. "Boundaries are all well and good, Mom. But it doesn't hurt to push them sometimes."

Her free-spirited daughter would think so. And Rena was proud to have brought her daughter up in an environment where she could feel free to explore life, secure in knowing her parents loved her. That even if her father might be overprotective at times, he would always keep her safe.

Nikki would make a great teacher, with her love of children—an open, honest woman. Rena just hoped no one would take advantage of that.

"Well, hon, I want you to enjoy your time at college and exploring all those boundaries. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I'm glad Dad's here, but I'm still going to drop in when I can." She held up her hand. "And no playing martyr-mom. My teammates are already asking when the next squadron picnic is."

"So they can check out the flyboys."

"Do ya' think?" Nikki almost kept a straight face.

Chris loped out of the kitchen, baggy clothes rippling with every step. "Which dude did you pick out for yourself? Used to be you begged off every picnic that you could. Hmm, I wonder who—"

Nikki smacked him on the back of the head. "Enough, motormouth. I'm just enjoying the scenery there."

"Ow, love you, too, bonehead."

While J.T. lumbered out to see their children off, Rena sagged back in her chair, affectionate sibling insults a welcome ritual in the middle of an upside-down day. J.T. stood in the open doorway until the last car faded, then turned to her.

Who would have thought silence could be so loud?

They were alone. Completely alone for the first time in months. No kids. No guests.

No interruptions.

Kicking the door closed, he ambled toward the table, hands in pockets, slow, deliberate, sexy. "Does she really have a thing for one of the guys in the squadron?"

Rena's brain stuttered as she tried to follow his conversational shift. Then it hit her. They always talked about their children to disperse tension and avoid deeper discussions.

A wise course of action tonight with plenty of tension snapping along the air between them.

"Nikki has been coming home more often since we roped her into helping out with the games at the squadron children's Christmas party. And of course she spent as much time as possible home right after…" Rena swallowed, forced herself not to sidestep the hard topics. "After you were released from Rubistan. But she's never mentioned any particular man to me."

"Good."

"Why so?" Had she soured his thoughts on marriage that much? "Don't you want to see your daughter settled? Have grandkids someday?"

"Someday. Not now." He jerked a spindle chair around, straddled it backward. "And not with a crewdog."

J.T.'s words shocked her silly. What an odd statement from him, a man so devoted to the Air Force.

"No question, this isn't always an easy way of life. But I would think the load would be lighter for a couple meant to be together, in sync with each other."

She watched for a reaction from him, some sign that maybe this new perception of his might bode well for them on some level in dealing with their future, even if that future didn't involve them as a couple. A thought that still stung.

But she found no softening from him, just his regular closed expression, dark eyes with full-strength defenses in place. It was almost as if the man wasn't even with her. His body was at her table going through the motions, doing what was right, but his mind was somewhere else.

Definitely not with her.

Major sting.

She speared another buffalo wing off the platter, twisted the bones apart.
Crack. Crack
.

J.T. shot up from his chair.

Rena lowered her hands back to her plate. "Something wrong?"

He stared at the broken chicken bones in her fingers. "Are you ready to go upstairs?"

Did he have to sound so ready to get rid of her? "I'm still eating, but if you want to go up, I can maneuver a few steps. You don't have to stay."

He dropped onto the vacant chair beside her. "I'll wait." His heels were dug in deep. She sighed her surrender, tossed aside the last wing and wiped her fingers. "Okay, fine. I'm ready. Thank you."

He stood, slid his arms under her, lifted her in a smooth sweep. Their faces were inches apart, and this time no one would open a door or interrupt.

J.T. cradled her against his chest and started down the hall. He turned sideways to angle up the stair, his gym shoes padding quietly on the wooden steps. Framed school photos and family portraits lined the walls, up, faces growing younger and happier with every step.

He cleared the top stair. "Do you, uh, need help getting into the shower or anything?"

"I took a shower at the hospital. I'm okay for now. And I really can use the crutches with no problem most of the time."

"No shower then."

Was he disappointed? She couldn't tell by the rigid set of his square jaw. More frightening, was she disappointed?

Their bed sprawled big and inviting and lonely ahead of her with four large oak posts, wedding ring quilt, fluffy pillows in matching shams.

So many memories.

He lowered her to the giving softness as he'd done often before, except this time easing away. "Shout if you need anything. I'll be right back with your crutches, and then right across the hall."

In Nikki's old room, no parking his boots under their bed. "J.T.?" she called, not sure what she would say, just certain she wasn't ready to see those broad shoulders leave through her doorway yet.

For a reckless moment she wanted to blame on tumultuous hormones, she wondered what it would be like to loosen those boundaries, be sex buddies with J.T. for a few days and take the edge off so much tension.

But she was weak when it came to this man. Even if he agreed, she wasn't sure she could punt him out of her bed a second time.

"Rena? Do you need something?"

A kiss. His solid body on his side of the bed again. A way to erase the image of him walking out the door the last time she'd swallowed her pride and invited him home. "Thank you for staying here with me. I know this has to be uncomfortable for you, too. But in two weeks, we'll have everything settled out, and you'll be able to return to your place. I'm a fast healer."

Liar. But she was learning.

"Wounds need to heal by degrees. Just take care of yourself and rest up. The new kid will have you running soon enough." He backed into the hall. "'Night, Rena."

Once his footsteps faded, she flopped into the fluff of pillows.

The baby. The reason he'd returned.

Funny, but apparently her heart didn't heal as fast as the rest of her.

* * *

Great for the acne. Not.

If zits were his only worry.

Chris glanced over his shoulder, checked, found the kitchen empty. He resumed dragging dishes under the spraying water to rinse away fried seafood and hush puppies before stacking each plate in the dishwasher.

Hell no, he wasn't a wuss. He could work out his problems. Face them like a man. He might not look like his dad, but he would be like him when it counted. He would finish up his shift at the restaurant. No big deal. And under no circumstances would he make any more deliveries.

He just wished he'd never answered the ad in the base paper about this job. But his mom and dad were always fighting about money. He'd taken the job to help out as much as to get away from the arguing.

The double doors from the dining area swished open. Sweat iced, then itched along his back. He snapped around to find … the busboy who'd recommended he take this lame job. The fellow military brat dropped off his tub of plates and left.

At least it wasn't
her
. But the swinging door still offered sporadic glimpses of
her
anyway. The hostess, Miranda Casale, smiling her million-dollar smile for the final departing customers. Miranda sure knew how to flash that smile along with a view down her silk shirts to get guys to do anything she wanted.

Even now he went dry-mouthed at the thought of her honey-golden skin with a charm necklace between two perfect breasts.

He tried to swallow. Failed.

Damn, damn, damn! He loved Shelby, so why was he drooling over someone he didn't even like?

Teenage hormones so sucked.

One look down Miranda's dress two weeks ago and before he knew it, he'd been on his way out the door to run an errand for her. Just a food delivery for a special client—even though they didn't normally deliver squat.

Sucker.

He didn't know why Miranda had sent along so much money with the food delivery, but the fluky look he'd gotten at a stack of hundreds left him with zero doubts.

The reason couldn't be good.

He'd reported it to his boss, only to be told he must have misunderstood. Or maybe it was all innocent, but thanks anyhow, kid, and he would definitely talk to her. And, oh by the way, if rumors started, damaging business, Chris and his family would be sued and he sure would hate for that to happen and were they on the same page here now, pal?

God. Chris chunked another plate into the dishwasher. He'd clammed up faster than his father that day.

His parents would totally wig out if they knew. His dad was rigid on the honesty thing, and Mom went ballistic if he got so much as a detention for being tardy twice in a semester. Geez. Sometimes he wondered if it might be easier to forget about meeting their expectations.

But his mom was pregnant. And his dad was a freaking zombie since Rubistan.

So he would hang tough. Not be a wuss. And try like crazy to tell himself his mom's hit-and-run accident in his car was totally a coincidence.

Chris stacked the last of the dishes and flung aside the rag. Only a few more minutes and then home free for one more day. Maybe Miranda would transfer to another college and take her flashing boobs and smile somewhere else.

At least he knew better than to let himself be sucked in by her again. Jesus, like a nineteen-year-old hot chick would really be interested in him anyhow. But those raging hormones zapped IQ points.

The doors swished again. No Miranda—thank God. No busboy, either. This time his boss raced in, loosening his tie, a laid-back dude in his thirties with only two employee mottos: Don't make waves, and treat his wife and little girl like royalty.

The boss man, Kurt Haugen, definitely always sided with the chicks. "I have to leave now before I'm any later getting home. Don't forget to lock up behind you."

"I won't, Mr. Haugen."

"Thanks, kid, and make sure Miranda and the other waitresses get in their cars safe and sound. Okay?

Wouldn't want anything to happen to them."

Chris stood taller. Okay, so the guy pampered women. Bet he wouldn't get a baby-sitter Bo to stay overnight when a guy was already sixteen. "Sure. No problem, Mr. Haugen."

Of course, now he had to wait around for Miranda, but he could just sit in the car and watch until she left. Yeah. That would work. Doors locked. Eyes on her face, which was more respectful anyhow. Not to mention safer.

"I really need to haul ass, pal. I missed my daughter's gymnastics competition this afternoon. Engine went out on the shrimp trawler, which had me on the phone all day tracking down repair parts. And damn but I hated missing the little princess turn her back flips. Wife's probably pissed, too. Hey, how about pass me one of those chocolate pecan pies. Maybe if I walk into the room leading with that, it'll soften her up.

And a candy bar for the princess. What do you think, pal?"

Swinging open the refrigerator, Chris stretched to get the pie off the top rack. "I think chicks dig chocolate."

Mr. Haugen winked, lifting the pie from Chris's hand. "You'll go far with the ladies, my man."

"Sure." Adults could be so lame.

Mr. Haugen snagged two candy bars from the cooking station, Heath Bars for the specialty pies. He tucked one in his sports jacket and tossed the other to Chris. "Chocolate. For the special chick in your life."

Chris snagged the candy bar midair and tucked it into his droopy shirt pocket. "Yeah, whatever. I'll make sure everyone gets out of here fine."