Meagan's Marine (Halos & Horns) (16 page)

A low chuckle from Tex had Mitch glaring
up at the annoying mountain of a man. “What the fuck are you laughing at, you
east Texas piece of trash?”

“Cajun Heat,” he drawled, “You don’t
even know how bad you fucked up…but you’re damned well about to find out.”

He left for several seconds, and came
back in, dragging a reluctant Meagan with him. He pushed her forward, settling
her in front of Mitch. “Apologize to her…
now
.” 

The sight of Tex’s big hands resting so
familiarly on Meagan’s shoulders infuriated him. He’d be ready to kick his ass
if he didn’t feel like he’d been run over by a Humvee and starved for a week.
“Okay, I apologize, but what the hell for?”

Tex puffed up like a bullfrog. “Show
him, Meg,” he demanded.

“Show me what?” Mitch was just a little
tired of this asshole’s attitude, which is why he didn’t want him here. No
Marine wanted another human being to perceive him as weak. He tried hard to
convince himself that was the only reason he was pissed.

“Show him,” Tex insisted, as Meagan
rolled her eyes and reached for her collar, pulling it back to reveal the
bruising around her neck.

“What the…” Mitch reached up to inspect,
jerked his hand back when she flinched, pulling away from him. She shuttered
her gaze, but not until he saw the flicker of fear in her eyes. “Aw…fuck no! I
couldn’t have done that! Did I?”

The sight of her biting her lower lip
was all the answer he needed. He sat back, all the air leaving his lungs like a
deflated balloon. “Shit…shit…what happened?” He had to know.

“You - you didn’t know what you were
doing,
Mit
—”

He lifted one hand, stopping her.
“—Don’t defend me. Just tell me what happened.” He listened, heart sick and
humbled, as she told him how close he’d come to choking the life out of her.

Once she’d finished speaking, the three of
them remained where they were, speechless; the steady drip…drip…
plop
…of
the faucet in his bathroom, the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

He took a deep breath, released it, and
forced himself to look up at her, still standing with arms crossed as though
trying to protect herself from—God forgive him—him.

“There are no words to express how sorry
I am.” He hung his head. “I can’t—can’t even imagine why you stayed—why you’re
still here.”

“I told you, it’s highly contagious,”
she mumbled. “Dangerous for kids and I don’t want to bring it home to Buck.”
She lifted one shoulder. “I really don’t have any other place to go.”

He nodded, full understanding hitting
him squarely in the face. “You’ll be safe here, Megs, you know that, right?”

“Um, I guess so,” she said, sending a
quick glance at Tex.

That one brief glance felt like a knife
wound to Mitchell’s gut. Gathering all his strength, he forced himself to stand
and face her. He moved slowly, reaching out for her, held his arms there and
waited for her to move on her own. She did, finally, stepping into his embrace.
He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, holding her close. “I’m so
sorry, Megs. I promise you will
never
have to be afraid of me again.” He
smiled at her muffled response.

“I’m
gonna
hold you to that, you dumb Jarhead.”

Tex cleared his throat. “And I’m
gonna
make sure she does. Now, if you two think
everything’s okay here, I’ve got a few things I need to take care of back
home.”

Meagan pulled away suddenly. “You can’t
leave!” she objected. “You’ll bring it home to your family.”

“I live alone and I’ll tell everyone to
keep away.” He backed away from the two of them.

“You shouldn’t be alone, Tex!”

Mitch placed a comforting hand on her
arm. “He’ll be okay.” He followed his Marine brother to the door. “Do me a
favor, buddy. Make sure you have a bucket to hurl in, aspirin for the headache
and water…plenty of water…because for a brief period, you’re
gonna
feel like you’re burning up from the inside out.”

Tex flexed his guns again and shot them
each a big grin. “This big old Texas boy’s got it under control, don’t you
worry.” With a flash of Wrangler jeans and Justin boots, he was out the door.

The engine of Tex’s Ford F-350 truck
came to life, cutting through the quiet stillness of the early October morning.
He revved it up and drove away, the sound fading slowly until all was quiet
again.

Meagan turned to him, her face a mask of
worry. “I sure hope he listens and doesn’t bring this stuff to his family. You
think he’ll be okay?”

Mitch nodded. “Tex will fare all right,
and I’m pretty sure he’ll go right home. He’s not that stupid.” He turned away
from her, still muttering under his breath. “At least I don’t think so,
anyway.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her
voice tinged with a hint of shyness.

He flexed his shoulders, testing his
muscles a little, and winced. “Everything hurts
except
for my head, but
I’m not burning up or barfing into a bucket. All things considered, I guess I’m
doing pretty damn well.” He sent her a look of concern. “More importantly, how
are you doing?”

“My, uh, my head is starting to hurt
some.”

“Seriously?”

She rubbed at her forehead and nodded.
“Yeah.
Niki
was right. This thing is contagious as
all hell.”

“You realize, of course, we probably
both got it from the club. I mean, I do a lot of hand shaking, and you handle
people’s drinks and money.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “And if
it’s an air-borne virus, we didn’t have an icicle’s chance in Hades of escaping
this thing.” She rubbed at her head again and at the back of her neck. “I’m not
too worried about the nausea because I never throw up.”

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Not since I was a
little girl. Not even morning sickness.”

He searched her face for clues,
wondering if she was serious. “Well, for your sake, I hope like hell your luck
holds up this time around, too.” He cringed at the thought of his all too
recent experience with that very thing.

****

“Oh…oh…that hurts so freaking bad!”
Meagan fell back on the pillow, her hand plastered to her forehead as the pain sliced
through her temporal lobe. “This is so humiliating,” she said, as Mitch sat on
the side of the bed, wiping her face with a cool, wet washcloth. She would have
laughed at the face he made, if she wasn’t so afraid it would make her
heave…yet again.

“Never say never, Meg’s.”

“I won’t,” she groaned. “Oh man, I hope
Buck doesn’t get this.”

“What about
Niki
,
working as a receptionist in the doctor’s office?”

“She works behind a glass window, but
wears gloves. They also spray this stuff in the air to keep the workers from
getting sick. It seems to work for her.”

“Good to know.” He reached over to feel
her forehead. “No fever yet. Think you could sleep now?”

She grasped his hand and pulled it
close. “Could you stay with me? I hate to be alone when I’m feeling bad.”

He cast a doubtful glance in her
direction. “You sure you don’t mind?” The look she gave him made him want to
shield her from any pain the world had to offer. “God, you look pitiful, Megs.”

He took the towel from her neck, dunked
it in the bowl of fresh water and arranged it so it looped the most bruised
areas, hating himself even more, for what he’d done in his fevered condition. “
Sonofabitch
…” he whispered to himself.

“Wasn’t your fault,” she said, her eyes
cracking open just a slit. She laid her hand on the side of the bed. “Come
here.”

“Hang on…” Mitch emptied her bucket and
rinsed it before placing it on the floor beside her. He crawled in bed, molding
himself to her back as she lay on her side facing the edge of the bed. “Is this
okay?” He heard a barely perceptible grunt of approval before she settled into
a deep sleep. Still exhausted from his own bout of illness, he followed her
lead.

****

A soft groan broke through his
consciousness, alerting him. He lay there, eyes closed, waiting for her to
speak. “Megs? Did you say something?” No sound came from her, no movement other
than a violent shivering, causing the entire bed to shake. He moved his hand
resting on her hip, slid it under her shirt, and muttered a long, low string of
curses at the heat radiating off her skin. He jumped out of bed and piled the
blankets on her before getting fresh cloths dipped in water to cool her head
and face.

She rolled over on her back, flailing
her head from side to side, as though trying to escape the cool cloth.

“Hang on Meagan. Jesus, you’re burning
up!” He tried again to pass the cool cloth over her face, her eyes, her heated
cheeks, with some measure of success. He reached for the cloth around her neck,
no longer cool, but warm from her heated body temperature. He soaked it and
rung it out loosely. As soon as he placed it around her neck, her eyes flew
open. She cried out then gasped for breath, slapping and scratching at him, her
long nails connecting with his face, her right fist connecting with his eye.

“Ah…shit! Meagan!
Shhhh
…it’s
okay, Megs. I’m not going to hurt you, babe. It’s all right…that’s right…calm
down, Megs.”

Finally she settled, calmed into letting
him care for her. He bathed her face, all the while beginning to feel sickened
by a new realization.  In
his
fevered state, he’d been back in
Afghanistan, fighting off members of Al Qaeda, the terrorists, the enemy. But
clearly, she’d been fighting
him
. He knew by the way she’d gasped and
struggled for breath. In place of the cool, wet cloth around her neck, she’d
only felt his hands wrapping tightly around her, cutting off her supply of air.

A fresh batch of shame washed over him.
Shame and horror at having done something like that to a woman he cared so
deeply for, along with something else—a knowledge that it
could
happen
again. Was it likely to happen again? The odds were, no. Was it possible it
could happen again? Hell, anything was possible.

He bathed her face, praying for the
fever to abate. Hoping she’d feel well enough to go home soon. The sooner he
got her out of here, the better off she and Buck would be.

CHAPTER 20

Costumes and Camouflage

Mitch waited three days before accepting
a dinner invitation to Sarah and Tanner’s place, hoping to spare the family
from catching whatever it was he had. Once his brother-in-law, the doctor, had
assured him they’d be fine, he showed up with a nice bottle of wine for Sarah,
a six-pack of Dos
Equis
for Tanner, and cute little
ladybug shaped lollipops for his nieces. 

Sarah hugged her brother and grabbed the
lollipops from him before her twin girls could see them. “Oops! Not until after
their supper, Uncle Mitch, your nieces have a fondness for sweets. Those girls
will pass up a decent meal over sugar any day of the week.”

Mitch placed the wine on the cabinet and
the beer in the fridge then looked around the otherwise empty living area.
“Where are the munchkins? Usually they’re all over me by now.”

“Tanner couldn’t wait to see them in
their Halloween costumes.” They turned at the sound of a door opening and
screeches of laughter from the two little girls.

Mitch couldn’t help but laugh at the
sight of Tanner Collins toting not one, but two adorable little insects in each
arm. One twin…Mitch hadn’t mastered the skill of telling them apart yet…was
dressed as a bumble bee, all yellow and black striped with fuzzy antennae
sticking up from her furry little bee head hood. The second twin was just as
cute as a red ladybug, complete with black spots, multiple legs, also sporting
a pair of antennae protruding from her equally furry hood.

“Oh man,” Mitchell gushed. “Have you
ever seen anything as cute as that?”

“Hmmm…Nope!” Tanner admitted, putting
the twins down to shake Mitch’s hand. “Though I’m thinking your sister will run
a close second in the costume she just brought home.”

“You’re dressing up too?” Mitch asked,
squatting to scoop up his nieces and cover their giggling, adorable faces with
kisses.

“Not for trick or treat, but for a
costume party with our Mardi Gras
Krewe
. You know,
the one I invited you to a couple of weeks ago and suggested you bring a date?”

“Oh…I remember now. So what’s your
costume?”

“It’s a surprise, and don’t change the
subject. Who’d you ask?” Sarah’s tone indicated she was more than a little
curious.

“Nobody.”

Her brow furrowed severely. “Why not?
What are you waiting for? Don’t you know it takes time to plan for these
things…to buy costumes and make-up and such?”

“Sarah—”

“—You can’t pop this on a girl at the
last minute, Mitch.”

“I have a job now, sis. I’ll have to
work at Red’s club that night. Incidentally, the club has its own costume
party. I hear Red goes all out and gives big cash prizes and everything.”

“Oh.” Sarah seemed to contemplate his
comeback. “Does Meagan have to work that night?”

“Yes, Sarah. She and I are on the same
schedule.” He shook his head. “You
should
be going as some kind of pushy
Goddess of Matchmaking.”

“Excuse me?” Sarah stood there, with her
hands on her hips.

“Babe, come on. It’s not like you’re
attempting any show of subtlety.” Tanner gave his wife a kiss to smooth her
ruffled feathers. “Give the guy a break. Two months ago he was in Afghanistan.”

“Thanks bro.” Mitch raised his right arm
for a quick fist-bump with his brother-in-law.

Tanner gave him a nod. “I’ve got your
back, man. I keep telling her you’re entitled to plan out the rest of your life
without
any interference from your sister.” He aimed a look at his wife,
just before he smoothed it over with another quick kiss on her lips.

Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes.
“Well, excuse the heck out of me for wanting to see you settled and happy.”

Mitch set his squirming nieces down on
the floor before looping an arm around his diminutive sister’s shoulder. “I am
happy. As for settled, I want that too, sis, but I have some things to work out
first.  You forcing the issue won’t help matters, I can promise you that.”

She stopped and faced him,
studying…what…he didn’t know. Whatever she saw there seemed to appease her
curiosity. Thankfully, she changed the subject.

Unfortunately, it didn’t come soon
enough for Mitch. Mention of Meagan had opened the floodgates of thoughts about
her.

After their shared illness, they had
both, somewhat remarkably, recovered enough to show up for work that night. By the
end of their shift, Meagan had been dragging so badly, she’d regretted not
calling in sick. He’d been a mass of confusion, torn between wanting to
hover  around her to make sure she was okay, and wanting to get as far
away from her as possible.

The entire incident had made him do the
one thing he’d never done in his twenty years as a Marine. That was to doubt
himself. He worried now, as never before, that he’d come back from his years
serving his country, bearing scars from old wounds, both mental and physical.

He had to wonder. What if? What if, he
had the type of scars that lay dormant for years? What if something forced them
to the surface one day and he snapped?

He’d heard stories over the years. Some
Jarhead made it home, only to go ballistic over fireworks during the
neighborhood July 4
^th
block party. After twenty years in the Corps,
the last ten in the ‘armpit of the Middle East’ as Tex called Afghanistan; he’d
seen some serious shit. Shit that no normal person should have to see, but that
Marines see on a regular basis—men blown in half, their limbs severed, or torn
off. Faces swam before him, faces burned beyond recognition to match the rest
of their bodies. Faces of Marines, still breathing, still alive enough to feel
the excruciating pain, until that blissful shot of morphine put them under for
their final trip home. Pain…suffering…fighting…death. Or not. Some men made it
out alive, but never really lived again.  

No. He could not,
would
not
subject
Meagan, or any other woman to that. It was far too risky, too dangerous, as he
well knew. He’d contacted someone at the VA hospital already, had set the
wheels in motion for a thorough psyche evaluation. He had to know if he was a
danger
before
, not after, he drug anyone else into his life of doubt and
uncertainty.

****

Three days. Three long days without
talking,
really
talking
, to Mitch. They’d finished out the last
of their three-day hitch and by the end of the shift, all Meagan had wanted was
to sleep off her exhaustion. She hadn’t heard a peep from him during the two
days off, and she couldn’t even imagine what ideas were swimming around in that
head of his.

She put the finishing touch to her
make-up, heavy black eyeliner and several layers of mascara, and stood back to
view the results in the full-length mirror. “Not bad, Meagan. Maybe this will
flip the Jarhead’s switch.”

A trip to the local Goodwill store had
rewarded her with the perfect costume for very little money. She’d lucked out
and found a sexy GI costume—a one-piece spandex romper in a desert camouflage
pattern that fit like a glove, along with a matching military style cap. 
Further searching had uncovered a couple of faux leather ammo belts complete
with fake rounds. She looped one low on her hips. The second fit around one
thigh like a garter. She completed the look with black diamond thigh highs and
a pair of black lace-up knee boots borrowed from
Niki
.

“You look
pwitty
,
Mama!” Buck spoke from behind her in breathless admiration. She stepped aside
to see her son’s reflection and grinned down at him. “You think so?”

His little head bobbed up and down
happily. “Yep. You awe the
pwittiest
mama…
evah
!” He threw his arms out for emphasis. “
Awe
you
gonna
weah
that when you
bwing
me
twick
or
tweating
?”

Niki’s
laughter cut through the child’s innocent question. “Yeah, Meagan. Are you
gonna
wear that for trick or treating on Thursday night?”
She leaned against the doorjamb, wearing a pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs, a long
sleeved shirt, its tails tied high at the waist with the sleeves rolled up, and
her favorite pair of heeled, brown suede, harness boots.

Meagan threw a smirk in
Niki’s
direction before kneeling before her son. “I think
I’ll wear something a little more
regular
mommy when I take you trick or
treating, sweetie. It’s supposed to be cool and this may not be warm enough.”

“Humph…I bet that get up will be plenty
hot enough for a certain recently retired Master Sergeant; that is, unless the
fool is too much of a blockhead to notice.”

Meagan stood and shot her friend a
meaningful look. “Oh he’ll notice…I’ll make darn sure of
that
.”
 She looped her purse over her shoulder, grabbed Buck’s hand and his
backpack before heading toward the kitchen door. She called back to
Niki
at the door, “You want me to swing back by to pick you
up after I drop him off at Mr. Daniel and Ms. Leah LeBlanc’s house?”

“Sure, if you think you have time to. I
figure that by the end of tonight, I’ll need a designated driver. That is,
unless you plan on catching a ride home with
someone
else
after
tonight.”

Meagan turned and gave
Niki
a wink. “I’ll let you know, but it’s not a problem.
Red will have plenty of sober drivers on hand for tonight. I’ll be back,” she
intoned, a la Schwarzenegger.

****

Red stuck his head out the front door
and closed it with a low whistle. “Tonight is showing all the signs of a full
house and a ball buster busy night, Mitch. Stay on your toes buddy, and please,
if anyone tries to bring in anything that looks remotely like a weapon, please
check it out. If it ain’t flimsy and plastic, it stays outside.”

“Sure thing, boss, and uh, that’s a damn
fine costume, by the way.”  He nodded at Red, dressed as a biker, covered
in studded black leather riding gear.

Red lifted the edges of the vest, decked
out in chains. “Nice, huh? Tiffany picked it out for me. I don’t mind telling
you, though. Once I saw
her
costume I had a few second thoughts about
it.”

Mitch laughed as the lady in question
joined them, looking every inch the buxom biker babe in Harley Davidson attire.

“Hey, I gave you a choice, so I don’t
want to hear any complaints!” Tiffany passed a hand down her husband’s leather
covered back, ending with a pat on his leather-covered butt. “You could have
been Han Solo.”

Red nodded at Mitch. “I really wanted to
be Han, but she said only if she could dress like Leia as a slave…you know…in
that skimpy little outfit when she’s chained to
Jabba
the Hutt?”

“Oh, yeah…I know
exactly
what
you’re talking about. That’s what Leia was wearing during my first wet
dre
—”

“—Mine too!” Red interjected. “So you
know
why I had to say no to that one.”

“Uh, yeah. I’d have turned that down
too,” Mitch agreed.

Tiffany shook her head. “It’s just a
costume.”

Mitch gave his head an adamant shake. “I
hate to disagree with you, but no, it’s not.”

“It’s like…every guy’s fantasy, babe. I
mean… Princess Leia in that flimsy get up and chains is a universal turn on for
guys.”

“Oh, that can’t be true,” she said,
turning to Mitch for help.

He sucked in his breath and nodded.
“Yep. It’s true.”

She threw up her hands in disgust as she
stormed off muttering something about all men being pigs.

A quick glance over at Red showed him
shrugging in agreement with his wife.

Mitch checked his watch. A quarter until
opening and Meagan wasn’t here yet. Thoughts of her, along with the recent
Princess Leia comments, had his overactive imagination in hyper-drive,
developing mental snapshots of her in that costume, complete with chains. He
groaned, and adjusted himself to accommodate the tightness in his groin area.
 

That would have to be the single hottest
thing on earth.

The familiar click and thud of the back
door opening had him turning toward the sound—and slammed him with a sudden
change of opinion.

“Oh…
shh
…
iiiit
…” He hadn’t meant to speak the words, but somehow, he
had. More disturbing had been the sound of his voice—more like a territorial
growl of warning than anything else. Nothing could have prepared him for the
sight of Meagan wearing some kind of clingy, tight-fitting, curve-hugging,
camouflage costume that somebody must have poured her into. 

He stood there, frozen and torn between
wanting to run from the place, throw up his hands in surrender and bow to her
every whim, or throw a blanket over her.  She was
hot
—and soon
every guy in this place would see her looking that way. As usual, the blood
rushing to his groin area overrode all trace of common sense when it came to
this woman. Within seconds, he’d approached her, stopping to appreciate her
accessories, gone unnoticed before now. Black thigh highs, laced knee boots
with tall blocked heels, and a military styled cap over her lustrous dark
locks.