Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (153 page)

A pain stabbed through Carrie's gut. She'd been such a witch. Maybe if she'd been smarter, more mature, she would have at least called Michelle, or come home or…No, she wouldn't have called Michelle. It took Nana's dying to make her come home. It took Nana's stupid dog to make her to talk to Jack. Tears began to pool in her eyes. Michelle…I wish…

“Becks understood why you didn’t return to Rhode Island or call. She said that you wouldn’t want to see us married, and it would be too hard for you and me, anyway. But she talked to your Nana a lot, and told Sammy all about you. She missed you. That's why she read and saved your articles.

“But she never wanted to tell you what had happened to her, or why we’d gotten married. I tried to get her to, but it was hard for her to talk about it, even to me. She was ashamed.

              “Anyhow, she knew—she always knew—how I felt about you. That's what made her dying even more awful. Because Michelle was a great person. She would've made any man a super wife, and she deserved a man who loved her, the way…I love you. Instead, she got me. It just wasn't fair.”

              “You're right,” Carrie said, softly. She put her hand on his arm. “It wasn't fair that she died so young. But you can't blame yourself for anything, Jack. You did love her. You saved her. You gave her respectability, understanding, a nice home, and you were a father to her child. The three of you were a family. How could she ever begrudge you?” How could anyone begrudge him?

              Damn Jack. Always the hero, no matter what. Years of anger slid away, leaving raw emotion beneath, emotions she was afraid to look at too closely.

Jack looked at her, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “I miss her, though. As much as I missed you.”

Carrie reached out to stroke the tear's track from his cheek with the side of her thumb, and when he reached up to pull her down beside him, she didn't resist. She draped her arm around him, resting on his shoulder. His chest hitched a sob; she touched his face, making soothing, shushing noises and stroking her fingers over his cheek.

Jack couldn't stop the tears, so he let himself cry—for Michelle, for Samantha and for all the times he'd imagined Carrie's face while making love to the woman he'd married. He cried for Carrie, too, missing the years they should have been together and the children they could have had. He felt like the biggest wimp in the world, because cops don't cry. Gavigans, especially. But for once, it felt like the weight of the world was off his shoulders and he didn't have to worry anymore about anyone but himself. And his Carrie-da held him and told him it was all right—and it was. It felt right and good.

              Finally, the waterworks ended. He was able to get control of himself again, and he lifted his head. When their eyes met and he saw the same sparkle in her gaze that had been there when they were kids, he knew he had to kiss her, because it was if he was in love for the first time, all over again. The only time, he realized. “Carrie-da?”

“Jack.” She licked her lips and then pressed her mouth to his.

Oh. Dear. God in Heaven. How he'd missed her. There was something about this woman—her taste, her touch—that made him feel powerful, whole, and very, very horny. He pressed the back of her head with his hand and rolled her onto her back, taking her mouth with his, plundering it with his tongue. She responded, lifting her body to his, pressing against him, hooking a leg over his calf. His body reacted, tightened with need, like he was eighteen again. Blinded by desire and aching with heat. Desire. Lust. Love.

He pulled his mouth away from hers. “Carrie-da…” he whispered, unable to get more than a small breath of air out.  “Let me take you home. I want you so much. I've missed you. I need you.”

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “No,” she said. “I don't think it's a good idea.”

What? “Why?” Didn't she know how she affected him? He pressed against her and was gratified that though she said “no,” she didn't pull away, and even arched upwards into his erection. He groaned and closed his eyes. “Carrie-da—”

“You can't expect a ten minute explanation to fix eighteen years' worth of pain and humiliation, Jack.” She played with the hair at the back of his neck. “Plus, I'm not the girl you used to know.”

She was right, though it didn't make his erection any less painful or his lust less insistent. “I'm not the boy you knew, either, Carrie. I've buried one woman and am father to another.”

“Exactly.” She slid her hands down his shoulders and his back to rest them on his hips. “We can't just pick up where we left off. I'm sorry, but I just can't allow myself to fall back—back into bed with you. Even for old time's sake.”

“But Carrie-da—”

She shook her head, resolute. “We'd better get going. The sun's going down. The mosquitoes are starting to swarm. I just waved one the size of a Cessna off your neck.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, then rolled out from under him. “Let's go get something to eat. I'm starved.”

Starved? She has no idea what it's like to be hungry. But Jack pushed himself to his feet like the gentleman he knew he was, and led her off the beach.

* * * * *

“Clam cakes and chowda. I've missed them.” Carrie rustled in the bag of clam cakes and pulled one out. “Remember the summer we worked at Aunt Mary's Chowder Hut? I thought I'd never get the smell of grease out of my hair.” She bit into the crispy, fried batter and groaned, licking salty crumbs and fat off her lips.

“You always smelled pretty good, if I remember correctly.” Jack grinned, his gaze never leaving her mouth. “Of course, I think you could've smelled like low tide and I wouldn't have noticed. And you smell pretty good right now, so whatever you smelled like in the past is moot,” he said.

She laughed. “You're so full of shit, Jack.”

“Jack Shit. That's me.” He winked and waggled his eyebrows. “Here, you’ve got chowder on your chin.” He reached out and swiped her face with a napkin, then brushed his knuckles over her cheek and down her neck, making her shiver. He remembered her sensitive places.

Carrie met his eyes with her own. Oh, Jack. I wish we could kiss again, she thought. But it was too soon. For her, anyway. He'd been Michelle's husband, for crying out loud. She felt weird. Would Michelle approve of the person she was, now? Or would she think that Carrie had become too much of a cynical bitch? Her own words came back to haunt her. I mean, if my boyfriend decided to go stop a guy from harassing a girl—a girl who was a friend of his, mind you—I'd be more head over heels in love with him than ever.

But I ran away and didn't talk to either of them, even when they tried to explain.

And I thought Tiffany was a shallow bitch. Ha. Look who was talking. The original shallow bitch.

She grimaced, her stomach suddenly sour with disgust for her own behavior, and she pulled her gaze from his. “I shouldn't eat anymore. I can feel my arteries blocking already. We’re too old to eat this way anymore, Jack.” Carrie began pushing herself to her achy feet.

He got up and helped her up. “Speak for yourself, Grandma. I’m just hitting my prime.” He pulled her close and rubbed his chin over the top of her head.

“You weren’t dragged down the street by a dog the size of a Smart Car.” She wanted nothing more than to lean into him and rest her head against his chest, to put her own arm around his waist, maybe stick the tips of her fingers into the waistband at his back like she used to. But no…she couldn't. It wouldn't be right. So she slipped out of his embrace and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I'm getting cold. And I've got more stuff to do at the house. I should get back.”

“Okay.” He kept his hands to himself after that, walking behind her to the truck and touching her only to help her climb into the tall cab. On the way back to his house, where she’d left the van, he didn't stray onto her side of the vehicle. Not even a little. He kept his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. He was being Gentleman Jack, and it cost him as he fought with himself. He wanted to kiss her, but he wanted to give her space. She could see it in every tense motion he made.

              Dammit, she thought. I can still read him like a book. She'd hoped the way she'd read him at his house had been wrong, when she'd seen I Love You on his face. It was as if he'd said the words aloud. But no. Even after all these years, Jack's feelings were transparent to her. Crap.

It didn't make this any easier.

“Jack?” Carrie said in a soft voice. “I—I wish…listen. You've had a lot of time to come to terms with…I mean, you've lived your life and I've lived mine and even though…” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Even though I still—have feelings for you, that doesn't mean it's all full steam ahead. I—I have a lot of things to think about, and I still plan to return to Texas. So I don't think it's a great idea to get…well…you know what I mean. Besides, Michelle was my best friend and I just feel strange, knowing you were her husband instead—instead of mine.”

There. She'd said it. And boy, didn't it sound stupid?

Jack turned his head, not taking his eyes from the road. “I never stopped—”

“I know, Jack. And that's what makes it worse. It's like you were cheating on her all that time, with me.”

“But I wasn't.” He shook his head. “I wasn't anywhere near you, Carrie.”

“Yet, you said that all that time you were her husband, you were thinking about me. So how is that really any different, Jack?” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Jack. I can't.” She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Right. You keep telling yourself that, she thought. I'm not going to cry again. “Just…please. I'm not saying we'll never see each other again. I'm just saying—give me some time, okay?” Time to make peace with myself. And with Michelle. Peace would be good. Then a small voice in the back of her head—Nana's voice—piped up. Peace is good, it said. But sex with the man you’ve always loved? That's better.

Chapter Seven

The doorbell rang. Carrie ran down the stairs with Ellie walking carefully and close behind, the vet’s precautionary, post-surgery plastic cone of shame on her head clonking, “chonkchonkchonk” on each step. She was surprised the dog hadn’t worked her way out of it; she could escape from every other thing and place.

The bell rang again. Please be Jack, she thought.

True to his word, Jack had stayed away, and after three long days and even longer nights, she'd had enough time to herself. She hadn't come to any decisions, but her heart ached with longing for him. She couldn't stand it anymore.

“Jack!” She flung the door open. But it wasn't him. It was…Michelle? Standing in the doorway, flinging Carrie back eighteen years. A summer morning, Michelle on the porch in her bathing suit and a pair of cutoffs. “Let's go to the beach! I want to watch the hotties.”

Carrie halted, her heart in her mouth. First a Houdini hound, and now a visit from a dead friend?

              “Michelle?” she whispered.

              “No, it's me. Samantha. Michelle's daughter.”

              Carrie's head cleared. Of course, it wasn't Michelle. It was her daughter, wearing cutoff shorts and a bikini top. The hotties? Only a memory. “Samantha? What…is everything okay? Come on in.” She opened the door and the girl stepped inside.

Ellie jumped up and put her paws on the girl's shoulders, her tail waving gently. She reached outside of her cone to draw her tongue over Samantha's cheek in a doggie welcome. Or else she was tasting her. Carrie started to push the dog down, but Sammy neatly stepped aside.

“Down,” she said firmly, putting her hand out flat, palm down. And—to Carrie's surprise—the dog got down. In fact, she lay down, watching Samantha, with an expression of You Goddess. I love you, clearly written on her face.

              “Wow. How did you do that?”

              The girl shrugged. “Dad taught me. I help him at the community center, sometimes. I teach little kids how to train their dogs.”

              “You mean, you train kids.” Carrie smiled.

              Samantha's eyebrows arched as she smiled—another Michelle trait. Carrie's heart clenched again. Michelle. It has to be you. It was like being given a second chance.

              But she couldn't say a word, couldn't explain. She couldn't say I'm sorry or I miss you, or even I'm such a bitch, because no matter how much Samantha looked like her mother, she wasn't her. Sometimes, there were no second chances, Carrie realized.

All she could do now was wait and see why the girl was here.

Sammy smiled. “I hadn't thought about the training that way, but I guess you're right. I train the kids—they teach their dogs.” She paused, then gestured to the house. “It looks like you've been busy. Dad said you were trying to fix it up to sell it. You're from Texas?”

              “Originally, I'm from here. I mean, Rhode Island. Can I—would you like a drink or something?” Carrie invited Samantha in, leading her to the kitchen, where she sat down at the Formica-topped table. The dog followed, plopping down beside the girl, resting her coned head on her sandaled foot in supplication. “Diet Coke? Water? I don't suppose you're old enough for a beer…”

              “I'll have a Diet Coke, please.” Samantha smiled and quirked her eyebrows again. “I might as well get right to the point, since I suppose you're wondering why I'm here.”

              Astute child. “A little bit. I'm assuming it's got something to do with Ja—your dad.” Carrie handed her a can of soda and sat across from her with a cola of her own. “Gosh, you look so much like your mom.” So much so, I could cry.

              “I know. Everyone tells me that.” Samantha shrugged. “Mom told me all about you. And Dad, too.”

              “What? She told you about—” Carrie stopped the soda midway to her mouth. “Wait. What did she tell you?”

              “That you and he had been best friends, too. Which I never really thought about because, why not? But then…ever since you and Dad saw each other the other night…” Sammy trailed off and looked down at her can of soda. “This is going to sound awful. But I have to ask.” She looked Carrie in the eyes. “You came here out of nowhere, and ever since, Dad's been acting weird. I mean…he's just…I've never seen him like this.”

              “Weird? Like, how?”

              “Well, he's humming, for one thing.” Samantha took a sip of her Coke.

              “He doesn't normally hum?” Carrie bit back a laugh.

              “Not like this.” Samantha frowned. “And the day you came over—the day the dog ate your phone. He looked at you and I could see it. He—he loves you. Not only loves, but…he adores you. I swear, if I hadn't been there, he would have jumped your bones in about two seconds.”

              More than astute, Samantha was practically psychic. “Oh. Well…maybe it just looked that way, but—”

              “But if you were Mom's best friend in high school, and he loves you like that after all this time, even when you show up out of nowhere, then…well…all I can think of is, this is something he's felt for a long time. But he married Mom right out of high school, which kind of makes me think I was the reason they got married in the first place.” She looked down again and picked at the tab of her soda can, studying it as if it held the answers she sought. Plink, plink, plink. “I tried asking him, but he won't talk. So I thought…I was wondering…”

              Carrie shook her head. She'd promised Jack she wouldn't spill the beans about Samantha's conception, and now that she'd decided to let him back into her life—more or less—there was no way she'd breathe a word of anything to her.

              Even though she knew exactly how Samantha felt. “I lost my mom when I was eleven, too,” she said. “And my dad.”

              The tab on the soda can broke off in the girl's fingers. Plink. “I didn't know that.”

              “It's true.” Carrie nodded. “In an accident.” She sighed, remembering. “I was so scared, my first day of school here. I felt awkward, you know? Like a freak. An orphan freak who lived with her Nana.” Even now, a lump rose in Carrie's throat.

              Samantha nodded. “People treated me differently when Mom died, too.”

              “Exactly. Adults did. They were too nice because they felt bad for you. But kids…”             

              “They treated you like there was something wrong with you.”

              “And there was. I was different. I didn't have a mom or a dad.”

              “At least I have my dad.” Samantha's eyes locked with Carrie's. They were on common ground. “I don't mean to be nosy or anything, Carrie. Really. I just—don't want him to get hurt. You know. Like, you're going to be leaving again, once you sell this place, and he'll be all alone. I'm going away to college in the fall… I'm just afraid for him.”

              “He's a strong guy. I'm sure you don't have to worry, Samantha.”

              “I know he is.” She sighed. “I think you hurt him before, when you left, and I just don't want it to happen again. I mean, last time you left, he had my mom. Then she died, and he had me. Now I'm leaving and…” Samantha shook her head. “I bet you think I'm an idiot.”

              “I think—I think you not only look like your mom, I think you act like her, too.” Carrie reached out and touched the girl's hand. “She was always sensitive to other people's feelings, too. She was the first person to be my friend when I moved here, the first one who treated me like I didn't have a disease they'd catch.”

              “Dad says I'm just a pushover.” Samantha dropped the tab onto the table and lifted the can to her mouth.

              “And he's not?” Carrie laughed. “He thinks he has to solve everyone's problems.”

              “Yeah. I guess so.” Samantha nodded, then lowered her brows over her eyes. “I guess I'm doing that, too.”

              It was Carrie's turn to quirk her brows. “You're right.” She grinned. “There you go, then. You're just a sympathetic worrywart who feels like she needs to solve everyone's problems. Just like your dad.”

              “Great.” The girl rolled her eyes. “No wonder I'm going to major in social work.”

              They looked at each other and laughed. Carrie reached over and touched Samantha's hand again. “Listen, worrywart. Feel like giving an old lady a hand with some wallpaper? I tried to do the upstairs hall yesterday, and the paper kept rolling over my head and getting stuck in my hair.”

              “Sure. But on one condition.”

              “What's that?” Carrie pushed her chair back and stood. Anything but telling you about your conception.

              “Tell me about Dad when he was younger.”              Samantha got to her feet. The dog leaped up and waited, tail wagging. “Was he as hot as he looked in his yearbook?”

              Carrie couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from her chest. Ah, the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree…

* * * * *

              Four hours later, the upstairs hall was papered and Carrie's sides ached. She hadn't laughed so hard since she was seventeen herself. With Michelle.

              Wise girl that Samantha was, she didn't push for any more information about the odd triangle Carrie kept with her parents. It was as if she knew Carrie wasn't ready to talk. Or that she wasn’t able to. And Carrie wasn't going to—not until she'd cleared the topic with Jack, knew what to say and how to say it. But at the same time, Samantha wasn't about to give up on her other task: hooking Jack up with the woman he appeared to love.

As they walked down the stairs with El Beast on their heels, Sammy said, “You have to come over tonight. It's pizza night.”

              Carrie felt a twinge of anxiety. She wasn't ready to make herself a part of Gavigan family traditions. Not yet, and maybe not ever. She was moving back to Texas. She didn't want to break Jack's heart again, any more than she wanted to break her own. “I don't know, Sam…”

              “Oh, come on. Dad will freak. Picture it. Big cop, Captain Jack, wearing a frilly apron over his uniform—how can you refuse?” Samantha grinned. “You can bring El Beast. Maybe she'll dig in the garden and you can watch Dad have a coronary over his tomatoes.”

              “Samantha! That's not nice!” Carrie felt another round of giggles starting deep in her belly. She tried to quell them, tightening her mouth. “Don't tell me you deliberately try to get a rise out of him.” Carrie bit her lip.

              “All. The. Time. It's the most fun I'm allowed to have. Come on, Carrie. Please. For me. Come over and eat pizza with us. I won't tell him—he'll get all flustered.” She paused at the bottom of the stairs and tilted her head. “You should wear those shorts.”

              Carrie looked down at the ragged-bottomed cutoffs. “These?”

              “Uh-huh. They're super short. All you need is the right shirt.” The girl turned on her heel and pounded back up the stairs.

Carrie followed. “I didn't even say I would… Samantha? Where are you going?”

              The girl poked her head over the railing and peered down at her, flinging Carrie back in time once more. “We are getting you dressed—”

***

“—to knock Jack Gavigan's socks off,” Michelle said, and grinned.

              Carrie's heart skidded to a halt, banged on the wall of her chest and flew up into her throat, where it resumed beating. Hard. “Michelle! I—I can't!”

              “What do you mean, you can't? He likes you, you like him—so what's the problem?” Michelle called over her shoulder as she moved into Carrie's bedroom.

              “He's going with Tiffany, for one thing.” Carrie followed, dragging her feet.

              “He is not. You know that. Not after last week, he's not.” Michelle dug through her bureau drawers, shaking out shirts, holding them up, then tossing them over her shoulder onto the bed. “We have got to go shopping, girl. Your ensemble is pathetique.”

              So am I. “Oui,” Carrie agreed. “Pathetique.” She paused. “Is that even a word in French?”

              “I dunno. I take Italian. This is cute. Here. Try this on.” Michelle held out a gauzy-looking black tank top. “We could straighten your hair and make it all shiny, then you could wear those sexy high heels with your new jeans. He won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”

              “I don't—” Carrie bit her lip and took the tank top. “Never mind.” When Michelle got an idea in her head, it was impossible to stop her.

* * * * *

Apparently, her daughter was the same way. “I don't know, Sammy. Do you really think I should wear that shirt? It's practically see-through.”

El Beast, lying on the bed, suddenly began wagging her tail. “Wuff.”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “That's the idea, Carrie. You want to lead his mind to…you know.”

Leading Jack's mind to you know wasn't the problem. It was leading his mind away from you know that was the issue.

“Let's do your makeup. You've got the most incredible eyes. They're not blue, they're not gray. They're just cool.” The girl put her hand under Carrie's chin and lifted it so she could see her eyes better. “You should get your eyebrows waxed. Come on. We're going to make you so hot, Dad won't be able to keep his hands off you.”