Playing Dirty (10 page)

The memory of her climbing the steps on the back deck, a massive bouquet of blue and pink hydrangeas she’d cut from the bushes lining the property in her hand, the morning sun behind her. He smiled as he recalled the way her eyes had sparkled instantly with longing when she’d spied him on the deck with the sports section and a mug of coffee. The coffee and flowers quickly forgotten as she’d shoved him up against the wall and had settled to her knees in front of him.

He finished the last of the bourbon in his glass as if it were a shot. No matter how much he might want to pick up right where they had left off, he knew it would never be that easy or simple. There would be a period of adjustment, that much was inevitable. Every time he’d come home from a long mission those first few days were sometimes awkward as they found their rhythm again. And they always had, but this time was different and he knew it. Mattie had been through a lot in the time he’d been presumed dead. She’d given birth, mourned a husband and buried her mother. She’d met and fallen in love with someone else. For as much as he hated to admit it, there was a chance those dreams he’d been harboring for their future just might go down in flames.
 

She could pick Avery.

A small hand settled tentatively on his knee, disrupting the path his tortuous thoughts had taken. “Psssst.” Phoebe shoved at his knee, moving it back and forth. “Are you sleeping?”

He opened his eyes and looked directly into a pair of green eyes so like her mother’s. She was such an exact replica of Mattie, it was a bit unnerving. “No, I’m not sleeping.” He smiled down at her. “I’m very much awake.”

Phoebe wrinkled her forehead and frowned. “But your eyes were closed.”
He set the empty glass on the end table. “I was resting my eyes.”

“Mommy rests her eyes sometimes, too,” Phoebe said. “But I know she’s really sleeping.”
“Are you sure? Mommies have super powers.”
“My mommy can’t have super powers.”

“How do you know?”

Phoebe dramatically rolled her eyes. “Cuz she doesn’t have a costume. You can’t be a super hero without a costume.” She used her hands when she talked, punctuating her statement. “And if you aren’t a super hero, you can’t have super powers.”

Ford bit back a smile at her logic. “Well, I have a uniform. Does that count?”

She considered this for a moment, then eventually shook her head. “Pro’ly not.” She nudged his knee again with her small hand. “Can I sit with you?”

He wasn’t exactly sure how or when it had happened, but sometime in the past six hours, a level of trust had been established between them. He’d noticed it earlier in the way she had made sure she sat next to him during dinner. She’d stayed fairly close to him all afternoon without being clingy or hovering.

After lifting Phoebe onto his lap, he asked, “Better?”

She nodded and kept looking at him, her gaze filled with curiosity. Obviously, the girl had something on her mind. “Did you want to ask me something?” he prompted.

She narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?”

He smiled at the accusation in her tone. “Just a lucky guess.”

Lifting her hand, she placed her palm over his heart as if she were reassuring herself he was indeed alive. “If you weren’t in heaven, where were you?”

Phoebe was a bright kid. The fact that she had questions was understandable, expected even. The answers were the problem. He couldn’t relate the facts. Those were adult matters unsuitable for a small child. But in the brief time he’d already spent with his daughter, he suspected blowing her off wouldn’t do, either.

“Do you remember what Mommy told you?” he asked. They’d only spent about thirty minutes alone together when she’d first arrived, and Mattie had tried to explain as simply as she could that there’d been a mistake and he hadn’t been in heaven as they’d all believed. But that conversation had been short and not very insightful, even for a five-year-old. Now his curious and precocious daughter wanted answers.
 

“I was doing my job,” he said, “and not able to come home.”
 

“You couldn’t call?” she asked as she lowered her hand. “When Mommy is late picking me up at Granddaddy’s, she
always
calls. She says it’s a rule.”

He remembered. Mattie hadn’t ever had an issue if he’d been running late or had been detained, but he’d sure as hell had better have called to let her know. A common courtesy, she’d always said. A show of respect.

“Believe me, sweetheart, I would have called if I could. It just wasn’t possible.”

Her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “But why?”

“Because there were no telephones where they...where I was staying.”

She thought about that for a minute then looked at him, her expression filled with awe. “You’re a spy,” she declared, wonder lacing her voice.

He chuckled. “No. Not really.” But he had been an intelligence officer with his SEAL team, performing mostly recon and extraction missions. He’d been behind enemy lines more times than he could count.

“Prove it.”

He laughed. “What?”

“Prove it,” she said. “Who won the 2007 World Series?”

He had to think about that one for a minute before the answer came to him. “Boston Red Sox,” he said.

“Everybody knows that,” Phoebe said with a level of authority that took him by surprise. “Who won the 1994 World Series?”

He knew, but decided to mess with her. “New York Yankees.”

“Nope.”

“Atlanta Braves.”

“Uh-huh.” She folded her arms and shot him such a stern expression he didn’t dare laugh. “You’re just guessing.”

Mattie joined them in the family room. “What is this about?” Ford asked her.

Mattie straightened the cushions on the love seat, then sat. “Dad likes those old war movies. John Wayne, John Garfield. The ones from the 40’s. And you know how much he loves sports. He’s always filling her head with baseball facts.”

“So what’s with the interrogation?”

Phoebe settled against him, her head pressed against his chest. “What’s taro gation?”
 

“Interrogation,” Mattie said to Phoebe. She looked back to Ford. “It’s how the good guys knew if somebody was a spy. I can’t believe you don’t know this.”
 

“They ask, ‘Who won the World Series?’ and if they don’t know, it’s cuz they was a spy.” Phoebe tipped her head back and looked closely at Ford. “So answer the question.”

“I’m not a spy.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion again. “Then answer the question, Daddy.”

A new level of trust had definitely been established. Until now, he’d been Hey You, not Daddy. He couldn’t help himself. He smiled.

“Phoebe,” Mattie warned, “that’s enough.”

“It’s okay,” he said. He looked at Phoebe. “There was no series in ’94 because the players were on strike. It was only the second time in history that happened. The first time was in 1904.”

Mattie laughed. “That was a trick question, Phoebe. Not fair.”

His daughter grinned at him. “Maybe only a spy would know that.”

He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her sweet scent. She smelled like strawberry-scented shampoo. “Maybe I just remember the players’ strike.”

“Then you’re really old.” She rested her head against his chest again and yawned. “Like Granddaddy.”

Ford chuckled. “Not quite that old.”

Mattie stood. “Bedtime, Phoebe. Give Daddy a kiss goodnight.”

Phoebe let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, Mommy,” she said as she slid off his lap. Without an ounce of hesitation, she hurried across the room to the bookcase. From a low shelf, she picked up the frame holding the standard issue Navy photo of him and pressed her lips to the glass.
 

Ford’s chest tightened, and he swore a piece of his heart shattered. He looked at Mattie and she winced. Phoebe returned the photo to the bookcase, then took off toward her bedroom oblivious to the pain tearing him in two.
 

“I’m sorry,” Mattie said. “I didn’t think...God, I’m so sorry.”

Stunned by what he’d just witnessed, he had no words. Instead, he stood and brushed past Mattie on his way to the bar where he poured himself another drink and downed it in one shot.
 

* * *

Mattie turned the switch on the Little Mermaid lamp until the nightlight portion bathed Phoebe’s room in a gentle bluish-green, under-the-sea glow. Two songs, and a reading from one of her favorite storybooks later, Phoebe had finally fallen asleep. She’d half expected Ford to join them, but he’d been pretty shaken by Phoebe’s nightly ritual. In all honesty, when she’d told Phoebe to kiss her daddy goodnight, she hadn’t given the photograph a single thought. She’d just assumed now that Ford was home, Phoebe would’ve kissed him goodnight, not his picture.

But why would she? It wasn’t like she’d ever known her father. Not once in her entire life had Ford been there for bedtime. For any part of Phoebe’s life. All their daughter knew of him were the stories and snippets of information she and the rest of the family had told her, and she had no idea how much, or how little, the girl had absorbed.

Anger unexpectedly slammed into her. She struggled to ignore the red-hot sensation, along with all the other emotions she’d thought she’d buried. No one ever said life was fair, but for what had to be the ten millionth time, she questioned fate. Why, when she’d finally found happiness, had Ford come back into their lives? It had been sheer hell, but she had learned to live without him. How was she supposed to let him back in again after everything she’d gone through?
 

She hovered near the door and attempted to rein in her emotions as she watched her daughter sleep. A good five minutes and several deep, meditative breaths later, she finally closed the door to Phoebe’s room. She considered taking the coward’s way out and retreating to her bedroom for the night, but knowing Ford, a closed door would not keep him out of her thoughts, or her bedroom. Being near him with a bed in the immediate vicinity would not be a smart move. Five years might have passed, but that didn’t mean she still wasn’t physically attracted to him. Their kiss this morning told her that much.

God, was it really only that morning, a mere sixteen hours ago? She found that so difficult to comprehend, especially after the emotional upheaval they’d all experienced today.
 

The family room was empty by the time she returned. The buttery glow of the lamp bathed the room in soft light, but there was no sign of Ford. She retraced her steps and headed back up the hallway to check the guest room, then her bedroom. Both were deserted, so she went back down the hall to the living and dining rooms. She was about to check the garage, but movement on the back deck caught her attention.

She opened the door and stepped outside into the warm, sultry night. The red tip of a cigarette caught her attention seconds before a curl of smoke wafted in her direction. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid scent and was instantly assailed with memories. Ford rarely smoked, but when he did, he was usually upset about something. After the day they’d had, she wouldn’t say no to a vodka-something, either.

“I found an unopened pack hidden in the glove box of the Mustang,” he said as he pinched off the tip.
 

“Those have got to be stale,” she said. “It smells nasty.”

“You have no idea.” He stubbed out the remaining butt on the railing for good measure, then chucked it into the flower bed.

“Really?” she chastised.

“Sorry,” he pulled a roll of mints from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. “Bad habit.”

“One I hope you don’t intend to continue.” She approached him and settled her hand on his arm. His skin was warm, the hair on his arm smooth beneath her fingertips. “Ford, I really am sorry. I had no idea Phoebe would do that.”

“I suppose I should be grateful she at least knew who I was.” He stared at her with a hardness in his eyes that had her low-simmering anger spiking. “Even if it was only a photograph.”

“And whose fault is that? Dammit, Ford,” she said, her voice catching. A lump wedged in her throat. “Why didn’t you come back to me?”
 

He pushed off the railing and faced her. The intensity in his eyes had her backing up a few steps until her backside brushed against the side of the house. He closed in and braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her between his body and the weathered siding she’d planned to upgrade in the fall.

“You promised,” she said on a harsh whisper. She pushed at him, but he didn’t move. “You promised me.”

“I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Moisture filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She tried to push him away again, but the man was immovable. He was her husband, the man she’d known from the minute she’d met him, they were destined to be together—forever. And she’d hurt him.
 

God, how she loved him. Losing him had nearly killed her. He’d taken with him her will to live, and if it hadn’t been for Phoebe...

Those were bleak times during the darkest days of her life. He was right. He was here now. Shouldn’t that be all that mattered?

But for how long? How long before he felt the call for adventure, the need to do what he’d been trained to do? How long before he left them again for some hot spot halfway around the globe? Could she live that way again?