The Marine's Baby, Maybe

by Rogenna Brewer

  She stood staring over his shoulder. “What are those women doing, beating that Marine with their signs?”

  He glanced back at the commotion. “That’s just Jack.”

  “You know him? Aren’t you going to help him?”

  “Nope,” he said, picking up his seabag and guiding her toward the exit. “Jack’s going to have to get himself out of this one.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. He deserves it.”

  He dug his fatigue cap out of his back pocket and put it on as he stepped through the door. The air outside was warmer than the air-conditioned plane and airport. But even the seventy-degree temperature was fifty degrees cooler than the desert and gave him chills. His new environment would take some getting used to. Lucky scanned the parking garage out of habit.

  They had a stretch to get to her car. He followed her toward a classic yellow Mustang. “That ’64 ½ your ride?” he asked.

  “It was my mother’s,” she said. “After she died my father kept it locked away in our garage. He gave it to me as a graduation present. He spent a lot of time restoring it, but I think he found it cathartic.”

  “Sorry about your mother.”

  “It was a long time ago.” She shrugged off his sympathy, but she couldn’t hide the wistfulness in her voice. “My grandmother was the original owner,” she said, bringing his attention back to the car. “Did you want to drive?” She dangled the keys.

  “Better not,” he said regretfully. “I’ll ride shotgun.” It had been a long time since he’d driven in traffic. Or anything smaller than an armored Humvee.

  He felt like an idiot waiting for a woman to open his door and put the top down. He should have held on to the keys that long at least. It was the normal everyday things that would trip him up for a while. Until he became acclimated to normal again.

  Cait climbed behind the wheel, her baby bump almost touching the steering column. She was—what?—six months pregnant now? He hoped she hadn’t asked him to drive because it was uncomfortable for her. But her safety, even above her comfort, came first and that was the issue here. He tossed his seabag in back and got in the passenger side.

  He studied her as she adjusted her seat belt across her lap. Things needed to be said. And he had no idea how to say them.

  She put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. “You’re staring at me.”

  “Sorry,” he apologized.

  She tucked a strand of that honey-blond hair behind her ear. “Seat belt,” she prompted, meeting his green eyes with her brown ones as he strapped in.

  He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so he fixed his gaze straight ahead while he continued to watch her out of the corner of his eye. Finally, she started the car and backed out. They passed several parked buses with Welcome Home banners. If Cait hadn’t picked him up he’d be piling into one of those Greyhounds right now.

  He reached over and tapped the horn.

  Cait waved and honked a couple more times. The guys went wild with their catcalls and whistles. Lucky was glad they were headed out of earshot because the things being said were pretty crude.

  He’d have to be careful not to drop the “F bomb” in every other sentence. Polite society did not talk or act the way he was used to talking and acting. He didn’t want to give Cait the wrong impression.

  By the time they hit the open highway, he’d given up on wearing his cap. With the wind blowing past his white walls—Marines didn’t have enough hair for the wind to blow through it—he felt almost human again.

  He reached for the volume on the radio at the same time as Cait. “Sorry,” he apologized, pulling back.

  “Don’t be. I like this song.” She turned the music way up. “Rascal Flatts. ‘Life Is a Highway.’ Did you see the Disney movie Cars?”

  He recognized the band, even recognized the movie. A lot of guys he knew had shipped the DVD home to their kids the Christmas before last. This past Christmas it had been Meet the Robinsons. Folks didn’t realize the base exchange in Baghdad was as well-stocked as any Stateside Walmart. “I guess there’ll be a lot of Disney movies in your future.”

  “Yes, yes, there will.” That admission was followed by a long silence. Not so much awkward as introspective.

  Where did they start? “Do you know how to get to Camp Pendleton?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather come home with me?”

  He was silent for another long minute, trying not to read too much into it.

  “I didn’t mean…” she backtracked.

  “I know.”

  “I just meant—”

  “I know.”

  “Just that if you had no place you’d rather be, you could stay with me for a while….” She didn’t stop trying to explain. He didn’t mind; he kind of liked listening to her.

  He stopped paying attention to what she was saying and started paying attention to the fact that she was nervous around him. Maybe even more than he was around her.

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  “So there’s no one?”

  He went back to staring at her. This time because he couldn’t quite figure out what she was talking about.

  “Special, I mean. Wife? Ex-wife? Girlfriend?”

  “Who’d have me?”

  “I bet there are plenty of women—” She glanced at him, blushed, then looked into her rearview mirror as she put on her turn signal to take the upcoming exit. “Kids?”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. His gaze drifted to her lap and her hand went to her stomach.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Then, no.” This was new territory. Despite three months of e-mails, they hadn’t found their common ground yet. Except for Luke and the baby they really didn’t have anything in common.

  She pulled off into a residential neighborhood and slowed to the posted speed. Trash cans lined the street on both sides. Lucky felt every muscle in his body tense. He reached for the steering wheel with his left hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There’s a trash can in the street up ahead.”

  “I see it. It’s not really out in the street.”

  Just the same, he didn’t ease up on the wheel until she gave the overturned can a wide berth. “Occupational hazard,” he apologized.

  She looked at him, perplexed. “I offered to let you drive.” Cait put on her turn signal, turning right into the Terrace Gardens apartment complex. She parked under a carport in a numbered space near the courtyard stairs.

  Lucky grabbed his bag from the back seat and helped her put up the ragtop. She stopped at a wall of mailboxes to pick up her mail, which, he was glad to see, wasn’t overflowing with bills. She carried her rose with the mail.

  As they passed the first door on the right, some lady with her hair up in rollers came out and stood there with her hands on her hips.

  With “…sands through the hour glass…” in the background, she stared after them as they climbed the steps. The woman mumbled something in Tagalog, a dialect he recognized from the Philippines. That didn’t mean he understood a word she was saying.

  “That’s Mrs. Pèna, my landlady.” Caitlin forced a smile and waved.

  Lucky stopped on the first landing and turned to the woman. “I’m going to be staying here for a couple of days. If that’s all right with you?”

  “Hmm,” the landlady huffed, going back inside.

  “Don’t think she likes me,” he said, catching up to Cait at the top of the third flight of stairs.

  “She thinks I have too many military men around.”

  “Do you?” His gaze made that imperceptible slide down her body, then back up again. He didn’t like the idea of her with too many men.

  Key in lock, Cait regarded him for a full minute before she swung the door wide to let him in. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Sorry.” He was doing a lot of apologizing for stepping out of bounds. Lucky stopped in the doorway. So close they were almost touching.
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  He brushed by, trying not to touch her. He could see why complete strangers felt compelled to touch pregnant women. But while he was little more than a stranger to Cait, his intentions weren’t that pure.

  “You don’t have to keep apologizing,” she said.

  His gaze lingered a little too long on her lips.

  He had no right to touch her, no right to taste her. No right to the kind of welcome-home most guys looked forward to. “Yeah, I do.”

  He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind them.

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” she said without hesitation.

  “I won’t hold you to that.” He set his seabag down next to the door. “I don’t plan on sticking around California long.” Just long enough to see for himself that she was going to be all right.

  “Oh?” There was disappointment in her tone. “Are you taking leave to go somewhere?” She gestured toward the furniture in her living room, inviting him to sit. Simple. Tasteful. A couch and a chair. A small entertainment center. He remained standing, hat in hand.

  She sat on the cushioned arm of the couch. “Are you on leave right now?”

  “Liberty. It’s downtime that isn’t charged against leave. My hitch was up a couple months ago, extended because of the war.”

  “You’re leaving the Marine Corps?”

  “All that’s left is the paperwork. Then I’m a free man.” In more ways than one.

  “When?”

  “A couple of days. Two.”

  “Oh!” She seemed to be having a hard time wrapping her head around the idea. “That’s a good thing. A really good thing. No more fighting,” she said in an overly bright voice. “What are you going to do with all that freedom?”

  “Ride with the big boys.” He did a little throttle action with his hand. “Just me and Fat Bob taking the long road to Sturgis this summer.”

  “Fat Bob is a friend of yours?”

  “Fat Bob is a motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson. I can’t believe Luke didn’t educate you,” he said.

  “Luke didn’t ride a motorcycle.”

  “I guarantee you he knew how to ride. Competition level motocross. Amateur circuit. The best bikes Big Luke’s money could buy. From the time he was knee-high.”

  He clenched his jaw against the bitter taste of that memory. He shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “Thank you.” She surprised him with a watery smile. “Luke told me he broke his collarbone going over the handlebars of his bike. I thought he meant bicycle.”

  “Nope, he was a dirt rider.”

  “Dirt rider, huh?” She had a look of longing on her face he couldn’t even begin to figure out. “Maybe if we’d had more time there wouldn’t be all these blank spots….I’m sorry,” she said, pushing up from the chair. “I’m not being a very good hostess. What’s the first thing you do when you get home from deployment?”

  After a ten-month deployment? Aside from hunting down a good meal and a willing woman? “Shower off the road dirt. And sleep for about twenty-four hours straight.”

  “The bathroom is through the bedroom.” She led the way. He picked up his bag and followed. “I’ll get you some fresh towels,” she said, already digging around in the linen closet in the bathroom. “Do you want to get something to eat after your shower?” she called.

  “Sure.”

  Unlike the rest of the apartment, her bedroom was messy and overcrowded. For starters, the unmade four-poster bed was too big for the room. There was a walk-in closet and two dressers with clothes spilling out of every door and drawer.

  “What’s with all the wedding presents?” They were still wrapped, in wedding paper that showed wear and tear, and scattered around the room. The question was meant to be rhetorical. He didn’t realize she was standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, hugging a folded towel and watching him.

  “They came after Luke left. I was waiting for him to get back to open them.”

  She laid the towel on the bed and he grunted something sympathetic. She gave him a weak smile before closing the bedroom door behind her.

  Setting his gear down next to the bed, Lucky caught a glimpse of the historic Point Loma lighthouse through the French doors to her balcony. The lighthouse in Cabrillo National Park overlooked Fort Rosecrans Military Reservation. Navy SEALs liked to be buried there because of its view of the bay and the Naval Special Warfare Command.

  If dead men could roll over in their graves, Luke was rolling over in his right now as Lucky unbuttoned his shirt in the widow-bride’s bedroom. “I hope you knew what a lucky bastard you were.”

  Caitlin may have picked the apartment for the view.

  But not for the ocean view.

  “HE SAYS HE’S LEAVING IN two days!” She snipped off the end of the rose and put it in a bud vase. Yellow was the color of waiting. Very appropriate for a pregnant woman. “Can’t you change his mind?”

  Caitlin was still on the phone with Bruce when Calhoun stepped out of her bedroom. He’d changed into a clean desert-drab T-shirt and cammies. She hadn’t waited three months to meet him just so he could leave again in two days.

  “He has a mind of his own, Cait.”

  “Call me later,” she pleaded in a hushed tone. “That was Bruce,” she explained, hanging up. “I asked him to call back later. Do you want to order in? Pizza okay?” She was already punching in Pizza Hut on her speed dial.

  “Pizza’s fine.” Calhoun frowned at the cell phone in his hand. “Do you have somewhere I could plug this in?”

  She pointed to her charger on the counter next to the cookie jar. “There’s an adaptor in the junk drawer below if you need it. What do you want on your pizza?” Pizza Hut, she mouthed when someone came on the line to take her order. “Large. Half pineapple and ham. And half…”

  “Meat lover’s,” he said.

  “Meat lover’s,” she repeated into the phone.

  She ended the call and turned to find Calhoun with his hand in the cookie jar. “Ahem.” She cleared her throat.

  “You don’t know how hard I had to fight to keep these all to myself.” He shoved half a chocolate-chip cookie into his mouth. “Bruce say he’d been trying to reach me?” he asked, chewing.

  “He didn’t say. Would you like a glass of milk?” she asked, happy to hear her cookies were appreciated. Still chewing, he nodded. “Excuse me.” She indicated the cupboard behind him. He ducked out of her way as she reached in for two tumblers. Opening the fridge, she poured the two glasses full of milk and handed one to him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Cheers!” They bumped glasses.

  He smelled like a new bar of Irish Spring, his damp hair spiky. She bet all he had to do was towel it dry, rake some gel through it and he was good to go. She wondered if it was as soft to the touch as it looked.

  Or if it was prickly from the gel.

  Her baby could have hair that exact shade of light brown with that high hairline. Or those same penetrating green eyes that were studying her now.

  “Did Bruce say when he’d call back?” He leaned back against the counter as he polished off another cookie.

  “No.”

  He appeared casual, relaxed. But something about the way he moved told her he was more controlled than relaxed. There was a hint of ink above his collar and below his sleeve.

  Biker tattoos?

  Her Luke didn’t have any tattoos. She knew that much. If Luke was a dirt biker what was Calhoun?

  A street biker? One of those Hell’s Angels? Was he leaving the military to join a biker gang?

  Her kitchen had never felt so small.

  Nonsense. In all the time they’d been exchanging e-mails and phone calls he’d never said or done anything to make her feel uncomfortable. So why was she feeling that way now?

  “I bet it’s been a while since you’ve had pizza,” she said, trying to take the edge off.

  “Camp Victory has its own Pizza Hut and just about every other
fast food you can name.”

  “No way. Subway?”

  He nodded. After a moment of silence, he added, “Mind if I watch the game until the pizza gets here?”

  Okay, so he wasn’t a hugger or a talker.

  The game was college basketball. Something called March Madness. Excusing herself, Cait went into her bedroom to change into black capris and a white-on-black, butterfly-print maternity top. When she came back out, he was flipping through the pages of a book on her coffee table.

  Her father’s Christmas present had been the same thing he got her every year. A gift certificate to Amazon.com. She’d picked up a couple of books on genetics and one on genealogy.

  “Pretty heavy reading,” he commented.

  She sat opposite him on the heavy trunk table that served as a coffee table and slid a coaster under his glass of milk. To his credit he muted the sound on March Madness and gave her his complete attention.

  “I was just trying to make sense of it all. For me it’s not about that anymore, it’s about family. Because of you, a part of Luke will go on.”

  Caitlin fidgeted with the white bow under her bustline. “I’m having a boy.” Preparing herself with a deep breath, she smoothed her top over her baby bulge. “I’d like to name him Luke Lane Calhoun Jr. in honor of Luke. I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that. With our special circumstances, I mean.”

  Biting her lip, she waited for his reaction.

  He didn’t react.

  “It’s not my decision,” he said evenly.

  Chapter Eight

  “THEN YOU’RE OKAY WITH IT?” she asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I just supplied half the genetic code, right—the Calhoun DNA.”

  “You’re more than that.”

  Yeah, family. Uncle Lucky. He was trying to come to terms with his role in all of this. Even though giving up his own kid went against everything he believed. It made him no better than Big Luke.

  Okay, so her choice of names bothered him a little. A lot.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Saved by a pizza,” she said blithely.

  “Got it,” he said, pushing to his feet. After he paid the delivery driver, he followed her into the kitchen.