HAVE HUSBAND, NEED HONEYMOON

by Rita Herron

  * * *

  Brady studied the layout of the print shop and the orders his mother had taken for the day, easily fitting back into the routine of tasks he'd handled as a teenager when he'd helped his father during the summers. Stacks of papers, poster board, an ad layout for the hospital, the copy machines: everything came back to him as if he'd never left the place.

  And so did the monotony.

  Why had his father given up the Air Force to open this business? And how had he worked here for ten years without losing his mind?

  Lack of stress.

  Memories of his crash descended upon Brady, and he suddenly realized lack of stress was the reason he was considering staying here and taking over for his mother. If he didn't have to face flying every day, he might get over his guilt. Guilt that he'd left his mother to run the shop alone after his father had died, while he'd pursued his own dreams. Guilt over his friend's death. Guilt over not taking leave time when he'd had the chance.

  His mother greeted a customer who wanted advertisements printed for the hospital benefit, and Brady busied himself with the smaller jobs, deciding to take the bookkeeping home and review it tonight when he couldn't sleep.

  "Brady, hon, would you run off your sister's wedding invitations? I'm swamped with this hospital benefit."

  "Sure, Mom." He gathered the information and began typing it in, grateful his mother had kept up with technology and invested in a good computer system. But while he automatically entered the date and time and place of the wedding, his thoughts turned to Alison and their wedding.

  She'd been like a vision standing in the small moonlit chapel wearing her prom dress, a pale blue, silky, off-the-shoulder gown with a thigh-high slit. But it had been the love in her eyes that had totally hypnotized him.

  When he'd married her, he'd thought it would be forever, just as he'd thought he would be in the Air Force forever. He'd imagined going overseas for a while, then maybe getting stationed in the States. Finally, after the kids came, he'd settle down and teach other recruits to fly. Maybe teach his own son to fly one day.

  He stretched out his hands and stared at the scarred knuckles, trying to imagine them holding on to the controls again. But his pulse raced, sweat broke out on his brow and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

  He couldn't do it, couldn't even think about climbing in the cockpit of a plane, much less getting behind the controls and actually flying. He closed his hands into fists, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the images of the explosion. But he could still see the fire licking at the cockpit, shooting from Josh's clothes, blazing its trail of honor.

  No, he'd lost more than his friend in the crash; Brady had lost his will to fly. He had watched all his dreams go up in smoke right along with Josh.

  * * *

  "Alison, this is Thomas. Can I come over?"

  Alison adjusted the phone to her ear as she stared at the hope chest. She'd brought it home and placed it in her bedroom, and had forced herself not to look at the contents again, but she knew what lay inside. The photo of her and Brady on their wedding day. "Not tonight, Thomas, I'm really tired." And confused and worried about Brady, the man I'm still married to.

  "Is everything all right? You sound kind of strange."

  "I'm fine. I just need some … space. Please try to understand."

  He hesitated, his usual cheery voice resonating with hurt when he spoke again. "All right. I didn't mean to bother you."

  "You didn't, it's just … I have a lot to think about right now." Alison closed her eyes and sighed, feeling guilty for hurting him. But she had to be fair to him and to herself, and leading him on certainly wouldn't be fair.

  "Will you call me when you're ready to talk?"

  "Yes, Thomas, and … thanks for being so understanding. You really are wonderful."

  "So are you, Ali. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

  She hung up, unable to shake the feeling of impending doom she'd had all day. While she'd worked on the arrangements for Vivica's wedding, she'd had visions of making wedding plans for herself.

  Only Thomas's face hadn't appeared in her visions, Brady's had.

  What if she was making a mistake? Letting Thomas go when the only thing left between her and Brady were memories? Was she hoping they might rekindle their love when the embers had died out and been buried in the dust years ago?

  Feeling agitated, she went to her wicker desk and pulled out the box of letters Brady had written her. She'd saved every one from college and from his days in flight training. Lying back on her duvet, she turned on the Tiffany lamp her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday, removed the first letter from the rubber band and opened it.

  Dear Alison,

  It's midnight here and every part of my body hurts, but I couldn't sleep without writing you about the first day. The training was ten times rougher than football practice. We got up before dawn, worked out like crazy, then ran ten miles with our packs on, all before breakfast. The cots are hard, the lieutenant is a first-class psycho (he made the guy in the bunk next to me do a hundred push-ups just because his damn sheets weren't tucked in right), and the food stinks, but I saw one of the planes today and my heart just about exploded in my chest. I keep telling myself it'll all be worth it. One day I'll be able to fly a fighter jet by myself. Maybe I can borrow a Cessna at the airport in town when I come home and take you for a ride above the lake. We can stop and make love on the shore again, just like on our wedding night.

  I hope your dad gets over being pissed off at me and realizes that although I'm in the Air Force, I'm not ever completely going away. Flying has always been in my soul, baby, but you're in my blood now, too. It doesn't matter if we've got papers or not, you'll always be my girl. Have sweet dreams thinking about me tonight 'cause you know I'll be dreaming about you.

  I've got your picture here under my pillow. I wish I had your body here, too, so I could run my hands all over you and make you moan and say my name when I give you pleasure.

  Love,

  Brady

  Alison folded the letter and tucked it back inside the envelope, her heart clenching. Flying had always been in his soul, so how could he possibly give it up? And if she'd truly been in his blood, how could he come back and act as if he didn't care for her anymore?

  * * *

  Brady finished looking over the bookkeeping, a headache pounding through his brain. His mother was right: the books were a mess. She needed to hire someone to take over the finances right away. Maybe he'd help her find an affordable accountant before he… Before he what? Left town again?

  Cursing beneath his breath, Brady poured himself a Scotch and limped to his bedroom, stripped down to his boxers and opened up the balcony doors to let in the fresh night air. Crickets chirped in the woods, a dog howled somewhere in the distance and a breeze stirred the trees, bringing the scent of his mother's roses. Though ancient trees flanked the backyard of his mother's house, offering privacy, he looked across the street, over the row of houses to the corner where Alison lived. Vivi had pointed out her apartment when they'd driven into town. It seemed odd that she'd chosen a place so close to his mother's house. From his two-story balcony, he could actually see a faint light burning from one of her windows. What was she doing? Was she awake? Getting ready for bed?

  Did she have company?

  Was Emerson touching her, kissing her? Making love to her?

  Brady's hand tightened around the glass as he took a hefty swig, trying to extricate the images from his mind.

  Tomorrow he and Alison would meet with her mother to discuss the divorce. Soon Emerson would have free rein, and Brady would have nothing. No legal right to Alison. No right to her at all.

  It had to be that way.

  He glanced down at his scarred leg, the jagged, puckered skin below his boxers, pink and ugly in the moonlight. Tossing down the rest of the Scotch, he stepped back inside and grabbed his duffel. Unable to help himself, he pulled out the stack of letter
s Alison had written him over the years. He'd kept them bound with a rubber band and stuffed inside his bag wherever he went.

  He thumbed through the stack, recognized the familiar lilac stationery she'd used to write the first letter, then stepped back onto the balcony and read it.

  Dear Brady,

  I can't believe you've been gone only hours.

  I'm already missing you so much I hurt, and I'm so mad at my dad I haven't spoken to him all night. I wish Hannah and Mimi were here to help me talk some sense into him, to make him realize that I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a grown woman now, your woman, Brady. I love you with all my heart, and I'll never forget how it felt to have you call me your wife, how it felt to lie naked in your arms and have you make love to me.

  I have to admit I was a little scared about being intimate with you at first. You've always been so big and strong, and I love that about you, but you were so tender that night. I thought making love would be good, but I'd never imagined it would be so wonderful. I want you again, Brady. I wish you were here right now, and I could peel off this nightgown and feel your lips kissing mine, your hands on my breasts, your big strong body moving above me.

  When you go to bed tonight, close your eyes and pretend you see me dancing naked in the moonlight. And when you look up into the sky and see the stars twinkling, you'll know I'm smiling down at you, whispering your name, begging you to come back to me.

  I love you, forever & ever & always,

  Alison

  Brady clenched the letter in his fist. A friend of his had known about the letters. He'd brought them to Brady in the hospital. Brady had read them so many times he could recite the contents in his sleep.

  But when he'd awakened in the hospital and remembered the horror of what had happened, when he'd seen the scars on his body, he'd also known his relationship with Alison would never be the same. She deserved someone better, a whole man.

  Once the divorce was final, he'd have to get rid of the letters. And he'd have to forget he had ever had a woman like Alison Hartwell. And that for one glorious night she'd lain in his arms as his wife, Alison Broussard.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  "Come on, Brady, you're doing great. Just a few more reps and you can get in the whirlpool."

  "You're enjoying torturing me, aren't you?" Brady gritted his teeth, shot Vivica a murderous look and tried to bend his leg as she'd instructed.

  Vivica smiled sweetly. "Payback for that time you held me upside down over the toilet and tried to flush my ponytail."

  Brady almost laughed. He had been a pretty aggravating brother at times. "It just made you tough."

  Vivica laughed. "Right. I was scared to death of you for the first five years of my life. I had nightmares of you dropping me over the stair rail on my head."

  "Yeah, but you were damn lucky I was around when all the boys started chasing you." Brady finished the set of exercises with a grunt.

  "Uh-huh, I surely didn't want boys chasing me. Now let's try something else." Vivica placed his foot on her thigh, braced herself and forced him to push as hard as he could. Sweat trickled down his face, the agony in his leg compounded by the aftereffects of a sleepless night.

  "Thanks for being nice to Joe. That means a lot."

  "He seems like a stand-up kind of guy." Brady's leg jerked, his muscles cramping, and Vivica helped him stretch it out, massaging the knotted muscle. "Anyway, I pretty much told him he'd be dead meat if he hurt you."

  Vivica rolled her eyes. "You know we're moving to Atlanta after we're married?"

  "Yeah."

  "I hope Mom's going to be okay alone."

  She may not be alone. "She wants you to be happy, Vivi."

  "I know. She wants the same for you, bro. Even if she does hint that you should take over the print shop, she wouldn't want you to do it and be miserable."

  He didn't comment, but then he didn't think his sister expected him to.

  She held out her hand. "Come on, let's get you in the whirlpool. You deserve a little R and R."

  Brady stiffened, shaking off her help as he grabbed the handrail and hauled himself to a standing position. "I don't deserve to be coddled, Vivi."

  His sister hesitated, studying him. "Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself? You had an accident, Brady, you didn't go out and intentionally—"

  "Drop it, sis." Brady turned and walked away.

  Vivica called after him, "And you should talk to the doctor about sleeping pills. I can tell by the dark circles under your eyes you're not resting."

  Brady ignored her comment as he strode toward the whirlpool. He was determined to get the physical therapy session over with as soon as possible. After all, he didn't want to keep Alison and her mother waiting. They had a divorce to discuss.

  * * *

  Alison stood in the entryway of the Red Robin Café, her stomach fluttering with nerves as she searched the room for her mother and Brady.

  "Alison, hey, I didn't know you were going to be here."

  She spun around, nearly whacking Thomas with her shoulder bag. "Oh, Thomas, I'm so sorry."

  He laughed and rubbed at his elbow. "It's all right. I didn't mean to startle you."

  "You didn't."

  He raised a brow.

  "Well, I guess you did. My mind must be a million miles away."

  "Sorting through things."

  "Yes." Like his proposal – and her relationship with the man she hadn't known she was still married to.

  She spotted Brady lumber in, his face tight as he strode toward her. Either he was in a great deal of pain or he was angry about something. The room suddenly grew hot, almost as stifling as the dry heat outside.

  How awkward. Her boyfriend with her husband – soon to be ex-husband.

  "Alison, sorry I'm late," Brady said when he approached. "Vivica tried to kill me with therapy sessions."

  So he was in pain. She ached to reach out and comfort him. But the fierce scowl he sent Thomas shocked her into silence. Then Brady's gaze traveled to her, and something dark and dangerous and sensual lurked in the hidden depths of his dark brown eyes. Something carnal and almost possessive.

  A nervous laugh escaped her. "Oh, you're not late. Thomas and I were just chatting."

  Thomas gave Brady the once-over as well. "Broussard, good to see you again."

  Brady pumped his hand.

  "Thomas is the new OB-GYN who works with Hannah," Alison explained.

  Brady's jaw tightened considerably, and he moved his hand to her waist. "I know, Eberson and I met at the parade."

  "Oh, I forgot." Alison said.

  "It's Emerson," Thomas corrected.

  "Right." Brady turned to Alison. "Are you ready for lunch?"

  "We're meeting to talk about Vivi's wedding plans," Alison added when confusion reddened Thomas's face.

  "Maybe we can catch a game of golf sometime," Thomas suggested.

  "I don't play golf," Brady replied curtly. "My mother's joining us for lunch," Alison said, instantly wondering why'd she offered that information.

  "Your mother?" Thomas looked even more confused.

  Alison bit down on her lip, but Thomas's pager beeped, saving the awkward moment.

  "Another baby on its way," Thomas said with a grin. "Have a nice lunch, you guys. If you change your mind about the golf, just let me know."

  Brady's dark gaze raked over Alison as Thomas left, and she shifted restlessly. Had he been jealous of Thomas?

  * * *

  Brady jerked his gaze away from Alison, mentally calling himself a dozen unspeakable names for acting like such a fool. He had no claims on her.

  Yes, you do. She's still your wife, a little voice inside his head whispered. And in your heart, she always will be.

  No, he had to get over her. He had to end the marriage and forget her.

  "Where's your mother?" he asked, a little more gruffly than he'd intended.

  Alison searched the room, finall
y turning to look out the window, a nervous smile settling on her face when a tall, sleek, middle-aged blonde waved through the tinted glass.

  Seconds later, Mrs. Hartwell appeared, smoothing down a strand of hair the wind had blown from her topknot. He'd wondered if she would resemble Alison, but except for her height, she didn't; she favored Hannah. As they were seated, the tension between the two women was palpable. "Janelle, this is Brady Broussard." Alison gestured to Brady. "Janelle Hartwell."

  He shook her hand.

  "It's nice to meet you, Brady. Call me Janelle." Mrs. Hartwell turned a charming smile toward him, and he realized she was sizing him up to see what kind of man her daughter had married four years ago. Of course, he'd always wondered what kind of woman could leave her children. But he didn't intend to voice his thoughts and create more tension.

  "Thanks for agreeing to handle this situation," he said to break the silence. "We want to keep things as quiet as possible."

  "And move things along quickly, right?" Alison added.

  "Yes." His gaze met hers and he saw a spark of anger in her eyes, but he didn't understand why. Was she angry he'd embarrassed her in front of her fiancé?

  "I'm glad to be able to help my daughter," Alison's mother said, sounding sincere. "Let's order and we'll discuss details while we eat."

  They spent an exorbitant amount of time studying the menu. Alison ordered chicken salad, her mother the Caesar salad, while Brady opted for a club sandwich. Then both women toyed with their napkins, straightening and making sure they were folded just right – all time-killers, he realized. He contemplated Janelle Hartwell's return and wondered how it had affected Alison. Once upon a time, he would have asked her, but now…

  Ice clinked in Janelle's tea as she squeezed lemon into it and stirred. "Now, tell me about yourself, Brady."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Alison told me you two met in high school. Are you the same age?"

  He shook his head. "No, I was a senior when she was a freshman."