“How’s JJ—I mean Lieutenant Commander Woodridge?”
“Coping. I must check the cooling unit on her jaw and see if she needs additional pain killers for the burns.” He swerved and headed away.
Deacon said to Henry’s back, “Don’t you want to see Marlee?”
“I will later. Duty first.”
Right. Duty first. His first duty was thanking Marlee-the-heroine. His practical, no holds barred, gutsy little heroine had saved his life. She’d also stopped JJ from becoming a murderer. It amazed him, delighted him, and, yes, even frightened him that, in so short a time, he had such strong feelings and cared so deeply for Marlee.
Once at Marlee’s bedside, he gazed down at her closed eyelids, and at the lump on the right side of her forehead, now the size of a goose’s egg. The swelling extended down, over the brow, to the top of her eyelid.
Memories vividly came into focus. He’d felt her shove him aside, and watched her aim her welding rod. Then he squeezed his eyes closed against the inevitable blast. When he’d opened his eyes and found Marlee inert on the floor, his heart almost stopped beating. It was JJ’s hysterical screams from the pain of her burnt hand that sent his heart racing anew. JJ had looked at him and, with enough presence of mind, pulled out another rodgun. Still screaming, more in rage than pain, she aimed the weapon at Marlee’s back.
Deacon had lunged at JJ and sent a roundhouse blow, which dislocated her jaw and knocked her out.
He’d gone to Marlee, praying she wasn’t dead, and realized in that moment how much he cared. He almost chuckled. He was unquestionably a little in love with the woman—Marlee, so quirky and capable—but could brave, honest Marlee learn to love him back? Did the woman even like him?
She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a soft whoosh.
When she didn’t open her eyes, Deacon said in a low voice, “Marlee—Wakey, wakey.”
Her eyelids opened, shut, then opened. The lovely black lenses spun wide, not quite in sync with each other until two blinks later.
The swollen right eyelid didn’t open fully, but he was sure she recognized him.
She softly moaned.
Okay, so no smile. What did he expect?
He smiled at her, unashamed to let his feelings for her show. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
Ah, the grumpy heroine. Considering what she’d been through, it was to be expected. He flashed her a bright grin. “I beg to differ, but we’ll talk about that another time.”
She growled low in her throat and turned her head, wincing from the movement. Her gaze took in the surroundings. “Skom, I’m in sickbay. My head is pounding. How badly am I crippled this time?”
“Not crippled. No concussion—just a bump to the forehead when it collided with the corner of the treatment table. You’ll have quite the shiner, but no cut, no stitches, no damage to the ocular implants.”
By the paling and flushing of her face, she had to be recalling why she fell.
He took her cool hand in his and marveled at how soft her skin was. “Thank you for taking the hypo meant for me.”
She again growled in her throat, but she didn’t pull her hand free. “You’re officially unwelcome.”
He chuckled.
“So, what about the tranquilizer. My body doesn’t feel like lead at a hundred-thousand g’s.”
“Henry gave you an antidote.”
“What about Woodridge? Did I stop her?”
“Yes. She has some ugly burns on her hand and wrist from the explosion of the rodgun pellet, but she’ll recover the use of the hand.”
“What about the guy in the bed? I take it he was the target?”
“Yes, and I’ll tell you about him when you’re feeling better.”
“Why not now?”
“Because you need to rest and recover.”
Her scowl at him was short-lived. “How’s Henry?”
“He’s fine. Better than fine. Nick, that is, Commander Asuka, called in the techs, who rebooted Henry to insure no commands remain from JJ’s tampering with him.”
In a whisper she said, “And the bomb, the explosive?”
“It’s out of him. JJ never got a chance to detonate it.”
Marlee closed her eyes. “So all’s right with the world?” She smiled.
Such a beautiful smile…
This was the woman for him, but how to convince her? Ah, yes…
“Marlee, sweetheart, don’t panic.”
Her eyes remained closed. “Why would I panic?”
He released her hand, bent forward, and placed his hands on either side of her. Putting his feelings for her into his sexiest, deepest voice, he quietly warned her, “I’m going to kiss you.”
Before she could blink or utter a protest, he lowered himself, putting his lips to hers. As he deepened the kiss, her surprise abated, and she relaxed. Her lips softened beneath his.
He felt the tightness in his groin, then the quick rise of arousal.
He was vaguely aware Marlee reached for his shoulder, took a handful of his robe, and pulled him toward her.
Chest met chest.
A profound and ecstatic joy raced through him.
Behind him came the loud squelch of treads. Henry’s voice boomed, “Marlee, Marlee, help. HELP! I have hiccups!”
Epilogue
Three weeks later
Marlee engaged the wrench, sending the bolt whirring into the base of Henry’s pincer-hand. She glanced at the wall clock above her workshop’s station. Fifteen minutes after her shift ended and no Deacon. Okay, so he said he might be a little late. She was hungry, going on ravenous.
Maybe a little ravenous for his company?
Well, that too. She liked being with him, but did he like being with her? He said he did, but why did he find excuses not to stay the night and have sex with her?
“Marlee!”
She startled and blurted out a sharp, “What?”
“The wrench ceased functioning twenty seconds ago.”
She removed the unit. “Okay, try the hand. Is it working up to specs?”
He flexed and spun each of the three fingers on the appendage. “Affirmative. Yes. All is within working parameters.”
“Great, and, Henry, please don’t put any more of your digits into a RoboBot’s mouth.”
“Puppy is not a RoboBot. It is a toy. A much beloved toy.”
“Yeah, a toy with the Bite Force Quotient of an uber-katachin.” She glanced at the pile of parts that had been Puppy. “Next time a kid throws a tantrum over getting an injection, don’t bribe him with anything he can smash and it goes berserk.”
“Affirmative. Yes. Duly noted.”
Swiveling her task chair, she deposited the wrench in its holder on the wall. When she turned back to face Henry, she checked the clock. Five more minutes had gone by and no Deacon.
Her stomach grumbled.
She was hungry and shouldn’t wait much longer.
“Marlee, four times while I have been here you have looked at the clock. Is Deacon late for your date?”
“It’s not a date, just supper at The Mall Bistro.”
“You do not look as if you are eager for Deacon to appear. Has he displeased you?”
“No, nothing like that.” She averted her gaze and studied her chipped fingernails.
“Marlee?”
“What?”
“I have concluded something troubles you. Must I quiz you until I ascertain your malady?”
“I don’t have a malady, and I don’t need amateur psychoanalysis.”
“You are being sarcastic, are you not?”
She met his serene, glass-eyed gaze. “No, not sarcastic. I guess I’m irritated with myself and letting my imagination create angsting horrors.”
“About what precisely?”
Did she dare confide in Henry?
The situation needed to be resolved. Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t, and who better than Henry to see
things logically? Analyze her quandary? Reach a sensible conclusion?
“Marlee? Please say something.”
She needed advice. That’s all there was to it. “Okay. I’ll lay it on the line. I like—really, really—like Deacon.”
“I have drawn that conclusion, but there is something else, is there not?”
She said quietly, “We haven’t had sex.”
“Is sex with Deacon important to you?”
“I like being seduced. I like foreplay. I like sex.”
“And Deacon does not?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. We kiss. We cuddle. Twice we’ve walked the conservatory gardens and talked all night. He helped me get a nice sofa bed and anchor it to the decking of my quarters, but all we do is sit on it. No sleeping together. No sex.” She sat up straighter and confessed her worst fear. “I think he just wants to be a friend.”
“You want to be more than friends? You want to be lovers?”
She nodded. And maybe more, something permanent, like raising a family together.
“Have you discussed this with him?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a subject I want to broach.”
Henry’s voice held a stern, almost fatherly, admonishment. “You should talk to Deacon.”
From behind Marlee came Deacon’s cheery voice, “Talk to me about what?”
Skom! Deacon was here.
“So, what’s up?” Deacon said, half his cheeriness gone.
Henry replied, “Marlee wants to have sex with you.”
Skom, skom, skom! Leave it to Henry. The mortification scorched Marlee’s cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands.
“I see.” No trace of cheerfulness remained in Deacon’s voice.
“Deacon,” Henry said, using his resonant nurse’s tone, “I must return to sickbay. I urge you to immediately resolve this situation between you and Marlee.”
“Okay. No problem.”
Marlee listened to Henry’s treads rumble across the decking, pause, and then the door snicked shut.
It figured Henry would ensure she and Deacon had privacy. Skom! What should she say? What should she do?
The sound of a task chair being wheeled closer to her was followed by the unmistakable creak of the seat when Deacon sat down. An instant later, his cool hands circled her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her face.
She opened her eyes and focused on the auto-zipper of his pristine uniform-coveralls and inhaled the faint, but not unpleasant, odor of burnt explosive de jour, the scent as tart as a blend of insta-cement and putty oil.
“Marlee?”
“Go away. Please, just go away.” The heat of her embarrassment re-intensified across her cheekbones.
“I can’t.” He released her wrists.
“I feel enough of a fool for confiding in Henry and having him blab to you.” She hugged herself, but it didn’t ease her discomfort.
“You’ve never been a fool. Maybe a little impetuous, but never a fool, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me sweetheart. It’s a meaningless word.”
“Not to me. Remember our first kiss? When you came to in sickbay?”
She muttered, “Hard to forget it.”
“That was when I realized you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to call sweetheart.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not. Look, Marlee, in my job, one wrong move, one infinitesimal vibration, and the bomb I was defusing or assembling could kill me. What woman wants to live under the guillotine of never knowing if I will come home or not?”
“So you figured it was safer to have one-night stands?”
“Sometimes, but I usually went for women who had their own agendas, and we both knew nothing would be permanent.”
“Like with Woodridge?”
He nodded.
“So, since you’ve been demoted to an instructor—”
“I was not demoted. Who told you that?”
“Woodridge.”
“Okay, I’ll admit I didn’t correct her. Look, when I realized I never wanted to face another Yokovnin, I decided to resign my commission. My CO convinced me to take a stint as an instructor. Turns out, I like the job.”
The loud chugging and vibrations of a passing crane’s engine rattled her workshop door and sent a dozen tools on Marlee’s partition walls jiggling.
When the noise level died away, Deacon said. “Let’s go someplace quiet and finish this discussion.”
“My quarters or yours?”
At the corner of his lips, a smile curled. “Neither.”
What did he mean by that? She studied his face and its neutral mask.
“Come with me, Marlee. Trust me and ask no questions.”
If she didn’t iron this no-sex thing out with him, she’d go crazy.
Her stomach grumbled.
“Okay, but only if we grab a snack en route. I’m famished.”
He chuckled and an hour later, dozens of decks down in the space station, she followed him into a bay of story-tall, cargo containers. Row upon row of containers were stacked three high and each stack had a spiral staircase running from the decking to the upper containers. A landing served each container’s people-sized hatch, which had been retrofitted into the container’s narrow end.
He stopped at the first unit and tabbed in a code on the access panel. A rumbling ensued, and the door slipped aside. Lights came on, revealing paneled living quarters.
“This,” Deacon said, “should give us the privacy we need.”
She could almost swear he stopped himself from adding, “…and we are so deep in the station’s cavernous depths Henry won’t find us.”
Well, the robot did have a knack for interrupting.
She peered into the container and inhaled the scent of an air freshener’s floral blend. “This is one of those overflow housing modules.”
“Recycling at its best.” He waved his hand, indicating she should enter.
After she stepped through the portal, he entered and closed the door. The only furnishings were a pair of glass topped end tables and a tufted, eggshell-white sofa where red, green, and black pillows added a splash of color.
“Well,” Deacon said, “what do you think of the place?”
“It’s okay if you like shantytown housing over quarters. Are you going to rent this place?”
He chuckled. “No. I own it and three other units, as investments and an income source.” He cleared his throat and said with pride, “This one is ours.”
“Ours?”
He nodded. “Now, come, sit, and let’s talk.” He headed for the sofa.
The moment of reckoning was at hand and panic swooped through her like a million bats. Sucking up her courage, she followed Deacon, then sat facing him.
When she went to speak, Deacon put his index finger to her lips. “Marlee, let me go first.” He withdrew his finger.
She nodded.
Seeing him rub both of his hands on his thighs, as if to dry the sweat off them, Marlee glanced at her own hands and noted they trembled. Was he as nervous as she was? She clasped her clammy hands on her lap, drawing her fingers tightly together, waiting for Deacon to say his piece.
A long moment later, Deacon squared his shoulders and met her gaze. “I planned to bring you here when I had more furniture. I thought we might spend the night.” He pointed to the back of the room, where a paneled partition held a closed pocket door. “In the bedroom. In bed.”
The dread holding its vice-like grip on her vanished. In her joy, her words came out in a high-pitched squeak. “You want to have sex with me?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Marlee, I want to. I’ve been longing to.” His boy-next-door grin shoved back his cheeks. “It became evident that moment in your closet. When you stood in your fuzzy pink sleepsuit.” His grin softened. “You looked at me with your gorgeous onyx eyes, and I was…bewitched.”
He thought her eyes were gorgeous? She had bewitched him? “But,
Deacon, you haven’t acted like a man who wants sex with me.”
“Ah, that. It’s because I was…afraid.”
“Afraid? You? The unflappable bomb expert?”
“I was afraid you would equate me to Robert.”
“Roger. His name was Roger, and there’s no comparison. Believe me, there is no comparison.”
He waved his hand, dismissing the issue. “Marlee, there’s more. I didn’t want you to get the idea all I wanted was sex, especially when it occurred to me that if we had sex in your quarters, and things didn’t work out between us, you would end up clearing out your place again and sleeping in the closet.”
She hadn’t thought of that, but it was a likely outcome.
“And if we had sex in my quarters, and things disintegrated—” He flashed a lopsided smile. “I just might clear out my place and sleep in the closet.”
She quashed the urge to laugh. “Can’t have both of us sleeping in separate closets, now can we?”
In his eyes, she saw a bright sheen of longing and something else. Hope? Maybe even—love?
He took her hands in his. “Marlee, I’m willing to wait, to let you set the pace of our relationship because…” He swallowed hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob, and his words came out half-choked. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
A joyous warmth swirled through her. “Wow, Deacon.” The heat of tears welled up around her optical implants. “Love and practicality.” She threw her arms about his neck, hugging him.
No doubt about it. She had fallen in love with him.
Feeling his arms encircle her, she whispered into his ear, “Me, too.”
A word about the author…
Catherine is a wife, mother, horseperson (Morgan horses), Red Hatter, sewer/crafter, 4-H leader, ribbon-winning amateur photographer, and above all, a storyteller who lives on a farm in rural Western Pennsylvania. Writing as C. E. McLean, her short stories have appeared in hard-copy and online magazines and anthologies.
Connect with Catherine at
http://tinyurl.com/connectwithcatherine
or visit her website:
http://www.CatherineEmclean.com
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Hearts Akilter Page 7
