One Tough Marine

by Paula Graves

  Stevie reached up and patted Luke’s jaw, a look of surprise on his face as his palm brushed against Luke’s day’s growth of beard. His mouth formed a small O and he rubbed his palm against Luke’s cheek again.

  “Tell you what, sport—what say we go to the bathroom and take care of your diaper and my beard?” He looked around the room for a diaper bag, but stopped short when his eyes locked with Abby’s sleepy gaze.

  “Has something happened?” Her voice was raspy with sleep.

  “Just breakfast. Rita made biscuits. I think she might have been making gravy, too.”

  “She’s from Texas originally,” Abby said, sitting up. Her dark hair was a tousled but sexy mess.

  Luke tried not to stare. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Didn’t have to. You know me and accents.” She stretched her arms over her head, the motion tugging her T-shirt tight against her round, firm breasts.

  “Down!” Stevie demanded loudly, his wriggling giving Luke a much needed distraction.

  He set Stevie down on the floor, watching with a rush of affection as the child scooted across the bedroom to his mother’s outstretched arms.

  “Good grief, you need a diaper change, you little stinker!” Abby kicked the covers off and padded across the room in search of the diaper bag. The flannel pajama bottoms she wore fit snuggly against her curvy bottom, sending a little ache through him. He sucked in a quick breath.

  Abby found the bag at the foot of the crib. “I’ll be out for breakfast as soon as I clean him up and get the beds made.”

  “We’re getting an early start, so pack up, as well.” The little frown between Abby’s eyes told him she’d caught the same raw gruffness in his words. “If you please,” he added to soften the demand, and Abby’s lips curved in a half smile.

  He detoured to the bathroom down the hall to splash cold water on his face. He’d forgotten his razor, so shaving would have to wait until they were on the road.

  He remembered the feel of Stevie’s tiny hand on his face. He’d never considered having kids, despite coming from a large family, making a conscious choice years back to devote himself completely to his military service. He’d seen too many families destroyed by the pressures of the job he loved. He wasn’t going to do that to a woman, much less to their children.

  But you’re not in the corps anymore.

  Maybe not, he conceded to the treacherous voice in the back of his mind. But he’d never been in more danger than now.

  ABBY FOLLOWED LUKE around the side of the Pattersons’ house and stopped short, staring at the enormous tan-and-white Itasca Sunstar parked in the side driveway. The morning sun, peeking over the horizon to the east, tinted the recreational vehicle with a rosy glow, making the scene look like something out of an RV advertising brochure.

  “Drives like a dream.” Jim Patterson stood behind them, Stevie on his hip. “We just never have used it much. We keep talking about traveling the United States, but I guess we’re just homebodies after all.”

  Stevie gazed with wonder at the RV. “Mama, look! Bus!”

  Jim let him down and Stevie ran to Abby, lifting his arms up to be held. She picked him up and turned back to Luke, who stood by the open door of the RV.

  He held out his hand. “Want to take a look inside?”

  After a few seconds’ hesitation, she put her hand in his and let him help her up the step into the belly of the large, bus-shaped vehicle. His hand was warm and strong, achingly familiar despite the years of separation and estrangement. She forced herself to let go once she was safely inside, pressing her tingling fingers against Stevie’s back.

  She’d never been in this version of the Sunstar before and inspected it with curious interest, taking in the compact wall-to-wall furnishings, from the kitchen galley immediately to her left to the long sleeper sofa just opposite.

  “Here’s a shower—the bathroom—” Luke led her toward the back of the RV, through a narrow doorway into a cramped space almost completely filled by a queen-size bed. “I can sleep on the sofa up front. You and Stevie can sleep here.”

  It would be a semblance of privacy, thank goodness. It was going to be hard enough to keep her head around Luke on their cross-country journey without having to share motel rooms with him every night. They were lucky to have had the Pattersons to come to for help. She didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to thank them for the risks they were taking.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Luke murmured, his voice close enough to startle her. She turned and found him standing only a few inches away, his gaze warm and intense. He lifted his hand to her face, sliding a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

  “How can you know that?” she asked, closing her eyes against the power of his gaze. Her breath caught as his fingers slid down her cheek to settle in the curve of her neck.

  “We’ve both been through worse. Haven’t we?” Luke’s voice lowered to a warm, liquid rumble.

  An ache blossomed in the center of her chest, at both the sound of his voice, so centered and sure, and the silken seduction of his thumb gliding along the curve of her collarbone. “Yes.” She knew he was thinking of all the times she’d suffered through the anxious wait for word from the battlefront. But she was thinking about her pregnancy vigil, a maelstrom of hope, love, fear and loneliness. She’d never felt more alone, more unprepared for the challenges to come.

  But she’d made it through the solitary wait, through the first years of single motherhood just fine. At least this time, she wasn’t alone. Luke was there. It might not be the kind of relationship she’d imagined that one passionate night in his arms, but that dream had never been more than a sweet lie.

  Somewhere behind them came the sound of a throat clearing. Abby backed away from Luke and turned to see Jim Patterson standing in the open doorway.

  “Sorry to butt in, but we need to get this bus ready for travel. Rita’s packing supplies to take with you so you won’t have to stock up right away.”

  Abby looked at Jim’s kind face and wanted to cry. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Just take care of yourselves,” Jim answered. “And if you see my son and his family, give ’em a big hug and kiss for me.”

  “I will, I promise.” The thought of reaching the other side of the country, where Luke’s family would be waiting to help them any way they could, overwhelmed her to the point that she could barely hold back the flood of tears burning her eyes. Her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll go help Rita.”

  She found Rita in the pantry, loading a large box with kitchen supplies. “There are pots, pans and dishes already stored in the RV,” Rita told her as she placed a couple of spice bottles inside the box, “but no groceries.”

  “I can’t believe the trouble you’re going to for us.” Abby set Stevie in one of the kitchen chairs. “Stevie, sit here just a second while Mama helps Miss Rita pack up for our adventure.”

  “Stevie, why don’t you draw a picture for Mr. Jim and me to remember you by? Can you do that?” Rita retrieved a piece of paper and a blue highlighter pen from the phone desk. She put the pen and paper in front of Stevie and he went to work, his chubby hand wrapping around the highlighter with a death grip.

  “He’ll get that pen all over your table,” Abby warned.

  Rita shrugged. “It’ll wash.” She opened the flexible cooler sitting on a counter nearby and showed Abby the contents. “I packed some basics—frozen chicken fingers, several nice bluegill fillets from Jim’s last fishing trip and some ground beef.” Rita looked over at Stevie. “I also packed some macaroni and cheese—easy cheeseburger macaroni for Stevie. And a few canned goods—soup, vegetables and stuff a little boy will eat.”

  The tears Abby had fought all morning won the battle. She sank into the chair by Stevie, a soft sob escaping her throat.

  Stevie looked up, a worried look on his face. “Mama?”

  She buried her hot face in his neck. He patted her hair gently, clinging to her.

&nb
sp; Rita handed her a tissue. “I’m a pretty good judge of character, Abby, so I can tell you this for sure. Luke Cooper is good people. He’ll take care of you both.”

  Abby eased Stevie’s arms from around her neck and resettled him in her lap. “Believe me, that’s the one thing about this whole mess I know already.”

  “I know you said he was your husband’s best friend, but—” Rita’s gaze shifted to look at Stevie.

  “He was my friend, too,” Abby said.

  Rita gave her a considering look. “You have no idea what your husband could have been hiding?”

  “My husband was always hiding something,” she answered flatly. “It was his job. He never left that part of his work behind him when he came home.”

  “Luke worked the same sort of job, didn’t he?”

  She nodded. “He had to keep secrets, too. He just never seemed to relish it as much as Matt did.”

  “I think maybe you’ve learned how to keep a few secrets of your own,” Rita murmured, her eyes on Stevie again.

  Abby didn’t answer the question written plainly on Rita’s face. But a little knot formed in the center of her chest as she realized that Luke would start wondering the same thing about Stevie that Rita clearly was, sooner or later.

  Probably sooner, given how much time they’d be spending in confined quarters on their trip across the country.

  She had to tell him the truth, before he figured it out first. She didn’t know if he’d forgive her for keeping such a secret, regardless of how he found out. But he deserved to hear it from her instead of someone else.

  But she’d lived a lie so long, she didn’t know how to tell Luke a truth she wasn’t sure he’d want to hear.

  THEY REACHED LA PALOMA RV Park near Las Cruces just before nightfall and not a moment too soon. Stevie, who’d been cheerful for most of the afternoon, was heading into cranky territory by the time Luke parked in an available slot with electric and water hookup. While Luke paid the fee and handled getting the Sunstar connected, Abby stayed behind to unpack a few of the essentials they’d need for their overnight stay.

  As Luke approached the RV’s side entrance, Stevie let out a loud, insistent wail. “No, mama! Want out!”

  Luke couldn’t blame the little guy. He’d been strapped in for most of the past nine hours. But he didn’t need to be underfoot while his mother was working.

  Abby’s reply was gentle but firm. “Mama’s got to set up for the night. Can you stay in your seat and watch Frogville for me? Just for a little while? Then I’ll get you out.”

  “No Froggy! Out!”

  Luke pulled himself into the RV and shot Abby a quick, questioning look. She was in the RV’s galley, her hands full of plates. At his “may I?” gesture, she gave a little nod.

  Luke bent and unstrapped Stevie from the car seat. “Come on, Stevie, let’s go for a walk.”

  “Don’t go far,” Abby said. “I’ll have the leftovers heated up in a few minutes.” They’d bought extra food when they stopped in Tucson for lunch so they wouldn’t have to worry about cooking dinner that evening. “Then I need to give Stevie his bath and put him to bed.” She glanced toward the narrow shower compartment on the other side of the kitchen. “He’s never had a shower before. Maybe it’ll be fun for him.”

  The picture of Abby’s sweet, curvy body slick with soap and water rose to Luke’s mind at her words, and he dragged his gaze away from hers quickly, afraid she would see the hunger in his eyes. He tightened his grip on Stevie. “I’ll bring him back in a flash,” he said, his voice raspy and thick as he struggled against his body’s treacherous response to the unbidden fantasy.

  He hurried back outside the RV, lifting Stevie onto his shoulders. Stevie laughed excitedly, his tiny fingers gripping Luke’s. “Ooo!” he said in a happy voice.

  Luke tilted his head back to look up at Stevie. The boy grinned at him, his face washed gold by the setting sun, and what Luke saw in the little boy’s face made his breath catch.

  Stevie might have his mother’s fair, freckle-dotted complexion and wide, expressive mouth, but he didn’t have her smile. It wasn’t Matt Chandler’s smile, either.

  That lopsided grin was all Cooper.

  Son of a bitch. Stevie Chandler was his son.

  Luke felt as if his legs were going to collapse beneath him. Spotting a picnic table a few yards away, he lowered Stevie to the ground and led him to the bench.

  “Wanna ride!” Stevie insisted, trying to climb back on Luke’s shoulders.

  Luke halted the little boy’s upward progress, cradling his small face between his own large, calloused hands. Now that he had seen himself in Abby’s son, it was as if blinders had fallen away. Stevie’s eyes were the same smoky gray as Luke’s, flecked with the same mossy green. Stevie had Luke’s thick, dark hair, straighter than Abby’s headful of wavy ringlets, and the same set of dimples that he and all his brothers had been cursed with for the first twenty years of their lives, until age began to carve them into more masculine lines.

  Stevie’s expression began to grow troubled, and Luke quickly released him, soothing him with a soft pat to his back. “Did I scare you, sport?”

  Stevie reached up and caught Luke’s face between his soft, chubby hands, mimicking Luke’s earlier action. He gazed up at Luke with serious concentration. Then he smiled, dimples back for an encore, and Luke couldn’t breathe.

  My son, he thought, the words branding his soul. He wanted to shout them aloud.

  But he couldn’t, he realized, his heart sinking. Not now.

  Thanks to Cordero, maybe not ever.

  ABBY HEATED THE leftover chicken nuggets from lunch in the RV’s microwave, then appeased her maternal guilt by opening one of the cans of green peas that Rita had packed for them early that morning. By the time Luke returned with Stevie, she had dinner on the small dinette table across from the galley.

  Stevie greeted her with a big, lopsided grin and held out his arms. “Mama!”

  Abby took Stevie from Luke’s arms and gave him a hug. “Look what’s for dinner—chicken nuggets and green peas. Mmm.”

  “Mmm,” Stevie echoed, patting her cheeks.

  She looked up at Luke. “Was he good for you?”

  Luke nodded, his expression pensive.

  Something about Luke’s subdued demeanor made her stomach give a little flip. “Is something wrong? Did something happen while you were out?” she asked.

  Luke shook his head. “Everything’s fine.”

  But she could see he wasn’t telling the truth. Something had changed his whole mood in the short amount of time he and Stevie had been gone. “Luke—”

  “Let’s eat, huh? Lunch was a long time ago.” He patted his belly and grinned at Stevie, who beamed back at him.

  “Eat!” he echoed.

  Abby decided she’d misread Luke’s mood, for he kept a grin on his face as he watched her settle Stevie in the booster seat Rita had lent them and set his plate in front of him. It had been a while since they’d been close enough to practically read each other’s thoughts. Three years was a long time and a lot of experience. God knew, she’d changed, and she could tell that Luke was a different person now, as well.

  Stevie grabbed the fork by his plate and stabbed at the chicken nuggets, making her smile. Her son, with his intelligent eyes and eager curiosity, was living proof of how much her own life had changed.

  “He’s just now learning to use utensils,” she told Luke, taking the seat next to Stevie.

  Luke sat opposite them, his gaze settled on Stevie. As Luke’s grin faded to a look of intensity, Abby’s earlier apprehension returned.

  “Leftover chicken nuggets okay with you?” she asked nervously, overcome by the urge to break the uncomfortable silence.

  Luke picked up his fork. “Just perfect.” He started eating, one forkful after another.

  Like a machine.

  As Abby watched him finish off his portion of the leftovers, her own appetite fled, replaced by a knot of anx
iety, lead-heavy, in the pit of her stomach.

  Something was wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Night had fallen finally, dark and cool. Abby was putting Stevie to bed in the back, while Luke remained up front on the sofa, gazing idly at the television over the dashboard as he pondered what to do next.

  Was he wrong about Stevie’s paternity? He’d spent the past hour staring at the child, trying to see even a trace of Matt Chandler in his features, but all he’d seen were bits of Abby and himself.

  Abby must know he was Stevie’s father. Long before Matt’s death, there’d been problems in their marriage, caused by Matt’s lies—Matt himself had admitted his marriage was on the verge of collapse not long before his accident. Had Abby really slept with Matt shortly before his death, with the marriage about to crash and burn?

  “Oh, my God.”

  He looked up sharply at the sound of Abby’s voice. She stood near the galley, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. Her hair, still damp from the shower, fell in curls around her scrubbed-clean face. She wore yoga pants and an oversize T-shirt that should have camouflaged her slender curves—but didn’t. Luke felt his body grow taut and aware.

  She wasn’t looking at him, however. She was gazing at the television screen. He followed her gaze and saw a cable news reporter outside the same motel in Yuma that he and Abby had left the night before.

  He grabbed the remote and thumbed off the mute button.

  “—will not confirm reports that the unidentified male victim was this man, retired Marine Corps Major Luke Cooper, whose car was found at the scene.” A headshot of Luke in uniform, from about four years earlier, flashed on the screen. “Attempts to contact Mr. Cooper have been unsuccessful.”

  “That’s the room we were in.” Abby’s voice came out low and strangled. “Where the police tape is.”

  She was right. Yellow tape covered the door to the room he had rented the night before. But his Mustang was no longer parked in the lot in front of the room. “They must have impounded the Mustang for evidence.” His calm voice sounded alien to his own ears. He didn’t feel calm. He felt sick.