The One Worth Waiting For

by Alicia Scott

  “Can you walk?” she asked Garret.

  In answer, he grinned at her, and she felt her heart constrict in her chest all over again. “Sweetheart, I can practically dance.”

  Cagney looked at them both in disgust. “At least get first aid,” he called out.

  But Garret was getting to his feet with Suzanne’s help, and neither was paying any attention to him.

  Chapter 14

  They checked into the local hotel, without bags and looking like refugees. But Garret paid cash up front and spent so much time looking at Suzanne the hotel clerk never had his questioning eyebrow answered. Still not glancing toward the man, Garret accepted the key and led Suzanne upstairs.

  The hotel wasn’t anything special, meant more for traveling salespeople and the like. The room was small and had that stale, stuffy smell of a hotel room. The beige carpet was worn in places, the furniture brown and nondescript. The bed, though, was soft and king-size with a rust-colored bedspread.

  Garret sat down on it without preamble and drew Suzanne onto his lap. She went willingly, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her close and with one hand began to slowly work the tangles from her long, silky hair.

  “You smell like smoke,” he said at last.

  She nodded against his borrowed shirt, moving carefully so she didn’t aggravate the host of minor burns that crisscrossed his torso. “So do you,” she said.

  “We should shower.” But neither of them moved.

  “Does…does it feel over?” Suzanne finally asked. She heard the weight of his answer in his silence. Then he sighed and rested his cheek against the top of her head.

  “He was my friend,” he said simply. His hand stroked her cheek, resting lightly on the scratches. “I could tell you things about Sarajevo, Suzanne, and you would nod your head and look at me with understanding. But you wouldn’t understand, you can’t understand. There are some things you have to be there for. Things I guess only your other buddies ever really know.”

  Suzanne thought about her mother dying in the hospital and nodded.

  “Let’s shower,” she said, raising her head to look him in the eye. Maybe if they washed away all the smoke and soot, the past would be rinsed away, as well. Maybe he’d stop thinking of Zlatko and she’d stop thinking of her burned-out home, her ruined dolls. Maybe they could just think of each other and find some sanity there.

  She rose and Garret followed her with dark eyes.

  She undressed him slowly on the cold bathroom tiles, taking care not to pull his pink-tinged skin. He returned the favor just as slowly, his hands lingering on her scratched arms and tortured hands.

  He looked at her intensely. “I would have killed him for this,” he said quietly, then drew her into the shower.

  They both winced as the water hit raw flesh, then laughed at their own pain.

  “We’re like two old people,” Suzanne said, leaning back to let the warm water rush through her hair. Garret’s eyes strayed over her creamy, voluptuous body and managed to arch an eyebrow. He unwrapped the tiny bar of soap with hands that were suddenly trembling, and swallowed against the tightness in his chest.

  “May I?” he whispered hoarsely. She blushed slightly, then nodded as her mouth parted slightly in anticipation.

  He soaped the front of her body leisurely, taking time with each curve and indent. He massaged her breasts, kneaded her belly and let his hand slide slowly between her legs. Her arms found his shoulders, and she leaned against him trustingly as he slowly melted her muscles and filled her with need.

  “My turn,” she whispered. Her hands weren’t steady, and she dropped the bar of soap twice. But finally, she smoothed it down his hair-sprinkled chest, wincing at the myriad of burns from the popping flames. Garret didn’t say anything as she soaped his chest, massaged his arms. His eyes simply bore into hers, and from time to time, the muscle in his jaw would clench.

  “You could have been killed,” she said softly, soaping the back of his neck. Her hands tangled in his singed hair and she pressed her slick, soapy body against his. His eyes drifted down to her lips, then met her gaze once more.

  She rose on tiptoe at the open invitation, sliding her breasts up his chest, and kissed him. He opened his mouth for her, welcoming her tongue in warm, moist strokes. It was slow and tender and brought tears to her eyes.

  At long last, she pulled back. “We should rinse off.”

  He simply nodded.

  They toweled dry with the same mixture of grimaces and grins, moving slowly but steadily. Suzanne could smell the fresh fragrance of soap and shampoo, and it did make her feel better. The fire was over, gone, done.

  But Garret remained.

  She knew what she wanted when she led him over to the bed. She knew what she needed as she let the towel slip away. Life didn’t come with promises, and Garret didn’t give guarantees, but she’d take him anyway for as long as she could.

  His dark eyes raked over her naked body and she arched toward him shamelessly.

  “We shouldn’t,” he said, but his hand was already reaching out to caress her breast. “You must be tired by now.”

  She shook her head, arching her neck back and sighing as his rough fingers found her nipple. She flattened her open palm on his stomach, feeling the washboard ripples of the toned muscles. She traced her hand down and felt him contract the muscles tightly.

  With a woman’s knowing smile, she found him. He growled low in his throat as she wrapped her hand around him. But his hips arched forward, hungry for her touch. She stroked him tightly, bringing beads of sweat to his upper lip.

  Suddenly, fiercely, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back onto the bed. She fell willingly, watching with golden eyes as he followed her down, then claimed her mouth with his own. It was savage and sweet, needy and demanding. He thrust his tongue into her mouth with bold promise, plundering the depths, capturing her tongue.

  Then he kissed the corners of her mouth with near tenderness, nipping at her chin, then journeying around to capture her earlobe. She gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders as the desire shot like sparks through her veins. Her hips arched up to press against his, her leg rubbing against his suggestively.

  He rolled onto his side, supporting himself with his elbow while his other hand smoothed down her beautiful body. He traced her breast again, found the indent of her waist. He caressed her rounded belly, then slid one finger down to find her.

  She parted her legs for him, staring into his eyes as he slipped into her. She gasped, her eyes so molten they threatened to burn, and his body became so hard he felt near pain. He leaned over and, with exquisite slowness, captured her breast with his mouth.

  He sucked hard and she cried out, her hips arching, her throat contracting. For the first time, she recognized the primality of her own nature, the savage need that held her captive with the force of the emotion. She did not just want this man; she needed him. Needed him in her, filling her, completing her.

  Her hand found his hard length once more and guided him toward her. At the last moment, gritting his teeth, he pulled away.

  “No, sweetheart,” he groaned. “We can’t. Just let me do this.”

  Her eyes widened with shock, and for one moment, the fire retreated as she looked at him with hurt confusion.

  “I don’t have another condom,” he explained. “I can’t protect you.”

  She shook her head, pulling him back over her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Just once is okay.”

  He refused to budge, the strain knotting his jaw. “We’re not teenagers,” he countered roughly.

  She looked at him, entreaty in her eyes, feeling her heart constrict. With one hand, she cupped his cheek, and her eyes peered into his own with honest emotion. She wanted him inside her, without any barriers. She wanted to feel him explode inside her, pouring himself into her as man had been doing with woman since the beginning of time.

  And maybe, just maybe, she
wanted the consequences, as well. Would a baby be so bad? Maybe a tiny girl to hold on to long after Garret had left. Someone to love and to raise. She could teach her about dolls and roses and following her heart. She had so much to give. She wanted so much more…

  “Please,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please Garret.”

  He groaned, knowing he shouldn’t succumb, but unable to ignore the golden need of her eyes. He fought so hard for self-control, but it meant nothing around this woman. He shifted and she wrapped her legs around his waist while her lips curved into the saddest, sweetest smile.

  She pulled him inside, and he arched his neck as he sank into her warm embrace. Her eyes closed, the first tear tickling the lashes.

  He pulled back slightly, then plunged again, deep and needful. She held him close, biting her lower lip as the pressure built.

  Please, give me something more.

  He thrust again and again, his neck corded, his back arched. She clung to him, her body slick with sweat, her hair tangled and wet. Yes, just like that. Yes.

  Just give me something more.

  He came with a roar, his bowed body emptying into hers with the force of a hurricane. And she cried out her own release, wrapping her legs so tightly around him it nearly hurt. He was hers. This instant, this one instant, he was hers and she loved him.

  He collapsed in her arms and she stroked his back with trembling arms. She did not let him go for a long time.

  When she awoke in the morning, he wasn’t beside her. For a moment, she felt panic, then she spotted him sitting at the small round table by the window. He was naked still, his eyes peering out to some sight she couldn’t see. She watched him for several minutes before he noticed.

  “Good morning,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse, and she imagined his throat hurt as much as hers did. She felt dehydrated and stiff. Slowly, she rose onto her elbows, the sheet sliding down slightly to balance precariously on her breasts.

  “You’re awake early,” she said. He nodded, his gaze turning back the window.

  “Did you say you’re insured?” he asked suddenly. Her brow crinkled warily, but she nodded. “Did Zlatko light the fire?”

  “I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “Maybe the fire department will be able to find out more.”

  “Will the insurance cover everything?”

  Now she was worried. She sat all the way up, pulling at the sheet until she could wrap it under her arms.

  “I think so,” she said at last. Then she couldn’t take the waiting anymore. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked flatly.

  He hesitated, having the decency to at least look guilty, then he nodded. “I’ve been away for a long time, Suzanne. The navy has me listed as a deserter. I have to go back and deal with that.”

  “And then?” she asked stiffly. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she hated the pain of its beating.

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Just that,” he said almost impatiently. “I don’t know what the navy will do when they find out how I handled Sarajevo. And I don’t know what I want them to do. For God’s sake, Suzanne, I’ve been a SEAL for fifteen years now.”

  She looked at him, feeling guilty for wanting so much when he was going through such a difficult time. “Let me go with you,” she offered.

  He shook his head. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why not, Garret?”

  “It’s my business. I’ll handle it.”

  “When isn’t it your business?” she snapped back fiercely. “You ran to my place alone. You went after Zlatko alone. And yet all of us were dragged into it. Your parents lost their home. I lost part of mine. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you’re not the Lone Ranger?”

  He stood, looking perplexed himself. He ran a hand through his hair, unconcerned by his nudity. “I don’t know what will happen and I don’t know how long it will take. I just want to take care of it by myself.”

  She stared at him, and his words wounded her so deeply she couldn’t begin to repair the pain. She twisted the comforter in her hands, searching to relieve her despair.

  “Suzanne…” he began, but she turned her face away. She didn’t care about her dignity anymore; she didn’t care about appearing cold. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d shared, he was still leaving her just like that. He was going to shut her out even though she had so much to give. It hurt.

  He crossed over to her, raising her head with his hands. The anger in her eyes stung him.

  “I’ll come back, Suzanne,” he whispered.

  “When?” she demanded, her voice uncommonly brittle. “In another fifteen years? I don’t want to wait fifteen years, Garret.”

  He touched her cheek, but she flinched away. “Soon,” he said. “I promise.”

  She could only look at him with bleak eyes. “Another promise in the rain, Garret? God, I’m too old for this.”

  The first tear spilled over. He tried to wipe it away, but it was followed by another.

  “Trust me,” he could only say. “Please, Suzanne, just trust me.”

  But she couldn’t. She’d spent so many nights he’d never know about needing him so badly and he hadn’t been there. So many nights.

  She began to weep in earnest, the hot tears streaming shamelessly down her cheeks as her heart tore into pieces.

  “I hate you, Garret Guiness,” she whispered brokenly.

  In response, he pulled her against him, stroking her hair while her salty tears rolled down his chest. “I hate you, too,” he whispered back and held her close.

  He didn’t return in the first two weeks. She told herself it was okay, because there was so much to do. The fire department determined the fire had started from the sun heating up metal, which ignited the gasoline-soaked material. Whether Zlatko had actually lit the fire or not it was considered arson and her policy covered all damages. She’d had to sort through the entire first two stories, sending sootstained rugs, drapes, clothes, linens, everything, out to be steam cleaned.

  After estimates were given, contractors arrived to put up temporary supports while ripping out the wreckage. In six weeks or so, they thought they could restore the living room, dining room and entryway. Really, what with getting new floors and windows, she was coming out ahead. Then there was the new furniture and TV.

  But it was hard to sort through the ruins, trying to salvage what she could when so much had been lost. All the pictures of past Montgomerys, which had sat on the mantel, were gone, including the one faded photograph of her father in his military uniform. She tried to call Rachel and tell her sister what had happened, but Rachel sounded wary and defensive at the first sound of her older sister’s voice. After ten minutes of a painstakingly awkward conversation, Suzanne had given up and hung up the phone.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She’d been taking care of things alone for a long time now. At least her roses still looked beautiful.

  The damage done to the dining room hurt her the most. Sure, the table had been warped and old, but it had been a Montgomery table, handed down from generation to generation. She felt she’d failed her great-great grandmother in some inexplicable way, and in the years to come, she was sure to be known as the Montgomery woman responsible for the loss of the table.

  She allowed her hand to rest hopefully on her stomach, then made her way to the hutch that held her dolls. It was covered in soot and warped from all the water. The windows had exploded from the heat, and as she picked carefully through the glass, she found blackened pieces of porcelain. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t weep, and now she focused her attention on the four dolls she could salvage.

  Their dresses were gray with soot, their carefully coiffed hair flattened by the water. She took them out gingerly and held each one like a child.

  For the next two days, she bathed them in bleach water while their clothing was dry-cleaned.
Then she dried their hair, and with slow, meticulous care, reshaped it into the elaborate styles her own hair would never be able to maintain.

  She moved them to the new hotel where she was now staying and they brought her a degree of comfort. Until the morning she woke up with cramps and a headache and knew her castle in the air had just been vanquished.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth while she stared at a phone that refused to ring. She was strong, she told herself again and again and again. She could handle this.

  Then she got up and took a long shower.

  She began preparing for her kindergarten class, which would begin soon, and managed to pull together the August Maddensfield parade at the final hour. And she even felt genuinely happy when Cagney told her Mitch’s wife, Jessica, had given birth to twin boys, William and Jamie.

  The Maddensfield Fair came and went and then September arrived.

  She had dinner with Cagney and Marina and Dotti and Henry Guiness. Dotti and Henry’s new home was coming along, as well, smaller this time, Dotti said, since the five kids were gone. She hoped to fill it soon with grandchildren, though, and gave Cagney and Marina a pointed look.

  It was a nice dinner until Dotti finally set down her fork and asked if Suzanne had heard from Garret. Her pale face must have been answer enough, because Cagney muttered something fierce under his breath while Marina gave her a sympathetic smile. Suzanne squared her shoulders, picked her own fork back up, and said she imagined he was doing fine. Then she resumed eating food that now tasted like ashes on her tongue.

  Classes started, the weather became bearable and the repairs to her house were completed.

  And she never heard a word from Garret.

  In mid-September, the church held its annual bazaar, and Suzanne went through her attic to find things to donate. She couldn’t seem to come up with much until she went back downstairs and found herself suddenly standing in her new dining room. Garret’s table, small and round and freshly varnished, now sat in the middle; she hadn’t had a chance to buy anything else yet. On the table sat her remaining dolls.