Jake pulled up a chair. “I am. I’ve been in touch with General Stevenson. She’s agreed to have you help her with paperwork. She doesn’t want you feeling bored, either.” He grinned, took the glass from her hands and set it on the tray. “Hungry?”
Morgan lay back on the inclined bed. “I guess I should be, but I’m not.”
“You have to eat to keep up your strength, Morgan.” Jake said the words softly, though he noticed how she grimaced at the idea of eating. Morphine depressed a person’s appetite. “General Houston has buttonholed me while I’m here recovering for thirty days. He wants me over at their office at the Pentagon while I’m around. I won’t be able to babysit you like I did before. I’ll be able to see you before 0900 and after 1700. I get weekends off.”
Morgan’s eyes became clearer, more alert. Her hair was mussed, and he longed to pick up the brush and tame those crimson strands into place.
“That’s good news for you,” Morgan whispered, rubbing her face again. “You won’t get bored, either.” SEALs were about action, about taking the fight to the enemy. Jake was never one to sit around for more than a few minutes. He’d lived on high-octane energy for as long as she’d known him.
The pain in her leg was achy, but not the screaming pain it could become. Morgan felt pretty good with Jake sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her hand. Even in civilian clothes, he looked dangerous in a quiet way. He’d lost some weight, too, she realized, looking at the deeper hollows of his high-boned cheeks. “How are you doing? You were wounded, too.”
“I’m good. The worst is over,” Jake assured her. “I didn’t lose the amount of blood you did, Morgan. And the bullet going through muscle is night and day different from having a bullet shatter the most major bone in your body.”
“You’re not in pain?”
He grinned carelessly, sliding his fingers slowly up and down her lower arm. “Motrin takes care of it.” It didn’t, but Jake, like every other SEAL, moved forward whether they were in pain or not. They’d learned in BUD/S a man could be in excruciating pain and still operate at a high level, despite it.
She groaned and closed her eyes. “SEAL candy.”
Chuckling, Jake murmured, “Guilty as charged.”
She sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Jake…I need to sleep. I’m sorry….”
“Don’t be, babe. I get it.”
The last thing she remembered was Jake warmly squeezing her hand, keeping her chilled fingers warm. Morgan had to fight to get better, to focus her energy on Emma.
Where had thirty days gone? Jake pushed his emotions very deep within himself as he walked down the hall to Morgan’s room at the medical center. How was she going to handle the news? He was upset, not wanting to leave her. She’d made remarkable progress, much to her doctor’s surprise. Jake gripped the cap in his left hand, trying to gird himself for her reaction. Neither of them had seen this coming….
Morgan was sitting up in bed, the nurse bringing over the wheelchair. She was dressed in a dark blue one-piece swimsuit, a light blue robe over her shoulders when Jake entered. She never heard him coming, but that was the way SEALs walked. Stealth. Her eyes widened as she saw him dressed formally in military desert cammies. Before, Jake had always been in civilian clothes. The look in his gray eyes was guarded as he caught and held her stare.
“I’ll come back in twenty minutes,” the blond-haired nurse said with a smile. She nodded hello to Jake, who stood just inside the door.
After the nurse left, Morgan said, “Look, my first day in the physical-therapy pool. It’s time to celebrate.”
Jake gave her a heated smile. “You always look good in less clothes, babe.” He moved to her side, kissing her awaiting lips. Morgan had bounced back strongly. Far more quickly than the doctors had anticipated. She was a week ahead of the normal healing curve, but Jake wasn’t surprised. Easing away from her lips, he slid his hand across her shoulders. “I’ve got some news,” he warned her. He saw worry come to her eyes.
“You’re being called out for an op, aren’t you?” Morgan’s heart contracted with fear. She’d known this day could come. Jake’s bullet wound was pretty much healed, and he was ready for active duty again. He had been anticipating going back to his platoon as OIC in Coronado to hook back up with SEAL Team Three.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I thought I was going to get reassigned back to my old platoon. But General Houston has been working with the SOCOM Admiral on a special black op. They’re pulling me in for it.” Even though he could see the anxiety in Morgan’s expression, Jake could tell she accepted the reality of their situation. In their business, there was no downtime. He moved his hand gently across her red hair.
“Okay,” Morgan whispered, feeling as if hit in the chest with a fist. “I know you can’t say anything about it, but I’m assuming Afghanistan?” Again. Always. That was SEAL Team Three territory, big-time. They were always called in as small, mobile teams, to hunt down HVTs among the Taliban and al Qaeda leadership.
Nodding, Jake said, “Yeah.” He couldn’t say anything else. But he saw her eyes focus, and he could see her thinking.
“Probably a direct action mission because of Khogani’s death. A new warlord emerging from the Hill tribe near the Khyber Pass to take his place?”
He moved his mouth but said nothing. Morgan, he discovered, could read him like a proverbial book.
“Two SEAL fire teams?”
He shook his head.
“You and another sniper?”
He nodded.
“Are you getting someone you know? A fellow SEAL sniper?”
Jake nodded.
Licking her lower lip, Morgan felt some of her fear ease. It was essential teams worked well together. If they didn’t… She didn’t go there. “Same area?”
“More or less,” Jake replied. He pulled up a chair next to her and eased his arm around her. Morgan laid her head on his shoulder. He could feel her breath, moist and warm, against his neck.
“Damn, I knew this would happen,” she muttered, frowning. Raising her eyes, she saw the hard line of his mouth. “How long?”
“As long as it takes. There’s no deadline.” Jake looked down and drowned in her green eyes. “What I want you to do is not worry. Okay?” Her mouth tugged into a grimace. Right. Morgan was going to worry. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got my sniper partner back. He’s being pulled out of my platoon to go over with me. We’re a good operational team, Morgan.” Jake embraced her gently, trying to reassure her.
“At least it’s July. It will be as warm as it can get up in the Hindu Kush. Are you utilizing Reza?”
He nodded.
More relief flooded Morgan. Her mind spun with shock because she had just reached the stage of being able to get out of bed and move around in a wheelchair. She had planned to call Jake, and they would go to a nearby hotel for a night where she could tell him about Emma. Now that plan was shattered. Again. Jake had to remain focused. Telling him about Emma right now would be the stupidest move she’d ever made. He wouldn’t be able to focus, and that would get him killed.
“Will you stay in touch by email and Skype when you can?”
“You know I will, babe. But it’s going to be sporadic at best.”
“Who’s running the mission from J-bad?”
Jake gave her a pained look. Morgan knew he couldn’t say.
“Okay,” she whispered, “it’s Vero. I can feel it.”
He grinned. “You’re damn good at this twenty-questions stuff. Ask the question and have the answer, as well.”
“I was in SEAL Intelligence for Team Three for a while. I have to be. I know the key players, Jake. Your life depends upon it. Vero’s the best. He’ll get your ass through this op alive. That’s all I care about.”
“Listen,” he rasped, “all I want you to do is fight to get better. By the time I get back, I want to be able to take you out of here. I have dreams of reserving a room at a hotel and making love with you until we’re so damned ex
hausted neither of us can move.”
A pang of anguish and longing moved through Morgan as she met and held his eyes. His gaze was one filled with love and desire for her. “I want the same thing, Jake,” she managed, her voice low with emotion. Morgan sat up, wanting to crawl into his arms, wanting to stretch out beside him and be held.
Jake eased his arm from around her shoulders and turned the chair, facing her. He framed her face with his large hands. “Your love will keep me safe, babe. I don’t want you to worry….” He curved his mouth hotly against hers. It was a kiss that would have to carry them for however long the op lasted.
As he lifted his mouth from hers, Jake saw tears shimmering in Morgan’s eyes. He forced his own tears deep down inside himself. Right now, he had to be strong for both of them.
“Listen,” he rasped, looking deep into her glistening green eyes, “I’m as close as that laptop computer of yours. I’ll Skype you when I can. I’ll be in touch as much as possible. I don’t want you to worry.”
Choking back a sob, Morgan barely nodded, lifting her hands and moving them across his capable shoulders that carried so many loads. “I hear you, Jake. I’ll keep on getting better.”
“Promise?”
“I promise….”
“I love you. You hold on to that….”
Closing her eyes, tears beading on her lashes, Morgan whispered brokenly, “I will, Jake…. I will…. I love you so damn much it hurts….”
“I know. I’m worse than a bullet wound.” He managed a partial, teasing grin.
Laughing brokenly, Morgan shook her head. “You’ve got the blackest humor at the worst times, Ramsey.”
Jake cherished her smiling mouth, always wanting to remember this moment, the joy in her eyes, the love shining through her worry for him alone. It was bittersweet. Anguish soared through him. Jake had to leave Morgan and didn’t want to. As a SEAL, it was his job to go back into harm’s way. “Just be here waiting for me at Andrews Air Force Base when I get back,” he growled, brushing his mouth against her tear-wet lips. Tasting the salt, tasting the sweetness that was only her, Jake kissed her deep and hard, branding the memory of this last kiss into his heart and mind forever.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pain drifted up Morgan’s leg as she was wheeled back to her room after the intense hour-long therapy. Three weeks had passed since Jake had left on the black op. She could count on one hand how many times he’d been able to contact her. Morgan felt as if she’d been reduced to little more than a desperate, needy sponge for any information. God, just to hear his voice, see his face, on that one Skype session had lifted her spirits, her hope, as nothing else ever could. Morgan knew he had been in J-bad SEAL headquarters; only they and SEALs at Bagram air base had capacity for satellite video transmissions. That had been two weeks ago. He was somewhere now in the Hindu Kush, hunting down another warlord.
Despite her continued, low-grade worry, this afternoon her parents were arriving from Colorado with Emma. She was going to be able to meet them at the hotel near the medical center. Morgan didn’t want her daughter to see her in a hospital bed. Emma might be two years old going on three shortly, but her daughter would understand enough and she didn’t want her thrown into anxiety.
The nurse drew out her civilian clothes, a set of white summer slacks, a dark green short-sleeved blouse, a leather belt and simple, serviceable brown leather shoes. Morgan was glad she could now dress herself. She could walk for short distances with the help of crutches, too.
“I’ll call the staff car for you,” the nurse said, hesitating at the door. “Twenty minutes, Captain Boland?”
“That’s fine,” Morgan called. “Thanks.”
The nurse smiled. “I’ll come back and get you.”
Grateful, Morgan sat down, pulled off the wet bathing suit and dropped it on the plastic seat of the wheelchair. Her leg ached like hell, but she took ibuprofen, and the pain started to go away as she dressed. With crutches, she hobbled to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She’d just gotten her hair cut and shaped two weeks earlier, the ends curling naturally against her shoulders.
Her worry for Jake gave way to her excitement over seeing her daughter and her parents once again. Right now, Morgan needed their support. It was hell lying in bed every night imagining the challenges Jake and his sniper partner were up against. Nightmares came every three or four nights. And as Morgan moved out of the bathroom, she was grateful to her parents for having come to be her moral support.
She took the bathing suit off the plastic seat of the wheelchair in one hand and dropped it in the bathroom sink. By the time she came back out into the room, the nurse had arrived. Her heart took off in an unsteady beat as Morgan carefully positioned herself in the wheelchair, holding her crutches and resting them on a footrest.
Morgan arrived at the fourth-floor hotel room, a suite that had three bedrooms, enough for a family, before her parents arrived. Nervous and feeling emotionally vulnerable, Morgan hadn’t seen her daughter in nine months. Her mother always sent her photos of Emma nearly every day to her laptop. She was seeing Emma grow up without her, and it hurt Morgan in a way she never thought possible.
As she carefully sat down on the chocolate-colored velour couch, Morgan began to question what she was doing with her life. At twenty-nine years old, she had done more than most women would ever do. She’d been part of a volunteer group of women who had proved without question that they could go into combat and be successful alongside their male counterparts. But Morgan missed Emma. The ache deep in her womb for her daughter never went away.
Someone knocked and the door opened. Morgan sat up as Emma walked into the spacious room. She was dressed in a white cotton dress with a pink satin ribbon around her tiny waist. Her black hair was drawn into a long ponytail, captured in a pink ribbon, too. Morgan choked back tears as she realized Emma had Jake’s square face, his dark gray eyes and black hair. It was as if she were staring at a shadow of him.
“Mommy!” Emma cried, spotting her. She raced toward Morgan, her arms open, flying across the room.
Morgan had purposely sat at one end of the couch, her wounded leg protected by the arm. Emma launched herself at Morgan. The impact caused Morgan pain, but she didn’t care, wrapping her arms around her joyous daughter.
“Emma,” she whispered, kissing her daughter’s hair, brow and cheek, tears leaking out of her eyes. She felt Emma wriggle like an excited puppy in her arms. Her daughter smelled of sunlight, fresh air and a hint of apples in her hair. The girl loved her apple shampoo.
Raising her head after kissing and hugging her daughter, Morgan saw her parents walk into the room. Her father, Jim Boland, was in his mid-fifties, a bit of silver at his temples, mixed in with his short black hair. He wore dark gray slacks, a white short-sleeved shirt and dark blue sport coat. He smiled over at her, his hand on Cathy’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re looking good, Kitten.”
Kitten was her childhood nickname. Morgan smiled brokenly. “I’m okay now, Dad. Come on in….”
Cathy Boland sniffed and wiped tears from her eyes. Her red hair was short, emphasizing her wide green eyes as she met her daughter’s gaze. She pushed her damp palm against her light pink slacks. She wore a dark purple tee. “You look well, honey.”
Lifting her hand, Morgan met and tightly held on to her mother’s long, thin hand. When Cathy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair, Morgan closed her eyes. Family was everything. And they’d strongly supported her throughout her military career. She opened her eyes as her mother stepped aside.
Jim Boland leaned over, gently curving his arms around his daughter, and felt her tremble. Morgan leaned against his broad shoulder, a ragged sigh issuing from her lips as he hugged her. “Welcome home, Kitten.”
His gruff, deep voice moved through her, made the fear for Jake go away, if but for a while.
Emma tried to climb into her lap, but Cathy quickly picked her up.
“Honey, your mama has a sore
leg. You can’t sit on her lap just yet.”
Emma pouted, wriggled and wanted down. “Mommy….” She thrust her hand out toward Morgan.
Laughing brokenly, Morgan held Emma’s outstretched hand. “Mommy is a little fragile right now, Punkin’.” Morgan pointed to her left leg. “I hurt myself a little while ago.” Emma was staring at her left leg. Morgan wore a special soft black brace outside the slacks to keep her thigh stabilized. Emma’s tiny black brows moved down, studying the device from Cathy’s arms.
“That’s funny-looking, Mommy.”
They all laughed.
Emma stared at it. “Does it hurt?”
“No, honey, it doesn’t. It gives my leg support when I get up to walk is all.”
Emma seemed satisfied.
Cathy sat down with Emma in her lap next to Morgan. “You look good. You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
Nodding, Morgan touched Emma’s small, flushed cheek. Her gray eyes were wide, alert and reminded her sharply of Jake’s. When Jake finally met his daughter, he’d immediately recognize her as his child. They were almost spitting images of one another. Morgan’s heart broke a little more because she knew nothing in life was guaranteed.
Jim Boland stood nearby. He’d been a Marine Corps officer and had the stance of one. He was a ruggedly handsome man, and she thought that her mother’s own natural beauty complemented his. Her father was athletically fit, deeply tanned from his outdoor work as a civil engineer, his hair always military short. Morgan smiled over at her father, so proud of him.
Emma touched Morgan’s hair, running her fingers through the recently washed strands. “Mommy, can we stay? Are you coming home this time?”
“You’ll stay here with us for three days, Punkin’,” Morgan said, leaning over and kissing Emma’s brow. “Mommy has to stay here and get her leg well.”
Pouting, Emma said, “How long, Mommy? I miss you. I don’t like you gone so much….”
Her heart twisted in her breast. Morgan forced a smile, grazing Emma’s hair and fussing with her pink bow. “I know, Emma. I feel the same way. Mommy has been thinking about a lot of things lately. I’m going to see what I can do. Okay?”
Down Range (Mills & Boon M&B) (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) Page 21
