The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin

by Maureen Child

  “You are. Now.”

  “No, I’m just refusing to marry you.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she replied hotly. “Lots of people share custody of their children. The kids grow up fine.”

  “Most do,” he admitted. It was all slipping away from him. He felt it go and was powerless to stop it. “But if those kids had a choice, I figure most of them would want their mom and dad living in the same house. They’d rather be together.”

  “Sometimes we don’t get a choice.”

  “And sometimes we do—we just make the wrong one,” he countered quickly. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth. Don’t make a choice we’ll all be sorry for. I don’t want to be a visitor in my kid’s life.” He paused a moment, then added, “Or yours.”

  Her bottom lip trembled slightly, but she lifted her chin and fought through whatever she was feeling. “This will all work out, Harding. You’ll see.”

  “All I see is that you’re willing to turn your back on me and what we’ve found together.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “What we found was just what we both wanted, Harding. A few weeks together. A temporary affair enjoyed by two adults.”

  And they called him Hard Case. Stepping up close to her, he cupped her face in his hands and held her still when she would have moved away. “That’s how it started, princess. I don’t deny that we weren’t looking for love. But whether we wanted it or not, it’s here.”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes against his piercing gaze.

  “It’s here, princess. And it’s the real thing. I think it always was, despite what we told ourselves. Trust me on this. I know.” He smiled sadly, remembering the one other time in his life when he had thought himself in love. That puny emotion wasn’t a tenth of what he had found with Elizabeth. Damn, why hadn’t he had the courage to face that one simple fact before now? When he might have had a chance. “If we throw it away, not only will we miss an opportunity to be happy…our baby will be cheated out of a family.”

  “Stop, Harding,” she whispered, still keeping her eyes closed. “Please stop.”

  “I’ll never stop, Elizabeth.” He stroked her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, wiping away a solitary tear that had seeped from the corner of her eye. “I don’t quit. Even when it might be less painful to walk away, I don’t.” He bent his head and planted a series of soft, gentle kisses along her brow. “You can’t get rid of me, and the only way you can convince me to stop asking you to marry me is to tell me you don’t love me.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, and he had to smile at her stubbornness. Covering her lips with his fingertips, he added, “Say it and mean it.”

  She closed her mouth and opened her eyes. He was heartened to see a sheen of tears filming over their deep brown color. She loved him. She was simply too afraid to take a chance. He understood fear. But cowering in a corner trying to avoid it only made fear a stronger, more terrifying opponent. He had to make her see that the only way to defeat the fear was to stand against it.

  Together. “This isn’t over,” he whispered. “Not by a long shot.”

  Two days later Elizabeth stared at her most recent culinary disaster.

  “Why did no one ever tell me that pregnant women can’t bake?” she muttered. Grabbing her cow-shaped hot pads, she picked up the torte pan and carried it to the trash can. There she dumped the charred pastry and glared in disgust at the mess.

  It wasn’t being pregnant that was ruining her ability to cook. It was thoughts of Harding. Blast him, she hadn’t been able to think about anything but him since he’d left her house two nights before.

  And the situation wasn’t being helped by the fact that she hadn’t heard so much as a word from him in that time, either. What happened to all of his talk about not quitting? Not giving up on her? Was this some bizarre backward way of asking a woman to marry you? By ignoring her until she lost her mind, then sweeping in and overpowering her?

  Setting the still-hot pan onto a folded-up, blue-checked towel, she plopped down into a chair. Resting her elbow on the tabletop, she propped her chin on her knuckles and glanced at the clock on the opposite wall.

  Only one in the afternoon. She still had way too much daylight left before she could go to bed. Not that she could even look forward to sleep these days. Her dreams were filled with Harding, and memories of the past few weeks. The images tore at her, preventing sleep. Last night she had even dreamed about her child—only her unborn baby had been about six in her dream. Six and angry. Angry that his daddy wasn’t around and furious that she wasn’t doing anything about it.

  Elizabeth yawned, then frowned when the phone rang, interrupting her perfectly good self-pity party.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she walked across the room, leaned her back against the wall and snatched the receiver from its cradle.

  “Yes?”

  “Elizabeth Stone?” a deep voice asked.

  A ridiculous flutter of excitement rippled through her body before she realized that the voice was unfamiliar.

  “Yes? Who is this?” She straightened up from the wall.

  “This is Captain Haynes at Camp Pendleton.”

  Dread settled in her chest. Her stomach took a nosedive, and she had to swallow past a hard knot in her throat. Danger to a soldier didn’t solely exist on a battlefield. There were training accidents all the time. Her heartbeat unsteady, she forced herself to ask, “What is it? Is Harding all right? Was he hurt?”

  “No, ma’am, the Sergeant Major is fine,” the voice said. “In fact, I’m actually calling on his behalf.”

  Relief rushed in to replace the dread. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d like to offer myself as a character witness for Sergeant Major Casey,” the captain said.

  “I’m sorry?” She frowned at the phone in her hand.

  “I’ve known Sergeant Major Casey for several years now. I find him to be an exemplary Marine and an honorable man.”

  Elizabeth crossed the room to the sink, stretching out the phone cord to its limits. Turning on the tap, she poured herself a glass of cold water, took a quick sip and said, “That’s very nice to hear, Captain. But I don’t understand why you would call me to—”

  “I owe Harding Casey,” the man said, effectively cutting her off. “If I can help him straighten things out with his fiancée, I’m happy to help.”

  She inhaled sharply, set the glass down and walked back to the phone cradle. Fiancée. Varied emotions scattered through her like fallen leaves caught in a whirlwind. Amusement, anger, frustration, sympathy and love all warred within her, battling for supremacy. Finally she gathered her wits and told him very politely, “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Captain.” She wasn’t going to tell the man that she wasn’t engaged to Harding. It would be the same as calling him a liar, and that she wasn’t prepared to do. Especially to his commanding officer.

  “Not a problem at all, Ms. Stone,” he said, and his voice sounded as though he was pleased with the results of his call. “If there’s anything else I can do, please feel free to contact me here at the base.”

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, “but I think you’ve done enough.”

  After he hung up, Elizabeth slammed the phone back into its base and glared at it. What was Harding up to now? Was he going to have every officer he knew call her to vouch for him? Did he really think that other people’s opinions would be enough to sway her decision?

  She shook her head and wished there were more time. More time for Harding and her to know each other. To get used to the idea of a baby. But she was out of time and she knew it. In just a few more days he would be leaving.

  The doorbell rang and she jumped, startled. Tossing a glance from the now-silent phone to the front door, she wondered briefly if she should even answer the thing. For all she knew, the Marine Corps marching band might be standing in her front yard.

  She
laughed at her own exaggeration, determinedly went to the front door and threw it open wide. On her porch stood two women about her age, a blonde and a brunette, each of them with a toddler by the hand. “Can I help you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Are you Elizabeth Stone?” one of the women asked.

  Wary now, she answered slowly. “Yeesss…”

  They smiled at her. “Thank goodness,” the blonde said. “We’ve been driving around this condominium complex for twenty minutes. They all look alike!”

  Foolishly Elizabeth felt she should apologize for their troubles. She didn’t. “Do I know you?”

  “Nope,” the brunette assured her as she picked up her little girl who’d begun to whine and slung her on one hip. “We’re here because of Hard Case.”

  A sinking sensation started in the middle of her chest and slowly drifted down her body until it came to rest in the pit of her stomach. Apparently Harding wasn’t finished “convincing” her yet.

  “Let me guess,” she said wryly. “Character witnesses?”

  “Heck, no,” the blonde replied. “Harding doesn’t need a character witness. Anyone who knows him will tell you that.”

  The brunette spoke up, her voice drowning out her friend’s defensive, squeaky tone. “Harding told us you were engaged, but that you were a little leery about marrying into the Corps.”

  Perfect. She swallowed back a groan of frustration. These women weren’t at fault. This was all Harding’s doing.

  “He thought it might help if we talked to you,” the brunette finished.

  Trapped, Elizabeth’s good manners kicked in. Her mother would have been proud. “Would you like to come in?”

  “No, thanks,” the blonde said as she bent to scoop up her son. “Tony’s tired and we want to get back home for nap time. We only stopped by because we were up here shopping and—”

  “It doesn’t matter why we stopped,” the brunette cut in again. “We only wanted to tell you that we can understand how you feel.” She glanced at her friend. “Neither one of us was real crazy about marrying a Marine, either.”

  “Yeah,” the blonde said. “I never figured me to be the military type.” She shrugged and smiled. “But you can’t plan who you’ll fall in love with. Besides, it worked out fine.” She grinned at her friend, then looked back at Elizabeth. “For both of us.”

  “Marines aren’t always the easiest men to live with,” the brunette continued as she gently pressed her daughter’s head into her shoulder where the child promptly fell asleep. “But they are definitely the best.”

  Elizabeth felt she should say something in her own defense, so she blurted, “My father is a retired captain. I know about life in the Corps.”

  Rather than getting approval from one Marine family to another, she received a frosty glare from the brunette.

  “If you’re Marine, what’s the problem? You should already know what life in the Corps is like.”

  “I do know. That’s the problem.” She couldn’t believe she was having such a conversation with strangers! Just wait until she saw Harding Casey again. “Look, I’ve done my share of suitcase living. It’s not something I enjoy. Surely you can understand that.”

  The blonde shook her head slowly as if sorry for Elizabeth. The brunette was a tad more direct. “My husband risks his life for his country,” she said solemnly, yet with a spark of defiance. “All he asks of me is that I risk moving to a new neighborhood every few years.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t really thought of it like that, and she felt slightly ashamed of herself. Her lifelong complaint sounded suddenly petty and childish. Still, she had to ask. “What about your kids? Don’t you worry about dragging them all over the world?”

  “My kids will see places most children won’t,” the brunette told her. “And they’ll be proud that their daddy served his country.” Half turning to her friend, she said quietly, “Come on, Sharon. We better get the kids home.”

  The blonde smiled a goodbye, then started for their car. The brunette stayed a minute longer.

  “My husband is a Staff Sergeant,” she said. “We’ve known Harding Casey off and on for years. They don’t come any better than him.”

  “I know,” Elizabeth whispered and felt the truth of that statement down to her soul. If she could only be sure of his love. But she couldn’t. If she surrendered to her own fears of being a single mother and married him now, she would never know if he had proposed because he loved her—or because of the baby.

  The brunette stared at her for a long minute and apparently approved of what she saw. When she finally nodded, she smiled and said, “Good. If you know that much, any problem can be worked out.” She stepped off the porch and onto the walk.

  Elizabeth opened the door and called out, “Hey, I don’t even know your name.”

  Stopping, the brunette turned around and grinned. “Sorry. I’m Tess Macguire.” She jerked her head toward the car. “That’s Sharon Trask.” In a lower voice she added, “Her husband’s still a corporal, but he’s up for promotion.”

  “Thanks for stopping by,” Elizabeth said automatically. Her manners were really excellent, she thought, as she realized she had just thanked two strangers for butting into her life.

  The two women waved as their car pulled out from the curb. Before the sound of their engine had died away, a florist’s van came to a stop in front of her house. As she watched, a young man leaped out of the van, walked around to the back and opened the doors. He reached inside and came back out with the biggest bouquet Elizabeth had ever seen.

  Roses. Roses of every color and scent. Packed tightly together and tied with a pale blue ribbon attached to a mylar balloon that read Marry Me in bright red letters.

  Dumbfounded, she took the flowers from the delivery boy, snatched a small white envelope from the cluster of blossoms and opened it. As the van drove off, her gaze scanned the brief message. “Elizabeth, I love you. Marry me. Harding.”

  She inhaled sharply, unwittingly drawing the mingled scents of the roses deep inside her lungs. Biting her lip, she clutched the bouquet tightly and stepped back inside the house. She hurriedly closed the door on the world, just in case a general happened by.

  When the phone rang again, she wasn’t even surprised.

  It had to be Harding. Unwilling to set the flowers down, she held them to her chest and snatched up the cordless phone closest to her.

  Before she could even say hello, she heard her mother’s voice demand, “Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married?”

  Twelve

  She spent nearly a half hour soothing her mother and assuring her that she would be invited to the wedding—if there ever was one. Thank God Harding had had the sense not to mention the baby when he had made his call. But no sooner had she hung up with her mother than the phone rang again. Elizabeth spent the next hour fielding phone calls from everyone Harding Casey had ever known.

  Finally, in desperation, she took the phone off the hook.

  With her drapes drawn, door closed and locked, the phone beeping and metallically cursing at her, Elizabeth plopped down onto the couch. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. She was being outflanked by a professional soldier and didn’t have the slightest idea how to fight back.

  Turning her head, she glanced at the lead crystal vase, sitting in the center of the coffee table. She glared at the bouquet of roses and told herself she should throw them out or, better yet, send them back. But it was too late for the latter, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to toss them into the trash.

  She felt as though she was being bombarded from all sides. She couldn’t think straight anymore. All she was sure of was that she couldn’t afford to surrender to Harding’s campaign. If she made a mistake, her baby would have to pay the price. And that, she wasn’t willing to risk.

  The doorbell rang, and her gaze shot to the closed door.

  A moment later three brisk knocks sounded in the stillness. What now? she wondered. A parade? Groaning slightl
y, she pushed up from the couch and walked quietly to the door. There, she peered through the peephole and saw a thoroughly bored-looking teenage girl clutching a clipboard of all things. Looking past the gum-chewing redhead, Elizabeth studied her empty yard as if expecting an assault team to leap up from behind the rows of pansies and storm her house. A long minute passed before she decided the coast was clear.

  She opened the door, faced the girl and asked, “Yes?”

  “You Elizabeth Stone?” The redhead squinted at her.

  Though she was beginning to seriously consider changing her name, she had to say, “Yes, I am. What is it?”

  The teenager held up the clipboard and gave it a wave. “Got a telegram for you.” She unhooked a small, yellow envelope, then held out the clipboard toward Elizabeth. “Gotta sign for it.”

  Sighing, Elizabeth edged the screen door open, scrawled her name across line nineteen, then took the envelope.

  “You should get your phone checked, lady,” the girl said. “They tried to call the telegram in, but something’s wrong with the line.”

  “Thanks,” she said, having no intention of putting that phone back on the hook. She reached for her purse, lying on the entry table. Grabbing for her wallet, she pulled a dollar bill free and handed it to the girl.

  “Hey, thanks, lady,” the teenager said with a grin.

  Elizabeth nodded absently, then stepped back and closed the door. Leaning against it, she tore open the envelope and read the all-too-brief message inside. “Six o’clock tonight. Be ready. We have to talk. Harding.”

  Unbelievable.

  She stared at the telegram a moment longer, then slowly, completely, crumpled it in one fist. He ignores her for two days, tells everyone he knows that they’re engaged and sends them to plead his case for him, then has the nerve to order her around? Elizabeth pushed away from the door, stalked her way to the kitchen and unceremoniously tossed his precious telegram into the trash can. Who did he think he was, anyway? The man had even had the nerve to lie to her parents about them.