"Kendall," she says, smiling as she wraps me in a hug. I can hear the phone ringing and then the familiar voice of my best friend. "She felt it," is all Dana says, tears still falling down her cheeks and I swipe them away with a tissue from the counter.
I can hear Kendall's high pitched squeal, and Dana jumps up and down mildly, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly "I know, we're both crying like babies here. Oh yes, come over for dinner; I'll set you an’ Harlan a place." She smiles and I can hear Kendall yelling to someone in the background. "Yes, Brad and Garth, too," Dana says with a smile and a wink as I pull myself up onto one of her breakfast bar stools. "Alright, Hon, be here ‘round four-thirty."
Dana says her goodbyes and not three seconds later my cell phone buzzes with Luke Bryan crooning away, signaling a text message. It is Kendall, and all it says is "Yaaayyyyyyyy", making me grin like an idiot. Dana smiles at me. Wrapping me in a tight hug she whispers, "I wish my son was here, Hon, but I know he's here in spirit even though he's thousands of miles away."
I sigh and sink into her hug, absorbing her warmth and comfort. I squeeze my arms tight around her as tears of sadness come to my eyes.
"I wish my momma was here," I choke out, burying my face in Dana's cotton t-shirt sleeve. It seems like I miss my mom more and more as each day of my pregnancy passes. I find that I think of her when the slightest things come up, like shopping for items or when I have questions about heartburn, silly things like that. At times, late at night, I curse God for taking her and Randy from me, robbing them of meeting my child. Then I apologize and pray to Him, hoping that they are at rest and happy, asking God to watch over those that are in my life today; especially Chad.
"I know your momma would be real proud of you, Hon," Dana kisses my cheek, wiping the tears away with her long skinny fingers. I nod my head weakly, still feeling that weight on my heart, but I know I have to trudge on. Trying to lighten my mood and remind me of the great little event that just happened, Dana squeals and does her little happy dance again all around the kitchen, and I laugh at her until I can't breathe.
"Alright, I'm gonna sneak home and take care of my ice cream now." I kiss her on the cheek and snag my paper bag of ice cream containers from the table, listening to her humming as I weave through the side door and out her garage.
I feel like I'm on cloud nine and my cell croons Luke Bryan again, this time it’s a message from Brad Muncy stating, "Yay momma! Can't wait to rub my manly hands all over that belly tonight and wake that baby up!"
"Oh God," I snort, laughing to myself. Ever since the night when Jarrod punched me on accident when he was fighting with Garth, and sent me on my ass, Brad has had an extra watchful eye on me when he's around. He's even insisted on taking my blood pressure on some of the hotter days, which will probably include today.
I punch in my pass-code for the garage door and as it opens slowly, I catch the familiar sound of Duke's truck. In the shade of the cool garage I turn and see that he's roaring down in my direction, and I take a deep breath in, throwing the four containers of heavenly goodness into the chest freezer. The engine cuts off and I can hear his footsteps coming toward the concrete as I ascend the steps to the house. Coming around the corner, the sight of him makes a fresh sweat break out all over and the feeling makes me sick to my stomach.
Duke is shirtless, his chiseled chest tanned and sweaty, probably from yard work at his mom's house. He winks at me, taking his aviator sunglasses off to reveal those blue-green eyes. His blonde hair is shorter, back to its regular length after a haircut I gave him last week.
"Hey Ray," he says, his voice husky and deep, echoing slightly in my garage. He pulls a worn out Mopar shirt over his head, and I can’t help but notice how all his muscles work to get it smoothed out over his torso. Uck, why am I thinking about him this way?
"Hey Duke, what's goin' on?" I walk into the mud room, thankful for the cooler temperature inside the house, and he shuts the door behind as he follows. Standing beneath a vent pushing cool air through the house, I raise my head, letting the air cool my sticky skin, and I hear a chuckle from behind me. Smiling, I turn to see that he's rummaging through my fridge, pulling out a can of Coke, and I say, "Hey, throw me a can of Sprite."
"Bossy," he says with a laugh, handing me an ice cold can that I quickly open. "You need anythin' done ‘round here today?" he asks, pulling one of the stools out and casually plopping down into it. "If ya don't, I thought you might wanna go for a walk before your dinner with Dana."
I can see his eyes darting from me to the floor and back again and it makes me kind of on edge. I casually look down at myself to make sure there isn't anything out of place and there isn't, but I smooth my hand over my bump anyway.
"I don't think I need anythin' done. Harlan just mowed the lawn yesterday and the dishes are in the dishwasher, already done." I think about things I need to do as I look around the house. I can still see him looking at me, and there's something in his eyes that bothers me, so I back up and sit at the kitchen table to put some space between us.
"You wanna go for a walk then, girl?” he asks, taking a long drink from his soda can. He stands and walks over to the table, putting his palms flat on the top and leaning down, his eyes locked on me the entire time.
"A short walk, I guess." I nod. Seeing Duke smile banishes the weird feeling I had only minutes before. I change into a pair of maternity jean shorts and a tank top, throwing my cheap flip flops on and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I meet Duke on the back patio. He hands me a can of spray on SPF 30 sunscreen, and I give him a raised eyebrow.
"Don't want you gettin' a sunburn, momma." He smiles and I spray it on, standing in the shade so that the sun doesn't make me sweat it off immediately. Sunglasses on and having every inch of my skin sprayed with the sunscreen, Duke and I head off toward the back of the property. He has his .22 in hand, the every-ready country boy that he is, and his boots crunch through the sun baked brush. It is a comfortable silence that hangs between us, and I remember why I had liked him a while back. He can be a downright Southern gentleman when he isn’t drinking.
Following the path that he mowed last week, Duke leads the way toward the small pond. The fresh air gets into my blood and makes me giddy. Feeling spontaneous, I immediately regret hopping up on a tree stump as my feet break through the rotten wood and I begin to stumble backward.
A squeak of dismay is all that I can get out as I start to fall, the sound of snapping branches and crunching brush rushing toward me as my descent stops with a jolt. Duke squeezes me to his chest and swings me around, a scared look in his blue-green eyes.
"Ray! Are you okay?" he almost shouts in my face, and I can only imagine why.
My face feels frozen with slight fear and my heart is racing. All I can do is nod as the heat from his chest and arms seeps into my body. It feels wrong, but at the same time his manly scent makes me want to stay put. The doctor warned me about hormones, that they may be raging for the next few months, and even Rosa has warned me about being overly turned on by the slightest things. His hold on me tightens and I know I should get down, so I place my hands on his chest, pushing lightly.
"Are you okay?" his husky voice washes over me and I push a little harder.
"I'm fine. Please let me down." I look up at his face again to see that his eyes are locked on my chest. A little anger flares within me and I push even harder against his body, making him set me down.
Smoothing my hands over my tank and shorts, I huff out a thank you, and turn to continue toward the pond. I make it only a few feet before swinging around and pointing my finger firmly in Duke's chest, my eyes narrowed on his face. "There still is to be NO funny business, Duke. I'm tryin' to be your friend, but the next time I catch you looking down my shirt I'll kick your ass all the way back to the trailer park, got it?"
Throwing his hands up, letting the .22 dangle at his side, his face displays an apology. "Sorry, sorry, but I couldn't much help myself. They are so big." He sta
rts to grin and I punch him hard in the arm, making him wince. "Well, they are."
"Yeah, but you don't have to stare at them." I shake my finger in his face once more, his smirk making me smile, and then I whip around to trudge on.
An hour or so later, after we have sat at the edge of the peaceful pond and just talked about random things, Duke and I make our way back through the field to my house. Flung over his shoulder he has two rabbits and a squirrel that he had shot and field dressed, as I carry his .22. I can see Kendall's Volkswagen Beetle sitting on my side lawn as we approach the back yard, and I let out a curse, getting Duke to look at me.
"Don't worry, momma, I'll leave right away," he says, taking the .22 from my hands with a sad grin.
"I hate that they can't forgive you," I say with all honesty. I believe that those who truly try to turn over another leaf deserve forgiveness, and to me, Duke is doing just that. He just shrugs as we go through the back garage door, giving me a wink as I see Kendall come from Dana's house, followed closely by Harlan and Brad.
"I'll see ya later, momma," Duke whispers, placing a fast kiss on my cheek. "Call me if ya need anythin'." He jogs over to his truck, throwing the gutted small game down onto the floor boards of the passenger side as he slides in and starts it up; roaring out of my driveway seconds before Kendall grabs my arm.
"Seriously, Ray?" Her voice is angry and harsh. I face her brown eyed fury head on, my own anger boiling a tad. "When are you gonna see that he's bad news? He only wants to drive a wedge between you and Chad."
"And when are you gonna realize that I'm a grown woman and can make choices on my own?" I almost hiss back, my fists balled at my sides. Sweeping my hand in the direction of my three friends I continue. "All you guys see is the same ol' Duke. The asshole Duke, but if you took two minutes to talk to him, you'd see that he's trying to change. Who am I to turn him away if he wants to mend a friendship with me?"
"Rhea, you gotta see that he's got an angle," Brad chimes in, and I glare at him. "Hey, don't shoot daggers at me. I know Duke. I know how he thinks, and I know how he feels about you. I just want you to step back and see that he probably has an underlying factor or reason."
He throws his arm around my waist, pulling me to him and resting his hand on my stomach. "I just don't want to see you hurt, especially with this little one on the way." He grins at me and I can't deny his charm, so I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight.
"Alright, alright," I say as Kendall snakes her arm around the other side of my waist. "But y'all need to be nice to him when he's around. I don't need no more fights at my house!" They all respond with a group "yeah-yeah" as we walk over toward Dana's house.
I have a feeling they won't be nice to Duke, but it never hurts to ask, right? Plus Brad's reasoning for not wanting me to have Duke around is really starting to sink in. What if he does have an underlying plan? Am I playing into his hands? Am I being the naïve little girl, lured into the trap by the snake?
Naw, I think, Duke's not that conniving.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
July 20, 2012
Chad
Iraq
The desert is pitch black tonight. It is eerie, casting a nagging voice in the back of my head to get this shit over with. There isn’t even a dog barking off in the distance. Reno and I are up on the roof of an abandoned building, crouching down below the ledge with our night vision camera perched on the edge, aimed at the building we have been watching for more than two weeks.
After the Colombia mission, we had been shipped out on this one, having no time in between. I know Rhea is probably losing her mind back home, but I'm just hoping my momma is keeping her company, easing her mind. God I miss my Rhea. Even now, sitting in the pitch black desert, I can't help but daydream an image of her beautiful face, smiling at me; her hair flowing off onto her shoulder as her blue-grey eyes glitter. My hand aches to reach out and push her hair back behind her ear, but instead it's wrapped around a pair of binoculars.
French's voice snaps me back to my job, telling us to keep our eyes peeled; that there is a caravan of Jeeps heading our way. Reno shifts a little and groans.
"Chief," he spares me a quick look before returning to the cameras view finder, and I nod, "I can't get over their denial of our August request."
"I know, bro," I say, patting him on the back. "I don't see what the difference between lettin' us go in October as opposed to August, but hell, we can't fight it."
We can’t. It is the final word. They are going to sign our discharge papers for the 25th of October, and Reno won’t be home for the birth of his baby.
There is a chance that we could be back at base, hopefully, and that they could do the whole Skype delivery; but we have to pass it by Rosa first. If she agrees to it, after being upset, because I know she will be, I know Rhea will volunteer to do the whole Skype thing via her cell phone. At least then Reno can see his child being born. I'm just praying that my child waits until I'm home, to meet the world. I'm dreading telling Rhea about our pushed back return date. I know she's going to cry, and I hate it when she cries.
"Heads up," Reno says, and I roll onto my stomach, switching my binoculars so that they zoom in on the approaching Jeeps.
There are six of them, all carrying heavily armed men, a total of 25 people making their way inside the building we have our eyes on. Eight men come back out, grabbing large metal foot lockers from the back of three of the vehicles and taking them in a side door. That is it. That is what we have been waiting for. We were sent here to stop their weapons trade, and now we have the evidence. Containers that look like they might contain guns is enough for us to go in and Reno tells French what we see.
"Alright boys, this is it," French tells us. "Timmons, Uclid; what do ya got?"
"Three up on top, but they're jus' sittin' on their asses." Timmons laughs. "Four on the ground, closest to Chief, and three closest to you." I'm not quite sure which roof Timmons is on, but a grin tweaks the corner of my mouth as I’m thinking about how the kid loves his job.
"Chief? Reno?" French snaps us to attention.
"Ready as always, LT," I reply, snapping my helmet buckle and taking my rope from my belt. Repelling is one of Reno's favorite things and I see a smirk cross his face as we tie them off.
Flipping our night vision goggles down from our helmets, we pound knuckles before we push off from the ledge of the roof; the air rushing around us as we land against the side of the building and push off again. The sand and dust licks at our boots as we land with a slight thud, quickly unsnapping the ropes and bringing our guns up, we scan the grounds; moving over against the edge of a dark alley. "On the ground," I say.
"Timmons, do your thing," French issues, and Reno and I hunker down, waiting for the word. From the alley we can see the front of the building, including the side door, where we saw the men take the large containers. Three barely audible shots whizz through the air above us.
"Roof's clear," Timmons replies, and Reno and I straighten, tensed for action. The four men closest to us go down in quick spurts. "Front's clear."
"Move in," French commands and Reno and I are off; his hand on my shoulder the entire way, creating a two man train through the open street. I can see French and Benson moving their way from the left as Reno and I sidle up to the main door. Reno moves in front and places a small charge on the door, ready to make an explosive entrance. Getting to our position, French radios for Black and Talbot.
"We’re at the back, where they took the containers, Lieutenant," Black answers. They are going to be the driving team, flushing what men are in the warehouse part, into the main building.
"All clear," French nods to Reno and we back up a step as he takes a small detonator from his belt. He flicks a wire on the bottom and punches the little button, making the door explode, and then it’s show time.
The lights attached to our M-4s flick on and we march through the smoke. Our orders are to spare those who offer no resistance, but marching into an encampment
at night we assume there is no chance in that; so doing our job we fire when fired at.
I shout orders, "Put your hands up!" in Arabic, but as we move through the first floor like a well-oiled machine, we have to take out everyone we come across. Black and Talbot come from our left, giving the all clear for the side building, and we head up the stairs; French at the lead with me on his heels.
Coming to the first landing on the staircase, French and I are showered with splintering plaster and sand as bullets rain down from above. "Shit, back up! Back up!" I yell, shoving Reno back as more debris sprays down, the bullets hitting the wall just above my head. French and I move to the opposite wall with our backs straight against it, reloading our weapons. I can see him pull a grenade from his belt, and I nod, knowing it'll at least give us a chance until Timmons can get a look from the outside.
"Frag out!" he yells, tossing it over our heads, and we both crouch, bracing for the explosion that comes three seconds later.
Following his lead, I trudge through the smoke; my heart racing in my chest and pounding in my ears. Frantic yelling catches me by surprise as a combatant rushes me from the right. In the split second, I can see his face is burned from the explosion, and he gets off two quick shots from his hand gun before I take him down. It takes a second for the aching pain to sink into my chest, my breathing catching in my throat. I fall to one knee, my gaze roaming over my vest.
I’ve been fucking shot. Two in the chest. I’m fucking shot!
"Chief's down! Chief's down!" I can hear French yell as my hands start to shake. Two bullet holes are smoking in my shirt, and my fingers start to pull at the material. "Chief, are you okay?" French is kneeling right in front of me, his eyes locked on mine and I can see the rest of the guys crest the stairs, checking the corners and rooms. French rips my shirt open and I let out a sigh of relief.
Coming Home: Book 2 The Wakefield Romance Series Page 9
