Finding Mikayla

by Samantha Christy

  He raises a provocative brow. “Why doctor, are you proposing we experiment with that sort of thing? Do you have any of your own dreams that you’d like to share with me?”

  Heat warms my face. “Uh . . .”

  “I’m kidding, Mikayla,” he says, laughing. Then he looks at me, deep in thought. “Well, maybe I’m not. I think I would do just about anything you asked me to, sweetheart.”

  I grab the last bit of breakfast out of his hand and pop it into my mouth. Do I really have that kind of power over him? It’s a heady feeling.

  He leans across the table and traces his finger across my nose and cheeks. “I could stare at this beautiful face forever,” he says. “These freckles . . . they make you appear so young and innocent, when I now know you’re anything but.”

  The way he plays with a lock of my light-brown hair, tickling my neck with it as his blue eyes seem to stare into my soul—I can’t help but launch myself around the table and onto his lap. I straddle him and lean down, pressing my lips to his. Our tongues mingle without even a care that we’ve not yet brushed our teeth and probably have little bits of granola stuck in between them.

  I grind myself into his lap, delighting in the feeling of his strong hands coming up to caress my behind through the thin material of his briefs. But as the tingles build up, so does the uncomfortable chafing feeling between my legs and I stiffen.

  “What is it?” he asks, when I stop moving against him.

  “Uh, I think you broke my vagina,” I say, burying my head in his neck so he can’t see my blush.

  He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Alright then, let’s head out so I can get my woman some real food.”

  A smile touches my eyes at his declaration that I’m his woman. We go to his bedroom to gather our clothes so we can shower before going to the mess hall. I’m pushing his boxers off my hips when he says, “Why don’t you keep them. I kind of like the idea of you wearing my underwear.”

  I try not to release the sigh that wants to come out of me. Must everything he says be so provocative and swoon-worthy? I dare not let him in on this little fact. “We could share them,” I say, liking the notion that when we aren’t together, we can have some small connection through these ridiculous smiley-face boxers.

  “Fine, but don’t wash them before you give them back,” he says. He pulls me to him and whispers in my ear, “I want to be able to smell you on them.”

  Holy shit! Did he really just say that to me?

  I’m sure I’m turning ten different shades of red.

  Confirming my suspicions over my flushed appearance, he says, “There go those freckles again. You are so adorable when you blush, Mikayla.”

  ~ ~ ~

  After our showers and a much-needed laundering of Mitch’s sheets, we go over to the mess hall for a late lunch. On the walk over he grabs my hand. It’s a small gesture, one that happens millions of times to millions of people every day all over the world. But, somehow, him grabbing my hand and rubbing his thumb over the back of my knuckles has me grinning like a schoolgirl. And when I look at him out of the corner of my eye, he is doing the same thing. We both laugh because we know how this is affecting us. It’s the first time we’ve been like this in public. Together. Intimately touching as if to announce our relationship status to the world.

  When we walk into the mess hall hand-in-hand, we get stares from many tables. Damn rumor mill spreads like wildfire around here. Some people smile and nod as if to say, ‘it’s about time.’ Claire spots me and comes over to give me a hug, whispering, “I’m so happy for you, Kay.”

  I even hear some clapping and a few cat-calls from the table where some of my softball team is dining. I roll my eyes at them, but my inner goddess really just wants to high-five every last one.

  We get settled at a table with our lunch trays and go over our agenda for the day. “So, what shall we do on our unexpected day off?” Mitch asks.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I was thinking about calling in a few favors,” I say.

  “Favors? For what?” he asks, putting his apple on my tray in exchange for my beans that he knows I despise.

  I shrug my shoulders and try to whisper in his ear without blushing. “Condoms,” I say. “I think I can scrounge up one or two.”

  He closes his eyes briefly and when they open, they are hooded and darkening. “Sweetheart, you have got to stop saying things like that in public.” His eyes flash down to his lap where I can see a growing bulge in his pants and I revel in the knowledge that my mere words have affected him like this.

  I giggle and ask him, “What about you, what do you want to do?”

  “I was hoping to go for a ride. But, considering the state of things—” he motions to my lap “—maybe riding horses is not the best option.”

  I shake my head at him and excitedly say, “No! I want to ride. I’ll deal with it. Plus, it’s more on the inside anyway.” I wrinkle my nose and wonder just how many times my face is going to heat up this morning.

  He laughs and cups my chin with his hand. “So darn cute,” he says. “Okay, we’ll ride, but we’ll take it real slow.” The seductiveness in his voice makes me wonder if we’re still talking about horses.

  An hour later, Brad has saddled up Sassy and Rose. I don’t think Mitch has ever ridden another horse since that first day I took him out. The thought lights up my face as I remember having to ride double with him.

  We ride slowly, side-by-side and enjoy the lazy, peaceful, spring afternoon. We often catch each other staring and smile. He occasionally stops our horses to lean over and kiss me. We have conversations about anything and everything.

  When I’m staring at him, longing to run my hands once again through his dark, wavy hair, I catch a glimpse of his tattoo as it peeks out from under his shirt sleeve. I ask him, “Did it hurt to get the tattoo?”

  He stares down at it like the tattoo might have the answer to my question. “I don’t know, exactly. I don’t remember getting it. I’m actually opposed to tattoos.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I know I’m in the army, so tattoos are practically a given, but I just never quite understood permanently marking one’s skin.” He looks suggestively at my body. “I know I don’t have to ask you about yours because I now know firsthand that you don’t have any.” He winks at me and I will myself not to blush.

  We are walking Sassy and Rose along the southeast side of camp, where massive amounts of crops are growing, when we spot Craig and he waves us over. While I look in wonder at the acres of strawberry, carrot and asparagus plants, Craig and Mitch talk in depth about tenderness, thickness, ripeness and other qualities of the fruits and vegetables growing in this quad. It amazes me that Mitch has learned so much about farming in such a short period of time. I’ve come to understand that when Mitch isn’t working or socializing, he’s out in the fields learning about raising crops. I remember thinking that first day we met that he would be one of those guys that just can’t sit still, and he hasn’t proven me wrong yet.

  We are continuing on to the springs when Mitch pulls a few strawberries from his pocket that I didn’t realize he had picked. He rinses them with his bottle of water then he beckons me over with a crook of his finger. He places a strawberry between his teeth motioning for me to take a bite.

  Oh, I like playful Mitch.

  I walk Sassy over and get as close as she will allow, then I lean towards him. My insides quiver as my lips touch his. Mitch and strawberries. Two of my favorite things. The fact that he remembers that strawberries are my fruit of choice melts my heart a little. We continue to kiss long after the sweetness of the strawberry is gone, until Rose and Sassy feel it’s time to move on and pull us apart as our ravenous stares continue burn into each other.

  “Tell me more about Gina,” I say.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Way to kill the moment, sweetheart,” he says, absentmindedly pinching his shirt over his chest. “Why would you want to know about her anyway?”

  “Be
cause I want to know everything about you. And because I need to get my mind off . . . other things,” I say.

  He laughs. “Okay, what do you want to know? My life is an open book.” He frowns. “Well, most of it anyway.” I can see he’s still sad over the memories that have not returned.

  “What was she like? What did she do? Was she prettier than me?” I giggle. “Wait, don’t answer that last one, I don’t want to know.”

  “She had short blond hair and brown eyes and was quite a bit taller than you are. She was pretty, yes, but not in the devastatingly beautiful way that you are, Mikayla. You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” He smiles sincerely at me and I know he thinks it’s true.

  “Okay, let’s see. She was cool for the most part, once you take away the whole running-off-with-my-best-friend scenario.” He shakes his head in obvious irritation. “We knew each other in high school. We were all good friends, Gina, Dale and me.”

  “Dale?” I raise my brow in question.

  “Yeah, Dale. He was my best friend.” He blows out a breath like it physically hurt him to say that. “I never even considered Gina girlfriend material in school. She was a tomboy who liked to do everything that we did. I may have even looked at her as a sister then. But then we graduated and she went away to college so we lost touch. Dale and I both became EMTs together, even working for the same firehouse for several years. Then Gina came back to town and started working as an interior designer. She was not a tomboy anymore and I took notice of that. Dale was away on vacation when I asked her out and we quickly hit it off. When Dale got back he told me that he decided he was going to pursue Gina. When I told him I had beaten him to the punch, he took it like a true friend and just moved on to his next conquest.

  “I didn’t think anything of it when, after almost two years of dating, I joined the army and asked Dale to look after Gina while I was gone. Dale had dated numerous girls in that time and never again alluded to wanting her for himself. He promised me he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. Before I left, she gave me a locket. It looked like dog tags, but it had a few pictures of her in it so I wouldn’t forget her. Of course I couldn’t wear it, I could only wear my real tags, but I thought it was a pretty cool going away present.”

  He grabs his chest again and now I’m positive that this unconscious gesture has something to do with Gina. It scares me, and I think once more that maybe she’s the one he was searching for. I attempt to put it out of my mind and continue to hear him out. I did ask, after all.

  Me and my big mouth.

  “We wrote letters and e-mailed and Skyped and all that crap. I made it home a few times for a little R & R. It seemed like our time apart was not very difficult at all. So I told her that I was considering extending my tour for a few months. I should have known something was wrong when she was okay with that. I mean, what girlfriend doesn’t want her guy back after he’s been gone almost a year?

  “I stayed in touch with Dale constantly. He would FaceTime me with all the guys in the firehouse. His e-mails would let me know that Gina was doing well and that I didn’t have to worry about her. I really didn’t have a fucking clue what they were doing. Not until the day I returned from my first tour and they dropped the bomb on me.”

  I can see how much it still hurts him to talk about it and I suddenly feel guilty for bringing it up. “I’m so sorry, Mitch. I shouldn’t have asked about her.”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Yeah, it still hurts and part of me will always be pissed because I loved her, but I’m no longer sorry it happened.” He reaches over to grab my hand. “I have you now.” He smiles brightly. “And I actually think I’m more upset about losing Dale than Gina. I loved that guy like a brother and he totally screwed me over.”

  I smile back, but part of me is dying inside as ‘I loved her’ plays over and over like a broken record in my head. If he remembers—when he remembers—will he still be in love with her if she’s the one he was trying to find?

  He must see my sad smile, because, as if reading my mind, he says, “Don’t worry Mikayla. She is not who I was searching for. Believe me, I would never go back to someone who had hurt me like she did.”

  It provides me a sliver of relief hearing him say that. However, I’m certain I will be devastated no matter who turns out to be the mysterious recipient of Mitch’s sworn promise that Carson Withers informed us about.

  We ride in silence and I wonder if he’s still thinking about her. I again chide myself for making him go there.

  Mitch breaks our prolonged silence when he asks, “Can you get on the pill?”

  Whoa! Not what I was expecting.

  “Uh . . . I’m not sure,” I say. “I suppose I could have the guys try to get some. I ran out of the supply we had on base long ago. Either way, I’m not sure I would trust pills that old.”

  “Let’s get out the pharmacology book at the clinic and see how long they last. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about condoms,” he says, hopefully.

  I point my finger at him and raise my eyebrows. “Oh, no! You’re wearing condoms, buddy.” I nod to his pants. “We don’t know where that thing has been for the past two years.”

  He laughs. “Good point. Okay, condoms until my memory comes back. But get on the pill anyway. I want to feel all of you the second my memory returns.” He brings Rose close and runs a hand along my inner thigh.

  And suddenly, thoughts of everything else fade away as I think of what I want him to do to me. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go cash in on those favors.”

  “Oh, hell yeah!” he says, turning us quickly in the direction of the stables.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’ve been avoiding Mitch for the last twenty-four hours. I’ve done anything and everything I can think of to keep myself away from him. I’m not willing to risk it, because I know if he gets me alone, I’ll throw caution to the wind. I’m not like this. I’ve never been like this. Calm, cool, calculated . . . that is the kind of person I am. Why does he make me want to do things, say things, be things that I’ve never considered before?

  Damn it! Why did we have to go through all our condoms so quickly? I called in every favor this past week; traded everything I could part with—okay, not the books—but everything else. Mitch and I spent all our credits, even forgoing things such as shampoo, alcohol and shaving cream. What I wouldn’t do for a freaking Visa card right now.

  “You’ve been avoiding me.” I almost jump out of my skin when his hot breath rolls over my neck from where he snuck up behind me.

  I turn around and almost spontaneously combust when I see that dark, yummy hair and his sexy three-day stubble that I long to have scraping across my face.

  He smirks at me. “Why doctor, I think you want me so badly that you don’t trust yourself around me.” He walks around me and stands in front of me, lightly running his hands up and down my arms while provocatively appraising me. “Am I right?”

  “I—I’ve been busy, that’s all.” I will admit to nothing.

  He chuckles in my ear. Then he licks my neck right below my earlobe where he knows it drives me wild. I’m melting into a hot mess of hormones right here in the clinic, but I refuse to succumb to his little game.

  “I think you’re lying to me, doctor,” he breathes into my ear in between the kisses he is feathering across my neck.

  “Huh uh . . .” I shake my head at him and sit down at the desk to concentrate on the patient files that need updating.

  “You know,” he says, spinning around the wheeled office chair, caging me in so I’m facing him, “just because we’re out of condoms doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “There are many other ways to make you squirm beneath me, Mikayla.”

  Oh, God!

  He leaves me wondering if I actually said that out loud when he laughs and kisses my head before he walks out to the front room.

  What just happened? He’s left me a damn mess back here thinking about exactly what h
e plans to do to make me squirm. He’s wound me up like a toy and then he left before playing with me. Cruel . . . just plain cruel.

  I hear the sweet cries of a tiny baby and snap out of my un-fulfilled fantasy to join Mitch out front. When I come through the door, I find Mitch holding Kelly’s three-week-old baby, Toby. He’s smiling down at him making adorably silly faces at the newborn. I’m beaming at the picture before me. This big strong man is holding a tiny baby, calming him by rocking back and forth and humming a song that he has played on his guitar.

  Something happens inside me and my world shifts on its axis when I realize how badly I want this—all of this. The man, the baby . . . the life I’m envisioning before me.

  “Mikayla?” I look up to see his questioning eyes.

  “Huh? Did you say something?”

  Mitch and Kelly both laugh at me. I must have been out of it for a minute.

  “I asked how many of these creatures you think you might want one day,” he says.

  My jaw drops slightly. I swear this man can read my mind. “Uh . . . I haven’t really thought about it,” I lie. “A couple I guess.”

  “A couple,” he repeats back to me as if trying out the words. He looks down at Toby. “Yes, a couple would be nice.”

  Holy crap!

  Did he just agree to father my future children? I look around the room. What alternate universe have I entered into and why is nobody else freaking out about this?

  Despite the fact that my mind has been completely blown, I’m able to perform a well-baby exam on our newest resident. It doesn’t escape me how Mitch looks at me when I hold Toby. It’s the same way I was looking at him when the baby was in his arms—with longing, with awe, with pure unadulterated joy.

  ~ ~ ~

  We have a few cases of the stomach flu come in, and then after lunch, Mitch expertly stitches up Brad’s injury, courtesy of Buck. I’ll never understand why these stubborn men continue to ride that horse knowing how many others have been injured doing so.