Playing Dirty

by Jamie Ann Denton

  “Trenton,” Mattie said, an unmistakable warning note in her voice. Not that he blamed her after his behavior that morning.

  “I’ll get my things,” he told her. “I’ll call you later.”

  She looked as if she was about to cry again. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He steeled himself to stay away from her, to not go to her and hold her as she cried. To let her lean on him. For as much as it hurt to admit, he knew that was no longer his role.

  “I’ll try to be patient,” he said again. “Just don’t expect me to wait forever.”

  * * *

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Mattie said, putting the last of the perishables in the refrigerator. Her sister hadn’t just picked up a few essentials, like milk, eggs and bread. She’d gone and bought out half the grocery store, plus the butcher shop, not to mention the damage she did to the ice cream aisle. “I was planning on doing the shopping tomorrow.”

  Griffen finished restocking the pantry with a variety of snack foods, staples, four different brands of cereal and a mountain of canned goods. “I figured you had enough to deal with,” she said. “Under the circumstances, grocery shopping would have to be the last thing on your To Do List.”

  “I won’t have to buy groceries for six months. This is a lot of food, Griff.”

  Griffen shrugged. “I didn’t know what you needed.”

  “So she bought everything.” Jed closed the patio door and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Grill’s all cleaned and ready to be fired up.”

  Griffen laughed. “Right, it was all me,” she said. “I wasn’t the one who practically ordered up full sides of beef and pork from the butcher. Or bought enough chicken to make Colonel Sanders nervous.”

  “I figured if I’d been held in enemy territory for five years, a fat, juicy steak would be at the top of my list of must-haves.”

  Griffen hiked her eyebrows upward. “Team Trenton, huh?”

  “Please don’t take sides,” Mattie said. “This is hard enough without people taking sides.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly, then bent and gave her a kiss on the cheek followed by a quick squeeze of her shoulder. “From now on, just call me Switzerland, okay?”

  “It’s all a bit much,” Mattie told them referring to the groceries, “but no less appreciated.” She set the ears of corn on the counter along with onions and a half dozen potatoes. Normal activities under abnormal circumstances. Trenton had been sent packing back to his condo in Dallas, and she was preparing to have a BBQ with her sister’s family. She didn’t even know how to process that information.

  Griffen folded the empty grocery bags and stowed them in the pantry. “Where’s Ford?”

  “The garage,” Mattie said. She went to the pantry for a can of fruit cocktail, a bag of shredded coconut and the pastel-colored, miniature marshmallows. “He was surprised when I told him I hadn’t sold his Mustang, so I imagine they’re getting reacquainted.”

  She’d refused to sell the car that had been his pride and joy. The restoration of the 1966 Mustang had been his ongoing weekend project, something that had taken him countless hours and was still not fully complete. Even in its current state, she could’ve sold it for a great price, but she hadn’t been able to do it. So, she’d paid a small fortune to have it brought back to Texas where it took up half of the garage. There were other things she’d kept as well. Books he’d liked, music CD’s and movies. She’d even kept most of the mementos they’d collected throughout their marriage, not to mention their courtship. Much of it was stowed in storage containers, hidden on the top shelf of the guest room closet. She’d kept it all, because she hadn’t been able to part with the memories. She’d told herself she’d kept them for Phoebe’s sake, in case her daughter might someday want to know more about her father. But now she wondered if she’d been completely honest with herself. Had she kept them because a part of her had never stopped hoping?

  “Guess I should go talk to the guy,” Jed said.

  “That’s a good idea.” Griffen gave her husband a wide grin. “Go spread your loyalty around.”

  He grunted in reply, but took off for the garage, dragging Austin with him. With Phoebe momentarily occupied in her room with the gifts Trenton had left for her, Mattie turned to Griffen. “So no luck getting hold of Dad?”

  “No,” Griffen said. “I’ve been trying all afternoon. The calls go right to voice mail, and he hasn’t answered any of my texts.”

  “He’s up to something,” Mattie said. Their dad had been rather cryptic lately about his whereabouts.

  “It has to be a woman,” Griffen added. “Why else would he be so secretive?”

  “Maybe because Mom’s only been gone a little over three years.” She really had no idea what her father had been up to in recent months, but she’d be willing to bet Griffen was right and a woman was involved.

  “You know, if you’re not up for Sunday dinner tomorrow, we can cancel.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” In the Hart family, Sunday dinner was as sacred as Mass on Sunday morning. When her mother had passed, her father had insisted the tradition continue, and since she was the family cook, the main responsibility had naturally become hers.

  She handed Griffen the corn to clean. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  “I take you’re not talking about Sunday dinner.” Griffen started removing the silk. “But I don’t have an answer.”

  “Do you know how weird this is? My dead husband is alive, my new husband is back in Dallas, alone, and I’m prepping for a goddamned backyard BBQ like it’s a normal Saturday afternoon. And I still have to plan a menu for tomorrow.”

  “Scrub the potatoes, Stinkerbell. If you think too much, you’ll go nuts.”

  She let out a harsh breath. “You scrub the potatoes. I’m making fluffy ambrosia salad.”

  Griffen glanced at the ingredients on the counter. “Since when you do you put coconut in ambrosia?”

  “Since Ford’s home and he likes it that way.” She looked at Griffen and her eyes filled with tears. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

  “Forget what you think you’re supposed to do.” Griffen turned off the tap and used a dish towel to pat the potatoes dry. “Do what feels right.”

  Mattie moved to stand next to her sister. She dropped her head against Griffen’s shoulder. “That’s the problem,” she said around the lump in her throat. “If it feels right, then I’m worried it’s all wrong.”

  “Maybe there’s no right or wrong in a situation like this.”

  “Tell that to Trenton,” Mattie said. “Or Ford.”

  She snagged a paper towel, dabbed her eyes, then let out a sigh. Maybe Griffen was right. If she kept busy and didn’t think too much, she just might make it through the next few hours.

  “I can’t believe Trenton agreed to leave you alone with Ford,” Griffen said.

  “Truthfully, neither can I.” If the situation were reversed, no way in hell would Ford ever leave her alone with another man, especially one she’d just married.

  She went to work, mixing the ingredients for the fruit salad. As she worked, Griffen readied the corn for the grill. She told her sister about the earlier events of the day, and by the time she finished, and she had the first stage of the salad in the refrigerator. The potatoes and onions were diced and wrapped in foil packets for grilling, the steaks seasoned. And why wouldn’t she? Weren’t they celebrating her husband’s safe return?

  “Look at it this way,” Griffen said. “Ford’s home. Risen from the dead. Why on earth wouldn’t we celebrate with a couple of steaks on the grill?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Mattie said. “Maybe because the grieving widow is someone else’s blushing bride?”

  Griffen smiled. “Yes, well. There is that.”

  Six

  FORD LEANED BACK into the soft cushions of the sofa, eyes closed, a short glass half-filled bourbon grasped loosely in h
is hand as he quietly absorbed the sounds of home. His wife and daughter talked in the kitchen, or rather Phoebe rattled on and on while Mattie made distracted sounds of acknowledgement as she put away the last of the leftovers. Her family had gone home. No radio played in the background, no vapid television program filled the void, just—home. Just the three of them.

  He’d appreciated all the trouble Mattie’s family had gone to in trying to make him feel welcome. But in all honesty, this was the moment he’d been craving, the actual experience, the lead fantasy primarily responsible for him keeping his sanity in an insane situation. That moment when only the nucleus of his little family existed together under the same roof. Just him, Mattie and Phoebe. No concerned, no well-meaning, albeit hovering, sister-in-law, or her sports-legend husband, attempting to fill awkward silences with inane chatter, or a nephew more interested in the smart phone seemingly glued to his hand than the long lost uncle returned from the grave. He’d always loved Mattie’s family, but all he’d wanted was to be alone with his wife and child. Alone, where he planned to remind Mattie the only possible solution to their current situation meant Trenton Avery was history.

  Without opening his eyes, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. The bourbon slid smoothly down his throat and settled warmly in his gut, doing little to dull the razor sharp edge of jealousy slicing away at his momentary sense of contentment. For five hellish years, he’d dreamed of coming home, of resuming his life with Mattie, of fulfilling their hopes and dreams for the future. He’d be damned if he’d allow another man to take what rightfully, and legally, belonged to him.

  He reminded himself that he was here, now, and Avery wasn’t. That had to count for something. Maybe he hadn’t exactly played fair in throwing down the Daddy card with Matt, but the way he figured it, after all he’d been through, he’d earned whatever advantage he could wrangle.

  For too long he’d lived with only memories and fantasies. Remembrances of the simpler moments in their life together had helped him survive the years in captivity. Dreams, not just of coming home, but of Mattie. The way her eyes darkened when she was aroused, how she’d rub up against him when they kissed, as if she were never close enough, even when they were skin to skin.

  The memory of her climbing the steps on the back deck, a massive bouquet of blue and pink hydrangeas she’d cut from the bushes lining the property in her hand, the morning sun behind her. He smiled as he recalled the way her eyes had sparkled instantly with longing when she’d spied him on the deck with the sports section and a mug of coffee. The coffee and flowers quickly forgotten as she’d shoved him up against the wall and had settled to her knees in front of him.

  He finished the last of the bourbon in his glass as if it were a shot. No matter how much he might want to pick up right where they had left off, he knew it would never be that easy or simple. There would be a period of adjustment, that much was inevitable. Every time he’d come home from a long mission those first few days were sometimes awkward as they found their rhythm again. And they always had, but this time was different and he knew it. Mattie had been through a lot in the time he’d been presumed dead. She’d given birth, mourned a husband and buried her mother. She’d met and fallen in love with someone else. For as much as he hated to admit it, there was a chance those dreams he’d been harboring for their future just might go down in flames.

  She could pick Avery.

  A small hand settled tentatively on his knee, disrupting the path his tortuous thoughts had taken. “Psssst.” Phoebe shoved at his knee, moving it back and forth. “Are you sleeping?”

  He opened his eyes and looked directly into a pair of green eyes so like her mother’s. She was such an exact replica of Mattie, it was a bit unnerving. “No, I’m not sleeping.” He smiled down at her. “I’m very much awake.”

  Phoebe wrinkled her forehead and frowned. “But your eyes were closed.”

  He set the empty glass on the end table. “I was resting my eyes.”

  “Mommy rests her eyes sometimes, too,” Phoebe said. “But I know she’s really sleeping.”

  “Are you sure? Mommies have super powers.”

  “My mommy can’t have super powers.”

  “How do you know?”

  Phoebe dramatically rolled her eyes. “Cuz she doesn’t have a costume. You can’t be a super hero without a costume.” She used her hands when she talked, punctuating her statement. “And if you aren’t a super hero, you can’t have super powers.”

  Ford bit back a smile at her logic. “Well, I have a uniform. Does that count?”

  She considered this for a moment, then eventually shook her head. “Pro’ly not.” She nudged his knee again with her small hand. “Can I sit with you?”

  He wasn’t exactly sure how or when it had happened, but sometime in the past six hours, a level of trust had been established between them. He’d noticed it earlier in the way she had made sure she sat next to him during dinner. She’d stayed fairly close to him all afternoon without being clingy or hovering.

  After lifting Phoebe onto his lap, he asked, “Better?”

  She nodded and kept looking at him, her gaze filled with curiosity. Obviously, the girl had something on her mind. “Did you want to ask me something?” he prompted.

  She narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?”

  He smiled at the accusation in her tone. “Just a lucky guess.”

  Lifting her hand, she placed her palm over his heart as if she were reassuring herself he was indeed alive. “If you weren’t in heaven, where were you?”

  Phoebe was a bright kid. The fact that she had questions was understandable, expected even. The answers were the problem. He couldn’t relate the facts. Those were adult matters unsuitable for a small child. But in the brief time he’d already spent with his daughter, he suspected blowing her off wouldn’t do, either.

  “Do you remember what Mommy told you?” he asked. They’d only spent about thirty minutes alone together when she’d first arrived, and Mattie had tried to explain as simply as she could that there’d been a mistake and he hadn’t been in heaven as they’d all believed. But that conversation had been short and not very insightful, even for a five-year-old. Now his curious and precocious daughter wanted answers.

  “I was doing my job,” he said, “and not able to come home.”

  “You couldn’t call?” she asked as she lowered her hand. “When Mommy is late picking me up at Granddaddy’s, she always calls. She says it’s a rule.”

  He remembered. Mattie hadn’t ever had an issue if he’d been running late or had been detained, but he’d sure as hell had better have called to let her know. A common courtesy, she’d always said. A show of respect.

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I would have called if I could. It just wasn’t possible.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “But why?”

  “Because there were no telephones where they...where I was staying.”

  She thought about that for a minute then looked at him, her expression filled with awe. “You’re a spy,” she declared, wonder lacing her voice.

  He chuckled. “No. Not really.” But he had been an intelligence officer with his SEAL team, performing mostly recon and extraction missions. He’d been behind enemy lines more times than he could count.

  “Prove it.”

  He laughed. “What?”

  “Prove it,” she said. “Who won the 2007 World Series?”

  He had to think about that one for a minute before the answer came to him. “Boston Red Sox,” he said.

  “Everybody knows that,” Phoebe said with a level of authority that took him by surprise. “Who won the 1994 World Series?”

  He knew, but decided to mess with her. “New York Yankees.”

  “Nope.”

  “Atlanta Braves.”

  “Uh-huh.” She folded her arms and shot him such a stern expression he didn’t dare laugh. “You’re just guessing.”

  Mattie joined them in the family
room. “What is this about?” Ford asked her.

  Mattie straightened the cushions on the love seat, then sat. “Dad likes those old war movies. John Wayne, John Garfield. The ones from the 40’s. And you know how much he loves sports. He’s always filling her head with baseball facts.”

  “So what’s with the interrogation?”

  Phoebe settled against him, her head pressed against his chest. “What’s taro gation?”

  “Interrogation,” Mattie said to Phoebe. She looked back to Ford. “It’s how the good guys knew if somebody was a spy. I can’t believe you don’t know this.”

  “They ask, ‘Who won the World Series?’ and if they don’t know, it’s cuz they was a spy.” Phoebe tipped her head back and looked closely at Ford. “So answer the question.”

  “I’m not a spy.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion again. “Then answer the question, Daddy.”

  A new level of trust had definitely been established. Until now, he’d been Hey You, not Daddy. He couldn’t help himself. He smiled.

  “Phoebe,” Mattie warned, “that’s enough.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. He looked at Phoebe. “There was no series in ’94 because the players were on strike. It was only the second time in history that happened. The first time was in 1904.”

  Mattie laughed. “That was a trick question, Phoebe. Not fair.”

  His daughter grinned at him. “Maybe only a spy would know that.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her sweet scent. She smelled like strawberry-scented shampoo. “Maybe I just remember the players’ strike.”

  “Then you’re really old.” She rested her head against his chest again and yawned. “Like Granddaddy.”

  Ford chuckled. “Not quite that old.”

  Mattie stood. “Bedtime, Phoebe. Give Daddy a kiss goodnight.”

  Phoebe let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, Mommy,” she said as she slid off his lap. Without an ounce of hesitation, she hurried across the room to the bookcase. From a low shelf, she picked up the frame holding the standard issue Navy photo of him and pressed her lips to the glass.