Marooned with a Marine

by Maureen Child

She gave him a half smile, and the tilted corner of her mouth tugged at his heart. It was all he could do not to cross to her, pull her into his arms and try to convince her with passion. But if the last several hours they’d spent together hadn’t been enough to do that, he didn’t stand a chance and he knew it. She was backed into a corner now and defensive to boot. Trying to get through to her now would only hurt them both further. Better to give each of them a little space.

  But at the same time, he hated the thought of leaving her here alone. Unprotected. He cleared his throat, came toward her and held out a pistol, butt first.

  She looked at it and asked, “What’s that for?”

  “I just want you to keep it close while I’m gone,” he said. “There’s probably not a soul out in this mess, but you never know, and I’d feel better about leaving you alone if I knew you had some protection.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I’d feel better about you being out in that mess if you had the gun.”

  “I’ve got another,” he said, and patted his jacket pocket. “Do you know anything about weapons?”

  Inhaling sharply, Karen took the pistol from him, pulled the slide and released it, then engaged the safety. Looking up at him, she smiled. “I don’t like them, but I know how to use them. Dave taught me.”

  He nodded, but couldn’t help wishing good ol’ Dave had managed to teach her a few other things, too. Like taking life as it came. Not being afraid to love again just because you got crushed the first time out. But then he couldn’t really find it in him to be mad at a dead Marine for not preparing the woman he loved for his possible death. “He did a good job.”

  “You would have liked him,” she said, and turned to place the pistol in the drawer of the bedside table. “He was a lot like you.”

  His heart twisted again and Sam wanted to shout at her. To tell her not to be so careless with a gift like they’d been given. To remind her that not everyone finds love, and to throw it away was like spitting in fate’s face. But it wouldn’t do any good. So instead, he only said, “I like his taste in women, anyway.”

  She reached out one hand to him and laid it on his forearm. “Sam, I’m—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, mainly because he didn’t want to hear her apologize for not loving him enough to take a risk. “Look,” he said, “the sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.” Shrugging into his jacket, he pulled the hood up over his head and started for the door. Turning the knob, he said, “Lock it after me, and don’t open it to anyone else.”

  “I won’t.”

  Nodding, he opened the door, stepped into the mouth of the storm and closed it after him.

  “Be careful,” she said, but it was too late. He was already gone.

  Time crawled by, one hour staggering into another.

  Karen dressed in jeans and one of Sam’s T-shirts. She told herself it was because Sam’s shirts were big and loose and therefore comfortable. But the truth she hardly dared admit to herself was that she liked being able to smell him on her. The shirt carried his scent, and it was almost as good as having Sam himself holding her.

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she paced the confines of the room for the seven-hundredth time. If she’d been walking in a straight line, she probably would have made it to Montana by now, she thought. And still that wouldn’t have been far enough to wipe Sam out of her mind and heart.

  “Oh, God,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around her middle and hanging on. Why had she thought finally telling him the reasons behind her breaking up with him would make him understand? Of course he wouldn’t get it. He was a Marine. Right down to his bones. Just as Dave had been.

  She walked to the window, pulled Sam’s poncho out of the way and stared out at the world beyond the glass. Rain still fell, though in less-hammering proportions. Clouds obscured the sky, wind howled and moaned like a lost soul, and staring back at her was her own reflection. Karen looked at the woman in the glass and wondered if Sam had been right. Was she simply not strong enough to be a Marine wife? Was she hiding behind her fears because she couldn’t admit she didn’t have the strength to deal with the worry and the absences that were so much a part of military life?

  That was a hard idea to swallow. If Dave had lived, would she have let him down in their marriage? Would she have turned into some whiny, needy creature? Would Dave have come to resent her for trying to make him less than he was?

  Thoughts whirled around through her mind, each one more dismal than the one before. Darkness crouched at the window and rain slashed at her. And Sam was out there, somewhere in the midst of that hurricane. Karen laid one palm flat against the cold glass as if by touching it, she could keep a connection with him.

  And didn’t bother to wonder at the inconsistency of a woman breaking up with a man who loved her and then trying to stay connected.

  The wind pushed at him.

  The rain pelted him.

  And Sam hardly noticed. His mind was too filled with images of Karen to think of much else.

  He passed building after building, windows dark and boarded up. Cars abandoned, shops shuttered. It was like being the last man on the planet.

  Soaked to the skin, he kept walking, bending into the wind, needing this time alone, to try to figure out what in the hell he was supposed to do. Should he just write Karen off? Forget about what they had? What he felt when they were together? Hell, most people spent their whole lives searching for what they’d found.

  The logical half of his brain kept trying to reason with him. If she can’t accept who you are, what kind of life could you have? But logic didn’t have a thing to do with what he was feeling, anyway. And besides, he’d never been one for quitting. Could he really just turn his back on Karen without fighting for her?

  He stopped short when that thought hit.

  Of course he couldn’t quit now. Would he give up and walk away if she was sick? If she was hurt? No. So why in the hell would he turn his back on her because she was scared? A slow smile crawled up his face despite the quickening rain pelting him. Tipping his head back, he looked skyward and said, “I’m sorry you lost her, Dave. But I’m not gonna lose her, too.”

  He didn’t have a clue as to how to convince her to take a chance on life. But he’d faced tough problems before and come out on top. He’d find a way. And if he ended up losing, anyway, it wouldn’t be because he quit trying.

  Then off to his right, Sam spotted a glimmer of light in the darkness. Smiling to himself, he sprinted toward it, eager now to finish his business and get back to the motel.

  Back to Karen.

  Back to the battle.

  Karen huddled on the bed. He’d been gone for hours and the silence in the room was beginning to wear on what was left of her nerves.

  Odd how huge and empty the small motel room felt now that Sam wasn’t here. And how much she wished he was here right now.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, disgusted with herself. “No wonder Sam’s mad. Even I don’t understand me.”

  The wind battered the door with a sudden, powerful gust, making it sound almost as if someone was trying to break in. Her rational mind knew how unlikely that was. After all, not many burglars would be willing to risk hurricane-force winds for the chance at stealing the stellar furniture from a place like this.

  Still, it made her feel better to know that if she needed to defend herself, she could. Glancing at the nightstand drawer where the pistol lay, Karen shook her head.

  Ironic. She felt safe—thanks to Dave and his military training and his taking the time to teach her about weapons. And thanks to Sam for making sure she would have the means to defend herself by leaving her a pistol.

  The very thing that scared her to death was the one thing that kept her from being terrified now.

  Nine

  The knock on the door startled her and Karen all but leaped off the bed. Her foot got caught in the wadded-up bedspread and she stumbled, catching herself by slammi
ng one hand onto the door.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he called out, “open up.” She slipped the chain off and threw the door open. He rushed inside along with about fifty gallons of rainwater. Leaning into the door, Karen slammed it closed and locked it again before turning to face the man she was so happy to see.

  He’d been gone for three hours, and in that time, she’d imagined him dead in a ditch, or picked up by the hurricane à la Dorothy and Toto, or having simply abandoned her because he was so furious with her. Now that he was here, in the soaked-tothe-skin flesh, she was so glad to see him and she forgot all about the fight they’d had that had sent him off into the storm in the first place.

  Crossing to him in a few quick steps, Karen threw her arms around his neck and squeezed, burying her face in his shoulder. She didn’t care that the sodden fabric of his jacket was seeping into her T-shirt, or that his arms hadn’t come around her to return her impulsive hug. It was enough for the moment to know that he was safe and back with her.

  “Miss me?” he asked, and she heard the smile in his voice.

  Easing back but still keeping her arms around him, she looked up into brown eyes that seemed a heck of a lot calmer than they had three hours ago.

  “Sort of,” she said with a shrug.

  One dark eyebrow lifted. “Worried?”

  “Not a bit,” she lied, and loosened her hold on him slightly.

  He slung one arm around her waist and held her to him tightly. “You were worried.”

  “You were gone three hours.”

  “You counted?”

  “I noticed,” she allowed, refusing to admit even to herself just how good it felt to be held close to him again. After their argument and the way he’d marched out, she’d been sure she’d never feel his arms around her again.

  He nodded slowly and, just as slowly, released her. “You’re getting all wet,” he said, letting his gaze drop to her chest, where the now-wet T-shirt clung to the curves of her breasts. “That shirt never looked better.”

  A fierce blast of heat surged through her and Karen almost felt steam lifting from her damp shirt. Plucking at the fabric, she pulled it away from her body and watched him as he turned, peeling his jacket off and carrying it to the bathroom. There he slung it over the shower rod to drip into the tub. When he came back into the room, he walked right to her and handed over a crumpled white bag.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “A lightly battered, not-really-hot-anymore hamburger,” he said, giving her a slow, tilted smile that hit her hard and low.

  “A burger?” she repeated, opening the bag and peeking in at it.

  “Not a real good one,” he admitted, tugging his T-shirt off and scrambling for a dry one in his stash of clothing. “But it’s all I could find. Got it at one of those gas station minimarts.”

  “You brought me a hamburger,” she said again, sticking her nose into the bag and inhaling the glorious scent. Even after their fight, he’d remembered her. Been thinking about her.

  He chuckled and shook his head, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “You said that like some women would say ‘You brought me flowers.”’

  Karen looked at him and reached into the bag for her treat. “This is way better than flowers.” She unwrapped it, took a bite and chewed leisurely, not even minding the slightly damp, slightly cold taste. It was a burger and that was enough.

  “You want a bite?”

  “No, thanks,” he said, tugging his wet jeans off and half turning to toss them into the tub, too.

  Karen tried to swallow, but the bite of burger lodged in her throat as she looked at her soaking-wet hero. His muscular legs, his broad chest encased in a T-shirt that read Five Hundred Mile Club and the easy smile all came together to dry out her throat and make her heart stutter in her chest.

  “You’re not hungry?” she finally managed to say as soon as he’d pulled on a fresh pair of jeans.

  “Nope. I had a burger at the station.”

  She nodded.

  “They actually had a TV that worked, too,” he said, “and according to the news, it looks like the storm’s finally petering out.”

  “Really?” she asked, and sank down to sit on the edge of the mattress. Clutching the paper sack in one hand and her hamburger in the other, Karen watched him as he came toward her.

  “Yeah,” he said, reaching up to shove both hands along the sides of his head. “They’re expecting the last of it to blow through tonight. Should be clearing by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said, forcing herself to take another bite of the hamburger despite the fact that it suddenly tasted like sawdust.

  “Looks like our little ‘vacation’ is almost over.”

  “Looks like.” And why wasn’t she happy about that?

  “I have to get back to the base.” He took a seat beside her on the bed. “We’ll reenter the real world and put this behind us.”

  “Right,” she said, and wondered why she suddenly felt so hollow and cold inside.

  “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, and his voice was hardly more than a whisper of sound in the room.

  “Sure it is,” she said, with absolutely no conviction at all in her voice.

  Sam watched her, and he couldn’t help feeling a bit heartened by her less-than-enthusiastic response to his news about the storm clearing. If she was really that anxious to cut all ties between them, wouldn’t she be doing a high-stepping jig about now?

  And judging by her reaction, Sam felt the plan he’d been working on for the last hour just might work. The idea had come to him in a flash and he’d been so damned desperate, he’d clutched at it like it was the only life preserver in a raging ocean.

  He’d decided that a full-on frontal assault was not the way to convince Karen to conquer her fears. Instead, he was going to take the Special Ops route. Slip up on her flank. Keep her off guard and off balance. A little good old-fashioned “silent but deadly” sneak attack.

  He didn’t know if it’d work or not. He loved her, but damn it, he couldn’t have a woman in his life who was unable to deal with the everyday hardships of being a military spouse. Karen was plenty strong enough, he knew that. The problem here was she didn’t.

  But he was willing to try. Because what he’d found with Karen was worth the effort. If only he could make her see that.

  She slipped the half-eaten hamburger back into the bag and rolled the paper closed.

  “Not hungry?” he asked innocently, hoping that her appetite had dissolved at the prospect of the two of them going their separate ways.

  “Hmm? Oh.” She shrugged and stood up. “Not very, I guess.” Then she looked around the room at their things, spread out across the bed and floor. “I guess if we’re going to be leaving tomorrow, we should start packing, huh?”

  Packing wasn’t exactly uppermost in his mind right now, but he’d play along. “Yeah,” he agreed. Standing up, he added, “Might as well get a jump on it.”

  Karen reached for one of the foil-wrapped chocolates scattered across the top of the bedside table. Peeling the bright red foil off, she popped it into her mouth and chewed. When she’d swallowed that piece of candy like a bad-tasting courage pill, she said, “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  “For what?” He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, tipped his head to one side and watched her, waiting.

  It didn’t take long.

  She shot him a look and said, “You know for what. For not being able to be what you want. Do what you want.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and walked toward her. She’d unwittingly given him just the opening he’d been hoping for. Now it was time to put his little plan into action and pray like hell it worked as well as he hoped it would.

  “It’s okay, Karen,” he said. “I understand. Some people just don’t have the strength to deal with the military kind of life.”

  She bristled and he had to hide a satisfied smile.
>
  “It’s not about strength,” she said.

  “Sure,” he agreed pleasantly, giving her a comforting nod. “Like I said. I understand.”

  Her jaw muscle worked and he could almost hear her back teeth grinding together. She might not be willing or able to take the risk of marrying him, but it irritated the hell out of her to be accused of being too much of a wimp to handle it. Very good.

  “But,” he said, and waited for her to look up at him, “while I was out reconning that burger of yours, I had some time to think.”

  “Wonderful.”

  His eyebrows lifted. So far so good. He much preferred her cranky and frustrated to defeated. “Don’t you want to hear my brilliant idea?”

  “Should I sit down?”

  “If you’re that tired, by all means,” he said, waving one hand at the rumpled bed.

  “I’ll stand.”

  “Thought you might,” he muttered, giving her a half smile. Damn, he knew her better than she knew herself. Karen Beckett had plenty of strength. And stubbornness and pride. She’d just been bruised so badly, she’d forgotten what it was like to stand up and make a grab for what you want without getting your fingers burned.

  Well, it was time she remembered. Before it was too late. For both of them.

  “What’s your idea, Sam?” she asked, and added quickly, “And please don’t say you want me to take some more time to think about us staying together. Because it wouldn’t change anything. I can’t marry you and that’s definitely where we would be headed if we stayed together.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said, and had the pleasure of watching her pale blue eyes darken with suspicion. A flicker of guilt quickened inside him briefly. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. But then, he told himself, if he didn’t try, if he walked away like she wanted him to do, then they would both miss out on what could be an incredibly good life together.

  And since that idea wasn’t acceptable, Sam told himself to forget the guilt and get on with the plan. After all, this wasn’t completely selfish. She loved him, damn it.

  Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his left foot over his right in a blatantly casual pose and pulled his hands out of his pockets to fold his arms across his chest. “See, the way I figure it,” he said, “now that we’ve got everything out in the open and we both know where we stand…there’s really no reason why we can’t keep seeing each other, is there?”