“We have e-mail.”
“Sure, but I’ve got some things from school and all I want to share. Please, Daddy?”
There couldn’t be any harm in giving her a snail mail address. It seemed petty to hold back. He’d given his kid so little. “Sure, kiddo. I’m staying with a friend. But I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
“At least for a week, though, right?”
“At least a week, and I’ll leave a forwarding address.”
Where would he go after that? His mind actually wandered down paths of what-if he hung around here. Lauren would enjoy coming to Charleston. Teens were lured by beaches, right?
Had it been over a year since he’d seen her? What a crummy excuse for a father. He’d gone that long before because of deployments and he’d worked his ass off to make it up to her when he’d returned.
He would do the same soon when he was steadily on his two feet again and had an equally steady vision for his future. She deserved a real father.
There had to be a reason she called. Holidays? He didn’t think so since he always did come through with the holiday calls. “Is there a particular reason for this conversation? Is something wrong?”
Her deep breath rattled through the airwaves, building until the words seemed to roll free from her. “Daddy, Mom’s getting married again to this total dweeb. I can’t stand living with them anymore. It’s going to make me freaking insane if I have to listen to him call Mom ‘sugar pie’ one more time. Please, I want to come live with you.”
Sugar pie? Lindsay had obviously found the tenderness she’d always claimed Rick lacked. He was glad for her. That part of the conversation didn’t bother him—beyond reminding him what crap material he was in the relationship department.
He needed to focus on the important fact here. Lauren wanted to live with him. Now.
And just that fast, the few props he’d managed to rebuild cracked in two. He heard her request and all the pain in Lauren’s voice as loud and clear as when she’d fallen off her bike at seven.
Sure he wanted to be the kind of parent his kid could count on to tend to those wounds life inflicted on a regular basis. But he knew straight up, he wasn’t anywhere near ready to be the father his daughter needed.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Nola whispered softly, guessing Rick was awake, too, but keeping her voice low in case she was wrong.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Rick answered, a large shadow in the moonlit double bed across the garage apartment. He sprawled on his back, hands under his head, chest stretching his brown military T-shirt.
“Everything okay with you?” Nola asked from the sofa bed. She tucked her Laura Ashley comforter up under her chin. She might be on a pullout sofa bed, but that didn’t mean she had to leave her froufrou behind, the pampering that made her feel sensually a woman.
“Yeah. Fine.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbled across the room and over her heightened senses deprived of full sight.
“Finished all your prayers?” Prodding him to keep talking might be reckless. She should cocoon herself in her covers and fake sleep until reality took over. A wise woman would. But her usual wisdom rarely came into play around this fellow.
“‘Now I lay me down to sleep’ and the whole bit.”
More of that rumbly voice of his wrapped around her with more comfort than any luxury spread. She missed those late-night exchanges in the dark and couldn’t resist continuing the conversation. “Did you used to say that with your daughter?”
“When I was around, which wasn’t often.”
“So make up for it now. You’ve got time on your hands and a full disability paycheck to cover expenses.”
She sat up and hugged her knees. And yes, she couldn’t deny how much more wonderful it would be to have his arms around her instead. So why was she risking putting more space between them by venturing into the dangerous terrain of giving him parenting advice when she knew it could put them at odds? But his strained relationship with his daughter seemed too important to tiptoe around.
His feet flexed and stretched rhythmically under the covers.
Why, she wondered for a moment, then realized his legs must be bothering him. He must have pushed himself pumping those weights in the dining area. He pushed himself with everything. She’d noticed all the little repairs around her house…the door that didn’t squeak anymore. The faucet no longer dripping. A nail on the stairs that didn’t protrude.
Every time she took a shower or did anything out of his sight, she found something else fixed in her home. The man never rested and apparently his healing body was paying the price.
He hitched another pillow under his head. “You’re full of advice.”
“Unwelcome advice by the sound of your voice.” Her chin fell to rest on her knees.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”
No wonder he flexed his feet—to stretch out his calf muscles. He couldn’t sleep because of the pain racked up from helping her. She’d meant to help him by freeing him from the rehab center he’d so obviously resented.
Guilt prickled over her. Maybe he’d been better off there with the more assertive care. She’d been so caught up in her car hunting and then her financial mortification—not to mention the whole stalker creepiness—she’d selfishly forgotten that Rick needed to take care of himself. “Are you feeling okay?”
He shrugged. “Pushed a little hard. No big deal. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
She flexed her own healthy toes under and thought of all the times she’d come home from the hospital after radiation, sick as a dog with no one to hold her after she emptied her stomach. “I’m being a bad babysitter then, if you’ve pushed yourself too hard. I really didn’t mean for you to do so much for me.”
“I’m an adult. I know my limits. You’re not responsible for me.”
No, she wasn’t, and he wasn’t responsible for her. They were two loners here together, both of them damaged and wounded, alone to heal, alone for the holidays, for some reason unable to resist taking care of each other now.
Unable to resist each other. Period.
Maybe it was the holiday sentimentality. Maybe it was logic or the memories of how amazingly they’d come together before with such compelling combustion. Regardless, time to quit fighting the inevitable.
She flung aside her comforter and swung her feet to the floor. “I’m supposed to be taking the place of your nurse. That’s why they let you out of the place, because you were in my care.”
Conscious of her pajamas, even if they were simply running shorts and a T-shirt with no bra, she made her way across the room and sat gingerly on the edge of his bed.
Rick went still. Overly so. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
His words carried a wealth of meaning beyond the simple massage of aching muscles. By sitting on the bed with him, she knew she would be crossing a line.
She rested her hands on the bedspread over his feet, committing herself to the cause by pushing the boundary a little more. Even with covers between him and her, still the jolt of awareness made her shivery all over. “I want to massage your legs for you, if you’ll let me. I want to be here.”
In bed with him.
Rick went completely immobile under her touch. He reached out to halt her hand in place so she touched him through the covers, but couldn’t venture further. “I like what you’re doing a helluva lot, Nola, but we both know it would be wiser for me to climb into a Jacuzzi tub instead.”
Wiser? Who cared about wisdom when it was guts she’d been lacking lately? She needed to take a chance. Gamble with life—her heart—the way that fully healthy people did.
“I have one in the main house if you would prefer.” Still she didn’t move away.
Neither did he, fingers gentle and warm on her skin. “I want to know what you prefer and I guess I need to hear why. No pity.”
She took that as consent to continue. Talk about serious tummy flutter. Time to make the move and
climb in bed with a man again after five years.
“I can assure you that pity has nothing to do with what I’m feeling right now.” She sat on the edge, convenient, since her legs weren’t all that steady. Just a few inches of shared mattress, but so damn intimate it thickened the blood in her veins.
He released his hold on her hand and trailed a broad fingertip up her arm. Before she knew it, her hands were moving, too. Covers still shielded him from her touch. Not that it mattered. Her hands still tingled from the heat of want. Nola squeezed, gently at first, watching his face for signs of pain, seeing none, then working with firmer pressure.
She slid her hands under the covers to his legs, finding bare skin. Warm flesh that sent prickles of awareness through her fingertips. Traveling higher, she met ridges of scar tissue that in no way detracted from the moment, only made him more human. More of a man, honed in the fiery trials of life. “I do understand your situation better than you can imagine.”
Now she realized the time had come for her to tell him about her injuries…her scars, external and deeper. For so long she hadn’t told people because it seemed none of their business, but perhaps she’d used that as an excuse to dodge thinking about what she’d been through.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to say to Rick, “Before we go any further—and I believe we both know this is going further—there’s something you need to know.”
He eased back to look in her eyes. “Sheesh, lady, you sound so serious.”
She tried to offer him a smile. And failed.
“There’s no easy way to say it, so here goes.” She finally told him what she hadn’t told another man in bed. “I’m a breast cancer survivor.”
Chapter 8
Of all the things Rick had been expecting to hear from Nola, “breast cancer survivor” wouldn’t have even appeared on the list.
He had figured from her serious expression she wanted to share something big, but holy crap… Right now, he sure could use some of those psychologically sensitive and appropriate catch phrases. Because it was really important he say the right thing to this woman who’d said more right things to him than anyone in his life.
Rick rested a hand on her arm, keeping the touch simple, not certain if she wanted a full-out hug, deciding it was best to wait on that one rather than risk pushing too hard. “That’s quite a conversational jump, but thank you for trusting me.”
She kept massaging his legs and watching him through narrowed wary eyes. “Is that some kind of counseling talk from your rehab days?”
He offered her his best charming smile and hoped like hell his best was good enough. “I’m trying my ass off for the right reply here, lady.”
“How about quit trying and just say what you’re thinking.” She slid her hands from beneath the covers and folded them in her lap. “I really hate it when people treat me with antiseptic correctness. I’ve had more than a bellyful of that.”
“Now that, I can identify with. So what am I thinking?” He sat upright and took her hands in his. “I’m thinking you’re an even stronger and more amazing lady than I knew.”
She met his eyes dead on with a bravado that seemed a hint forced. “I’m also a lady who doesn’t look the same without her clothes as the last time you saw me.”
Okay, now he saw where this was leading a bit more clearly, and it also explained the mystery about differences in her figure. “You had a mastectomy.”
“Yes, a mastectomy, along with reconstruction, but I’m not the same.”
“Neither of us is.” And that was the God’s honest truth.
She avoided his eyes, her gaze skipping around and finally landing somewhere around the door—away from him. “That weekend we met, it was my last time before…”
Holy crap. No wonder she was eyeing the door. This was a heavy-duty admission that probably had her yearning to run. Or at least considering the possibility. The weight of what she’d shared settled over him heavier than any of these overstuffed comforters she seemed to prefer.
He’d been the last man she’d made love with before her mastectomy.
Along with the weight of that responsibility came an understanding of why she’d left so abruptly with no word five years ago. She could have told him and he would have tried to be understanding, but they hadn’t built any kind of relationship that would have called for him to stand by her side throughout. Yet he would have felt… Obligated? Yeah, definitely drawn at least to see her through the surgery and she would have hated that.
She’d used him…and he couldn’t blame her a bit.
He scavenged deep for something sensitive to say. “I’m honored that you chose me to be with that weekend.”
She stared at him, her body a sexy shadow in the moonlit room. She tugged her hands free and he wondered what her verdict would be on his attempt at sensitivity. Finally, she scooched to sit cross-legged, taking his feet into her lap and resuming her massage.
He exhaled. He must have passed her test. She may or may not be ready for sex, but she wasn’t running for the door.
He let her fingers soothe him, but his mind still hopped with thoughts about how this new information fit into the relationship they’d settled into, a relationship on the verge of changing.
Was he ready to sleep with her? Hell, yeah. But should he be having sexual thoughts when a woman just admitted something so darkly personal?
Still, she looked so right in his bed with her tousled blond curls, her long legs stretching from those shorts, legs he could already imagine wrapped around his waist.
And her whispery thin T-shirt. Yeah, he could imagine tugging that off, the trust that would come with that and them pressing skin to skin, scars and all, because, heaven knew, he brought his fair share to the party.
So yes, he wanted to sleep with her, but would take his cue from her and respect whatever she wanted. Most of all, he would pray like crazy that if she did want to sleep with him he could handle things with a sensitivity his ex-wife swore he didn’t possess.
No thoughts of the past. Focus on the present. The new people he and Nola had become. And the new Nola was giving his legs the most amazing and healing massage.
How did she know exactly the right pressure to exert? He leaned back on his hands and watched her. Those hospital techs could take lessons from her.
She slid her soft fingers higher to his knee, firm, sure. Sensual. “Well, don’t get your ego too inflated by my choice. It actually had more to do with the push-ups than your looks. In my crazy messed-up mind, I wanted somebody mega healthy, as if that would make me healthier.”
Was it her way of saying he was out of the running now? His ego pinched at that. Which pissed him off and made him want to push his legs to the limit, pump some weights, turn her head.
Then turn her down.
Whoa. Hold on. He needed to get his ego the hell out of this. He took a mental step back and looked more objectively into her eyes and yeah, he saw it, the deep defensiveness. A protective wall already erected to guard herself against possible rejection.
With an intuitiveness he never would have had five years ago, he knew. That ex-husband of hers had done one helluva number on her. And with a further insight, Rick suspected she hadn’t been with anyone since. The thought seemed improbable. Five years without sex…
Rick stared into her eyes. He’d gotten better about that, trying to sense emotions rather than just the physical. He couldn’t dodge the notion that he would be her first since the surgery…which hell…meant… “Is this your first time since we were together?”
She simply nodded.
Wow. Talk about pressure to perform.
Hold on. This was about her. Suddenly he didn’t worry so much about his own legs and what she might think about his differences between then and now. It wasn’t about then for either of them. They were both different people, physically and emotionally.
He figured the best course of action now was to stay silent and let her talk rather than risk
saying something wrong. Besides, her massage felt damn good after so long without a woman’s touch.
“Even after the doctor told me the results of the biopsy I still couldn’t believe it was true. You know? There’s this surreal feel to things, like you’re stuck in a tunnel and if you hold your breath and blink you’ll be back in the sunlight again.”
He understood well the need to be back in the light, the sky, the feeling of freedom he’d only ever found in his job. A fulfillment in bringing someone home.
Where would he ever find that now? At thirty-six years old, he faced the rest of his life with nothing matching up. A darkness so deep, he didn’t know how to claw his way out.
“I just focused on getting home so I could curl up against my husband. He would put his arms around me. And yeah, I would hold my breath and blink my eyes. Then things would be okay again.”
He couldn’t hold back any longer. He couldn’t change the past—and he couldn’t beat up the bastard who’d hurt her all those years ago—but Rick could offer her comfort now, even if it came years too late. He scooped her up from the foot of the bed and draped her over his lap, tucking her head under his chin. “You wouldn’t happen to have the address of your ex-husband handy so I could deliver an ass kicking?”
She laughed, just a little and a bit tight, but a welcome sound. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. But for the most part I’m over that. My ex wasn’t a totally crass ass. He did hug me, but I could feel his distance. He wasn’t okay with this. The first round of treatments, they removed the tumor and did radiation. To his credit, he stuck it out through that before filing for divorce. But when the cancer came back and the docs insisted on a mastectomy, I was a single woman on my own.”
She shook her head, her tousled hair calling to his fingers as strongly as the tears he wished he could have wiped away for her then. He indulged himself and smoothed her hair, held her closer, dropped a kiss on top of her forehead.
Nola wrapped her arms around his waist. “Well, not totally on my own, because you were there TDY on a weekend that meant more to me than months of fake forced support from my ex-husband.”
Fully Engaged Page 8
