She stopped herself from thinking about it any further. Whatever the reason, she hadn’t taken her pills.
What if she were pregnant?
No, she wouldn’t think about it. People missed pills from time to time. The directions even explained what to do if you did. She’d only made love that one night with Rich. It would be fine.
Jennifer pressed out the pill for Wednesday and popped it into her mouth. Better late than never.
She still had another week’s worth of pills to take. The chances of her being pregnant were slim.
Jennifer closed her eyes and sighed. Rich was a carefree, single guy. He wasn’t interested in being a father. Those combat controllers were all the same. Considering that he would have dumped her if she hadn’t beaten him to the punch, she knew he wasn’t interested in anything permanent.
She’d just have to learn to forget him.
Then she thought about the way he’d made her come alive when he kissed her. And come apart when they’d made love. She was going to have to work pretty hard to forget that.
As if she could.
IT HAD BEEN WEEKS since he’d seen Jennifer, and Rich was no closer to reaching her than he had been the last time he saw her. Rich spent Saturday afternoon washing the week’s laundry and thinking about Jennifer. He didn’t want to honor her request that they not see each other. He wanted to see her again, and he wanted to know why she wouldn’t see him. No way was she the kind of woman to settle for a one-night stand. What they’d had that night had been too right.
Of course, it had everything to do with that jerk she’d been married to. It didn’t take a shrink to figure that one out. What he was going to do about it was another question. He’d tried to leave her alone. He’d tried, but staying away was too damned hard.
Letting her come to her senses wasn’t working. She was as stubborn a woman as he’d ever seen. He liked that about her, in spite of their current problems. Although, right now, that stubbornness was the biggest stumbling block he faced in getting her back. Not that he’d really had her.
He’d tried calling, but she never answered. He’d even called the office, but he always got that guy, Al. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she was avoiding him. Probably had Al screening the calls.
Jennifer had already told him that all she did was hunt stuff up on the computer. It wasn’t as if she was out on a stakeout or anything. She was dodging him, all right.
Since he’d last seen her, it just seemed as though his world was not as bright without her in it. All the colors seemed shades of gray.
Rich tried everything to divert his thoughts from Jennifer, but nothing worked. He’d spent extra time at the base gym, and he’d run enough miles to qualify for the Iron Man Triathalon. The only thing he was running from was the truth.
He was in love with Jennifer. And since they’d made love, nothing was the same.
Funny how he’d started thinking about things in terms of that date. For the rest of his life—no matter what happened with Jennifer—he’d remember things that way. He’d chronicle his life as before Jennifer and after.
He smiled to himself as he opened the washing machine and started to remove the contents.
A woman at the driers looked up and smiled at him. Did she think his smile had been intended for her? She was tall and model thin, with one of those slender bodies that had once attracted him. “Hi,” she said. “I’ll be done in a minute.” She grabbed a handful of dry clothing and put it on the folding table. “If I don’t smooth them out right away everything gets wrinkled and then I have to iron.” She made a face.
Rich looked at the cutely wrinkled nose and wondered if that was a come-on and if he should pick up on it. Maybe six weeks ago he would have, but…
He was still hung up on Jennifer. And probably always would be.
He continued unloading his machine, dropping the sheets and towels into the basket so he could carry them all to the dryer in one pass. A flash of pastel caught his eye.
It must have caught hers, too. “You have children?” She sounded disappointed.
He fingered the blanket that Rebecca had missed when she’d stripped his apartment of all evidence that the kids had been there. He started to correct the woman, to explain that he’d only been baby-sitting, but why?
She wasn’t the type for him. He liked his women real. Give him one prickly, sexy investigator in schoolmarm clothes any day.
He smiled. “Yeah. Carter,” he said huskily. “He’s ten months old.”
“Bet he’s cute like his dad.” Why was she still flirting? And why didn’t he care?
“Yeah. Looks just like his father,” Rich agreed. He did look like Mike, and he was cute. He just wasn’t his.
The woman flashed a toothy, photogenic grin and picked up her basket. “See ya.”
“Yeah, sure.” Rich put the load of wash into the machine she’d just emptied. Had she actually come on to him? If she had, he couldn’t have cared less.
He fed the machine the required amount of change, turned it on, and watched as the stuff began to swirl around in the hot air. Once, he would have been on cloud nine that a woman like that had spoken to him, much less flirted.
Why hadn’t he taken the bait?
In a word: Jennifer.
In spite of the way she told him not to see her again, in spite of the unreturned phone calls, in spite of his fear of getting involved, he still wanted her. And every day they weren’t together seemed emptier than the last.
It might have taken him a long time to realize what he wanted out of life, but now that he had, he was going to move heaven and earth to make it happen.
THANK GOODNESS for Caller ID, Jennifer thought as she stopped watering her plants and listened to the phone ring. She’d had it installed when she and Duke separated. She’d considered taking it out, but now she was glad she hadn’t. She glanced at the tiny screen. It was Rich.
She put the watering can down and tugged the lapels of Rich’s blue shirt tighter around her. Sure, she’d promised to wash it and return it, but she couldn’t let it go. She might not have Rich, but she had something of his.
Maybe that’s why she kept it. Had she secretly been hoping he’d come for it? And her?
It was bad enough thinking about Rich Larsen night and day without having to talk to him and prolong the agony. It was bad enough seeing him every night in her dreams. She released her grip on the shirt. Maybe she should return it.
What a mess she was! One minute she was pushing him away, the next wishing he’d come. After all, the only reason he was calling was probably because she hadn’t returned his shirt.
She held her breath as the phone rang for the third time. One more ring and the answering machine would pick up. She’d get to listen to his voice, at least. Maybe she was sick for wanting to hear him, but…it had been so long. Hearing his voice as long as she didn’t have to answer back was wonderful, exquisite torture.
Jennifer sighed.
She had to admit that Al was getting a little weary of covering for her, but Al was a good guy, and he understood. At least, he said he did. Maybe, if they didn’t have voice mail at the office, he wouldn’t. Still, she owed him.
The ringing stopped abruptly before the machine could pick up. Relieved and disappointed at the same time, she went back to work. She had to finish watering the plants and get ready for tonight. It was Halloween already.
It was hard to believe that October was over. Where had the time gone?
And then there was the home pregnancy test in the bathroom she hadn’t had the nerve to use.
It had been six weeks since she’d seen Rich, and she’d hoped he’d give up by now. Beverly had tried to tell her that it meant Rich was serious, but Jennifer disagreed. It just meant he didn’t like losing.
She was a challenge to him. Nothing more. If she’d give him the time of day, he’d get bored and go away. And considering the phone calls had come less and less often and he hadn’t even bothered to leav
e a message this time, maybe he was finally giving up.
Jennifer sighed. Considering the test she was procrastinating about, maybe she shouldn’t be thinking this was a victory.
Maybe it was a false alarm, she told herself. There were plenty of perfectly good reasons why a healthy, young woman might miss her period.
“Darn it, Rich,” she muttered as she refilled her watering can. “Why can’t you just quit? Do you have to keep torturing me?”
Tomorrow morning she would do it. She would go through with the pregnancy test. Tomorrow she would find out for sure.
RICH PUT DOWN the receiver and drew in a long, gusty sigh. This win-Jennifer-back campaign was proving to take longer than he’d expected. Maybe he should give up. He was man enough to know that a one-sided love affair was destined to failure. But was this thing one-sided?
His gut told him no.
But what the hell did he know about this sort of thing?
He reached to pick up the phone again, but before he could close his fingers over the instrument, it rang. Was this Jennifer calling him back? He knew she had Caller ID; she’d mentioned it once. He knew that she had to know that he was the one who’d been calling her even if he did hang up without leaving a message on her machine.
Maybe she’d changed her mind.
He snatched up the phone. “Jennif—” He stopped in midword. It was someone from the squadron.
Duty called. Jennifer would have to wait.
He had to dress, get his gear together and be at the base right now. He didn’t know whether this was a drill or the real thing, but whichever it was, he’d have to push Jennifer Bishop into the back of his mind and get to the business he knew best.
JENNIFER WATCHED the scene unfolding on the evening news with growing horror. Americans were besieged in a small religious compound right in the middle of war-torn Santino in Central America. The protestors chanting slogans had been frightening enough, but when shots had been fired and the minister in charge had reported a bomb threat that had proved to be chillingly real, the danger had been deemed serious enough to send in troops.
She didn’t know whether the media had done the naming or the military, but the rescue mission was being called Operation Sunday School. And she didn’t need a crystal ball to know where those troops were probably coming from.
Jennifer had been through this several times before, but the difference was that as the wife of a combat controller she’d been in on the wives’ grapevine: the unofficial link with what was going on. Now that she was divorced from Duke, she had no pipeline at all. What news was released was strictly on a need-to-know basis, and though she needed to know, the United States Air Force didn’t think so.
The silence from Hurlburt Air Force Base was nothing short of deafening.
She hadn’t had a call from Rich Larsen in days. And it didn’t take a detective to figure out that since the calls had stopped at almost precisely the time the situation in Santino had escalated, Silver Team, Rich’s unit, was involved. And so was Rich.
All she could do was watch and hope and pray. Pray that the mission would be accomplished, pray that the men involved would return, and that one man in particular would come home safe. To her.
Jennifer grabbed the remote control and jabbed it off. As if removing the horrible pictures from the screen would do anything toward resolving the situation. Though she could no longer see the terrifying images, the incident was still going on. And somewhere in the middle of it all was the man she loved.
And he might not ever know.
Why hadn’t she answered his calls? Why hadn’t she opened herself up to him and told him how much he meant to her?
Why hadn’t she told him about the new life growing inside her?
Even if he didn’t want her, he had the right to know that he was going to be a father.
She did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed up the phone and, in spite of the fact that it was already after normal duty hours, she dialed the squadron.
The phone rang and rang, but Jennifer persisted. Someone was there. Had to be. If only a low-ranking admin clerk to answer the phone. And that admin clerk would surely know a great deal more than she did.
Finally after enough rings that she’d stopped counting, a man answered.
Jennifer didn’t catch the name, but she plowed ahead before she lost her nerve. “May I speak to TSgt. Larsen, please,” she asked, masking her panic with forced politeness.
“TSgt. Larsen is TDY,” the voice answered.
“May I ask where he is and when he’ll be back?” Jennifer pressed, her voice quaking, her mind certain she already knew.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I am not at liberty to release that information,” the disembodied voice told her.
In other words, Jennifer thought, If I tell you, I’d have to kill you. It was the standard response she’d gotten from Duke whenever classified information was concerned.
“Thank you,” Jennifer murmured, but she slammed the receiver down. For nothing, she didn’t say. The man might not have told her anything, but he’d given her what she needed to know. Rich was there. The father of her unborn child was in harm’s way.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she wouldn’t cry, not yet. She had one more call to make. She swallowed a lump in her throat the size of a watermelon and punched autodial. Beverly would have news. Beverly would tell her what she needed to know.
Beverly didn’t answer.
Then she remembered. Beverly and Nick had gone home to Minnesota to show off baby Nicole to their families. At least Nick would be safe.
Jennifer put down the phone and turned the television back on and tuned in the all-news channel. If she couldn’t learn anything from official sources, maybe she could glean something from the cable news reports.
Her eyes streaming with tears, she watched as the fate of her child’s father seemed to be unfolding on the screen before her.
She’d done what she thought was right for her, for her wounded heart, but had she? All she’d done was drive Rich away. And now that she knew she loved him and knew that she was carrying his child, he was gone.
RICH LARSEN climbed down the ladder from the C-130 transport plane, exhausted, grimy, but triumphant. Score another one for the good guys, he couldn’t help thinking. And score one for him.
He’d managed to go almost a week without thinking about Jennifer Bishop. Then his jubilation faltered. Till now. He’d been back on home soil ten seconds, and she had already barged right back into the front of his mind.
So much for Plan A. He’d figured that participating in Operation Sunday School would help him get his thinking back into perspective. That it would take his mind off Jennifer. Fat chance.
She might have been out of his thoughts while he was busy saving that one corner of the world, but now that he was back, there she was, in glorious living color, in his daydreams. He was going to have to do something about it. He was going to have to shift to Plan B.
Too bad he didn’t have a Plan B. He’d been so certain that Plan A would work, he hadn’t bothered to make one.
He shrugged. Maybe he didn’t have a new plan, but he did have time to think about it. As soon as his equipment was stowed, as soon as he and the team had been debriefed, he was on leave. Two glorious weeks of leave.
Two weeks to help Sherry get settled back into the little house on Smith Street. Two weeks to play with Caitlyn and Carter. Two weeks to figure out just how to make Jennifer Bishop his.
Forever.
JENNIFER LISTENED as the phone rang and rang and rang. Then it connected. She knew better than to speak, she’d been through this, at least a dozen times before. She’d only get the answering machine. She’d called the minute she’d heard that the team was back, and when no one had answered, she’d even left a message.
As the phone stopped ringing and went into answer mode, she listened to the beeps before the message came on. There were ten. At least. And probably a good half of th
em were from her. Why hadn’t Rich returned her calls?
There were two reasons she could think of for Rich not calling her, and she didn’t like either. One was that Rich didn’t want to talk to her. The other was that Rich was one of the few casualties produced by the operation. Though the media had reported that casualties were light, they hadn’t reported who, pending notification of next of kin.
God, should she call Sherry?
No, no, she couldn’t think of that. She wouldn’t. Surely, if something had happened to Rich she’d have heard by now. Nick would have been called back from Minnesota and Beverly would have called her. That meant that the first possibility was probably the real one.
Rich didn’t want to talk to her.
RICH SAT on the couch and waited while Sherry checked on Carter, not yet awake from his nap. He resisted the urge to help and watched as she slowly walked across the room. She’d made so much progress. No longer limited by the wheelchair, she moved around with the help of two sturdy canes.
“What do you think, big brother? Am I ready to run a marathon?” Sherry lowered herself to sit beside him.
Two pink scars marred her forehead where the halo had been attached. Otherwise, it would have been hard to tell the ordeal she’d been through. Her face was flushed with excitement, or maybe the exertion, but whatever the reason, she seemed well pleased with herself.
“Give yourself a week or two to train, and you’ll be in there.” Rich grinned. He liked seeing the sister he remembered from when they were kids. Even her sense of humor had returned. He chuckled to himself. He’d always been the serious one.
“Seriously, Bro,” Sherry said. “I should be almost good as new in time for Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah.” Rich wondered what she could feel thankful for. She’d lost her husband. Hell, she had to depend on him and Rebecca for almost everything.
“I can see that question in your eyes, Rich,” Sherry said. “I have much to be grateful for. I have my kids. The doctor tells me I’ll be able to do almost everything I could before…” She grinned. “Except, maybe, skydiving.”
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