The Non-Commissioned Baby

by Maureen Child

  Four

  In the kitchen, Jeff smiled to himself as Laura’s bedroom door opened, then closed again softly. He’d known she wouldn’t stay in her room. In fact, he’d been counting on it. For reasons he didn’t want to explore at the moment, he wanted, no, needed to see her.

  Picking up the chilled bottle of wine, he poured each of them a glass and was turning around to hand it to her when she walked in.

  Surprised, she blinked and stopped dead. Instantly, the taunting memory of blue lace bikinis withered and died along with his fantasies. Looking her over quickly, he wondered just how old that bathrobe was.

  Faded pink terry cloth hung on her small frame with all the grace and dignity of a drunk clutching a light pole. The nubby fabric, rubbed smooth in places, was a patchwork of stains and tears. Long, loose threads waved lazily every time she moved, and the single front pocket looked stuffed with tissues and God knew what else.

  “Nice robe,” he commented wryly.

  She tightened the threadbare sash around her waist and tossed her hair back behind her shoulders. One light eyebrow arched high on her forehead as she looked him up and down quickly. “Nice camouflage,” she snapped. “Were you out hiding in the forest?”

  He grinned. Ratty robe or not, he was glad to see her.

  “You knew I was awake the whole time, didn’t you?”

  Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair looked soft and tousled, as if a man had spent hours running his fingers through it.

  Jeff inhaled sharply. Better if he didn’t let his mind wander too far down that road. Deliberately, he took another look at her worn robe before meeting her deep brown eyes. Those shadowy depths sparkled with impatience and suspicion as she watched him.

  “Not the whole time,” he said with a shrug, and held out one of the crystal wineglasses toward her. “Wine?”

  She ignored the offer. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I was talking to Miranda,” he said, wondering now why it was that he’d wanted to see her. “Do you want the wine or not?”

  “Oh.” She looked at the glass, then back to him. “I don’t think so.”

  Still holding it toward her, he said, “It’s only half a glass, Laura.”

  She thought about it for a moment longer, then reached out and took it from him. “All right. Thanks.”

  Inclining his head slightly, he said, “You’re welcome.” Taking his wine, he walked past her into the living room. A single lamp had been left on. The room lay mostly in darkness, with deeper shadows gathering in the corners.

  Tossing his hat onto the coffee table, Jeff sat down on the couch, leaned his head against the high back and sighed heavily. Damn, it felt good to relax. He propped one foot on the edge of the table, and as proof of his tiredness, didn’t move a muscle when Laura stepped over his extended leg to take a seat beside him on the sofa.

  Turning his head slightly, he looked at her. She was watching him again, with that solemn stare he was already getting used to.

  “Bad day?” she asked.

  “Long day,” he corrected.

  Moments of sweet silence stretched out between them. After being surrounded by people and the noise and hustle at the base all day, Jeff had always craved the peace and quiet of a few minutes alone. Solitude helped him think. Gave him time to consider his past, his future.

  He’d been alone for so many years, this small ritual was second nature to him. But tonight it was different. Tonight there was someone else’s breathing whispering into the darkness. Instead of absolute, undisturbed silence, he heard the hush of skin brushing against skin as she crossed her legs beneath her, Indian style. When she took a sip of her wine, the tiny clink of her front teeth hitting the crystal sounded out.

  Surprising himself, Jeff found that he was actually enjoying sharing this moment of quiet with someone who valued peace enough to know not to talk.

  It was...comforting in a way he hadn’t expected.

  “Was it true?” she asked softly.

  Jeff smiled to himself. Apparently, Laura could be quiet. She simply preferred not to. “What?” he asked.

  “Everything you said about Miranda’s father?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, took a drink of wine and sat higher on the couch, half turning to look at her.

  “But you said yesterday that you didn’t even remember him.”

  “I know.” He reached up and rubbed one hand across his face. Jeff had read through Hank Powell’s files three times. Each time, he had asked himself how he could have mentally misfiled the man.

  The only answer he had come up with was one he was sure Laura wouldn’t understand.

  “I just don’t get it,” she said. Scooping one hand through her hair, she propped her elbow on the sofa back. “How can you forget a friend?”

  Jeff shook his head. “I didn’t say he was a friend.”

  “You said he saved you from making a fool of yourself.”

  He winced tightly. There was a memory he didn’t particularly want to relive.

  “He did,” Jeff admitted, hoping she’d let it go at that. He should have known better.

  “Then—”

  “He wasn’t my friend,” Jeff interrupted. “He was my sergeant.”

  In the dim light, he saw her shake her head in confusion. Suddenly unable to sit still, he got up, walked to the nearest window and yanked on a nylon cord. The window blinds flew up with a loud clatter. When they were secured, Jeff set his wineglass down on the windowsill, leaned both palms on either side of it and stared through the glass at the town outside.

  Bright splashes of neon decorated the night. Shimmers of primary colors reflected off the night sky. Convenience stores, gas stations, even the theater down the street added to the blazing clutter.

  He stared at civilization’s landmarks until they faded into a kaleidoscopic blur of light and color. Slowly, his mind replaced the familiar view with one he’d spent years trying to forget.

  A sun-washed desert rose up in his memory. Men and machinery moving across endless miles of sand and heat under a sky so wide and empty it glittered in the noonday sun like a stainless steel skillet.

  Hank Powell, a grizzled, tough, no-nonsense first sergeant, had had the guts to look a fresh, young, know-it-all lieutenant in the face and tell him he was wrong.

  Jeff smiled slightly at the memory of what had been an embarrassing and infuriating moment. It had been hard enough admitting to himself that he didn’t know what he was doing. But to have First Sergeant Powell call him on it was especially humbling. He’d made every effort since then to forget it.

  “What happened?” Laura asked from behind him.

  The desert slid back into the past where it belonged. Jeff half turned to look at her. “It was my first tour. I was young and stupid.” He shook his head slowly. “But thankfully, not too stupid to learn. I made a mistake that could have gotten me and my men killed.”

  “What?” she asked, and he could see the curiosity stamped on her features.

  “Doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that Hank Powell stopped me in time.” Picking up his wineglass, Jeff eased down onto the windowsill, perching on the edge as he faced her. Memories swelled around him. “Hank was the kind of Marine that would make John Wayne look like a sissy.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “Sounds scary.”

  “You bet.”

  “You liked him.”

  He thought about that for a long minute. Like the first sergeant? “I admired the hell out of him,” he finally said, and even then that wasn’t really enough to explain the relationship. Jeff drained the rest of his wine, then twirled the empty glass between his fingers. “He taught me a lot.”

  “Yet you didn’t remember him.”

  “I never actually said I didn’t remember him. I knew the name.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “I hadn’t seen him in at least five years.”

  “Still...”

  Jeff’s grip on the fragile crystal tightened noticeably. H
e looked down at whitened knuckles and deliberately forced himself to relax his hold on the slender stern. Taking a deep, calming breath, he said, “I remember people fine, Laura.” His voice sounded rough and thick, even to himself. “Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces clearly.”

  “Who?”

  “The dead.”

  Laura sucked in a gulp of air. Even from across the room, she saw the shadows in his eyes. Instantly, her mind furnished images of what he must see. What he must recall about battles she had only read about from a safe, insulating distance.

  She took a sip of wine, forcing the cool, smooth liquid past the sudden knot in her throat. Then she leaned forward and set the unfinished drink carefully down on the coffee table.

  What could she say? She watched him for a long, quiet moment and knew he wasn’t in the room with her anymore. His features shifted, tightened. Clearly, the memories, once unleashed, raced through his brain. Memories she had prodded him to relive.

  Suddenly, she wanted to go to him, slip her arms around his shoulders and comfort him like she would a lost child.

  But he was no boy.

  And the feelings he stirred in her weren’t entirely altruistic. Or motherly. In the soft glow of the single lamp, she saw the sharp, strong planes of his face as if in a dream. Her gaze drifted over him and locked on his hands. His long fingers toyed with the empty crystal glass, turning it this way and that, slowly, hypnotically.

  She watched his fingers stroke the foggy glass, tracing the intricate pattern etched into the crystal. She wondered what it would feel like to be touched by hands as gentle as those. To be explored with the same finesse and care.

  To be the woman he turned to when his dreams refused him sleep.

  Her stomach fluttered uneasily, and her heartbeat quickened. One minute she was sympathizing with him, wanting to ease a years-old pain, and the next, she was caught up in sensual imagery that left her body throbbing with an ache she hadn’t known possible.

  Yet more disturbing than those sensations was the emotional ache he caused in her. She felt herself wanting to give. To soothe. To love.

  Quickly, she took a mental step backward.

  Closing her tired eyes, she hoped to rid herself of the fantasies building within her. It didn’t work. As if in a dream, Jeff leaned over her, whispering her name. She arched toward him, lifting her arms in a welcoming embrace.

  He held her close to his chest, and she listened to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. In her drowsy, half-asleep state, she snuggled into him. “Where are we going?” she murmured.

  “You’re going,” he said quietly. “To bed.”

  She tightened her arms around his neck and leaned her head back to look up at him. “You’re dangerous, Captain.”

  He glanced down at her as he stopped outside her bedroom door. His arms tightened slightly around her. “Me? I’m a Marine,” he said. “One of the good guys.”

  She shook her head slowly, unsure if he was purposely misunderstanding her or not. Lifting one hand, she stroked her fingers along the line of his cheek and felt his jaw muscle tighten in response. Oh, yeah. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea,” she told him.

  “Probably not,” he agreed, and turned his face into her touch.

  “I’m not interested in a relationship, you know.”

  “Me, either,” he said, his teeth nipping at the pads of her fingers.

  Electrical charges skittered through her bloodstream.

  “We’d regret it, Jeff.”

  “Maybe, Laura,” he whispered. “But we’d never forget it.”

  Oh, good heavens, she thought. What had she gotten herself into?

  Without another word, he opened the door, carried her into the darkness and crossed the room to her bed. As if she were the most delicate flower in the world, he laid her down on the mattress. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he leaned in close and brushed a kiss across her lips.

  Her heart stumbled, stopped, then started beating again, much quicker than before. Staring up at him, Laura, for the first time in years, couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Jeff straightened up slowly, whispered, “Sleep well,” then left the room as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  Laura lay wide-awake in the darkness, listening to Miranda’s baby noises and the wild, frantic beating of her own heart.

  Hours later, muted sunshine drifted in through her bedroom curtains. Morning. Laura sat up, groaned and rubbed her eyes. No doubt about it—a person really did need more than one or two hours’ sleep a night.

  Helplessly, she shook her head. She was in deep trouble here. She’d only known Jeff Ryan a couple of days, and already he had begun to sneak past the barriers she had erected around her heart.

  Suddenly, the three long months of summer stretched out ahead of her like an eternity. How would she ever survive living in such close quarters with the man?

  That night over pizza, Jeff looked at the woman sitting across from him at the table. Hair scraped back into a high ponytail, no makeup and a lime green sweatshirt that read, Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff, she was not the kind of woman dreams were built around.

  So why, he wondered silently, did his dreams furnish her with a starring role? All night, he’d been haunted by the memory of her slight form cuddled in close to him. By the taste of her lips. By the soft sigh of her breath.

  Good God—he was digging himself a trench here.

  “Have you been looking into Miranda’s guardianship papers?” she asked suddenly.

  Grateful to end his disturbing train of thought, he nodded. She hadn’t said one word about their little tryst in the darkness, and he was profoundly grateful for that, too.

  “I talked to my lawyer yesterday,” he admitted, remembering the call he’d made after reading Sergeant Powell’s record.

  “I’ve never known anyone who had their own lawyer,” she said.

  He shrugged. “He’s actually the brother of one of the captains on base. We all go to him with legal questions.”

  “And what was your question?”

  Jeff picked up a slice of pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza, then set it back down again. Almost guiltily, he glanced at Miranda, her little face covered with a layer of strained green beans. “I told him about how I found her and explained the note and the will that was with her.”

  “And?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his appetite suddenly gone. “And, though he says the means of delivering Miranda to me were fairly unusual, the guardianship can be legalized—if I consent.”

  Laura nodded, her attention squarely on him. She was practically quivering in her chair. He knew damn well that she wanted to prod him for more information. But she wouldn’t, so he took pity on her.

  “And no, I haven’t called child welfare.”

  She released a pent-up breath.

  “But that’s not saying I won’t.”

  Her lips tightened.

  Why should she be able to make him feel guilty? He hardly knew her. Of course, she made him feel lots of other things, too. Don’t go there, he told himself silently. “Laura, it’s too early for me to decide anything.”

  “I understand,” she said tightly.

  “That’s nice,” he returned. “I’m not sure I do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He glanced at the baby. She was smearing her green beans across the tray of the high chair. Her soft, fine hair was dotted with leftover mashed potatoes, and a stream of drool was running down her chin.

  Just looking at the small disaster area should have made up his mind for him. Why it didn’t was beyond him.

  Jeff shook his head wearily. “I don’t understand why I can’t decide what to do.”

  Over the next few days, the three of them settled into an uneasy routine. While Jeff was at the base, Laura concentrated on Miranda, trying to keep the captain out of her mind entirely. Sometimes, she would
even go hours without once thinking about him.

  But eventually, thoughts of him drifted across her brain, and she snatched at them like a child grabbing for the string of an escaped balloon.

  Laura groaned, closed her mind to thoughts of Jeff and concentrated instead on bathing the baby. A task that seemed to be never ending.

  Jeff took the stairs to the third floor of the old building and stopped as he entered the hall leading to his apartment. Mrs. Butler, just a step or two ahead of him, was staggering under the weight of an overstuffed grocery bag.

  Instantly, he hurried to her side and lifted the bag from her painfully thin arms. “Didn’t you tell me a couple of weeks ago you were going to start having the groceries delivered?”

  She glared up at him out of the blue eyes that marked his every movement. “They charge extra for that, y’know,” she told him, then scuttled to her apartment door, Jeff right behind her.

  “Wouldn’t it be worth it?” he asked. The older woman was as stubborn as she was nosy. Once, he’d even offered to get the old bat one of those rolling carts to carry her groceries in. She had informed him that only old, old people used those things and she wasn’t that bad off yet.

  When she had the last of her locks opened, she pushed the door open, then turned to him, reaching for the bag. “I’m keeping a close watch on you and that baby, mister,” she said, her voice as creaky as an old iron gate.

  “I never doubted it for a minute, Mrs. Butler.”

  “Humph!” She sniffed pointedly. “That woman you got staying with you seems nice enough.”

  A compliment? Stop the presses.

  The woman’s features softened considerably for a moment. “Saw the two of them today,” she said. “Out for a walk, they were. That Miranda is a doll.”

  Jeff smiled to himself. Who would have guessed that his nemesis had a soft spot for babies?

  She spotted that smile.

  Her features stiffened. Snatching the bag of groceries, she stepped into her apartment and slammed the door shut.

  Grinning now, Jeff listened for the four locks to be set in place before calling out, “You’re welcome.”