The Marine's Family Mission

by Victoria Pade

  But deep down, she also hated having Declan see any weakness in her. And she liked—more than she cared to admit—when she saw his approval for what he considered her strength.

  As he worked without incident, keeping up a dialogue with her, she felt herself relax slightly and was able to move a few steps closer.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked when he saw that.

  “I’m feeling guilty for just standing here watching you work and not pitching in,” she confessed.

  “You have a job of your own to do,” he argued. “Just focus on that.”

  It took hours, and determination, but over time Emmy was able to move close enough to what he was doing to actually grab and haul away a few of the branches he left lying on the ground outside the perimeter of the tree.

  As it turned out, physical activity also aided the cause of clearing the panic from her mind. Dragging the limbs to the pile Declan had been creating, she decided that it didn’t matter if part of the reason she was so determined to conquer her fear was to please him. It only mattered that it worked.

  It was midafternoon before she thought she was ready to actually venture underneath one of the trees. When she told Declan that, he said, “Are you sure?”

  No, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been sure about any of the moves she’d made, and the thought of standing beneath the cover of those far-reaching branches did require more effort to regulate her breathing again, to avoid the panic that threatened to rise up and devour her.

  But with each of those baby steps she’d taken today, she’d had to wade through those same doubts, so she said, “I’m just going to try it.”

  As if he knew she needed a little extra bolstering for this step, he took off one of the heavy leather gloves he was wearing and held out his bare hand to her.

  Instead of replaying the terror or panic from memories of Afghanistan, she flashed back to that kiss from the night before, feeling that same hand in her hair, his other hand on her back. The memory helped her accept the offer as she slipped her hand into his.

  Concentrating on the warmth, the strength of it, made it easier not to think about the broken branches. But it did leave her unsure of whether the fast beat of her heart was due to the feel of his hand around hers or to the anxiousness. Still, she decided that that uncertainty was better than the knowledge that what was going through her was fear and fear alone.

  “Open your eyes, Emmy,” he suggested when she’d drawn a short ways under the tree and toward him.

  She hadn’t realized she’d closed them. But she did open them then, feeling a rush of fear at the realization of where she was, at the fact that the tree limbs blocked the sky from view, at the sense of being more enclosed than she’d been all day long.

  There was a gasp of air drawn into her lungs and then she heard Declan saying, “It’s all right. Take a deep breath. Nothing is coming down on you. You’re okay. You’re safe...”

  Her arms erupted in goose bumps but like the increase in her pulse, she wasn’t sure if that was because of the fear or the rich honey sound of his voice. But she did take the deep breath and then another and another—the way she’d been doing all day—and she began to feel the now-familiar calming coming in stronger than the fear.

  Still, she was holding on to Declan’s hand for dear life.

  It didn’t seem to bother him. He held on tight to hers, too.

  “How are you doin’?” he asked.

  “Okay,” she said unenthusiastically.

  “Do you want out?”

  She did. But she shook her head no.

  She forced her head back, forced herself to look up at the dense cluster of tree branches not nearly as far from her as she wished they were. At the sight, she needed to control her breathing again but she managed it with Declan continuing to reassure her. He seemed to know when she’d reached her limit and said, “Enough?”

  “For now,” she confirmed.

  “Okay,” he answered without any criticism. Instead he gave more encouragement when he said, “You did great!”

  Then he released her hand so she could get out from under the tree. As much as she wanted to get away at that moment, she also regretted losing his touch.

  “The hand-holding was good, though. That helped,” she heard herself say.

  “Then we’ll do it again the next time you want to try this.”

  And that, she thought, was more incentive than he knew to get her under another one of those trees.

  * * *

  “Decan can read a story tonight,” Trinity announced at bedtime.

  “He can?” Emmy said in surprise. “You want him to?” she asked to make sure she was understanding.

  “Wan Decan t’do it. You go ’way, Em,” the three-year-old persisted in impossible-to-predict three-year-old fashion.

  “Okay, I’ll go get him.”

  Because Trinity hadn’t yet agreed to have Declan read her bedtime story, Emmy and Declan had settled into a routine that left Emmy reading to Trinity while Declan gave Kit a bottle and put him to bed. Emmy wasn’t sure why her niece was switching things up tonight. She knew it was a win for Declan, but it hurt her feelings slightly to be banished and she worried a little that Trinity might be becoming attached to someone who wouldn’t always be there for her.

  It was her own fault, though, she realized. She’d been offering Trinity the option since Declan’s arrival here; now that the three-year-old was making that choice she had to let it play out. So she went to the nursery next door.

  It had been a long day in the orchard. Since the babysitter had left as soon as Emmy and Declan returned to the farmhouse, they’d taken turns wrangling the kids while the other showered.

  Declan had gone first so Emmy could get dinner started, then he’d readied the barbecue while she took a little longer showering and shampooing her hair, applying a little mascara and blush afterward. Then she’d slipped on jeans and a pink U-neck T-shirt over a plain white tank top that served to fill in the lowest dip of the U.

  Declan had also dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt, though his T-shirt was a navy blue crew neck with the letters USMC framed by two massively muscled pectorals, which the T-shirt rode to perfection.

  Through dinner and the kids’ baths that evening, Emmy hadn’t really seen the rear view of him. But when she arrived at the doorway to the nursery it was the rear view she was presented with. Declan was standing at the side of the crib, cradling in his also-massively-muscled arms the tiny bundle that was Kit.

  From her vantage point she had an angled view and Emmy wasn’t sure what was the best part of it—the slightly-more-than profile of Declan’s broad shoulders narrowing to his waist and his to-die-for derriere, or the peek she was also getting of the baby in his arms while he said, “It’s my night for floor-walking duty, so what do you say, little man? Sleep through?”

  But regardless of which part was the best, Emmy reminded herself not to take any of it to heart. Declan wasn’t there for her viewing pleasure—no matter how much pleasure it gave her—and the fact that he’d been doing as much as he had with both kids was for the kids’ sake, for Topher’s sake, not for her.

  Don’t build things into anything bigger than they are, she warned herself yet again, knowing that was particularly important after their kiss last night and the day she’d spent with Declan being patient and understanding and caring and just all-around good to her.

  Despite his wedding fling with Tracy, Emmy had come to accept that he truly was a good man—a hero, even. He was someone who wanted to help her overcome her fears. Someone who saw a problem he could fix and dived right in. She told herself that he would do the same for anyone in need, that it had nothing to do with her.

  And that kiss last night? A weak moment, maybe? His reception in town before that hadn’t been anything like what he’d been expecting. And while h
e might not admit as much, it must have opened up a soft spot in him. The standing ovation, the heartfelt sentiments and welcome-homes that had gone with many of the handshakes and hugs would have done that to anyone. She’d been moved to tears more than once, and none of it had had anything to do with her at all. How could he not have been touched, even if he was a tough-guy?

  But being a tough guy, he hadn’t given in to the emotional impact at the time, and maybe instead it had come out later, with her, and—for some strange reason—turned into an impetus to kiss her.

  That seemed not only possible but likely, she decided. And she stuck to her resolve not to read anything more into it. No matter how hot that kiss had been.

  And now, seeing him so sexy and appealing and, at the same time, so loving with Kit, needed to mean nothing more to her than an attractive tableau. She could appreciate it like a visitor to an art museum without having any claim to it.

  After his request that Kit sleep tonight, Declan held the tiny bundle up higher and kissed the infant’s forehead. Then he told him to sleep tight just before laying Kit in the crib and smoothing his wisps of hair.

  Seeing that big hand so affectionately rubbing that tiny head got to her a little more.

  But she mentally sidestepped it, not letting it take hold, and—not wanting Declan to turn and catch her watching him—she finally went into the room as if she’d just arrived there and said, “You finally made the roster tonight—Trinity wants you to read her a story.”

  Declan straightened up and turned toward her, his eyebrows arched. “She does?”

  “She doesn’t even want me around—she told me to go away.”

  “Oh...that’s kind of rough.”

  “It’s okay, my feelings aren’t too hurt. I don’t think three-year-olds are known for their tact.”

  “I’ll bet it was the maple syrup I put in her oatmeal this morning—I thought I got a few points for that,” he said as if to blunt Trinity’s rejection of Emmy.

  “I don’t think it was any one thing—you’ve just gotten better with both kids. I’ve noticed that Trinity has been warming up to you more and more. I think she’s just finally gotten comfortable with you,” Emmy said, not only because she wanted to acknowledge that he’d been working hard at improving and that his childcare skills had grown, but also because she didn’t want him to use more maple syrup to curry favors. “But whatever the reason, you’re in demand and I’ve been exiled, so I’ll finish up in here and you go do that.”

  “Sure,” he said, heading out the door with an obviously pleased smile on his face, leaving her to turn on Kit’s sound machine and night-light. She took a peek at Kit, found him already sound asleep and then left the room, too.

  The faint sound of Declan’s voice reading Trinity’s favorite bedtime story followed Emmy as she went down to the kitchen, where she made Kit’s formula for the next day and finished the last bit of dinner cleanup.

  It was still reasonably early by then and the warm spring day’s temperature had lost only a few degrees even with the sun down. So, with a little time on her hands and the evening air beckoning, she decided to go out onto the front porch and enjoy it.

  On a whim she bypassed the wooden swing once she’d gone out the door and sat on the porch’s top step, letting the peace and quiet take away the last of the day’s stress. She sat in silence, thinking again about what she’d accomplished in the orchard and allowing herself the same sense of success that she’d felt when the sight of Declan hadn’t given her flashbacks at the wedding.

  “Hey,” Declan’s deep-voiced greeting announced from behind her just then.

  “Hey,” she parroted with a glance over her shoulder.

  “Want to be alone or can I come out, too?” he asked.

  “Come out,” she invited.

  He pushed open the screen and joined her, sitting beside her on the step angled slightly toward her, his back against the post of the porch’s railing. He bent the knee of his uninjured leg and rested a forearm on it, stretching the injured leg out in front of him. The pose made her think he was feeling some pain tonight even though he wouldn’t admit it.

  “What’re you doing out here?” he asked.

  “Just winding down.”

  “From the orchard still?”

  “A little,” she said, repositioning herself so that she was looking at him now, too.

  “I think you did great,” he praised. “What do you think?”

  “I think I did okay, too,” she said, unable to keep a hint of pride out of her voice. “I couldn’t have done it without you, though—so thanks for that. Maybe you should think about being a therapist or a trauma counselor or something.”

  “Nah,” he said, laughing wryly at the idea. “I may have picked up a few techniques by watching professionals, but that’s as far as I’d ever want to go with it.”

  “Too bad—you’re good at it.”

  He shrugged away the flattery. “I’m just glad it worked. I was a little afraid I might do something wrong and make things worse.”

  Emmy shook her head. “You didn’t. Having you there, doing what you did, only helped.” Although she’d had the added secret incentive of wanting to impress him, so for all she knew his technique might not have been as effective with someone else. But then, who wouldn’t want to impress him?

  For a few minutes they sat there silently before Declan said, “So...ever since we talked about what was going on with you after the bombing and why you wouldn’t—couldn’t—see me again then, I’ve been wondering about something else...”

  “What?” she said when he paused.

  “I’ve been wondering if there was some other upshot from it that happened at the wedding that I don’t know about.”

  “My issues from Afghanistan didn’t come into play at the wedding—that was the good part.”

  “Okay,” he said with some confusion. “So what the hell happened between when I left you at your hotel room door after the reception and the next morning, when we were supposed to have breakfast?”

  “Really?” she asked in astonishment at his question.

  “Yeah, really,” he persisted, looking all the more confused.

  “Did you not know that the walls in that hotel were thin?” she said incredulously.

  He shrugged. “What if they were?”

  Emmy shook her head in disbelief. “I heard you meet up with Tracy just outside my door. And I heard everything else that went on the rest of the night in the room that was right next door to mine,” she said, her last words overly enunciated to bring home her point.

  Declan’s expression went from an extended moment of even more confusion to light dawning. And when that happened, he burst out laughing.

  Humiliation rushed through her. He thought it was funny that she’d had to listen to him bouncing around in bed with someone?

  Emmy did not. And as much as she’d come to like the sound of him laughing since he’d arrived here all brooding and solemn and sad, she didn’t appreciate it in response to this.

  But she also didn’t want to reveal just how angry and upset she’d been—or how hurt she felt by his laughter now—so she took the tone she sometimes used when Trinity was being outlandish and said, “Of course it was none of my business, but I thought it was poor form. I didn’t want to sit across the table and eat pancakes with someone who was fresh out of another woman’s bed. If you even showed up—because I had my doubts that you would after that.”

  That made him chuckle. “Well, sure,” he agreed. But there was something gallingly superior in the way he said it. “Tell me exactly what you heard.”

  “Oh gross! Does that give you some kind of charge or something?” Even if he didn’t realize how out of line he was being, or how wounded she’d been by having his rejection shoved in her face, this was still crass on a level she really wouldn’t have ex
pected from him.

  “Just tell me what you think went on that night,” he amended.

  Was he trying to find out if he had any deniability? Because he didn’t. And to make that clear, she said, “I heard you meet Tracy outside my door. I heard your conversation taken into her room. And then I heard...everything...”

  He grinned. Maybe at the memory?

  “So you think I dumped you at your door and hightailed it to some other woman’s bed.”

  Dumped was definitely how she’d felt.

  But there was no way she was going to let him know that. She held her ground with nothing more than an arch of one eyebrow at him.

  “All this time you’ve been thinking I’m a great big fat sleazeball?”

  There was nothing fat about his body, but Emmy didn’t want to think about that now. In fact, it occurred to her that this was a good conversation to be having after a day full of focusing on his terrific body as a distraction from her anxiety. A good conversation to be having after that kiss last night, when she’d had her hands on his pecs and had then taken to bed the memory of that to relive again and again.

  This was a reminder to her of just what she needed to be remembering.

  That helped her to show nothing but the cool, aloof attitude she wanted to have about this. “I’ve been thinking that you’re a guy who doesn’t pass up a one-night stand with anybody who offers it. And that that’s your business and none of mine.”

  He grinned as if he saw through that and repeated, “A great big fat sleazeball.”

  Emmy shrugged one shoulder, as if she was indifferent.

  Declan shook his head and said, “You have that all wrong.”

  “Okay, you’re not a great big fat sleazeball,” she said as if it didn’t mean enough to her to argue about.

  “I’m not, actually—because while I did meet that other bridesmaid in the hallway just after you closed your door, I also ran into the guy she was with. I don’t know who he was but she was wa-aay out of his league and he knew it. The guy looked like he couldn’t believe his luck, to the point where he didn’t seem to care that she was flirting with me while he stood right there. He didn’t even say a word as we talked. But I did what you saw me do the rest of the night—I pretended I didn’t know she was coming on to me, we agreed it was a nice wedding and I left them to go into her room. So whatever you heard after that point did not involve me,” he finished.