by Caro Carson
“No, sir, of course not.”
“Then you will reside in the housing the army has provided. Tom already lives in a single-family home designated for a captain. Or captains.”
She looked at Tom in alarm. He took over the argument. “Colonel Reed, I need to point out that this would be a waste of time and energy. Once we’re divorced, she would have to move all her household goods again.”
The colonel raised one brow. “Do either of you know how long a divorce takes?”
She only knew the law in Seattle, Washington, where she’d married Russell. She wasn’t going to tell the colonel she’d already been divorced once. She’d seem deranged, getting married again so quickly in Las Vegas, Nevada.
“No, sir,” Helen said. “I haven’t had time to look up Nevada’s laws.”
“Nevada has nothing to do with it,” the colonel said. “That’s where you got married. You must file for divorce in the state you live, and that is now Texas.”
Helen had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like Texas’s law.
“One of you has to have lived in Texas for six months before you can begin the legal process—and yes, that is true of active duty military personnel, too.”
“Six months?” That sinking feeling plunged to rock bottom. Seattle had only required ninety days. “In that case, sir, I definitely need to have my own housing.”
“Your spouse has already secured your quarters.”
“I can’t impose on Captain Cross for half a year.” She glanced at Tom. He looked as incredulous as she felt. It was his house, after all, that he was now being forced to share. She spoke to him apologetically. “I’ll pay for my own place off post.”
The colonel didn’t miss a beat. “I require you to live on post.”
That was outrageous. Technically, yes, a commander could require his key personnel to live on post, but it was so rarely done. Besides, an assistant brigade S-3 was an important job, but no more rare or vital than any other staff position.
As if they were a tag team, Tom jumped in again. “Sir, you can’t do this.”
“Is that so, Tom? A service member reports to my unit already married to another service member. That service member—you, Tom—already resides in adequate and appropriate post housing commensurate with her rank. No married couple gets two separate houses from the US Army. Your wife will live with you for as long as you have a wife.”
Beside her, Tom sucked in a quick breath, a hiss in reverse. They had to get divorced. It was the only way around this.
“Have you already lived in Texas for six months?” she asked Tom. He’d said if she wanted a divorce, she’d have to file, but surely he would rather do the filing than have a roommate forced upon him.
“I’ve been stationed here for three months.”
“So, with you as the petitioner, we have three to go, not six. I’ll be the respondent.” She ignored the way Tom narrowed his eyes in displeasure at her assumption that he would file, and she turned to Colonel Reed. “Only twelve weeks, sir. I am basing my request for my own housing on practicality. We anticipate being legally single again in a matter of weeks.”
“Denied. I’m not required to provide separate houses for a married couple who merely anticipate that they will file for a divorce at some point in the future.”
“But, sir—”
“Let me tell you what else I’m not required to do. I’m not required to facilitate that divorce. You’ve had command, Captain Pallas. You have command now, Captain Cross. You both know that what commanders are required to facilitate are the health, welfare and morale of those under their command. Roger?”
She and Tom exchanged a glance before they nodded.
“You both appear to think that living together in the housing that the military has provided will be stressful. Therefore, for the sake of your health, welfare and morale, I am ordering you to attend counseling. Marriage counseling.”
Helen was stunned into silence.
Tom spoke for her. “You can’t do that, sir.”
“I must do that. What kind of commander would I be to leave you two in distress? You will attend weekly marriage counseling sessions. Until you actually go to a courthouse and file for divorce, you are married.”
“Marriage counseling?” Helen repeated. Her voice sounded faint. How appropriate. She felt faint.
“Don’t worry. The behavioral health office will send me a report, but it won’t include any specifics. They’ll verify your attendance, and they will confirm that you are both capable of performing your military duties while undergoing therapy. I won’t get any juicy details.”
“Juicy details.” Tom sounded furious, not faint in the least. “I cannot believe you’re even—”
“Enough.” The colonel abruptly stood and smacked both hands on his desk, leaning toward them to close the distance. He was furious, in full drill instructor mode. “On your feet.”
She and Tom stood without hesitation.
“Let’s go through this one last time, since neither one of you bright young officers seems to be able to comprehend one basic fact. Are you married?”
“Yes, sir,” she and Tom answered in unison.
The colonel handed Helen her paperwork. “End of discussion. Captain Cross, give your wife a key to your house, and notify me of the date of your first counseling appointment. It needs to be in one week or less. You are both dismissed.”
An order was an order. Side by side, like obedient new recruits, Helen and Tom executed identical about-faces and headed for the door.
“One more thing,” the colonel called after them, sounding suddenly, jarringly jovial. “Congratulations.”
Chapter Four
Tom checked his rearview mirror.
His wife was trailing him in her sturdy Volvo, keeping a safe distance.
Just what every groom hopes for on his honeymoon: a bride who keeps a safe distance.
They passed a patrol car coming from the other direction. The MP flashed his red and blue lights for just a second, recognizing his company commander’s personal vehicle.
Tom raised a hand in casual acknowledgment. He wished he were still a young lieutenant pulling duty, riding around in a patrol car, counting the hours until he could go blow off some steam. He wished he were pretty much anywhere, doing anything besides leading Helen Pallas to his house. It felt more like he was dragging her there. Under orders.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“I live on post. It’s not mandatory for company commanders to live on post, but it’s highly encouraged. You know how ‘highly encouraged’ works. Housing is currently underutilized at Fort Hood, so bachelor officers can be assigned a single-family home. I’ve got two bedrooms and one bath with a garage. Plain white walls. Same as every house on the street. All my neighbors are bachelors, too. The army filed us neatly on one block.”
Helen laughed at his description. “That’s so military. All of it.”
They were waiting their turn outside the tiny wedding chapel. In another half hour, this beautiful woman would become his wife. The rest of his life would be full of making memories with her, but he wanted this one to always be crystal clear, the way she looked now, in her wedding gown.
He’d thought the dress looked too plain on the store’s hanger, a floor-length column of white, unadorned by a single sequin or scrap of lace. But when Helen wore it, the soft material skimmed over her figure, dipping where it should dip, curving where she curved. She’d come out of the store’s dressing room absolutely beaming, absolutely beautiful, when she’d tried it on.
“This one,” she’d said.
“That one,” he’d agreed.
She was radiant still, luminous even after midnight in this little chapel courtyard. The desert breeze blew her hair forward, so it brushed her cheeks and lips. Her hair was all one
length, just short enough that it would brush the collar of her uniform, if she were wearing one. By regulation, that meant it was just short enough that she would not have to wear her hair pulled back tightly in a bun when she was in uniform. He thought that was smart of her; those tight buns full of pins had to get uncomfortable. He liked her hairstyle for a less practical reason. It was sensual. Her hair swished when she moved, touchable, soft—so feminine compared to his military cut. Smart and sensual, that was his bride. The best of both worlds. The best of everything.
She turned her face into the breeze, letting it blow her hair back into place. “If you’re trying to scare me off by telling me you live on post, it isn’t working. I’ve been in the army two years longer than you have. I’ve seen my share of outdated kitchens.”
“It’s got a decently modern kitchen, actually. You’ve been in the service three years longer, by the way. I goofed off for a year after college. You like to mention that you’re older than I am, don’t you? I think you like the idea that you’re robbing the cradle by marrying me.”
She fussed with the bow tie of his blue mess uniform. He’d worn the army’s most formal uniform with its gold-braid epaulettes to his friend’s wedding yesterday. He was getting married in it today.
Helen smoothed her palm up the satin of his lapel and tilted her face up to his. He set his hands on her waist, the white material of her dress smooth against his palms. Her skin was smoother, he knew from their afternoon by the resort pool. Arousal simmered between them. This was going to be the wedding night of all wedding nights.
“I’m not thinking of cradle-robbing when I look at you. When I look up at you. You’re taller than I am. Bigger. Stronger. Can I tell you a secret? One I’d have to deny if you ever repeated it? I spend my whole life being strong enough and tough enough to be a soldier, but deep down, I have a secret fantasy that, at least for a little while, I’d like to be fragile. Or little. Delicate? I don’t know the right word.”
He smiled at her because she was smiling as she spoke, but he sensed there was a real yearning in there somewhere. It couldn’t be easy to be a woman in a man’s world.
Her smile was fading as she spoke. “The truth is, you look terribly masculine in uniform. Just so strong and capable. And the truth is, my first instinct is that I must rise to the challenge. I have to be as good at being an officer as you are. As good as every other officer in the whole army. I realize you’d win every push-up challenge, but I still have to be able to do enough push-ups for the job. I have to be really good at all the other things—have endurance and make good decisions under stress. That’s the reality. But...”
She’d been looking at his chest, even running her fingertips lightly over the rows of ribbons, but now she looked up at him through her lashes, pressing her body closer to his in a clearly sensual way. He breathed in deeply, tightened his hold on her waist.
“...that’s not the fantasy. This uniform, all these medals that prove what a badass you’ve been in the army...you’re incredibly appealing to me. The fantasy is that I don’t have to be like you at all. You make me wish I was a delicate little Snow White, who had a prince just scoop her into his arms like she was as light as a feather, tra-la, tra-la. She didn’t have to do a thing as her prince carried her away, except laugh and kick her delicate feet and wave at the woodland creatures. Just for a little while, it would be so nice...”
Once again, her smile faded into something more earnest. “I meant everything we talked about, though. I would never expect you to shoulder every burden while I just sat around, looking pretty. We’ll be a team, you and me against the world. I’m only talking about a fantasy. It’s just that when you look so damned...macho...it brings out this side of me that... I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t wish that I was fragile, even for a night, not when I can’t be like that in real life. But...well, anyway.”
Tom scooped her up like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. She might not think her tall and toned body was as light as a feather, but to him, she was. He could bench-press triple her weight. He did bench-press triple her weight, several days a week. “Your fantasies are really too easy.”
It took her a moment to relax, a moment before she realized he wasn’t straining to hold her. Her nervous laugh subsided, and she laid her head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the space between the side of his neck and the gold-braided epaulettes. “Maybe you think it’s easy because you aren’t a fantasy. You really are this big, strong man in uniform. But I’m not really a delicate princess.”
“I know that. There’s no such thing as a fragile little soldier in real life, but you can be my light-as-a-feather girl anytime you want. It’ll be our secret.”
“You can carry me around inside our house on post.”
“Nobody will see.”
“In that case, you might as well carry me around naked.”
They were laughing again. Always. The strains of a trumpet voluntary drifted from the chapel into their courtyard.
“I have another confession,” she said.
“Can’t wait.”
“I know you’re trying to set my expectations pretty low for on-post housing, but do you have any idea how lovely it will be to arrive on a post for the first time in my life without needing to find a place to live?” She fingered his black bow tie. “It feeds right into that helpless princess fantasy. I won’t have to make any decisions. I won’t have to decide whether to buy or rent. I won’t have to negotiate a contract and be on guard against being taken advantage of. I won’t even have to get the electricity and water turned on. My big, strong man has already taken care of all that.”
Tom heard what she didn’t say. She’d done all the work at her last post. At every post, of course, while she’d been single, but at her last post, she’d had a husband who should’ve helped. He hadn’t.
Tom kissed her hair. “Did you have a hard time finding a place to live near Seattle?”
She picked up her head to look at him. “Am I that easy to read? It was hard. Mostly because my ex had very picky requirements he expected me to find. I want you to know that I will never be that picky about houses with you.”
“Likewise. We’ll just assume that’s covered in the vows. I think ‘for better or worse’ makes a good catch-all. If the housing around our next post sucks, we won’t make it harder than it has to be.”
“I love the way you interpret those vows. I’m so happy I’m going to marry you.”
He kissed her. It was all he could do, because he didn’t have the words to tell her how he felt. It was almost disorienting to love someone so wholeheartedly. It was a new kind of freedom, to just let go and be in love.
He set her down gently, so she stood on the first step of the chapel. “Tell me about the house in Seattle. Do you still own it?”
“No. Russell demanded it be sold as part of the divorce. It sold quickly, thankfully. One less thing to keep me entangled with him.”
When the breeze blew her hair across her cheek, Tom smoothed it back and kept his hand there, cupping her head. “Were you sad to sell it? That’s a raw deal, being forced to sell a house you’d worked so hard to find.”
“It was never the perfect house, even though I’d managed to check most of the boxes on Russell’s list. It was just an adequate house, according to him. Since he was going to have a spectacular life without me around, he didn’t want the adequate house. He so very generously decided the adequate couch and the adequate kitchen table could go with me. He’ll have no place for them in his spectacular new life.”
She rolled her eyes in mild disgust, but she also pressed her cheek into his hand. She had no tender feelings toward her ex. Of that, Tom was certain. But the divorce hadn’t been free of pain.
“The movers are on their way. I’m afraid a very adequate set of furniture will be arriving on your doorstep shortly after I do.”
“Yours wi
ll be joining an adequate set of my own furniture in my own adequate quarters. But if we decide we don’t like it, we’re going to go buy what we like. We’ll live where we want to. We’re done letting our lives be adequate. It might have been okay for me. It might have been okay for you. But for us? The two of us, together? We’ll never settle for adequate again.”
Tom pulled into his driveway and waited for Helen to catch up. He looked at his house, a cookie-cutter government house, but it had a decent number of windows, a bit of a front porch. Two bedrooms.
Helen pulled in. He got out of his car as she got out of hers.
“Nice house,” she said.
“I’d describe it as adequate.”
She nodded. “Adequate for the task at hand. Since it has two bedrooms, I’ll be able to stay out of your way as much as possible.”
We’ll never settle for adequate again.
But she didn’t remember that.
Adequate, it would be.
* * *
The first time Helen woke up, it was pitch black.
She didn’t know where she was for a moment, but then it all came crashing in. The twenty-hour drive, the brigade commander roaring Are you married? She remembered that she was in Tom Cross’s house, ordered to live with a man who might legally be her husband but who was practically a stranger. An incredibly sexy stranger.
Was a man a stranger if you’d had sex with him? Once? Well, once that she could remember clearly.
She rolled onto her back and blinked at the night. The last time she’d woken up, she’d been in a gold bed filled with roses. She’d wandered into the living room. Tom Cross had walked in, told her she was beautiful, that he was afraid he’d dreamed her and then he’d kissed her. The man kissed like a dream. He kissed...generously. Asking with soft lips if she’d like it harder. Asking with a gentle tongue if she’d like the kiss to deepen.
“I sure answered that,” she whispered in the dark. She’d practically dragged him down to the couch with her. She might have been the one underneath, but she’d had her way with him. He’d been as generous with his body as he’d been with his mouth, reading her reactions to every move, giving her more of anything that made her arch her back or tighten her thighs around him.
