Morgan's Wife (17 page)

"Maybe," Jim agreed, with a slight shake of his head. He held Pepper's velvet blue gaze. Did she realize how beautiful she was? He almost voiced his feeling, but thought better of it. Her dark hair was free and soft around her face, lighted with golden strands. He recalled touching that silken mass and found himself wanting to touch it—and her—again. Her mouth showed such vulnerability, its soft fullness always pulled into an expression that underscored how she was feeling. Jim liked discovering that about her. She might be a woman of extraordinary talents, but under it all, she was gloriously feminine and had never abandoned her heart or her feelings.

"You know," he murmured, "you're a lot like Laura, in some ways."

Pepper's chest squeezed in pain. She didn't want to be compared to her, because she knew she could never live up to the image Jim held of the other woman. "I don't think Laura and I share much in common."

His mouth curved ruefully. "More than you realize."

A warmth
cascaded through Pepper as she stared up at him in surprise. Laura was
ultrafeminine
and delicate. In comparison, she was plain and gangly, far from the ethereal beauty Laura was. Her heart wanted to embrace Jim's statement, but her mind and the decision she'd made after John's death stopped her. She glanced down at her hands, at her practical, blunt-cut nails. She never wore fingernail polish or earrings. Nor did her job allow for dresses, perfume or many of the smaller appointments that, in her mind, made a woman feminine.

Jim saw her frown. "You both possess an inner strength. You're passionate about what you believe in. Laura was passionate about helping Morgan after she was injured and he rescued her. She saw
through
him, somehow, to the man beneath the armor." He shook his head. "I certainly didn't. When I met him for the first time, all I wanted to do was pick a fight with him." His voice grew gentler. "You both live, breathe and move through your emotional instincts." His mouthed twisted in a sad smile. "I find that commendable. Courageous." He touched his own chest. "If I tried that, I'd be laughed out of the corps."

"Laura put you in touch with your heart, maybe for the first time," Pepper pointed out, even though it was painful to admit that truth. She saw Jim's mouth curve more deeply in response.

"Yes, I guess she did. Laura always has had a way of making the men in her life take responsibility for how they felt—even when we didn't know what we were feeling in the first place." He eased onto an overstuffed chair opposite Pepper. Her long skirt added to her naturally graceful appearance, and he liked the way she slowly stroked Frank's gray-and-white fur. What would it be like to be stroked by those long, narrow hands—hands that had saved his life with their inherent strength just this morning?

Jim's mind gyrated forward to the mission.
Pepper could be killed.
The thought was pulverizing to him, and he stared at her hard, noting the shadows that lovingly emphasized her features. Her lashes, he realized, were thick and long, while her eyebrows reminded him of gently arched bird wings. The combination gave such startling definition to her soulful eyes that Jim felt as if he could get lost in them forever. Something was always going on in Pepper's eyes, in a way he'd never experienced with another woman. Her eyes broadcast her emotions so clearly that it aroused a powerful response in him.

For a split second out of time, he knew that Laura could die, too. The overwhelming emotions that came with that flash of awareness rocked through him, a vivid reminder of his own equally fragile hold on life. This mission could kill all of them.
Easily.
He struggled internally to reject that knowledge, but his military mind and training coldly confirmed the possibility.

His focus returned to Pepper, who appeared lost in thought. She might never find love again, he realized sadly. Her heart was still in John Freedman's hands, even though he was dead. After this mission, provided they survived, Jim would never hear Pepper's husky laughter again or see that wonderful bevy of emotions mirrored in her eyes. She was rare, he realized—a rare woman who had the courage to make of her life exactly what she wanted. If life told her no, she went in another compatible direction, reweaving the fabric of her goals and continuing to move toward her heart's desire.

Looking back at himself, Jim gave an internal, derisive laugh. He'd merely had to punch the military system's ticket to get what he wanted. He'd never been told no, as Pepper had. All he'd had to do was play the game the way he was
told,
and the next rank would follow. Oddly, his successes didn't fill him with the kind of satisfaction he was sure Pepper experienced over her many battles, wins and losses. She might have had doors slammed in her face, but she'd never let it defeat her.

If there was anyone he'd choose for a mission this dangerous, he had to admit, it would be Pepper. She wasn't a killer, but that wasn't what was needed here. Her brains, flexibility and unique ability to turn a setback into a success would come in very handy. Jim knew he provided certain strengths to the mission, but Pepper's input and observations would be easily as valuable as his own.

But despite his discovered faith in her, he couldn't stop worrying about the chance of Pepper dying. His heart lurched violently in his chest at the thought. Much as he would like to deny it, the possibility was real. A maelstrom of feelings rose sharply in him, encircling his heart. Pepper was murmuring soothingly to the cat, her head bent over him, her mouth curved in a soft smile. For a moment, Jim enjoyed watching her, then, unexpectedly, Laura's face shimmered before him. Where had that come from?

Rubbing his chest, he rose suddenly. He excused himself abruptly and went into the kitchen, wrestling with a gamut of unexpected emotions. Placing his hands on the sink, he looked out the window over the sparkling neighborhood lights of
Georgetown
. The porcelain sink was cool against his damp palms. His heart wouldn't settle down. Maybe Pepper was right, after all, about his feelings for Laura. Did they go beyond mere loyalty and friendship? At the same time, his response to Pepper was new, something he'd never encountered—even with Laura. But maybe that was why he hadn't fallen in love during all these years—because his heart was still in Laura's hands. He frowned. The only way he could think to find out once and for all how he felt about Laura was to see her again. He knew it was wrong to love another man's wife—and he was very aware of how deeply Laura loved Morgan. He'd seen for himself the reality of what existed between the couple. So where did that leave him and this confusion of emotions squeezing at his heart?

Grimly, Jim studied his hands, still resting on the sink. Pepper's insight had blown the lid off something he'd been carrying around for years but had never realized until now. He'd never really considered his feelings for Laura. At first, he'd been too busy chasing his career up out of the depths of the archives. Then, when he'd realized Laura was drawn to Morgan, he'd slammed the lid down on whatever emotions he'd had.

With a shake of his head, he sighed. Morgan might already be dead. Laura could be a widow. Would he want to step in and try to start afresh with her? There were no easy answers. Yet his response to Pepper was wildly spontaneous and breathtaking, and Jim had never felt more uncertain in his life. What was real? What were mere idealistic dreams that would never be fulfilled?

The discovery of his chaotic feelings was painful, yet strangely euphoric. Somehow, subconsciously, he thought, he'd been looking all his life for a woman who possessed Pepper's unique combination of qualities. She was completely comfortable with who and what she was—and was not. No, she wasn't a magazine-model beauty. And maybe she wasn't beautiful in the same way Laura was, but that didn't matter. He pictured his mother. She'd been a strong, quiet woman with a deep passion for life—much like Pepper. Above all, Jim realized, he wanted people in his life
who
had commitment—as he did. Pepper's commitment to
herself
was mind-boggling in the sense of how much she'd accomplished in face of sometimes severe opposition. Fleetingly, he recalled that his mother, who'd had artistic leanings, had been refused schooling at a college where she'd wanted to take art courses, because her high school grades had been too low.

Closing his eyes, Jim went back to that time. He'd been ten years old, far too young to understand his mother's tears as she'd told his father that the college had turned her down. Jim recalled crying that evening in his bedroom, alone and unseen. He'd cried for his mother—for her dream being shattered by an unfeeling institution that looked at grades rather than the quality of her talent. From that day forward, he remembered, his mother had changed in subtle ways. She had never again tried to draw. She had put her box of paints away in the attic, never to retrieve them.

Releasing a ragged sigh, Jim opened his eyes and stared blindly out at the city lights. He felt anger at the insensitivity of the college's treatment of his mother. Pepper, too, had her passion for life, but she'd somehow managed to sidestep that awful trap of failure. He smiled at the thought. Pepper came from a younger generation of women, who had been told it was all right to fight back, to fight for their dreams.

A sizzling sort of electricity moved through him. It was a feeling he'd never experienced with Laura, and he knew it had to do with Pepper. He liked her more than a little, despite the small amount of time they'd shared. Their bonding had occurred through a life-and-death situation, Jim realized, and that kind of connection was soul deep, transcending time and space. He'd learned that in Desert
Storm
,
Panama
and
Grenada
, where he'd felt that same bonding with the marines he commanded.

Pepper, despite his poor treatment of her up to that point, had saved his miserable life out there in the sky. She'd reached beyond the hurt he'd delivered, wrapped her strong hands around his arms and held him. She hadn't let his pettiness stand in the way of risking her life to save his. Yet even as he savored his feelings for Pepper, Jim's heart cried out for Laura, for what might have been and could be in an uncertain future.

"Damn…" he rasped, straightening. He glanced toward the living room. Turbulent emotions soared through him as he digested what Pepper quickly was coming to mean to him. And at 0300 tomorrow morning, she could die. She could miss the island and, with sixty pounds of gear on her back, drown in the ocean. She could hit a tree and be fatally gored. A bullet could find her, or one of those dogs could tear her apart. Worst of all, she could fall into Garcia's hands as his prisoner. And Jim knew what the drug lord did to women. Sickened, he turned, his stomach rolling with nausea. It was heinous enough that Garcia had Laura; it was unthinkable that Pepper could fall prey to the sick bastard, too.

"Jim?"

Pepper's voice was soft.
Questioning.

He turned abruptly on his heel. "I haven't been a very good host," he said, more gruffly than he intended because she'd surprised him.

Reeling from the sudden hardness in Jim's tone, Pepper stepped back from the kitchen entrance. The old Jim Woodward—the hard, unfeeling marine she'd first met—was back. Part of her was relieved. With Jim in this mode, it was easy to respond to him on a strictly professional basis. Anything beyond that was too dangerous for her to contemplate, anyway, she reminded herself. Gathering her thoughts, she said, "I'm tired. I'm going to try to get some sleep before we meet over at Andrews at 0130."

Cursing himself, Jim started toward Pepper. He saw the quizzical look in her eyes—and the pain. He'd hurt her again. Scrambling for a way to apologize, but not knowing how to go about it, he followed her to the door. He retrieved her coat from the closet and helped her on with it.

"Thanks for dinner," Pepper said woodenly, suddenly drained by all the events of this very long day. She was an emotional wreck. As she slung her purse over her shoulder, she saw anguish in Jim's eyes and had no idea what was going on inside of him. Had it been something she'd said?
But what?
She had no idea.

"I'll see you later," Jim rasped, opening the door for her. It was the last thing he wanted to do—let Pepper out of his sight. He was consumed by gnawing hunger to ask her a hundred different questions about herself, about her growing-up years and her family.

Stung by Jim's inexplicable withdrawal, Pepper stepped out onto the sidewalk leading to the curb, where her rental car was parked. The November air was icy cold—but nothing like the chill that enveloped her insides. As she pulled on her gloves and walked quickly to the car, her chest began to ache.
Dammit
, she liked Jim! At least her silly heart did, she chided herself, as she slid onto the cold vinyl seat and shut the door. The street was well lighted and lined with trees, their bare branches lifting skyward into the darkness. Wind stirred the dried leaves along the curb and sidewalk.