Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (27 page)

I am getting quite good at this dancing. In fact, I like it.

Then she moved her hands down to cup his buttocks.

On the other hand, it would not be wise to like it too much.
He knew he had to say something. “I am complimented by your interest in me, but I am committed to another.”

She drew her head back. “Married? I didn’t see a ring.”

“Nay, not married.”

“Engaged?”

“Not precisely.”

“Are you jerking me off?”

Ragnor had a pretty good idea what that meant. “Nay. ’Tis true. I have a lady love back in Coronado waiting for me.”
I hope.
“Whether we wed or not is in the hands of the Norns right now, but mayhap it will happen someday.”
If I’m still here.
“All I know is that I would feel disloyal to her if I rutted with another woman.”
Though I am sorely tempted.

“Rutted?” She laughed. “Maybe you oughta be a ram instead of a Viking, like your buddies said.”

They continued to sway back and forth, quiet now. Another song came on the box, and still they swayed.

“Is there no man in your life back in Save-anna?”

“There was,” she said, “but we had a big fight before I re-upped this time. He’s in the Army, too, but he wanted to get married and for me to stay home and take care of his kids.”

He frowned in confusion.

“He’s divorced but has custody of his two kids, three- and four-year-old boys.”

“Well, I know how that is. My father had custody of thirteen children at one point. None of the women wanted to stay and take care of them.”

“
Thirteen?
”

“Yea. I suspect that not all of them were his, but my father had a kind heart and could not turn any child away. In any case, he was a very handsome man. Women loved him, obviously, but none of them would stay because of the children. A more bothersome lot there ne’er was, myself included.”
Why do you not take up blathering as an occupation, Ragnor? You are getting quite adept at it.

“Oh, Jake’s kids aren’t a bother at all. They’re adorable. And their mother is a bitch. Wants nothing to do with them. Poor munchkins! And Jake, he’s a great father. I can’t help loving him, kids and all.”

“Let me understand this. You love the man. You love his children. But you left him?”
Now I am giving love advice. Aaarrgh!

“I’m only twenty-four years old. I want a military career. For a while anyway. And despite loving his kids, I want my own. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”

Let me tell you a thing or twelve about confusion, milady.
“Betimes it is difficult for me to understand people of your ti … country. You make everything so complicated.”

“How so?”

“A man protects those under his shield. That is the way it has been from the beginning of time. Oh, do not get your hackles up. I am not saying that women cannot have their own lives and interests. But I understand this Jake fellow. ’Tis in the nature of man to
want his woman and children home where he is better able to care for them.”

“That is a load of male chauvinist crap.”

He shrugged. “I do not have easy answers. But let me say this. You live in dangerous times here in Ah-mare-ee-ca. Terrorists. Deranged despots. And military people are in even greater danger than average folks. How would you feel if you heard tomorrow that your Jake had been killed?”

“Devastated.”

“And would you have any regrets?”

“Probably.”

“On the other hand, if you were killed tomorrow, how would your Jake feel?”

“Devastated,” she answered without question.

“Would he have regrets?”

She shrugged. “Probably. What’s your point?”

“My grandmother believed that for every man there is one woman. She would say, find a way to make it work. Life is too short to live it unhappily.”
Does this apply to me, too?

“Why is it always the woman who must compromise?”

“I ne’er said that.”
Did I think it?

“Well, I suppose that my parents and Jake’s parents could help with the kids when either of us was on active duty. We’d be able to save some money for a house if both of us were working. And it’s not like it would be forever. I don’t know. It’s not the best solution, but …”

“… a compromise?”
Why am I thinking that this applies to me, too?

She smiled and hugged him warmly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Listening.”

Several hours later, when Ragnor and his friends were leaving the drinking hall, after five more unsuccessful calls to Alison, he noticed Tammie leaning against the wall speaking on the tell-a-fone. “I love you, too, Jake. And, darlin’, we are gonna make it work. If we love each other, nothing can stop us. Y’hear?”

Ragnor smiled and tipped his cap at her as he passed. In his heart, though, he wondered if love really could overcome all odds. Especially when the man was a thousand years old.

Daddy Dearest …

Alison was as spit-shined as any Navy girl could be when she went to the opulent, one-hundred-plus-year-old Hotel del Coronado to meet her father and Ian for dinner.

The Del was a magnificent architectural extravaganza, which had been visited by numerous celebrities and politicians over the past century … in fact, every president since Lyndon Johnson. The movie
Some Like It Hot
had been filmed here with Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, and Tony Curtis in 1958. Wallis Simpson and Edward, then Prince of Wales, were said to have met here. It even had its own resident ghost.

But that was neither here nor there. Alison barely paid attention to the surroundings as she made her way toward the Palm Court, followed by the ensign
who’d been assigned to guard her this past week, even when on base. She was about to be grilled by her father, and she felt like a little girl on the carpet again.

“Hey, Pooh Bear,” her father said as he stood and gave her a quick kiss and warm hug.
Pooh Bear? Jeesh! I’m twenty-seven freakin’ years old and he still calls me Pooh Bear!

“Daddy,” she said, hugging him back.
Wait till he finds out that Pooh Bear is gonna have a mini-Pooh.

Over his shoulder, Ian grinned at her … probably delighted to have some of the attention diverted away from himself. Their father had been in town for three days now, and Alison had managed to avoid him, after their initial meeting, having pleaded a heavy caseload with her patients.

Once they sat down, she noticed her father had his usual martini sitting in front of him. The Palm Court was known for its award-winning martini menu, but that wouldn’t have mattered. Her father had had a ritual of drinking two martinis, graced with one olive each, every night as long as she could remember. No less, no more. The Del wouldn’t have dared give this austere, highly decorated Navy big shot anything but the best, whether it be lodgings, food, or drinks.

His admiral’s uniform with all its medals and insignia was impeccable. The brass gleamed. As always, not a hair on his short-cut gray head was out of place. Thirty years of “high and tight.” He sat erect, even when at ease. The man commanded respect without uttering a word.

Ian was drinking Scotch, straight up. A bad sign.

“What’ll you have, Pooh?” her father asked.

“Just water with a twist of lemon,” she said.

“No wine? You usually have white wine.”

She shook her head. “Not tonight.” Or for another eight or so months.
Oh, God! How am I ever going to tell these two? Well, not tonight, that’s for sure.

While her father updated them on the investigation, Ian sipped at his drink and she picked at the appetizers. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry, and the calamari in filo dough was delicious, followed by crisp house salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing. She ate all of hers, as well as part of Ian’s and her father’s, too. Her appetite had become voracious, probably due to the baby.
How soon will I show? Ha, ha, ha! I’m a doctor. I already know that. Three months. Maybe four.

“It can’t be those Lebanese terrorists from five years ago that are stalking me and Allie today,” Ian said. “They all died in the bombing, along with a bunch of civilians and our entire SEAL team, except for me. A bunch of friggin’ nutcakes!” He glanced at Alison and winced at his own bad language.

Really, Ian and her father both treated her like a little girl, as if she’d faint at bad language.
Not so little now … and about to be bigger.

“We don’t know for sure yet, but we think one of these terrorists lost civilian family members in the blast, and they’re out for revenge,” her father explained.

“Revenge?” Alison exclaimed. “They were the ones who set off the bomb.”

“Terrorist logic, I guess,” her father said. “An eye for an eye, we’re thinking. Your family destroyed in return for the tango’s family.”

“What about Clay and Ross? Are they in danger, too? And how about you, Daddy?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“They wouldn’t be able to get to me. I’m too insulated in the capital. But, yes, Clay and Ross could be targets, and the necessary precautions have been taken.”

Their entrees came: stuffed flounder with wild rice for Alison and rare filet mignons with big baked potatoes for Ian and her father. As they ate, her father continued to discuss the investigation. At one point he stared at her oddly, and she realized that she’d put sour cream and chives on her rice and was eating it with relish. “Right now we are in a holding pattern. Everyone’s safe. But at some point we may have to send some pigeons out there to catch a hawk or two.”

“Pigeons? I hope you don’t mean a decoy for me.” Ian protested. “I’ll go back to my house and act as bait. I don’t need anyone to take my place.”

“Me either,” Alison said, equally irritated.

“Opinions noted, and they will be passed on. Those decisions are out of our hands, though. Changing the subject, I have some good news for you, Pooh Bear.”

I’m not pregnant? It was just a dream … or a nightmare?

“We’ve just gotten the president’s and the Congressional Armed Services Committee’s confidential approval to go ahead with a new set of military teams … the Liberty Teams. It’s all hush-hush so far. They’ll be made up of representatives of special forces from all the armed services … Green Berets, SEALs, Delta teams, all the Special Forces, computer experts, pilots, medical personnel. To start,
there will be twelve teams of fifteen hand-picked operatives each.”

Her father looked her directly in the eye and winked.

The hair rose on the back of her neck. “Me? You think I might have a chance?”

Her father patted her hand. “No promises, and I know it’s not the SEALs, as you’ve always wanted, but I do have a little bit of pull.”

Can my life get any better … or worse … than this? I’m pregnant. There is no way in the world they will accept a pregnant woman. And it’s doubtful they’d take a new mother, either. Lack of focus. Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What should I do?
Tears welled in her eyes.

“Now, sweetie, don’t go bawling on me. You always hoped for something like this.”

I feel like bawling. Could the timing be any worse?

“How about me?” Ian asked, giving her a bit of breathing time.

“Aren’t you happy in SEALs?” the admiral inquired. They both ate as they talked. Alison did, too, like an automaton.

“Yeah. But this new program sounds exciting. It would be good to be back in the field again.”

His father nodded, considering. “Maybe you should go to officers’ candidate school first.”

Ian crossed his eyes at her when their father turned to signal the waiter for a second martini. She knew about this standing argument between Ian and their father over his becoming an officer.

“So, who is this person Max who keeps calling you?” the admiral asked out of the blue.

Alison choked on her fish and had to take a drink of water to wash it down.

“The FBI guys listening to your answering machine say this guy Max called you twelve times yesterday.”

Ian just smirked.

“He’s a friend,” she said.
Who happens to have time-traveled here. Ha, ha, ha.

“Only a friend?” her father asked. The old bird saw way too much.

“For now,” she said, feeling her face heat with a telling blush.
And, by the way, he’s the father of your grandchild.

“You know I’m going to want to know more,” her father said with mock sternness.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“Leave her alone, Dad.” Ian, bless him, came to her rescue. “I’ve already pushed her far enough on her personal life. There are some things she’s gotta do herself.”

Sometimes Ian could be a pain in the tush, but sometimes she just loved him to pieces.

The admiral raised his eyebrows at Ian’s standing up to him, but fortunately, he didn’t insist that she tell him more about Max. Not yet. But he would eventually, that she knew.

Heck, what could she say? There’s this guy I may or may not be in love with. He thinks he’s an eleventh-century Norseman come to visit here for a short time; then he’ll be off on his longship to go a-Viking or something. And if or when he goes, he’ll have left something precious behind.

Me.

And a baby.

“Anyone want dessert?” she asked. “I’m dying for some double fudge mousse cheesecake.”

Falling in love with falling …

Ragnor knew with his cherry jump that this was a sport he could love.

He was fifth on the stick out the door. Everyone was visibly scared, even those who’d done this before. But the minute the jump master called his number and Ragnor stepped to the exit, all fear left him in a rush of exhilaration. He had one hand on each side of the doorway, legs slightly bent, one foot slightly behind the other. When he jumped up and out, he executed a perfect jump, arms hard at his sides as he’d been taught, hands gripping the reserve chute, chin tucked into his chest. As his main chute billowed out above him, Ragnor grinned and let out a fierce Viking battle cry of victory.

Pretty Boy had been wrong. It wasn’t better than sex, but it was a close second.