Still (27 page)

She laughed and ran her thumb over his hand, happiness sparkling in her gaze. “They are. I should be back by around three, so if you want we can go to the bar after that?”

He frowned up at her, remembering their fight yesterday in which she accused him of stealing beer. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

Her brows drew down in confusion. “What? I thought we’d made plans to visit Lilly over at the VFW bar so we could talk about our dogs.”

Any trace of bitterness left him and he couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t said her dogs, or the dogs, but our dogs. While he didn’t know if he could face fighting like they had last night all the time, it seemed to have broken down one of the many walls between them. “Sorry, totally forgot about that.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and let go. “I really need to leave.
Mi casa es su casa
. Feel free to use the truck to go get more supplies. I set up an account for you at Howard’s Hardware off of Main St.”

His pride bristled and he sat up fully. “I have my own money, Michelle. I’m not some bum off the street.”

She paused on the other side of the bed and put her hands on her hips, looking entirely too adorable in her scrubs. “Listen, Mr. Macho, you are making me beautiful works of art for free. In the real world you could charge thousands, tens of thousands for the kind of work you do. My paying for the materials is the least I could do. Besides, Mr. Howard needs the business. He’s the last independent, family-owned hardware store and lumber supply in the area. Spend as much money as you want, it is all going to good people who really need it.” Giving him an impish smile she turned and started for the bedroom door. “Think of it as a redistribution of unearned wealth.”

*****

After a long day of researching what he wanted to make next, along with a trip to the lumber store that resulted in him having lunch with Mr. and Mrs. Howard in their home above the store, he was freshly showered and waiting for Michelle to come home. He kept checking the clock, bemused at how he was the one waiting for his woman to come home from work, and not the other way around.

Still, it tweaked his pride that he didn’t currently have a job and a steady source of income. Going back to work for his father wasn’t an option. Michelle was right, he loved his parents to death, but they let him get away with pretty much everything. Besides, he had an idea forming that if it worked out, could not only give him a job he loved, but also an income that could support both himself and Michelle…just in case she went on a 60 million dollar shopping spree and needed him to pay the bills.

He wandered through the house to the media room, a large, dimly lit space with cream leather reclining chairs and a huge wrap-around sofa deep enough to almost be called a bed. Everything was done in shades of brown and gold, mute colors that wouldn’t detract from the enormous flat screen TV. With a grateful sigh he grabbed the remote and sat back in one of the comfortable chairs, reclining it and turning on the big screen. Nothing like kicking back with his feet up after a full day’s work. A beer would be real nice about now, but he didn’t dare tempt fate.

As he flipped through the channels he hit a news report from overseas about an ambush that killed four soldiers.

He froze in the chair, sweat breaking out all over his body in a harsh sting. The voice of the newscaster faded to useless chatter and he watched, unable to close his eyes as they showed combat footage. Suddenly the air he drew into his lungs seemed thick with dust and smoke, the acrid tang of gunpowder coating his tongue as he struggled to breathe.

On the screen talking heads droned on about inconsequential political bullshit while good men and women died. The faces of all his friends began to burst into his mind, little explosions of pain and regret. All those wonderful lives, gone forever. Friend’s graves, empty boots, mothers clinging to him at the funerals of their sons. Tears burned in the back of his throat but he fought them, fought everything.

Panic gnawed at him, tightened his muscles to painful paralyzed mounds. He was not an animal, he would not run, he would not turn that fear to rage. Because if he was honest, that’s really what the rage was. Fear. Much like a frightened dog he would snap at anyone that poked at him, hoping if he fought back hard enough they would leave him alone. No, he was better than this. He’d never quit anything in his life, no matter how hard, no matter how many times he threw up, or passed out, or cursed his drill sergeant up one side and down the other in his mind while he did pushups in the sand pit.

Slowly, the memories of the things he’d overcome bolstered him, gave him strength. Then he thought about Michelle, for in his mind she was the epitome of strength…and yet she was strangely vulnerable. He didn’t know how it was possible that he felt both protective of her and admiring, but that was how it worked.

The more he thought about her the more the panic began to fade, but they still teased around the edges. He’d think about running with Michelle and a memory of running through the stinking sewage-filled streets of Fallujah would try to take its place. He tried to turn his thoughts to carrying her to bed, but his mind threw up the image of carrying the dead body of one of his men to the chopper waiting to take them away from the mortar site. While he couldn’t stop the unwanted memory flashes completely from happening, he was able to keep one step ahead, always with a good memory to counteract the bad.

A soft hand pressed over his eyes and the voice of an angel whispered in his ear, “Be still. Let it wash through you and pass away.”

Her perfume filled his nose, chasing back the phantom scents, helping him choke the part of his mind that insisted he was about to die into silence. The terrible memories receded, leaving blessed darkness in its wake. He concentrated on the feel of his whole and healthy body, the peace that reached into his soul from her presence, and his own strength. She removed her hand and took with it the taste of gunpowder, leaving him shaken and sweaty, but still in control.

He grasped her wrist and pulled her onto his lap, burying his face against her chest, surrounding himself with her. It didn’t take him long to realize how near his mouth was to her nipple, how if he just moved a little bit he could coax that pert nub to life with his tongue. Blood rushed to his cock in a pleasant burn. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she let out a contented murmur as she stroked her fingers through his hair.

Squirming, Michelle softly laughed. “Well, I guess an erection is a good sign.”

He nibbled at her breast, still covered by her clothes. Leaning back, he took in her outfit and smiled. She wore a pair of faded jeans that clung to her long legs, and a plaid shirt that was similar enough to his to look like they were one of those couples that dressed alike. It made sense, after all she’d bought the shirt he wore right now. Obviously she was a fan of green plaid. The unexpected humor chased away the last of the shadows.

“Nice shirt, Doc.”

She glanced down, then back at him. “Is this like both of us wearing the same dress to a party?”

“Now you know I’d do pretty much anything for you, but I draw the line at wearing women’s clothes.”

“Hard limit?”

“Hard limit.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I can be lots of fun.” He moved his hand to cup her jeans-covered ass, groaning at how tight it felt behind the thick fabric.

She placed a quick kiss on his lips and scooted off his lap. “As tempting as it is to spend the rest of the night with you in chains, we need to get going.”

He stood, a remarkable buoyancy filling him as he realized he’d beaten his panic attack. Yeah he’d freaked out for a little bit there, but he didn’t go postal like usual. On the TV screen behind her some entertainment show was gossiping about someone who wore a scandalous dress, or some other inconsequential bullshit, and he let the tension drain from his shoulders.

Michelle wound her arms around his neck and pressed fully against him. Their lips met and each of them made a hungry sound. He was suddenly ravenous for her and shifted his grip to her ass, pressing her closer against his erection. She responded by biting at his lower lip, then sucking it, their breath mingling. She fit so perfectly against him and inside of him, his heart now completely filled with her and his soul strengthened by her. In fulfilling what she needed he’d found his purpose, the reason he’d been put on this earth.

Their kiss gentled, deepened, but neither of them broke it. He was hers, heart and soul, but, would she have him? That thought kept him from saying the words ringing through him with absolute truth. He loved her. She was the only one for him and always would be. All other women paled in comparison to Michelle, as complex and wounded in her own way as she was beautiful. For her he would be strong, he would be a rock that would never break beneath the weight of her guilt. He would do whatever she needed to feel whole again, to be able to accept love into her life again.

They broke apart, their breath coming fast as they looked at each other in the flickering light of the television.

Against his better judgment he almost told her about his revelation, wanting to share his joy with her, but fear flashed through her eyes and she pressed her finger to his lips when he opened his mouth.

“Wyatt...don’t, not yet. Please.”

Her voice broke on the last word and he glimpsed the pain that she carried inside of her and the immense guilt. God, how could she function with all that darkness constantly dragging her down?

He gently bit her finger and she removed it from his mouth. “You know what I was going to say, and just because I haven’t said it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Agony and yearning battled across her features, but finally she looked away and nodded. “I know. But please, please give me some more time.”

“Domina, I’ll wait until we’re both old and gray, chasing you around the retirement home while pushing my walker if that’s what it takes.”

She didn’t laugh at his joke, just sighed and slipped out of his arms. “Come on, Wyatt. Let’s go see what the VFW club is all about.”

He followed after her, wanting to fight her demons for her, but she was the only one that could slay them.

*****

Wyatt looked around the inside of the VFW Hall and the place reminding him of his grandparents' game room in an odd way. The social hall area was huge, big enough to host the weddings and other parties that frequently happened on the weekends. Three pool tables stood at one end of the room, while the other held tables and two big screen TV’s playing sports. A long cherry wood bar took up most of the far wall and a good portion of the seats were taken despite the early hour.

Men and women from their early 20s to their late 80s sat around in small groups, talking and playing pool or watching TV. Many of the older men wore baseball caps with the different companies, ships, and military campaigns they’d been on. The flags of different military units hung from the walls and he quickly found the Marine flag, good memories about his service for once popping up instead of bad. Michelle slipped her hand into his and smiled up at him.

“Kinda feels like coming home, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something about this place that reminds of me being in the military.” He shook his head, unable to put his feelings into words. “Come on, let’s go say hi to Lilly.”

They made their way across the room, curious eyes following them. Part of him wanted to search the faces of the people here for his military friends he knew that were still in the area, but he was kinda hoping no one here recognized him. Inevitably, they’d bring up Aaron and Wyatt really didn’t want to think about his best friend right now. While he felt stronger than he had in a long time, it was still a fragile strength. Like freshly poured concrete that could still be marked.

Before they made it halfway Lilly looked up, a bright smile splitting her wrinkled face. “Wyatt, Michelle, welcome to the VFW.” She flapped her clean bar towel in their direction. “Gentleman, may I have the pleasure of introducing Gunnery Sergeant Wyatt Callahan and his lovely lady, Lieutenant Michelle Sapphire.”

The elderly men seated near Lilly turned and gave them both welcome smiles. Their instant warmth and acceptance eased something in Wyatt’s gut.

An old man with bushy grey eyebrows and a baseball hat showing that he served on the USS
Hornet
gave them a devilish grin. “Managed to win a beautiful Officer’s heart? Lucky bastard.”

Michelle gave her husky, fucking sexy laugh and now all the men at the bar turned to look at them, as entranced with her as he was. “Actually, I’m the lucky one.”

Pride swelled Wyatt’s chest and he grinned down at her. “Damn straight.”

She elbowed him in the ribs, then took a seat at the bar. “Thanks again for inviting us, Lilly.”

“You’re most welcome. I have to tell ya, Tuba and Mud have been pining for you. That towel that you gave me with your scent on it? The dogs have been fighting over who gets to sleep with it. They finally tore it in half and both carry their scrap around with them, afraid the other one is going to steal it.”

Pleasure suffused Michelle’s face and Wyatt couldn’t resist stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her. “I know how they feel.”

A man’s voice came from behind them. “Wyatt? Wyatt Callahan?”

He tensed, then turned to find his old buddy, Clive Mercer approaching them from the pool table area. He’d put on about twenty pounds since Wyatt had last seen him in Afghanistan around four years before, but Clive looked good. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt the balding man clasped Wyatt in a hug.

He thumped his friend's back as he returned Clive’s embrace. “Mercer, you old devil dog. How are you?”

Clive pounded him on the back in return in that guy version of a hug then pulled away. “Doing good, man. I got married after I got out and have a two-year-old son.” He gave Michelle a smile. “Who’s the pretty little woman with you?”

Michelle arched a brow in that imperious, aristocratic way she had. “Lieutenant Michelle Sapphire. Nice to meet you, Clive.”