This Time (7 page)

Tara looked at him on the screen, the memory of how different he’d been around his friends flitting through her mind. “You weren’t a good man around your friends. You were a good man when you were with me.”

Michael frowned at her, his lips pursed. He gave a frustrated growl and ground out from between clenched teeth, “A good man is a good man all the time. He doesn’t change because of his friends. He doesn’t hurt the woman he loves and deny his child because he thinks his friends will judge him. A good man would have told them where to go and what to do when they got there. I wasn’t a good man, Tara. But I want to be. I’m trying to be. I’ve been trying for five years since Lieutenant Paulson found me and knocked some sense into me. I know I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever getting you back. But I want to at least try to be a good father to Madelynn if I can’t be a good man to you.”

Tara laughed shakily. She was stuck on that “woman he loves” comment. “Wow. What if I told you that you had just a tiny bit more than a snowball’s chance in hell? More like a snowball’s chance in, say, Phoenix?” Still not a good chance, but…
the woman he loves?

Michael froze and blinked rapidly at her. “Are you saying that, or are you just curious?”

Tara looked down, thoughtful. “I don’t know. I do know that since you, well, no other man has quite made the cut. But then again, it’s hard to date with a kid. Men tend to look the other way and, honestly, that’s fine with me. I don’t know if we should even consider getting involved again. I don’t want to make things any worse, but is that even possible?” She hiccupped.

“I think if you gave us a chance,” he swallowed hesitantly, "I think we might be able to make a go of it. Do you think that’s a possibility?” He waited, watching her.

Tara looked away, unable to meet his gaze even on a computer screen. “I don’t know, Michael.” She leaned forward and put her head on the desk and then jerked up quickly. “I’m falling asleep here,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m still attracted to you, and talking to you yesterday and then thinking all day kind of brought it all back. You hurt me so much, and I think you might just be interested because you don’t think anyone else will want you because of your leg. I mean, women like me don’t get men like you. It just doesn’t happen.”

Michael frowned. “What do you mean when you say women like you and men like me?”

Tara sighed.
Stupid man.
“Do I have to spell it out for you? Fat women with hot men. Doesn’t happen.”

“Tara, you are not fat. On your absolute heaviest day, you’re maybe 155 soaking wet. I was an ass for saying that, and my so-called friends were ignorant little punks. I can’t stand women that think a three digit weight is a death sentence.” He frowned for a moment and then grinned and said, “Hey, you think I’m hot? Because I thought you had a killer body then, and I haven’t changed that opinion. Not to mention you look like a young Audrey Hepburn.”

Tara perked up. “You think I look like Audrey Hepburn?” Her mother had always told her that, but Tara had simply brushed it off as motherly love.

“No, I think you look better than Audrey Hepburn. Definitely better. Especially since I’ve never seen Audrey Hepburn naked. Or in my shirts. How are they, by the way?”

Tara blushed, remembering the purging ceremony she’d had with Rebecca. “Sadly, they are ashes. After you were so mean to me that night, I had a pity party and set fire to everything I had that was yours and everything that reminded me of you.”

Michael stared at her in disbelief. “You burned my OktoberFest shirt? I got that in Germany!”

She grimaced. “Yeah. And your batman boxers. Sorry. In my defense, you really deserved it.” Tara blinked at the computer, wondering why Michael looked so fuzzy. Her jaw cracked in a yawn, and she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to stay awake.

“I’m really sorry about those, and I promise we’ll talk about them later, but right now, I have to go to bed. I had too much to drink, and I need to go to sleep.” Tara yawned again, but it was interrupted by another hiccup.

“All right. But we
are
going to talk about that. And about everything else. Don’t think you can get away with telling me some of this just because you were drinking tonight.”

“Okey-dokey. Night Michael.”

“Night Tara.”

* * * *

Mike waited for Tara to end the session and closed his laptop. He slid the rolling table to the side and lowered the head of his bed so that he was lying down.

She was going to give him a chance.

Mike hadn’t even realized how badly he wanted it until she’d dangled it in front of him like steak to a starving man. He settled in the bed and linked his hands behind his head, joy filling his body. He was going to get another chance—maybe—and that was worth making it through another day.

He blinked sleepily and smiled as he drifted off to sleep. For the first night in a long time, he didn’t dream about the IED. Instead, he dreamed about Tara and the first time they’d made love. It felt real, every touch and kiss tingling. Her scent, taste, and the feel of her surrounding him were exactly as he remembered but more potent since he was experiencing them again.

Mike woke up just before he came, hard as a rock and shuddering with desire. Jesus, that had been hot. He remembered that night all too well. He’d taken Tara to dinner and for a walk on the beach and then back to his barracks room. It had been the first time they’d made love, and the first time Mike had realized he was falling in love with Tara. They’d spent the entire night in their own world, too wrapped up in each other to even consider the fact that Mike’s neighbors probably couldn’t sleep over all the noise. He glanced down at himself. The blankets were tented over his erection.

Not gonna be able to sleep with that.

Reaching under the sheets, he let his mind wander back to the memory, picking up where the dream had left off.

* * * *

Chris watched Callie and Rebecca stumble from a cab and fling a handful of cash through the window. He shook his head in pity for the driver. Callie and Rebecca were oblivious, their arms around each other for support. Their laughter was loud and so happy that Chris struggled to maintain his stern visage.

The two women blended their voices in a classic drinking song as they walked toward the door. “How dry I am! Hiccup!” They sang the same line repeatedly, faking their hiccups until Rebecca stopped and slurred, “Hey, that’s the only line I know.”

Callie actually hiccupped and looked around thoughtfully. “What about this one?” She grinned and her entire face lit up.

“You take the high road—” Rebecca joined Callie’s raucous singing at this point, “—and I’ll take the low road, and I’ll get to Scotland afore ye…”

Their fake Scottish accents made Chris cringe; as they approached the door, he swung it wide to allow Callie to enter. Callie placed a wet kiss in the center of his chest as she walked by and then continued inside, dragging her hand along the wall for balance. He watched her until she collapsed on the sofa and turned to Rebecca.

“I’ll walk you to your door, drunkard.”

“Hey!” Rebecca punched him playfully on the arm. “I am not a drunkard.” She frowned and leaned against him. Chris took her arm as they walked across the lawn, trying to keep her upright. “Well, maybe I am tonight.”

Chris rolled his eyes and steadied Rebecca as she dug through her purse for keys. “Need some help there, Red?”

Rebecca made a face as she pulled her keys out. “Ugh, don’t call me ‘Red’. I believe I’ve asked you that before.”

“Yep, you sure have.” Chris grinned at her and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, “But you’re not going to remember this tomorrow, so I’m going to take advantage of it.”

Rebecca shoved Chris away and sneered at him. Chris didn’t take offense. He and Rebecca had a back and forth insult game going on that neither of them was serious about. It was all in good fun.

“Are you also going to take advantage of my drunken friend?” Rebecca opened her door and slipped inside before turning to look at him.

Chris grinned at her again. “You bet your ass I am.” No way was he going to pass up a drunk, inhibition-free romp with Callie. Hell no.

Rebecca gave a short bark of laughter and slammed the door in his face. “Get to it then!” Her voice was muffled through the door, and Chris shook his head with a laugh before turning back toward Callie’s side of the duplex.

When Chris got back inside, Callie was sitting on the couch, frowning down at her feet.

“I kind of like whore-red,” she murmured.

Whore red? Chris lifted an eyebrow and looked at her feet. Oh, red toenail polish. Before Callie even acknowledged his presence, Chris scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

Callie laughed and gave him a seductive little smile that made his cock twitch in his pajama pants. “My hero,” she crooned, running her fingertips across his chest.

Chris used his foot to push open the bedroom door and tossed Callie on the bed. She landed with a laugh and immediately rose to her knees and began stripping.

“That’s right, baby. Show me those tits.” Chris shoved the pajama pants down, kicked them off, and climbed onto the bed. He groaned when Callie swung her bra in a circle over her head, her heavy breasts swaying and bouncing.
Jesus.

“Oh! Wait!” Callie stopped swinging the bra when Chris jerked her against him. He groaned. She’d stopped him an instant before it was too late. He muffled a curse against her neck.

“What is it, baby?” Chris honestly didn’t care, but Callie obviously did, so he waited, his hands clenched on her ass, for her to tell him whatever it was that was on her mind.

“You know Chief Davis, right? The guy that lost his leg?”

Davis? What the fuck?
Chris pulled away and looked down at Callie. “Yeah,” he drawled, confused.

“He’s got a five-year-old kid!” Callie smiled up at him proudly, and Chris froze.

“Chief Davis? Mike Davis? He’s got a kid?” Chris tried to tamp down irritation over the fact that Davis’ love life was fucking with his own.

“Yup. Left Tara high and dry when she told him she was preggers.”

Preggers? What the fuck was preggers? Oh, pregnant. “Whoa, wait a minute.” Chris pulled away from Callie, a little pissed off that he wasn’t already balls deep, and it was Davis’ fucking fault. “Are you telling me that Chief Davis got a girl pregnant and
left
her? Knowing she was pregnant?”

Callie nodded drunkenly and struggled to stay upright. “Yup-yup. Her name’s Tara. She teaches pre-k at…uh, I don’t know which pre-k she teaches at. Butler? Polk?” Callie trailed off, and Chris waved a hand to stop her.

“It doesn’t matter where she teaches.”

“I guess not.” Callie frowned. “But I wish I could remember. Maybe it was Franklin.”

“It’s okay, Callie. Don’t worry about where the woman teaches. Are you absolutely
certain
it’s Chief Davis’ kid?”

Callie nodded vigorously, lost her balance, and sat down. “Oh yeah. I saw a picture! She looks just like him. The little girl. Not Tara. ’Cause that would be creepy, right? Looking just like your baby’s daddy.” Callie covered her mouth and giggled. “Baby’s daddy.”

Chris fought a smile at Callie’s drunken antics before he turned away and sat down, scrubbing a hand down his face.
Fuck. Now I’ve got to fucking do something about it.
He turned back to Callie when he heard a thump and blinked several times. She was lying across the bed, her eyes closed. He growled in frustration when she let out a loud snore.
Yep, I’m gonna beat his one-legged ass.

Chris moved Callie gently to her side of the bed, slid in, and pulled up the blankets. He tugged her against him, wrapped one arm around her waist, and slipped the other one beneath her head. Now he was going to have to sleep with a case of goddamn blue balls.

Chapter 6

Tara woke up, memories of the night before coming to her slowly. She stretched and yawned, and thought idly that a glass of water sounded better than all the gold in the amazon. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The house phone rang loudly from the living room. So that was what woke her up. Glancing at the clock, Tara got up and padded into the living room to answer the phone. It could be almost anyone calling since it was ten thirty. She didn’t sleep in often, so on her one weekend a month without Maddie, she took advantage of the quiet and slept as late as her body wanted to.

“Hello,” she answered, her voice groggy and low.

“Good morning.” A rough, masculine voice replied from the other end of the phone.

Michael.

“Uh, hi, Michael.”

“You recognize my voice without having to see me!” Surprise and pleasure were clear in his tone. “I just wanted to call and make sure you weren’t going to renege on our conversation from last night.”

Their conversation? For a few seconds, Tara remained silent, confused. Then she remembered.
Shit.
She’d practically told him she wanted to try again. “Michael, I…”

“Because they might discharge me sometime this week, and I’d like to come see you. You’re not backing out, are you?”

“Michael, I had a lot to drink last night. I shouldn’t even have talked to you, much less made promises.” She rubbed her forehead, sure that the slight hangover she had might not give her a headache, but this conversation probably would.

Michael was silent on the other end for several heartbeats. “Tara,” his voice caressed her name, “alcohol is called truth serum for a reason.”

She remained quiet, thoughtful.

“Can I at least come by when they turn me loose? I don’t know when it’ll be. Hell, I don’t even know if they’ll let me leave. My physical therapist started my discharge paperwork this morning, but I still have to get a release from the psychiatrist.” He spoke hesitantly, softly. “I’d like to meet Madelynn and see you.”

“Of course you can come by. Just…” Tara hesitated. “Just let me know, okay? I’ve never brought a man around Madelynn before, and she won’t know what to think.”