Uncle Sarge
Uncle Sarge
Bonnie Gardner
Kids aren't my specialty.U.S. Air Force Combat Controller Rich Larsen could parachute into danger in a moment's notice. But being besieged by his convalescing sister's two demanding children was an entirely different matter. Well, desperate means called for extreme measures. So the overwhelmed Uncle Sarge sent out an SOS to the pretty lady who had reunited him with his family.Before long, Jennifer Bishop worked a miracle on Rich's adorable wards–and on his heart. So much so that the rootless loner could almost picture them having a family of their own someday. Trouble was, a love-wary Jennifer had sworn off military men. Good thing Rich never backed away from a challenge!
Jennifer had been totally unprepared for the sight in front of her: Rich Larsen, bare-chested, wearing camouflage pants and holding a baby
Her breath caught in her throat. The vision was so sweet she almost wanted to weep. That innocent little boy with a halo of red peach fuzz snuggled against that hard, wide chest. The baby’s eyes were half-closed and he sucked on one finger.
This was, by far, one of the most tantalizing sexy sights she could ever have imagined. Jennifer swallowed, moistened her lips and swallowed again. What was wrong with her? How could she be lusting after the man as if he were a hunk-of-the-month calendar?
She just didn’t do stuff like that.
Then again, there was a first time for everything.
Dear Reader,
May is “Get Caught Reading” month, and there’s no better way for Harlequin American Romance to show our support of literacy than by offering you an exhilarating month of must-read romances.
Tina Leonard delivers the next installment of the exciting Harlequin American Romance in-line continuity series TEXAS SHEIKHS with His Arranged Marriage. A handsome playboy poses as his identical twin and mistakenly exchanges “I do’s” with a bewitching princess bride.
A beautiful rancher’s search for a hired hand leads to more than she bargained for when she finds a baby on her doorstep and a Cowboy with a Secret, the newest title from Pamela Browning. 2001 WAYS TO WED concludes with Kiss a Handsome Stranger by Jacqueline Diamond. Daisy Redford’s biological clock had been ticking…until a night of passion with her best friend’s brother left her with a baby on the way! And in Uncle Sarge, a military man does diaper duty…and learns about fatherhood, family and forever-after love. Don’t miss this heartwarming romance by Bonnie Gardner.
It’s a terrific month for Harlequin American Romance, and we hope you’ll “get caught reading” one of our great books.
Wishing you happy reading,
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin American Romance
Uncle Sarge
Bonnie Gardner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
As always, to “Mud.”
To the best critique group ever: Lyn, Pat,
Kathy, Dianne, Debby and Ellen.
To Sue and Donna. You know why.
To all the air force combat controllers I have known and loved and sometimes hated. And to all the women who love them in spite of it all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bonnie Gardner has finally figured out what she wants to do when she grows up. After a varied career that included such jobs as switchboard operator, draftsman and exercise instructor, she went back to college and became an English teacher. As a teacher, she took a course on how to teach writing to high school students and caught the bug herself.
She lives in northern Alabama with her husband of over thirty years, her own military hero. After following him around from air force base to air force base, she has finally gotten to settle down. They have two grown sons, one of which is now serving in the air force. She loves to read, cook, garden and, of course, write.
She would love to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 442, Meridianville, AL 35759.
Books by Bonnie Gardner
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
876—UNCLE SARGE
Contents
Chapter One (#uecc153a3-3376-54b1-ac18-b3a06ec4f881)
Chapter Two (#u38bc6286-1322-5d54-9fb4-55f10e9ae25e)
Chapter Three (#ue3afc274-010f-5e6e-adde-93152ceeafd1)
Chapter Four (#uf6545860-b996-5ea5-97d4-a0585a7a13e7)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Looking at the grimy storefront window of the Checkmate Detective Agency in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, Rich Larsen shivered in spite of the humid, ninety-degree August heat. He wondered if he should have called first, but shook that idea away.
He was a technical sergeant in the United States Air Force and a member of the Special Tactics Wing, Silver Team, one of the air force’s most elite units. He could deal with a private detective on a side street in a military town. He drew in a deep breath and pushed open the glass door.
A rush of blessedly cold air hit him as he stepped inside and looked around. The office could have passed for something out of Mickey Spillane except for a profusion of houseplants cluttering every surface. The anteroom appeared to be empty, but the door to the rear was open.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” a decidedly feminine voice said from somewhere. The floor?
“Okay, fine,” Rich said, for lack of anything else, as a woman with long, dark brown hair peeked up from behind the reception desk.
This must be the secretary, he presumed, and as the woman rose, Rich decided that she definitely did not look like someone out of Mickey Spillane. Her face was perfectly ordinary, like the girl next door. Her shape was anything but, in spite of the fact that she hid it behind a demure, cotton dress.
“May I help you?” she asked as she smoothed out the dress that did nothing to disguise curves that would make a showgirl proud.
“I’m looking for a woman,” Rich said.
“This is a detective agency, not an escort service,” the receptionist replied primly, and Rich amended his original description. She looked like a Sunday school teacher.
Rich blew out an impatient breath. “My sister. I’m looking for my sister,” he clarified. “Look, if you’ll just let me speak to the detective, I’ll explain what I want, and be out of your way.” He wasn’t sure what she’d been doing on the floor, but she was obviously annoyed at being interrupted and was taking it out on him.
“Mr. King’s out. Go on in the office and wait.”
Shrugging, Rich complied. There had been other detective agencies listed in the phone book, but this one had the smallest ad. He figured it meant that they were either really good, or really cheap. Considering a tech sergeant’s pay scale, even with jump pay and his other hazard bonuses, he hoped they were both. And when he’d asked around, he’d learned it was run by a former member of his unit who was now retired. Any time he could give a former combat controller his business, he tried to do it.
JENNIFER BISHOP sank back to the floor and fanned her face with her hands. That hunk of man was hot enough to melt the iceberg that had sunk the Titanic. He had to be six-foot-six if he was an inch, and his broad chest stretched the knit fabric of his navy Polo shirt. His shoulders were so wide that he surely must have had to turn sideways to come through the door.
No, she told herself. She was here to work, not drool over a man. Even if he did look like someone off of…what? The cover of a romance novel? She’d just come out of a relationship that ought to have put her off men forever. So, why was she getting hot flashes over this stranger?
She brushed the rest of the potting soil she’d spilled into a pile, reached for her minivac and vacuumed it up. Maybe it didn’t fit the normal image of a private detective’s office to be cluttered with houseplants, but then she wasn’t a normal private detective. And she always whiled away slow periods by tending her plants.
Jennifer dusted her hands off and put the vacuum away. Then she drew a couple of deep breaths for good measure. Al King, her boss, was on vacation, and she was holding down the fort. Al had a military retirement to augment his income, but hers depended on whatever work they could get. With Al gone, she hoped to drum up a client or two of her own.
She took another deep breath, pasted an efficient look on her face and stepped into the office she shared with Al.
The guy hadn’t gotten any smaller in the ninety seconds since she’d last seen him. He seemed to fill the room, and she wondered if the spindly, ladder-back chair that looked almost comical under his huge body would continue to hold him up. A vision of the chair shattering and dumping him to the floor flitted through her mind and pushed away some of her nervousness.
“Thank you for waiting,” she said as she seated herself at Al’s desk across from the Adonis. No, Adonis did not fit this incredible hulk. He looked more like a man from the fjords of Scandinavia than the isles of Greece. There was a lean hardness to his face, but with ice blue eyes, a golden tan and sun-bleached hair, he needed only a name like Olaf Olsen to finish the picture.
“You? You’re the detective?” The man sat up straighter, inhaled and seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room.
“I’m one of them,” she said, fudging the facts only a tiny bit. “Jennifer Bishop. As I said before, Al King is out.” She didn’t add that he’d be gone for the rest of the month on a fishing expedition to Alaska to escape the heat and humidity of August in Florida.
“Oh. I get it. Bishop and King. Checkmate.”
Score one for him. Not many people took the two names and made the chess connection. She didn’t tell him that Al had bought the business from a guy who did surveillance in divorce cases. Considering the way the name worked to his advantage, Al had kept it. “Yes,” she said. “And you are…?”
The man offered his hand. “Rich Larsen.”
So, she wasn’t so far off with the Olsen thing. Then he closed his huge hand over hers, and her brain ceased to function.
He held her hand in his firm grip long enough for Jennifer to feel light-headed and to be certain his fingerprints were branded permanently on her hand. She drew in a sharp breath and let go.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Larsen,” she said when her breath returned. “Now, how can we help you?” Jennifer could see that he had doubts about her, and she really couldn’t blame him.
After all, until a few months ago, she’d merely been the receptionist helping with the computer research. But, she’d studied, taken the exam, and she was now a licensed investigator. Funny, she didn’t feel any different.
“I’m trying to find my sister,” he said again.
“And how did you lose her?” Maybe she was being flippant, but she had to lighten it up. Jennifer couldn’t see how a brawny guy like him could lose track of anything. He looked too together, too…male. She shook that notion away.
His blue eyes clouded. “We were in foster care. When I turned eighteen, I left to join the air force. She still had to finish high school. We kept in touch for a year or two, but when I got stationed overseas she wanted to go with me. Nothing I could say would convince her that a two-stripe airman was not authorized to take dependents. She thought I didn’t want her. I wrote to her, tried to explain, but she didn’t write back, and finally my letters started coming back marked, ‘Moved—no forwarding address.’” He drew in a deep breath.
“I called and found out that the number for the foster family we’d lived with had been changed, and I knew I’d pretty much reached a dead end. By that time, Sherry was old enough to have graduated. I guess she got a job and started taking care of herself, but I haven’t heard from her since. That was seven years ago.”
He’d made other attempts to locate her through the years, but he’d never had the time or the resources to do it right. This time he was serious.
“Why look now?”
He had expected that question, and it was easy enough to answer. “This is the first time I’ve been close enough to do anything about it. And the first time in a long time that my life has slowed down enough to follow through.”
With special tactics training and assignments in both Bosnia and Kosovo, he’d just not had the time to do it. But after he’d attended the funeral for Dave Krukshank, who had been killed in that training accident, Rich had begun to see how empty his life had been. And he’d begun to think about his own mortality. If he died, who would mourn for him?
He didn’t think he’d ever have a family of his own, but maybe Sherry would. Rich looked too much like his abusive father, and he didn’t want to put any other children through what he’d been through as a child. He was big, he was strong, he was well trained. He could use what he had to save the world. But, he didn’t dare dream about a family of his own.
Rich had hopes that world events would not intrude for a while, or at least that he wouldn’t be required to participate in them. He’d been on the fast track far too long. He needed time to breathe.
“You’re from Fort Walton Beach, then?” She started to write on a yellow pad.
“No, Val-P,” he said, referring to Valparaiso, a town just to the east of sprawling Eglin Air Force Base—the huge military installation that dwarfed Hurlburt, where he was assigned.
Jennifer looked up from the pad. “I sure don’t want to send away a paying customer, but have you tried to find her yourself? Surely, you have friends in common. Other relatives?”
Rich shook his head. “Sherry’s my only family. I tried looking myself, but nothing panned out. Called the high school. Looked in the phone book. Directory assistance. Everything I could think of. Even found a listing for the Parkers, our foster family. They haven’t heard from her in years.” He blew out a long, tired breath. “I came up with zip. That’s why I’m here. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still in the area.”
He slumped back into the uncomfortable, straight-backed chair, and it creaked with the added weight.
Jennifer smiled. “It sounds like you’ve made a good start, but there are still some avenues I can try.”
He sat up straighter. “Like what?”
“Mostly computer stuff. You’d be surprised what you can find online if you know where to look. If you can give me some basic information about your sister, I should be able to track her down.”
She asked several questions, jotted down the answers, took his address and phone number, then put down her pen. “I’ll start working on this right away, Mr. Larsen.”
“Tech Sergeant,” he corrected, then smiled. “Rich.” He started to offer his hand again, then remembered the jolt he’d gotten the last time. He stuck it in his pocket, instead. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
He got up and headed for the door. Turning and looking back over his shoulder, he smiled. She didn’t look like much of a detective, but maybe she could do the computer search thing. Besides, she did have an ex-combat controller for a partner. “Thanks. I hope you’ll have something for me soon.”
JENNIFER couldn’t believe her first case had been as easy as this. She’d spent an afternoon on the computer, searching through data bases, and had come up with the information Rich—Tech Sergeant Larsen, she reminded herself—wanted. She wavered between waiting a little longer to make it look as though she’d worked harder, or calling him right away.
She called.
She wouldn’t have charged him for the extra time anyway, but she knew how much he’d wanted to find his sister. He hadn’t said so, but she’d seen the wistful look in his blue eyes when he’d spoken about her.
Of course, she’d gotten his machine.
So, now she was whiling away her time working on her plants. If only another customer would walk in off the street. Just not one as potent as TSgt. Larsen. And, maybe with a slightly more challenging request.
She puttered in her indoor garden, losing herself in Zen-like meditation. Working with the plants soothed her. When life with her ex had been at its rockiest, her plants had been her salvation. She smiled as she loosened the soil around a split-leafed Philodendron she’d nursed back from near death.
The phone rang.
Jennifer jerked out of her trance-like state and dropped the cultivator on her foot. That brought her back to her senses, and she limped to the phone. “Yes? I mean, Checkmate Detective Agency,” she said sharply as she sat down and massaged the red mark.
It was Rich Larsen returning her call.
“I’ve found an address for your sister,” she said, ready to provide the details.
To her surprise, Rich uttered a too-familiar exclamation. “Hoo-ah!” Then he hung up.
Stunned by what that single two-syllable word, the all-purpose cry of exclamation that combat controllers used, meant, Jennifer stood, holding the receiver until the phone company off-the-hook signal chimed in.
Her ex-husband was a combat controller. Was Rich Larsen one of them?
RICH MADE the ten-minute drive from his apartment just outside Hurlburt AFB in five. Good thing the afternoon rush wasn’t yet in full swing. He hadn’t bothered to change from his camouflage battle dress uniform; he’d just rushed out. He wasn’t supposed to be wearing BDUs on the street, but he didn’t give a damn about the regulations. This was too important.
He was pulling into a parking spot across from the agency when he realized that Ms. Bishop could have told him over the phone. He shrugged. He was here now.
He grabbed his scarlet beret, jammed it on his head, then locked the truck. He had to know what Ms. Bishop had uncovered. God, he hadn’t even thought to ask whether it was good news or bad.
Preparing for the worst, but hoping for the best, he shouldered open the door.
Ms. Bishop was waiting at the desk. Today she had her hair pulled back from the sides and anchored at the nape of her neck with a large barrette. She had on another flowered dress, and until she stood, she again looked like a member of the church choir.
The dress did nothing to disguise the sinful curves below that angelic face, however, and when she rose to greet him, he drew in a short breath. He said nothing, just waited for the blood to rush back to his brain.
“I’ve typed everything up for you,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper. “She’s married now….” Ms. Bishop glanced down at her notes. “To Michael Connolly. They live in Pensacola. Here’s the phone number,” she said, tapping the spot on the sheet.
Rich took the paper from her and held it gingerly as if it were a live grenade. He looked down at the information, neatly typed, and wondered at the ordinariness of it. A name, a social security number, an address and phone number. Name, rank and serial number. Everything you needed to prove you were real.
Was it real? Had Ms. Bishop really located his sister so quickly? He looked up from the paper, and he swallowed. “Did you call?” Why was his voice so thick and husky?
She smiled. “I thought you’d like to do that yourself.” She gestured toward the phone. “Be my guest.”
Rich wondered if he ought to do this here. Would he be better off calling from the privacy of his own phone? But Ms. Bishop had been a part of it this far, she might as well be there for the grand finale. He reached for the phone, his hands remarkably unsteady, and dialed.
His breath caught as the number connected. Ms. Bishop smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign. One ring. What if she wasn’t home? Two rings. He held his breath. Then the unmistakable sound of a phone company recording dashed his hopes of speaking to Sherry today. Out of service.
He closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “The phone’s disconnected. Now what?” he said as he returned the receiver to its cradle.
Jennifer’s smile faltered. Why hadn’t she thought to try the number first? “Are you sure it’s disconnected?” She reached for the phone Sergeant Larsen had just put down, pushed the Redial button and waited. She pasted a smile back on her face as she listened. “It said, ‘out of service,’ not disconnected. It could be out of order or they were late paying their bill for this month. They’re probably still there.” She met his eyes. “You could go. Knock on the door.” As soon as she said it, Jennifer knew it was a big mistake.
He grabbed her arm, and the touch of his large, strong hand set her heart fluttering like a butterfly in a glass jar. “Go with me. I’ve changed a lot since I last saw my sister. She might not recognize me.”
He paused and dragged in a ragged breath. “I’m a big guy. It might frighten her to have somebody like me show up on her doorstep. If Sherry sees someone like you with me, she might be more willing to let me in. Besides, I’m not familiar with Pensacola, I might never find the place.”
As Jennifer considered the foolhardiness of going off on this expedition, he threw in the final piece of bait. “I’ll spring for burgers on the way and you can navigate.”
Burgers from a fast-food place sounded a lot better than the tuna casserole she had planned. Jennifer glanced at the clock. Almost quitting time. “I—I guess so,” she heard herself saying. “Just let me lock up.”
“Hoo-ah. It’s a date,” he said, his face regaining the animation he’d lost when he’d heard that tone.
“No,” she corrected. “Not a date. This is business.” Then she glanced at the way the fabric of his drab olive T-shirt stretched across that broad chest. She knew all about the kind of man who wore those scarlet berets and shouted hoo-ah. She’d been married to one. Duke had been the best at everything except commitment. She figured they were all the same. At least, until they’d gotten old enough to settle down as Al had. It must have something to do with the training.
No, she had a feeling that this story was going to wind up with a happy ending, and maybe it was foolish of her, but she wanted to see it through. Typing bits of information into a computer and waiting for it to regurgitate the answers was a living, but she longed to see the human side of her job. She wanted to see the results of her efforts.
This is business, she reminded herself. So why was she thinking about anything else?
“I FIGURE once I’ve eaten with a person, they have the right to use my first name. That okay with you, Ms. Bishop?” Rich glanced sidewards and chuckled at the flustered look on her face. “You can call me Rich. Tech Sergeant Larsen’s a little long, wouldn’t you say?”
“I—ah—er—yes. Sure.” She paused. “And you may call me Jennifer.” Then she added, “Rich.”
“Jennifer. It’s a pretty name. It suits you.”
She smiled and blushed. “I hope not. I always felt it was such an ordinary name. After all, every other girl in my class all through school was a Jennifer. I’d rather be a Rosemund or a Victoria. At least there aren’t fifty of them lurking around every corner.” Her smile quirked to the right.
“At least everybody knows how to spell it,” Rich said. “What if you really did have one of those unusual names that nobody knew. That could be a problem,” Rich said as she looked everywhere but at him.
“Yeah,” Jennifer murmured.
The litter from the take-out meal scattered in her lap seemed to be more important to Jennifer than continuing the conversation. Rich shrugged. After tonight, it wasn’t likely they’d see each other again. He shouldn’t be getting his feelings hurt because a woman—an ordinary-looking one, at that—didn’t want to make conversation with him.
Once they found Sherry’s house, Rich reasoned, and he’d assured himself that his sister was alive and well and living in Pensacola, he’d take Jennifer home, and he’d never see her again.
They rode on in awkward silence until they reached the bridge that crossed Pensacola Bay and led into the city. “I guess we should pick up a map.” Rich pulled into a service station. “I need to gas up anyway.”
“Good idea,” Jennifer said. “I’ll see if they have one while you pump.”
Jennifer reappeared before he had filled the tank. She unfolded the map and pored over it while he settled the bill.
“Ah, here it is. Smith Street,” she said as Rich started the engine. “It’s on the other side of town.” She directed him to the main artery and settled back against the seat.
Rich drew in a breath and steered the truck toward the northwest side of town.
Jennifer knew she should be breaking his tension by talking, but darn it, sitting this close to him, she could barely think. She’d thought he’d made her office feel small, but in the confines of his small pickup truck, separated only by the space between bucket seats, it was all she could do to breathe.
She would be so glad when they were done with this.
Jennifer glanced at his strong profile and his lean jaw starting to bristle with golden five o’clock shadow and wondered if she might just explore…No, she told herself, it was too soon. Besides, she knew about his kind of man. Those special tactics combat control operators were love ’em and leave ’em all the way. She’d already been left once. And once was more than enough.
She busied herself reading the map and watching the landmarks fly by. Finally, they pulled off the main road and into a neighborhood.
Only a few more blocks and Rich would reach his sister’s address. Only a few more blocks and he’d be reunited with the only relative he had. She smiled at that.
Most of Checkmate’s work was doing background checks for Okaloosa County businesses. She seldom saw the people she researched. She seldom reached out and touched the people whose lives she explored. It would be wonderful to experience something good and positive.
“Shouldn’t we be turning now?”
Jennifer snapped out of her thoughts and ran a finger along the course she’d marked. “About two blocks. Then turn left.”
The neighborhood was a relatively new one comprised of small houses, with small mortgages, for couples just starting out. Most of the yards were well tended, and most had one car in the carport and one in the drive. She and Duke had once lived in a neighborhood like this together. She sighed. Now, she lived there alone.
Finally, they came to the street. “Right turn,” Jennifer said with less than full confidence.
Rich turned, and Jennifer began scanning for house numbers. “I think we’re headed in the right direction,” she said. “It should be right around this curve.”
It was.
Rich pulled up to the curb and parked. He exhaled slowly as he assessed the appearance of the small, yellow bungalow. Sherry had always loved the color yellow, but she never would have let the lawn go so long without mowing.
He knew that from the way she’d loved to do the yard work when they were in foster care together. She’d always said she wanted to have a little yellow house with a white picket fence and lots of yard to putter in. There was no fence, but two out of three was pretty good.
The lawn looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in several weeks, and children’s toys were scattered throughout the tall grass. There was a very old minivan in the carport, but the second car, if there was one, was gone. A pile of newspapers filled the seat of a lawn chair on the tiny front porch. Though it was too early in the evening for lights to be on, the house looked dark and forlorn.
“Do you suppose they’ve gone on vacation?” Jennifer echoed exactly what Rich had been thinking.
He nodded. “You’d think they’d’ve canceled the paper, though.”
“Let me check the mailbox,” Jennifer said, pushing open the door. She came back in a minute. “Nothing there. Maybe, one of the neighbors is picking up their mail. But, if they were going on a trip, wouldn’t they put away their kids’ toys first?” she mused.
“Beats me,” Rich said. “Now what?”
“We talk to the neighbors. We’ve come this far, we might as well see what they know.”
The house to the right was as dark as Sherry’s with no cars filling the carport or the drive. But the one on the other side seemed cheery and open, and cooking smells wafted from that direction. “Guess we start with that one.”
Rich drew a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Here goes nothing.” He rang the doorbell.
A plump, middle-aged lady appeared, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “May I help you?” Her expression was pleasant, but cautious, as she pushed open the storm door a crack.
Rich cleared his throat, struggling to dislodge the industrial-size lump, as Jennifer stepped forward and smiled reassuringly.
“My name is Rich Larsen. I’m looking for my sister, Sherry. I haven’t seen her in several years, but I think she lives next door.”
“Oh, Mr. Larsen. It’s so good that you’ve come,” the lady dithered. “I’m just so sorry you couldn’t have come sooner.” She pushed her screen door open and beckoned them in. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have come before…” Her voice trailed off, then she sighed. “It’s so sad.”
Chapter Two
She might as well have walloped him with a rifle butt. Rich staggered backward. Before what? No, he couldn’t have finally found her only to have…
Jennifer took charge. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. What’s happened?”
“You mean you don’t know?” The woman paled. “I am so sorry. I could have softened the blow some.”
“What blow? Please. Tell me what’s happened to my sister.”
“It was terrible, just terrible,” the lady said, wringing her hands. “They had gone out to celebrate their anniversary. Five years, I think it was. They didn’t go out much. They were just starting out and their budget was stretched to the limit. I used to sit with the little ones so they could take in a bargain matinee from time to time.”
“Please, Ma’am. My sister?” Rich didn’t like the way she kept referring to the past.
“It was a terrible accident. It was raining really hard and they skidded right into oncoming traffic. Mike was killed. Sherry’s in the hospital. Broke her neck. They tell me it’s going to be a long road before she’s back on her feet.”
Jennifer squeezed his hand, then released it. “Thank you, Mrs…. Can you tell us which hospital?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m June Benton. She’s in Baptist Hospital. I think she’s supposed to be transferred to a rehab facility soon.” She wiped her hands on the dishtowel she was still holding. “Sherry often spoke of her big brother. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you visit. It’ll help having family around at a time like this.”
Rich had heard everything, but he wasn’t sure he’d absorbed the content of what Mrs. Benton had said. He had still been thinking of the fifteen-year-old he’d last seen, and in one afternoon he’d learned she’d married, borne children and been widowed. Not to mention the injury from the accident. This was not the happy reunion he’d hoped for.
“Thank you, Mrs. Benton. We’re sorry to have bothered you.” Jennifer turned to Rich. “Come on, we’ll go to the hospital. At least, you can see her.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They started for the door, then Jennifer turned back. “Do you know what’s happened to the children?”
Kids. He hadn’t even thought about that. Sherry had kids. Who was taking care of them?
“Sherry’s friend, Rebecca, took them home with her.” Mrs. Benton looked inside. “I have a phone number for her somewhere.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Benton. We have to hurry to reach the hospital before visiting hours are over. I can get that number later.” Jennifer was certain Rich would want to know once the shock wore off, but right now, it was better to let him see Sherry than find the location of the children he didn’t know. She took a business card from her purse and handed it to Mrs. Benton. “When you find it, call me. You can leave a message on my voice mail if I’m not there.”
Mrs. Benton took the card and studied it, then nodded.
“Thank you, again, for being so helpful.”
Rich had begun to show the classic signs of shock, so Jennifer took him by the arm and urged him through the door.
She steered him toward the passenger side of the truck and waited for him to protest, but Rich barely murmured a word as she climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to accommodate her smaller frame. “I need the key.”
Rich dug it out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“There’s some cola left in the cup holder. I think if you drink some, you’ll feel better.” She wasn’t sure it would help, but Rich needed to do something, or when they did reach the hospital, they’d be visiting the emergency room and not his sister.
He did as she suggested. Jennifer checked the map for the location of the hospital, then turned the key.
Rich just stared out the window.
He’d probably been assuming that Sherry was living a fairy-tale life, and that presumption had just been tossed into the garbage. He might be in shock tonight, but when he had time to assimilate everything, he’d have questions, doubts. But for now, she knew he just needed to see his sister.
THE LARGE, suburban hospital came into view. Rich’s heart began to race, and his breath rushed to catch up with it. It might not have been the same hospital, but it was the same feeling all over again.
Rich tried to push away the memory of his mother’s last days, tried to forget those tumultuous, confusing weeks when he and Sherry had had nowhere to go, no one to turn to before the state put them into foster care. His father had died in the veterans’ hospital several years before from the aftereffects of his tour in Vietnam and alcoholism. The ten years Rich had spent in the air force might as well not have happened the way one look at that large hospital brought it all back.
Hospitals scared the bejesus out of him.
His parents had gone into hospitals and not come out. That Rick Larsen had not come home was a good thing in the long run, but Rich still missed his mother every day of his life. Please, he prayed silently, let this not be history repeating itself. He clutched the edges of the passenger seat and held on for dear life. Please, he prayed again, let Sherry leave this place. Let her go home to her kids.
Jennifer turned into the parking lot and followed the signs that directed them to the main entrance. “Do you want me to drop you at the door, or can you wait till we park?”
That was the $64,000 question. Yes, he wanted to see Sherry so bad he could taste it, but to do it, he’d have to go inside the hospital. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. He could wait a long time for that. He gripped the seat tighter. “I’ll wait,” he said finally. If he had to do this, he’d rather do it with Jennifer.
He didn’t need her to hold his hand, but he had no objection to it.
She found a parking space close to the front doors, and pulled in. “It’s close to the end of visiting hours, I’d expect,” she said as she turned off the engine. “We probably don’t have much time.”
The possibility that he might not get to see Sherry at all gave him the strength to release his death grip on the seat. “Okay,” he said, his throat tight, his voice husky. He pushed open his door.
And couldn’t move an inch.
Damn, had his apprehension affected him so much that he was paralyzed with fear? Then he looked down.
He hadn’t unfastened his seat belt.
Hoping that Jennifer hadn’t noticed, but certain she had, he released the mechanism and stepped to the ground.
The air was still and thick enough to slice. Clouds piled up in the distance, obscuring the sinking sun, and flickers of lightning occasionally brightened the dark gray sky. The storm must be far out over the Gulf because there was no sound of thunder, but its proximity added a feeling of foreboding to the sultry atmosphere.
Rich felt a hand on his arm, and looked away from the gathering clouds to Jennifer. “I guess we’d best go see what we can see.”
Jennifer slid her fingers down his arm to squeeze his hand. “It’ll be all right. Didn’t Mrs. Benton say your sister was going to rehab soon? They don’t send them there unless they’re ready for physical therapy. And they don’t give them therapy if…” She didn’t finish, but Rich knew what she meant.
If they were at death’s door, she hadn’t said.
“Yeah.” He scanned the aisle for cars. “Let’s do it,” he said as if he were readying himself to jump out of the rear of a C-130 over a hostile drop zone. He set off with Jennifer in tow.
The front doors swooshed open at the touch of their feet to the door pad, and chilled air blasted them as they stepped inside.
Rich steeled himself for the medicinal odor that he associated with hospitals and death and still smelled in his nightmares, but it wasn’t there. Relieved, he hurried to the information desk, then peered through the glass partition. “I’m looking for my sister, Sherry Connolly. I just found out she’s a patient here.”
The receptionist typed the name into a computer and after an eternity, or so it seemed to Rich, the information came up on a screen. She jotted the floor, ward and room number onto a sheet of paper and pointed Rich in the general direction. “Just follow the green lines to the elevator, and when you reach the floor, turn left.”
Rich nodded, grabbed Jennifer by the hand and followed the green line to a bank of elevators.
As the doors closed behind them, Jennifer drew in a deep breath. What was she doing here with a man she hardly knew, visiting a sister he hadn’t seen in years? She didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to be here.
But when she glanced at Rich and caught his grim expression in the mirrored walls of the elevator, she knew she had to stay. She might have entered into this venture as a detective, but now she was emotionally involved. If not with Rich, at least with the case.
She had to know how it turned out. She had to know if there was a happy ending.
The elevator stopped at the appropriate floor with a gentle jerk, and the doors seemed to take forever to open. Finally, they stepped out and into a wide area that branched into three halls. “Left, the receptionist said.” Jennifer urged him through a set of swinging doors and toward the nurses’ station beyond. She didn’t know why, but she could tell that Rich’s state of anxiety had to do with more than just worry for his sister.
A pretty, young woman looked up and smiled. “Are you Sergeant Larsen?”
“Who to—? How…?” He wore the expression of a boy caught with his fingers in the cookie jar, and Jennifer loved the way it softened his hard face.
“A Mrs. Benton called and said you were on your way,” the nurse said, putting down a chart and coming around the desk. “She wanted to be certain your visit wouldn’t be too much of a shock.”
“A shock?”
Jennifer hadn’t thought of that, and Rich hadn’t been thinking clearly at all. It hadn’t occurred to her that this visit might be upsetting to Sherry. “Will she be able to handle seeing her brother?”
“It’s probably the best medicine she could have other than having her children come see her, but you know the rules about children on the wards.” She gestured toward some chairs in a small waiting area.
“I’d rather go see my sister,” Rich said, holding his ground.
“And so you shall,” the nurse said. “But I have to prepare you for what you’re going to see.”
“Prepare me? Is there more I don’t know?” Rich sat in the indicated chair though he looked like he wanted to get up and run.
The nurse sat across from him, her knees almost touching his. “No. I just want to assure you that your sister will probably make a complete recovery. She’s not in that much pain, though she’s obviously sad.” The nurse placed a hand over Rich’s, and Jennifer felt a slight finger of jealousy stab at her, but she shook that notion away. She barely knew the man.
“Your sister is wearing a rather complicated apparatus called a halo. It looks frightening, but it’s serving to stabilize her neck, and it’s actually relieving her of pain, rather than causing it.” She described it, then waited for Rich’s response.
“I don’t care if she’s in plaster from head to toe. It’s been a long time, and I just want to see my sister.”
“Then, let’s go.” The nurse rose and gestured toward a corridor behind the nurses’ station.
Jennifer squeezed Rich’s hand. “I’ll just stay here. This is your reunion. I don’t know your sister.” She wouldn’t tell him that she was a coward, that she was afraid of the intense emotions this moment was about to bring.
“No. Come with me. Wait out in the hall, or something. Just be nearby in case I need backup.”
As much as Jennifer didn’t want to go, the panic in Rich’s eyes told her she had to.
Rich followed the nurse down the corridor feeling as though his feet were encased in concrete. He wanted to see Sherry, yet he dreaded what he might find. He’d had more than his share of shocks today.
“Wait here,” the nurse said as they reached a door. There was a nameplate of sorts: a strip of masking tape with Connolly scrawled on it with a red marker. They waited outside for what seemed like the longest moment of his life while the nurse went in.
“Richie?”
It sounded like Sherry. Only softer, huskier. The lump returned with vengeance, and Rich’s eyes burned. Had the change in the timbre of her voice come from her injuries or the passage of time?
The nurse beckoned, and Rich stepped inside.
“Richie. It is you,” a pale apparition inside an Erector set project of braces and stainless steel said. She looked as if she were being tortured by something from the Spanish Inquisition, but the smile on her face was angelic. She reached through a maze of tubes and wires toward him.
“It’s me. In the flesh,” he said, taking her hand. That lump made it damned hard to talk.
“And so much more flesh than the last time I saw you,” Sherry said. “I guess they feed you pretty well in the air force.”
“They did. Now I feed myself. And I work out.” As if two hours of hard PT every day would qualify as a workout. It was more like the Olympic Decathlon with the Bataan Death March combined.
“You look wonderful.” Sherry smiled ruefully. “Don’t feel you have to compliment me in return. I know what I must look like.” She let go of him and waved, encumbered with tubes from a nearby intravenous setup, toward the halo apparatus. “I promise, I’m not into body piercing,” she said, indicating the brace that appeared to be anchored directly into her skull.
“You look damned good to me. I didn’t think I’d ever see you ag—” He stopped, his throat too constricted to go on.
“I’m so sorry, Richie. It was so stupid of me to leave the Parkers after I graduated and not tell anybody where I was. I was so upset about you going overseas and leaving me behind, I wasn’t thinking clearly. At the time, I really thought you didn’t want to be bothered with me.”
“You know that wasn’t why I couldn’t take you. I explained it.” Rich’s throat was still tight, his voice husky, but he swallowed and went on. “I was just an airman. We had to have orders just to pi—” Remembering where he was, he stopped.
“I know that now.” She paused, her welcoming smile gone, replaced by one more melancholy. One that matched the dull blue of her eyes. “Mike explained it all to me.”
Rich sucked in a deep breath. He had hoped they could avoid the topic of her husband. He wasn’t sure he knew what to say to a woman who’d been hurt and bereaved all at the same time. Even if she was his sister. “I’m sorry….” It seemed so inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“I wish you could have known him,” Sherry said, her eyes misty, her voice thick. “He was the best thing that ever happened to me.” She paused. “Him and the kids.” She reached through the apparatus and wiped at her eyes.
“Yeah.” Rich didn’t know what else to say. His eyes burned like crazy and for a moment his world looked as though he were seeing it through rippled glass. He swallowed. He was supposed to be strong for Sherry.
He rubbed at his stinging eyes with the back of his hand and looked away. When his vision finally cleared and the lump in his throat shrank from baseball to golf-ball size, he looked back. Sherry was looking at something on the tray table at the side of her bed and making no effort to disguise her streaming eyes.
“This is a picture of us,” she said, her voice watery and thin. “We took it at Easter. It was one of the rare moments we were all dressed up at the same time.”
Rich followed the direction of her gaze and focused on the framed picture of a happy family. The lump in his throat swelled once more. It was past tense. Sherry’s husband would never pose with them again.
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real,” Sherry said, her voice cracking. “But at night I get snatches of memory. I hear the rain. I feel the moisture on my face. I see Mike lying so impossibly still.” She sniffed back more tears. “I remember the policeman muttering to his partner about the guy being a goner.
“I couldn’t even go to the funeral.” She broke down then, her sobs wracking and harsh.
He had no idea what to do, so he took her hand and held on. He squeezed it from time to time until she stopped weeping. “I’m so sorry, Sherry. I wish it had never happened. I wish I had been there for you.” Rich paused. “Hell, I wish I could’ve taken you to Germany with me. Maybe, none of this would have happened.”
“No,” Sherry said, her tone emphatic. “My time with Mike was short, but I wouldn’t give up a minute of it if it meant not knowing him at all.” She smiled sadly. “I loved him, but I have the kids to keep me going. His kids. He’s gone, but he left a big part of him in the world.”
Rich couldn’t look at her. He didn’t know how to act, how to respond. Instead, he stared at the picture and tried to get some sense of the brother-in-law he’d never know. Mike had been a big man. He had the tanned, fit appearance of someone who worked outside. Rich wondered if he worked with his hands.
He couldn’t tell much about the baby—they all looked like Yoda to him. But the little girl, a pixie with a mop of curly red hair, had mugged for the camera like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“I wish you could’ve met Mike,” Sherry said softly.
“Yeah, me, too.”
Sherry opened her mouth to speak, but a commotion in the hall stopped her. She turned her gaze toward the door as a pretty young woman with a mane of chestnut hair came bursting in.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said breathlessly. “But Mrs. Garrigan couldn’t come to sit until her daughter picked up her ki—” She stopped, apparently only just noticing Rich.
“It’s okay, Rebecca. Catch your breath, then I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Rebecca, still flushed from rushing, turned toward Rich. “Are you…?”
“Yeah. I’m the long lost brother.” He offered his hand.
“We’ve been trying to find you, since…How did you know Sherry was here?” She stopped, obviously still flustered, and looked at his hand. “Oh, I’m Rebecca Tucker. Sherry and I were roommates in college.” She pushed her hand toward him.
“Rich Larsen,” he said. “I guess I should thank you for stepping in with the kids.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “I love those kids as if they were my own. I couldn’t imagine anyone else taking care of them.”
“What about that lady next door?” Hadn’t she said she’d been baby-sitting the night it happened?
“Mrs. B?” Sherry smiled, her face angelic in spite of the metal contraption surrounding it. “She’d love to, but she works nights to help put two kids through college, so she isn’t available.”
“We weren’t about to let them go to strangers,” Rebecca cut in. “They go to their regular day care in the daytime, and stay with me at night.” She shrugged. “It works.”
“And I will not let them become wards of the court,” Sherry added emphatically, her voice breaking. “I’ve been there, and it won’t happen to my kids.”
Rich swallowed and wondered what to say. Had it been so bad for Sherry after he left? Should he have stayed around and looked out for her? He thought he’d made the right decision. After all, what better way to harness the brutal tendencies he’d surely inherited than to focus on using them for the good of his country?
“Richie is stationed at Hurlburt now,” Sherry said, her voice watery, the tone falsely cheerful. “He hired a private detective to look for me.”
“Sherry is the only person left in the world who calls me Richie,” he said, noticing that he was still holding Rebecca’s hand and also noticing that he didn’t get the same electrical charge from Rebecca as he had when he’d shaken Jennifer’s hand that first time. He released her. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
Rebecca smiled. “I understand.” She paused. “It’s nice to meet you, Rich.”
“Yeah. Sorry about the circumstances.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to call.” He patted the many pockets of his BDU shirt and located a pen. “If you have a piece of paper I’ll give you my phone number and address.”
“In the drawer, I think,” Sherry said, casting her gaze toward the bedside table.
Rich found a small notepad and scribbled the information. “This is my home number and that’s the admin clerk for the unit. I’m gone a lot on temporary duty or TDY. When I’m on TDY, he’ll be able to track me down.” He placed the pad on the table.
He shoved the pen back in his pocket and worried about the awkward silence. He had a lot to say to Sherry, but it didn’t seem right with Rebecca there. And he’d left Jennifer waiting for him out in the hall. He wouldn’t be surprised if she got fed up and left. He wanted to stay, but he searched for an excuse to leave.
The phone rang.
“Guess that’s my nightly ‘good-night’ from Caitlyn,” Sherry said, her face glowing.
Rebecca handed the phone to Sherry. “Caitlyn calls every night so Sherry can listen to her prayers.”
Rich nodded, touched by the idea. He swallowed and changed the subject. “Who’s taking care of the kids now?” He should have asked that earlier, but this family stuff was still new to him.
“They’re at my apartment. My landlady watches them at night when I come here.”
The nurse who had shown Rich the room, stuck her head in. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over.”
Rich reached for Sherry’s hand. She was still listening to the phone, and she smiled at him. “Gotta go,” he mouthed. “I’ll try to get back tomorrow.”
Sad that he had to leave Sherry, but relieved at the same time, Rich backed out the door.
He started to go, but turned back to Rebecca. “I meant what I said. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
“Sure.”
Sherry waved and blew him a kiss. Startled, Rich returned it. Then with the unaccustomed burning back in his eyes, he looked for Jennifer.
Jennifer looked up from a dog-eared magazine as Rich approached. She must have slipped back to the waiting area once she saw that the visit was going well.
The storm that had been threatening had finally kept its promise. Thunder rumbled and the occasional flash of lightning streaked the sky. “How did it go?”
“Pretty good,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he took the hard, plastic seat beside her. “It was more difficult than I thought, but great seeing Sherry. I wish I could help her out, but she’s got a friend who seems to have everything under control. The best I can do is offer moral support.”
Jennifer took his hand, but a sudden jolt of electricity made her let go too quickly. Had lightning struck nearby? She caught her breath and swallowed. “Well, it’ll get easier each time.”
Thunder crashed even closer than before. Rich looked up. “It’s raining?”
“It’ll rain itself out soon. You know how these storms are this time of year.” She paused. “But I don’t think I’d want to drive in it. Do you want to find the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee and wait it out?”
“Coffee’s the last thing I need this time of night, but I sure don’t want to go out into that storm. Sherry doesn’t need me winding up in the hospital, too.” And truth be known, he kinda liked being around Jennifer. He didn’t know why. She wasn’t anything like the squared-away, military women he was used to.
They found the cafeteria and collected steaming cups of decaffeinated coffee. Rich described his visit with Sherry, Rebecca’s rushed arrival and Sherry’s nightly prayer sessions with Caitlyn. As he talked, he wondered at how he, a guy who could rappel up the side of a building in full combat gear with a K-bar knife between his teeth, could suddenly think such ordinary things were so cool, much less spend hours talking about it.
He glanced up at the clock over the cash register. It was pushing ten o’clock. He had to show up for PT at zero six-thirty, and it was still a long drive home.
He glanced at Jennifer, and wished there was a way he could contrive to keep seeing her. But now that Jennifer had found Sherry, his business with her was done. After tonight he’d never see her again.
Chapter Three
Rich was glad he’d asked Jennifer to come with him. The way his mind had wandered all the way home, he suspected he’d have more likely run off the rain-slick highway than gotten home safely. And, he liked the idea that Jennifer seemed to care about what happened to him.
In no time the trip was over.
They passed the brightly lit gate of Hurlburt Air Force Base and continued on toward Fort Walton Beach. With rush hour long over, most of the traffic was headed for the Island where the tourists stayed. The roads were nearly empty now, and the going was easy. A few more minutes and they’d reach Jennifer’s office, she could pick up her car and he could go home.
Trouble was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go home to that empty apartment. Ski, his roommate, was on temporary duty, and though he’d rejoiced at finally being eligible to live off base, there were times when he missed the noise and camaraderie of living in the dormitories.
“We’re here,” Jennifer said quietly and roused him from his introspection.
Rich looked around. The street was dark and desolate, and the only sign of life was a man of questionable sobriety lurching down the sidewalk. “Where’s your car?” he asked, suddenly realizing that his truck was the only vehicle on the block.
“In the alley around back. We try to keep the spots in front free for customers,” Jennifer replied matter-of-factly as she pulled up to the curb.
Rich eyed the drunk, then assessed the situation again. “No way in hell I’m letting you walk down that dark alley by yourself at this time of night.” He pushed open his door as Jennifer opened hers.
She stopped halfway between the running board and the sidewalk, hovering above the curb like a butterfly in flight. “Excuse me.” She lowered herself the rest of the way to the ground. “You won’t let me walk down that alley? Who gave you the right to give me permission to do anything?”
Unprepared for the venom in Jennifer’s voice, Rich stepped back. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He’d just…Hell, he didn’t know what he meant. He drew in a deep breath.
“No insult to your ability to take care of yourself intended, but I feel bad about bringing you out this late at night. At least, let me see you safely to your car.” He nodded toward the drunk, who seemed more alert than before and was unabashedly watching them. “Maybe that guy is harmless, but I sure would hate to wake up in the morning and read that you’d been attacked.”
Truth was, Jennifer had been too aware of Rich’s potently masculine presence to notice the other man. This wasn’t the safest part of town, especially this late at night, and now that she’d seen the drunk, she wouldn’t feel comfortable in that alley. “Thank you,” she finally said. “I’m just a little touchy about that ‘little woman’ thing. In most cases I can take care of myself, but I do appreciate the thought.”
“Anytime,” Rich muttered, and Jennifer couldn’t help wondering if she’d threatened his manhood. Those special tactics guys were nothing if not macho. They took pride in their strength and toughness.
Too much pride, she thought, if her ex-husband was any example. They shoved every bit of anything they perceived as softness away. They might have seen all the posturing as an advantage, but Jennifer knew that if her ex had been slightly more sensitive to her feelings and needs, she wouldn’t be scraping for a living in this seedy section of this military town.
On the other hand, she thought, as she allowed Rich to take her by the elbow and escort her across the street, she wouldn’t be standing here with this man’s man, now.
Her breath caught. How could she be thinking about that? Rich was no different than her ex: all muscle and macho and very little thought.
But as Rich stood watch while she fumbled in her purse for her keys, Jennifer couldn’t help wishing this were a date. And, it had been a long time since she’d felt this way about any man.
Keys in hand, she looked up at him. What would it be like to close her eyes, press against that magnificent huge body and feel his mouth on hers? She moistened her lips, and her eyelids drifted downward.
Rich took her keys and broke the spell. He opened the car door and waited while she slid behind the wheel, then inserted the key into the ignition. He watched to be certain that she locked the doors and stood guard until she backed out of the alley toward the street.
She idled at the curb and watched through her rearview mirror as he strode purposefully out of the dark side street and across to his truck. Then, after he’d shut his door behind him, she steered her car toward home.
Jennifer sighed. She hadn’t even thought about dating since her divorce, but something about Rich made her think about rumpled sheets and hot, sweaty sex.
No, she told herself firmly and shook her head. She had finished her business with Rich. Unless he decided to come in and pay his bill in person, she’d never see him again.
And, as far as her heart was concerned, that was probably just as well.
RICH STOOD in the middle of the parachute shop, cluttered with stacks of equipment and materiel unloaded from the C-130 transport plane that had brought him back to base. He wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his arm. He looked down with disgust at the dark, damp smear, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to get all the stuff stowed in the equipment locker before he could even think about getting out of these stinking clothes and into a cool shower.
The last few weeks had been so busy that Rich had barely had a chance to think. He’d made several trips to Pensacola to see his sister and had finally begun to believe he was getting to know her again.
Then he’d had to fly off on a long exercise, and he was probably back at square one.
After the first couple of visits with Sherry, the reserve between them had lifted. She still appeared sad sometimes, but Rich had learned how to dash the sadness away. All he had to do was ask her about her children.
On her better days, the sense of humor Rich hadn’t seen since they were kids would make an appearance. When he saw that, it was possible to believe that Sherry would get through it.
He hadn’t met the kids yet, and frankly, that didn’t bother him much. There was an ops saying that he subscribed to wholeheartedly. He loved kids: barbecued.
Maybe that wasn’t really the truth, but the thought of dealing with such tiny little beings scared him spitless. He figured he’d rather parachute into a nest of rattlers than have to deal one-on-one with a four-year-old. He hadn’t really known any kids since he’d stopped being one himself, and now they seemed so…so small. Someday, he’d like to meet his niece and nephew. That thought stopped him. Niece and nephew. He was an uncle. He swabbed at his eyes, stinging with sweat and grime from the long trip.
“Hey, Sarge.”
Rich looked up and chuckled, relieved by the distraction. Uncle Sarge. That had a kinda nice ring to it. “Yeah. What?” he said to the peach-fuzzed, admin clerk only recently assigned to his unit.
“You going to the Labor Day picnic out by the Sound? We’ve got to win back the volleyball trophy from the P J’s.”
Rich had to chuckle. Baker had been with the unit all of two months. He had no bragging rights to win back from the pararescue jumpers. Rich did, but he had something else to do this weekend. Rebecca Tucker was getting married, and he’d been invited. It was to be Sherry’s first excursion out of the hospital. And the kids would be there.
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ll be out of town. Got a family thing to go to.”
It was the first time since he’d joined the air force that he had a place to go to on a holiday.
“Too bad,” said Baker.
“Yeah,” Rich agreed, his throat suddenly tight. This was probably no big deal to anybody else, but for him it was something big. He’d spent too many holidays alone on the base pulling extra duty for someone who had someplace better to go, or feeling like an extra wheel butting in on somebody’s holiday plans.
There had been a time when he’d have tried the bars along the Miracle Strip, but not tonight, and he’d never really enjoyed the feeling of being drunk. Maybe it was the specter of his father’s alcoholism rearing its head, or maybe it was just good common sense. Anyway, he wasn’t going to go out tonight.
He had an occasion to rest up for. He smiled to himself. He liked the idea of having family to go to, even if Rebecca Tucker wasn’t technically family. It was the closest thing to it he’d had in years. And his family would be there. Sherry and the kids were his family.
Hell, he liked the idea of having family.
JENNIFER SAT at her computer terminal and shuffled among the neat stacks of paper, looking for something else to do. She wondered if she’d ever get to the point where she didn’t mind being alone.
Al had returned from his Alaska trip, but he’d already left to spend the weekend with his wife and kids. She’d finished up the one project she’d had pending, and now she had nothing to look forward to other than the long holiday weekend.
Holidays were the worst.
That was, maybe, the only regret she had about divorcing Duke. Now that her parents were retired and traveling across the country in a rented RV, she had no home to go to. Even a husband who drank too hard and flirted too much was better than being alone.
No, she told herself, anything was better than putting up with Duke Bishop, his infidelities and lies. He might have thought he was God’s gift to women, he might have thought that he’d done her a big favor by marrying her and taking her away from Scranton, Pennsylvania, but he’d done her a bigger favor by letting her see the real him before they’d had children.
She let out a long gusty sigh, exited her program, turned off the computer and wandered toward the front door. She had a couple of plants at home she could work on. They were probably rootbound. Repotting them would kill at least an hour.
Then she’d have the rest of the three-day weekend to fill with nothing left to do.
Spending a long weekend alone and not having anybody to be with was far more preferable than trying to make a marriage work with somebody who hadn’t been interested in working it out with her.
She couldn’t help thinking about Rich Larsen and how he now had family to spend this weekend with. How lucky he was. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like for him.
Jennifer sighed again and let herself out, locking the door behind her. No, she wouldn’t think about him. Their business was over. She’d never see him again.
RICH SHOULDERED open the door to his apartment and dropped the heavy, canvas A-3 bag just inside. The room smelled musty and dank, thanks to the pervasive Florida humidity and being closed up for a week. Ski, his roommate followed him in.
Ski dumped his bag next to Rich’s, then let out an amazed whistle. “Whoa. One of us must be pretty popular.”
Rich followed Ski’s gaze to their answering machine which was lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hell, I don’t know anybody here. They can’t be for me. They must be yours.”
Then he realized that they could be from his sister. He lunged for the machine, hit Play and listened.
A woman’s voice he didn’t recognize. Rich started to call Ski, but then he caught a name. “This is Rebecca Tucker. Please call me.”
Ski stood by, waiting to see if any of the machine’s blinks were for him.
That message for Rich was followed by six more, all placed since noon, and each seeming more desperate. None were for Ski, and he drifted off to unload his gear.
Heart lodged in his throat, Rich dialed the number. Someone answered, and he recognized the voice as the same one in the frantic messages. He started to identify himself, then realized he had reached her voice mail.
Muttering a curse, he slammed the phone back down and played the messages back, trying to glean an alternate number or some other useful information from the urgent messages. Nothing.
Rich let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Now what? Maybe, he should call the hospital. But, hadn’t Sherry told him that she was going to be transferred to the rehab facility? She’d told him where it was, and he probably had the number stuck away somewhere, but right now, he couldn’t put a finger on it.
He started to dial Rebecca again, but as he reached for the phone, somebody rang the doorbell.
“I’ll get that,” Ski called. “You find out what’s going on with your sister.”
Rich glanced in the direction of the door as he pushed redial. The door opened out of his line of sight, but as he watched, Ski backed away. His hands were raised; a look of incredulity was on his face.
Ski glanced over his shoulder toward Rich. “Hey, good buddy. I think this one’s for you. I never saw that woman before in my life. Much less those rugrats.”
Dropping the receiver back on the cradle, Rich hurried to the door.
There, in the doorway, was Rebecca Tucker wearing a look of utter panic. In her arms was a munchkin that looked like Yoda’s first cousin, and at her side stood a very tired-looking little girl. What were they doing here? Surrounding them all was a pile of pastel-colored baggage that looked like, at least, three times as much of the stuff he’d off-loaded this afternoon.
“Oh, Rich. I am so glad to see you. You have to help me. I’m desperate,” Rebecca said as she stepped inside. She turned to Ski. “Would you mind bringing all that in?”
Ski, a bewildered expression on his face, looked at Rich, and all Rich could do was nod.
“What’s happened to Sherry?” he finally asked when it became clear that Rebecca was too flustered to explain.
She shifted Yoda to her other hip and shook her head. “Nothing. Sherry’s fine. You’ll see her tomorrow. She’s out of the halo and in a neck brace. I’m sorry, I didn’t think how it might sound when I left all those messages.”
Ski strode in with a pastel contraption in either hand. “I guess I should introduce you to my roommate,” Rich said. “Ski Warsinski, meet Rebecca Tucker. She’s the friend of my sister’s who’s been taking care of her kids.”
Ski nodded and went back for another load.
At least Rebecca had the decency to apologize for scaring him out of his mind, but she’d yet to explain why she was here. He remembered his promise to help out in whatever way he could, and hoped she wasn’t calling that one in. He had a feeling she was. Why else would she have the kids and all their gear with her? “Okay,” he said warily. “What do you need?”
Ski went into the kitchen.
The frantic look faded, and Rebecca managed a weak smile. “The lady I had lined up to keep the kids for the wedding and honeymoon stumbled down the stairs and broke her hip. So far, I haven’t been able to find anybody to take over.” She shrugged. “It’s a holiday weekend and the last minute, at that.” She looked at him hopefully.
Rich didn’t have to hear the rest to know what she was working herself up to, but how should he respond? He only had to look into the mirror to see his father’s face reflected back at him. He shook his head vehemently. What if he’d inherited more than just his father’s looks?
What if he harmed one of those kids?
Why hadn’t she postponed the wedding? Of course, he knew the answer: Sherry had told him she’d insisted that Rebecca go on with it.
“Please, Rich. You have to help me out here.” When Rich was slow to agree, Rebecca went on. “I promise it’ll only be for tonight. I’ve got feelers out everywhere, and I’ll keep looking. Surely I’ll have someone by the ceremony tomorrow.
“In the meantime, I have to run. I have to be at the rehearsal dinner in…” She glanced at her watch. “About an hour and a half.” With that she handed Yoda to him. “This is Carter, and this is Caitlyn,” she said, urging the reluctant little girl toward Rich. “This is your Uncle Rich. He’s going to take care of you until Mrs. Dahlstrom is better.”
“But, Rebecca…” Rich protested. “They don’t know me.”
“You’re not a complete stranger to them, Rich. They’ve seen pictures of you that Sherry had.”
“I don’t know anything about taking care of kids,” Rich insisted. “What if I…?” He didn’t dare think of the rest of that sentence.
“Carter is an easy baby,” Rebecca told him. “He’ll be fine as long as Caitlyn is here, and she knows what to do. She’ll be a big help to you.” She blew a kiss toward the kids. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks.” She dashed out the door.
Rich looked at the door closing behind Rebecca. She hadn’t even given him a chance to say no. Then he looked down at Carter. His face was screwed up and turning red, and before Rich had a chance to try to calm him down, he let out an ear-splitting shriek guaranteed to blow a 100-amp stereo speaker at fifty paces.
“What the hell was that?” Ski asked, coming out of the kitchen, a sandwich of Dagwood proportions in his hands.
“I think Carter wants something to eat. It is supper time. I guess we should try to feed them. Is there any more sandwich stuff in there or did you use it all?” Rich noticed one of those pacifier things tangled in the baby’s clothes and popped it into his open mouth. Carter continued to cry, and the pacifier dribbled onto the floor.
“There’s plenty,” Ski answered, his mouth full, as Rich scooped up the pacifier.
“Okay, Katie, let’s go get some grub.” Rich, gingerly holding Carter, headed toward the kitchen to wash off the pacifier. “Does your brother like ham sandwiches?” When Caitlyn didn’t respond, he turned.
Caitlyn was still standing where he’d left her, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed, looking like a miniature schoolmarm. “You can’t feed him sammiches. He don’t got no teef.” She rolled her eyes at him as if she were talking to an idiot. “And my name is not Katie. It’s Caitlyn.”
“Okay. Okay.” Of course, the rugrat had no teeth. He knew that. “Did your Aunt Becky bring anything for me to feed him?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes again. “He gots baby food inna diaper bag.”
“Get it for me.” He tried bouncing Yoda, but all it did was slow the wails down a notch. He ran water over the pacifier and stuck it back in, holding it there until he felt Carter latch on. Relieved, he let go. So did Carter, and the pacifier squirted out of his mouth as the kid let out a wail as shrill as an air-raid siren.
Caitlyn grimaced, but she did as he asked. “You gots to heat it up inna microwave,” she said as she handed him two jars of revolting looking stuff.
“Okay. Do it.” He had enough trouble just keeping the baby from squalling any louder.
“I’m not ’lowed to touch the microwave.”
Rich sighed and looked at Ski.
Ski held up his hands, one still holding half a sandwich. “Hey, don’t look at me. They’re your niece and nephew.” He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed. “You got your hands full. I think I’ll just go crash at Murphey’s. He’s still pretty messed up since Allison dumped him. He can use the company, and I sure as hell know more about how to handle that mess than the one you got here.” He wiped his hands on his pants and headed for the door. “I’m outta here.”
“Coward,” Rich muttered, but he envied the man, too, for having Murphey to go to. Danny Murphey was another guy on the team and had been Ski’s roommate before he’d set up house with Allison Adler, the woman he’d thought he was going to marry. He guessed Ski owed Danny just like he owed Sherry. If he just hadn’t gone and opened his mouth and volunteered to help.
No, he told himself sternly. He’d passed arctic, desert and jungle survival school, no sweat. He could surely handle two kids until tomorrow.
Famous last words, Rich couldn’t help thinking when, two hours later, he’d scraped the last of the cereal and strained peaches out of the jars. He’d managed to put together a peanut butter sandwich for Caitlyn with his right hand while he’d attempted to shovel food into Carter’s mouth with his left.
Rich wasn’t sure how much had gone into Carter. He must have scraped most of it off the kid’s face and the rest was splattered all over the kitchen. He sighed and looked around the filthy room. It looked as though somebody had fought a paint ball war in here. But, Carter was quiet for the time being, and that little piece of silence had to be worth all the mess. Rich slapped a couple of slices of ham between two pieces of bread and shoved them into his mouth. He guessed he’d have to hose down the kitchen, but for now he had to get the kids settled while he could. He didn’t know how long the lull would last, but he wanted to make the most of it.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven. Didn’t little kids go to bed by now? He didn’t suppose Caitlyn could tell time. Maybe, he could fool her into thinking it was bedtime even if it wasn’t. He looked down at Carter. His food-encrusted eyelids were definitely drooping.
“Okay. Time for bed. Go put on your pajamas.”
Caitlyn started to say something, but then closed her mouth. She turned as if to do his bidding, then stopped, looking like she was ready to cry herself. “I dunno where I’m s’posta sleep.”
Rich propped the baby over his shoulder, and felt a surge of an unfamiliar emotion when the kid snuggled up against him. “I guess you can sleep in Ski’s room.” He pointed toward Ski’s closed bedroom door, then he remembered the extensive collection of Babe of the Month posters on the wall. “Oops,” he said, yanking her back. “On the other hand, you can sleep in mine.”
He pushed open the door and ushered her in, pointing to his queen-size bed. “See, it’s big enough for both of you.” He started to put the baby down, but Caitlyn shook her head. “You hafta get his portacwib. He’ll fall off da bed.”
Portacrib? He’d seen Rebecca with a couple of suitcases, but he didn’t remember anything that looked like a crib. He looked back out into the living room to the pile of stuff Ski had dragged in before he left. There were more supplies there than he’d need for a two-week hike. He looked at the bewildering pile of kid paraphernalia and blew out a tired breath.
Caitlyn marched over to a flattened contraption of wood and mesh. “Tha’s it. You gots to unfode it.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, wondering how he could accomplish that and hold on to Carter, too. This project was going to take both hands.
“Can you hold your brother for me?” he asked, already knowing it wasn’t going to work.
Caitlyn shook her head. “Mommy says I might dwop him.”
Rich was beginning to run out of options here. If he put Carter on the bed, he might roll off. If he tried to hold Carter and assemble the bed, he’d surely drop the kid flat on the floor. That’s it. The floor.
He laid Carter down in the middle of the rug and held his breath to see if he repeated the siren routine. So far, so good.
The mechanism wasn’t too complicated, and Rich had the bed set up in short order. Just a few minutes and he’d have the kids squared away. Then he could clean up and catch some Z’s of his own. He reached for Carter to put him in the crib, but the prim expression on Caitlyn’s face stopped him. “Now what?” he asked irritably.
“You gots to put a sheet on,” she said as if he were the dumbest man in the world.
“You got one on you?” he snapped, his patience stretched as far as it would go.
“Huh?” Caitlyn had apparently not heard that expression before.
“Never mind.” He went to the hall closet and grabbed a sheet. The one with the beer can design. Carter wouldn’t know the difference. He’d thought they were cool when he bought them; now he was thinking otherwise. He clumsily covered the plastic mattress and looked at Caitlyn. She might only be four years old, but she was the expert in the room.
“Okay,” she said, looking like a less-than-pleased drill sergeant.
He put Carter in. The baby fussed a little, but seemed ready to go to sleep. He turned toward Caitlyn.
“You gots to change his diaper.”
He was afraid she’d say that. He turned back to the crib. Carter looked pretty cozy, and he was reluctant to disturb him, but he figured a kid with diaper rash would really be hard to deal with.
Rich managed to get the wet diaper off easy enough, but he didn’t have a fresh one to put on. He looked at Caitlyn. She pointed to another diaper bag.
“Mommy always throws a diaper over him until she’s done,” Caitlyn said matter-of-factly.
Rich wondered if she was shielding her daughter from a close view of the male anatomy, and decided as long as he stayed between her and Carter, he could manage until he got the new diaper and put it on him.
He turned back and quickly learned why Sherry covered him with a diaper as a jet of liquid squirted nearly to the ceiling. “Whoa! How the he—heck does one kid hold so much?” He tossed the disposable diaper over the stream, startling Carter and making him cry. This parent thing was tough duty, he couldn’t help thinking as he struggled to fasten the thing.
The diaper looked none-too secure, but it would have to do. He turned to Caitlyn. “Okay, young lady. Time for you to hit the sack.”
“I can’t go to bed until Mommy hears my prayers,” she said. “We gots to call her up.”
Rich rolled his eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “How ’bout I listen tonight?” he suggested, knowing instantly it wouldn’t fly. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done with the number, and if Rebecca had left him any, he didn’t know where they were.
“No. Mommy. I gotta say ’em for Mommy.” So far, Caitlyn had behaved like a trouper, but Rich had a sinking feeling he’d just run out of luck.
“I want my Mommy,” she wailed. Carter, who had almost drifted off to sleep, joined the chorus.
Rich had the greatest urge to join in, too, but that would solve nothing. He needed a kid expert, and he needed one fast. He called directory assistance and dialed the home number of the only person he could think of who might be able to help.
When she answered, he blurted out a desperate plea. “Jennifer, can you come over to my place? I need your help. Fast.”
Chapter Four
Jennifer switched the phone from one ear to the other as she listened to Rich’s panicked request. For one brief moment, she’d thought he was asking her for a date, but her fluttering heart skidded to a halt when she heard the unmistakable sound of a child crying in the background.
“Okay,” she said, tempering her disappointment. It was probably better this way anyway, she convinced herself. And her curiosity was running at full throttle. “Why don’t you tell me just what’s going on.”
She was on the living room phone, tethered by an eight-foot wire, and she needed to be in the kitchen. The spaghetti was past done, and if it didn’t get drained soon, all she’d have was mush. She stretched as far as the cord would allow her and turned off the stove and listened.
Rebecca Tucker had stuck Rich with Sherry’s kids. The woman had to be truly desperate if she was entrusting them to him. The man might be able to hack his way through a jungle with one hand tied behind him, but she’d bet he was clueless when it came to child care. Another wailing voice followed the first one.
She would definitely win that bet.
“Tell you what,” she finally said when Rich had finished his desperate explanation. The guy had to be at the end of his rope if he’d actually admitted that he needed her. Even if it was just to help with his niece and nephew. “I don’t have that much experience with kids, and I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I just got finished cooking up a batch of spaghetti sauce. I’ll bring it over. Once we get the kids settled, we can eat.” If they got the kids settled, she didn’t say. Of course, that meant that the noodles she’d already cooked were toast, but that couldn’t be helped. She had plenty more to cook later.
Jennifer could almost feel Rich’s relief coming through the phone wires. She wanted to think it was because she was coming, not to help with the kids, not to bring the food, but for herself. But she was realistic enough to know that wasn’t the case. Besides, she’d already learned her lesson about that kind of man. She didn’t need that.
Rich needed a woman to help with the kids. Period. Any woman who’d passed Child Care 101 would do.
Her experience with kids was limited, at best. She didn’t have many friends with children, and her siblings hadn’t started having theirs when she’d married and moved away. She wasn’t sure how much help she’d be, but she’d give it her best effort.
“Jennifer?”
She hadn’t realized that she’d been woolgathering and found herself blushing even though she was alone in the room. “Yes, sorry. I was thinking about the logistics of getting this stuff over to you,” she said. “I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“Great! You don’t know how glad I am to hear that. I’ll be waiting.”
Probably watching at the window, Jennifer thought. Too bad the cavalry wasn’t going to be that much help. “Just one thing, Rich. Go ahead and let Caitlyn call her mother. I’m sure that will be the best thing for everybody.”
Rich mumbled something about not knowing what the number was, but Jennifer didn’t respond. She just hung up. She wasn’t sure why she’d just agreed to do this. She just knew she had to.
For the kids, she told herself.
She almost believed it.
FEELING SOMEWHAT relieved, Rich hung up. Jennifer was coming. Finally, an expert in the house. If he could only survive till she got here. Half an hour. He could do it.
He hoped.
In the meantime, he had to find the number so Caitlyn could call Sherry. She should have known that he wouldn’t make a satisfactory mom substitute, even if Rebecca didn’t. Hell, he didn’t even know that diaper thing.
He looked at Caitlyn, her pixie face puffy and wet with tears. She looked back, her eyes wide and questioning. For the moment, she wasn’t wailing, but her small body shuddered violently with residual sobs.
Rich took a deep breath.
“Caitlyn, did your Aunt Becky leave me any phone numbers in all that stuff?” He gestured toward the mountain of kiddie gear he’d yet to explore.
“Inna diaper bag,” she said, then wiped her nose with the back of her arm. “Mommy always puts a piece a paper inna diaper bag in case of a ’mergency.”
Rich exhaled and headed for the bag. He just hoped that Rebecca did the same thing. She wasn’t a mother, so she might not know.
That stopped him. Jennifer wasn’t a mother either. What if she didn’t know anymore about what to do with the kids than he did?
No, he wasn’t going to think that.
Even if she didn’t have real mother experience, surely mothering was a woman thing. Didn’t they have instincts? Wasn’t child care know-how part of the package?
He found a sheet of folded paper, with neat printing on it, tucked into a pocket on the outside of the diaper bag. The numbers.
Damn, it had every number imaginable on it. From Sherry’s to Rebecca’s home number—where Rebecca wouldn’t even be—to the pediatrician and poison control. Poison control? What did she think he was going to do with the kids, feed them tranquilizers?
Then he looked at Caitlyn, still sniffling, and glanced at Carter, whining in the tiny crib. It was tempting, but he did know better than that.
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Bonnie Gardner
Kids aren't my specialty.U.S. Air Force Combat Controller Rich Larsen could parachute into danger in a moment's notice. But being besieged by his convalescing sister's two demanding children was an entirely different matter. Well, desperate means called for extreme measures. So the overwhelmed Uncle Sarge sent out an SOS to the pretty lady who had reunited him with his family.Before long, Jennifer Bishop worked a miracle on Rich's adorable wards–and on his heart. So much so that the rootless loner could almost picture them having a family of their own someday. Trouble was, a love-wary Jennifer had sworn off military men. Good thing Rich never backed away from a challenge!
Jennifer had been totally unprepared for the sight in front of her: Rich Larsen, bare-chested, wearing camouflage pants and holding a baby
Her breath caught in her throat. The vision was so sweet she almost wanted to weep. That innocent little boy with a halo of red peach fuzz snuggled against that hard, wide chest. The baby’s eyes were half-closed and he sucked on one finger.
This was, by far, one of the most tantalizing sexy sights she could ever have imagined. Jennifer swallowed, moistened her lips and swallowed again. What was wrong with her? How could she be lusting after the man as if he were a hunk-of-the-month calendar?
She just didn’t do stuff like that.
Then again, there was a first time for everything.
Dear Reader,
May is “Get Caught Reading” month, and there’s no better way for Harlequin American Romance to show our support of literacy than by offering you an exhilarating month of must-read romances.
Tina Leonard delivers the next installment of the exciting Harlequin American Romance in-line continuity series TEXAS SHEIKHS with His Arranged Marriage. A handsome playboy poses as his identical twin and mistakenly exchanges “I do’s” with a bewitching princess bride.
A beautiful rancher’s search for a hired hand leads to more than she bargained for when she finds a baby on her doorstep and a Cowboy with a Secret, the newest title from Pamela Browning. 2001 WAYS TO WED concludes with Kiss a Handsome Stranger by Jacqueline Diamond. Daisy Redford’s biological clock had been ticking…until a night of passion with her best friend’s brother left her with a baby on the way! And in Uncle Sarge, a military man does diaper duty…and learns about fatherhood, family and forever-after love. Don’t miss this heartwarming romance by Bonnie Gardner.
It’s a terrific month for Harlequin American Romance, and we hope you’ll “get caught reading” one of our great books.
Wishing you happy reading,
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin American Romance
Uncle Sarge
Bonnie Gardner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
As always, to “Mud.”
To the best critique group ever: Lyn, Pat,
Kathy, Dianne, Debby and Ellen.
To Sue and Donna. You know why.
To all the air force combat controllers I have known and loved and sometimes hated. And to all the women who love them in spite of it all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bonnie Gardner has finally figured out what she wants to do when she grows up. After a varied career that included such jobs as switchboard operator, draftsman and exercise instructor, she went back to college and became an English teacher. As a teacher, she took a course on how to teach writing to high school students and caught the bug herself.
She lives in northern Alabama with her husband of over thirty years, her own military hero. After following him around from air force base to air force base, she has finally gotten to settle down. They have two grown sons, one of which is now serving in the air force. She loves to read, cook, garden and, of course, write.
She would love to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 442, Meridianville, AL 35759.
Books by Bonnie Gardner
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
876—UNCLE SARGE
Contents
Chapter One (#uecc153a3-3376-54b1-ac18-b3a06ec4f881)
Chapter Two (#u38bc6286-1322-5d54-9fb4-55f10e9ae25e)
Chapter Three (#ue3afc274-010f-5e6e-adde-93152ceeafd1)
Chapter Four (#uf6545860-b996-5ea5-97d4-a0585a7a13e7)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Looking at the grimy storefront window of the Checkmate Detective Agency in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, Rich Larsen shivered in spite of the humid, ninety-degree August heat. He wondered if he should have called first, but shook that idea away.
He was a technical sergeant in the United States Air Force and a member of the Special Tactics Wing, Silver Team, one of the air force’s most elite units. He could deal with a private detective on a side street in a military town. He drew in a deep breath and pushed open the glass door.
A rush of blessedly cold air hit him as he stepped inside and looked around. The office could have passed for something out of Mickey Spillane except for a profusion of houseplants cluttering every surface. The anteroom appeared to be empty, but the door to the rear was open.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” a decidedly feminine voice said from somewhere. The floor?
“Okay, fine,” Rich said, for lack of anything else, as a woman with long, dark brown hair peeked up from behind the reception desk.
This must be the secretary, he presumed, and as the woman rose, Rich decided that she definitely did not look like someone out of Mickey Spillane. Her face was perfectly ordinary, like the girl next door. Her shape was anything but, in spite of the fact that she hid it behind a demure, cotton dress.
“May I help you?” she asked as she smoothed out the dress that did nothing to disguise curves that would make a showgirl proud.
“I’m looking for a woman,” Rich said.
“This is a detective agency, not an escort service,” the receptionist replied primly, and Rich amended his original description. She looked like a Sunday school teacher.
Rich blew out an impatient breath. “My sister. I’m looking for my sister,” he clarified. “Look, if you’ll just let me speak to the detective, I’ll explain what I want, and be out of your way.” He wasn’t sure what she’d been doing on the floor, but she was obviously annoyed at being interrupted and was taking it out on him.
“Mr. King’s out. Go on in the office and wait.”
Shrugging, Rich complied. There had been other detective agencies listed in the phone book, but this one had the smallest ad. He figured it meant that they were either really good, or really cheap. Considering a tech sergeant’s pay scale, even with jump pay and his other hazard bonuses, he hoped they were both. And when he’d asked around, he’d learned it was run by a former member of his unit who was now retired. Any time he could give a former combat controller his business, he tried to do it.
JENNIFER BISHOP sank back to the floor and fanned her face with her hands. That hunk of man was hot enough to melt the iceberg that had sunk the Titanic. He had to be six-foot-six if he was an inch, and his broad chest stretched the knit fabric of his navy Polo shirt. His shoulders were so wide that he surely must have had to turn sideways to come through the door.
No, she told herself. She was here to work, not drool over a man. Even if he did look like someone off of…what? The cover of a romance novel? She’d just come out of a relationship that ought to have put her off men forever. So, why was she getting hot flashes over this stranger?
She brushed the rest of the potting soil she’d spilled into a pile, reached for her minivac and vacuumed it up. Maybe it didn’t fit the normal image of a private detective’s office to be cluttered with houseplants, but then she wasn’t a normal private detective. And she always whiled away slow periods by tending her plants.
Jennifer dusted her hands off and put the vacuum away. Then she drew a couple of deep breaths for good measure. Al King, her boss, was on vacation, and she was holding down the fort. Al had a military retirement to augment his income, but hers depended on whatever work they could get. With Al gone, she hoped to drum up a client or two of her own.
She took another deep breath, pasted an efficient look on her face and stepped into the office she shared with Al.
The guy hadn’t gotten any smaller in the ninety seconds since she’d last seen him. He seemed to fill the room, and she wondered if the spindly, ladder-back chair that looked almost comical under his huge body would continue to hold him up. A vision of the chair shattering and dumping him to the floor flitted through her mind and pushed away some of her nervousness.
“Thank you for waiting,” she said as she seated herself at Al’s desk across from the Adonis. No, Adonis did not fit this incredible hulk. He looked more like a man from the fjords of Scandinavia than the isles of Greece. There was a lean hardness to his face, but with ice blue eyes, a golden tan and sun-bleached hair, he needed only a name like Olaf Olsen to finish the picture.
“You? You’re the detective?” The man sat up straighter, inhaled and seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room.
“I’m one of them,” she said, fudging the facts only a tiny bit. “Jennifer Bishop. As I said before, Al King is out.” She didn’t add that he’d be gone for the rest of the month on a fishing expedition to Alaska to escape the heat and humidity of August in Florida.
“Oh. I get it. Bishop and King. Checkmate.”
Score one for him. Not many people took the two names and made the chess connection. She didn’t tell him that Al had bought the business from a guy who did surveillance in divorce cases. Considering the way the name worked to his advantage, Al had kept it. “Yes,” she said. “And you are…?”
The man offered his hand. “Rich Larsen.”
So, she wasn’t so far off with the Olsen thing. Then he closed his huge hand over hers, and her brain ceased to function.
He held her hand in his firm grip long enough for Jennifer to feel light-headed and to be certain his fingerprints were branded permanently on her hand. She drew in a sharp breath and let go.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Larsen,” she said when her breath returned. “Now, how can we help you?” Jennifer could see that he had doubts about her, and she really couldn’t blame him.
After all, until a few months ago, she’d merely been the receptionist helping with the computer research. But, she’d studied, taken the exam, and she was now a licensed investigator. Funny, she didn’t feel any different.
“I’m trying to find my sister,” he said again.
“And how did you lose her?” Maybe she was being flippant, but she had to lighten it up. Jennifer couldn’t see how a brawny guy like him could lose track of anything. He looked too together, too…male. She shook that notion away.
His blue eyes clouded. “We were in foster care. When I turned eighteen, I left to join the air force. She still had to finish high school. We kept in touch for a year or two, but when I got stationed overseas she wanted to go with me. Nothing I could say would convince her that a two-stripe airman was not authorized to take dependents. She thought I didn’t want her. I wrote to her, tried to explain, but she didn’t write back, and finally my letters started coming back marked, ‘Moved—no forwarding address.’” He drew in a deep breath.
“I called and found out that the number for the foster family we’d lived with had been changed, and I knew I’d pretty much reached a dead end. By that time, Sherry was old enough to have graduated. I guess she got a job and started taking care of herself, but I haven’t heard from her since. That was seven years ago.”
He’d made other attempts to locate her through the years, but he’d never had the time or the resources to do it right. This time he was serious.
“Why look now?”
He had expected that question, and it was easy enough to answer. “This is the first time I’ve been close enough to do anything about it. And the first time in a long time that my life has slowed down enough to follow through.”
With special tactics training and assignments in both Bosnia and Kosovo, he’d just not had the time to do it. But after he’d attended the funeral for Dave Krukshank, who had been killed in that training accident, Rich had begun to see how empty his life had been. And he’d begun to think about his own mortality. If he died, who would mourn for him?
He didn’t think he’d ever have a family of his own, but maybe Sherry would. Rich looked too much like his abusive father, and he didn’t want to put any other children through what he’d been through as a child. He was big, he was strong, he was well trained. He could use what he had to save the world. But, he didn’t dare dream about a family of his own.
Rich had hopes that world events would not intrude for a while, or at least that he wouldn’t be required to participate in them. He’d been on the fast track far too long. He needed time to breathe.
“You’re from Fort Walton Beach, then?” She started to write on a yellow pad.
“No, Val-P,” he said, referring to Valparaiso, a town just to the east of sprawling Eglin Air Force Base—the huge military installation that dwarfed Hurlburt, where he was assigned.
Jennifer looked up from the pad. “I sure don’t want to send away a paying customer, but have you tried to find her yourself? Surely, you have friends in common. Other relatives?”
Rich shook his head. “Sherry’s my only family. I tried looking myself, but nothing panned out. Called the high school. Looked in the phone book. Directory assistance. Everything I could think of. Even found a listing for the Parkers, our foster family. They haven’t heard from her in years.” He blew out a long, tired breath. “I came up with zip. That’s why I’m here. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still in the area.”
He slumped back into the uncomfortable, straight-backed chair, and it creaked with the added weight.
Jennifer smiled. “It sounds like you’ve made a good start, but there are still some avenues I can try.”
He sat up straighter. “Like what?”
“Mostly computer stuff. You’d be surprised what you can find online if you know where to look. If you can give me some basic information about your sister, I should be able to track her down.”
She asked several questions, jotted down the answers, took his address and phone number, then put down her pen. “I’ll start working on this right away, Mr. Larsen.”
“Tech Sergeant,” he corrected, then smiled. “Rich.” He started to offer his hand again, then remembered the jolt he’d gotten the last time. He stuck it in his pocket, instead. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
He got up and headed for the door. Turning and looking back over his shoulder, he smiled. She didn’t look like much of a detective, but maybe she could do the computer search thing. Besides, she did have an ex-combat controller for a partner. “Thanks. I hope you’ll have something for me soon.”
JENNIFER couldn’t believe her first case had been as easy as this. She’d spent an afternoon on the computer, searching through data bases, and had come up with the information Rich—Tech Sergeant Larsen, she reminded herself—wanted. She wavered between waiting a little longer to make it look as though she’d worked harder, or calling him right away.
She called.
She wouldn’t have charged him for the extra time anyway, but she knew how much he’d wanted to find his sister. He hadn’t said so, but she’d seen the wistful look in his blue eyes when he’d spoken about her.
Of course, she’d gotten his machine.
So, now she was whiling away her time working on her plants. If only another customer would walk in off the street. Just not one as potent as TSgt. Larsen. And, maybe with a slightly more challenging request.
She puttered in her indoor garden, losing herself in Zen-like meditation. Working with the plants soothed her. When life with her ex had been at its rockiest, her plants had been her salvation. She smiled as she loosened the soil around a split-leafed Philodendron she’d nursed back from near death.
The phone rang.
Jennifer jerked out of her trance-like state and dropped the cultivator on her foot. That brought her back to her senses, and she limped to the phone. “Yes? I mean, Checkmate Detective Agency,” she said sharply as she sat down and massaged the red mark.
It was Rich Larsen returning her call.
“I’ve found an address for your sister,” she said, ready to provide the details.
To her surprise, Rich uttered a too-familiar exclamation. “Hoo-ah!” Then he hung up.
Stunned by what that single two-syllable word, the all-purpose cry of exclamation that combat controllers used, meant, Jennifer stood, holding the receiver until the phone company off-the-hook signal chimed in.
Her ex-husband was a combat controller. Was Rich Larsen one of them?
RICH MADE the ten-minute drive from his apartment just outside Hurlburt AFB in five. Good thing the afternoon rush wasn’t yet in full swing. He hadn’t bothered to change from his camouflage battle dress uniform; he’d just rushed out. He wasn’t supposed to be wearing BDUs on the street, but he didn’t give a damn about the regulations. This was too important.
He was pulling into a parking spot across from the agency when he realized that Ms. Bishop could have told him over the phone. He shrugged. He was here now.
He grabbed his scarlet beret, jammed it on his head, then locked the truck. He had to know what Ms. Bishop had uncovered. God, he hadn’t even thought to ask whether it was good news or bad.
Preparing for the worst, but hoping for the best, he shouldered open the door.
Ms. Bishop was waiting at the desk. Today she had her hair pulled back from the sides and anchored at the nape of her neck with a large barrette. She had on another flowered dress, and until she stood, she again looked like a member of the church choir.
The dress did nothing to disguise the sinful curves below that angelic face, however, and when she rose to greet him, he drew in a short breath. He said nothing, just waited for the blood to rush back to his brain.
“I’ve typed everything up for you,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper. “She’s married now….” Ms. Bishop glanced down at her notes. “To Michael Connolly. They live in Pensacola. Here’s the phone number,” she said, tapping the spot on the sheet.
Rich took the paper from her and held it gingerly as if it were a live grenade. He looked down at the information, neatly typed, and wondered at the ordinariness of it. A name, a social security number, an address and phone number. Name, rank and serial number. Everything you needed to prove you were real.
Was it real? Had Ms. Bishop really located his sister so quickly? He looked up from the paper, and he swallowed. “Did you call?” Why was his voice so thick and husky?
She smiled. “I thought you’d like to do that yourself.” She gestured toward the phone. “Be my guest.”
Rich wondered if he ought to do this here. Would he be better off calling from the privacy of his own phone? But Ms. Bishop had been a part of it this far, she might as well be there for the grand finale. He reached for the phone, his hands remarkably unsteady, and dialed.
His breath caught as the number connected. Ms. Bishop smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign. One ring. What if she wasn’t home? Two rings. He held his breath. Then the unmistakable sound of a phone company recording dashed his hopes of speaking to Sherry today. Out of service.
He closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “The phone’s disconnected. Now what?” he said as he returned the receiver to its cradle.
Jennifer’s smile faltered. Why hadn’t she thought to try the number first? “Are you sure it’s disconnected?” She reached for the phone Sergeant Larsen had just put down, pushed the Redial button and waited. She pasted a smile back on her face as she listened. “It said, ‘out of service,’ not disconnected. It could be out of order or they were late paying their bill for this month. They’re probably still there.” She met his eyes. “You could go. Knock on the door.” As soon as she said it, Jennifer knew it was a big mistake.
He grabbed her arm, and the touch of his large, strong hand set her heart fluttering like a butterfly in a glass jar. “Go with me. I’ve changed a lot since I last saw my sister. She might not recognize me.”
He paused and dragged in a ragged breath. “I’m a big guy. It might frighten her to have somebody like me show up on her doorstep. If Sherry sees someone like you with me, she might be more willing to let me in. Besides, I’m not familiar with Pensacola, I might never find the place.”
As Jennifer considered the foolhardiness of going off on this expedition, he threw in the final piece of bait. “I’ll spring for burgers on the way and you can navigate.”
Burgers from a fast-food place sounded a lot better than the tuna casserole she had planned. Jennifer glanced at the clock. Almost quitting time. “I—I guess so,” she heard herself saying. “Just let me lock up.”
“Hoo-ah. It’s a date,” he said, his face regaining the animation he’d lost when he’d heard that tone.
“No,” she corrected. “Not a date. This is business.” Then she glanced at the way the fabric of his drab olive T-shirt stretched across that broad chest. She knew all about the kind of man who wore those scarlet berets and shouted hoo-ah. She’d been married to one. Duke had been the best at everything except commitment. She figured they were all the same. At least, until they’d gotten old enough to settle down as Al had. It must have something to do with the training.
No, she had a feeling that this story was going to wind up with a happy ending, and maybe it was foolish of her, but she wanted to see it through. Typing bits of information into a computer and waiting for it to regurgitate the answers was a living, but she longed to see the human side of her job. She wanted to see the results of her efforts.
This is business, she reminded herself. So why was she thinking about anything else?
“I FIGURE once I’ve eaten with a person, they have the right to use my first name. That okay with you, Ms. Bishop?” Rich glanced sidewards and chuckled at the flustered look on her face. “You can call me Rich. Tech Sergeant Larsen’s a little long, wouldn’t you say?”
“I—ah—er—yes. Sure.” She paused. “And you may call me Jennifer.” Then she added, “Rich.”
“Jennifer. It’s a pretty name. It suits you.”
She smiled and blushed. “I hope not. I always felt it was such an ordinary name. After all, every other girl in my class all through school was a Jennifer. I’d rather be a Rosemund or a Victoria. At least there aren’t fifty of them lurking around every corner.” Her smile quirked to the right.
“At least everybody knows how to spell it,” Rich said. “What if you really did have one of those unusual names that nobody knew. That could be a problem,” Rich said as she looked everywhere but at him.
“Yeah,” Jennifer murmured.
The litter from the take-out meal scattered in her lap seemed to be more important to Jennifer than continuing the conversation. Rich shrugged. After tonight, it wasn’t likely they’d see each other again. He shouldn’t be getting his feelings hurt because a woman—an ordinary-looking one, at that—didn’t want to make conversation with him.
Once they found Sherry’s house, Rich reasoned, and he’d assured himself that his sister was alive and well and living in Pensacola, he’d take Jennifer home, and he’d never see her again.
They rode on in awkward silence until they reached the bridge that crossed Pensacola Bay and led into the city. “I guess we should pick up a map.” Rich pulled into a service station. “I need to gas up anyway.”
“Good idea,” Jennifer said. “I’ll see if they have one while you pump.”
Jennifer reappeared before he had filled the tank. She unfolded the map and pored over it while he settled the bill.
“Ah, here it is. Smith Street,” she said as Rich started the engine. “It’s on the other side of town.” She directed him to the main artery and settled back against the seat.
Rich drew in a breath and steered the truck toward the northwest side of town.
Jennifer knew she should be breaking his tension by talking, but darn it, sitting this close to him, she could barely think. She’d thought he’d made her office feel small, but in the confines of his small pickup truck, separated only by the space between bucket seats, it was all she could do to breathe.
She would be so glad when they were done with this.
Jennifer glanced at his strong profile and his lean jaw starting to bristle with golden five o’clock shadow and wondered if she might just explore…No, she told herself, it was too soon. Besides, she knew about his kind of man. Those special tactics combat control operators were love ’em and leave ’em all the way. She’d already been left once. And once was more than enough.
She busied herself reading the map and watching the landmarks fly by. Finally, they pulled off the main road and into a neighborhood.
Only a few more blocks and Rich would reach his sister’s address. Only a few more blocks and he’d be reunited with the only relative he had. She smiled at that.
Most of Checkmate’s work was doing background checks for Okaloosa County businesses. She seldom saw the people she researched. She seldom reached out and touched the people whose lives she explored. It would be wonderful to experience something good and positive.
“Shouldn’t we be turning now?”
Jennifer snapped out of her thoughts and ran a finger along the course she’d marked. “About two blocks. Then turn left.”
The neighborhood was a relatively new one comprised of small houses, with small mortgages, for couples just starting out. Most of the yards were well tended, and most had one car in the carport and one in the drive. She and Duke had once lived in a neighborhood like this together. She sighed. Now, she lived there alone.
Finally, they came to the street. “Right turn,” Jennifer said with less than full confidence.
Rich turned, and Jennifer began scanning for house numbers. “I think we’re headed in the right direction,” she said. “It should be right around this curve.”
It was.
Rich pulled up to the curb and parked. He exhaled slowly as he assessed the appearance of the small, yellow bungalow. Sherry had always loved the color yellow, but she never would have let the lawn go so long without mowing.
He knew that from the way she’d loved to do the yard work when they were in foster care together. She’d always said she wanted to have a little yellow house with a white picket fence and lots of yard to putter in. There was no fence, but two out of three was pretty good.
The lawn looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in several weeks, and children’s toys were scattered throughout the tall grass. There was a very old minivan in the carport, but the second car, if there was one, was gone. A pile of newspapers filled the seat of a lawn chair on the tiny front porch. Though it was too early in the evening for lights to be on, the house looked dark and forlorn.
“Do you suppose they’ve gone on vacation?” Jennifer echoed exactly what Rich had been thinking.
He nodded. “You’d think they’d’ve canceled the paper, though.”
“Let me check the mailbox,” Jennifer said, pushing open the door. She came back in a minute. “Nothing there. Maybe, one of the neighbors is picking up their mail. But, if they were going on a trip, wouldn’t they put away their kids’ toys first?” she mused.
“Beats me,” Rich said. “Now what?”
“We talk to the neighbors. We’ve come this far, we might as well see what they know.”
The house to the right was as dark as Sherry’s with no cars filling the carport or the drive. But the one on the other side seemed cheery and open, and cooking smells wafted from that direction. “Guess we start with that one.”
Rich drew a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Here goes nothing.” He rang the doorbell.
A plump, middle-aged lady appeared, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “May I help you?” Her expression was pleasant, but cautious, as she pushed open the storm door a crack.
Rich cleared his throat, struggling to dislodge the industrial-size lump, as Jennifer stepped forward and smiled reassuringly.
“My name is Rich Larsen. I’m looking for my sister, Sherry. I haven’t seen her in several years, but I think she lives next door.”
“Oh, Mr. Larsen. It’s so good that you’ve come,” the lady dithered. “I’m just so sorry you couldn’t have come sooner.” She pushed her screen door open and beckoned them in. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have come before…” Her voice trailed off, then she sighed. “It’s so sad.”
Chapter Two
She might as well have walloped him with a rifle butt. Rich staggered backward. Before what? No, he couldn’t have finally found her only to have…
Jennifer took charge. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. What’s happened?”
“You mean you don’t know?” The woman paled. “I am so sorry. I could have softened the blow some.”
“What blow? Please. Tell me what’s happened to my sister.”
“It was terrible, just terrible,” the lady said, wringing her hands. “They had gone out to celebrate their anniversary. Five years, I think it was. They didn’t go out much. They were just starting out and their budget was stretched to the limit. I used to sit with the little ones so they could take in a bargain matinee from time to time.”
“Please, Ma’am. My sister?” Rich didn’t like the way she kept referring to the past.
“It was a terrible accident. It was raining really hard and they skidded right into oncoming traffic. Mike was killed. Sherry’s in the hospital. Broke her neck. They tell me it’s going to be a long road before she’s back on her feet.”
Jennifer squeezed his hand, then released it. “Thank you, Mrs…. Can you tell us which hospital?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m June Benton. She’s in Baptist Hospital. I think she’s supposed to be transferred to a rehab facility soon.” She wiped her hands on the dishtowel she was still holding. “Sherry often spoke of her big brother. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you visit. It’ll help having family around at a time like this.”
Rich had heard everything, but he wasn’t sure he’d absorbed the content of what Mrs. Benton had said. He had still been thinking of the fifteen-year-old he’d last seen, and in one afternoon he’d learned she’d married, borne children and been widowed. Not to mention the injury from the accident. This was not the happy reunion he’d hoped for.
“Thank you, Mrs. Benton. We’re sorry to have bothered you.” Jennifer turned to Rich. “Come on, we’ll go to the hospital. At least, you can see her.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They started for the door, then Jennifer turned back. “Do you know what’s happened to the children?”
Kids. He hadn’t even thought about that. Sherry had kids. Who was taking care of them?
“Sherry’s friend, Rebecca, took them home with her.” Mrs. Benton looked inside. “I have a phone number for her somewhere.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Benton. We have to hurry to reach the hospital before visiting hours are over. I can get that number later.” Jennifer was certain Rich would want to know once the shock wore off, but right now, it was better to let him see Sherry than find the location of the children he didn’t know. She took a business card from her purse and handed it to Mrs. Benton. “When you find it, call me. You can leave a message on my voice mail if I’m not there.”
Mrs. Benton took the card and studied it, then nodded.
“Thank you, again, for being so helpful.”
Rich had begun to show the classic signs of shock, so Jennifer took him by the arm and urged him through the door.
She steered him toward the passenger side of the truck and waited for him to protest, but Rich barely murmured a word as she climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to accommodate her smaller frame. “I need the key.”
Rich dug it out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“There’s some cola left in the cup holder. I think if you drink some, you’ll feel better.” She wasn’t sure it would help, but Rich needed to do something, or when they did reach the hospital, they’d be visiting the emergency room and not his sister.
He did as she suggested. Jennifer checked the map for the location of the hospital, then turned the key.
Rich just stared out the window.
He’d probably been assuming that Sherry was living a fairy-tale life, and that presumption had just been tossed into the garbage. He might be in shock tonight, but when he had time to assimilate everything, he’d have questions, doubts. But for now, she knew he just needed to see his sister.
THE LARGE, suburban hospital came into view. Rich’s heart began to race, and his breath rushed to catch up with it. It might not have been the same hospital, but it was the same feeling all over again.
Rich tried to push away the memory of his mother’s last days, tried to forget those tumultuous, confusing weeks when he and Sherry had had nowhere to go, no one to turn to before the state put them into foster care. His father had died in the veterans’ hospital several years before from the aftereffects of his tour in Vietnam and alcoholism. The ten years Rich had spent in the air force might as well not have happened the way one look at that large hospital brought it all back.
Hospitals scared the bejesus out of him.
His parents had gone into hospitals and not come out. That Rick Larsen had not come home was a good thing in the long run, but Rich still missed his mother every day of his life. Please, he prayed silently, let this not be history repeating itself. He clutched the edges of the passenger seat and held on for dear life. Please, he prayed again, let Sherry leave this place. Let her go home to her kids.
Jennifer turned into the parking lot and followed the signs that directed them to the main entrance. “Do you want me to drop you at the door, or can you wait till we park?”
That was the $64,000 question. Yes, he wanted to see Sherry so bad he could taste it, but to do it, he’d have to go inside the hospital. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. He could wait a long time for that. He gripped the seat tighter. “I’ll wait,” he said finally. If he had to do this, he’d rather do it with Jennifer.
He didn’t need her to hold his hand, but he had no objection to it.
She found a parking space close to the front doors, and pulled in. “It’s close to the end of visiting hours, I’d expect,” she said as she turned off the engine. “We probably don’t have much time.”
The possibility that he might not get to see Sherry at all gave him the strength to release his death grip on the seat. “Okay,” he said, his throat tight, his voice husky. He pushed open his door.
And couldn’t move an inch.
Damn, had his apprehension affected him so much that he was paralyzed with fear? Then he looked down.
He hadn’t unfastened his seat belt.
Hoping that Jennifer hadn’t noticed, but certain she had, he released the mechanism and stepped to the ground.
The air was still and thick enough to slice. Clouds piled up in the distance, obscuring the sinking sun, and flickers of lightning occasionally brightened the dark gray sky. The storm must be far out over the Gulf because there was no sound of thunder, but its proximity added a feeling of foreboding to the sultry atmosphere.
Rich felt a hand on his arm, and looked away from the gathering clouds to Jennifer. “I guess we’d best go see what we can see.”
Jennifer slid her fingers down his arm to squeeze his hand. “It’ll be all right. Didn’t Mrs. Benton say your sister was going to rehab soon? They don’t send them there unless they’re ready for physical therapy. And they don’t give them therapy if…” She didn’t finish, but Rich knew what she meant.
If they were at death’s door, she hadn’t said.
“Yeah.” He scanned the aisle for cars. “Let’s do it,” he said as if he were readying himself to jump out of the rear of a C-130 over a hostile drop zone. He set off with Jennifer in tow.
The front doors swooshed open at the touch of their feet to the door pad, and chilled air blasted them as they stepped inside.
Rich steeled himself for the medicinal odor that he associated with hospitals and death and still smelled in his nightmares, but it wasn’t there. Relieved, he hurried to the information desk, then peered through the glass partition. “I’m looking for my sister, Sherry Connolly. I just found out she’s a patient here.”
The receptionist typed the name into a computer and after an eternity, or so it seemed to Rich, the information came up on a screen. She jotted the floor, ward and room number onto a sheet of paper and pointed Rich in the general direction. “Just follow the green lines to the elevator, and when you reach the floor, turn left.”
Rich nodded, grabbed Jennifer by the hand and followed the green line to a bank of elevators.
As the doors closed behind them, Jennifer drew in a deep breath. What was she doing here with a man she hardly knew, visiting a sister he hadn’t seen in years? She didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to be here.
But when she glanced at Rich and caught his grim expression in the mirrored walls of the elevator, she knew she had to stay. She might have entered into this venture as a detective, but now she was emotionally involved. If not with Rich, at least with the case.
She had to know how it turned out. She had to know if there was a happy ending.
The elevator stopped at the appropriate floor with a gentle jerk, and the doors seemed to take forever to open. Finally, they stepped out and into a wide area that branched into three halls. “Left, the receptionist said.” Jennifer urged him through a set of swinging doors and toward the nurses’ station beyond. She didn’t know why, but she could tell that Rich’s state of anxiety had to do with more than just worry for his sister.
A pretty, young woman looked up and smiled. “Are you Sergeant Larsen?”
“Who to—? How…?” He wore the expression of a boy caught with his fingers in the cookie jar, and Jennifer loved the way it softened his hard face.
“A Mrs. Benton called and said you were on your way,” the nurse said, putting down a chart and coming around the desk. “She wanted to be certain your visit wouldn’t be too much of a shock.”
“A shock?”
Jennifer hadn’t thought of that, and Rich hadn’t been thinking clearly at all. It hadn’t occurred to her that this visit might be upsetting to Sherry. “Will she be able to handle seeing her brother?”
“It’s probably the best medicine she could have other than having her children come see her, but you know the rules about children on the wards.” She gestured toward some chairs in a small waiting area.
“I’d rather go see my sister,” Rich said, holding his ground.
“And so you shall,” the nurse said. “But I have to prepare you for what you’re going to see.”
“Prepare me? Is there more I don’t know?” Rich sat in the indicated chair though he looked like he wanted to get up and run.
The nurse sat across from him, her knees almost touching his. “No. I just want to assure you that your sister will probably make a complete recovery. She’s not in that much pain, though she’s obviously sad.” The nurse placed a hand over Rich’s, and Jennifer felt a slight finger of jealousy stab at her, but she shook that notion away. She barely knew the man.
“Your sister is wearing a rather complicated apparatus called a halo. It looks frightening, but it’s serving to stabilize her neck, and it’s actually relieving her of pain, rather than causing it.” She described it, then waited for Rich’s response.
“I don’t care if she’s in plaster from head to toe. It’s been a long time, and I just want to see my sister.”
“Then, let’s go.” The nurse rose and gestured toward a corridor behind the nurses’ station.
Jennifer squeezed Rich’s hand. “I’ll just stay here. This is your reunion. I don’t know your sister.” She wouldn’t tell him that she was a coward, that she was afraid of the intense emotions this moment was about to bring.
“No. Come with me. Wait out in the hall, or something. Just be nearby in case I need backup.”
As much as Jennifer didn’t want to go, the panic in Rich’s eyes told her she had to.
Rich followed the nurse down the corridor feeling as though his feet were encased in concrete. He wanted to see Sherry, yet he dreaded what he might find. He’d had more than his share of shocks today.
“Wait here,” the nurse said as they reached a door. There was a nameplate of sorts: a strip of masking tape with Connolly scrawled on it with a red marker. They waited outside for what seemed like the longest moment of his life while the nurse went in.
“Richie?”
It sounded like Sherry. Only softer, huskier. The lump returned with vengeance, and Rich’s eyes burned. Had the change in the timbre of her voice come from her injuries or the passage of time?
The nurse beckoned, and Rich stepped inside.
“Richie. It is you,” a pale apparition inside an Erector set project of braces and stainless steel said. She looked as if she were being tortured by something from the Spanish Inquisition, but the smile on her face was angelic. She reached through a maze of tubes and wires toward him.
“It’s me. In the flesh,” he said, taking her hand. That lump made it damned hard to talk.
“And so much more flesh than the last time I saw you,” Sherry said. “I guess they feed you pretty well in the air force.”
“They did. Now I feed myself. And I work out.” As if two hours of hard PT every day would qualify as a workout. It was more like the Olympic Decathlon with the Bataan Death March combined.
“You look wonderful.” Sherry smiled ruefully. “Don’t feel you have to compliment me in return. I know what I must look like.” She let go of him and waved, encumbered with tubes from a nearby intravenous setup, toward the halo apparatus. “I promise, I’m not into body piercing,” she said, indicating the brace that appeared to be anchored directly into her skull.
“You look damned good to me. I didn’t think I’d ever see you ag—” He stopped, his throat too constricted to go on.
“I’m so sorry, Richie. It was so stupid of me to leave the Parkers after I graduated and not tell anybody where I was. I was so upset about you going overseas and leaving me behind, I wasn’t thinking clearly. At the time, I really thought you didn’t want to be bothered with me.”
“You know that wasn’t why I couldn’t take you. I explained it.” Rich’s throat was still tight, his voice husky, but he swallowed and went on. “I was just an airman. We had to have orders just to pi—” Remembering where he was, he stopped.
“I know that now.” She paused, her welcoming smile gone, replaced by one more melancholy. One that matched the dull blue of her eyes. “Mike explained it all to me.”
Rich sucked in a deep breath. He had hoped they could avoid the topic of her husband. He wasn’t sure he knew what to say to a woman who’d been hurt and bereaved all at the same time. Even if she was his sister. “I’m sorry….” It seemed so inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“I wish you could have known him,” Sherry said, her eyes misty, her voice thick. “He was the best thing that ever happened to me.” She paused. “Him and the kids.” She reached through the apparatus and wiped at her eyes.
“Yeah.” Rich didn’t know what else to say. His eyes burned like crazy and for a moment his world looked as though he were seeing it through rippled glass. He swallowed. He was supposed to be strong for Sherry.
He rubbed at his stinging eyes with the back of his hand and looked away. When his vision finally cleared and the lump in his throat shrank from baseball to golf-ball size, he looked back. Sherry was looking at something on the tray table at the side of her bed and making no effort to disguise her streaming eyes.
“This is a picture of us,” she said, her voice watery and thin. “We took it at Easter. It was one of the rare moments we were all dressed up at the same time.”
Rich followed the direction of her gaze and focused on the framed picture of a happy family. The lump in his throat swelled once more. It was past tense. Sherry’s husband would never pose with them again.
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real,” Sherry said, her voice cracking. “But at night I get snatches of memory. I hear the rain. I feel the moisture on my face. I see Mike lying so impossibly still.” She sniffed back more tears. “I remember the policeman muttering to his partner about the guy being a goner.
“I couldn’t even go to the funeral.” She broke down then, her sobs wracking and harsh.
He had no idea what to do, so he took her hand and held on. He squeezed it from time to time until she stopped weeping. “I’m so sorry, Sherry. I wish it had never happened. I wish I had been there for you.” Rich paused. “Hell, I wish I could’ve taken you to Germany with me. Maybe, none of this would have happened.”
“No,” Sherry said, her tone emphatic. “My time with Mike was short, but I wouldn’t give up a minute of it if it meant not knowing him at all.” She smiled sadly. “I loved him, but I have the kids to keep me going. His kids. He’s gone, but he left a big part of him in the world.”
Rich couldn’t look at her. He didn’t know how to act, how to respond. Instead, he stared at the picture and tried to get some sense of the brother-in-law he’d never know. Mike had been a big man. He had the tanned, fit appearance of someone who worked outside. Rich wondered if he worked with his hands.
He couldn’t tell much about the baby—they all looked like Yoda to him. But the little girl, a pixie with a mop of curly red hair, had mugged for the camera like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“I wish you could’ve met Mike,” Sherry said softly.
“Yeah, me, too.”
Sherry opened her mouth to speak, but a commotion in the hall stopped her. She turned her gaze toward the door as a pretty young woman with a mane of chestnut hair came bursting in.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said breathlessly. “But Mrs. Garrigan couldn’t come to sit until her daughter picked up her ki—” She stopped, apparently only just noticing Rich.
“It’s okay, Rebecca. Catch your breath, then I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Rebecca, still flushed from rushing, turned toward Rich. “Are you…?”
“Yeah. I’m the long lost brother.” He offered his hand.
“We’ve been trying to find you, since…How did you know Sherry was here?” She stopped, obviously still flustered, and looked at his hand. “Oh, I’m Rebecca Tucker. Sherry and I were roommates in college.” She pushed her hand toward him.
“Rich Larsen,” he said. “I guess I should thank you for stepping in with the kids.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “I love those kids as if they were my own. I couldn’t imagine anyone else taking care of them.”
“What about that lady next door?” Hadn’t she said she’d been baby-sitting the night it happened?
“Mrs. B?” Sherry smiled, her face angelic in spite of the metal contraption surrounding it. “She’d love to, but she works nights to help put two kids through college, so she isn’t available.”
“We weren’t about to let them go to strangers,” Rebecca cut in. “They go to their regular day care in the daytime, and stay with me at night.” She shrugged. “It works.”
“And I will not let them become wards of the court,” Sherry added emphatically, her voice breaking. “I’ve been there, and it won’t happen to my kids.”
Rich swallowed and wondered what to say. Had it been so bad for Sherry after he left? Should he have stayed around and looked out for her? He thought he’d made the right decision. After all, what better way to harness the brutal tendencies he’d surely inherited than to focus on using them for the good of his country?
“Richie is stationed at Hurlburt now,” Sherry said, her voice watery, the tone falsely cheerful. “He hired a private detective to look for me.”
“Sherry is the only person left in the world who calls me Richie,” he said, noticing that he was still holding Rebecca’s hand and also noticing that he didn’t get the same electrical charge from Rebecca as he had when he’d shaken Jennifer’s hand that first time. He released her. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
Rebecca smiled. “I understand.” She paused. “It’s nice to meet you, Rich.”
“Yeah. Sorry about the circumstances.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to call.” He patted the many pockets of his BDU shirt and located a pen. “If you have a piece of paper I’ll give you my phone number and address.”
“In the drawer, I think,” Sherry said, casting her gaze toward the bedside table.
Rich found a small notepad and scribbled the information. “This is my home number and that’s the admin clerk for the unit. I’m gone a lot on temporary duty or TDY. When I’m on TDY, he’ll be able to track me down.” He placed the pad on the table.
He shoved the pen back in his pocket and worried about the awkward silence. He had a lot to say to Sherry, but it didn’t seem right with Rebecca there. And he’d left Jennifer waiting for him out in the hall. He wouldn’t be surprised if she got fed up and left. He wanted to stay, but he searched for an excuse to leave.
The phone rang.
“Guess that’s my nightly ‘good-night’ from Caitlyn,” Sherry said, her face glowing.
Rebecca handed the phone to Sherry. “Caitlyn calls every night so Sherry can listen to her prayers.”
Rich nodded, touched by the idea. He swallowed and changed the subject. “Who’s taking care of the kids now?” He should have asked that earlier, but this family stuff was still new to him.
“They’re at my apartment. My landlady watches them at night when I come here.”
The nurse who had shown Rich the room, stuck her head in. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over.”
Rich reached for Sherry’s hand. She was still listening to the phone, and she smiled at him. “Gotta go,” he mouthed. “I’ll try to get back tomorrow.”
Sad that he had to leave Sherry, but relieved at the same time, Rich backed out the door.
He started to go, but turned back to Rebecca. “I meant what I said. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
“Sure.”
Sherry waved and blew him a kiss. Startled, Rich returned it. Then with the unaccustomed burning back in his eyes, he looked for Jennifer.
Jennifer looked up from a dog-eared magazine as Rich approached. She must have slipped back to the waiting area once she saw that the visit was going well.
The storm that had been threatening had finally kept its promise. Thunder rumbled and the occasional flash of lightning streaked the sky. “How did it go?”
“Pretty good,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he took the hard, plastic seat beside her. “It was more difficult than I thought, but great seeing Sherry. I wish I could help her out, but she’s got a friend who seems to have everything under control. The best I can do is offer moral support.”
Jennifer took his hand, but a sudden jolt of electricity made her let go too quickly. Had lightning struck nearby? She caught her breath and swallowed. “Well, it’ll get easier each time.”
Thunder crashed even closer than before. Rich looked up. “It’s raining?”
“It’ll rain itself out soon. You know how these storms are this time of year.” She paused. “But I don’t think I’d want to drive in it. Do you want to find the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee and wait it out?”
“Coffee’s the last thing I need this time of night, but I sure don’t want to go out into that storm. Sherry doesn’t need me winding up in the hospital, too.” And truth be known, he kinda liked being around Jennifer. He didn’t know why. She wasn’t anything like the squared-away, military women he was used to.
They found the cafeteria and collected steaming cups of decaffeinated coffee. Rich described his visit with Sherry, Rebecca’s rushed arrival and Sherry’s nightly prayer sessions with Caitlyn. As he talked, he wondered at how he, a guy who could rappel up the side of a building in full combat gear with a K-bar knife between his teeth, could suddenly think such ordinary things were so cool, much less spend hours talking about it.
He glanced up at the clock over the cash register. It was pushing ten o’clock. He had to show up for PT at zero six-thirty, and it was still a long drive home.
He glanced at Jennifer, and wished there was a way he could contrive to keep seeing her. But now that Jennifer had found Sherry, his business with her was done. After tonight he’d never see her again.
Chapter Three
Rich was glad he’d asked Jennifer to come with him. The way his mind had wandered all the way home, he suspected he’d have more likely run off the rain-slick highway than gotten home safely. And, he liked the idea that Jennifer seemed to care about what happened to him.
In no time the trip was over.
They passed the brightly lit gate of Hurlburt Air Force Base and continued on toward Fort Walton Beach. With rush hour long over, most of the traffic was headed for the Island where the tourists stayed. The roads were nearly empty now, and the going was easy. A few more minutes and they’d reach Jennifer’s office, she could pick up her car and he could go home.
Trouble was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go home to that empty apartment. Ski, his roommate, was on temporary duty, and though he’d rejoiced at finally being eligible to live off base, there were times when he missed the noise and camaraderie of living in the dormitories.
“We’re here,” Jennifer said quietly and roused him from his introspection.
Rich looked around. The street was dark and desolate, and the only sign of life was a man of questionable sobriety lurching down the sidewalk. “Where’s your car?” he asked, suddenly realizing that his truck was the only vehicle on the block.
“In the alley around back. We try to keep the spots in front free for customers,” Jennifer replied matter-of-factly as she pulled up to the curb.
Rich eyed the drunk, then assessed the situation again. “No way in hell I’m letting you walk down that dark alley by yourself at this time of night.” He pushed open his door as Jennifer opened hers.
She stopped halfway between the running board and the sidewalk, hovering above the curb like a butterfly in flight. “Excuse me.” She lowered herself the rest of the way to the ground. “You won’t let me walk down that alley? Who gave you the right to give me permission to do anything?”
Unprepared for the venom in Jennifer’s voice, Rich stepped back. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He’d just…Hell, he didn’t know what he meant. He drew in a deep breath.
“No insult to your ability to take care of yourself intended, but I feel bad about bringing you out this late at night. At least, let me see you safely to your car.” He nodded toward the drunk, who seemed more alert than before and was unabashedly watching them. “Maybe that guy is harmless, but I sure would hate to wake up in the morning and read that you’d been attacked.”
Truth was, Jennifer had been too aware of Rich’s potently masculine presence to notice the other man. This wasn’t the safest part of town, especially this late at night, and now that she’d seen the drunk, she wouldn’t feel comfortable in that alley. “Thank you,” she finally said. “I’m just a little touchy about that ‘little woman’ thing. In most cases I can take care of myself, but I do appreciate the thought.”
“Anytime,” Rich muttered, and Jennifer couldn’t help wondering if she’d threatened his manhood. Those special tactics guys were nothing if not macho. They took pride in their strength and toughness.
Too much pride, she thought, if her ex-husband was any example. They shoved every bit of anything they perceived as softness away. They might have seen all the posturing as an advantage, but Jennifer knew that if her ex had been slightly more sensitive to her feelings and needs, she wouldn’t be scraping for a living in this seedy section of this military town.
On the other hand, she thought, as she allowed Rich to take her by the elbow and escort her across the street, she wouldn’t be standing here with this man’s man, now.
Her breath caught. How could she be thinking about that? Rich was no different than her ex: all muscle and macho and very little thought.
But as Rich stood watch while she fumbled in her purse for her keys, Jennifer couldn’t help wishing this were a date. And, it had been a long time since she’d felt this way about any man.
Keys in hand, she looked up at him. What would it be like to close her eyes, press against that magnificent huge body and feel his mouth on hers? She moistened her lips, and her eyelids drifted downward.
Rich took her keys and broke the spell. He opened the car door and waited while she slid behind the wheel, then inserted the key into the ignition. He watched to be certain that she locked the doors and stood guard until she backed out of the alley toward the street.
She idled at the curb and watched through her rearview mirror as he strode purposefully out of the dark side street and across to his truck. Then, after he’d shut his door behind him, she steered her car toward home.
Jennifer sighed. She hadn’t even thought about dating since her divorce, but something about Rich made her think about rumpled sheets and hot, sweaty sex.
No, she told herself firmly and shook her head. She had finished her business with Rich. Unless he decided to come in and pay his bill in person, she’d never see him again.
And, as far as her heart was concerned, that was probably just as well.
RICH STOOD in the middle of the parachute shop, cluttered with stacks of equipment and materiel unloaded from the C-130 transport plane that had brought him back to base. He wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his arm. He looked down with disgust at the dark, damp smear, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to get all the stuff stowed in the equipment locker before he could even think about getting out of these stinking clothes and into a cool shower.
The last few weeks had been so busy that Rich had barely had a chance to think. He’d made several trips to Pensacola to see his sister and had finally begun to believe he was getting to know her again.
Then he’d had to fly off on a long exercise, and he was probably back at square one.
After the first couple of visits with Sherry, the reserve between them had lifted. She still appeared sad sometimes, but Rich had learned how to dash the sadness away. All he had to do was ask her about her children.
On her better days, the sense of humor Rich hadn’t seen since they were kids would make an appearance. When he saw that, it was possible to believe that Sherry would get through it.
He hadn’t met the kids yet, and frankly, that didn’t bother him much. There was an ops saying that he subscribed to wholeheartedly. He loved kids: barbecued.
Maybe that wasn’t really the truth, but the thought of dealing with such tiny little beings scared him spitless. He figured he’d rather parachute into a nest of rattlers than have to deal one-on-one with a four-year-old. He hadn’t really known any kids since he’d stopped being one himself, and now they seemed so…so small. Someday, he’d like to meet his niece and nephew. That thought stopped him. Niece and nephew. He was an uncle. He swabbed at his eyes, stinging with sweat and grime from the long trip.
“Hey, Sarge.”
Rich looked up and chuckled, relieved by the distraction. Uncle Sarge. That had a kinda nice ring to it. “Yeah. What?” he said to the peach-fuzzed, admin clerk only recently assigned to his unit.
“You going to the Labor Day picnic out by the Sound? We’ve got to win back the volleyball trophy from the P J’s.”
Rich had to chuckle. Baker had been with the unit all of two months. He had no bragging rights to win back from the pararescue jumpers. Rich did, but he had something else to do this weekend. Rebecca Tucker was getting married, and he’d been invited. It was to be Sherry’s first excursion out of the hospital. And the kids would be there.
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ll be out of town. Got a family thing to go to.”
It was the first time since he’d joined the air force that he had a place to go to on a holiday.
“Too bad,” said Baker.
“Yeah,” Rich agreed, his throat suddenly tight. This was probably no big deal to anybody else, but for him it was something big. He’d spent too many holidays alone on the base pulling extra duty for someone who had someplace better to go, or feeling like an extra wheel butting in on somebody’s holiday plans.
There had been a time when he’d have tried the bars along the Miracle Strip, but not tonight, and he’d never really enjoyed the feeling of being drunk. Maybe it was the specter of his father’s alcoholism rearing its head, or maybe it was just good common sense. Anyway, he wasn’t going to go out tonight.
He had an occasion to rest up for. He smiled to himself. He liked the idea of having family to go to, even if Rebecca Tucker wasn’t technically family. It was the closest thing to it he’d had in years. And his family would be there. Sherry and the kids were his family.
Hell, he liked the idea of having family.
JENNIFER SAT at her computer terminal and shuffled among the neat stacks of paper, looking for something else to do. She wondered if she’d ever get to the point where she didn’t mind being alone.
Al had returned from his Alaska trip, but he’d already left to spend the weekend with his wife and kids. She’d finished up the one project she’d had pending, and now she had nothing to look forward to other than the long holiday weekend.
Holidays were the worst.
That was, maybe, the only regret she had about divorcing Duke. Now that her parents were retired and traveling across the country in a rented RV, she had no home to go to. Even a husband who drank too hard and flirted too much was better than being alone.
No, she told herself, anything was better than putting up with Duke Bishop, his infidelities and lies. He might have thought he was God’s gift to women, he might have thought that he’d done her a big favor by marrying her and taking her away from Scranton, Pennsylvania, but he’d done her a bigger favor by letting her see the real him before they’d had children.
She let out a long gusty sigh, exited her program, turned off the computer and wandered toward the front door. She had a couple of plants at home she could work on. They were probably rootbound. Repotting them would kill at least an hour.
Then she’d have the rest of the three-day weekend to fill with nothing left to do.
Spending a long weekend alone and not having anybody to be with was far more preferable than trying to make a marriage work with somebody who hadn’t been interested in working it out with her.
She couldn’t help thinking about Rich Larsen and how he now had family to spend this weekend with. How lucky he was. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like for him.
Jennifer sighed again and let herself out, locking the door behind her. No, she wouldn’t think about him. Their business was over. She’d never see him again.
RICH SHOULDERED open the door to his apartment and dropped the heavy, canvas A-3 bag just inside. The room smelled musty and dank, thanks to the pervasive Florida humidity and being closed up for a week. Ski, his roommate followed him in.
Ski dumped his bag next to Rich’s, then let out an amazed whistle. “Whoa. One of us must be pretty popular.”
Rich followed Ski’s gaze to their answering machine which was lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hell, I don’t know anybody here. They can’t be for me. They must be yours.”
Then he realized that they could be from his sister. He lunged for the machine, hit Play and listened.
A woman’s voice he didn’t recognize. Rich started to call Ski, but then he caught a name. “This is Rebecca Tucker. Please call me.”
Ski stood by, waiting to see if any of the machine’s blinks were for him.
That message for Rich was followed by six more, all placed since noon, and each seeming more desperate. None were for Ski, and he drifted off to unload his gear.
Heart lodged in his throat, Rich dialed the number. Someone answered, and he recognized the voice as the same one in the frantic messages. He started to identify himself, then realized he had reached her voice mail.
Muttering a curse, he slammed the phone back down and played the messages back, trying to glean an alternate number or some other useful information from the urgent messages. Nothing.
Rich let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Now what? Maybe, he should call the hospital. But, hadn’t Sherry told him that she was going to be transferred to the rehab facility? She’d told him where it was, and he probably had the number stuck away somewhere, but right now, he couldn’t put a finger on it.
He started to dial Rebecca again, but as he reached for the phone, somebody rang the doorbell.
“I’ll get that,” Ski called. “You find out what’s going on with your sister.”
Rich glanced in the direction of the door as he pushed redial. The door opened out of his line of sight, but as he watched, Ski backed away. His hands were raised; a look of incredulity was on his face.
Ski glanced over his shoulder toward Rich. “Hey, good buddy. I think this one’s for you. I never saw that woman before in my life. Much less those rugrats.”
Dropping the receiver back on the cradle, Rich hurried to the door.
There, in the doorway, was Rebecca Tucker wearing a look of utter panic. In her arms was a munchkin that looked like Yoda’s first cousin, and at her side stood a very tired-looking little girl. What were they doing here? Surrounding them all was a pile of pastel-colored baggage that looked like, at least, three times as much of the stuff he’d off-loaded this afternoon.
“Oh, Rich. I am so glad to see you. You have to help me. I’m desperate,” Rebecca said as she stepped inside. She turned to Ski. “Would you mind bringing all that in?”
Ski, a bewildered expression on his face, looked at Rich, and all Rich could do was nod.
“What’s happened to Sherry?” he finally asked when it became clear that Rebecca was too flustered to explain.
She shifted Yoda to her other hip and shook her head. “Nothing. Sherry’s fine. You’ll see her tomorrow. She’s out of the halo and in a neck brace. I’m sorry, I didn’t think how it might sound when I left all those messages.”
Ski strode in with a pastel contraption in either hand. “I guess I should introduce you to my roommate,” Rich said. “Ski Warsinski, meet Rebecca Tucker. She’s the friend of my sister’s who’s been taking care of her kids.”
Ski nodded and went back for another load.
At least Rebecca had the decency to apologize for scaring him out of his mind, but she’d yet to explain why she was here. He remembered his promise to help out in whatever way he could, and hoped she wasn’t calling that one in. He had a feeling she was. Why else would she have the kids and all their gear with her? “Okay,” he said warily. “What do you need?”
Ski went into the kitchen.
The frantic look faded, and Rebecca managed a weak smile. “The lady I had lined up to keep the kids for the wedding and honeymoon stumbled down the stairs and broke her hip. So far, I haven’t been able to find anybody to take over.” She shrugged. “It’s a holiday weekend and the last minute, at that.” She looked at him hopefully.
Rich didn’t have to hear the rest to know what she was working herself up to, but how should he respond? He only had to look into the mirror to see his father’s face reflected back at him. He shook his head vehemently. What if he’d inherited more than just his father’s looks?
What if he harmed one of those kids?
Why hadn’t she postponed the wedding? Of course, he knew the answer: Sherry had told him she’d insisted that Rebecca go on with it.
“Please, Rich. You have to help me out here.” When Rich was slow to agree, Rebecca went on. “I promise it’ll only be for tonight. I’ve got feelers out everywhere, and I’ll keep looking. Surely I’ll have someone by the ceremony tomorrow.
“In the meantime, I have to run. I have to be at the rehearsal dinner in…” She glanced at her watch. “About an hour and a half.” With that she handed Yoda to him. “This is Carter, and this is Caitlyn,” she said, urging the reluctant little girl toward Rich. “This is your Uncle Rich. He’s going to take care of you until Mrs. Dahlstrom is better.”
“But, Rebecca…” Rich protested. “They don’t know me.”
“You’re not a complete stranger to them, Rich. They’ve seen pictures of you that Sherry had.”
“I don’t know anything about taking care of kids,” Rich insisted. “What if I…?” He didn’t dare think of the rest of that sentence.
“Carter is an easy baby,” Rebecca told him. “He’ll be fine as long as Caitlyn is here, and she knows what to do. She’ll be a big help to you.” She blew a kiss toward the kids. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks.” She dashed out the door.
Rich looked at the door closing behind Rebecca. She hadn’t even given him a chance to say no. Then he looked down at Carter. His face was screwed up and turning red, and before Rich had a chance to try to calm him down, he let out an ear-splitting shriek guaranteed to blow a 100-amp stereo speaker at fifty paces.
“What the hell was that?” Ski asked, coming out of the kitchen, a sandwich of Dagwood proportions in his hands.
“I think Carter wants something to eat. It is supper time. I guess we should try to feed them. Is there any more sandwich stuff in there or did you use it all?” Rich noticed one of those pacifier things tangled in the baby’s clothes and popped it into his open mouth. Carter continued to cry, and the pacifier dribbled onto the floor.
“There’s plenty,” Ski answered, his mouth full, as Rich scooped up the pacifier.
“Okay, Katie, let’s go get some grub.” Rich, gingerly holding Carter, headed toward the kitchen to wash off the pacifier. “Does your brother like ham sandwiches?” When Caitlyn didn’t respond, he turned.
Caitlyn was still standing where he’d left her, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed, looking like a miniature schoolmarm. “You can’t feed him sammiches. He don’t got no teef.” She rolled her eyes at him as if she were talking to an idiot. “And my name is not Katie. It’s Caitlyn.”
“Okay. Okay.” Of course, the rugrat had no teeth. He knew that. “Did your Aunt Becky bring anything for me to feed him?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes again. “He gots baby food inna diaper bag.”
“Get it for me.” He tried bouncing Yoda, but all it did was slow the wails down a notch. He ran water over the pacifier and stuck it back in, holding it there until he felt Carter latch on. Relieved, he let go. So did Carter, and the pacifier squirted out of his mouth as the kid let out a wail as shrill as an air-raid siren.
Caitlyn grimaced, but she did as he asked. “You gots to heat it up inna microwave,” she said as she handed him two jars of revolting looking stuff.
“Okay. Do it.” He had enough trouble just keeping the baby from squalling any louder.
“I’m not ’lowed to touch the microwave.”
Rich sighed and looked at Ski.
Ski held up his hands, one still holding half a sandwich. “Hey, don’t look at me. They’re your niece and nephew.” He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed. “You got your hands full. I think I’ll just go crash at Murphey’s. He’s still pretty messed up since Allison dumped him. He can use the company, and I sure as hell know more about how to handle that mess than the one you got here.” He wiped his hands on his pants and headed for the door. “I’m outta here.”
“Coward,” Rich muttered, but he envied the man, too, for having Murphey to go to. Danny Murphey was another guy on the team and had been Ski’s roommate before he’d set up house with Allison Adler, the woman he’d thought he was going to marry. He guessed Ski owed Danny just like he owed Sherry. If he just hadn’t gone and opened his mouth and volunteered to help.
No, he told himself sternly. He’d passed arctic, desert and jungle survival school, no sweat. He could surely handle two kids until tomorrow.
Famous last words, Rich couldn’t help thinking when, two hours later, he’d scraped the last of the cereal and strained peaches out of the jars. He’d managed to put together a peanut butter sandwich for Caitlyn with his right hand while he’d attempted to shovel food into Carter’s mouth with his left.
Rich wasn’t sure how much had gone into Carter. He must have scraped most of it off the kid’s face and the rest was splattered all over the kitchen. He sighed and looked around the filthy room. It looked as though somebody had fought a paint ball war in here. But, Carter was quiet for the time being, and that little piece of silence had to be worth all the mess. Rich slapped a couple of slices of ham between two pieces of bread and shoved them into his mouth. He guessed he’d have to hose down the kitchen, but for now he had to get the kids settled while he could. He didn’t know how long the lull would last, but he wanted to make the most of it.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven. Didn’t little kids go to bed by now? He didn’t suppose Caitlyn could tell time. Maybe, he could fool her into thinking it was bedtime even if it wasn’t. He looked down at Carter. His food-encrusted eyelids were definitely drooping.
“Okay. Time for bed. Go put on your pajamas.”
Caitlyn started to say something, but then closed her mouth. She turned as if to do his bidding, then stopped, looking like she was ready to cry herself. “I dunno where I’m s’posta sleep.”
Rich propped the baby over his shoulder, and felt a surge of an unfamiliar emotion when the kid snuggled up against him. “I guess you can sleep in Ski’s room.” He pointed toward Ski’s closed bedroom door, then he remembered the extensive collection of Babe of the Month posters on the wall. “Oops,” he said, yanking her back. “On the other hand, you can sleep in mine.”
He pushed open the door and ushered her in, pointing to his queen-size bed. “See, it’s big enough for both of you.” He started to put the baby down, but Caitlyn shook her head. “You hafta get his portacwib. He’ll fall off da bed.”
Portacrib? He’d seen Rebecca with a couple of suitcases, but he didn’t remember anything that looked like a crib. He looked back out into the living room to the pile of stuff Ski had dragged in before he left. There were more supplies there than he’d need for a two-week hike. He looked at the bewildering pile of kid paraphernalia and blew out a tired breath.
Caitlyn marched over to a flattened contraption of wood and mesh. “Tha’s it. You gots to unfode it.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, wondering how he could accomplish that and hold on to Carter, too. This project was going to take both hands.
“Can you hold your brother for me?” he asked, already knowing it wasn’t going to work.
Caitlyn shook her head. “Mommy says I might dwop him.”
Rich was beginning to run out of options here. If he put Carter on the bed, he might roll off. If he tried to hold Carter and assemble the bed, he’d surely drop the kid flat on the floor. That’s it. The floor.
He laid Carter down in the middle of the rug and held his breath to see if he repeated the siren routine. So far, so good.
The mechanism wasn’t too complicated, and Rich had the bed set up in short order. Just a few minutes and he’d have the kids squared away. Then he could clean up and catch some Z’s of his own. He reached for Carter to put him in the crib, but the prim expression on Caitlyn’s face stopped him. “Now what?” he asked irritably.
“You gots to put a sheet on,” she said as if he were the dumbest man in the world.
“You got one on you?” he snapped, his patience stretched as far as it would go.
“Huh?” Caitlyn had apparently not heard that expression before.
“Never mind.” He went to the hall closet and grabbed a sheet. The one with the beer can design. Carter wouldn’t know the difference. He’d thought they were cool when he bought them; now he was thinking otherwise. He clumsily covered the plastic mattress and looked at Caitlyn. She might only be four years old, but she was the expert in the room.
“Okay,” she said, looking like a less-than-pleased drill sergeant.
He put Carter in. The baby fussed a little, but seemed ready to go to sleep. He turned toward Caitlyn.
“You gots to change his diaper.”
He was afraid she’d say that. He turned back to the crib. Carter looked pretty cozy, and he was reluctant to disturb him, but he figured a kid with diaper rash would really be hard to deal with.
Rich managed to get the wet diaper off easy enough, but he didn’t have a fresh one to put on. He looked at Caitlyn. She pointed to another diaper bag.
“Mommy always throws a diaper over him until she’s done,” Caitlyn said matter-of-factly.
Rich wondered if she was shielding her daughter from a close view of the male anatomy, and decided as long as he stayed between her and Carter, he could manage until he got the new diaper and put it on him.
He turned back and quickly learned why Sherry covered him with a diaper as a jet of liquid squirted nearly to the ceiling. “Whoa! How the he—heck does one kid hold so much?” He tossed the disposable diaper over the stream, startling Carter and making him cry. This parent thing was tough duty, he couldn’t help thinking as he struggled to fasten the thing.
The diaper looked none-too secure, but it would have to do. He turned to Caitlyn. “Okay, young lady. Time for you to hit the sack.”
“I can’t go to bed until Mommy hears my prayers,” she said. “We gots to call her up.”
Rich rolled his eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “How ’bout I listen tonight?” he suggested, knowing instantly it wouldn’t fly. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done with the number, and if Rebecca had left him any, he didn’t know where they were.
“No. Mommy. I gotta say ’em for Mommy.” So far, Caitlyn had behaved like a trouper, but Rich had a sinking feeling he’d just run out of luck.
“I want my Mommy,” she wailed. Carter, who had almost drifted off to sleep, joined the chorus.
Rich had the greatest urge to join in, too, but that would solve nothing. He needed a kid expert, and he needed one fast. He called directory assistance and dialed the home number of the only person he could think of who might be able to help.
When she answered, he blurted out a desperate plea. “Jennifer, can you come over to my place? I need your help. Fast.”
Chapter Four
Jennifer switched the phone from one ear to the other as she listened to Rich’s panicked request. For one brief moment, she’d thought he was asking her for a date, but her fluttering heart skidded to a halt when she heard the unmistakable sound of a child crying in the background.
“Okay,” she said, tempering her disappointment. It was probably better this way anyway, she convinced herself. And her curiosity was running at full throttle. “Why don’t you tell me just what’s going on.”
She was on the living room phone, tethered by an eight-foot wire, and she needed to be in the kitchen. The spaghetti was past done, and if it didn’t get drained soon, all she’d have was mush. She stretched as far as the cord would allow her and turned off the stove and listened.
Rebecca Tucker had stuck Rich with Sherry’s kids. The woman had to be truly desperate if she was entrusting them to him. The man might be able to hack his way through a jungle with one hand tied behind him, but she’d bet he was clueless when it came to child care. Another wailing voice followed the first one.
She would definitely win that bet.
“Tell you what,” she finally said when Rich had finished his desperate explanation. The guy had to be at the end of his rope if he’d actually admitted that he needed her. Even if it was just to help with his niece and nephew. “I don’t have that much experience with kids, and I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I just got finished cooking up a batch of spaghetti sauce. I’ll bring it over. Once we get the kids settled, we can eat.” If they got the kids settled, she didn’t say. Of course, that meant that the noodles she’d already cooked were toast, but that couldn’t be helped. She had plenty more to cook later.
Jennifer could almost feel Rich’s relief coming through the phone wires. She wanted to think it was because she was coming, not to help with the kids, not to bring the food, but for herself. But she was realistic enough to know that wasn’t the case. Besides, she’d already learned her lesson about that kind of man. She didn’t need that.
Rich needed a woman to help with the kids. Period. Any woman who’d passed Child Care 101 would do.
Her experience with kids was limited, at best. She didn’t have many friends with children, and her siblings hadn’t started having theirs when she’d married and moved away. She wasn’t sure how much help she’d be, but she’d give it her best effort.
“Jennifer?”
She hadn’t realized that she’d been woolgathering and found herself blushing even though she was alone in the room. “Yes, sorry. I was thinking about the logistics of getting this stuff over to you,” she said. “I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“Great! You don’t know how glad I am to hear that. I’ll be waiting.”
Probably watching at the window, Jennifer thought. Too bad the cavalry wasn’t going to be that much help. “Just one thing, Rich. Go ahead and let Caitlyn call her mother. I’m sure that will be the best thing for everybody.”
Rich mumbled something about not knowing what the number was, but Jennifer didn’t respond. She just hung up. She wasn’t sure why she’d just agreed to do this. She just knew she had to.
For the kids, she told herself.
She almost believed it.
FEELING SOMEWHAT relieved, Rich hung up. Jennifer was coming. Finally, an expert in the house. If he could only survive till she got here. Half an hour. He could do it.
He hoped.
In the meantime, he had to find the number so Caitlyn could call Sherry. She should have known that he wouldn’t make a satisfactory mom substitute, even if Rebecca didn’t. Hell, he didn’t even know that diaper thing.
He looked at Caitlyn, her pixie face puffy and wet with tears. She looked back, her eyes wide and questioning. For the moment, she wasn’t wailing, but her small body shuddered violently with residual sobs.
Rich took a deep breath.
“Caitlyn, did your Aunt Becky leave me any phone numbers in all that stuff?” He gestured toward the mountain of kiddie gear he’d yet to explore.
“Inna diaper bag,” she said, then wiped her nose with the back of her arm. “Mommy always puts a piece a paper inna diaper bag in case of a ’mergency.”
Rich exhaled and headed for the bag. He just hoped that Rebecca did the same thing. She wasn’t a mother, so she might not know.
That stopped him. Jennifer wasn’t a mother either. What if she didn’t know anymore about what to do with the kids than he did?
No, he wasn’t going to think that.
Even if she didn’t have real mother experience, surely mothering was a woman thing. Didn’t they have instincts? Wasn’t child care know-how part of the package?
He found a sheet of folded paper, with neat printing on it, tucked into a pocket on the outside of the diaper bag. The numbers.
Damn, it had every number imaginable on it. From Sherry’s to Rebecca’s home number—where Rebecca wouldn’t even be—to the pediatrician and poison control. Poison control? What did she think he was going to do with the kids, feed them tranquilizers?
Then he looked at Caitlyn, still sniffling, and glanced at Carter, whining in the tiny crib. It was tempting, but he did know better than that.
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Bonnie Gardner
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Kids aren′t my specialty.U.S. Air Force Combat Controller Rich Larsen could parachute into danger in a moment′s notice. But being besieged by his convalescing sister′s two demanding children was an entirely different matter. Well, desperate means called for extreme measures. So the overwhelmed Uncle Sarge sent out an SOS to the pretty lady who had reunited him with his family.Before long, Jennifer Bishop worked a miracle on Rich′s adorable wards–and on his heart. So much so that the rootless loner could almost picture them having a family of their own someday. Trouble was, a love-wary Jennifer had sworn off military men. Good thing Rich never backed away from a challenge!