A Hero to Come Home To (18 page)

Carly’s silence lasted too long to be comfortable, but the warmth in her voice when she did speak made up for it. “I would like that. I’ll see you…”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds great. Bye.”

Maybe Captain Rush was right. Maybe he did have a girlfriend.

At least for a while.

Jeff had hated to shop for anything besides electronics or tools he would rarely use. If it didn’t come with a plug or a USB connector, he wasn’t interested. Carly couldn’t say for sure that Dane enjoyed it, but he didn’t give off any of the disinterested guy signals Jeff had excelled at. He picked out the trim paint, estimated how much they needed, got a tub of caulking and a scraper to fill in any imperfections.

“Knowing how you like perfection,” he said drily with a glance her way.

“Aw, come on.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Doesn’t everyone want things as close to perfect as possible?”

“You know perfection rarely exists.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it does. You just have to have a realistic view of it.”

Now he mimicked her eye-roll. “Perfection by definition is perfect.”

“But who defines
perfect
? We do. My vision of perfect might not match yours, but to me, it’s still perfect.”

“I bet your family would have a few arguments for that.”

“Oh, yeah. But it’s not their life or their perfect, so their opinion is just that.”

As they left the hardware department, Carly saw the perfume counter ahead and remembered that she hadn’t replaced her fragrance yet. She hadn’t worn Jeff’s favorite again, though. It was excellent support for her argument: He’d thought it the perfect perfume and she hadn’t been wild about it.

She wondered what Dane would find perfect, then immediately discounted the thought. A fragrance that
she
wore every day had to meet her approval, no one else’s.

And she wasn’t ready yet. It would be kind of like packing up Jeff’s clothes or selling his car or taking off his wedding band. It would be saying good-bye and moving on in a way that she couldn’t take back.

She paid for her purchases, and they went to Dane’s truck, so new it still had that new smell. She gave him a choice of restaurants in town, and he chose Luca’s, a small Italian place that occupied an old house just a block away from CaraCakes.

Though it wasn’t even six o’clock, most of the dining rooms the hostess led them through were full. They got a table for two in the corner of what had once been a library. Dark paneling still hung on the walls, and dark velvet drapes at the windows. It was her favorite room, especially when a fire simmered in the small marble fireplace. Now only a trio of candles burned there.

“You lived in Italy,” she commented as she spread the damask napkin on her lap. “Do you still like American Italian food?”

“Lasagna is good pretty much wherever it’s made.”

“There’s a town a few hours southeast of here, just a little bit of nothing where there are a half dozen well-known Italian restaurants and a great Italian market.”

“Krebs.” A smile warmed his eyes. “I’ve been there. When I was a kid, my dad liked to take Saturday trips every couple months. I think we visited every out-of-the-way restaurant with a reputation within half a day’s driving distance of Dallas.”

“The margarita club went a few months ago. We got there in time for lunch at one restaurant, then did some antique shopping in McAlester, then went back and had dinner at a different place. Luca is from there, so good food runs in his soul.”

Dane glanced up from the menu. “Are we going to run into any of them tonight?”

She shook her head exasperatedly—but affectionately. “You never know. Jessy lives just a few blocks away, and she has to take a break from Serena’s once in a while. None of us do a lot of cooking, except Therese, since she’s got the kids. For the rest of us, though, cooking for one…”

His movements precise, he closed the menu and laid it on the table. When he lowered his hands to his lap, she wondered if he was rubbing the ache in his bad leg. “Yeah, I know. I think I’ve got some beer, some water, and maybe some ketchup in my refrigerator.”

“That would be sadder if you lived in a house. But you’re in the barracks. You’re excused from cooking. If it weren’t for frozen and canned stuff, I’d starve.” So very not true, given her stash of chocolate-covered caramels. But she certainly wouldn’t get any real nutrition if she didn’t eat in the school cafeteria five days a week.

The waitress set a basket of warm bread, along with small dishes of softened butter, on the table, then took their orders: lasagna for Dane, eggplant parmesan for Carly.

Dane broke a slab of dark bread in half and took a bite before changing the subject. “I heard someone at work mention spring break. You have plans?”

“My sister-in-law, Lisa, wants me to come and stay with her family for a few days, but I don’t know.” There was no way, face-to-face, that she’d be able to hide the fact that she had a boyfriend—it was official now, wasn’t it, with this date? The rest of her family would think nothing of it; some of them studied people who felt the need for other people in their lives, but their personal experience was limited. Only Lisa would recognize it for the major development it was.

“Is Lisa a genius, too?”

“Pretty much, but she has all the social skills the rest of the family missed out on. She’s a great mom and wife, and I love her to pieces. I just don’t think I want to go to Utah this break.” After resisting as long as she could, she chose a piece of crusty garlic bread from the basket and took a heavenly bite before musing, “Maybe I’ll get some more work done on the house or get my yard ready for summer. I didn’t even clean out the beds last fall.”

“Is that something you did with Jeff?”

A wave from the doorway caught Carly’s attention, and she nodded a greeting to the parents of one of her students. The mom volunteered a few hours at school every week. The dad had just come back from Afghanistan. They were among the lucky ones.

Then she glanced back at Dane. The navy of his shirt was a great color for him, and with it tucked into hip-hugging denims, the neat-casual style was enough to make most women look twice.

For the first time in a long time, she was feeling pretty lucky herself.

He cleared his throat, and she remembered the question he’d asked. “Um, Jeff’s idea of yard work was lying on the chaise while I worked. His only interest in grass was playing football on it, he couldn’t have cared less about flowers, and while he loved vegetables, he associated them with grocery stores, not gardens.”

The waitress brought their salads, a spring mix of lettuces and grape tomatoes dressed with Luca’s special vinegar and oil. Dane waited until she’d left again. “Do you stay in touch with his family?”

“His mom mostly, though she puts Pop on the phone from time to time. They still live in Colorado, where he grew up. He was an only child, and Mia and I were—are—pretty close. What about you? Do you ever talk to your ex-mother-in-law?”

“God, no. Sheryl’s mother hated me, all the way back to the eighth grade when Sheryl and I started going steady. She didn’t see me ever getting rich and giving them the life she wanted.”

“Them?” Carly echoed.

His smile was crooked. “Rhonda believed in the trickle-down theory. If her daughters married well, naturally some of their prosperity would pass on to her. It worked for her, I guess. Last I heard, she and her husband were living in their new son-in-law’s vacation home on the Gulf Coast.”

“Better for the son-in-law than actually having them live in his regular home.” She took a bite of salad, savoring the tang of the balsamic vinegar with the mellowness of the olive oil, and almost sighed in appreciation. “Just think, if you’d chosen a different career path, that could be you supporting them.”

He faked a horrified expression. “With all the downsides to the Army, especially during a war, it’s been a much better life than living in the same state as Rhonda.”

She toyed with her fork, pushing a crouton around the plate, before setting it down and looking at him. “Would you do it again? I mean, enlist in the Army. If you knew you’d be in combat, that you’d lose friends and your marriage would end and you’d hurt your leg?”

He looked back at her, but his expression was so distant that she doubted he was actually seeing her. He didn’t hesitate, though, and there was no uncertainty in his answer. “Yes.”

Then, as they both had a habit of doing, he turned the question back on her. “Would you do it again? Marry Jeff if you knew he was going to go to war and not come back?”

Her answer was just as swift, just as certain. “Yes. I have regrets, but loving him is not one of them.”

Lord, she hoped falling for Dane wouldn’t become one.

They ended their dinner by sharing a dish of Luca’s incredible torta barozzi, then went to Carly’s house, where she changed into the paint-stained shorts and T-shirt she’d worn the last two nights and they worked in a comfortable silence until the first coat of trim was completed. Her body was aching, the paint fumes were making her eyes water and her nose twitch, and she was tired enough to expect a decent night’s sleep.

And her living room was gorgeous.

They were sitting on the edge of the drop cloth, the sofa at their backs, studying the contrast of the colors, when Dane broke the silence with an exhale. “Mind if I borrow a patch of floor for the night? I think I’m too tired to get up.”

“I’ll help you.” But she didn’t move. She was too comfortable. “Or maybe I’ll just share it with you.” Wouldn’t the club think that was a hoot, if her first night with another man passed in sleep because they were both too worn out to do anything?

“Do you like the colors?”

“Love ’em. Go, Cowboys.”

“That’s Oklahoma State. Or Dallas. UT is the Longhorns.” He yawned, then stretched, and she tried not to notice too obviously the muscles straining the T-shirt he’d changed into to paint. “I’d better clean the brushes, then go.”

“I’ll clean them.” She stood, her back protesting, and offered him a hand. He studied it a moment before taking it, and she pulled. Favoring his left leg, he got to his feet, and there he stood. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His breath touched her forehead in little puffs, and his eyes…She could get lost in his eyes.

In fact, she thought she might have. It seemed forever when his fingers squeezed hers, then he started toward the door, pulling her along behind him. There he picked up the navy shirt hanging on the knob with his free hand, then asked, “You have plans for tomorrow?”

She moistened her lips with her tongue. “Just the usual. Cleaning, laundry, groceries. I’ll be done by noon.”

“I’ll call you.”

“I’ll answer.” Inwardly wincing at the sappy response, she seized an impulse, one she hadn’t felt in a long time, leaned forward, and brushed his mouth with hers.

Again his fingers tightened around hers, and his gaze turned dark with emotion—surprise, uncertainty, temptation, desire. Finally he smiled, just a little one, and let her go as he opened the door.

Almost immediately, though, he stepped back, slid his hand into her hair, dislodging her ragged ponytail, and he kissed her back. It was innocent—no tongues—and sweet and hinted that he wanted so much more. Her fingers were raising, curling, to grab hold of him for support, and a breath later, he stopped kissing her.

“Good night,” he murmured, his voice husky, color in his cheeks, as he pivoted and walked away.

“Good night,” she whispered as he climbed into his truck, then backed out of the driveway.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there watching—long after his taillights had disappeared from sight—when a breeze sent shivers through her. She closed and locked the door, walked to the living room doorway, let her gaze sweep over her beautiful new walls and trim, then laid her fingers on her mouth.

Experience came slowly but surely. She’d kissed her first boy at eighteen, and now ten years later, she’d kissed the third one.

And it had been nice.

That warm happy feeling carried her through the best night’s sleep she’d had in a while. When she woke up Saturday morning, her usual first thought came—twenty-six months, four days—followed by a new one, part wonder, part brag:
Dane kissed me.

Still in her pajamas, she wandered down to the kitchen, started a cup of coffee and boiled water for oatmeal. Once those were both done, she carried them into the living room, climbed around the end table and into the seat of Jeff’s recliner. When the phone rang, she snagged it from another table and said, “Good morning.”

A moment of silence followed before Lisa spoke. “Is this a bad time?”

Carly snuggled deeper into the chair. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“You sound so…cheerful. I thought maybe you had company.”

“This early in the morning?”

“Actually, I meant overnight company.”

In the background, three-year-old Eleanor asked, “Does Aunt Carly have slumber parties like me and Missy?”

“Kind of,” Lisa said. “Eat your pancakes.”

“But I wanted eggs.”

“Then you should have
asked
for eggs,” Isaac pointed out. “That’s what I did, and that’s what I got.”

“Hush now, kids, while Mom talks to Aunt Carly.”

“Okay,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “But I still wanted eggs.”

Carly laughed. “Some mom you are. You can’t even read their minds about breakfast.”

“Ah, but I’m impossible to distract. Did you have a slumber party?”

“No, I did not.”

“So why the cheerfulness?”

“It’s spring, the sun is shining, it’s Saturday.”
And Dane kissed me.

“Same thing here, but no cause for joy.”

“Well, I’m enjoying my morning sunshine in the middle of my newly painted living room.” Before Lisa could ask the inevitable, Carly went on, “Burnt orange walls and cream trim.”

Lisa shrieked. “Whoa, when you make a change, you go big. It must be gorgeous when the sun’s shining in.”

“It is.” They’d had to take the blinds down to paint the window trim, and she decided in that moment that she’d leave them down. She didn’t need any more privacy than a pair of medium-weight curtains could provide.