Joint Forces (10 page)

A half hour later, he stood in the front parking lot, locking the door, taking his time until Miranda revved her engine, the last of the crowd to go.

Finally, Miranda spewed gravel on her way out of the lot. He exhaled long. Off the hook. Alone, just him and waves pounding the dock, sailboat lines snapping and pinging.

He rounded the corner to where he'd parked– away from the shoreline and saltwater so his dad wouldn't blow a gasket about rust.

And pulled up short. A lone street lamp backlit a person sitting on the trunk of his mother's car.
Shelby
.

She perched cross-legged, flip-flops off and beside her as if she'd gotten comfortable for a long wait. She hugged her knees to her chest, her jet-black hair lifting in the wind.

Damn. How could he have ever even looked at Miranda?

He tried not to think about the chocolate bar in his pocket. "You shouldn't be out here alone. It's not safe."

She turned at his voice, then rested her chin on her knees without answering. Did chicks practice this silent-treatment stuff to confuse guys? He didn't have much practice on how to handle it since the women in his family weren't ever afraid to speak their minds.

He strode closer, faster, until he could see her clearly. Ah man, her eyes stared back, all red and swollen, puffy from crying. He tried to think of something to say and only came up with, "Want a Heath Bar?

Mom says chocolate cures everything."

Her bottom lip quivered.

Way to go, hotshot. "Okay, no chocolate."

Foot on the bumper, he propelled himself up to sit on the trunk beside her. Maybe quiet was good after all, kinda like his dad did. When his dad clammed up, Mom usually spilled her guts. Then a guy didn't have to guess what was going on and risk botching it by actually getting involved in the discussion.

Besides, sitting with Shelby, the ocean breeze puffing by, he could smell her. Be close to her. Why rush ending that? He stared up at the inky sky dotted with stars and just breathed salty air and Shelby.

She shifted beside him, slid her flip-flops back on. "You probably need to get home."

"Nah, my folks know I'm working." He would take the ass-ripping from his dad for being late. Time alone with Shelby was rare since Shelby and Murdoch were so tight.

Or were they?

Another tear glistened in the corner of her eye. From a breakup? He couldn't stop the hope.

Which made him feel like a disloyal scumbag. "Where's Murdoch?"

"Away for the weekend." She sniffled, blinked fast. "Some family-reunion thing."

Okay, not breaking up. "Bummer. Tough luck him being gone right now. You don't have too many weekends left before the moving truck pulls out. Then college."

"Uh-huh."

She chewed off her glitter lip gloss while more waves crashed. He waited and reminded himself he was her friend. Murdoch's friend. And friends didn't take advantage. He was cool with them as a couple.

"I think I'm pregnant."

Her simple sentence hung there and man it hurt. Bad. He wasn't okay with crap.

He'd known in his head that Shelby and Murdoch were probably doing it. They'd been dating for about two years, after all. But it wasn't something he let himself think about too much because it would drive him kinda crazy.

Not much choice but to think about it now. "Are you sure?"

"No." She swiped hair from her face. "Just, uh, late. Scared. I needed to talk to somebody before I totally lost it in front of my folks."

Honor forced him to say, "Shouldn't you be talking to Murdoch about this instead of me?"

She didn't answer, just kept brushing hair out of her face while wind streaked it right back again.

"It is, uh, his, right?"

She jerked toward him, shock, anger, hurt all glittering in her eye like the sparkles in her lip gloss. "God, yes. What kind of person do you think I am?" She started inching down the hood. "I shouldn't have even come here. This isn't your problem, anyway."

"Hold on." He gripped her arm to stop her from sliding off to leave. "Chill. It's just weird that you're talking to me first. But I'm totally cool with it."

The fight crumpled out of her spine. Tears flooded, dripped over. What kind of guy would he be if he didn't comfort her? No big deal. A friend thing. He patted her back. Safe. Still friend stuff.

A really soft curvy friend.

He clenched his jaw tight. Ditch the thoughts, dude. Remember the mess with Miranda. Shelby's current mess. Hell, his parents' mess.

Couldn't anybody besides him keep their pants zipped?

Shelby sniffed, pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

"It's not like we were stupid or anything. We were always careful used condoms."

That was so much more information than he needed. "Uh-huh."

"But no kind of birth control is a hundred percent, you know?"

Not really. But now didn't seem to be the time to mention his virgin status. "Says so on the box."

"We haven't even been doing it all that long."

So she'd held out against John Murdoch. Marginal balm for an aching ego. "Oh, um…"

"John wanted me to be sure."

Hell. Now he couldn't even hate the guy. "You must be really important to him."

A small smile broke through for the first time. "That's what he says." Her smile drooped. "But he's already pissed at me because I won't go to the same college as him, and now he's going to use this to make me do things his way. I'm just a senior in high school. I don't want to get married yet."

Married? "Whoa. Hold on. Why worry until you know for sure? No need to get all fired up and mad at him." Way to go, sap. Help the guy. Except in this case, helping Murdoch meant helping Shelby. "Why don't you get one of those home tests?"

"They're not a hundred percent for sure."

"It's a place to start."

"Maybe I don't want to know for sure." She snapped a hair band on her wrist, then again and again.

"God, my dad's going to be so disappointed in me. I don't know how I'm going to face him."

"What about your mom? Can you go to her place for the weekend, talk to her first?"

Shelby snorted, yanking the band off her wrist and twisting her hair back. "She'll either totally freak out and just call my dad to handle it, or pretend everything's fine and offer to take me shopping at the mall."

"Maybe you could go to your stepmom."

"Julia's cool," Shelby conceded, giving her hair a final twist in the band. "But she'll tell Dad, because that's the way they are together. Tight, you know?"

"Hmm," he grunted, because he didn't know. His parents weren't that way, never had been, and it pissed him off that no amount of extra "alone time" together seemed to make any difference. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to scream. I want to cry." Her hands dropped from her silky black hair into her lap. "I want somebody to hug me and tell me it's gonna be okay."

"Well, I can help you out with half of that."

Chris wrapped his arms around her, tucked her under his chin and let her cry. Finally, he was holding Shelby Dawson against his chest and he couldn't do a damn thing but comfort her while she crushed his Heath Bar.

* * *

The walls of the small paneled room started to close in on him. He needed progress. Action. Anything to shake the freaking inactivity.

He thumbed along the pages of the discarded book beside the computer. Even the Bard couldn't quiet the storm in him tonight.

Dinner with his wife and kids had been near perfect, so close to what he'd planned for himself during his teen years. Nice house. Plenty of food. The conversation was a bonus he hadn't known he was missing until Rena came into his life. Sure he didn't join in much, but he listened. Enjoyed. Like tonight.

And then she'd started cracking those chicken wing bones. Bo's breaking hand had echoed in his head.

And…

It was all too much. Too much emotion, noise. Storm.

He'd retreated. Except his quiet office, books, computer weren't offering him much in the way of relief.

A noise broke the silence.

He glanced up at the clock again, pendulum swinging. Rena was asleep—he'd checked. That one look at her soft body curved into her pillow was the source of most of his current frustration.

Chris was due home over an hour ago, but the office window showcased an empty parking spot.

Floorboards groaned. Old house-settling noises? Or something else.

Unease cranked along with his heart rate. He slid the key into the bottom drawer of his desk, opened, pulled out his M9 Beretta pistol.

The sounds could be nothing. The hit-and-run could be nothing. Or it could all be something, and no way would any of it get near his family.

Another squeak of boards and a rustle spurred him to action.

He edged out into the hall, following the sounds. Quiet, stealthy sounds. Should he have called the cops first? His hand fell to his cell phone in his back pocket, pulled it free and ready as he followed.

His footsteps led him to the kitchen. He slipped around the corner, socks silent on ceramic tile until he found…

His hungry intruder head deep in the refrigerator, a mighty fine and familiar ass pertly in view, clothed in a red satin nightshirt he'd given Rena two Christmases ago.

J
.T. lowered the gun to his side and feasted on the luscious sight of his wife's incredible ass while she feasted on whatever held her attention in the refrigerator.

Adrenaline surged through him alongside relief. Lust raged at Mach speed, leaving him totally at the mercy of memories from last summer when he'd returned home from TDY—temporary duty. He'd been on the road so much over the past few years with Afghanistan, Iraq, and regular TDYs to supply troops all around the world, he'd spent little time in his wife's bed. In his wife's arms.

In his wife's body.

He'd eased into the kitchen last summer after his return from Guam, dropped his helmet bag softly to the floor. She'd heard, her spine straightening as she stood on a ladder stenciling an ivy border along the walls.

A smile had tipped her profile, but she hadn't moved, just waited for him to cross to her. He'd stopped behind her, so damn grateful for his son's band camp because—oh yeah—now Rena was alone in the house and he could wrap his arms around his wife to lift her off the ladder. Slide her back along his front as he lowered her to the ground.

He'd taken the green-soaked paintbrush from her, cupped the gentle weight of her breasts in his hands as she pressed her bottom against the already straining length of his erection.

Seconds later she'd been gripping the edge of the counter, her dress had been up, his zipper open, her thong snapped.

An awesome memory. No chance of repeating it anytime soon, though. He needed to stay his course.

No risking sex until he convinced her he should stay.

He crossed, placed his gun on top of the refrigerator.

Rena jumped, glanced over her shoulder. "God, J.T.! You scared a year off my life." She blushed, thrusting the bowl forward like a peace offering. "Want some chili?"

Peace would be nice. Except he couldn't get past the temptation of her unrestrained breasts against the satin nightshirt. Who turned the air conditioner on so cold? "Heard a noise, and since you shouldn't be up at all it never crossed my mind it might be you. What the hell are you doing up, anyway?"

"No chili? Okay, then. More for me." She popped open the lid on the Tupperware bowl, snagged a spoon and started shoveling. She shouldn't have appeared graceful in the midst of a feeding frenzy. But she did. "You seemed so intent on what you were doing in the study, I didn't want to bother you. Can you reach down there for the grated cheese, please?"

She'd been watching him, too? Adrenaline surged hotter, faster, throbbing low and south fast. Kneeling in front of her to find the bag of cheese didn't help. He was at the perfect level to hitch up that satin and—

"Thanks." She snatched the cheese from his hand and sprinkled some on top of her chili. "I woke up to, uh, go to the bathroom. God, I'd forgotten the seven thousand bathroom runs a night that come with being pregnant. And then I realized I was starving. In the morning I can't eat without being sick, and then I spend the whole rest of the day unable to eat enough. Crazy, huh?"

Crazy? He stood. Yeah, he was definitely going nuts talking about puking when all he could think about was pressing her against the counter and hiking up her nightshirt. Reenacting that memory of a better time before their world exploded. He'd known the split was coming, always expected the end. Considered every day with her another dodged bullet. Nope, he hadn't been in the least surprised when his hand weights sailed out the window and bounced off his book onto the lawn.

However, he hadn't expected another chance three months ago, a chance he'd blown. A mistake he wouldn't repeat. Which meant no jumping Rena in the kitchen.

Her eyes flashed with inspiration. She snatched a pudding pack from the refrigerator door. "Cravings."

"Like before."

"Textbook." She limped to the minuscule kitchenette table. Sighing, she sagged into a seat, swinging her injured foot up onto one of the other chairs. "Hope you don't want any pudding, because this is the last one, so you'll have to pry it out of my hormonally tight grip."

J.T. kicked the refrigerator shut. He dropped into a chair across from her and watched her savor alternating bites of chili and chocolate pudding. She licked the spoon clean every time. Rapture spread across her face.

His knuckles itched to glide across her high cheekbones as a prelude to kissing away the chocolate on the corner of her mouth. Damn, she was beautiful. "I can't believe I missed it."

"Missed what?"

He shook his head at his own blindness the past few months. "That you're pregnant."