Make Mine a Marine (69 page)

But Kerry was not only vocal, she was resilient. She answered his question with the same efficient tone her mother used when conducting business. "F-Faith's my f-friend. She never leaves me, 'cept when I'm s-sleeping."

"Is Faith the one who told you I was your daddy?"

She nodded.

"You know I don't look anything like him, don't you? He has dark hair. Darker than yours." He pulled at a strand of his own hair. "Mine's blonde."

"I know." Kerry reached up and touched it, too. "Y-yours is longer, too. But Faith s-says you're the same."

"Do you believe everything she tells you?"

She nodded with absolute loyalty. "Angels always t-tell the t-truth."

"And you talk to this… angel… without any problem?"

"I g-guess."

For the first time, Drew tried to see Emma's situation from Kerry's point-of-view. She'd been abandoned as a little girl by a father she could barely remember. The girl's mother wore her sadness like a shield, and carried her fading hope like a badge of honor.

Even though Kerry came first in Emma's life, he saw a similarity in each of the lives of the Ramsey women. Although Emma might not have been the focus of her father's rage, she couldn't help but be affected by it. And though Kerry had nothing to do with Emma's sad loneliness, she, too, couldn't help but be influenced by the demands Emma made on herself.

An imaginary friend who stayed by her as a steady guide made sense.

Taking a small leap of trust himself, Drew decided to accept Kerry's friend. For Kerry's sake.

He changed his grip to a comforting hug around the girl's shoulders and let her snuggle against him once more. "So what does Faith want you to tell me about your dream?" he asked.

Kerry sniffed and turned her nose into his chest. He didn't mind. "There's a m-man who c-comes to my house."

"Me?" Drew went rigid, wondering if he had unintentionally worked his way into her dreams and frightened her.

"No. He's bigger th-than you." Drew slowly exhaled and let himself relax, off the hook, but still concerned. "He t-takes Mommy away f-from me."

An angry resentment made him frown. Even in dreams, he didn't like the idea of anyone or anything frightening this little girl. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You know your mom loves you more than anything, punkin. You two are a team. She wouldn't let anybody take her away from you."

"He's n-not nice." She huddled closer, and Drew hugged her tight.

"I won't let anyone take her away from you, either." He made the promise without thinking, only feeling. He told her what she needed to hear, and heard the words himself with a sense of absolute rightness.

The bedside lamp brightened to its full strength. He narrowed his eyes against the sudden glare, and questioned its timing. But before he could make anything of the unusual coincidence, strands of yarn tapped against his chin.

He pulled back and squinted at the embroidered doll's face staring at him. Kerry yawned. "Angelica's tired," she said.

Drew bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the droopy-eyed, seven-year-old mother figure in his lap. "Then we'd better put her to bed."

He scooped up both girl and doll and tossed them onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he stood. Kerry giggled in his ear, breathless and surprised by the brief sensation of safe flight. "Daddy!"

Drew shushed her and carried her into the hall, bending his knees and dipping her up and down, prolonging the late-night carnival ride to her room. "You'd better call me Drew, punkin. So your mom doesn't worry."

“'Kay.”

"Promise?" The heady sensation of this girl's adoration had to take a back seat to common sense and his concern for Emma.

"It'll be our s-secret."

With a dramatic flourish, he swept her off his shoulder and laid her on her bed, almost tempted to chuckle right along with her as he tucked the covers up under her chin. "Good night, punkin."

"You c-can give me a g'night kiss if you want, Drew." Honored by the invitation, Drew smiled. He bent low over the bed and brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. When he started to pull away, she caught him by the neck and whispered in his ear. "Daddy."

She released him with a flurry of hushed giggles and turned away, curling up into a ball around her soft stuffed doll. Drew straightened, a slow grin spreading across his mouth at their shared secret. Emma would probably cringe to hear Kerry call him that, but he liked it. He felt necessary, special, and—for a few short moments in the middle of the night—loved.

Before that rare good feeling could overwhelm him into thinking it meant anything more than temporary gratitude or infatuation, Drew left the room. He'd better find Emma to see why she, too, refused to stay in bed and sleep.

The idea that he could carry her to bed and give her a kiss to calm her fears created a wry twist of laughter in his throat. She'd slap his face. Fire him. Worse, he'd feel as guilty as hell.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

The word echoed in his head, a judge pronouncing sentence on him for feeling things he shouldn't—about another man's wife and another man's child. He descended the stairs with a light, noiseless tread. By the time he reached the downstairs hallway, his buoyed spirits had sunk again.

He coveted another man's life. He wanted Emma and Kerry for his own. Even if he remembered his life from before, he'd want this one instead. The Ramsey women had cracked a chink in his solitary armor and wended their way straight into his heart.

* * *

"She had a nightmare?" Emma took the stairs two at a time. Drew followed more slowly behind her. She caught her breath as she entered her daughter's room, not wanting the sound of her panic to startle and waken Kerry.

As she neared the bed, she could see she'd overreacted. Kerry slept soundly, spread-eagled in contented slumber. Emma smoothed the hair from Kerry's forehead and gave her a kiss. She straightened the covers and stepped away. "You keep an eye on her, okay?" she whispered to the wide-eyed doll tucked snugly beside her.

She slipped quietly out of the room and pulled the door shut. Drew stood outside his own room, an expectant look on his face. "She okay?" he asked.

Emma nodded. "Perfect."

Standing in the shadowed hallway, dressed in her silk pajamas and quilted robe, with fuzzy blue slippers warming her toes, she felt an intimate connection to Drew. Maybe it was the shared concern over Kerry's welfare. Maybe it was her tired brain reacting to the sight of his well-worn jeans hugging muscled thighs and lean hips. Maybe it was the aching hole in her heart that wanted to accept his care and concern, and recapture the absolute trust she'd had in him earlier in the day.

But she couldn't talk about those things. She couldn't share those feelings with Drew. So she fell back on the one topic that had never failed her. "I've studied every number in the Consolidated proposal. I've decided to reject Wyatt Carlisle's offer."

Drew seemed to take the abrupt change of topic in stride. "Good. The man crawled out of a swamp. You're better off without him."

His succinct appraisal of Carlisle triggered a smile. His agreement with her assessment reinforced her confidence in her decision. "Did you see those eyebrows of his?" she asked, slipping into a normal conversation that relaxed her, reassured her. She hadn’t shared this kind of simple, silly conversation with a man in years. "They reminded me of fuzzy caterpillars. I sat there talking buyout all day long, and all I could think of was, when are those eyebrows going to get up and crawl across his face?"

Drew's answering smile glinted in the dim light. "You amaze me, Emma. You have a lot on your plate, but you handle it all with style and class." His smile disappeared. He hooked his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and studied the floor for a moment before looking at her. "I'm sorry if I said anything tonight that made you uncomfortable. I don't want to add to your burden."

"You didn't." She expressed her remorse with a sigh. In an instant, the facade of their shared moment of congenial companionship dropped to reveal the strain between them. "You had to be honest. I appreciate that."

"I just want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to help you." He straightened up, coming to attention with lithe, controlled grace. "Then I'll walk away. There won't be any trouble when your husband comes home."

She should have liked the sound of that,
when your husband comes home
. Drew said the words as if it was only a matter of time before they came true. She hugged her arms across her stomach, easing the sudden sorrow she felt. Drew would leave her. As soon as Jonathan returned, this new friend would be lost to her forever.

"Did I ruin your case by talking to Roylott tonight?"

"No. Moriarty's smart. He knows we know about the buyouts. We may even have forced him to show his hand sooner than he wanted."

"Make him go to Plan C, huh?"

"Yeah. Keep him off balance so we have some advantage." He turned his wrist and pushed a button on his watch. "It’s almost three in the morning."

Emma nodded. Even his simple declaration of the time sounded like a goodbye. "Thank you for taking care of Kerry."

"My pleasure." Drew's soft voice blended with the night. Its low-pitched rasp caressed her ears and brought goose bumps to her skin.

She fought the good fight of mind over body, told herself it was pointless to react to him this way. Pointless to wish he wasn't standing so far away. Pointless to imagine he'd really meant it when he said he was falling in love with her.

Because, despite her loyalty to Jonathan, despite her suspicions about Drew's past, she was falling in love with him, too.

"Good night." She broke the eye contact between them, embarrassed to realize that she'd been staring.

" 'Night, Em."

She heard the door to his room click shut and settled into her bed for the night. But sleep was an elusive thing. For years she had despaired of ever finding a man, ever allowing herself to drop her guard enough to let one close to her heart. Then she'd met Jonathan.

And now she knew Drew Gallagher.

As she drifted toward sleep, feelings of betrayal mixed with longings to be held and loved and comforted. Guilt at her growing feelings for Drew warred with guilt at denying his feelings for her.

Two good men. Very different, yet stirring so many of the same needs and desires in her.

Yes.
A quiet voice whispered its way into her half-dozing mind.

Emma opened her eyes, expecting to see Kerry standing at her bedside, wanting to crawl in beside her. But there was no little girl with nightmares or cold feet. She squinted into the darkness, but sensed no one there. With a tired sigh, she rolled over and tried once more to find sleep.

Listen to your heart.
She heard the voice again. More of an imprint on her subconscious mind.

"My heart loves Jonathan," she mumbled to herself, telling her subconscious to shut up and go to sleep.

No. That's your head talking. Listen.
The dream voice stopped abruptly.
I have to go to him now. He needs me. He needs you, too.

"What?" Emma sat up in bed. She pushed her hair back from her face, wondering who had spoken to her, only half remembering the strange argument from her dreams.

"Stand fast!"

"Huh?"  Emma snapped her eyes open, instantly and fully awake. Who had spoken? Was it Kerry?

"No!"

Drew's deep-pitched moan reverberated through the still house, striking her heart with a chilling sense of fear and foreboding.

When he cried out a third time, she stepped into her slippers and hurried down the hall, pulling on her robe.

"Drew?"

"You bastard!" He wailed like a man in pain. She ran past Kerry's closed door and pushed open Drew's.

"Drew?" she called to him in a sharp whisper.

"We'll both die."

She stubbed her toe on the corner of the bed, feeling her way to the lamp on the table beside him. Her curse at the throbbing pain died in her throat when she flipped on the light. Drew lay on his stomach, thrashing in his sleep. The covers had twisted around his legs. A pillow that should have lain beneath his head had been pummeled and tossed aside.

"Stop saying that." His voice broke on a strangled moan.

Emma bit her lip, wondering what kind of demon possessed him. "Drew." She said his name quietly, hoping he could hear. "Drew." She said his name a bit louder. She touched his bare shoulder. The fever in his skin seared her fingertips and she snatched them back.

He'd said he had dreams. But she never imagined he meant horrific nightmares that sounded like torture to her ears. "Damn it, Drew, wake up!"

She pushed past her shock and concern and grabbed his shoulder again. She shook him. Hard. She dove on top of the bed, ducking as his arm flew out, striking out at her or the image in his dream, or maybe both. He rolled over and sat up. His eyes opened but were glazed over with a wild look of madness. He dropped his jaw open and sucked in huge gulps of air.