Meagan's Marine (Halos & Horns) (2 page)

She looked serious for a moment. “Come
to think of it, I did receive a blessed little addition to my household as of
one month ago.”

Mitch felt the blood drain from his face
as he stood there contemplating the weight of her words. “You’re serious,
aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Is it…he or she…mine?” He felt as
though he’d be sick at any moment.

“He, and I named him Shots, you know,
like ‘shots’ of tequila.”

He pictured her as she was that night at
the bar, downing shots of Patron with salt and lime. “You named my kid after
booze?” he seethed, suddenly furious at the indignation of it all.

“Hold on, now, Marine. I haven’t said
he’s yours. Although, now that I think of it, I guess he could be. I mean….we
did do it doggy style…”

“What? What the hell does that have to
do with…” He stopped as she burst into laughter.

“Oh God, your face! I got a new puppy,
Mitch!”

“
Ohhh
…oh shit,
Mel. I think I’m
gonna
puke.” He rubbed at his belly,
shaking his head at the woman doubled over in laughter. “Man, that ain’t cool,
Detective. Not cool at all.”

“Maybe not,” she finally managed to spit
out between ladylike snorts. “But it was funny as hell.”

He took her in his arms again,
determined to finish the dance with some nuance of dignity. “Says
you…shithead.” He managed to smile as her joviality finally faded to soft
chuckles. “You realize, of course, this means I owe you one.”

Melanie made a fist and punched him
playfully in the chest. “Well, you go on and give it your best shot, Marine.
You’ve already taken out the element of surprise. I’ll be waiting for it, now.”

“You’ll never see it coming, Detective.
That
,
I can promise you.”

****

 Meagan laughed as Tanner regaled
them with how his mom used guilt to persuade him and Sarah into having a larger
wedding than planned.

“I told Sarah she’d do it, gave her
plenty of opportunity to get her anti-mother-in-law mojo brewing, so she could
resist her. Did it do any good?
Noooo
! We could have
been married a month ago, if she had.”

Sarah slipped an arm around Tanner’s
waist. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. You barely had to lift a finger. Besides, she
started out insisting on a society wedding in Houston that would have taken a
year to plan. I held her to one month and convinced her how beautiful it would
be here at Red and Tiffany’s ranch. I’d already seen the pictures of Giselle
and Jackson’s wedding here, with the pond all lit up at night. It was gorgeous!
I wanted a church wedding but I knew I had to have the reception here.”

Tanner gave his new bride a resounding
kiss on the mouth. “Ours is beautiful too. I’ve got to hand it to you, babe, my
mom isn’t easy to sway once she sinks her chops into an idea. Society weddings
are important in her inner circle.”

“Not nearly as important as keeping my
new daughter-in-law happy.” Heads turned as Celine Collins joined their circle,
carrying one of the twins. “As much joy as she’s brought into our lives with
these two angels, it’s the least I can do.”

Tiffany stepped forward with Sarah’s
other twin. “Besides, after this, all of Ms. Celine’s Houston friends will
probably decide that outside fall receptions are the thing to do. It really is
lovely.”

“Oh thank you, Tiffany. I had such fun
planning this. Maybe I ought to do it for a living. It’ll keep me from sitting
around and growing old in between visits with my new granddaughters.” She
leaned in, speaking in a loud whisper. “Along with any future grandchildren
they decide to bless us with one day.”

Meagan listened half-heartedly, while
keeping one eye peeled on her child. All this talk of grandchildren and their
doting grandparents made her a little sad for her own son. Sarah’s parents had
died, but no doubt, they would have loved to be around their granddaughters.
Poor Buck had four living grandparents, none of whom wanted a thing to do with
him.

Sometimes life just sucked.

Who would he have to teach him the
things her own grandparents had taught her? Things like when to plant your
vegetable garden so the plants don’t get frost-bitten, how to cook popcorn the
old fashioned way…in a kettle, not a microwave, and how to season a black iron
pot?

Misty eyed with old memories and a
sudden feeling of homesickness, she saw Buck pull to a sudden stop in the
middle of chasing a balloon. She smiled, recognizing that look on his
face—Christopher’s look—the look he got when he saw something he couldn’t
resist. He started a slow walk toward whatever had garnered his attention.
Meagan’s vision tracked ahead to see what it was and froze at the sight of the
lure.

Warning bells went off in her brain, but
she couldn’t seem to move. What the hell? Had she traded her heels for lead
boots since the ceremony?

“Oh God, no,” she whispered, finally
taking a step, then several more, but not before her son made it to his
destination.

****

Mitch felt a slight tug on his jacket
and looked down. Meagan’s little boy stood there, his face cloaked in childlike
innocence and wearing a look of awe. “Hey there, buddy. How
ya
doing?” No training, military or otherwise, could have prepared him for the
single question uttered by the boy.

“Are you my daddy?”

Mitch contemplated the strange question,
as he studied the face so much like his mother’s, but then again, not. He
obviously bore a heavy resemblance to his father. His father…Meagan’s Marine.
He’d just made the connection by the time Meagan reached the two of them.

“Buck! Hey! There you are. I’ve been
looking for you. I bet you’ve been having some fun playing with all these kids,
huh?”

Her breathless, overly enthusiastic act
fooled neither Mitch, nor her son, obviously. After casting a glance toward his
mother, he looked up at Mitch and repeated the question.

“Are you my daddy?”

“No! Buck…No! He’s
not
your
daddy. He’s just a friend of mine.” Meagan knelt beside her son, obviously
struggling to stay calm in a situation she’d never found herself in before.
“His name is Mitchell, and he is a Marine, like your daddy was.”

“Is.” The word left Mitchell’s mouth
before he could stop it.

Two sets of identical, blue-eyed gazes
landed on him.

“What?” Meagan asked—her eyes wide with
worry as Mitchell knelt before her child.

Mitch looked from the mother to the son
while keeping his tone steady and calm. “No, I’m not your dad, but I want you
to know something. Even though your dad isn’t where you can see him every day,
he still
is
a Marine, Buck. One you and your mom can be very proud of.”
He took his cover off and played with the brim. “I bet you have a picture of
him at your house, and he’s dressed like I am, huh?”

Buck gave him a shy smile and a vigorous
nod. “It’s in my
woom
.”

Mitch chuckled. “In your room, huh? I
figured as much.”

Buck gave him one more nod. “He looks
like you,” he said, reaching out a chubby finger to touch a shiny brass button.
“You look like him.”

Mitch swallowed hard, suddenly aware of
the presence, the man that the ugly side of war had taken from this child’s
life, permanently. He offered his hand slowly. “I’m Mitchell, Buck—Master
Sergeant Mitchell Hebert. It’s real nice to meet you. And it’s an honor to meet
the son of a fellow Marine.”

Buck looked up at his mother to get her
approval before offering his own pudgy hand to return the handshake. “I’m Buck.
I
gotta
go.” In an instant, he was gone, off chasing
another balloon, leaving the two adults staring after him.

Mitch rose slowly to his feet, even as
Meagan began muttering apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Mitch. I didn’t mean for
that to happen.”

“No apology necessary, Meg. It wasn’t
difficult to figure it out. The dress blues are designed to make an impression,
but to a little kid, we must all look alike. How old is he, anyway?”

“He’ll be four in two months.”

Mitch nodded. “So, his dad never—”

“Chris died before he was born,” she
rushed, before he could finish.

He stared off after the boy. “That’s too
bad.”

“Yep.” She crossed her arms as though to
ward off a sudden chill.

“Are you cold?” He started to take off
his jacket to offer it to her.

She raised her hand to stop him. “No, I
just get this feeling every now and then when I talk about him. My granny used
to call it ‘knocking on a coffin’. It’s almost as though I can feel his
presence.” She ran her hands up both arms. “You’d think I’d feel comforted,
but, for some reason, it freaks me out a little. I never was good with ghost
stories and things like that.”

“Yet you like to watch scary movies,
like the one we watched at the theater last year.”

“I don’t have a problem with Hollywood
spirits, Mitch. It’s the real ones that give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“You believe in that stuff?”

“Oh sure. My granny had too many stories
and real life experiences of her own for me to be a non-believer.”

“You don’t think they were just
that…stories?” He knew he sounded skeptical and there was good reason. There
was no such things as ghosts and spirits.

She lifted her chin. “You know, I’m not
trying to persuade you to believe. It makes no difference to me one way or the
other what you think.”

A second later she’d left him standing there,
with the realization that he had, once again,
shitified
the entire situation
.

“One of these days you’ll learn to shut
the hell up when you need to, you dumb son of a bitch,” he grumbled while
heading to the opposite end of the reception area. He finished off his beer,
deciding it was probably for the best she’d high-tailed it when she did.

Chapter 3

The Sad Man (Part One)

Meagan arched her back, stretching her
tight muscles, then attempted to work the kinks out of her neck with one hand.
She swiveled in her chair at the light shuffling sound in the hallway, already
suspecting what she’d find. “Hey buddy, you okay?”

Buck stood in the doorway, one arm
wrapped around a purple and gold stuffed LSU “Mike” the tiger, while rubbing
his eye with his right fist. “I can’t sleep, mommy. The sad man keeps staring
at me.”

He shuffled to her outstretched arms and
she lifted him onto her lap. “Aw, sweetie, we’ve talked about this before. The
man in the picture isn’t sad, he’s just being serious for the camera, and he’s
your dad. You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

Buck tried to suppress a huge yawn and
failed. “It’s not daddy. It’s another sad man.”

“Another sad man–what do you mean, Buck?
You see someone in your room, someone that’s not in daddy’s picture?”

Buck nodded adamantly. “He’s in my
woom
wight
now.”

Meagan hugged her boy closely, amazed at
such a vivid imagination in a child under the age of four. Any day now, he’d be
coming up with imaginary friends, just as she did when she was little. “You
just dreamed about him, sweet boy, that’s all. Daddy’s just watching over you
while you sleep.”

“But I’m not asleep anymore.”

She pushed his wayward curls back from
his forehead. “No, you certainly are not.”

“He’s still in my
woom
,
and it’s too cold.”

“Okay, let’s go say good night to him
together, then.” She saved out her report on the differences between alkanes,
alkenes, and alkynes on her roommate’s PC before shutting it down. If her
laptop hadn’t crapped out on her, she’d have been working on it in the comfort
of her own bed. She struggled to her feet while hefting her son onto one hip,
his feet dangling nearly to her knees. “Pretty soon, you’re
gonna
be too big for me to carry you around, Buckaroo. You’re almost as tall as me
now.”

Meagan entered the room, somewhat
shocked at the chill in the air as she turned on her son’s Thomas the Tank
table lamp. “Mommy is so sorry, baby. I must have left the window open in
here.” She placed Buck in his bed and tucked the covers tightly around him,
then turned to shut the tiny room’s only window. Halfway between her son’s bed
and the window, a wall of frigid air hit her, vaporizing her warm breath into
hazy puffs. Jolted to a halt, she stood there, staring at the closed window.
Icy breath on her neck had the hair standing up at the base of her scalp, goose
bumps raised on her arms. She whipped around, but no one else was in the room
besides her and Buck.

She pivoted her head slowly to stare at
her son. Buck was still tucked tightly in his bed, but watching her, his eyes
large and round.

“Buck?” He didn’t answer but continued
to stare at her. No. Not at her, but at the empty spot beside her. “Buck?” she
repeated.

Without a word, he freed his left arm
from the covers, lifted it slowly to point at the spot.

“There he is.” His whispered reply was
barely audible over the thudding in Meagan’s chest.

Pretending to be calm for his sake, she
steadied her voice. “Who, baby?”

“The sad man, Mommy. He’s
wight
there. Wight next to you.”

Meagan turned slowly to her right and
stared at the vacant spot. She lifted her hand, encountered nothing—or she
supposed it was nothing. Though why it had every fine hair on her arm standing
at attention, she’d probably never know. “Oh my God!” She screeched, as she
jerked her hand back and clenched it tightly to her chest.

Footsteps in the hallway preceded her
roommate,
Niki’s
frantic call from the door opening.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Meagan couldn’t keep the terrified
trembling from her voice any more than she could stop the onslaught of goose
bumps from covering her entire body. “You don’t see anyone besides Buck and me,
do you?”

Niki
stepped into the room and shivered. “No, but why is it so damn—
darn
—cold
in here?” She made a face and mouthed the word ‘Sorry’ to Meagan.

Meagan felt the change immediately.
Whatever it was that Buck had seen, and she had felt, dissipated the instant
Niki
crossed the threshold into the room. In seconds, the
temperature returned to normal. She searched her son’s face for clues. “Buck?”

“He’s gone, Mommy.”

Niki’s
wide eyed gaze travelled from Meagan, to Buck, then back to Meagan. “Who’s
gone? Someone was in here?”

Buck yawned and rolled over onto his
right side, facing the wall. Within seconds, his eyes had closed. Meagan took a
shaky breath and walked softly over to adjust his blanket. She touched his
forehead, more for her own need, and fought the urge to scoop him up so he
could sleep with her for the night. That too, would be more for her than her
son. The fact that Buck fell asleep so quickly was a sign that he didn’t feel
the least bit threatened.

She turned off his lamp and straightened
to follow
Niki
out of the room. Her friend turned on
her when they got to their tiny living room.

“What the hell happened in there, Meg?
Did I miss something?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think Buck sees
his daddy.”
Niki’s
eyes grew huge as Meg related the
story to her friend.

“Seriously? The sad man. That would make
all the sense in the world, don’t you think? He’d have to be sad at having to
leave the two of you behind.”
Niki
spoke in a low,
reverent whisper. “So what was it that made you scream?”

Meg’s heart pounded in her chest, her
adrenaline rushing at the thought of it. “You may not believe this, but it felt
like someone’s fingertips brushed the back of my hand,
Nik
.
The air was so thick, dense, and cold…icy cold. And there was this faint odor
or something…I don’t know…old, maybe? Decaying?” She paced the room, nervous
and agitated. “I don’t have enough to worry about right now? My son sees the
ghost of his dead father? Really?”

“Maybe Buck seeing his dad isn’t
something you should have to worry about, Meg. Maybe he’s just watching over
the son he never got to meet. Buck has his own, personal, military sentinel.
Try to think of it that way.”

“You really think it’s Chris?” Meagan
needed to hear the words from
Nik’s
own mouth, for
some reason.

A gentle hand on her shoulder
accompanied her answer. “I do, Meg. I doubt seriously there’s anything to worry
about, but I know someone who may be able to verify it for you. Would that make
you feel better?”

Meagan nodded, knowing she’d never be
able to relax unless she got some answers. “I hope so. Who is this person?”

Niki
winked at her and grinned. “You just leave that to me.”