Carolina Man (A Dare Island Novel) Page 17

  And now she couldn’t wait to leave.

  “It’s still early,” he said. “What’s your rush?”

  She stood by the door to the hall, clutching a Tupperware container of cookies from his mother. “I have to go.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Payback?” he asked softly.

  “No, I . . . I need to get back.”

  On a Saturday night? But she’d said she didn’t date. “Fine. When can I see you again?”

  “Luke . . .” She caught her lower lip in her teeth. Let me, he thought. “This isn’t going to work.”

  He fought a surge of . . . Frustration? Panic? “What are you talking about? It’s working great.”

  “It’s not fair to Taylor.”

  He turned, using his body to block them from the rest of the room, from his mother, sister, and daughter rolling strands of red and white dough. He lowered his voice. “This isn’t about Taylor.”

  She put up her chin, a pulse jumping in her throat. “Well, it should be.”

  She was close enough to kiss, but she was already going away from him, shielded away from him by layers of jeans and sweater and the coat that said she would not stay. He wanted her naked.

  “You’re making problems where they don’t exist. Taylor likes you.”

  Her pretty mouth set. She was making him crazy. “That’s the problem. What happens when I’m not around anymore?”

  He shook his head, baffled. “So don’t leave. Stay for dinner.”

  “You’re missing the point. I—”

  The back door opened and Allison came in, bringing a draft of cold air into the hot kitchen.

  Luke liked his brother’s fiancée. She sticks, Josh had said. But right now, he wanted to snarl at the interruption.

  Tess looked up from twisting red and white dough into the shape of candy canes. “Hey, sweetie. How’d the dress shopping go?”

  “Not so well. No luck in Morehead City. Or in Jacksonville.” Allison brushed a kiss on his mother’s cheek, a hand over Taylor’s shoulder. “I was hoping I could get some ideas, maybe some pictures to send to my mother so she’d let go of this idea that I have to come home to buy a wedding dress.”

  “It’s natural for her to want to share this experience with you,” Tess said. “You are her only daughter.”

  “I know, but . . . Philadelphia? It’s not just the shopping. It’s the fittings.”

  “Sam’s sister bought her dress in Raleigh,” Meg said. “Maybe if your mom were willing to fly in for the day . . .”

  “There’s an idea.” Allison blinked as she spotted Kate. She came forward, smiling with her usual, unshakeable good manners. “Oh, I’m sorry. You must think I’m very rude. I didn’t see you when I came in. It’s Kate, isn’t it? Allison Carter.”

  Reluctantly, Luke shifted out of her way.

  “Hi, Allison,” Kate said, releasing the cookie container to shake Allison’s hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Are you here to see . . .” Allison’s gaze shifted to Luke. He didn’t know what expression was on his face, but her brown eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “She brought Snowball,” Taylor announced.

  “Seriously?” Allison’s face broke into a smile. “That’s wonderful!”

  “Look.” Taylor grabbed Allison’s hand and dragged her into the family room, where Snowball perched on the back of the couch, staring disdainfully down at the puppy.

  “I have to go,” Kate said again, taking advantage of the distraction. “Thank you so much for the cookies. Bye, Taylor!” she called and slipped out of the kitchen and into the hall.

  Meg and Tess exchanged looks.

  “It wasn’t me,” Meg said. “I was nice.”

  Luke followed Kate. The welcome banner was down. The white lights wrapped around the bannister twinkled against the early dusk. “You’re really leaving.”

  Her slim shoulders straightened beneath her coat. “I think it’s best.”

  He pressed his palm flat against the front door, preventing her escape. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing.” He watched the movement of her tongue as she moistened her lips. “I had a wonderful time. But you’re not supposed to introduce your child to someone you’re casually dating.”

  “I didn’t introduce you.”

  “And you wouldn’t have.”

  Women. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m just saying, when this . . .” She flapped her hand. “Thing—”

  “Relationship.”

  “Is over—”

  “You’re jumping to the end when we’re just getting started. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

  “And then what?”

  He didn’t know. How could he make guarantees? War was unpredictable and life was uncertain. But the thought of letting her go, of not seeing her again, twisted him up inside. “We’ll find out together.”

  “It’s not that easy. You must see that it’s not. If it were just . . . I’d take that risk for myself. But I can’t do that to Taylor. She can’t afford to lose someone else she cares about.”

  “Taylor can’t,” he repeated, watching her face.

  Kate nodded. “I’m worried she’ll get emotionally attached.”

  “Oh, babe. Are you sure it’s Taylor you’re worried about?”

  She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  If he pushed, she would run. Like the cat, she needed room to retreat to feel safe.

  “You’re complicating things again.” He wasn’t so good at talking things out, but he was afraid if he stopped, she’d leave. And he didn’t want her to go. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for Taylor. We both do. She likes you.”

  “And I like her. But—”

  “No ‘buts.’ It’s good that you like her. She deserves for you to like her. Plus, you knew her mom. You have a relationship with Taylor that doesn’t have anything to do with me. The thing is . . .” He frowned, searching for the right words. “Taylor and me . . . We’re a package deal now. That doesn’t mean I always want an audience. Or a chaperone. I like you. I want to spend time with you. Not because of my kid or her cat or my ex-girlfriend. I want to see you. Only you.” He leaned in, pressing her back against the door, one hand above her head. “Only me.”

  Her eyes were wide and dark, sparkling with points of light from the Christmas garland. He kissed her. She tasted like sugar and lemons, sweet and tart. She lifted her hand to touch his face as the kiss softened, deepened, as her body melted and turned pliant in his arms. His blood surged. His body hardened.

  “See?” he whispered against her mouth. “Simple.”

  Her lips curved under his. “You’re very convincing. As long as we can see each other without raising expectations—”

  “Too late.” He took her by the hips and tugged her closer. “My, uh, expectations are already pretty high.”

  That low, rusty gurgle escaped. “I did notice.”

  He grinned in triumph, drawing back to see her face. “So I’ll see you.”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “You’re coming to court on Tuesday.”

  He shook his head. “A permanent custody hearing in family court is not a date.”

  “I thought . . . I have a property settlement. Since we’ll both be there anyway . . .”

  “And a property settlement is not romantic.” He kissed her again, taking his time. “What about Thursday?”

  “I have meetings all day. Friday?”

  “Taylor’s out of school. Christmas break. You could come for—” He met her gaze. Stopped before she could refuse. She needed time to get used to the idea, he thought. In the Marines, you learned to be aggressive enough, quickly enough, for success. But you also learned to have a backup plan, because your first plan often didn’t work. “I’ll see you Tuesday. We’ll figure it out then.”

  She exhaled, relaxing against him. And even though he wasn’t getting what he wanted, her quick nod, her shy smile, felt
like victory.

  Fourteen

  THE NICOTINE BURNED Luke’s lungs as he dragged deep on his cigarette. He closed his eyes, holding on to the smoke to smother his nerves; opened them at the sound of his brother’s footsteps crossing the courthouse parking lot.

  Matt glanced at the cigarette and then at Luke’s face and didn’t say anything.

  The lawyer had told Luke to wear his service uniform to court. To sway the judge, he knew. Luke didn’t much like leveraging the uniform, but he accepted the lawyer’s reasoning. Always win. The only unfair fight is one you lose.

  Matt was in a jacket and tie. Luke couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his brother the waterman all dressed up. Somebody’s wedding? Somebody’s funeral? And then he remembered. Josh’s first communion.

  Tess Saltoni Fletcher might slip off by herself most Sundays to attend mass at the tiny Franciscan retreat house on the island. But she’d insisted that every one of her kids receive the Catholic sacraments.

  Dawn hadn’t been religious, not that Luke could remember. He wasn’t himself, beyond the muttered petitions of every man on the battlefield—God, don’t let this fucking M4 jam—or prayers for the dead and dying.

  He wondered abruptly if Taylor had been baptized.

  His responsibility now.

  He exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I’ll be glad to get this over with.”

  Matt smiled briefly. “It’s never over. You’re just getting started.”

  “Ten years late.”

  “Yeah, but you have plenty of good stuff still ahead of you. Wait until Taylor starts dating. Or gets her driver’s license.”

  Luke raised his brows. “That’s the good stuff?”

  Matt’s smile broadened. “It’s all good.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He thought of Josh making out under the blanket with the little red-haired girl. “Although Taylor’s not dating until she’s at least eighteen.”

  “Thirty-five,” Matt said promptly.

  Luke grinned. “Maybe twenty-one. I’ll be out by then, cleaning my weapon on the front porch when the boys come by.”

  “Let me know how that works for you.”

  Their banter steadied him. Luke took one last drag on his cigarette, the paper tip glowing, crumbling, the smoke expanding his lungs.

  “You ever think about what you’re going to do between now and then?” Matt asked. “Say, in two years? Or five?”

  The thought had been circling, lurking in his mind like an intruder. “I re-up in six months,” Luke said. “I was thinking I might put in for a lateral transfer. Something that could keep me closer to home. But I can take care of her best by doing my job. I’m halfway to retirement.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Matt said. “You’ve got the character, the commitment, the training to do whatever you want. And now you’ve got the best motivation there is—Taylor.”

  Luke dropped his cigarette, crushing it underfoot. “It’s what Dad did. Twenty years. It didn’t hurt us any.”

  “I was fifteen when Dad got out,” Matt said. “You were eight. And all those years he was away, we had Mom. We had each other.”

  “We still do,” Luke said.

  “Yes.”

  Their eyes met. “Thanks for having my six,” Luke said quietly.

  Matt shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  Growing up in a military family, moving from base to base, the three Fletcher siblings had always stood by each other.

  But Matt had been the responsible one, the one who came through. When Mom was in the hospital and Dad and Meg couldn’t leave her side, Matt was the one who somehow kept things going, who ran his charter business and the inn and took care of Josh and Taylor. Everybody counted on Matt. Even his ex-wife, when she’d walked out on him and their three-month-old son, had counted on twenty-year-old Matt to do the right thing.

  “That must get old after a while,” Luke said. “You ever regret . . .” He shut his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was question his brother’s choices. Or lack of choice.

  But Matt didn’t appear offended. “You ever regret being there for your men?”

  “Only when the bullets are flying,” Luke joked. Not even then. Especially not then.

  “Same thing.”

  Luke nodded to show his understanding. “Duty.”

  “Love,” Matt said simply. “When Kimberly got pregnant . . . Whatever I gave up, whatever else I could have done, I got Josh out of the deal. To be able to raise him here on the island, to do work I love in the place I call home, to find Allison on top of everything . . .” Matt’s rare smile broke. “I’m a lucky guy.”

  “Yeah. You are. Congratulations, bro.”

  “Thanks.”

  They shifted their weight, in the way of men under the burden of emotion.

  “How long are you home this time?” Matt asked.

  Luke tried not to read a challenge into his brother’s question. “I’ve got a month’s leave. Training after that, preparing for the next deployment. Maybe six months.”

  For the first time, he didn’t feel the familiar adrenaline buzz at the thought of another mission, like a junkie anticipating his next fix. But he was just back from a ten-month tour. The anticipation would come, he told himself.

  “Then you’ll still be here at Easter.”

  “As far as I know. Why?”

  “I’ve asked Josh to be my best man. But I want you to stand with me at my wedding.”

  It was so far from what Luke had been thinking that he gaped. Matt’s first, rushed wedding, at the age of nineteen, had been small. The bride had been pregnant, the bride’s parents had not approved. Luke had been . . . Shit, he’d been younger than Josh was now. Only Tom had stood with Matt that time.

  This time around would be different.

  “Ooh-rah,” Luke said, his voice rough with emotion. “Back to back . . .”

  “To back,” Matt finished with him.

  They grabbed each other in a hard, one-armed hug. Luke thumped Matt’s shoulder. Matt patted Luke’s back. They drew apart, clearing their throats.

  They went into the courthouse together.

  • • •

  IN COMBAT, WAITING was the worst. But eventually a firefight broke out or a bomb exploded, and training and adrenaline kicked in and took over.

  In court, it was all waiting.

  Luke trusted this lawyer, chosen by Kate. He trusted Kate when she told him everything would be okay. But even when he had faith in his CO, when he believed in his mission, success had always ultimately depended on how Luke did his job.

  Here, the outcome was out of his hands.

  He hated that.

  Even after the clerk called his name and he answered Present, there was nothing he could do but stand there with his back exposed to the crowded room while the lawyers talked.

  Vernon Long gave him a quick wink and a squeeze on the shoulder before approaching the judge. The social worker, Alisha Douglas, smiled at him.

  Nothing to worry about, Long had said.

  Luke glanced across at the Simpsons, sitting with their lawyer. Tiny details imprinted on his brain, the comb tracks in Ernie’s hair, Jolene’s ankles swelling above her shoes.

  He resisted the urge to turn around and look for Matt and Kate. She had cases of her own today, she’d told him. She might not even be in the courtroom now.

  The Simpsons were questioned by their lawyer and by the judge. Luke listened to their replies, crafted to establish his own total lack of relationship with Taylor. Dawn never talked about him. He never came, never called, Taylor never knew . . .

  And there were photos presented as evidence, Taylor with her grandparents and Dawn, not that many, but still . . . His gut clenched. Was it enough?

  The clerk called Luke’s name. Vernon smiled and nodded encouragingly.

  Time slowed the way it did in combat. His vision narrowed, all his attention tunneling toward the judge as the extraneous sounds of the court faded away.r />
  • • •

  HE LOOKED GOOD, Kate thought from the middle of the rows of seats, as close as she could get slipping in as the proceedings started. Strong, safe, and dependable, like you could trust him with a kid. Like you could trust him with your heart.

  Her heart fluttered anxiously.

  Okay, maybe that was going too far. But the whole clean-cut Captain America vibe? Mm, yeah, definitely working for him. His cropped blond hair gleamed in the overhead lights. Pressed, polished, prepared, Luke looked like what he was, a man determined to do his duty. And even though Kate knew how deceptive appearances could be, she was impressed. So was the judge.

  Luke answered Vernon’s questions in a firm, quiet voice. There was a copy of Dawn’s letter and of Taylor’s military dependent ID, a record of her doctor’s appointment on base, receipts for new clothes.

  Judge Dixon leaned forward. “Staff Sergeant Fletcher, why do you think you’re the appropriate person to have the care of a ten-year-old girl? Why should Taylor live with you?”

  Luke’s impassive expression flickered.

  Because that’s what Dawn wanted, Kate thought.

  “Because that’s what Taylor wants,” Luke said. “And I want what’s best for her.”

  Oh, good answer. After that, Alisha’s testimony about the fabulous Fletchers—their warmth, their support, their growing bond with Taylor—was just icing on the cake.

  Judge Dixon launched into his expected summation. “Natural parent . . . intact family . . . Absent a finding of unfitness . . . No reason to interfere with the right of Staff Sergeant Fletcher to have sole custody of his minor child.”

  Luke had won. Relief flooded Kate. She’d believed, of course . . . but she hadn’t been sure. You could never be sure until you heard the words. That’s what she loved and hated about her job.