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Originally Published by New Concepts Publishing 1998
Where the Heart Leads is dedicated to the men and women and their families who serve the United States of America in the Armed Forces at home and abroad, especially the soldiers and airman in my life:
LTC David A. McBlain, MI USAR (Ret.), CGSC Class of 1977
SGT Evan A. McBlain, USA
former SPC Shawn Meyers, USAR
SrA Jason Kopecky, Nebraska Air Guard
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas
May 1992
"Jan's at it again, isn't she?" Kit Garrett shifted his gaze from the spacious room, cluttered with packing boxes, to his best friend, Charlie Hollins, spearing him with an exasperated frown. The apartment was the first home Kit would share with his kids since Marla left him.
"Well..."
"Might as well fess up. I know your better half all too well."
"All I've done is invite you to dinner. Your distrustful mind is working overtime." A guilty note crept into Charlie's denial.
"Not only to dinner, but in the same breath you mentioned your wife's widow friend was coming. With Jan's track record, what else am I supposed to believe?" Kit stared out the tall window, focusing on the broad, green expanse of Fort Leavenworth's Doniphan Field basking in the spring sunshine. Absently, he wondered how many soldiers had tramped over that plot of ground since Colonel Henry Leavenworth had established the post in 1827.
"Her record of success, you mean?"
Kit jerked his attention back to his friend. "I'm not interested in a relationship right now. With two kids to raise and CGSOC to complete, I've got as much as I can handle."
"Your ex put you through hell, but you can't let it ruin the rest of your life."
"That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."
Charlie fixed him with a steadfast look. "Yeah. Whatchya gonna do about it?"
Again Kit stared out the window. He should be on top of the world right now. This assignment was a dream come true. Necessary for promotion beyond the rank of major, only a select few were chosen to attend the Command and General Staff Officers Course in residence. Instead, the events of the last year had left him, for lack of a better word, shell-shocked.
"Have a heart, old buddy. 'General Jan' will have my head if you don't show." Charlie glanced around the high-ceilinged living room of the early 1900's era apartment. "Face it. You've gotta eat and this place isn't equipped yet. Jan's cooking is a darn sight better than fast food. You can ignore her friend. By the way, leave it to you to manage wangling prime quarters."
Kit grinned. "All it takes is talent, pal."
"You coming or not?"
"What the hell. Might as well. I don't need Jan on my case on top of everything else."
"See ya at six then," Charlie flung over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
Kit grimaced at his friend's departing back, swearing under his breath. Jan Hollins was a notorious matchmaker, equally well-known for her managing ways. In the face of such formidable opposition a good soldier knew the value of retreat. And above all things, Major Christopher Wade Garrett prided himself in being a good soldier.
Fort Leavenworth's Post Museum was Ashley Lanning's domain. The cavernous halls housed a variety of displays depicting the Army in the West over more than a century. The dioramas and authentic uniforms behind protective barriers and most especially the large collection of wheeled vehicles were her pride and joy. Friday afternoon, one week before summer vacation, and the squeals of the exuberant visitors bounced off the walls. Children's laughter ricocheted from carriage to coach to prairie schooner. Ceaseless voices, eager, happy and high pitched in excitement -- Ashley tried, without success, to block out the cacophony.
Most days she took the children's friskiness in stride, even welcomed it. Today the pandemonium intensified the headache exploding behind her eyes. What an awful day. Up half the night with her teething son, she'd spent a large portion of the morning and her lunch hour searching for a lost file. Now she paid the price. Bending over the water fountain, she downed two aspirin and returned to her office in the administrative wing separated from the public areas.
Behind the closed door, blessed silence reigned. Facing a mountain of paperwork, she slumped forward in her desk chair, rested her elbows on the once- illusive file and pressed her palms into her eyes. For two cents she'd stretch out on the floor and sleep.
She surveyed the stark government-issue room. What her office lacked in warmth and originality, her position made up for in responsibility and challenge. As curator of the Post Museum, she used her degree in history and her skills in public relations. She loved her job and if she intended to keep it, she'd better get cracking. Running her hand through her short hair which owed its style to an expert cut rather than to curlers, she opened the folder and began to cull the information she needed.
An hour later, a knock interrupted her concentration. Welcoming the break, she called, "Come in."
Jan Hollins' perpetually suntanned face, framed by a pixie haircut, appeared around the door. The museum volunteer's laughing eyes and in-charge manner appealed to Ashley now, just as they had on their first meeting. Although they'd known each other a little less than a year, they'd experienced an instant rapport. Theirs was one of those rare friendships women develop. Ashley liked to think of Jan as the sister she never had.
"Ashley? You busy tonight?"
"Why?"
"What kind of answer is that? Either you are or you aren't."
"It's the only answer you're getting 'til I know why you're asking. You've roped me into things all too often." The allied officers wives native costume fashion show, the Panhellenic luncheon and a fund raising dinner at your church, just to name a few.
A puzzled innocence played across Jan's cute face, and her hand flew to her chest. "Moi?"
"Cut the act and tell me what you have in mind."
"Nothing more threatening than dinner, my skeptical friend. I got carried away when I made the casserole for tonight. Come help us eat it." The last sounded more like an order than an invitation.
Ashley yawned behind one delicate hand. "Not tonight. Jeffrey kept me up half the night. I'd fall asleep in my plate."
"You've got to eat, and I've got plenty already made. Just picture it. Steam rising from a generous helping of scrumptious chicken spaghetti, a crisp salad loaded with your favorite veggies and nothing to stop you from eating it uninterrupted. I claim an honorary aunt's privilege and get to play with your little rascal while you indulge your taste buds."
Ashley's jaw tightened. "Ah -- "
"When are you going to stop hiding behind that baby and start living again?"
"I'm not hiding. Caring for Jeffrey and working a full-time job takes all my energy."
"Your nose is growing."
Ashley's fingers flew to the tip of her nose. "Growing?"
"Tell fibs and your nose grows. You're making Jeffrey your whole world. It's been over a year. Bill wouldn't want you to bury yourself the way you've been doing."
No, he wouldn't. Bill had been much too generous, much too loving, to hold her from the grave. But that didn't mean she was ready to socialize again. Sometimes, she wondered if she would ever be. She'd loved him so much. Some days she had trouble comprehending that he was gone.
Still, what could dinner hurt? Her own pantry resembled Mother Hubbard's. She'd rather eat in the relaxed atmosphere of the Hollins' home than cope with a crowded supermarket and then go home and cook. "Okay. We'll come, but we won't stay late."
"Great! Six o'clock. See you then." Jan sailed out of the office and closed the door, but not before Ashley caught a glimpse of a triumphant grin dancing across her friend's freckled face.
* * *
A bulging diaper bag slung over her shoulder, Ashley punched the Hollins' door bell. Ten-month-old Jeffrey Lanning squirmed in his mother's arms, pulling a strand of her hair. Without conscious thought, she loosened his grip and held his busy hand out of harm's way.
Waiting on the doorstep, she questioned her sanity, or at least the strength of her backbone. Why did she let Jan continually manipulate her into social events? Not that a simple family dinner was much of a social event, but she'd much rather be at home, slopping around in a comfortable old T-shirt than suffering from an end-of-the-day, too-tight waistband and the urge to nod off.
Charlie opened the door with a flourish, his round, boyish face beaming in welcome. "Let me have the young 'un before you drop him."
"Hello to you, too."
He threw his free arm around her waist and drew her into the living room. "Howdy, dollface."
"Char-lie. If you know what's good for you, you'll drop the dollface."
Ashley turned and noticed a tall man standing, his hand resting on Tracy Hollins' thin shoulder, trying to explain the mysteries of math to the thirteen-year- old. The girl had her mother's warm brown eyes and freckles and her father's sandy blonde hair.
I should've known. Ashley blinked, hoping the tall figure was one of Fort Leavenworth's ghosts. Anything other than a fellow guest. The diaper bag dropped from her slack fingers with a thud, spilling Jeffrey's junk.
The stranger looked up, his steady gaze studying her. No individual feature registered in her mind, only a magnetism she couldn't explain. In that moment, she knew this man would mean something -- she didn't know what -- to her. She shook her head, trying to clear the ridiculous idea. It remained, full-blown and stronger than before. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
She stooped to pick up Jeffrey's belongings and looked up to find the stranger crouched to assist her. Silently, he handed her the baby lotion, his fingers brushing hers. A feather touch, yet the spot he brushed warmed. If Jan were in easy reach, Ashley would strangle her friend -- cheerfully. Ashley hated being set-up, especially by well-meaning do-gooders. One day she'd manage to convince her pal that she liked her quiet life just the way it was. Ordered, no surprises, no risks.
"Ashley, this is Kit Garrett, an old buddy of mine from the days when we were second lieutenants. He just arrived for the next Command and General Staff Officers Course," Charlie said. "Kit, meet Ashley Lanning and her son, Jeffrey," he added, chucking the baby under the chin. "She's in charge over at the museum."
Ashley stared into eyes more gold than brown, ringed in green and fringed with thick lashes. The stranger smiled, transforming his face from good looking in a serious way to drop-dead handsome. His large hand engulfed her smaller one. Kit straightened and pulled her up with him. He stood a head taller than her own five feet, seven inches.
"Glad to meet you." His deep, pleasing, voice sent a shiver along her spine, while his touch transmitted shock waves along her fingers, through her hand and up her arm.
"Hello." Much to her chagrin her voice came out in a squeak. As fast as courtesy allowed, she dropped her hand and stepped back, wishing a savage Indian would swoop down and snatch her away or a spooked team of oxen would burst through the wall and trample her. Anything to escape these crazy feelings. Escape being impossible, she endeavored to restore the situation to normalcy. "How's it going, Tracy?"
The gawky teenager's smile flashed braces-silver. "Still having trouble with this crummy math. At least Uncle Kit explains it so I understand it," Tracy said, tossing her father an accusing glare.
Jan bustled in from the kitchen. Apparently undaunted by the scowl Ashley shot her way, Jan beamed at her guests. "I couldn't wait for you two to meet. You've got a common interest in history."
"I should've known." Catching Kit's grin, Ashley longed to wipe the self- satisfied look off her so-called friend's face. How could she deliberately set her up with someone so...so... What? Masculine, kind, caring? Snap judgments weren't her style. Knowing Jan had her best interest at heart, he was probably wonderful. However, she wasn't ready now and maybe never would be, for Mr. Wonderful -- or anyone else.
If Jan expected anything to come of her blatant matchmaking, she was in for a rude awakening. Ashley vowed then and there to pay as little attention to her fellow guest as possible.
"Dinner's ready," Jan announced, leading the way to the table. Ashley allowed everyone to go before her, putting as much space between her and Kit as possible. It didn't help. Her gaze followed his athletic stride. Forcing herself to look elsewhere, she watched Charlie tickle Jeffrey under the chin, then plop the baby on Jan's lap.
Everyone sat down and Jan passed the dish of chicken spaghetti to Kit. "Did your household goods survive the move?"
"So far nothing's broken that can't be fixed."
Despite her self-promise, Ashley kept glancing at Kit. Each time she did she found his gaze trained on her. It was a toss up which of them looked away the fastest.
"The kids, especially Marc," Ashley heard Kit saying while she forced herself to focus on her meal, "will love having a ball diamond and play area right outside our front door. However, permanent party housing is a mixed blessing. It's more apartment than I have stuff to fill, since Marla took half the furniture."
Who's Marla? Ashley studied his left hand as he raised a glass of iced tea to his lips. No ring, yet he'd mentioned kids. Half the furniture -- hmm. If two and two didn't make five, Marla must be his ex-wife.
She raised her eyes once more and inventoried his features from under her lashes. Although military short, a shock of toast-brown hair flopped across his forehead. A smile tugged at his lips until it burst in full-fledged glory over his whole face. His square chin sported the merest hint of a dimple, and his nose was long and straight. She dropped her gaze to his broad shoulders and deep chest. Swallowing hard, she looked away before he caught her staring. Unfortunately, the vision of shoulders and chest, accentuated by a gray T-shirt emblazoned with "ARMY" in big black letters over his heart, remained.
"My heart pumps purple Kool-Aid for you snow birds! Most of us are hurting for space." Charlie's bantering interrupted her wandering thoughts.
Ashley's confusion must've showed.
"You guys have pity on the poor girl," Jan instructed, waving her hand toward Ashley. "She doesn't understand the jargon."
"Kit's orders got him here early, three months before his class is scheduled to begin. Voila, we have a snow bird," Charlie explained.
"I arrived before this year's class graduates," Kit elaborated. "I'm lucky my tour in Korea finished when it did. Student housing is full, so I've been assigned what's available. It's larger quarters than I'm qualified for."
Ashley nodded. In the five years she'd worked across the street from Bell Hall, the Command and General Staff College building, she'd become accustomed to watching the parking lot fill in August and empty in June every year. "Oh, I see."
Jan deposited sticky-faced Jeffrey on his mother's lap, cleared the plates and served dessert. As soon as she finished, she took the baby back.
The luscious-looking strawberry pie in front of Ashley brought back bittersweet memories of berry picking with her mother. Taking a bite, she savored the sweet flavor on her tongue. "I once heard a strawberry pie advertised as voluptuous. I thought it a silly description until I tasted this."
"Too many meals like this -- " Kit added, leaning back and rubbing his flat stomach " -- and I'll spend more hours running to meet my weight standard than I'll spend studying. That was a delicious dinner, Jan."
Once more Ashley caught Kit staring -- well that might be a bit too strong a word -- looking at her intently. She licked strawberry glaze off her lower lip. Something in his expression changed and Ashley's breath caught. It seemed the air was electrified with a force she'd never dealt with before. Now where did that fanciful notion come from?
Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sound dissipating the charged atmosphere. Clouds blocked the sunlight, darkening the room. Charlie reached behind him, flipping on the overhead light. Something akin to relief washed over her.
"Got an assignment to fill the gap yet?" Charlie asked Kit.
"Mmm," Kit mumbled around his last bite of pie. "I'm helping out over at the housing office. They're swamped this time of year."
Kit's gaze stole across the table and locked with Ashley's. Her cheeks warmed under the intensity of his stare.
"Charlie, why don't you get your guitar," Jan suggested. "It's been way too long since we had one of our sing-alongs and Kit and I played duets on the old upright."
"I'd really like to stay, but those boxes won't unpack themselves," Kit said.
"They'll wait. You're beat, whether you admit it or not." She pointed toward the living room. "In there."
"Yes, ma'am," Kit replied, his eyes twinkling.
"Haven't you learned by now that you can't win an argument when my wife's in 'General Jan' mode," Charlie called over his shoulder as he headed upstairs.
"Charlie!" Jan exclaimed, rising from the table and passing Jeffrey back to Ashley.
"Yeeess, dear." Innocence dripped like thick honey from each word.
"Ooh! Oh, just go on."
Kit chuckled and turned to Ashley. "They haven't changed in all the years I've known them."
"They're quite a pair," Ashley laughed, settling Jeffrey on the floor with a squeaky giraffe and a ring of large plastic keys. She curled up in the corner of the wing-back couch, feeling more awake than she had all day. Her second wind wouldn't last long, but she'd stay a little while and avoid another lecture from her friend.
Ashley handed the baby the keys he'd dropped and relaxed. Jan's home, like those of other military families she knew, blended personal taste with souvenirs from their many duty stations. Ashley found the cluttered mix of American antiques made of oak and pine and European odds and ends a warm and welcoming reflection of the Hollins family.
Kit and Jan seated themselves side-by-side on the piano bench. "What's it been? Four years?" Kit laughed, trying to coordinate his playing with Jan's.
"About that."
"Sure feels good to play again. I didn't have a piano last year in Korea. I hadn't realized how much I missed it until now."
Charlie strummed warm-up chords on the battered Gibson. Mellow sounds filled the room. Jan started a melody and Kit followed. The lively tune, Camptown Races, filled the room. Charlie's rich tenor blended with his wife's professional quality alto, while Kit's low baritone harmonized beautifully.
Song followed song. Kit hit a couple of clunkers in the middle of Deep Purple. He turned and grinned at Jan, twisting his head enough to include Ashley. Then Jan struck a sour note.
"Get it right, you two. I can't follow the foul-ups," Charlie admonished and promptly picked the wrong chord.
Everyone convulsed in laughter.
Ashley's chunkles sounded hollow to her own ears. Kit Garrett had known the Hollins' for years. It was obvious they enjoyed the easy camaraderie of long friendship. She twisted the wide gold wedding band on her finger. Jan, and to some extent Charlie, had stood by her at the lowest point in her life. Now this stranger had intruded on their fellowship. The haunting memory of her parents' exclusive oneness still hurt. As a child she'd felt like the proverbial fifth wheel. Seeing Jan, Charlie and Kit together brought the old feeling of not belonging back full force. Insidious envy stole into her heart despite her effort to keep the emotion at bay. Would she always be on the outside looking in?
Lightning flashed. The thunder sounded closer. She should get home before the storm broke. It was past time to end this evening anyway.
"What would you like to sing, Ash?" Charlie asked. "Come over here and join us."
Leave it to Charlie to notice her melancholy. She'd hoped her discomfort hadn't shown in her face. This last song and she'd leave. She rose and stepped around Jeffrey and his toys to stand by Charlie. "How 'bout The Streets of Laredo?" she suggested off the top of her head.
Halfway through the piece, tears rolled down her cheeks. Why hadn't she remembered the mournful lyrics always made her cry? She tried to wipe her puddled eyes while the others weren't looking.
"You okay?" Kit asked, looking over at her.
Did he have to pick that moment to notice her? "Sure. My over-active tear ducts love sad songs."
Sliding off the bench he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her.
She stared in disbelief for a moment, feeling trapped by his kindness. She had to get out of here. Now.
Her smile weak, she took the hanky and dabbed her cheeks. "Thank..."
A booming roll of thunder drowned out the rest of her sentence. Lightning brightened the room. A wind gust slammed the screen door against the side of the duplex. Jeffrey tuned-up and cried. Before Ashley could get to him, he pulled up on the coffee table and let go. He lost his balance and fell, bumping his head on the way down. He howled, his beet-red face scrunched up in fear and pain. Ashley lifted him in her arms and kissed his bruised head.
"I'd better get home."
Driving rain beat against the living room windows. "You can't go out in this," Jan stated.
Ashley rocked Jeffrey in her arms, knowing he'd never stop as long as the thunder roared. "I have to get him home. Storms scare him, and he's tired."
"You'll be soaked before you get to the car."
"I'll borrow your umbrella."
"Fat lotta good that'll do."
"You're right," Ashley conceded, "but I'm leaving as soon as it lets up."
She stooped, gathering the scattered toys and stuffing them in Jeffrey's bag. Five minutes later, the cloudburst decreased to a shower. "I'd better go now, before it pours again."
"If you insist," Jan said.
Charlie fetched a large black umbrella from the closet. "Be careful."
"I will. Thanks for dinner." She headed for the door, then stopped. "Nice to meet you, Kit." It wasn't entirely a white lie. He had been a pleasant fellow guest, but considering the strange tension between them she really didn't want to see him again.
"Same here," he said, his smile lighting his face.
She ran down the walk, glad to leave before she responded to Kit's friendliness. It took three tries to unlock her Escort's door. After what seemed like an eternity she got Jeffrey strapped in and backed out of the parking place. Before she got to the corner, the heavens opened again. Her headlights picked up water gushing curb deep. Would she make it home?
Three blocks from the Hollins', she drove through a deep puddle. A block later the car sputtered and died.
Heaven's artillery boomed once again. The baby's screams escalated. Just what I need to top off a really great day.
She shifted into neutral and turned the key. Nothing. She tried again. And again. Stop before you run the battery down. It's probably a wet distributor cap, like that time three years ago. She'd never get the car started in this deluge.
Jeffrey had worked himself to a frantic state. She must get him home. Soon. The only thing to do was ask Charlie to drive her.
Ashley shrugged off her damp suit jacket. It wouldn't provide Jeffrey much protection, but it was all she had. With her crying baby braced against her shoulder, the jacket thrown over his head, she shoved the door open. Popping the button on the umbrella, she tilted it against the wind. Four blocks loomed ahead like two miles. Locking the car, she ran in the direction she'd come.
Soaked to the skin and out of breath, she arrived at the Hollins' quarters at the moment Kit dashed out the front door. She couldn't believe her bad timing. Would this fiasco never end?
"Ashley, what happened?" he shouted above the wind and rain.
"My car died. I'm going to get Charlie to take me home."
He grabbed her arm and turned her toward the Taurus station wagon parked at the curb. "I'll take you home."
She didn't want to be enclosed in the confines of a car with this too-attractive stranger. But she couldn't very well refuse when she needed to get Jeffrey out of the rain.
At her slight hesitation he marched her to his vehicle and hustled her inside.
He hadn't even given her a second to decide, Ashley fumed silently. What else did she expect from a military man, used to making snap decisions and having them obeyed instantly? Horsefeathers! Bossy types got under her skin. However, in this case he was right and she knew it. Why ask Charlie to brave the elements when Kit was already there and wet? Logic offered cold comfort. All she needed was solitude to sort out the absurd mix of emotions this man evoked. Being closed in with this man was not going to help her state of mind.
"Where to?" Kit asked in an infuriating, calm voice.
She gave him directions and tried to soothe her son. Moments later he pulled over. She looked up, surprised to see her stalled car right in front of them.
"Jeffrey's car seat," he said.
Great Scot! She was really discombobulated to have forgotten the strictly enforced child restraint law. She couldn't remember any man throwing her into such a tizzy. "Oh!" She handed him her keys. "I need his bag, too, please."
Minutes later she had the baby safely strapped in his seat, and they were headed out the post's back gate.
Ashley huddled against the door, her teeth chattering. Her chilled body shook under her clinging, silky white blouse.
Kit glanced in her direction and flipped the defroster to high. "Slide over this way and I'll warm you up."
"No thank you." Even to her own ears her words sounded chipped from a block of ice.
"Look, I'm not coming onto to you. I only wanted to make you more comfortable."
"Please, just drive." She yearned to wring Jan's neck. "Turn left here."
"There's not a light in sight," Kit said. "The storm must've knocked the power out. There's a flashlight under your seat."
She retrieved the light and rummaged for her key. "This is it."
He pulled to the curb and parked. "If you'll unlock the door, I'll bring the baby."
Ashley nodded and swung out into the diminishing rain. Sprinting up the dark walk, her toe caught on an uneven spot in the sidewalk. The next thing she knew she was flat on her face on the concrete. She wasn't sure which hurt worse, her knees or her pride. Not about to allow Kit to help her up, she scrambled to her feet and dashed to the door.
Five thumbs fumbled with the key before the lock released. She stepped inside and automatically reached for the light switch.
Klutz. The power's out, remember? What happened to the careful, sensible person she'd been when she left home this morning?
"Did you hurt yourself when you fell?" Kit asked, holding Jeffrey over his shoulder while he took in her darkened living room.
"No. I'm fine." She'd never admit her knees smarted, and worse yet, her dignity stung. She groped her way to the kitchen and located emergency candles and matches.
Kit, blast him, followed her. "You're a liar, Calamity Jane. Knees minus a layer of skin hurt."
In the ghostly candlelight she looked down at her ruined nylons and the bloody scrapes on both knees.
"Okay, they hurt. I'll live. And my name's Ashley," she snapped, unable to stop the uncharacteristic, churlish reply.
"Sorry," Kit shrugged his shoulders, "the name seemed to fit." He patted the baby on the back. "Let's put Jeffrey to bed and take care of those scrapes."
It dawned on her that Jeffrey was quiet except for an occasional shuddering sob. His downy blond curls nestled into Kit's shoulder while he sucked on the back of his chubby fist, the picture of contentment -- the traitor.
"That's not necessary. I can do it myself."
"Are you always so prickly?" Kit asked a little too nicely.
Ashley's cheeks warmed. Whatever was the matter with her? Her behavior suggested she'd gotten her manners from a fly-by-night mail order house. Her mother would turn over in her grave if she could hear her. Kit certainly didn't deserve her bad temper. "No, really I'm not. I beg your pardon. It's been a bad day, and the last thing I expected was a set up. Nothing against you, of course."
"You don't know Jan very well, then."
"I've known her ever since she joined the Musettes last summer."
"And you've never seen her in action? She must be slipping. Her reputation as a matchmaker goes back a long way."
Kit placed Jeffrey in her arms and turned to leave. She followed him to the door, determined to show better manners than she had in the last few minutes. "I really appreciate the lift."
"No problem."
Just then the entry light above them came on, bathing them in a warm glow.
He paused, one hand on the door handle, a devil dancing in his topaz eyes. "By the way, Jan's success rate is remarkable."
"I'd like to strangle your Aunt Jan, Jeffrey," Ashley said, dodging a spume of bath water. "She's a sneaky, interfering busybody. I'm perfectly capable of finding my own dates -- if I were interested in dating -- which I'm not." Not interested put it mildly. The idea terrified her.
"That Garrett fellow seems nice enough, if I liked bossy men -- which I don't. He's a soldier, for Pete's sake! Here today, gone tomorrow -- and in a dangerous occupation to boot. If she's going to play matchmaker at least she could pick someone suitable."
Jeffrey relished bath time, if kicking, infant chortles and enthusiastic splashing were a reliable yardstick. With one arm braced behind his back, Ashley attempted to wash the slippery baby without interfering with his play. "A little less splatter, if you please, sugar. One drowning tonight is enough."
He peeped at her with those gorgeous deep blue eyes he'd inherited from Bill, blew a noisy raspberry, and slapped his hand in the water again.
"I've got a bone to pick with you, chum. I don't raise traitors in this house. If you want to live with me, you'd better shape up. No more snuggling up to the enemy. You'll have to make do with my shoulder. Unless Kit's like Uncle Charlie and gets a faculty assignment or something, he'll only be here a year. Can't get used to having him around."
She rubbed the washcloth over Jeffrey's back, lost in thought. In all her thirty years, no one had ever made such a strong impression on her at the first meeting. That alone made her wary.
She dribbled water on the baby's pudgy tummy, smiling at his happy gurgles.
She'd just spouted an impressive list of reasons to avoid further involvement with Jan's candidate for a match made in heaven. Then how come sweet memories kept intruding on her common sense? Mental keepsakes...the electric shock of his touch...a snowy handkerchief extended easily and without censure...his willingness to patch her knees if she'd let him.
She perched on the edge of the tub and lifted the baby onto her lap, wrapping him in a hooded towel. Confused, frightened and alone, she crushed Jeffrey to her as if he were her security blanket.
She didn't feel capable of dealing with this unexpected crossroads. She longed to ask advice, but her closest friend -- the only person she'd dream of confiding in - - was responsible for getting her into this mess in the first place.
Whoa! She put a brake on her stampeding thoughts. Back-up and slow down. What happened tonight? Nothing really. So she'd met a man who'd interested her in a way no man had in all the months since Bill's death. The trouble was he didn't meet her criteria for serious involvement. In fact, he broke all her basic rules. Just because Jan had a great track record for pairing people didn't mean she couldn't make a mistake. There was a first time for everything. And this was definitely it.
Ashley dressed Jeffrey in plisse pajamas and carried him to the nursery. Preparing for the birth of her child had been all that kept her going immediately following Bill's murder eighteen months ago. She'd concentrated her energy on making the nursery a special place for the child of her dreams -- the child who'd make her life complete -- choosing natural wood furniture and a circus theme carried out in bright colors. The room radiated cheer and happiness. Then she'd set about changing her mental attitude to match the room.
It hadn't been easy to alter her spirit until at long last she gave birth and held her son for the first time. His presence brought joy back to her life and dulled her grief. How she wished she could have shared a smile with Bill over the crib as their baby slept.
Now in the dim glow of the carousel night-light the colors were muted and peace reigned. The magical scent of baby lotion teased her nose. Ashley settled in the rocker, savoring Jeffrey's weight in her arms while he drank his bedtime bottle. Since his birth, she'd focused her total attention on her son. He filled her empty life, at least she thought he did until tonight. Meeting Kit Garrett had brought back memories of life with Bill. Bill....
* * *
Six wonderful years. Marriage to a police detective had its drawbacks, but for Ashley the rewards outweighed the negatives. For the first time in her life she knew love and security. He'd been her knight in shining armor. She relished having a permanent home. Moving at the whim of her vagabond father, a construction engineer by profession, she'd never lived in a place long enough to call it home.
Bill's service to the community inside and outside his job filled her with pride, although the irregular hours and interrupted time off were annoyances she wished she could change. And no matter how she tried to repress it, a deep-seated concern for his safety remained.
On the day of Bill's death, she turned the corner and saw the squad car parked in her driveway. Joe, Bill's partner, paced the front porch. She knew.
Joe yanked the car door open before she came to a full stop.
"Bill?"
His moist eyes answered for him. "Yeah. We've gotta hurry."
He helped her into the police car and turned on the siren. "Please. What happened?"
"We stopped for coffee at a 7-Eleven. Just as we got out of the car two men charged out of the store, armed with a sawed off shotgun and a Saturday night special. One fired and hit Bill before either of us could draw our weapon."
By the time Joe tore into the emergency drive on two wheels, he'd related the whole nightmare. One suspect was in custody and the other was at large. They'd learned the description matched two soldiers AWOL from Fort Leonard Wood in southern Missouri.
A nurse, her expression grave, led Ashley into a curtained off cubicle. White as the sheet that covered him, Bill hung onto life by sheer will. He reached for her, the effort sapping his strength. Ashley held him close. Tears blurred her vision. "I...love you," he whispered, his life ebbing away. "Be...hap..."
"Bill! Don't die! Bill -- " she sobbed, clinging to his lifeless form. "Our baby...needs you. I need you...."
* * *
Jeffrey turned his head away from the bottle and tried to sit up. Ashley's reverie snapped, the thought of her needs lingering in her mind.
Maybe basic female needs explained Kit Garrett's attraction. She rocked faster. Stupid hormones! Her life was just fine the way it was, no matter what her subconscious thought.
* * *
Kit's heart pounded a rapid tattoo as he leaned against the damp brownish-red brick wall next to his kitchen door. Wiping his dripping brow on the sleeve of his stretched-out sweatshirt, he drew one last deep breath of storm-washed air and unlocked the door. The five-mile run, after two days in the car and two more spent in-processing and dealing with the movers, left him exhilarated emotionally as well as recharged physically. Sorting out the chaos of his life without creating more chaos was essential. His run allowed him to clear his mind of his unexpected attraction to Ashley Lanning.
Inside the long, narrow kitchen mountains of sealed packing boxes mocked him. Well-being evaporated.
Damn Marla!
He had no idea how to go about setting up family housekeeping. Inadequacy surfaced -- an unfamiliar and repugnant feeling.
He glanced at the chronograph watch strapped to his wrist. Only nine-thirty. The situation demanded head-on confrontation. Ignoring the mild aching in his calves and the sweat rolling down his back, he pushed up his sleeves and reached for the top box.
Kit stopped and ran his hand through his damp hair, mapping a logical plan of attack. Once he figured out the logistics of unpacking, he executed his strategy.
Pacing between the box and the portable dishwasher, he thought of how self- absorbed Marla was and always would be. Anger fueled his actions with each dish he unpacked. How could any woman abandon her children when their father was half the world away? She'd known he couldn't drop his career on her whim. The military didn't work that way. Each training assignment incurred an obligation for further service. If the powers that be wanted you gone they'd find a way, but it had taken more than one act of Congress -- literally -- for a service member to gain release when "they" wanted to keep him. He gritted his teeth while the flames burned away his wrath.
A deep sorrow emerged from the ashes, not so much for the loss of his wife, but for the failure of his vowed commitment. When he'd promised "until death do us part" he'd meant it. He regretted that total absorption in his career had blinded him to her restlessness. However, that didn't excuse what she'd done to the kids.
He never realized Marla capable of such selfishness. Thank God his parents had been willing to keep the children after his wife dumped them at their house.
His bleak mood deepened, and he questioned his ability to handle parenthood full-time. He'd been at his country's beck and call, a shadow flitting in and out of his family's lives when Marc and Amy were babies. He'd spent eight lousy months eating sand in Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War. Then last year he'd been assigned an unaccompanied tour in Korea, losing another twelve months of their growing up. It amazed him how much they'd changed while he was gone. At least this year he'd have time to spend with them. He didn't delude himself into believing the Command and General Staff Officers Course was an easy year -- he knew better. At least he'd be free of temporary duty and night maneuvers. He faced a tough course with a heavy social schedule, but he'd be home every night. Most of the time he looked forward to really getting to know his children again. In his blacker moments the prospect terrified him. Thirty-five years old, a supposedly fearless U.S. Army officer, and he was scared to death of the responsibility of two vulnerable kids.
Responsibility had been his code since that long ago day when his baby brother, Jonnie, died. He swore then he'd never again let anyone down.
In another week, school would be out and he'd travel to Texas to pick up the children and bring them to a new home and father who was almost a stranger. He hadn't expected single parenthood, but somehow he would make the three of them into a family.
As a parent Kit faced a major challenge. Marla had been a stay-at-home mother. Moving in with Dad meant a change in lifestyle for both him and the children. He wasn't used to having to rush home to chauffeur children to after- school activities and fix supper. The kids weren't used to day-care. Another volley of inadequacy assaulted him. He slammed his fist into an empty box in frustration. Hard as it was for him to admit, he needed support from someone in the same situation. His world was inhabited by couples and weekend fathers. The only full- time single parent he knew was Ashley Lanning.
Kit's thoughts came full circle. He grimaced. He reacted to her much too strongly for his own good. Independent females weren't his type. He'd recognized his protective streak long ago.
He needed -- theoretically speaking, of course -- softness, warmth and caring for himself and his kids. And joy, someone who would bring lightness to his existence.
The image of life-of-the-party Marla crept into his mind. He'd made a colossal mistake in judgment with her. It wouldn't happen again.
He did not need a woman in his life right now. Or did he? Going stag to social functions held no appeal. In his couples dominated world, he'd be more comfortable escorting someone.
So what's wrong with a female friend? He wasn't about to let Marla's betrayal sour him on women.
He rubbed the back of his stiff neck and glanced at his watch. Good Lord! One-fifteen. No wonder he was tired.
Kit picked his way through the dining room and living room, coming to a dead stop in the doorway of the master bedroom. No bed! Leaning wearily against the door frame, he began to chuckle. He turned and rested his head against the cream-painted wood, his chuckle bubbling into punch-drunk laughter. How could he have forgotten he didn't have a bed? Thank heaven the battered couch contained a saggy hide-a-bed.
With effort, he shifted packing boxes until he found one marked 'bed linens'. Brilliant primary colors blinded his tired eyes. Juvenile sheets would have to do, he was too fatigued to search further. He could sleep with the whole damned NFL or Minnie Mouse. Some choice! Well, Minnie Mouse won hands down since his length exceeded that of Marc's bunk beds.
He hastily made the bed in Amy's room on the opposite side of the apartment and just as hastily showered away the sweat and grime of moving day. Too tired to walk back to his room for something to wear, he stumbled to the bed nude. Angling his body across the double width, he nestled into the mattress, grateful for the support to his aching muscles.
He lay with his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the dark ceiling. Marla had taken every nice thing they owned, but he'd walked away with their most valued treasure -- their children.
Helplessness sat like dead weight on his chest. If only he knew more about the care and raising of children. He was positive of one thing. They needed lots of love, the one thing he had in abundance. Their precious faces flashed before him. His kids -- two confused tykes, who'd knocked the stuffing out of his self- confidence. He'd learn. No way would he fail them.
* * *
A week later on Saturday morning, Kit took advantage of his last child-free day to tour the Post Museum at Jan's invitation. Aware that his proclivity for reading every word wasn't conducive to moving through at a pace the kids would tolerate, she'd called and volunteered her services as guide. He stopped next to Jan and examined the museum's stage coach. The notion of the lumbering mode of travel reminded him of the airline tickets on his desk at home. "I'm glad I don't have to take one of those tonight. The sooner I get Marc and Amy settled in their new home with me, the better."
"They'd probably think traveling by stage coach a lark."
"Sure, for about the first five miles." He moved toward the exit. "I appreciate the private tour. I'm particularly interested in the period of westward expansion."
"Wish I had time to take you on the self-guided tour around the post today. It's fascinating when you get 'the rest of the story.'"
"Thanks anyway. I've taken enough of your morning."
"I wish Ashley were here to go with you. She has a knack for making Leavenworth's history come alive."
They entered the main lobby. At that moment, Ashley, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, exited the museum shop. The shirt featured an oxen-drawn covered wagon, encircled by the legend, "Trek into the Past, Fort Leavenworth Post Museum." She carried Jeffrey propped on one hip, and a package in her hand.
Her attire surprised Kit. She'd seemed too proper for such casual wear, especially the T-shirt.
"Speak of the devil," Jan greeted.
"Who me?" Ashley said. "Sounds ominous."
"Nothing like that. Just that you're the right person for the job. How 'bout taking Kit on the post tour? He'll get a lot more out of it with a knowledgeable guide, and I've got an appointment at the beauty shop."
Judging from her expression, Kit realized Ashley was unsure about the task. She hesitated a moment. "I've got some.... I mean I -- "
"C'mon, Ashley. Be a sport. It's not much fun for little kids, and this is his last chance before Marc and Amy arrive."
"I wouldn't want to impose," Kit interjected, shoving his hands in the pockets of his chinos, feeling a bit on the spot.
"It's not an imposition," Jan stated. "It's her job."
"Give the lady a break. I'm sure her job description doesn't include impromptu tours on the weekend. She must have better things to do with her time off."
Ashley looked uneasily at both of them. "Do you mind? I haven't disappeared into the woodwork. Jan, you know I only work on Saturday for special events. This isn't a special event."
"See, she has better things to do with her time off," Kit said apologetically. "I don't want to bother you." He turned and walked away.
"Wait," she called.
Hand on the door leading to the parking circle, he stopped.
Ashley couldn't believe what she'd said. She prided herself on the impeccable manners drilled into her head by a mother. Somehow every time she was with Kit, she became downright rude. Her behavior mortified her. No need to take out her low-spirits on him. How better to make amends than to go with him? Surely she could tolerate his company for less than an hour, especially once she warmed up to her favorite subject. She shifted Jeffrey more firmly on her hip.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me. The rest of my errands can wait. I'll be happy to play guide." She tried to sound both gracious and contrite.
"Are you sure? I meant it when I said I didn't want to impose."
"I'm sure. My car is this way."
"I can drive," Kit offered.
"It'll be easier if I drive. I have my own route." She anticipated a power struggle and was surprised when he climbed in the passenger seat of her Escort without further comment.
Ashley drove slowly, pointing out the former homes of military greats, Sherman, Sheridan, McArthur and Eisenhower, as well as the infamous George Armstrong Custer. "Fort Leavenworth, the 'dowager queen of frontier posts,' is the oldest fort in continuous use west of the Mississippi," Ashley said.
She hoped her informative patter masked the sadness in her heart. Today would've been her wedding anniversary, and she missed her beloved Bill more than usual. She forced herself to concentrate on making the tour interesting as well as informative.
On Riverside Drive she parked the car beside an open area that was several feet below the level of the surrounding land. "This is my favorite spot on post. I think you'll appreciate it more if we get out and walk over it."
"What is it?" Kit queried, eyeing the vacant hillside.
"This is where branches of both the Oregon and Santa Fe Trails crossed the Missouri River." She slid out of the car and waved her hand in the direction of the building at the foot of the embankment. "In those days the boat landing was where that warehouse now stands. In the 1830's the river swept along at the base of this hill. I say swept because the Missouri is swift flowing, making it difficult to cross except in places where an oxbow slows it down. Settlers using this branch of the trails arrived at Fort Leavenworth by boat or ferried across from Weston, Missouri on the other side of the river."
She lifted her son from his car seat, ducking to protect her sunglasses from his inquisitive fingers.
"Give him to me," Kit said, taking Jeffrey from her.
He perched the baby on the crook of his arm and tickled him under his double chin. "What's your mama feeding you, Nuisance?" his deep voice rumbled in a teasing tone. "Grow Pup?"
Ashley watched Jeffrey's tiny finger explore Kit's mouth. "Da-da," the baby uttered and laid his head on the big man's shoulder.
She gasped. Her legs wobbled. She leaned against the car for support.
At a loss to think of anything to break the heavy, gut-wrenching silence hanging between them, she stared at her son.
The muscles in Kit's neck worked and he swallowed hard. "Bet you say that to all the guys."
Ashley's stomach knotted. How could they look so right together? Jeffrey's head rested in the curve of Kit's shoulder as if it belonged there, the baby's wispy blonde hair a sharp contrast to the dark navy of the man's shirt.
The picture they made was bad enough, but Jeffrey's words -- his first -- tore at her heart. A boy needed a father and her son's was dead. Why, on this day, did he have to remind her so graphically?
Never a quitter, having started this expedition, she had to finish it, as quickly as possible. "This way," she said, striding toward the stone historical marker.
While Kit read the plaque, she surveyed the landscape fronting the river. Talk, she thought. He wants to learn about Fort Leavenworth's history. Tell it and don't dwell on how he and Jeffrey look together.
She drew a deep breath allowing images of yesterday form in her mind. "Every time I come here, I get a vivid picture of heavily-laden wagons, pulled by oxen, struggling up this slope, amid shouting men and cracking whips."
She looked back at Kit. "Stop me if I get too carried away. I tend to expound given half a chance."
"Keep going. I'm interested."
"Let's walk to the bottom and look up. You'll get a better perspective on the arduous climb the pioneers made and the depth of the cut all those wagons made in the soil."
They strolled down the old trail, their feet leaving no mark on the hard packed earth. Kit gazed around him. "I'm surprised. I envisioned ruts instead of a cut as wide as a country lane."
"That's exactly what I had thought, too."
From the marker at the bottom, she had him study the view up the steep hill while she studied him. The breeze blew whiffs of his rain-washed, fresh smelling after shave toward her. He stood tall and commanding. She could picture him in the dark blue uniform of a by-gone era, astride a horse, directing activities at the landing. Ashley blinked, driving the fantasy from her mind. She wished she could wave a magic wand and order her attraction to disappear. "See how the wagon and animals trampled the land down several feet?"
"Incredible."
She checked the practical Timex hanging over her wrist and started the climb to the car. "Let's go. That kid of mine will be hungry soon. We have a lot of territory yet to cover. I really didn't mean to spend so much time here."
They returned to the car and continued their slow pace around the historical parts of the post. On McPherson Avenue Ashley's foot automatically sank harder on the accelerator. She forced herself to slow down. No matter how many times she drove by the complex of stone buildings comprising the U.S. Disciplinary Barracks, she felt a strong urge to rush by. The man who'd murdered Bill was imprisoned behind those walls. A shiver inched up her spine and her shoulders quaked.
"Are you okay?" Kit asked.
"Fine," she lied and kept on driving.
They ended their tour at the Leavenworth National Cemetery. Once again, Kit carried Jeffrey. They wandered over the quiet hillside lined with identical, military issue, stone markers and paused at the large monument at the grave of Colonel Henry Leavenworth. The place usually brought Ashley a sense of pride, patriotism and peace. Today, sorrow weighed her down. She couldn't separate this cemetery from the one where Bill had been laid to rest.
"What's wrong?" Kit asked.
His words telegraphed genuine concern. Before she realized what she was doing she spoke. "Bill and I would have been married eight years today." Her voice quavered and her eyes misted. "Sorry I'm moody."
"Hey, you're entitled." He stretched his free arm around her narrow shoulders and pulled her to him. "Go ahead and cry," he urged, pressing her head into his shoulder.
"No," she said, her voice muffled against his cotton shirt. "The time for tears is past. I've got a job I love and a great kid. I can't, and I won't, wallow in what-might- have-beens. Life goes on. Sometimes I forget that. Sorry."
"Stop apologizing, for Pete's sake. A down day is natural."
Jeffrey reached over and grabbed a fist full of Ashley's hair.
Her head shot up. "Ouch!"
Working to pry the baby's fingers loose, her fingers twined with Kit's. Her scalp wasn't the only place that tingled. Freed from her son's grip, she pulled away from Kit's hold.
Her head fit Kit's shoulder as perfectly as her son's. It had been tempting to rest there, safe and secure. Thank goodness Jeffrey's stunt saved her from making a complete fool of herself. The more time she spent with Kit Garrett, the more confused she became.
"I have to get home." She turned and started to the car, leaving him to follow.
* * *
The airplane engines droned a monotonous hum. Kit leaned back, closed his eyes and let his mind wander.
His random thoughts settled on the woman he'd toured the post with that morning. Jan was right. Ashley did have a knack for making Leavenworth's past come alive. Her green eyes sparkled while she related story after story. The sparkle had spread to illuminate her whole face only to die when her concentration strayed from her history lesson.
What was it about her that attracted him so much? There was their common interest in history, of course, but it was more than that. It was...her quiet ways...her challenge to Charlie's teasing...her maternal manner. He liked so much about her, her looks included. Her beauty wasn't breath-taking like Marla's. It seemed to radiate from within.
Taken individually Ashley's features were ordinary. Her mouth was wide, her nose a bit sassy and her chin almost as square as his own. Although there was nothing common about her incredible emerald eyes and her remarkable clear ivory skin. Add thick, glossy hair, the color of chocolate syrup, and she was a lovely woman.
Somehow being with her and her son seemed comfortable. Easy -- as if he'd known them a long time. Instead of diminishing, as he tried to convince himself he wanted, his attraction had strengthened. It wasn't only Ashley who attracted him. Jeffrey drew him in bittersweet fashion. The baby reminded him of how much he'd missed of his own children's infancy.
From the look on Ashley's face he could tell Jeffrey's "Da-da" had upset her. If the truth be known, it had thrown him, too. It sounded natural and right to his ears. They both elicited feelings he could do without -- at least until he had his life back on an even keel.
Usually self-assured, this vacillation in regard to Ashley disturbed Kit. Yet, he continued wavering. What right did a guy who'd fouled up his marriage have to pursue another woman? Then again, did he have the right either to deny himself the emotional support he knew he needed or to deny his children a loving mother because of a past blunder? He always tried to learn from his mistakes. He owed it to himself and the kids to explore his attraction to Ashley. At least he should find out if she had any interest in him.
The flight attendant announced that they were landing soon. His thoughts shifted back to the moment. He maneuvered the seat into the upright position required by law, and breathed a sigh of relief. He'd made his decision. The only thing that would divert him from his course was if Ashley showed no interest in him.
* * *
"Here's Marc's soccer ball," Rosemary Garrett called from the doorway of Kit's boyhood bedroom.
Kit glanced her way, realizing with a start, that his mother was much grayer than she'd been before he left for Korea. Although she retained her lively step and cheerful disposition. Maybe having the kids hadn't been too hard on her after all.
His gaze traveled around his former room. Almost all of Marc's things were packed, leaving it much as Kit had left it when he'd gone off to West Point at age eighteen. The sturdy maple furniture remained -- a bit more marred perhaps -- and his baseball trophies still graced the shelf over the desk.
He took the ball from his mother, wedging it in the cardboard box filled with toys.
His mother cleared her throat. "Better leave Cuddles out or you'll have a rebellion on your hands."
"Cuddles?" Kit repeated in confusion.
"Amy's stuffed dog. She drags it 'most everywhere with her. I'm surprised you got it in the box."
Kit pulled the worn, much-mended animal from the collection of toys. "Looks ready for the rag bag."
"True, but don't let her hear that. Remember Bruno?"
Kit's expression softened at the mention of the earless, one-eyed teddy bear that had once been his boon companion. "Yeah. Wonder what happened to him?"
"Oh, he's packed away. Once you retire and settle in one place, I'll send him to you."
Kit sat on the floor and wrapped his arms around his raised knees. Swallowing hard, he raked an agitated hand through his springy hair. "Mom, I'm worried." He picked up the stuffed dog and stroked its matted fur. "I should've known not to pack Cuddles."
Rosemary pushed aside an open suitcase and settled comfortably on the single bed. "Don't sweat the small stuff, Kit. If Cuddles got packed, it wouldn't be the end of the world. For you or Amy. She'd be fussy and try your patience to the limit, but you'd both survive. Just remember the kids need to know you love them and want them."
"Marla and I did a number on them, didn't we? I should've asked for a compassionate reassignment when she left them." The second the words left his lips he remembered Ashley refusing to wallow in what-might-have-beens. Easier said than done.
"No."
Kit glanced up. The passing years had left small lines around his mother's eyes and mouth, a graceful aging to her pretty face. "What do you mean, no?"
"Your children didn't need to witness the emotional tailspin you've been in since Marla took off." She patted his shoulder. "At least here they've had a stable environment while you've worked things through."
"I'm not sure I have."
"You've come a long way since you were home at Christmas. You were the best husband you knew how to be. Too bad your career demands and Marla's needs didn't always coincide. She knew you were in the Army before you married. She could've tried harder."
Kit rose from the floor and sank on the bed beside Rosemary, hugging her close. "Spoken like a true and loyal mother."
She blinked golden eyes, so like his own. "One last piece of advice. Don't worry about the kids. Lots of love and common sense should do the trick. That's how your father and I raised you, and you turned out okay. If you need help we're as close as the telephone."
He placed his other arm around her shoulders. "Thanks, Mom...I love you. I don't know what I'd've done without you and Dad."
"My grandchildren are great kids. We were delighted to have them."
"Speaking of the kids, where are they?"
"Dad took them out for an ice cream cone. He thought we'd finish faster without their help."
Rosemary stood and crossed the room, emptying the chest of drawers. She piled jeans, shorts and shirts in her arms and returned to the suitcase. "I think you'd better know. Marc has the notion you and Marla will get back together now that you're home."
Kit groaned.
"Her only contact with the children since Christmas was a card and check for Marc's birthday. You may have trouble with him."
She finished arranging the clothes in the case and headed for the door. "I'll get the last of their things from the dryer."
Damn, damn, damn! Anything he'd ever felt for Marla died with her desertion. Not even for his son would he attempt to breathe life in the stone cold corpse of that love.
How could he make Marc and Amy comprehend without tearing their mother down? He had no intention of badmouthing his ex-wife, yet they had to understand there was no chance of their mother living with them again. They'd come to accept their family of three eventually. In the meantime, they'd all muddle through as best as he could.
After all but the last minute things were packed and the children were tucked in, Kit wandered out to the porch. The perfume of his mother's roses mingled with chirp of cicadas on the warm night air. Blue twilight sparkled with the golden light of blinking fireflies. Absently, Kit rocked in one of the ladder-back rockers that had graced the screened-in front porch every summer of his memory. Peace and quiet prevailed in Fredericksburg, Texas. He came here as often as he could to lick his wounds and recharge his batteries. He was reminded of the old adage about no matter how far one roamed there was no place like home.
"Mind if I park my carcass?" his father asked from the shadows.
"Pull up a chair. I could use the company."
Jonathan Garrett lowered his large frame into a rocker and stretched out his long legs. "Your mother tells me the kids are worrying you."
"Not the kids. It's me." Kit cleared his throat, focusing on the pecan tree in the front yard. He respected and trusted his father. He could confide in him and expect sound advice. "What if I screw up again?"
"See yourself as a failure, don't you?"
"How'd you know?" Kit mumbled in a barely audible voice.
"You're still smarting from your divorce. Need I remind you that you didn't make major by being a failure?" Jonathan spoke in the same don't-you-dare- dispute-me tone he'd used to good effect during Kit's growing up years.
"True."
"Then what makes you think you'll fail at fatherhood?"
"I'm scared to trust myself with them." Kit's anguish rang with every word.
"Son, listen to me. I'm blabbin' to you right. Don't let Jonnie's death color your bond with Marc and Amy. Quit blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault."
Kit's head jerked toward the pool of light where his father rocked.
Jonathan shook his head. "You'll soon learn parents are more perceptive than their children give them credit for." He chuckled then sobered. "We never blamed you. You know that. Sudden infant death is beyond anyone's control."
"I know that in my head. It's here," Kit pointed to the center of his chest, "that's the problem."
"Let it go, son. Twenty-two years is too long to carry an unnecessary burden."
Kit rose and stepped to stand by his father's chair. He studied the older man a moment. The lines on his face were more pronounced than he remembered and his shoulders were slightly stooped, but there was an innate dignity about him.
Kit grasped Jonathan's shoulder. "If I can be half the father you are, I'll have it made," Kit said, his voice husky with emotion. "Thanks for everything, Dad."
* * *
A mockingbird sang a sad song from the pecan tree beside the driveway. To Kit the plaintive sound seemed appropriate. He regretted that he didn't have more time to get reacquainted with the kids in the warm atmosphere of his parent's home. He hoisted a second large suitcase into the trunk and glanced around the yard for the children. They'd been on the front steps a moment ago. "Marc! Amy! Time to go."
Lad, his father's collie, barked, alerting Kit to the children's whereabouts. He started around the white clapboard house to the back yard. He could see Marc's high-top sneakers resting on the floor of the tree fort in the large mimosa. Lacy foliage hid the rest of the boy.
"Come on down, son. It's time to go," Kit repeated. "Is Amy up there with you?"
Lad raced from behind the garden shed followed by Amy, clutching Cuddles in both arms.
Marc bent down facing his father, a sulky expression on his face. "I wanna sta -- ."
"Daddy," Amy hollered.
Kit glanced over his shoulder in time to see his daughter catch the toe of her sandal on the garden hose and fall flat on her face.
"Da-addy," she screamed.
Amy's hurt! Panic seized him. Every other thought fled his mind. He sped across the yard and crouched beside her prone form. "Lie still till I make sure you haven't broken any bones, Punkin," he ordered, his hands moving anxiously up and down her legs.
"Turn over, and let me see your knees," Rosemary Garrett urged in her usual unruffled tone.
Kit looked up, startled. He hadn't heard his mother approach.
Rosemary brushed the dirt from her granddaughter's knees, leaving grass stain and redness on the unbroken skin. She reached down and took her by the arm. "Up you get. A little soap and water will fix you right up. Go on to the bathroom. I'll be there in a minute."
Amy scrambled up, sniffled one last time and headed for the house.
Rosemary looked her son straight in the eye. "You'd better learn to take these minor mishaps in stride or you'll drive yourself crazy."
"Guess I overreacted."
She patted his arm. "Guess you did. I'll tend to Amy. You'd better get Marc out of the tree fort."
"C'mon down, Marc. We'll miss our plane."
"I'm staying here!"
Kit should've expected something like this. He'd been warned. Proceed how? Soft and coaxing? No, that would establish a weak pattern of discipline. Better to start as he meant to go on -- with firmness.
Kit climbed the boards nailed into the tree trunk, clasped Marc around the waist and lifted him to the ground. "We're leaving now -- you, me and Amy," Kit stated in a tone that had put the fear of God in his troops. "No more fuss. Understood?"
"Uh-huh," Marc mumbled. He dragged the toe of his shoe in the dirt with each step toward the car, his shoulders slumped.
Tuesday night, Ashley curled up in the corner of her living room couch, one eye on the romantic comedy on TV, the other on the grow chart she was working in counted cross-stitch. The needlework relaxed her, especially in the evening quiet, after Jeffrey went to sleep.
The phone rang and she lost count. "Oh, drat."
She raced to the kitchen and answered on the third ring. "Hello."
"Ashley, this is Kit Garrett."
His voice sent a surprising tingle up her spine. "Oh, hi."
"Thanks for the tour last Saturday. It was great."
"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it. How was your trip?"
"Fine. We're still settling in." He paused. "I promised to take the kids to Worlds of Fun in Kansas City Saturday. You and Jeffrey want to go along?"
Something about Saturday nagged at the back of her mind. Please let me think of a good excuse not to go. "Ah...I left my calendar at the office. Can I get back to you tomorrow?" she stalled.
"I'll cal -- " A crash followed by a child's screech echoed through the phone. "Gotta referee. Catch you later."
The phone buzzed in her ear. Lost in thought, Ashley replaced the receiver. Kit had asked her for a date. Well, sort of. Did a day in an amusement park with three kids in tow qualify as a date? All the same, he wanted to spend time with her. It was a heady feeling, yet she was reluctant to accept.
She twisted her wedding ring. Jeffrey wouldn't last an entire day at a place like Worlds of Fun. She could hire a baby-sitter, but their time together was so limited by her job she couldn't bring herself to leave him except in day-care. That separation was necessary, anything frivolous was not.
Besides, accepting meant spending hours with Kit Garrett. She hadn't sorted out the bafflement she experienced in his presence. All things considered, she'd better stay home. Then, she remembered the hair cut she'd scheduled for Saturday morning. Her no-nonsense hair style demanded a regular trim. It was a pretty flimsy excuse, but a valid one. Re-scheduling wasn't impossible, just difficult. All things considered she would be better off keeping the appointment.
* * *
The next day, Kit wheeled a cart loaded with picture hanging paraphernalia, shelving and brackets into the curtain department of Leavenworth's Wal-Mart. Whistling, he sauntering the aisles, indulging in a bit of self-congratulations. For a man who'd never set up family quarters before, he wasn't doing a bad job. He couldn't understand the fuss women made about getting settled. All it took was common sense.
He stopped, studying the mock windows displaying a wide array of baffling choices: ruffles, lace and something called toppers. Nothing looked similar to the stuff Marla had hung in their various homes. All at once, his self-congratulations seemed premature. He scratched his head, consulted the notations he'd made on the window dimensions and stared at the options before him. Those beige ruffly things would do for Amy's room except they weren't long enough.
"You look lost. Need some help?"
That melodious voice sounded familiar. Looking over his shoulder, Kit recognized Ashley. He flashed a grateful smile. "Hi. Must be my lucky day."
"Your puzzled expression doesn't look lucky."
"Ah, but you, one of the few people I know, are shopping, too." He tilted his head in the direction of the display. "I need curtains."
Ashley grinned. "What'd you have in mind?"
"Anything to cover the windows. Old parachutes would do." His smile broadened, then disappeared when he picked up a package and checked the measurements. "Everything I've found is too short."
She leaned around his shoulder and read the figures written in his notebook, then shook her head. The spicy floral scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. Her soft breast brushed his upper arm. Awareness of her femininity struck him like a runaway tank.
She stepped back slightly. "Are you sure you measured right? Those are huge windows."
He shrugged. "Twelve foot ceilings."
"Hmm... If it were me, I'd use bed sheets."
Kit mulled over her suggestion. Sheets weren't the best topic of conversation with her standing so close.
"Sheets come in so many patterns and colors, there's bound to be one right for every room," she added.
"Won't that require a lot of sewing?"
"Not necessarily. All you need is a casing across the top to run the rod through. It's a couple of straight seams. I could run them up for you."
Casings, rods, and seams? Unfamiliar terms with elusive meanings. This curtain business was more complicated than he'd bargained for.
"Sheets are expensive," Ashley warned. "The saving grace is they can be used on beds when you move to a new place."
Kit couldn't believe it. A practical, sensible solution and she apologized for the cost. Marla would have demanded custom-made draperies in the latest colors and fabrics. "Not as expensive as a decorator's fee."
"I wouldn't know. I've always made my own."
"I didn't know women still did things like that."
Agreeing to her generous offer seemed presumptuous considering their short acquaintance. On the other hand, it solved a major problem, one that had him stymied. Accepting her solution would also give him an excuse to see her again. "If you're sure you don't mind?"
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Exploring his attraction to her was one thing, forcing togetherness was another. Once before he'd felt a strong attraction like this, and it brought him nothing but heartache. The last thing he needed was another Marla in his life. Yet Ashley didn't appear, in thought or deed, anything like Marla. Could he trust appearances?
"Sheets are this way," Ashley said, heading to the next section.
He studied the sway of her hips and the way her purple flowered skirt swirled around her shapely legs, then wished he hadn't. Giving his hormones full rule didn't help fight his fascination.
"Where're your kids?" Ashley asked.
"I don't have to pick them up from day-care till six. Figured since I finished work early I'd get this done first." He shook his head, and grimaced. "Shopping with those two is no picnic."
Ashley stopped in front of the sheet display. "What colors are in the room?"
"Ah...brown."
"Just brown?"
"The couch has some blue in it, I think." Kit's casual glance locked on the steady rise and fall of her breasts. His gut tightened.
"What about this?" Ashley stepped closer and handed him a wrapped package. The label showed a blue tattersall plaid sheet with a blue and beige flowered border.
Kit glanced at the package and shrugged. "Yeah. Okay."
"Do you need curtains in other rooms?"
"Mmm. Dining room, kitchen, both kids rooms, my study."
"Whew! Okay, how 'bout the matching flowers for the dining room."
Kit struggled to control his errant body. By the time he'd decided on a bright, solid yellow for the kitchen, Jeffrey's patience ended. Ashley turned and picked the baby up. The additional space between them brought him some much needed relief.
He rifled through the juvenile patterns, searching for something for the kids' rooms. "I don't see anything else here. I'll have to look elsewhere."
"Doesn't all the moving bother you? I imagine curtains never fit and there's either too much or too little furniture."
"Comes with the territory. Part of what I choose to do. Frankly, I like it. New challenges, new friends, new places. It's stimulating."
"My family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I hated it. Now I want permanence -- a place that's really mine."
The yearning in her eyes saddened him. "You'll miss wonderful opportunities staying in one place."
"Maybe..." She lifted her chin. "I need the bookcase that was advertised on sale for Jeffrey's junk." She shifted the baby to her other hip.
Strolling to the furniture department, Kit realized they must look like any other family. The natural feeling once again rocked him. His life was still a pile of war- ravaged rubble. The wounds should be healed and put behind him before he gave thought to a new relationship. Ashley spotted the five-shelf unit she'd come for. "There it is."
Kit hoisted the carton into her basket, balancing the awkward box with one hand all the way to the check-out.
In the parking lot, Kit took one look at Ashley's small Escort sedan and shook his head. "This thing won't fit in your car."
"Can we tie it on the roof?"
"It'd be simpler to put it in my station wagon."
"You don't mind?"
He shot her a you've-got-to-be-kidding look. "I'll follow you home." He strode over two rows to his gleaming, charcoal-gray Taurus wagon.
He followed Ashley to a fourplex apartment and parked in the street. Unloading the box, he met her at the front door.
"Come in. Just put it over there by the table. Let me change this child, then I'll get us some iced tea." She ran up the stairs.
Kit leaned the carton against the wall and ambled around the living room. Ashley had decorated using traditional furniture and restful shades of aqua, ecru and dusty rose. He chuckled to himself, realizing he'd put fancy names to the color scheme. Some of Marla's fashion consciousness must have rubbed off on him. The room reminded him of a magazine spread. Nothing marred its perfection -- not a toy, a pair of shoes, or magazine was out of place. An arrangement of pink peonies, like the ones his mother grew in profusion, set on the cabriole-legged coffee table. A multitude of plants in wicker baskets, needlework pillows and color- coordinated bric-a-brac saved it from sterility. And yet, a soothing peace stole over him. He wondered if the place would look more lived-in when the baby started walking around.
"Sorry we took so long," Ashley said from behind him. "Iced tea or would you rather have coffee?"
"Tea's fine." He followed her to the small kitchen. "Let me have him while you're getting it," he offered, taking the baby from her.
Kit stood Jeffrey on the floor and held the baby's hands. Jeffrey managed several awkward steps, babbling a language known only to himself. "Way to go, kid."
Ashley set a tall glass on the table and pushed the sugar bowl next to it. "It's unsweetened."
She set warmed baby food jars on the table. Lifting Jeffrey, she settled him in the high chair. Kit ladled a second heaping tablespoon of sugar in his glass. Her eyes widened in horror.
He slouched back in the chair and took a long swig. "Mmm...perfect."
"Yuck! How can you drink that...that syrup?"
A devil danced in his golden eyes. "I like it strong and sweet, just like my women."
Her jaw dropped open, then her lips curved in a lazy smile.
"I prefer mine hot and straight."
He chuckled, not only at her fast come-back, but the sassy expression that went with it. He nodded toward the carton, serious once more. "If you've got a screwdriver, I'll put that together for you before I leave."
"I can do it."
"You're going to make curtains for me, the least I can do is put the bookcase together for you."
"Well...since you put it like that." She headed to the closet for her tool box.
"What type do you need?"
"A large Phillips head," he answered absently, pulling the pieces from the carton.
Ashley slapped the correct screwdriver in his hand with the efficiency of an operating room nurse. She laughed at his dropped jaw. "A construction engineer's daughter is expected to have a working knowledge of tools."
"I'll help as soon as I settle Jeffrey down for a nap."
Muttering under his breath, Kit struggled to align the sides pieces with the shelf. He didn't hear her return, an odd feeling -- warm and unsettling -- told him she was back. She reached over and held the shelf in place while he turned the screwdriver. For ten minutes they worked in comfortable silence. He found the ease between them even more unsettling.
Kit stood and shoved one hand in his hip pocket. Then he gave the unit a vigorous shake. "Steady as a rock."
"Thanks."
He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go get my kids."
She sprang to her feet and seemed in a rush to show him out. "Thanks again for all your help."
He nodded. "No problem."
He stopped and lounged against the door frame. "Are we on for Saturday?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to sooner. I've got an appointment to get my hair cut."
"Can't you change it?"
"I could, but I shouldn't leave Jeffrey all day. He's too young to spend so many hours at a place like Worlds of Fun. He'd start crying and ruin everyone's time. You don't need that, believe me."
"Some other time then. I'll bring the sheets over one day soon."
Kit drove home, trying to sort out his jumbled emotions. He needed her help and she seemed anxious to give it, yet she seemed uncomfortable with him most of the time. Then there were those brief moments when they meshed, as if they'd known each other forever. He didn't know what to think, only that he liked her a lot and wanted to see her again. Soon.
* * *
Golden, early summer days like Thursday didn't come often enough to suit Ashley. She found staying cooped-up indoors impossible. A walk at lunch time didn't appease her yearning to bask in the warm sunshine. A supper time picnic at River Front Park sounded like a grand idea, especially if Wendy's did the cooking and Jeffrey cooperated.
He'd developed a runny nose earlier in the week and had been fussy this morning. She hoped he was feeling okay.
Ashley heard her son's suffering cries the second she set foot inside the day- care center. Picnic plans died. The attendant bounced Jeffrey in her arms, her attempt to calm him in vain. Ashley rushed across the room and took him.
"He's been like this for the last hour," the lady reported. "Didn't eat his lunch, either."
"I'll feed him as soon as we get home." Ashley cuddled Jeffrey close, brushing her hand over his forehead. "Shh, sugar, Mommy's here now."
He howled without respite the whole way to her apartment and for the next hour. Nothing helped. Not dry clothes, not feeding, not rocking, not walking the floor. Her head throbbed from the continued assault on her eardrums, and her arms ached beyond belief. The endlessness of single parenting, as well as the onus of sole responsibility, closed in on her. If he doesn't stop soon, I'll go stark-raving mad.
Although his skin didn't feel warm, despair drove her to take his temperature. The procedure only made him scream harder, and the thermometer registered one degree above normal. Nothing to worry about, according to her baby book. She put him to bed.
Fifteen interminable minutes later Jeffrey was still screaming.
Her stomach rumbled, but dinner would have to wait. She couldn't stand her baby's distress any longer. She paced a well-marked path in the carpet, cradling him against her shoulder. Could this be a tantrum or did it warrant calling the doctor? She didn't want a reputation for unnecessarily disturbing the pediatrician after office hours, but if Jeffrey was really sick...
Half an hour later, she thought she heard someone call her name.
Before she could walk across the living room, Kit was beside her. "What's wrong?" he asked taking Jeffrey in his arms.
"I don't know. He's got a slight fever. I gave him medicine, but he won't stop crying. I've tried everything." She sounded at the breaking point.
"Hey, fella, what's the matter?" he crooned, placing his cheek against Jeffrey's forehead. "Ashley, this feels like more than a slight fever. Have you called the doctor?"
"When I took his temperature it was only a degree above normal." The crack in her voice embarrassed her. "I didn't think I should bother the doctor after hours."
"It's got to be higher than that now. Call the doc," Kit said gently. While she telephoned, she watched him walk the floor, patting the baby's back. "It's okay," he murmured to her son. Somehow, his words comforted her as well. "It's okay."
"They said to bring him in," Ashley said to Kit, turning from the phone.
"Good. I'll drive you."
"I can't ask you do to that!"
"You didn't ask, I volunteered. Quit being so damned self-sufficient."
She smiled weakly, wishing she could lean on his strength. "You're sweet to offer, but you need to get your kids."
He stopped pacing and checked his watch. "I've got time. Let's go."
* * *
Asleep. Finally! Ashley levered herself out of the rocker, Jeffrey cradled in her arms. The chair creaked, and she held her breath. You goose! This kid's so worn out he'd sleep through World War III. Kissing the top of his head, she laid him in his crib and covered him with a light blanket. She stood, watching him sleep for a minute, then tiptoed out of the nursery.
Exhaling a frazzled sigh, she crossed the hall to her bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. Her panty hose and waistband felt like a boa constrictor around her middle.
Quickly changing into her loose, silky teal robe, she headed downstairs for a belated supper.
"He asleep?" Kit asked.
Ashley jumped and gasped, almost missing a stair. Grasping the banister, she steadied herself. "Where'd you come from? I thought you'd gone home."
"Through the front door you so conveniently left unlocked. You should know better! I knocked, but you didn't hear me. I was afraid the doorbell would wake him."
"Your kids?"
"Don't worry, I didn't forget them. I picked them up and took them to Jan's."
"I figured you hadn't eaten so I fixed you a sandwich." He caught her by the arm and lead her to the table. He'd made a Dagwood, piled high with turkey, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes. A steaming mug of coffee sat beside the plate.
His fingers dug into her knotted shoulders in a blissful massage. She reveled in the unaccustomed TLC. Bill had never pampered her this way. But she hadn't been a worried mother then, either.
"You okay?" He patted her slumped shoulders.
"I'm disgusted with myself for panicking over a common ear infection."
"Vying for Superwoman of the year? Jeffrey's crying scared me, too."
She sighed. "You're only saying that to make me feel better."
"No, I'm not! Your reaction is perfectly normal. Lighten up."
He traced the dark circle smudging under her eye with his thumb, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss on her forehead. "How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep?"
She closed her eyes against threatening tears and savored his caring. "I honestly don't remember. Jeffrey's never mastered the art of sleeping through the night." Her brows creased in a frown. "Long before his birth, that's for sure. You know how it is. The last few months before he was born, he either picked the middle of the night to imitate Evander Holyfield or I had to go to the bath -- ." I don't believe I said that!
"You need a good old-fashioned goof-off day. My invitation to Worlds of Fun is still open."
"I can't. Jeffrey's sick."
"He's on an antibiotic, right?"
"Yes, but -- "
"By Saturday he'll be well enough to be left with a baby-sitter."
"I've never left Jeffrey while I played."
"It's about time you did."
Was that tone of command inbred or did it come with officer training? "I don't have a sitter."
"I'll get the sitter. Pick you up at nine Saturday."
She bristled. "Kit, I haven't agreed to go."
"You're going. Be ready." He gestured toward her untouched cup. "Drink your coffee."
"I drink tea." Determined to have the last word, she shoved the coffee across the table. "You drink it."
* * *
Ashley twisted her wedding ring and stared at Kit's departing back. That man confused her. She had needed someone this afternoon and there he'd been, ready and willing to give her the support she craved. If only she didn't feel so guilty about accepting his help and friendship.
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and lifted Bill's picture from her dresser. "What should I do?" she questioned, studying the beloved face of the man she'd loved fully and deeply.
As if in answer his smile registered, and his final words came flooding back. Be happy. He wouldn't want her to spend the rest of her life alone. Tears slipped from her eyes, unheeded. She crushed the picture to her chest. "Thank you, darling, for loving me."
She took the portrait to Jeffrey's room and arranged it on his chest of drawers. She rested her hand on her sleeping son's tummy. "Daddy's here to watch over you," she whispered.
Returning to her room, Ashley stared at the wide gold band adorning her left hand. Tugging the ring off, she held it for a moment before stashing in her jewelry box. Closing the lid with a snap, the bonds of her past seemed to release her. A buoyant sensation of freedom told her she'd done the right thing.
* * *
"Why does what's-her-face have to go with us?" Marc groused, his face sour enough to curdle milk.
"Her name is Mrs. Lanning and I invited her, that's why." Kit answered, silently vowing patience. "I expect you to be nice to her. Start by wiping that frown off your face."
"I don't wanna go."
"This is a family day. You're part of the family."
"I want Mom." Marc stomped his foot. "She's part of the family, too."
Kit drew a deep breath, striving to maintain his cool. "Son, we've been through this before. Your mother lives in New York now. It's a long way from Kansas. You'll have to make do with your old man. Go brush your teeth and wash your face."
Amy pranced into the living room dressed in candy pink shorts -- worn backwards -- and a matching pink and white ruffled crop top. Her long, flaxen hair looked ready to house baby robins.
Kit choked back a laugh. "Your shorts'll feel better if you turn them around."
Amy glanced down at her baggy front. "Oh."
She straightened her shorts, then did an awkward pirouette, batting her eyelashes at him. "Aren't I pretty? Grandma got me this outfit."
"Grandma used to tell your aunt Kate, 'pretty is as pretty does.'" A laugh slipped into his voice as he patted her cheek. "It's not polite to beg for compliments."
He smoothed the hair from her face. "Get your brush and I'll see what I can do with your hair, then you'll look pretty."
She skipped off, returning with the brush and elastic hair fasteners. "I want pigtails, jus' like Grandma makes."
"How 'bout a please?"
"Please." Amy hugged his neck and smacked his cheek with a damp kiss. She giggled, plopping on the floor with her back to him.
What a charmer! Kit's heart melted. He marveled that this delightful tyke was his. If he wasn't careful she'd have him wrapped around her little finger in no time.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry. Your hair looks like an M1 tank ran through it." With cautious tugs, he brushed through the snarled tresses.
Ten minutes later, her hair fell below her shoulders in a silky cascade of thick gold. He made a center part as straight as a line of West Point cadets, and began braiding.
Willful, flaxen strands sprang loose. His large fingers got in the way of each other. He might as well be wearing boxing gloves.
He frowned. If something simple like hair threw him, how would he handle make-up, the first date, the perfect prom dress? He'd deal with Marc on a man-to- man basis, but girls were much more complicated.
Kit fastened the second braid and stroked her cheek. "You'll do. Run see if your brother's ready," he said, heading down the hall to finish preparing himself.
Amy's shrill squeal sounded from the alcove off the living room where the TV was located, halting him mid-stride. "I'm telling Daddy!"
She skidded to a stop before him, a pair of fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and thrust an elastic fastener into his hand. One half-braided pigtail hung loose. "Marc pulled my hair and it fell out."
Kit pulled her against him. Just what he needed. They were running late and now he had to waste more time fixing her hair.
"Marc, front and center. Now!"
* * *
An A for effort, Ashley thought, eyeing the jagged ends sticking out from Amy's braids. Her fingers itched to redo them, but she couldn't insult Kit by offering.
Waiting in the ticket line with the Garretts, she secured a wide brimmed straw hat more firmly on her head and reflected on her first impressions of the children. Tall for his age, Marc's shock of unruly, dark blond hair defied a comb. Freckles sprinkled his tanned nose and cheekbones. His golden-brown eyes duplicated his father's and gave Ashley a pretty good idea of what Kit must've looked like at age seven.
A stranger might question the children's relationship, their appearance differed so. Ashley remembered Amy was five, but the little girl was small for her age. Her huge, periwinkle eyes dominated her face. Her peaches and cream complexion and rosebud mouth reminded Ashley of a delicate china doll, and her tiny stature reinforced the analogy. Only the less than perfect braids saved her from visual perfection.
Marc's outfit, like his sister's was coordinated down to his socks, which surprised and impressed Ashley. Not many men paid much attention to clothes, theirs or their children's, especially men who wore a uniform everyday. Marc wore bright blue shorts and a shirt with bold bars of red, yellow and matching blue.
The children looked neat and comfortable. And Kit...every time Ashley looked his way her breath caught. His lemon-yellow polo shirt melted over shoulders that seemed to stretch forever and clung to his muscular chest. His white shorts emphasized long, corded legs dusted with golden-brown hair. She imagined he kept those muscles in top condition by running, like so many others at the fort.
Although landscaped with trees and flowers, harsh sunshine beat down on the amusement park's pedestrian paths. They'd all be fried to a crisp without some protection, especially fair-skinned Amy. Once inside the gate Ashley dug out her sunscreen. She applied a liberal coating to the little girl's exposed skin then turned to Marc. She pushed back a Texas Rangers baseball cap, the twin of his father's, to reach the boy's forehead. Marc flinched as though stung and jammed the hat on the top of his head, the bill tipped over his brow.
"May I do your face? I don't want you to burn," she said, reaching toward him again.
"I'll do it myself."
"Let Mrs. Lanning put the sunscreen on you," Kit said.
Marc stood, head and shoulders rigid, kicking at a pebble and scowling while she applied the lotion. As soon as she finished he leaped back out of her reach.
Ashley handed the bottle to Kit. "Need some?"
"Yeah." He tossed the bottle back to her, his mouth pursed in a mock pout. "Don't I rate the same treatment as the kids?"
She shoved the bottle in his hand, their fingers brushing. His warmth sent a half-expected shock wave up her arm. She jerked her hand away. Why was it every time he touched her, her body reacted? Flustered, she hid it by flashing a cheeky grin. "Ten and under get the special. Apply your own."
He laughed and poured a generous puddle in his palm.
"Are we ever gonna ride?" Marc complained.
Kit took Amy by the hand. "As soon as I buy a hat for your sister."
Marc waited until his father was out of earshot before he faced Ashley. "I hate you. I wish you were dead."
His words struck Ashley like a tackle from a 300-pound lineman. She'd barely spoken two sentences to the child. Why the vicious attack? Had she imagined a sly look before the animosity that now shot from his eyes like sparklers? It didn't seem natural for a child his age. Then again, what did she know about kids? Gathering her tattered composure, she met Marc's gaze with a steady one of her own, determined not to give a spoiled child the upper hand. "I'm sorry you don't like me. That's okay. You can't like everybody, but for your dad's sake, we'll have to try to get along."
The morning passed in a whirl of rides and laughter. Marc stuck close to his father, avoiding Ashley as much as possible. By noon she was beginning to wilt.
"Hot dogs, hot dogs! We want hot dogs!" Marc chanted in a high-pitched, sing- song voice.
Amy danced an impromptu jig and joined the chorus. "Yum-yum, we want hot dogs."
Kit stopped and frowned from one to the other. "I know you've been taught better manners than that. Ask properly and we'll eat."
"Can we have hot-dogs for lunch, please?" Marc asked as required.
"May we have, Marc," Kit corrected. "And yes you may."
Ashley stifled a groan. Kit had better lighten up. Maybe his strictness was inexperience showing. Should she interfere or shouldn't she? A little reminder wouldn't hurt. She laid a hand on his arm. "They're acting like the kids on field trips at the museum."
"Normal?"
"Normal."
Once they finished lunch Marc asked, "Can...I mean may we ride the Viking boats?"
"Please, Daddy," Amy, added. "Please."
"The line is pretty long, kids. Let's come back later."
"I've never been here when the line wasn't long," Ashley said. "If we're going to ride it, we might as well get in line now."
"You heard the lady," Kit told the backs of the children as they ran ahead. He slanted a frown at Ashley. "I despise waiting in long lines!"
She chuckled and grinned. "My mother used to say patience is a virtue."
"I bet your mother is like mine, full of pithy sayings," Kit grumbled.
"You're doing a great imitation of Oscar the Grouch!" She gave his upper arm a playful punch. Her fist bounced off the rock-hard muscle. He's not soft anywhere, except his heart. The grin she was beginning to love split his face. "I apologize. But I still hate lines!"
She laughed. "You're impossible! If Marc complained you'd tell him to stop acting like a baby."
"And you're not? Oscar the Grouch indeed!" A twinkle danced in his eyes.
The line snaked around metal barriers and finally down steep steps to the boats. "I'm going to get the wettest," Marc shouted, claiming the front seat.
Amy, Ashley, and Kit sat behind, single file. A stiff breeze, chilled by the water and the overhanging trees raised goose bumps on Ashley's bare arms. Or was it Kit's nearness? As the boat chugged along its tracks she exhaled a wistful sigh.
He rubbed his hands along her cool arms, nestling her against him.
"Worried about Jeffrey?" His hot breath caressed her temple.
Tension coiled within her. "That obvious? I guess I'm being silly. He's much better." Worry about Jeffrey was only a partial truth.
"Don't you think you deserve some fun? Mrs. Bennett came highly recommended by two different people at the office. Relax."
If he thinks using him for a back rest helps me relax he's crazy. The warmth from his hard chest penetrated her white camp shirt, working a minor miracle. She relaxed. Oblivious to the passing scenery, she luxuriated in his protective hold. She turned her head just in time for the kiss he aimed for her temple to land near the corner of her mouth. Her fingers caressed the spot. Even in broad daylight, in the company of two children, it was turning out to be a romantic ride.
The boat began a jerky climb in preparation for the final plunge. Amy turned around, her eyes round with fear. "Daddy!"
Ashley reached forward and held the little girl by the waist. "Hold on tight. Here we go-o-o..."
Amy's ear piercing screech rent the air as the longboat rushed downward into the water with a titanic splash. The spray caught Marc full in the face and drenched his shirt. He grinned from ear to ear. "I'm the wettest!"
Later in the afternoon, Kit and Marc thrilled to the exotic roller coasters, while Ashley and Amy settled for tamer rides geared for the younger set. By five o'clock Amy's footsteps dragged. The day had turned out better than Ashley expected after Marc's outburst that morning. "It's almost time to meet your dad and brother, honey," Ashley said, taking her hand. "Let's go find a bench near the gate."
After a full day of wind and fun, Amy's braids resembled a haystack. She pushed her bangs from her hot face. "Grandma wanted me have my hair cut 'cause she says Daddy can't manage it. I didn't want to, so she made me promise not to fuss about the way he fixes it."
Poor kid, Ashley sympathized, relating to Amy's plight. Ashley remembered having always definite ideas about her hair and clothes. She pictured Kit struggling with that long blonde mass and stifled a giggle at the comical sketch she imagined. "How 'bout if I fix it now? The wind blew it all over the place."
Amy brightened. "Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Lanning."
Ashley had one pigtail neatly plaited and was in the middle of the second when the guys appeared. Oops! Caught in the act.
"The wind messed up my hair," Amy announced with the aplomb of a seasoned diplomat. "Mrs. Lanning is getting it out of my eyes."
Kit unfurled a slow, grateful smile. "Is everyone ready for supper?"
That smile of his was a lethal weapon, Ashley mused. She hoped he never figured out its power.
"Please, can -- may -- we go to McDonalds?" Marc asked, not forgetting the all-important manners this time.
Ashley laughed at Kit's rueful expression. "There's one in Claycomo -- on the way home," she offered a little too helpfully.
"Just my luck," he muttered. "I'm craving a thick steak, not having a Big Mac attack." He picked Amy up and set her on his shoulders, took Marc by the hand and grasped Ashley's hand in his other one. "Happy meals coming up."
* * *
Only the children's tired smiles made the crowded, noisy restaurant tolerable. Kit watched Ashley help his daughter open a packet of ketchup for her french fries. Ashley made a delightful picture. Her fudge brown hair was mussed from the hat she'd worn, and her sun-kissed, ivory skin glowed with health. Amy's long-winded explanation about needing two ketchups brought an indulgent smile to her lips. She smiles so easily, in spite of the sorrow in her life. He hoped the day had accomplished its purpose.
Kit realized Amy accepted Ashley as a friend, but Marc wanted nothing to do with her. He'd elevated his mother on a pedestal. Kit worried that Marc's image of Marla would soon topple with a crash. Whatever the reason, his son wasn't adjusting to the divorce as well as his daughter.
"Do you remember when you and Mom and me and Amy went to that place with the sky ride?" Marc asked his father.
"Amy and I," Kit corrected and glanced apologetically at Ashley. "Yes, I remember Aquariena Springs." It had been one of their rare family sightseeing trips.
"And the ride in the glass bottom boat? You're too little to remember," he taunted his sister, casting her a disdainful look.
"I do, too! I sat on Daddy's lap."
"That's right, you did, Punkin," Kit quickly corroborated, flashing a sorry-'bout- this grin at Ashley.
Marc's rude effort to shut Ashley out of the conversation embarrassed his father. The boy seemed bent on proving she had no place with their family. Kit reminded himself the child was just seven and fought the demons in his life with the only weapons at his disposal.
"Son, stop talking and eat your supper before it gets cold," Kit said, holding censure from his voice.
He turned to Ashley. "Can you recommend a few reputable places to shop for a waterbed?"
Her green eyes widened in surprise. "Waterbed?"
She looked uncomfortable with the subject. He couldn't resist teasing her. "You know, those beds with big bags filled with water for a mattress. I hear they're very comfortable."
"I know what they are. I was just surprised."
"My hide-a-bed is like sleeping in a knotty, hollow log. Since I have to buy a decent bed, I figured it was as good a time as any to indulge my secret fantasy."
A rose blush tinged her cheeks. She shook her head and gave him the names of several respected firms.
"Will you help me shop?"
Her cheeks, even her ears, deepened from pink to red. "Mirrored canopies and all that debauchery! I'll pass," she choked, her voice flustered.
"Coward." Don't push too fast, he warned himself. Slow and easy. She looked as skittish as a colt.
As sunset turned the sky red and gold, they rode in companionable silence toward home until Marc spoke. "Do you ever watch my mom on Harper's World, Mrs. Lanning?"
Ashley glimpsed Kit's mouth compress in a grim line, his eyes trained straight ahead, watching traffic. Uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
"Well, have you?" Marc repeated. "Grandma's friend, Mrs. Jonas, called her 'that bitchy blond, Astrid.'"
"Marc," Kit warned, but he knew it was important for Ashley to know about Marla. He just wished he could've told it in his own way.
"No, I'm at work when the soaps are on." Her words sounded stiff but she was obviously trying to be cordial.
The only sound came from the hiss of the tires on the pavement, the drone of the engine and the hum of the traffic.
Kit finally spoke, but he wasn't sure if he kept the pain out of his tone.
"The kids and I couldn't compete with Marla's dream."