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“I can’t explain it, really,” she said as a single tear sneaked from the corner of her eye. “But it just doesn’t feel right.”
“Right? Of course it’s right,” he argued. “We love each other.”
Meg shook her head. “I can’t marry you. Not now. Not like this.”
“When, then?” he asked, following her as she backed up toward her house.
“Rick, please understand,” she said in a strained whisper. “I don’t...I can’t...” She shook her head, turned around and bolted for the safety of her house.
Left alone in the dawn silence, Rick had taken what was left of his eighteen-year-old heart, wrapped it up in his battered pride and gone home himself. The next day, he’d left early for college, spending the summer working as far away from Juneport, Oregon, as possible.
Meg wrote to him, months later, apologizing again before informing him that she was now engaged to marry his best friend, John Bingham.
By then though, he’d already come to believe that Meg had done them both a favor by backing out of their plans. Love’s wounds are deep, but when you’re young, they heal fairly quickly.
Once out of college, Rick had entered the Marines as an officer. He liked his job. His life. And every once in a while, he silently thanked Meg for having been smarter than he was so long ago.
Besides. Five kids? No matter what dear Aunt Tracy thought, the idea of five kids was enough to give him cold chills. Of course, since he was in no hurry to get married, that wasn’t something he bad to worry about.
He’d managed to avoid any permanent entanglements for thirty-two years. Not that he had anything against marriage as a general rule. Rick squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He came from a long line of Happily Ever After marriages. Not one couple on either side of his family had ever been divorced, and he had no intention of being the first.
God knew, he’d seen first hand just how tough military life was on spouses. Relationships crumbled with sad regularity. Rick wasn’t about to get married when he knew damn well that he couldn’t give a wife the kind of attention and devotion she had a right to expect.
He was a Marine, first and foremost. And not many women could understand, let alone accept that.
“So,” Tracy asked, and her voice brought him out of his reveries, “what are your brothers up to? Have they made you an uncle yet?”
Rick laughed at the idea. “Heck, no. There’s not a woman alive who’d be willing to put up with either one of them.”
“Oh, very nice,” she said, a soft smile on her face.
Had she always had that tiny dimple? he wondered.
“They’re in the Marines too, aren’t they?” she asked.
He nodded. “Andy’s a lieutenant and Jeff is a gunnery sergeant. They’ll both be home for the reunion.”
“And you’re looking forward to seeing them.”
“Oh, yeah.” The Bennet family hadn’t all been together in one place in years. “It’s been way too long.”
“Imagine. All three of you becoming Marines.”
“Not so hard to figure with a retired sergeant major for a father.”
“No, I guess not.” She laughed, and Rick smiled at the soft, almost musical sound of it. Something inside him tightened as he realized he was really enjoying himself.
With Tracy.
Scowling, he told himself to keep his mind on his driving and off the idle fantasies beginning to swirl through his brain.
“Do you remember,” she asked next, “when Andy swiped your bike, left it on the beach and it went out on the tide?”
Grateful for the distraction, he asked, “Remember it?” Shaking his head, he said, “The guy still owes me thirty-five dollars for that bike. I delivered newspapers for months to earn the money to buy it.”
“Poor baby,” she cooed.
“No sympathy from you, apparently.”
“Of course not,” she said on a laugh. “That’s one of my best memories. Andy gave me a ride on the handlebars that day. I was with him when the bike went for its long last swim.”
“You’re kidding!” He glanced at her, then looked back at the road.
“Would I kid about a thing like that?” She shook her head and laughed at the memory. “We swam out into the ocean, chasing that darn bike, but apparently King Neptune needed some transportation, because it disappeared real quick.”
He tried to imagine the young, hopelessly awkward Tracy, swimming out to sea after a bike, but looking at the woman beside him made it darn near impossible. “He never said anything to me about that.”
She lifted her chin, crossed her heart with her fingertips, then held up the regulation three-fingered salute. “Partners in crime do not squeal on each other.”
“Until now?” he asked.
Tracy nodded. “I think the statute of limitations has about run out.”
“That’s what you think, Spot,” he said, unconsciously using the nickname he’d christened her with one long ago summer. “I’ll be settling up with each of you now. Your share comes to seventeen fifty.”
Tracy didn’t say anything for a long minute.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Going to refuse to pay up?”
She still didn’t speak. He glanced at her and noted the wide, surprised look in her eyes. “You called me Spot.”
“So I did,” he said on a chuckle. Strange. Where had that come from? He hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. But he certainly remembered the reason behind it. Every summer, Tracy’s freckles had dotted her cheeks and nose as if someone had splattered her with soft peach paint. And, as he recalled, she wasn’t very fond of his making fun of that fact. “Huh.” He changed lanes and spared her another look. “Sorry, don’t know why that popped out.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said and reached out to place one hand on his arm.
Rick’s gaze dropped briefly to her long, slender fingers against his tanned forearm. Hot, jagged bolts of electricity seemed to hum from her touch, reverberating deep inside him. Mouth dry, he told himself it was simply a normal male reaction to a pretty woman. But it was more than that and he knew it. She pulled her hand away too quickly for his tastes. But even after their connection had been broken, the echo of that surprising sizzle of heat lingered.
He rolled his window down, hoping the cool outside air would work on the sexual heat barbecuing him from the inside out.
“God, it’s been years since I’ve even thought of that name,” she whispered, half to herself.
“I don’t know what made me think of it,” he admitted. But being with her like this...memories filled the car like the scent of childhood summers.
He shifted in his seat again. What he was feeling at the moment had nothing whatever to do with the Tracy he remembered from years ago.
“I never told you,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful, “how much that nickname meant to me.”
“What?” He steered the car into the far right lane. Less traffic meant he could shoot her another look. Her blue eyes looked misty, shimmering. And entirely too beautiful. “As I remember it, you were less than happy with me at the time.”
“Oh, sure, I acted all insulted,” Tracy said. “It was awful the way I used to freckle up after a couple of hours in the sun. Meg always got such a great tan and I looked, well, dreadful.”
“Apparently, you’ve grown out of that,” he pointed out, noticing again her pale golden tan.
“Not completely,” she admitted. “It’s just that the freckles don’t pop out on my face anymore.”
Instantly, Rick imagined seeing those mysteriously hidden freckles for himself. His body quickened and he bit back a groan of discomfort. Hell, who would have guessed that little Tracy Hall could set his hormones in an uproar?
“But when you called me Spot...”
“Not very nice,” he said in his own defense, “but I was a kid.”
“I loved it.”
He slowed down to match the pace of the produce truck ahead of them. “You did?”
“Oh, yes.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, raking the curls back from her face and exposing the long elegant line of her throat. Those silver earrings twinkled in the sunlight. “Don’t you see?” she asked. “For me, it was the first time you ever really noticed me.”
He was noticing her plenty right now, but she appeared to be unaware of it.
“Oh,” he said, “I noticed. Hard not to when you were walking your dog back and forth in front of the house every half hour.”
She dipped her head and looked up at him, a smile curving lips that looked full and ripe and totally delicious.
“Again with the not subtle,” she said, chuckling. “When your mother made you stop calling me Spot, I thought my heart would break. My misery took up three whole pages in my diary.”
He forced a rueful laugh from a too tight throat. “I wish you’d told me that. Could have saved me a week’s grounding.”
“Hey,” she said, echoing his earlier excuse, “I was a kid.”
Not anymore, he wanted to say, but somehow managed not to. Good God, he hadn’t felt like this since he was a kid himself. His palms were sweating, his heartbeat thundered in his ears and he had to wonder if there was some sort of celestial irony in all of this.
Ten, fifteen years ago, he’d been the unwilling object of Tracy’s desire—at least for a little while. Now, it seemed the tables had been neatly turned.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he steered the car into the exit lane.
“We need gas,” he explained. “Might as well get something to eat while we’re at it.” Plus, he needed to get out of the car and move around. Try to walk while he still could.
It was only late afternoon, and they could drive several more hours before stopping for the night. At that thought, he gave a heartfelt, though silent, groan. A motel. With Tracy.
Man. He hoped somebody somewhere was getting a good laugh out of this.
“Okay,” she said, “and for our first night on the road, dinner’s my treat.”
He stopped at the end of the exit and gave her a smile he hoped didn’t look forced. “At least seventeen fifty’s worth.”
“Deal.”
Three
The coffee shop was crowded, indicating to two hungry travellers that the food was better than the decor. As she surveyed the room with wide eyes, Tracy desperately hoped so.
Dark wood paneling covered the walls and garishly colored baskets, containing long, trailing arms of plastic ivy, hung from the ceiling. Improbably colored sombreros were tacked to the walls and wagon-wheel chandeliers studded with candle-watt bulbs kept the place as dark as a cave.
But the waitress was friendly and took their order quickly. As she moved off to the kitchen, Tracy took the opportunity to—all right—stare at Rick.
Even after several hours in his company, she hadn’t looked her fill of that face. Strong jaw, sharp, straight nose, piercingly green eyes dotted with tiny gold flecks near the irises and a smile that had her insides screaming for mercy.
Amazing. She’d thought her feelings for him were safely buried years ago. Instead, here she sat, feeling that torch fan into flame again. The only difference between then and now was that the sensations were stronger, more raw. After all, she was grown up now. She had a lot more detailed—if still strictly theoretical—information to draw on for her fantasies.
Their waitress set glasses of iced tea down in front of them before disappearing back into the kitchen. Needing something to do with her hands, Tracy grabbed the oversize plastic container like a drowning man reaching for a life ring. She twirled the glass between her palms, making a chain of water rings along the Formica surface of the table.
She could only hope that the icy chill of the tea would help toward cooling off the blood rushing through her veins.
“So,” he said.
“So,” she said right back. Strange, they hadn’t had any trouble talking in the car. Why so strained now? Because sitting opposite each other in a restaurant seemed too much like a date for comfort? Hah. Her on a date with Captain Rick Bennet? Not likely, despite what her imagination would like to think. Just to prove it to herself, she asked, “You said Andy and Jeff are still single. What about you?”
He took a sip of tea, set the glass down and said, “The same.”
Tracy hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it slipped from her in a gust at his answer. A ripple of pleasure ran up her spine. As much as she knew she was indulging in a fool’s paradise, she hadn’t wanted to hear about his gorgeous girlfriend and/or live-in lover. Not to mention, God forbid, a fiancée.
“Mom’s been making all of the traditional whining noises about grandchildren for the last few years,” he said with a rueful laugh, “but at least for the foreseeable future, she’s out of luck. I can’t see either Andy or Jeff as daddies.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You don’t want kids?” she asked, then caught herself and added, “Oops. None of my business.” Though the thought of seeing Rick’s handsome features in a tinier version brought her all sorts of warm fuzzies.
He smiled and shook his head. “Traditionally speaking, you should be married to have kids and since I don’t plan on doing that, I guess not.”
She buried the quick flash of disappointment that shot through the pit of her stomach. For heaven’s sake. Why should she be disappointed? What did she care if Rick wanted children or not? She didn’t, she told herself, although she was curious about why he was so set against marriage.
Before she could think better of it, she heard herself ask that question out loud. “As long as I’m being nosey, why are you so against marriage?”
“I’m not against the general idea of it,” he said. “Just as far as it concerns me.”
“How come?” she asked.
“Lots of reasons,” he answered, then added glibly, “maybe I’m just too old.”
To Tracy’s admittedly biased eye, Rick had aged just like good wine. He’d gotten stronger, and more fully developed. At that gooey thought, she felt a flush of heat steal up her neck and bloom in her cheeks. Oh, this was getting out of hand, she told herself. Didn’t she have enough to think about without reigniting a nearly fifteen-year-old torch?
One more time, she tried for objectivity. A casual conversation between two old—if not friends—acquaintances.
“You’re thirty-two Rick, not exactly Methuselah.”
He gave her a small smile. “Thanks, I think.”
