Читать книгу Navy Rules - Geri Krotow - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

“STOP IT, MAEVE, THOSE ARE my chicken nuggets.” Krista’s tone resembled a mother’s more than an older sister’s as she chastised eighteen-month-old Maeve, who had a penchant for stealing food off her older sister’s plate.

“Mine!” Maeve’s baby voice was irresistible to Winnie but annoyed Krista.

“No, these are mine.” Krista covered her plate with her hand and pointed with the other. “And those are yours, on your Fancy Nancy plate.”

“No!” Maeve screeched the word and her lower lip jutted out in warning.

“Krista, knock it off. We use our dinner manners now. Right, Maeve?” Winnie fought to keep from smiling as she stared at Maeve.

Maeve’s huge blue eyes reproached Winnie and, not for the first time, Winnie felt Max’s presence reach out through his daughter’s eyes.

You blew it today. You should’ve told him.

She had told him too much about her life—without telling him what she should have.

She tried to convince herself that she’d wanted to avoid his questions until he wasn’t so upset. That she thought it was better to wait.

That was all crapola and she knew it. Not only was she betraying Max, but each day she kept him from the truth, she kept Maeve from knowing her daddy.

Maeve.

Maeve needed her father, a father who wasn’t dead like Krista’s. He’d survived a war, for God’s sake, and was living and breathing just a drive up the road.

You are a class-A chicken.

“Maeve, don’t look at Mommy like that. You have to be a good girl and eat the food on your own plate, not Krista’s.”

Maeve’s expression reflected her inner-toddler struggle. Winnie knew she was hungry, and the cut-up chicken nuggets on her Fancy Nancy plate were just as tasty as her sister’s. But it was so much fun to annoy Krista and to get her attention. Tears shimmered in Maeve’s luminous eyes and her chin worked frantically to keep her lower lip in a pout.

No doubt due to Maeve’s hunger, sanity prevailed and she picked up a nugget from her own plate and shoved it carefully in her mouth.

Winnie expelled her breath. It’d been a long afternoon with both girls arriving home in cranky moods.

These days she was never sure who’d have the bigger fit after school—Maeve or Krista. At thirteen, Krista had started wearing a training bra this past summer and she’d shot up three inches since Christmas. She wore the same shoe size as Winnie, although Winnie didn’t think that would be for long. Krista was going to be long and lean, as Tom had been.

Maeve, however, was Winnie’s “mini-me,” except for the shape and color of her eyes and her mop of straight brown hair—clearly inherited from Max.

He’s going to know she’s his the minute he sees her.

“Krista, how much homework do you have tonight?” Her voice shook and she knew that her anxiety wasn’t going away. Not until she came clean with Max.

“I already told you when I came in, Mom. I finished it on the bus.”

“Good.” Krista probably had told her, but Winnie had been distracted since she walked through the door. Her thoughts had stayed in Dugualla Bay… .

The same sense of inevitability she’d had once she’d started labor with each of the girls filled her stomach with dread. Now, just like then, there was no escaping the pain to come. No going back. Then, it had meant the baby was on her way out; now it was the truth emerging.

With no guarantee of a happy outcome as far as Max was concerned.

Life doesn’t come with a warranty.

She’d betrayed Max, the one person who’d seen her at her best and her worst, from her and Tom’s life together, through the crash and then her short stint as a psycho-widow, when she’d tried to pick up an addiction. Any addiction—she hadn’t been fussy.

Drinking, men, shopping, whatever would take “hold” she’d tried to cling to. But Max had stepped in before anything could consume her and tear her from her life with Krista. His words to her the night he’d dragged her out of an Oak Harbor bar and dumped her back in her house had ended her quest for self-destruction.

“You can abuse yourself all you want—the hurt will still be there, and Tom won’t. He’s not coming back, Winnie. You have a daughter to raise. This isn’t the time to let Tom down.”

He’d left her alone in her empty house. Her parents had taken Krista for the weekend, which was the pattern for the first several months after Tom died, to give Winnie a break and Krista time with other family. Instead of using those free hours to heal, Winnie had been hell-bent on dousing the firestorm of pain.

Max had saved her. Ultimately, he’d saved Krista, too.

He’d never mentioned that time again. Wouldn’t comment on it if she brought it up, either.

Even today, when he was spitting angry at her stupid comment about his being a charity case, he hadn’t reminded her of when she’d been in need of charity.

Of all the people to deceive, she’d picked Max.

Crap on a cracker.

“Okay, Krista, could you play with your sister for a few minutes while I get the dishes done?”

“C’mon, Maeve, do you want to play kitchen?” Krista expertly unsnapped Maeve from her booster seat and lifted her down to the hardwood floor. Maeve took off with a squeal, her bare feet slapping the oak planks.

“Slow down, Maeve,” Winnie admonished while she cleared the table and took the plates to the sink. She looked through her garden window and sighed. The clouds were just as gray and the trees bent—almost as though they were doing yoga. The windstorm promised to continue all night.

The first time she heard a rapping out front, she thought it might be a branch. But the second time, Sam barked and she realized someone was at the door. She looked at the clock. They weren’t used to visitors this late on a school night.

“Keep an eye on her, Krista.” She glanced at the scene of domestic tranquility. Krista was helping Maeve make plastic pies and cakes in her toy microwave.

“I am, Mom.” Krista’s tone had changed overnight into that of a know-it-all teenager, and Winnie didn’t like it one bit. She missed her easygoing daughter, who’d delighted in the simple things like baking cookies and fitting a jigsaw puzzle together.

Sam trotted to the door with her, but instead of his usual bark he stood still and wagged his tail. He gazed at the door with a look of expectation.

Winnie peered through the beveled glass and recognized the shape of a man. A man who immediately made her stomach tense.

She opened the door to a rush of wind—and Max.

“May I come in?” It wasn’t really a question, since he’d already walked into her foyer and shut the door behind him. He wore a hoodie, and his T-shirt underneath was sweat-stained. His hair was damp and his eyes—oh, his eyes.

“Sam.” She started to command Sam to remain in place but she didn’t have to. He’d sat down and waited patiently for Max to acknowledge him with a pat.

“Come on in, I’ll make us some tea.” Winnie spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen in her stockinged feet. But Max was quicker.

His hand wrapped around her wrist. “Not yet. We need to talk.”

Winnie looked down at her arm, and at his hand. In spite of her heightened anxiety, his touch elicited a warm throb of excitement. She dared to look up at Max’s face.

His eyes blazed and his mouth was set in a straight line. The years seemed to fall away as she looked into his eyes.

“Of all people, you were one I thought I could trust.”

She eased her body around to face him and leaned her back against the wall. She couldn’t trust her legs. She willed herself to meet his eyes and to answer him truthfully. No matter what he asked.

“And now?”

“Where are the girls, Winnie?” He stared at her but not at her. He was obviously distracted by his inner demons.

“In the family room. But don’t you think we should talk about this first?”

He gave her a look of derision and released her wrist. But he didn’t move. She felt the nearness of his body, the scent that was uniquely Max. She remembered him like this from before, the night they’d made love.

And made a baby.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me before I walk into that room, Winnie?”

She swallowed. “Apparently I don’t have to.”

He leaned in and she thought, maybe some part of her hoped, that he was going to kiss her. Erase the years, the trauma, all of it. With a kiss.

“What you’ve done is unforgivable, Winnie.”

Shivers shot down her neck and spine as his breath swept across her ear, but the desire she’d felt fled as quickly as it had come.

He’d hate her forever.

* * *

MAX PUSHED BACK FROM the wall and strode down the hall, pausing at the entry to the family room. She heard the girls’ voices in their singsong play and Maeve’s giggles, which she saved for her time with Krista.

It was impossible to take her gaze off Max’s profile. Max, the warrior, who stood on the threshold of his new life. Once he walked into that room and got a full look at Maeve, he’d know the truth.

That he was a father.

From her own experience, Winnie understood that when you became a parent, any previous presuppositions, ideas, intentions, were irrelevant. All that had mattered to her was her child. Max would be no different. It wasn’t in him to do anything halfway, regardless of what she’d said to Robyn.

“Maeve, do you want to wash the dishes now?” Krista asked.

“Wheeee!” Maeve’s accompanying giggle was infectious. Winnie usually laughed along with her baby girl, but all she could do now was watch the rise and fall of Max’s chest. The way his nostrils flared and his hands rested on his hips. He was still in sweats and there was mud on his running shoes, as though he’d run here on foot from the Air Station gym, the soreness of his shrapnel-ridden body be damned.

The girls’ chatter died at the same moment Winnie saw Max’s lips move.

“Hello,” he said.

Silence. Plastic falling on the play kitchen counter. Then Krista’s voice.

“Uncle Max?”

She remembered him. She’d called her godfather “Uncle” from when she was a baby. But she hadn’t seen him since she was seven, since Tom died. Winnie had wondered if Krista had forgotten him and Winnie never brought him up. She made it a rule not to bring up specifics about the time of the accident. If Krista wanted to talk, she did, and she asked questions as she needed to.

Their talks about Tom were daily and loving. But Max and the time right after the crash had never been discussed. Winnie figured the questions might eventually come, when Krista was older and mature enough to wonder about those days and months, to peel back the layers of memory and take a more detached look at the heartbroken little girl she’d been when her daddy died.

“Yeah, it’s me, Uncle Max. Are you going to give me a hug?”

Winnie walked up to the threshold and did her best to smile at the girls.

“You recognized your Uncle Max! Do you remember him?”

“Of course, Mom. I just said hello to him, didn’t I?” Krista muttered in teenage bemusement as she stepped forward and offered Max a hug. He embraced her, his eyes closed and his face impassive. He opened his eyes and held Krista by the shoulders as he studied her.

“You’ve grown a yard or two, Krista!” He smiled and Krista’s face lit up while a blush crept over her cheeks. Other than her uncles and grandfather, she didn’t get a whole lot of male attention. A bittersweet pang of regret hit Winnie as she thought about how much Tom would have loved Krista, how he would’ve been the one to light up her face like a Christmas tree.

“Thanks, Uncle Max.”

“And who’s this?” Max kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked past Krista toward Maeve, who kept playing with her plastic fruits and vegetables, oblivious.

“My sister, Maeve. Mom says she’s our miracle baby.”

“She sure is.” Max walked farther into the room and knelt down in front of Maeve. Maeve paused, her thumb in her mouth and a plastic bunch of broccoli in her other hand. She stared at Max unblinking, as if she’d never seen a man before.

She’s never seen her father before.

Winnie’s throat constricted and she swallowed. This wasn’t about her, it was about Max and Maeve. About Maeve meeting her father.

Her daddy.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” Max’s voice was gentle in spite of its deep timbre. He was patient as he waited for Maeve to respond, and Winnie held her breath. She was acutely aware of Krista’s sharp gaze on the pair, as well. Winnie stood still as Krista met her glance. Krista finally knew who Maeve’s father was.

Maeve lifted up the plastic broccoli and Winnie’s pride welled. Maeve was such a sweetie—she was going to give her toy to Max, a man she’d never met. But somewhere deep down, she must’ve known Max was her father.

“Noooo!” Maeve hurled the broccoli at Max, who didn’t move. It hit him in the nose and he didn’t wince, but from having been on the receiving end herself, Winnie knew it hurt.

“Whoa, sweetie-pie. It’s okay, I don’t like strangers, either.” Max stood and smiled at Krista. “She’s tough like you, isn’t she?”

Krista laughed. “Yeah, she’s pretty crazy.”

Winnie cleared her throat.

“Max, did you eat? I have some leftovers from dinner. I was just cleaning up.”

“I’m not hungry. But I’ll take a glass of water.”

Winnie went to the kitchen and filled a plastic tumbler with water from the fridge. Her hands shook and she put the cup on the counter for a moment.

“Breathe,” she whispered in the quiet kitchen.

“It’s not so bad for you, trust me.”

She whirled around and stared at him.

“Max, I don’t know where to start.”

“When, Winnie.” He came toward her. “Not where. The question is when should you have started? How about the first time you missed your period after the Air Show?”

“I was in denial for weeks. Months. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten pregnant after just one time—and with you.”

“It was more than once, Winnie. Three or four times, if my memory serves.” He continued to look at her with that unyielding glare. “It’s not like we’d never met, like we were a one-night stand.”

“But we’d never, we’d never—” Her hands gripped the counter behind her at the panic that threatened to stop her breathing.

“We’d never what, Winnie? Made love?” His palpable anger seemed to shake the air around them. “True, but speak for yourself. You never looked at me, saw me as more than Tom’s friend.”

“Of course not—”

“I saw you, Winnie. From that first happy hour at the O Club when we were J.O.s.”

He couldn’t be talking about the night they’d all met. She, Tom and Max. Could he? She’d been intimidated by Max and his silent presence from that first moment. Tom was affectionate, loving, respectful. He put up with what she knew now were her immature demands.

“You never liked me, Max, not from the start. You even tried to keep Tom from proposing to me.”

“I didn’t like the way you behaved, Winnie. The way you treated Tom, as if he was supposed to do what you wanted with no regard for what he’d worked so hard for. He was my best friend. Of course I was going to warn him if I thought he was making a mistake. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t find you attractive. It just wasn’t ever an option.”

They were inches apart. His gaze wasn’t on her eyes anymore. His chest still heaved, his anger still simmered. But he stared at her lips and she felt his desire as if it were her own.

“But this isn’t about me. It’s about you, Winnie. I have a child and you didn’t tell me. How the hell am I supposed to take this?’”

“I’m so sorry, Max. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Just as you never meant to hurt me by not returning any of my calls or emails after the Air Show? Weak, Winnie, even from you.”

“I didn’t want you to feel you owed me anything for that…that night.” Of course, that was before she’d realized she was pregnant.

“That’s not why I was calling you, Winnie.”

His windbreaker rasped as he lifted his hand to her face and tilted up her chin with one finger.

Winnie looked into his face and prayed that her knees wouldn’t buckle. His eyes, red-rimmed from anger and probably the wind, reflected something she never expected from Max once he learned about Maeve.

Interest. Desire.

“I wanted to be with you, and not just on that night.” His gaze shifted to her lips again and she willed her defenses to kick in and push him back.

Instead, she met him halfway.

She felt the instant shock of recognition as the smoothness of his lips touched hers. His kiss ignited the fuse that always lay between them.

She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she should be concerned about the girls in the next room, somehow fighting this need to have his mouth on hers. Coherent thought wasn’t an option with Max’s tongue in her mouth and his hands wrapped around her head.

His hair was wet at his nape and she liked how the short strands rubbed against her palm. Her other hand was on his shoulder, but instead of pushing him away, she was holding on for her very sanity.