Читать книгу Marry Me, Major - Merline Lovelace, Merline Lovelace - Страница 11
ОглавлениеBen had considered several options to kill the four hours between the wedding and the flight back to Albuquerque. His first choice was a room right there at the Bellagio. With a little luck and a few smooth moves, he might’ve been able to convince Alex to forget her no-sex condition.
Although...
His gut told him she was right to keep their pseudomarriage platonic. By this time tomorrow he’d be sprawled in the back end of a C-17 with ten other aircrews being ferried across the pond as replacements for a squadron that had flown more than twice its share of combat missions. By the time he rotated stateside again, his brief stint as a married man would most likely be a distant memory. Going horizontal with his sexy bride might generate some happy memories to take with him. Unfortunately, a few hours between the sheets would also complicate an already weird situation.
His second choice to fill the four hours was to take Alex out to Nellis and give her an up close glimpse of his world. But that would generate too many questions about his supposed marriage if Pink or any of his pals got wind of it. The news that Cowboy was playing tour guide to his new wife instead of heating up a honeymoon suite would hit every Special Ops news feed around the globe.
His third and only viable option was to treat his bride to a lavish wedding feast before they headed to the airport. He pitched the idea when they were once again ensconced in the limo.
“I don’t know about you but I need more than airline peanuts to sustain me until we get back to Albuquerque. What say we celebrate our nuptials with a late lunch–early dinner at one of Vegas’s many eateries?”
“That sounds wonderful!”
The barely disguised relief in her response told Ben she’d been worrying over ways to fill their postwedding hours, too.
“Do you have a place in mind?”
Nobly, he left the choice to her. “Your town, your call.”
“Well...” she said with a quick grin.
Damn! Why hadn’t he remembered how her eyes gleamed with flickers of gold when she smiled. Probably because they hadn’t had much to twinkle about since they’d reconnected.
“There is one place,” she told him. “But it doesn’t exactly qualify as elegant.”
“Your town,” he repeated, thoroughly intrigued by those bright eyes.
* * *
Okay, Ben thought some minutes later, he might have made a serious error in judgment by turning the choice of eating establishments over to his bride.
He got his first clue when she leaned forward, tapped the window separating them from the chauffeur, and directed him to Pancho’s Cantina on East Hacienda Boulevard. The second was when they pulled in to a dirt parking lot and Ben surveyed a structure that looked like it had started life as a garage. Rusted sedans and a burned-out bus sat off to one side of the establishment. Dented pickups with gun racks decorating their rear windows crowded the front entrance.
“This is your favorite place to eat in Vegas?” Ben asked. “A city with as many four-and five-star restaurants as Paris or London?”
“Pancho’s green chili and sour cream enchiladas will melt your soul,” she asserted confidently before scooting forward to rap on the window divider again. “Have lunch with us, Ernie. You’ll be our special guest.”
The chauffeur’s glance cut to the rearview mirror. Ben endorsed the invitation with a nod. Why not?
Ten minutes later the three of them were seated in a booth and scarfing down what could only be described as fifty-megaton salsa. Ernie, they discovered, was actually Ernesto Constanza and a transplant to Vegas from south Philadelphia. Ben listened while he and Alex exchanged increasingly humorous tales of living and working in Sin City. Ernesto’s anecdotes edged closer to the mob than Alex’s, although Ben hiked a brow at the instances she sketched of strong-arm tactics by the unions.
When Ernie excused himself to hit the men’s room, Ben had to ask, “Did Chelsea really fork over part of her paycheck for a year to get her first break in Vegas?”
“It was either that or sleep with the slug who was doing the hiring.”
“What about you? Did they lean on you, too?”
She shook her head. “I was lucky enough to be hired right out of college by one of the really, really great guys in the costume business. Don kept our union steward in line. He was also openly, proudly gay. The only threat to my somewhat dubious virtue came from the aircrews who converged on Nellis for Red Flag.”
No surprise there. Red Flag was a massive combat training exercise that brought a host of air, space and cyber forces of the US and its allies to the Nevada Test and Training Range. The range’s fifteen thousand square miles of desert provided a target-rich environment, realistic threat systems and an enemy force that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else in the world. Ben and his crews had dodged more simulated surface-to-air and air-to-air missiles in the skies above Nevada than he wanted to count.
“I managed to resist the Red Flag crews.” With a rueful smile, Alex leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. “Can’t say the same for a certain Badger Basher.”
God! Did she have any idea how seductive she looked right now? The sparkles on her heart-shaped neckline pulled Ben’s gaze like airfield approach lights. He tried, he honestly tried, not to stare at the swell of creamy flesh above those sparkles but he was sweating by the time the waitress dumped three platters the size of B-52s on the table.
* * *
Pancho’s house special didn’t do much to douse the heat in his belly but it did fill him up enough to pass on the airline’s peanuts during the short flight back to Albuquerque. The sun was just beginning to sink toward the volcanic peaks across the Rio Grande when they exited the terminal. Streaks of red and gold and flaming orange tinted the sky as they claimed Ben’s SUV and drove to Pat and Dinah’s house to pick up Maria.
“So?” Pat asked when she answered the door and ushered Alex inside. “How was Vegas?”
“Still bright and glitzy and completely unreal.”
“Your friend Chelsea make it to the ceremony?”
“She did. So did Ben’s best man. They were both in uniform. Mostly.”
Keying her phone, she brought up the souvenir wedding photo that the wedding planner had texted to her and Ben’s phones.
“Darn! No Elvis?”
“No, thank goodness. Not that anyone would notice with Chelsea spilling out of her halter.”
“True.”
Alex tucked her phone back in her bag. “How were the girls?”
“Fine. They wore themselves out and are both zonked out on the sofa.” She slanted Alex a quick glance. “Sure you don’t want to just leave her here tonight? This being your honeymoon and all?”
“They have school tomorrow. It’s enough of a battle to get Maria up and out the door at our own house. You’d need a bulldozer to do it here.”
“Your call. You get her, I’ll carry her backpack.”
Alex had to stifle a grunt when she lifted the fifty-plus pounds of sleeping child. Maria woke only long enough to whine petulantly at being disturbed before wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck.
When the two women appeared by the car, Ben popped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear door. Maria had outgrown her booster seat and five-point harness months ago but she was too sleepy to just buckle in and leave all slumped over.
“I’ll ride in the back with her,” Alex told him.
Unfortunately, she had Maria’s head pointed the wrong way and couldn’t slide her into the seat. She tried angling around. That didn’t work, either.
“Here, let me.”
He transferred the sleeping girl from Alex’s arms into his. Maria gave another bad-tempered whine, then rolled into his chest and burrowed in. Ben looked so startled at having the seven-year-old’s nose stuck in his chest that Pat laughed and Alex had to smother a smile.
“She’s always cranky when she’s half-asleep,” she apologized. “I’ll slide in first and you can hand her to me.”
* * *
They reversed the process after the short drive to the casita. Ben cut the ignition, climbed out and opened the passenger door to gather the still-sleeping child in his arms. Maria didn’t whine this time. Just drew up her knees, mumbled something incoherent and cuddled up against him again.
Alex slid out and refused to acknowledge the pain that lanced into her. Why couldn’t Maria’s father have cradled her like this? Held her just once and showed some love?
In Janet’s last, agonizing months she’d admitted that her absent husband had resented Maria’s claim on her time and attention. Eddie had never played with the girl. Never showed her any affection. And in one of his drug-induced highs, he’d claimed that his former girlfriend had slept with half the band before she dumped the kid on him and took off for parts unknown. Any of them might be the kid’s father. Alex had settled that with a court-mandated DNA test when she’d gone after the bastard for child support.
Except, she acknowledged grimly as she unlocked the casita’s front door, her determination to get the deadbeat dad to own up to his responsibilities had totally backfired. The incontrovertible proof that Eddie was, in fact, Maria’s father had come less than a week before his arrest on drug charges. Now the asshat was in prison, still not contributing to his daughter’s welfare and getting back at Alex by blocking every one of her attempts to adopt his daughter.
Her sham marriage to Kincaid had to tip the scales, she thought furiously. It had to.
Her jaw tight, she led the way to Maria’s room and yanked down the bed comforter. Ben hooked a brow at the suppressed violence but eased the girl into bed and murmured that he’d wait in the kitchen while Alex got her undressed and settled for the night.
* * *
Alex had sternly banished all thoughts of her sister’s ex by the time she followed the scent of fresh brewed coffee to the kitchen. Ben was leaning a hip against the counter with a steaming mug in one hand.
“Helped myself,” he said, hiking the mug. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not. I’ll have some, too.”
Yikes! The first sip reminded her of their weekend together, when he took his coffee strong enough to grow hair on his chest.
Not that Major Ben Kincaid would final in any of the hairy chest contests conducted with some frequency in Vegas’s less reputable lounges. Chelsea had dragged Alex to one but the fur-covered contestants had totally turned her off. Ben, she now remembered, sported a light scatter of silky black that dusted his pecs, arrowed down his chest to his belly and...
No! She’d better stop right there! She’d laid out the conditions for their fake marriage up front. No point in renegotiating them at this point. Not when he was taking off for parts unknown in a few hours. Which reminded her...
“You mentioned that you moved out of your apartment and put your things in storage. Where were you going to stay tonight?”
“I’ve got a room at the Transient Lodging Facility at Kirtland. But...” He glanced at his watch and shrugged. “I have to be at the Base Ops with my crew at 0400. I’ll probably just hit the TLF to change into my uniform, then hang in the crew lounge until takeoff.”
“You’re not going to fly across country with no sleep!”
“Not hardly.” He laughed. “Remind me to explain air force regs governing mandatory crew rest to you sometime.”
The mutual realization that he wouldn’t be around to explain crew rest...or anything else...hung in the air until he broke the awkward silence.
“My crew is one of ten being ferried across the Atlantic in the back end of a C-17. The transport crew will do the flying. The rest of us will spend the whole flight sawing z’s.”
“Can you tell me where you’re going?”
“No. Sorry.”
The silence stretched a little longer this time. Alex took another cautious sip of coffee and was hit by the unsettling realization that the kitchen she’d so lovingly decorated was just the right size for her and Maria. She’d painted the walls a sunny yellow herself and spent hours haunting Old Town’s bazaar for the terra-cotta sun faces arranged above the cooktop. Ben, however, seemed to shrink the kitchen’s proportions by at least a third.
It wasn’t his height, she had to concede, or those broad shoulders. It had to be that Special Ops confidence. The quiet air of authority he exuded even with his back in a lazy curve and his hips propped against her kitchen counter. Somehow, some way, he owned the room.
“Why don’t you hang here for a while?” she suggested.
He looked interested. Very interested.
Reluctantly, Alex popped his bubble. “We could go into the living room, put up our feet and talk.”
“Right. Talk.”
“I might need to know more about my...uh...husband than his name, rank and serial number.”
Dammit! She’d better learn not to stumble over the H word. And, she realized as she led the way into the living room, she actually had no clue what his serial number was.
“It’s the same as my Social Security number,” he replied in answer to her embarrassed question. “I’ll take a photo of the SS card for you. Also my military ID, which has a different number. You might need both.”
He laid them on the coffee table, clicked a quick photo and texted it to Alex’s cell phone. The JPEG nestled next to their wedding certificate and the picture with Chelsea and Pink in her phone’s photo album.
She bit her lip as she studied Ben’s face on his military ID card. She had absolutely no intention of making any spousal claim on him. All she wanted—all she needed—was his signature on a marriage license. She wasn’t about to risk being accused of fraud by the air force. Or by the state of New Mexico, although she skated closer to the line with the state than she did with the military.
The thought caused a little flutter in her stomach. Resolutely, she banished it. Maria was worth the risk. A thousand times over.
Which brought her back to name, rank and serial number. If she was going to sway the Neanderthal judge who’d sustained Eddie’s objection to the adoption because of Alex’s single status, she needed to know more about her groom. Kicking off her shoes, she sank back against the overstuffed sofa cushions and tucked her feet under her.
“I know this sounds really manipulative... Okay, it is manipulative. But it would help if you tell me a little about yourself. Just in case I need to provide some details about my absent spouse.”
Ben stretched out in the saggy armchair opposite her. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “Your favorite ice cream. Your shirt size. Your mom’s and dad’s first names. Where you graduated from high school.”
“Plain vanilla. Fifteen-and-a-half neck, thirty-three sleeve. Alice and Ben Senior. Although,” he added sardonically, “the ‘senior’ part’s a little iffy. My mother was fairly sure the trucker she lived with for a few months fathered me, but they parted ways long before I was born. Never saw him, never wanted to. Mom took off when I was about eight or nine. It was pretty much a series of foster homes after that.”
Uh-oh! The casual way he’d tossed that out didn’t pass the smell test. With a quick kick to her gut, Alex guessed he’d just shared the real reason he’d agreed to her outrageous proposal. Apparently, his childhood had been as rootless and haphazard as Maria’s. His next comments confirmed her guess.
“As for high school, I dropped out after my junior year. The oil fields were hiring,” he related with a careless shrug. “I’d had enough of foster homes and didn’t see the need for a diploma, so I lit out on my own. The air force recruiter who had me in his sights didn’t see it the same way.”
