A Chance of a Lifetime (32 page)

Her sweater was blue, the same shade of sapphire that was in the mother's ring Gran wore. It was designed more for looking good than staying warm, the fine silky knit clinging to her curves, the rounded neck dipping to reveal a patch of creamy skin where her breasts began to mound.

He should be worrying about her reason for visiting unannounced. His stomach should be tied in knots, his heart skipping every other beat, his familiar old friend doubt settling around him.

But he wasn't worried. Somewhere deep inside, where his darkest fears lived, he knew Bennie wasn't here to break his heart. Why bring gifts? Why brave the weather? Why dress up like she was going somewhere—or seeing someone—special?

She laid her purse, which had been shielded beneath the coat, on the dining table, then folded her hands together and nervously glanced at him. “I like your apartment.”

He had to swallow hard before he was able to speak. “You saw enough to tell that in the two seconds you looked around?”

She gave him a chastising look before letting a smile spread across her face. “It's warm, it's dry, it smells good, and it's relatively clean. Your mother would be proud.”

“She'd be proud anyway. It's in the mother code.”

That made her laugh, one of Calvin's favorite sounds in the world. As long as Bennie could laugh, life couldn't possibly be bad. “I remember a few times when she would have strangled you if she could have gotten her hands on you, mother code be damned.”

“Those were all J'Myel's fault.” Once again, that deep stab of pain had faded to little more than a twinge. “Would you like to sit down, or would you rather stand by the door all night?”

She gave him another chastening look before taking a seat on the couch. The furniture was nothing fancy, clean, in good shape, sturdy, but it sure looked better with her on it. The vivid blue and black of her clothing, the vibrancy that was just Bennie, and even the fragrance she wore, in the space of a moment, had turned his apartment from home to homey.

“You want some of Mom's cookies?”

She sniffed the air, then snorted. “I'm holding out for some of Miss Elizabeth's lasagna, if you have enough to share.”

He sat at the opposite end of the sofa, his bare feet drawn onto the cushions to seek a little warmth. “She always makes enough to share.”

“I know.” Bennie picked up the heart on the chain around her neck and slid it a few times side to side. It was a gift from J'Myel, he knew, back when they were all still friends. Seeing it on her in the beginning, in the photos J'Myel had flashed to everyone, and knowing what it had represented, had seemed strange. Now it was as much a part of her as the bracelets, rings, and earrings she favored.

The rings…His gaze settled on her hands. The last time he'd seen her, every time he'd seen her since coming home, she'd worn an elaborate wedding set on her left hand. It had cost two months' pay, J'Myel had boasted, pricey considering that that salary had included hostile-fire pay. Now, even though she'd substituted a narrow band with a teardrop-shaped yellow stone, her hand looked naked…or ready for a new ring.

Calvin couldn't decide whether the jitteriness spreading through him was anxiety, anticipation, or all that cool calm bouncing itself to bits. She'd come to see him because she'd reached a decision, logic dictated, and that decision had led her to remove her dead husband's rings.

Damn
, he really was lucky.

Bennie slipped off her boots and lifted her socked feet onto the couch. Pressing her palms together, she thought how strange her hand felt without J'Myel's rings. She'd worn them from the moment he'd placed them there during their wedding, not even taking them off to bathe. They'd rubbed a ring of flattened skin around her finger that the gold band she was wearing didn't quite cover. But the strangeness was good. It was like a final letting-go of the past and the first step to a new future.

“I had grand plans when I left the house,” she began. “I was going to get a gallon of sweet tea from Bad Hank's, then pick up dinner at Sweet Baby Greens, including some of Mr. Arnold's to-die-for cobbler. Then I was going to buy a carton of your favorite Bordeaux cherry ice cream from Braum's and offer it all to you with one condition.”

“What condition?” His gaze was level with hers. He wasn't smiling, wasn't frowning, wasn't giving away much of anything he was thinking, except…yes, there, a tiny bit of amusement lurking in the corners of his dark eyes.

Bennie wasn't a shy woman. Never had been. It was easier for a person to get what she wanted if she was up front about it. But from nowhere came a whisper of insecurity, confidence lacking at a time when she needed it more than ever. When she touched her tongue to her lips, it came off as nerves, and nerves tempted her to giggle, but she stifled the sound and managed to answer without sounding too over the top.

 “That you had to take me to get the food.”

He looked at her a moment, and she realized his face was more relaxed—more
Calvin
—than ever before. Ever since he'd come home, there'd been this tension, this dissatisfaction, that seemed to have become a very part of him, but it was gone now. He looked—
thank you, God
—as if he'd found some peace.

“Damn rain. Ruins the best of plans,” he said mildly. “So I got no tea, no dinner, no cobbler, and no ice cream. But I got you.”

The best of plans.
Aw, she had such plans if he was amenable, and the aura of peace about him made her pretty sure he was—once she'd said what she had to say. “But Miss Elizabeth provided her fabulous lasagna, and she never sends that without adding a loaf of garlic bread from CaraCakes, so there's still food, and there's still me.” A lump formed in her throat, making her next words hoarse. “But first…”

She watched him closely for some response—fear, anxiety, confidence. Though his muscles tightened briefly, his expression remained even. Calm. He knew, she thought. Knew she loved him. Knew she wouldn't give up on him. Knew she would fight for him. Just like the old Calvin, so sure of himself. Sure of
her
.

 “What you told me Saturday…I couldn't believe the boy I'd grown up with, the man I'd fallen in love with, had been through so much and I hadn't had a clue. I was shocked and scared and hurt and—and—”

“Pissed off,” he said quietly, “that I'd dishonored J'Myel and everyone else that way.”

“Not dishonored…” Honesty forced her to correct that. “Well, a little. At first. But while you were in Iraq and Afghanistan, fighting and losing people, I was right here where I'd practically always been, living with Mama, going to work and to church, seeing all my friends. I was as safe as I had ever been. I heard stories about what it was like to be in combat, and they helped give me some perspective, but in the end they were really just words. I could imagine, but I couldn't
know
. I couldn't put myself in your shoes, or J'Myel's or anyone else's. I couldn't experience what you'd experienced.” She paused. “I sure couldn't claim any right to judge you.”

“What I did…” His gaze slid away, still tinged with that survivor's guilt that might never go away, then came back to hers. “It's hard to understand. I mean, I was
there
, and for weeks afterward, I still couldn't believe it. It was like a really vivid, really bad dream. I still can't explain why…”

That awful little word:
Why?
The nagging little question that could drive a person insane. There were a thousand possible answers. There was usually not one single good answer. Calvin might never understand why. Bennie probably wouldn't. But Mama had suggested an answer she could live with. “Mama thinks it was part of God's plan to get you back home, to get us back together, to bring Diez into your family's lives.” And to get Mama some great-grandbabies to cuddle before she was too old.
I'll try my best to make that happen,
Bennie had told her.

Try your best,
Chaplain Roberts had said. If she could paint, Bennie would put it on a piece of old barn wood in flowing script and hang it on the wall where it was the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing at night. If she could cross-stitch, she would make a fussy little sampler, and if she were into body art, she would have it tattooed in a place that only she and Calvin would ever see.
Try your best,
because that was all anyone could ask, all anyone could offer.

“It would have been easier if God had just smacked me on the back of the head,” Calvin said dryly.

“He did smack you on the back of the head. He just used Diez to do it.”

A wry grin tugged at his mouth. “There are better ways of getting my attention than having a mouthy kid break my elbow.”

“I don't know. Gran always said you were more hardheaded than anyone she'd ever known. Coming from the most hardheaded person
I've
ever known, that says a lot.”

After her smile faded, she took a deep breath. “I talked to the chaplain at the hospital today, and to Mama. I thought long and hard about everything you told me, about everything I know about PTSD and about you and me and life, and every train of thought led back to the same place.”

The patter of rain had faded, she realized in the silence that followed, and a glance at the window showed that the forecasters had gotten it right this time: Snow was falling in the sort of big, fat flakes that turned the world beautiful and sweet and soft.

Calvin stretched one leg out, nudging her with his foot, bringing her attention back to him. Expectancy lit his face, making it beautiful and sweet and soft.

“I'm not scared of your PTSD, Calvin, or your insomnia, your mood changes, your nightmares, your paranoia, or anything else your guilt can throw at us. By ourselves, we're damn strong people. Together we are unbeatable.” It took another deep breath to fill her lungs, and still her voice came out wavery. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be there for you when you need me and when you don't. I can't bear the idea of
not
being there for you because I love you, and there's nothing in the world that can change that.”

The timer went off in the kitchen, but Calvin ignored it to say in a husky voice, “So you're okay with the Army not wanting me anymore.”

“You gave them your best. The rest belongs to you and your family and me.”

“You don't care that I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do for work when I get out? I could need another degree. I could follow my other childhood dream and become a cowboy, or I could to learn to lay tile and be the Son in Sweet and Son Tile.”

Trying to ignore the beeping alarm, Bennie's jaw muscles tightened even as she smiled. “Your daddy would be overjoyed. I'd let you tile my house anytime.”

“Would you let me live in that house? Cook in the kitchen? Sprawl in the living room with Nita? Soak in long hot baths in the evenings? Sleep—”

Maybe because alarms were such a huge part of her job, they were one thing she couldn't ignore. She shot up from the sofa, asking, “Sweet heaven, how long does this go on before I have to stomp it into the floor?” In the kitchen, a dozen steps away, she snatched up the timer, jabbed the stop button, then bent, breathing in heavenly scents of pasta, cheese, and tomatoes, to turn the oven off.

When she straightened, she saw Calvin had followed her in, eyes glinting as he blocked her way, backing her against the counter and the wall of the pantry. “Where was I? Oh, yeah, soak in long hot baths in the evenings and sleep every night in the smallest bed we can find so I can hold you close every night?”

Her breath caught in her chest. The idea of finding an old house in the Flats, one within easy walking distance of Mama's and the Sweets', stirred an ache around her heart. She wanted a house that needed some work, that would accommodate three or four children—and Mama, when the time came. She wanted an old-fashioned place that suited, not dazzled, filling it first with her stuff, his stuff, family stuff, and Nita, then growing it every year or two, more babies, more dogs, a cat or three.

“I most certainly would welcome you to do all those things there.” She raised her left hand, wiggling her fingers to draw his attention to the citrine ring. “But it would involve taking a few vows and putting a ring on my finger.”

Catching her hand, he rubbed the tip of his finger over the yellow stone. “On my twenty-first birthday, Gran told me she wanted me to have her wedding ring. It's just a plain gold band, and she didn't think most women would want something so simple, but it had seen her through more than forty years with my grandfather. She thought having it might bring me luck even if my bride didn't wear it.”

The words set heat building in the pit of Bennie's stomach, creating currents that somersaulted and warmed her from the inside out. She knew Gran's ring, simple but far too important to ever be considered plain.

“Calvin Clyde Sweet, is that a proposal?” she asked, but before he could answer, she tugged her hand free, wrapped her arms around his neck, and snuggled close so that their bodies touched. He was hard, and she was soft; he was warm, and she was shivery; he was home, really home, and she was so very happy to be there. Rising onto her toes, she touched her mouth to his, and desire surged through her, humming just beneath the surface of her skin. Forget the frigid temperatures outside—she was about to burst into flames. Her heart was melting, and everything else was tingling delightfully.

He took control of the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth, sliding his hands over the blue sweater that made her sparkle inside. The clean sexy scent of him made the spicy aroma of the lasagna fade away, and the pressure of his arousal against her gave new meaning, she thought naughtily, to
hyperarousal
.