Gifts of Honor: Starting from Scratch\Hero's Homecoming (4 page)

“Why? Don’t you like your own cooking?”

“I love it, smarty, which is why I don’t eat it. I’d be as big as a house if I ever allowed myself more than a taste.”

“Ah, so it’s your iron will that’s behind your tiny figure.” He couldn’t look away from those sky-colored eyes as she closed the distance. “I wondered.”

“You’ve wondered about my figure?” There was something so absurdly adorable in the way her jaw unhinged. The desire to cover that mouth with his own came out of nowhere, leaving him stunned and breathless. God help him, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did at that moment. To sample the crushed-silk softness of her lips. To be caressed with the excited flutter of her breath. To stroke her tongue with his until she moaned... “Sad to say, agonizing deprivation’s pretty much the key to success. Um, after I help you with the lights, I really am going to have to be on my way.”

“Right.” The response left his mouth on automatic as he shut the door, and he gripped the knob for an extra second to stop from reaching for her. That would be one hell of a mixed message, making a grab for the woman who was his ex-wife. “Hopefully this won’t take too long. Thanks for helping out, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“I’m just trying to stay off Santa’s Naughty list.”

“Uh-huh.” Still wrestling with all the naughty things he wanted to do with her mouth—and to hell with Santa’s list—Sully set the boxes on the foyer table and helped her with her coat. As he did, the scent of vanilla and warm spices filled his senses. “Wow. That’s nice.”

She shot him a distracted frown as she unwound the red scarf from her neck, wafting her scent all the more. “What’s nice?”

“You smell like a bakery.” His mouth watered as he hung up her coat, fighting the urge to bury his face in it like some creepy perv. It was even harder fighting off the image that swam through his mind—an image of nibbling along the side of Lucy’s neck while she leaned back against him, whispering his name. His heart thudded while a deeper pulse began in his dick. What the hell. Was that a memory? Or something he simply wanted to do? Considering he’d been too busy battling for the return of his health to even think about anything else—much less sex—he couldn’t be sure this wasn’t a simple horny response after a long dry spell. “It’s a great scent.”

“Sugar and spice and everything nice. Even if that’s nowhere near my personality, it pretty much sums up what bakers smell like.” Stepping away, she laced her hands in front of her and gave him another one of those fake smiles. “So, where’s your Gordian knot? I want to see how many F-bombs I can drop in under an hour.”

“In the living room.” Grabbing one of the cookie boxes, he led the way and put the package down on the coffee table next to the wadded-up ball of lights, which he held up for her inspection. “Can you tell me how a string of lights can get like this without someone actually
trying
to do this?”

“We need to find an end.” With a determined expression, she took the knot and perched on the edge of his father’s recliner while he opened the box of cookies. The scent of warm spices and sweet vanilla hit him, and for just a flash he could almost see...something. He popped a snowball-like cookie into his mouth and bit into a heaven that was sweet, dark with a hint of molasses and spicy enough to tingle his tongue...

And familiar.

“I’ve been craving something like this.” He took another cookie, then closed the box in a determined fashion before he could plop his entire face into it. “Damn, you’re a good cook.”

“Baker. And I’d better be, since I’ve got six dozen cream puffs to make today, in addition to all the usual bakery items that never stick around for long. Aha, there’s the little stinker.” She held up a plug in triumph. “Okay, we’ll have this knot untied in no time.”

Like our marriage
. The words came up so fast he thought he’d said them aloud. “And then you’ll be leaving.” So what else was new? She was going to leave him again.

You’re leaving me.
Why do you keep leaving me?
Is it that you don’t love me?

No. Wait. That wasn’t right.
He
was the one who’d wanted the divorce.

And she’d let him go. Without a fight, she’d let him go.

Is it that you don’t love me?

“Sullivan? Is it one of your headaches?”

He opened eyes he didn’t remember closing, and realized he had a hand cupped over his forehead. The room rocked and he collapsed back onto the couch with a curse, the fractured thoughts swarming like bees in his head. God, he hated this, he
hated
it... “You’d better go.”

“I’ll call your father before—”

“
Leave.
Now!
”

The sound of the front door closing barely reached his ears.

Chapter Three

Lucy’s fingers were frozen by the time Lowell skidded into the driveway, his tree-buying task abandoned thanks to her summoning call. As soon as he arrived, she removed herself from her sentry station on the front porch, where she’d been peeking through the living room window like some skeevy peeper to make sure Sully was all right.

Except he wasn’t all right. For a second he’d been as violently opposed to her existence as he had been when he first surfaced from his coma. When he’d initially returned to consciousness his reaction to her presence had stunned everyone, including the doctors. Usually loved ones had a calming effect on patients, but every time Sully became aware she was nearby he’d scream until she was no longer visible. Ducking from the room to get out of his line of vision was now a habit the moment he showed signs of agitation.

It had been painfully obvious even to the most casual observer—Sully might not know who she was, but he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

As she parked behind Pauline’s, her throat throbbed with the tightness of tears she refused to let fall. She’d cried an ocean and it hadn’t changed a damn thing, so she wasn’t about to start up again now. She couldn’t figure out what sin she’d committed to land her in such a hell that the man she loved not only had no memory of loving her back, but screamed at the sight of her. If anything,
she
should have been the one to react violently, considering their last hours together before he’d shipped out. The time before he’d found an IED and successfully cleared his unit away from it, only to have it go off with such force the concussive wave bounced his brain straight into a contrecoup injury...those days were indelibly etched into her mind.

After spending four years at Fort Benning, Georgia while Sully was God-knew-where on one mission after another, they’d at last been reunited and planned to spend several weeks of leave back home in Texas. Initially, Lucy had been thrilled they were going home to share the holidays with Lowell. The plan had been to look at properties in the area now that Sully’s four years of service were almost up. When Sully had joined the Rangers, she’d made the difficult decision to hold off having children until he was out of harm’s way. But with the end of his combat career finally in sight, she’d been brimming with excitement to start this new phase of their life together.

From the moment Sully’s leave began, however, something was clearly wrong. He’d been sullen and withdrawn, refusing to talk except when spoken to, and even then his responses were monosyllabic. Combat fatigue and stress were par for the course for all soldiers and especially the elite members of Special Forces, so Lucy had done her best to be supportive. But funneling conversation away from whatever hell he’d been through to focus on the future they wanted to build didn’t help. If anything, it had made him sink deeper into a silence she didn’t know how to fix.

By pure chance, almost as soon as they’d arrived back in their hometown of Bitterthorn, Lucy had met up with Pauline, her employer during her high school years. When Pauline learned they were interested in moving back, she’d hired Lucy now that the older woman’s gout was in danger of permanently sidelining her.

Lucy should have known something was up when Sully didn’t show interest in finding employment that would fit his skills in the private sector. She’d gone so far as to look into job possibilities herself, but when she’d pressed him on it, on Christmas Eve no less, he’d at last snapped out the truth. There wouldn’t be a private sector job for at least one more year, because he’d done the unthinkable. Just before he’d gone on leave, he’d signed up for another tour of duty.

It was the worst Christmas present she’d ever received.

Even now, the memory made her want to punch something. The concept of supporting him had gone out the window. She could still hear herself yelling that she hated him, that she’d never forgive him if he got so much as a scratch on him, that she was no longer going to put her life on hold for a man who obviously didn’t give a damn about her. He thought he was the only one serving, but the hard truth was that when soldiers hit the battlefield, their entire families were right there with them. They hurt for them, agonized through sleepless nights with them, cried, screamed and went mad for them. There was no bunker that could shelter military families from the uncertainty they had to endure. To shove her back into that life without even discussing it with her was beyond cruel.

And by damn, she’d let him know it. She’d unloaded with both barrels in a way she still felt at turns proud and ashamed of. When he’d gone for Ranger School she’d been upset, but she’d understood it was nothing short of a calling to defend not just his country, but ideals he believed in with all his heart. What he’d needed from her was support, not the distraction of an unhappy wife, and she’d done her best to give him that. But he’d known how his decision had stressed her, so she’d thought Sully would never volunteer for another tour of duty.

Wrong.

Christmas had been dismal. All the gifts she’d gotten him—homey crap like a weed whacker and a hedge trimmer—became bitter jokes. The worst joke of all was that he was scheduled to head out the day after, but at least the final punch line had been reserved for him. If he could make decisions for the both of them, then so could she. His expression of disbelief was almost comical when she’d informed him she wasn’t returning to Georgia with him for his continued training. She had officially reached her limit, so if she was going to be forced to wait for him for yet one more year, she was damn well going to do it in the town where she’d thought they were going to start building a life together. The only concession she’d given was to stay in the small but functional apartment over Lowell’s garage. But it wasn’t
home
. There were no roots to sink. No family to raise. It was just another waiting room thinly disguised as a place to live. But where she chose to do that waiting was one decision she could control, so she took it.

Her fury had still been volcanic when she and Lowell drove Sully to the airport, but the one thing family never did was send a soldier off on a bad note. She’d done her best to make it good with a hug and kiss. But for the first time, when he’d whispered, “I love you,” her throat locked up and refused to let out even a squeak. Tears fell, and she gave him one last kiss before she pushed him toward the security gate. And she did it all in absolute silence.

She loved him. God knew she loved him. But at that moment the words wouldn’t come. When he’d looked back at her, supported by Lowell so her shaking legs wouldn’t buckle, the knowledge that she hadn’t responded darkened his expression, and she knew she’d hurt him. That was the last thing she’d wanted to do, and immediately she’d regretted it. That night she’d gone home, made a batch of Pfeffernüsse and sent it off to him with a note that read simply
I
love you too.
Thanks to a snafu, Sully hadn’t received the cookies until two weeks later, right before his unit was to be shipped overseas. But he’d managed to sneak in a quick Skype with her before his unit was locked down on an informational blackout. They’d only had a handful of minutes to bridge the gap their parting had created, but she’d done her best to assure him she was fine and that she loved him. Nothing in the world, though, could have stopped her from reiterating she’d never forgive him if he got hurt. He’d assured her that since he had a surprise planned for her next Christmas—a surprise he swore she’d love this time around—he’d do everything he could to get back to her in one piece.

Three weeks later Sully was in a coma. A week after that, he was screaming whenever he saw her, this woman he didn’t know. The wife he couldn’t wait to get rid of.

Maybe this was what a disloyal army wife deserved, she thought hollowly, pushing into the shop. It was reprehensible to send a soldier off with a heavy heart, yet that’s exactly what she’d done. His mistake had been just as bruising. They’d let each other down in the worst way, and now they had to pay the price.

“Lucy, love.” Pauline took one look at her from her spot at the muffin counter and waved her quickly through to the back. “No need to ask if everything’s all right. Are you sick?”

“Does heartsick count?” Then she forced a bright grin to make a joke of it. “No, I’m great. Just determined to get an early start on the cream puffs Chandler Thorne ordered for the
Bitterthorn Herald
office party. Three dozen with vanilla filling, three dozen with chocolate, right?”

“Forget the cream puffs.” Pauline followed her back to the converted mudroom as Lucy peeled off her coat. “If you’re talking about being heartsick, my Sherlock Holmes–like mind tells me you’ve had another run-in with Sully.”

“Another?” Lucy shot Pauline a sharp glance. “Who says I’ve had even one?”

“Everyone and their dog saw you two outside Mabel’s.”

Small towns
,
gotta love
’em
. “I just dropped off some Pfeffernüsse for Lowell and Sullivan, that’s all. They turned out especially tasty this time around, by the way. I’d love to give you some, but I live in fear of you cracking the secret recipe.”

“I’ll get it someday, mark my words. So there wasn’t a problem between you and Sully?”

Lord, the woman had the tenacity of a pit bull. “Nope.”

“So...you wouldn’t have any problem with crossing his path in the future?”

“Of course not.” Then a red flag went up. “Why?”

Pauline sighed. “Saturday’s the Christmas parade, right?”

So far Lucy didn’t see any problem. “Right.”

“And the festivities always finish with a Christmas Ball at the mayor’s house.”

“Which I’m building the gingerbread house for, and we’re providing all the pastries.” Still, she wasn’t seeing the problem. Unhooking her apron from its place on the wall, she frowned at the other woman. “So?”

“Mayor Weems wants someone on hand to make sure the gingerbread house remains perfect throughout the evening.”

“Are you saying she wants a gingerbread house sitter?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“Emphasis on
nut
.”

“I’d do it, except I’m not good at standing for long stretches anymore. And I also can’t stand Mayor Weems. I honestly can’t figure out who keeps voting for that woman.”

“Wasn’t me, that’s for sure.”

“My point is that I’m not going to be able to do it, so it’s either you or Celia, who wouldn’t know what to do if there was an actual problem with the gingerbread house. But that means being at the Christmas Ball, where your ex-husband is going to be the official guest of honor.”

Lucy groaned. “Pauline, I don’t want any gossip to distract people from Sullivan and the sacrifices he’s made for his country. I want the focus to be on him, not the craziness we’re having to muddle through.”

“Sweetie, there’s going to be gossip whether you’re physically present or not. Just think about it, okay?” With her face a picture of distress, Pauline patted her shoulder and headed back to the front room.

* * *

“A gingerbread house sitter.” In the process of salting a basketful of piping hot fries fresh from its oil bath, Coe stopped to gape at Lucy. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Look at my face. This is my so-not-kidding face.” Lucy’s disgruntled sigh was drowned out by the hubbub inside The Dirty Duck. Perpetually stuck in the fifties, the bustling hamburger joint had kitschy down cold, from black-and-white checkered floors, bright red upholstered booths, a neon-studded jukebox that didn’t possess a song past 1962 and a horseshoe-shaped chrome counter rimmed with red stools. She and Coe had fallen into the habit of meeting up for lunch at the counter, with Lucy going for lighter fare while Coe consistently ordered what he referred to as a heart attack in a basket—a double-bacon cheeseburger and enough fries to feed a third-world nation. “Your life is not normal. Watching over an edible house for the mayor of Bitterthorn, and a war hero ex who can’t remember shit. The only things I have to worry about are whether or not Dr. Pruitt’s new radiator is going to ship on time, and what to get you for Christmas.”

“Are we seriously going to have this conversation again? I hate Christmas. I want absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Every time you say you hate Christmas, one of Santa’s elves explodes.”

“Shut up and give me a fry.”

“I’m serious, Luce.” Placing the basket between them, he watched her fussily dust the salt off a golden fry. “Even when we were kids you’d go over the top for Christmas, remember? Just last year you tortured me with all twelve days of Christmas sung off-key. The maids-a-milking are on the eighth day, by the way, not the ninth. I checked.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“You used to.” He picked up his burger and eyed it to see where he should dig in. “Hell, even when we didn’t have a pot to piss in, you were still gung-ho on decorating everything with ripped-out coloring-book pictures of Santa Claus and Christmas trees. You were a real pain in the ass, now that I think about it.”

“Luckily for you, there comes a time in everyone’s life when Christmas begins to suck.”

“Is that what this is? Or is this yet another source of joy Sully took from you?”

“Will you cut it out? When you put it that way you make it sound like I’m some spineless victim who lets others dictate whether I’m happy or not. Cut me some slack, I’m just not in the Christmas spirit this year.” Or any other year, but that was her decision, dammit. She was no
victim
. She was just trying to survive without letting anyone see how dead she was inside.

“I never thought I’d be the one who’d wind up carrying on with our Christmas traditions, but a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.” Taking a monster bite out of his sandwich, he plucked a folded-up piece of paper from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “Get me one of each on that list, and I want your list by tomorrow. Otherwise you’re getting motor oil, spark plugs and an air filter for Christmas.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. A
Star Wars
lightsaber pen?” She shook her head as she went down the list. “What do you want with a bucket of sidewalk chalk and a ukulele?”