Major Attraction (20 page)

 

B
Y THE TIME EVENING
set in, J.C. knew she was never going to recapture the fun she and Ethan had had earlier in the day.

Everyone had gathered on lawn chairs or benches on the Craddocks' deck and patio to enjoy the warm spring night and sip coffee or beer. But somehow, the conversation about full stomachs and favorite recipes had morphed into a nightmarish discussion about Dr. Cyn's latest advice columns.

Since sinking through the floor wasn't an option, and the kitchen had been thoroughly cleaned—and she'd already visited the ladies' room twice—J.C. was forced to sit in the corner and study the liquid in her coffee mug, praying the men would either lose interest in the topic or she'd get struck by lightning.

No such luck.

“No, wait. Read this one.” One of the other promotion candidates, Major Doug Sampson, grabbed one of the newspapers the guests had been passing around. He scrolled down the page, then snapped his fingers when he found the quote he wanted. “Listen.

“I don't want to give too glowing a recommendation because readers might interpret it as a guarantee of happiness. Men in uniform would unfairly become sexual targets for needy women. The pressure to deliver time and again could prove embarrassing, even debilitating to the man's sexual performance.”

Doug laughed, amidst a chorus of “woo-hoo's” and “yeah, baby's.” He rubbed the top of his bald head. “Can you see me as a
sexual target?
Bring it on, I say. Now there's a battle I want to fight.”

Doug's wife, Kay, smacked him in the arm and snatched the paper away. “Down, Target Boy. I think Dr. Cyn makes a valid point. I hate to break it to you, Dougie dear, but you guys aren't larger than life gods. God love ya, but you're men. That means you have all the same quirks and hang-ups as any other guy.”

Millie Craddock chimed in. “The uniform doesn't make egos go away.” She looked across the circle at her gray-haired husband and winked. “I've been waiting thirty-five years for that to happen.” She left a dramatic pause. “I'm still waiting.”

The group took their cue from General Craddock's laughter and joined in. Clearly the only person in this assembly who could criticize the general and get away with it—and even earn an indulgent smile—was Millie. Walter blew his wife a kiss. “All right. I'll grant you she's on the money with some of her advice. But when she talks about soldiers and Marines getting it on with a different
woman every time they go on furlough, I gotta wonder if I'm serving in the wrong branch of the service.”

“I haven't seen that kind of action since Kosovo,” someone chimed in.

He was quickly razzed. “You've never seen that kind of action anywhere.”

There was more laughter. J.C. hid her face behind a long drink of her tepid coffee. The hand at her knee startled her and she nearly spilled her drink. But she recovered quickly enough to see Ethan's somber eyes glance her way. He squeezed her leg, offering mute support for her discomfort, though she suspected he'd misjudged the cause. He probably thought talk of military infidelities had triggered painful memories of her father.

But the real pain came in seeing the error of her judgment. These couples interacted in a normal, healthy way, unlike anything she'd seen between her mother and father. Whatever misgivings she'd had about men like Earl Gardner and Juan Guerro were being challenged by men like Walter Craddock and Ethan McCormick. These were good men—more than Marines—loyal and devoted, anxious to make the most of their precious time together with their spouses and families and friends. As far as she could tell, these weren't men with hidden lives on foreign continents. These were men who loved their country and the people back home with all their heart.

She searched deep into the compassion in Ethan's honest eyes and felt the need to confess the truth, to apologize for the furor her opinions had caused. “There's something I should tell you about Dr. Cyn.”

“You read her, too?” He gave her knee a forgiving pat and leaned in to share a conspiratorial whisper. “Don't worry. Apparently I'm the only square peg here tonight who doesn't follow her column regularly. All I know is
that her articles got the general pretty hot under the collar yesterday.”

“No.” She grabbed his arm and held him close when he shifted to pull away. “I'm a relationship therapist, remember?
I'm
Dr. Cyn.”

Millie Craddock's sharp ears picked up on their side conversation. “I believe that's true of a lot of women, J.C. We're all Dr. Cyn.”

Oh, no. Ethan would think she was talking symbolically now, not sharing the facts. But it did remind her that her confession, and the probable blowup that would result, was best saved for a private time and place.

She looked over at the older woman and forced a smile onto her face. “You think we're all advice columnists?”

Millie waved her joke aside. She was serious. “I'm older than all of you young ladies, and wasn't raised to talk about such things as sex and relationship problems. I had a couple of friends, when Walter and I were first married, whose husbands cheated on them while they were away on assignment. But they just sucked it up and accepted it because that's the way things were done then.”

Mary Jo Gardner had been part of that same generation. She'd sucked it up for as long as she could. Maybe if she'd sought help instead of isolating herself and her daughter, maybe if she'd stood up to her husband sooner, neither she nor J.C. might have suffered as much.

The general tried to interrupt. “Honey, this is a party.”

“No, Walter, I want to finish this.” The mood of the group quieted, and everyone listened. J.C. especially wanted to know what positive twist Millie would spin on this topic. “I think Dr. Cyn has her finger on the pulse of the way women need to think today. She's not afraid to tackle tough issues. She's smart about taking care of her
self and what she wants. She preaches healthy relationships, not one-night stands. Women could learn a lot from her. Men, too.”

J.C. was glad to hear someone supporting her alter ego for a change, but couldn't exactly bask in the praise.

“No offense, Millie,” Walter argued. “But I don't agree with everything she's teaching. There have been times when I'd like to put my hands around the doctor's neck and strangle her. I have good men under my command. It's bad for business and troop morale when she advises women to guard their hearts and their chastity belts around us.”

A chorus of low-pitched “hear-hear's” chimed in with their support.

J.C. jumped in to argue, needing to defend herself, even though she couldn't admit it was herself who needed defending. “I think Dr. Cyn does a fair job of presenting the pros and cons of military relationships. Besides, isn't her freedom of speech one of the things that you fight for?”

“Of course. But it's a lot harder to defend someone who kicks you in the teeth than someone who pats you on the back.” The general softened his disagreement by adding, “Now don't go all feminist on me. I'm expressing an opinion, same as her. I just wish her opinions weren't so widely read.”

As J.C. suspected was usually the case, Millie Craddock jumped in to have the last word. “You have to admit, Walter, that we both liked some of her suggestions on how to make the most of a couple's short time together. It might be worth recommending a few columns to your newlywed officers and recruits. She takes off the rose-colored glasses and gives a reality check about the stresses a new couple can face when a spouse is deployed
for the first time.” She stood, putting a blessed end to the double-edged conversation. The men in the circle rose politely as she crossed over to her husband and linked her arm through Walter's. “You know, if you play your cards right, I might try a couple of her suggestions for a welcome home celebration on you tonight.”

The general blushed, but not as hotly as J.C. Oh, God. The Craddocks were using her ideas in bed? Probably not the selling point Ethan had been looking for when he'd asked for her help.

“Not in front of the men, dear,” he scolded, dropping a kiss onto her cheek. “But I'd definitely like to discuss that later.”

J.C. was beginning to see that the apparent cold shoulder Walter had given his wife at the ball had more to do with practicality than any emotional snub. With the sheer number of guests at the ball, they'd had to split up to work the room. But here, with the relaxed gathering in their own home, they could indulge themselves in each other's company.

“Now let's look into dessert,” Walter ordered with a smile. “Cherry pie and chocolate cake for anyone who's hungry again. I know I am.”

With the offer of sweets and calories to distract everyone, Dr. Cyn and the debate she'd triggered were quickly forgotten. But J.C.'s guilt wasn't. She needed to tell Ethan that she
was
the cause of all the controversy. And she needed to tell him sooner rather than later.

Because if Ethan ever did start reading her columns regularly, he was smart enough to figure out that her insecurities and life experiences resonated in every opinion Dr. Cyn had to offer. And Major Honesty—who'd been pissed off when she hadn't told him about the threats she'd received from Guerro—would be doubly angry to
learn that her secret identity was the woman the general wanted to strangle with his bare hands.

If his connection to Dr. Cyn was revealed, however unintentional, it might cost him his promotion.

A lie was one thing. He might even be able to forgive her that.

But cost him his status in the Corps?

She didn't think
forgive
would be part of his vocabulary anymore.

 

“W
AKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD
.”

“Hmm?” J.C. stirred in the cocoon of her warm, snug bed, responding more to the vibration beneath her cheek than to the softly spoken words.

“I need you to wake up, honey.”

That was Ethan's voice.
He
was her bed of sorts. She'd fallen asleep on the ride home. The vibration tickled her cheek again, and her drowsy brain filled with all sorts of naughty ideas about where that vibrator might be better served. “Uh-uh,” she refused, with a tease in her voice. “This is more fun.”

“J.C.” Ooh. That wasn't a fun voice.

With the darkness outside and the monotonous drone of the pavement beneath the tires, it hadn't taken much to coax her to stretch out across the seat and rest her head on Ethan's thigh. After her late night and full day, she'd zonked out. Now, as she opened her eyes, she could see the stars had disappeared above the lights of the city.

With a groggy sense of awareness she blinked away the erotic images and pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Are we there yet?”

“Just about.” He grinned, reaching across the seat to brush her bangs out of her eyes. “My phone was ringing. I couldn't reach it with you there.”

She eyed the pocket where he kept his cell. “Oh, so that's what that was. In my dreams it was something more…interesting.”

He laughed and stuck his hand into his pocket. “There'll be time for interesting stuff later, I promise.”

Ethan McCormick talking double entendre with her. Laughing. Promising sex. She liked that. “I'll hold you to that, Major.”

He was grinning as he opened his phone and pressed the talk button. “McCormick.”

The lights from the dash and the streets outside were bright enough to illuminate his expression. In a matter of seconds, his smile flatlined, his posture stiffened. And just like that, the intimate mood vanished and J.C. gripped the armrest, feeling suddenly as tense and concerned as the urgent message Ethan's body language transmitted.

“When?” She didn't know who was calling, but it sounded serious. She could hear snippets of an equally deep, efficient voice in the background. “How badly is he hurt?” Ethan's expression turned grim. J.C. was wide-awake now, wanting information, wanting to help. “I see. They're operating now?”

“Operating on who?” she whispered.

Ethan glanced her way, but his focus was still on the phone. “I'll be there as soon as I can, Dad. Did you call Caitlin? Good.” They'd reached her building. J.C. waved to Norman, who opened the gate and let them into the parking lot. “If he wakes up, tell that jackass I love him.” He swung into a parking space and braked to a jolting stop. Something his father said triggered a bit of a laugh. “Yeah. Love ya, Dad. Bye.”

He disconnected the call and shut off the engine without even looking her way. J.C. was worried for him, but she wasn't sure whether he'd welcome her touch, or if he
needed his space for a minute. The silence scared her. “Ethan?”

With a sudden move, he spun around and reached for her hand. He cradled it between both of his. “It's my brother, Travis. There was some kind of explosion on the training mission he was on this weekend. He's in the hospital down at Quantico. He's got burns and lacerations, and it shattered one of his legs.”

“Oh, Ethan.” His hand squeezed around hers and she held on tight. “Is he going to be all right?”

“Dad says he's stabilized. They're operating on him now, but they don't know if they can save his leg.” He rubbed and plucked at her hand as if inspecting the details of every minute line and curve. J.C. let him, knowing it was an outlet for his pent-up fears and anger. “He loves his special forces assignment. If he winds up crippled, he'll be discharged or put behind a desk. Dad said Travis told the surgeon to let him die on the table if he couldn't save the leg.”

Tears stung J.C.'s eyes at the anguish she heard in Ethan's voice, at the sense of doom Travis must be feeling. She reached up and cradled Ethan's cheek, absorbing some of his pain, offering compassion. J.C. pushed his hand away and reached behind her to unlock the door. “Then he needs his big brother there to talk some sense into him. He's hurt right now. Maybe he doesn't even realize it, but he's afraid because he doesn't know what's going to happen to him. You have to go. Right now. You need to be there for your family.”