Finding the room, Willow carefully opened the door and tiptoed
across the floor to her sister’s side. A clear plastic trolley held a small
pink bundle and Willow
carefully leaned over to inspect the tiny person inside.
“She’s got Mum’s toes,” Summer whispered,
startling Willow.
For a long moment, the sisters exchanged a
wistful glance, both missing their parents’ absence bitterly and wishing they
could have been here to see their first grandchild. Blinking, Willow went to her sister’s side and sat on
the edge of the bed. “I think they’d be the proudest parents in heaven, right
about now.”
Summer nodded, her tears flowing down her face.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Will.”
“Me too,” she said through her own tears,
hugging her sister.
She glanced up and the room suddenly shrank
when all four of the Marine Corps’ finest entered the room. Wiping hastily at
her face and sliding off the bed, she moved over to allow the men to cluck over
the newest addition, as Tate proudly held up his daughter for them to see, and
Summer smiled on, from the bed.
“Have you decided on a name?” Maloney asked,
seemingly unaware he was just as captivated by the tiny sweet face of the small
bundle cradled in its father’s arms, as the others in the room.
“Emily Rose,” Summer said, shifting her gaze to
her sister. A small smile touched Willow’s
lips at the sound of her mother’s name included in her brand new niece’s middle
name.
A large nurse came into the room and broke up
the party shortly after, ordering them all out in a voice that seemed to rival
any Sergeant Major the men had ever listened to, judging by the way they
scattered from the room. Willow
blew her sister a kiss and followed the men outside.
Tate followed them out into the hallway to say
goodbye. “I’m going to stay a bit longer,” he said, rubbing his hands over his
tired face. “You guys know where the spare key is?”
Willow
glanced up at Del’s small snigger.
“You sure you can control yourself alone with
me back at the house, Sheldon?” he asked.
“I’ll try my best,” she muttered sarcastically,
turning on her heel and striding towards the front door—not bothering to wait
for him to follow.
* * * *
“Del…”
Tate warned, dragging his friend’s gaze from the sleek form of animosity
walking away from them. “She’s family—don’t go
messin
’
around with her, man, or you’ll have my wife after you with a meat cleaver.”
“You can’t
get
close enough to mess around with her; she’s an ice maiden,” Del muttered, following
her long strides with his eyes.
Tate’s nondescript
humph
was a soft reply. He
knew only too well Del’s
reputation with women—hell he’d been a close runner up, in the love ’
em
and leave ’
em
game, until he
met Summer. He also knew how hard you could fall when the right woman came
along. The Sheldon women were a powerful force. He gave his friend a slap on
the back and turned away. Del
would have to handle this fight alone, he thought with a shake of his head—he
almost felt sorry for the guy.
* * * *
Del
put out his hand when
he reached the car, waiting for the keys.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be tough,”
she scoffed lightly.
“Tough is one thing, stupid we’re not—this is
my pride and joy,” he said across the top of the bright red
Camaro
.
“You’ll open your wound if you try and drive.”
“I’ll risk it,” he growled. “You’re not driving
my car.”
With a shake of her head, Willow tossed him the keys and stood back to
watch him
manoeuvre
into the driver’s seat. After
three attempts, Del
slowly eased back out of the car and tossed her the keys, limping around to the
other side and reefing open the passenger side door. “Don’t say a word, just
get in and drive,” he snarled, perspiration popping out along his brow, “
carefully.
”
Willow
bit back her smile and
slid into the driver’s seat. Easing the car into gear, she slowly pulled out
into the flow of traffic and headed for home. From the corner of her eye, she
saw Del clenching
the door handle tightly and grinned. “You all right over there?” she asked.
“Fine,” he replied tersely.
“You’re awful quiet.”
“Just get us home in one piece,” he said,
staring fixedly at the road.
Pulling to a gentle stop outside Summer’s
house, Willow turned and faced Del calmly. “There you go. Home safe and
sound.” She smiled.
“Why didn’t you do that the first time?” he
asked, unclenching his fingers from the door handle slowly.
She shrugged. “Because it was more fun the
other way. Need a hand to get out?” she asked cheerfully.
Chapter 4
“I trust you are taking care of this problem,
Cervantes.” Samuel
Trèago’s
hard voice travelled down
the line, no doubt irritating the listener on the other end of the phone.
“
Señor
, the situation
is under control.”
Trèago
looked across at the
Warden, seated behind his big desk, and the man diverted his gaze abruptly,
once more immersing himself in the paper work before him. “I don’t have to
remind you that our little partnership depends upon you being able to uphold
your end of the bargain. Something that can not be accomplished if the plan
were to be exposed,” he said, and the menace in his tone could almost have been
enough to cause the temperature in the room to drop a few degrees.
“It will not be exposed. Like I said, we have
the situation under control.”
Trèago
disconnected the call
and walked to the window of the Warden’s office to look down upon the inmates
savouring
their daily exercise time, a look of contempt
etched on his thin face.
“I have to tell you, I’m getting a bit nervous
about this whole thing, the longer it goes on,” the Warden said.
“I hope you don’t intend to do anything
foolish, Warden Donaldson,”
Trèago
said, turning to
zero his penetrating gaze on the overweight man behind his pompous desk.
“Because if I go down, I will take you with me—and I can guarantee a Warden
serving time in his own prison—well…that’s not a pretty thought, is it?” He
shrugged.
The tiny smile that glimmered on
Trèago’s
lips was enough to make the fat Warden break out
in a cold sweat. “Of course not…” he stammered, unable to hold the almost
inhuman stare of the man before him.
“Then there’s the welfare of that gorgeous new
grandson and your pretty daughter, to think about,”
Trèago
added, moving across to the desk with a panther-like grace that even being
dressed in prisoner’s uniform couldn’t hide. He reached out and traced a finger
around the gold-framed photo of a chubby toddler, his adoring parents smiling
down at him proudly.
“You have my full cooperation,
Trèago
, as always.”
“Good,” he said, and beamed, “much more
pleasant when we’re all on the same page, don’t you think, Warden?”
The man nodded, a grimace of a smile crossing
his face as he dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a white handkerchief.
“Thank you for the use of your phone…pleasure doing
business with you,”
Trèago
said, moving away from the
desk and toward the door where he waited for the two guards to escort him back
to his cell, where he’d been in the middle of watching his stocks rise on the
market via his laptop. Yes, he had it all working for him in here, and soon,
he’d have the early release he’d been planning for the last two years—and
revenge would come swiftly for the people responsible for putting him in here
in the first place…
* * * *
It was too hot to sleep. Kicking at her sheets
irritably, Willow
decided to take a glass of water out onto the back deck in search of a cool
breeze.
As she slid open the door, she saw a dark
shadow sitting on the deck.
Instinctively, she knew it was Del. He watched her
approach without reaction, sitting with his wounded leg propped up on another
chair. His chest was bare and she saw the silver metal tags he wore around his
neck as they shimmered in the bright moonlight.
It was too late to turn around and go back, since
he’d already seen her, but she now wished she’d stayed in bed.
“Can’t sleep either?” His
deep voice carried across the deck to her and she pulled out a chair at the
table to sit down.
“No. What about you?” she asked, and then
groaned.
Obviously he can’t sleep—he’d
just said so
, she chastised herself.
Taking a sip from the bottle of beer in his
hand, he offered her one from the small collection of unopened bottles on the
table.
Willow
raised an eyebrow. “Having a party out here?”
He gave a lift of one big shoulder, the action
causing her gaze to automatically follow the muscle movement and then roam
lower over the dark shadow of chest hair lightly dusting the centre of his
torso where it darkened gradually, until tapering down to vanish beneath the
band of his sweat pants. Tearing her gaze away, startled at where it had
travelled, she found herself caught in his shadowed, but no less compelling
blue gaze.
Mortified at being sprung staring, she reached
out quickly and accepted one of the bottles he’d offered earlier—busying
herself opening it, taking her time, in order to avoid that knowing grin of
his.
“It was too hot to sleep.” He leaned sideways,
snagging a t-shirt from beside him, and pulled it on.
“Yes it is hot…to sleep,” she added, and once
again wished she’d just stayed in bed. She was acting like a tongue-tied
teenager!
Get a grip, Sheldon!
They sat and drank in silence, listening to the
crash of waves down on the beach below. Gradually, she allowed the salty tang
of the night air to ease away her misgivings, and she found that, when he
didn’t talk, Peter Delaware could actually be quite good company. And then he
spoke.
“You know, there was a time, not so long ago,
when I would never have believed Ox would be a happily married man with a
baby.”
Willow
took a sip of the cold
beer, enjoying the malty taste, and gave a nod of agreement. “Sometimes life
can throw in some strange twists.”
“
Kinda
puts things in
perspective a little bit. Maybe I’m getting old and that makes the thought of
slowing down sound better every day.”
“Maybe you should all think about it.”
“Is that concern I hear, Sheldon?”
“It’s common sense.” She pointed at his leg.
“How many close calls can you expect to get away with?”
“Spoken like a true hypocrite.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t recall
you
being too cautious when
you went stumbling about in a Cambodian jungle not so long ago, courtesy of
your
occupation.”
Willow
’s eyes hardened at the
memory. “We were talking about
your
occupation,” she pointed out stiffly.
“What is it you have against Marines anyway?” Del asked, placing his
empty beer bottle back on the table and reaching for another.
“I don’t have anything against Marines; I said
they weren’t my thing.”
“So enlighten me, Sheldon, what
would
be your
thing
?” Del
asked, looking up as he slowly twisted the lid off the bottle.
Willow
let her gaze drift
back out over the blanket of dark ocean spread out below them. “I don’t have a
thing.”
Del
gave an unconvinced
chuckle. “Everyone’s got a thing. I’ll tell you what mine is, if you tell me what
yours is,” he offered with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Willow
tipped her head
slightly, to look at him. “I already know what your type is, Delaware—anything female, with a pulse.”
Giving a low whistle through his teeth, Del eased back in his
seat, watching her thoughtfully. “Actually, nowadays I’m a little more
particular. I like tallish brunettes, with a sassy mouth.”
“Then you’re destined for disappointment,
aren’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know ’bout that. I like my
chances,” he told her, oozing confidence.
Willow
stared at him doubtfully, but refrained from answering. There was no point
arguing; he seemed to enjoy provoking her. “Well, you and
your
deluded reality can stay out here and entertain each other.
I’m going to bed.”
“Sweet dreams, Sheldon,” he called after her as
she crossed the deck and slid the door shut behind her.