Summer Kisses (71 page)

He peered into the dark. The vacant stares of his men gleamed back in the shaft of moonlight shining through the helicopter’s open door. He snapped his eyes shut again.

Men? Yeah, right. Most of them still had zits. Only the pilot had racked up more than Matt’s twenty-three years.

He rubbed his throbbing forehead and counted three separate voices echoing off the mountainside. Since some asshole had shot them down, the odds said they weren’t the Welcome Wagon rolling out the red carpet.

The chopper had crashed a good ninety clicks north of the seventeenth just west of Dong Hoi. He and seven of his men had been deployed out of Da Nang on a classified detail. After their successful mission, his squad had headed back and broken into song to celebrate his birthday with their victory.

Matt trembled as he dragged himself between his men’s bodies, checking for signs of life and mourning each of them. The voices stopped outside the helicopter. An armed soldier stepped through the door of the wreckage. Matt froze, praying the guy wouldn’t spray them with lead.

He peeked at the soldier going through the other fellows’ pockets, and when the Asian man eventually grabbed his wrist, Matt held his breath. Damn it. Did the son of a bitch have to take his watch? It had been a graduation present from Abby.

The scavenger’s fingers stiffened, and Matt cringed inside. Somehow the guy must have sensed he wasn’t dead. Probably because, despite the cool temperature, Matt was sweating more than a cold beer in July under his heavy flak jacket. Even his hair, clipped to barely an inch, was soaked.

As the soldier felt for a pulse, Matt sprang up, ramming the heel of his hand into his opponent’s jaw. Boned crunched, and his adversary slumped to the floor, yanking Matt’s dog tag chain.

Thank God, the bastard was out for the count. Matt grabbed an M-16 and scrambled toward the opening in the side of the chopper, ready to drop and play possum again. He rubbed the irritated spot on the back of his neck and frowned. The bastard must have broken the chain with his ID.

The hell with it. He had to get out of there before the others discovered their buddy. He glanced out at the moon and waited for a cloud to cover it. Next to the door, he held his breath and pressed against the shadowed fuselage while the two remaining North Vietnamese goons strolled by the opening.

As soon as their backs turned to him, he slipped out and crept away from the twisted aircraft, trembling as he glanced over his shoulder to keep an eye on his six. Turning to face forward, he ran smack into the muzzle of an AK-47. The soldier behind the trigger motioned for Matt to raise his hands and relieved him of his weapon.

So much for his brilliance in counting voices.

He glanced down at his jacket pocket bulging from the pack of cigarettes where he’d tucked Abby’s last letter and the rabbit-eared picture of her swollen belly.

Only nine weeks until her due date. She would be royally pissed when she found out he’d actually volunteered to lead this colossal clusterfuck.

The mute soldier shoved his rifle into Matt’s gut and motioned for him to back up. He complied, praying in a hoarse whisper, “God, please don’t make my kid grow up without me.”

Seconds later, the helicopter burst into flames. The bastards laughed as the wreckage became a funeral pyre for Matt’s team. He’d only been with his unit eight weeks, but in the short time he’d commanded these guys, they’d formed a bond he’d never forget.

Watching the inferno, he retched from the stench of burning flesh and wiped the blood running into his eye from the gash in his forehead. Granted he might be totally screwed, but at least he was still alive—something none of the men he’d personally chosen to accompany him for this mission could claim.

~*~

The sun finally peeked through the narrow slats of the box truck, turning the interior into a sauna. Matt sat up and rubbed his eyes, tugging his sweat-drenched underwear away from his rear. If he didn’t change his shorts soon, some sort of flesh-eating fungus would start breeding on his ass.

January should be the cool season. Yeah,
like hell
.

The sweltering truck certainly felt like Hades. Despite his discomfort, he was grateful the soldiers had locked him in the back alone. He hadn’t had to endure their hostile stares while the sadistic driver hit every pothole, torturing Matt’s battered body all night.

He didn’t want to imagine what the bastards planned to do with him. But the tales he’d heard of the abuse used to break GIs and force them to divulge information and record lies about their
humane
treatment insisted on flashing through his mind. The fact he was still breathing probably meant he’d be interrogated and eventually tortured. The brutality he envisioned left him trembling.

Great. He snorted. If he didn’t somehow distract himself from his terrifying future, he’d definitely need a change of underwear.

He absently patted his pocket, forgetting they’d confiscated his cigarettes along with Abby’s letter and picture. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and mentally recited the last few paragraphs of the three-page letter he’d read so many times he’d memorized it.

. . . I’m lying awake, missing you so much I hurt, Matt. I know you still regret making love to me, but I’m not one bit sorry. I love you and I love knowing your baby is growing inside me.

I wish you could see how huge my breasts are. I thought about posing naked for your birthday, but knowing my luck, the picture would get lost in the black hole the military calls APO mail. Rather than ending up in Playboy’s February edition with a staple in my overstretched navel, I decided you’ll have to be content with just a shot of my bare belly.

I realize you didn’t want to marry me before you left because you think I’m too young. But believe me, I’m not. I go to bed every night aching to have you here with me and counting the days until you come home and we can make love again. The few, short nights we had weren’t nearly enough.

All my love,

Abby

He swallowed hard past the giant lump in his throat and patted his pocket again, unconsciously searching for his cigarettes.

Damn, he needed a smoke. Where the hell had he gotten the birdbrained idea to get his education paid for through ROTC?

Right. Abby’s brother. Matt sniffed past a humorless chuckle. He was definitely going home and kicking Pete Larson’s ass around the block a few times.

If I ever get home.

Since there was no way these motherfuckers were returning him, he might never run his fingers through Abby’s thick blonde hair again or see her laughing green eyes. They’d always reminded him of fresh clover bathed in sunshine.

“Ah, Baby, I’m so damn scared.” Matt squeezed his eyes shut to dam the tears threatening to spill. The last thing he needed was to start blubbering like a little girl.

He sucked in a labored breath, and the image of his dead friends flashed through his head. He should be grateful simply to be alive, right?

The horror stories about the atrocities committed by the North Vietnamese insisted on flooding back into his mind, making him shudder again.

Maybe his friends were the lucky ones after all.

~*~

Matt woke in a pool of sweat, once again unable to recall a single detail about his nightmare. He rolled to his back and breathed deeply.
Bacon, coffee, cinnamon
? He must have died and gone to heaven. It was the only explanation for why the air could smell that good.

Was Abby
trying
to make him fall in love with her? The aroma alone could convince him to stay the rest of his life.

He flung the covers back and pulled on his pants. Once he made the bed to military standards, he unpacked a set of clean clothing from his duffel bag and headed to the bathroom.

After enjoying ten days of hot showers in the hospital, he’d hated having to make do with sponge bathing in frigid water from the spigot behind Abby’s house. He couldn’t wait to get completely clean again. A moment after he stripped off his shirt, the bathroom door sprang open, and his son stared up at him. “Sorry.”

“Do you need to use the bathroom, Buddy?”

“I just gotta brush my teeth.”

 “Doesn’t it make more sense to wait until after you eat?”

“I do it
again
after breakfast.” Tommy sighed. “Uncle Rob says I hafta.”

Robert would. The guy probably brushed after sex, too.

While Tommy used the sink, Matt turned on the shower to give the water time to heat. At the sound of his son’s gasp, Matt spun around. The child gawked up at him in wide-eyed horror. He touched Matt’s scarred arms and back and asked past the frothy toothbrush in his mouth, “W-what happened to you?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Matt sucked in a deep breath and turned the water off. He sank onto the toilet and pulled Tommy close to his side. “I don’t know for sure, Bud. I think I was whipped and burned with something.”

He assumed from the circular shape of the scars on his arms it’d been cigarettes—especially since the smell of tobacco smoke put him into a cold sweat.

Tommy’s mouth hung open with mint-scented foam dribbling out of it. “Did ya do somethin’ really bad?”

“No. The people who did it were bad. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I bet it hurt a lot.”

“It’s not something you need to worry about.” Matt hugged him. “Finish brushing your teeth and get dressed for school.”

As soon as Tommy rinsed his mouth and left, Matt closed the door, shucked his pants, and climbed into the shower. In the process of lathering himself, his body remembered the way Abby had almost touched him the night before, resurrecting his wilting morning erection. He spun the water to cold for the last few seconds of his shower. Unfortunately, the momentary chill did nothing to alleviate his raging hard-on.

He grabbed the towel and stepped out onto the bath mat, rubbing his dripping hair. Abby’s sharp gasp alerted him to her presence outside the open bathroom door.

Evidently, Tommy must have returned for something.

Her eyes grew as round as binocular lenses. He whipped the towel in front of himself, as she jerked her crimson face away. “Uh, I just wanted to tell you breakfast is served whenever you’re ready.”

Oh, that he was. But at the moment, it wasn’t eggs he was ready for. “Sorry. I’ll be right out.”

Closing the door, he sighed. His wife had undoubtedly seen him naked with a woody before. Except he didn’t remember it, and she didn’t know it. Still, he would’ve preferred to put on a few pounds before parading around in the buff in front of her.

Running his hands over his ribs, he studied his body in the mirror. He didn’t look nearly as bad as he had two weeks ago. He stepped onto the bathroom scale to check his progress. Since his first exam in the Philippines after his release, he’d put on nine pounds. Another ten and maybe he’d stop looking like a walking World Hunger poster.

When he arrived at the breakfast table a few minutes later, Tommy was licking icing from his fingers. He rubbed his son’s shoulders. “What do you have there, Buddy?”

“Mommy made cinnamon rolls. ‘Cept you gotta eat your eggs and drink your juice first.”

“Is that the way it works?” He lifted an eyebrow at Abby.

“Absolutely. I thought I’d make up for how crummy I fed you on Sunday. How do you like your eggs?”

“Cooked. But if that’s too much trouble, I’ll take them raw. You won’t hear any complaints from this side of the table.”

“That’s refreshing. Matt sent his food back in restaurants all the time. I can’t imagine him ever eating a raw egg.”

She should only know how much a man could change. “As I’ve said before, if a person is hungry enough, he’ll eat just about anything.” He’d lost count of the number of grubs and insects he and his friends had choked down to keep enough strength to run if the opportunity presented itself. “Look, uh—I’m sorry about the bathroom door. Tommy must’ve come back in and left it open.”

Abby broke four eggs into a bowl and beat them to a froth before sprinkling in some grated cheese. “I surmised as much. The coffee is ready if you want it.”

Matt got up and poured himself a cup. “You know, I haven’t noticed any pictures of your husband around.”

“I don’t have all that many. There are a few in my bedroom. When I started dating after he was killed, my mother insisted men wouldn’t want to look at my husband’s face while they were trying to get romantic with me in my living room.”

And Robert didn’t mind having him in her bedroom?

He took a sip from his steaming mug. “Unless you’re a whole lot older than you look, you and Matt couldn’t have been married long when you got pregnant.”

She stopped stirring the eggs in the skillet and glanced nervously from Tommy to him, silently shaking her head.

Great. He must have gotten her pregnant before they were married. It made sense. She was awfully young. In fact, maybe too young. Had it even been legal for him to mess with her? Maybe they’d never really loved each other in the first place. If so, how could they recapture something that never existed?

“Sooo—Daddy had to get out the shotgun, huh?”

She scraped the pan full of cheesy eggs onto a plate with a huge pile of bacon. “No, my brother did. My father had died about a year before. Believe me, Peter was not pleased by my news.”

“What happed to your dad?”

“He was a cop. He died while saving a little boy who fell through the ice. My dad pulled him out, and after his partner took the child, the ice under my father gave way. John couldn’t get to him in time. Tommy and I lived with my mother until she died from lung cancer a year ago. She left me the house.”

“I wondered how you bought this place. I can’t imagine you’ve had it easy.”

She slid the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him along with a platter of warm fluffy biscuits. “It really hasn’t been too bad. I do some custom dressmaking and tailoring to make ends meet.”