Love Me (One Night with Sole Regret 12)

Chad followed Lindsey, and though he could tell she was excited, she waited for him in the hallway so that he could show her around.

“The master suite is over here,” he said. “It was originally two bedrooms but was converted into one large bedroom with a bathroom and walk-in closet.” There wasn’t much furniture inside yet—a king-size bed with no headboard and a deep blue area rug—but the walls had a fresh coat of pale gray paint and the room was ready for finishing touches.

She crossed the room, eyes dwelling on the bed for a long moment before she entered the en suite. She didn’t even flinch.

“We’ll redo the bathroom later,” he said. “It’s a bit outdated, but it’s functional.”

“It’s nice,” she said, touching the laminate countertops and brass fixtures as she ventured deeper into the room.

“It has potential.” He lifted a crutch and pointed at the door at the far end of the bathroom. “Your closet, m’lady.”

“My closet?” She turned to look at him.

“I don’t have enough clothes to fill it.”

She laughed. “Have you seen my wardrobe? It fits in one tote bag.”

He had noticed that she wore the same few outfits over and over. “You won’t need your maternity clothes much longer,” he reminded her. “And once you start working again, you can fill that closet with all sorts of new outfits and shoes.”

She opened the closet door and gasped when the light switched on automatically. “Oh wow! It’s huge!”

He gave her time to explore the shelves and racks and built-in drawers. When she emerged, she was starry-eyed.

“Your ace in the hole would have done the trick. No woman could turn down a chance at using that closet.”

“That’s not my ace in the hole.”

She widened her eyes but didn’t comment as she followed him back into the hallway.

The smallest bedroom, which was directly adjacent to the master bedroom, had been completely transformed into a fully furnished nursery. Lindsey stopped on the threshold and just stood there. He couldn’t read her at all. Did she like it? Hate it? Think he was a presumptuous asshole for not consulting her about decorating the space? His mother had picked out everything and assured him that Lindsey would love the surprise, but now he was rethinking his methods.

“Mom said not to do pink, even though we know the baby is a girl,” he began, trying to funnel some of the guilt away from himself. “But if you want to change anything, just let me know. We left the space above the crib to put the baby’s name in white letters. I mean, unless, you’d rather put something else there. And owls are really in right now, but if you don’t like owls or if the colors are too bright or the rocking chair isn’t comfortable or—”

“Stop rambling,” she said. “It’s perfect.” She waved both hands at her eyes. “I can’t believe you did this. For me.” She dropped a hand to her belly. “For us.”

“I know you haven’t felt settled since you left home. I wanted you to feel like you had a real home, for you and the baby and . . .” Us. Was there an us? They never talked about what the future held for them. He didn’t fear many things, but the thought of her leaving him in the black hole his world had become terrified him. “Mom said we should have a baby shower right away and you can register for anything else you need or want. She told me you liked that owl comforter when she showed it to you at the doctor’s office, but maybe you were just being nice.”

“Chad, you’re rambling again.”

“Sorry.” He’d been worried that she wouldn’t accept his gift, but maybe she’d finally caught on that a true gift was given without expectations of reciprocation. He, however, would have liked to have gotten at least a hug out of the deal. But before he could get a good sulk going, she turned to him and wrapped both arms around his waist. So maybe she could read his thoughts. He hugged her back.

“You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. Thank you for the nursery,” she said, “but thank you even more for being you.”

Her words were far more than he’d bargained for, and though he recognized the feelings of love he had for this woman, he couldn’t get the words out, so he kissed her instead.

“Can we put her name on the wall tonight?” Lindsey asked, shifting to stand beside him and staring into the nursery as if imagining all the love she’d share with her little one in this very room.

“You’ve already named her.”

She nodded. “Daisy,” she said breathlessly.

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s my mother’s name.”

“You’re naming her after your mother?”

She nodded.

“I thought you two were at odds.” Hell, until recently, he hadn’t realized her mother was still alive. Like him, Lindsey didn’t like to talk about painful events in her past.

“We are. That doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”

“You should call her. Try to set things right between you.”

“I will after I get my life together. But not before. I can’t stand her thinking of me as a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“I am,” she said. “But I won’t always be.”

She had never been a failure, and he hoped someday soon she’d recognize that for herself.

He rubbed her back, easing some of her tension. “Let’s eat our dinner and then we’ll go out and get the letters for Daisy’s name.”

“Can we eat in here? I don’t want to move from this spot.”

“Why don’t you try out the rocking chair?” he said. “I’ll get your steak.”

“You’re too good to me, Chad,” she said. “I don’t deserve you.”

He felt exactly the same about her.

*~*~*

Chad swerved and slammed on the brakes several seconds too late. A deafening blast on the passenger side rocked the vehicle, the impact sending Chad into a bleak reddened hell.

Glaring sun battered his eyelids. Not dead. Not unless death was a deafening ringing sound and pain.

Something soft and wet tickled his face.

Fuck. His leg was on fire.

He opened his eyes and reached up to wrap an arm around the heavy weight across his chest. “Jawa?”

The dog whined and licked his face again. His fur was sticky with blood. Chad ran a hand over Jawa’s side and sliced his palm on jagged shrapnel protruding from between the dog’s ribs. “Jawa?”

Jawa shuddered, his body going limp as he took his final breath. Chad choked on a sob.

“Sarge?” The wavering voice echoed from a few yards away.

“Emerson!” Chad tilted his head back in the direction of the voice, but his helmet blocked his view. “Emerson!” He unfastened the chin strap, and almost vomited at the pain that radiated across his scalp from near his temple.

He touched the area with trembling fingers and swallowed a fresh wave of nausea when he found his ear not where it was supposed to be. He lifted his hand before his swimming gaze, staring at the blood that coated his fingers.

“Sarge, I can’t get up,” Emerson said. “I think I wet myself.”

Chad swallowed against the bile burning up his throat and tilted his head to locate the PFC in his charge. He wished he hadn’t looked. A lake of blood surrounded Emerson, leaking in spurts from a wound in his thigh. If Chad could reach him, he could tourniquet the leg and stop the bleeding. “Emerson, hold on!”

Chad planted his left foot against the massive vehicle pinning him to the ground by his right leg, but pain shot up his thigh and he cried out in agony, breathing hard. “I can’t . . .”

Can’t? Can’t wasn’t a word he used.

He shifted Jawa off his chest and sat up against the pain in his ribs. So much adrenaline surged through his body that for a moment he actually thought he might be able to lift the Humvee off his leg. He strained against it with every ounce of his strength, but the crumpled mass of metal didn’t budge. “My leg is stuck,” he called to Emerson. “Just hold on. I’m coming. I’ll save you,” he promised. “Do you hear me, Emerson? I’ll get us out of this. I’ll get you out.”

Emerson didn’t answer.

Something soft and warm wet Chad’s face, and a heavy weight pressed across his chest. He wrapped his arms around the heavy furry body draped across his. “Jawa?” He inhaled deeply as he opened his eyes to darkness. No . . . “Hawn?”

Hawn whined in his ear, her soft licks becoming more vigorous, drawing him out of a nightmare he hadn’t relived for weeks now. Why tonight?

He reached for the familiar and warm woman beside him, only to find the wide expanse of bed empty. Lindsey was at Owen’s house. He’d gone to bed alone, with Hawn sleeping on her own bed in the corner of the room. She knew better than to jump up on his bed, but as he hugged her tight—her presence settling him and returning him to reality—he was glad she’d woken him. Intelligent disobedience. That’s what they called what Hawn had done. It was an important trait for a working dog to possess. The animal had to be smart enough to know when to disobey its training to protect his or her human.