Out of Uniform (Wingmen Warriors 14)

Him or her? A son or a daughter? How awful not to know even that much. Not knowing didn’t make the urge to protect any less powerful.

Of course, having a C-section scar didn’t necessarily mean she’d kept the child. Maybe she’d been in a situation like Emily’s and chose to give her newborn up for adoption?

Another possibility speared her. Heaven forbid, the baby might have died.

All maybes aside, she had to operate on the assumption that she did have a live child out there somewhere, and that meant enlisting Jacob’s help.

His heavy tread sounded in the hall just before Jacob ducked through the doorway. “Sorry you had to wait. Phone lines are in working order again.”

“Good.” Nerves bubbled in her throat like a foaming soda. She’d been ready to tell him and now the words wouldn’t come.

“I checked in with the dispatcher, and the tour bus is an hour away. So I have some downtime for a late supper.” He opened the refrigerator and shoved aside a gallon of milk, unveiling a covered pot. “Pickings are pretty sparse around here. Good thing Emily ate with Chase’s family before coming home.”

He walked with ease around the minuscule kitchen, maneuvering with a lanky-limbed grace to pull out stoneware bowls, turn on the stove, place the pot on the burner. He didn’t do anything quickly, but with steady purpose, opening and closing drawers as he worked. “Marge’s Diner serves up good country cooking, but I don’t want to leave Emily here alone to deal with all those tourists.”

Jacob stirred the stew. “Rockfish isn’t large, but it’s a tight-knit community. Emily will have already told Chase’s mom about you, which is the same as putting an ad in the Rockfish Weekly, but faster since it comes with daily updates. By Sunday, you’ll be the hot topic at church potlucks along with the latest Jell-O mold recipe.”

Dee let him talk without interrupting. His bass tones washed over her, instilling a peace she hadn’t felt since she’d awakened, peace she desperately needed now more than ever. Had she always been attracted to this sort of man? Or had her episode with Mr. Smith rattled her into an awareness of men who wore honor on their sleeves?

Or in Jacob’s case, a worn Air Force T-shirt.

“We might as well preempt them with a trip to Marge’s tomorrow and introduce you around. You can meet almost everyone there. The roads should open up for regular traffic by supper tomorrow.” Jacob lounged a lazy hip against the counter. “What do you say?”

She stared at him until his words registered. He couldn’t be asking her out to eat. Could he? The roof seemed to lower, shrinking the room. Beside Jacob Stone, everything seemed small. He probably had plenty of women bringing him Jell-O molds.>Jacob knelt beside it. Beside her. Damn, but he’d gone from putting distance between them to landing himself six inches away. “Dig deep. There’s a pair of gym shoes near the bottom that might come closer to fitting.”

Dee peered inside, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the vee neck of her dress. It didn’t make one bit of difference. Funny thing about the male imagination, he didn’t actually have to see what was beneath that dress to have a clear mental picture.

He buried his hands in the box, rummaging around until he found the near-new Nikes. Jacob tossed them onto her pile. He also grabbed a ski sweater, a long one, and added it to her stack, as well. “You can go shopping with your first paycheck. Which reminds me. If you’re going to work here long-term, you’ll need to fill out one of these.”

Jacob lumbered to his feet, knees and ankles popping as he stood. He shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk and passed one to her.

“What’s this?”

“Your W-2 form.”

“W-2?” Dee’s face turned whiter than the snow in the parking lot, her wide brown eyes the only splash of color.

“Yeah. Just fill in your name and address. I’ll take care of the rest when I file it. You know. For next year’s taxes.”

Dee sagged to the edge of her bed. She wanted to crawl beneath the covers and never come out. The Tacoma Police Department hadn’t told her anything useful on the phone, instead insisting she needed to come in once the highway cleared. They’d relayed only enough to let her know she didn’t fit the descriptions from any missing persons’ reports.

She clutched her little wad of clothes closer, bringing to mind an image of Emily cradling Madison earlier. Dee pressed her small bundle to her belly and rocked. Tears begging for release clogged her chapped nose. Still she rocked, refusing to cry. If she started, the fear would win. Just like if she crawled under those covers she might never tunnel back out.

At least she had a home, four paneled walls with her choice of two beds. Hers sported red plaid comforters to go with the shiny veneer furniture and cheap water-color of Puget Sound. Yes, she had a home. For now.

The W-2 form glared at her from beside the TV where she’d tossed it. How would she talk her way around this one? She wouldn’t, not in a shimmery crimson dress and do-me-sailor pumps.

Dee unrolled her bundle of clothes like some hobo’s pack. Two pairs of sweatpants. A couple of T-shirts. An overlong sweater. And tennis shoes. She’d relented and let Jacob toss in three pairs of his socks.

She peeled off the dress and panty hose with great relish. Forget practicality. She flung both into the trash. Without question, that can would be emptied pronto by the Lodge’s newest housekeeping employee.

As she stood in her lace bra and panties, Dee realized her body looked no more familiar than her face. How surreal to become reacquainted with herself at thirty-some-odd years old.

She extended her arms, twisting the right to one side and then the other arm. She discovered a faded, inch-long scar just below her left elbow and paused to trace it with her finger.

What else didn’t she know about herself?

On impulse, she tugged off her bra and checked the tag: 34B. Not overly endowed, but enough to catch the attention of a certain sexy-eyed man.