Christmas Hearts: In the Company of Snipers Page 10

  “A girl, you say? You sure?”

  “That’s what the ultrasound says.”

  “Why not a son? You gonna try again? You gonna make me proud and give me a grandson?”

  Mark ran his fingers through Libby’s long, wet hair, sliding through the tangles that by morning would be a sexy mess of golden curls if he had his way. His father’s gruff sentiments were utterly unexpected, but seemingly sincere. He wanted Mark to make him proud? Wasn’t that every son’s deepest desire, to make his father proud of him? Mark could barely reply, his voice a tender rasp. “Libby wants a dozen, Dad. I’m sure at least one of them will be a boy. What do you say? Would you teach him to drive the tractor like you did me?”

  Libby’s brow lifted in delight at this long conversation. “We’ll see about that,” she whispered.

  “I could,” came the muttered response from Ohio. “He’ll have to be tough. Farming’s not for sissies. It’s damned hard work.”

  “You’re right. Farming’s not for sissies.” There Mark was, discussing a child who hadn’t been born yet with a man who didn’t know how to talk with his only son. Who’d never been proud of his only child one day in his life. The whole conversation seemed surreal. “So is next week good for you? How about Tuesday? We’re driving back east. Could we stop by for lunch or something?”

  More silence.

  Mark looked to Libby, not sure if his father had hung up on him or not. He grimaced at the sound of empty air, but then… “I guess I could make up the guest room. Lunch you say? I could fix a roast if I wanted to get up early.”

  Hope exploded in Mark’s heart. “I could bring a bottle of red wine and some bread.”

  Libby scrunched her shoulders and clapped her hands silently together. “Yay. He’s really talking to you, isn’t he?” she whispered, the question bright in her eyes.

  Mark nodded, his heart in his throat. His Dad was talking to him. Really talking. Without hatred. Without anger. Just a father speaking rationally, albeit grumpily, with his son. It was a damned first. The little boy inside of Mark’s cast-off heart stared to bawl, damn it. “We’ll see you Tuesday then,” he said hoarsely, blinking the blur out of his eyes. “I’ll call when we get into town.”

  “’Kay,” John muttered. “Guess that’ll work. How long you planning on staying?”

  Wow. What’s a kid say to the million-dollar question like that one? The most he’d hoped for was a quick visit, maybe lunch at the local diner, but now a home cooked meal, possibly more? “How long do you want us to stay?”

  John grumbled. “I don’t know. Maybe overnight. Long enough to see the farm, I guess. It’s changed you know. I been busy.”

  “We can do that,” Mark promised. “Tuesday then. We’ll be there.”

  “Mark!”

  John’s bark stopped Mark’s heart cold. He hadn’t heard his Christian name on his father’s lips since long before his mother died, not even in vain. “Yes, Dad?”

  “I’m...” John growled, cleared his throat and growled again. “I’m... Goddamnit, I’m proud of ya, son.”

  “I love you, Dad,” sprang instantly to Marks lips before his internal filter could rein it in.

  The line went dead, and Mark knew he’d pushed too far. John Houston never was one for emotional displays.

  Mark flopped onto his pillow, his heart literally pounding like a big brass drum at the phenomenal conversation with his old man, the guy who’d once told him how much he’d hated him. How could this possibly have happened after all this time? The guy had even refused to attend Mark and Libby’s wedding? Un-frickin’-believable.

  Libby nestled in beside him on the bed, her hand bunching the shirt on his chest as she pressed a whispering kiss to his ear. “Would you like your Christmas present now or later?”

  Mark rolled over and took her into his arms. After this unexpected dialogue with his dad, he honestly couldn’t imagine a better present than the woman teasing him in his own bed, her sexy body still wet around the edges from her shower. “Sure,” he murmured. “I’ll love whatever you give me.”

  She winked, pulling a small, flat box up from under her pillow. “Just this.”

  He took it carefully, rattled it, but it made no noise, so he lifted the lid. A three-by-five picture fell out. His first child’s ultra sound. The first snapshot of his little JayJay. He had one on his refrigerator back home just like it. “What’s this?”

  “Turn it over. You’ll see,” she answered saucily as she climbed under the covers.

  The ultra sound was signed: I love you, Daddy. XOXO - JayJay.

  Damn. Big boys weren’t supposed to cry. In all of his dreams, he never knew what seeing his dear mother’s name in print would mean to him. Mark pulled his wife onto his chest as he wiped his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I sent the exact same picture to your father,” Libby whispered, “only it said grandpa, not daddy.”

  Mark sat up straight. “You did?”

  She nodded, a mischievous smile stealing over her face. “Of course. I put it inside his Christmas card. He is family, you know. Parents might get mad at their kids, Mark, but right or wrong, they’ll always love their grandchildren.”

  “But how did you know I’d been thinking about him today? How did you know I’d call him tonight?”

  She got a funny gleam in her eyes. “I didn’t. I just did what you did. I took a chance on a grumpy guy who needed to know someone in the world still cared. It’s called Christmas magic, Mark. That’s all.”

  Drunken Hearts

  Murphy’s True Love

  This short story takes place after the shootout in Zack, In the Company of Snipers, Book 3. One of these days, I might have to write Murphy Finnegan’s complete story, but for now… Enjoy.

  “Anyone home?” Murphy Finnegan stood in the entryway of his home, his head cocked as he listened to the quiet order that was his sanctuary. Somewhere upstairs, a shower was running. That meant either his wife Moira, or their nineteen-year-old son, Samuel, was going to work or to class. Murphy would be lucky to get a few minutes to chat with either of them. Between Moira’s demanding career in private practice and his own twelve-hour-plus days in the covert consulting world, the possibility that she would be the one in that shower was slim. Still, a man could hope.

  With soft steps, he proceeded up the winding staircase to his master bedroom, his footsteps silent on the thickly padded carpet. The French doors to his room were open a crack, just enough he could tell that shower running was his. And hers.

  Moira. His Irish princess. The redheaded spitfire he’d fallen in love with on a business trip years ago to San Diego.

  He shut the bedroom door quietly behind him and clicked the lock as the shower turned off. Within a minute she’d hurry out, her hair wrapped in a towel, and her feet would be dripping water across their rose-colored carpet. Antique rose, she called it. Murphy smiled. She could call it whatever she wanted. It was pink to him.

  He sat in the overstuffed chair at the end of their bed and, one by one, removed his boots. Even if she was over-scheduled and primed to run out the door in a hurry, it’d be nice to see her bright smiling face in the middle of the morning, especially on a day like this.

  The shower door banged shut, and she came hurriedly out, one towel wrapped around her ample cleavage and tucked under her arms, the other in a tight turban on her head. She squealed with a start of surprise when she looked up and saw him sitting in her room.

  “Oh my. Murphy. You scared me.” She pulled the towel off her head and fluffed it over her burnished red hair. “You’re home early. What’s up, honey?”

  He didn’t answer. He just wanted the simple pleasure of watching his beautiful wife while she prepared for another busy day of doctoring sick children, vaccinations, and well-baby check-ups. She had an important career, and every day she saved another child. He was proud of her. She was smart and gorgeous, an attractive complement to a simple man like him.

  He just wished they had more time t
ogether. Christmas was a day away, but even that day always seemed to end with her at the home of a sick child, taking a temperature, prescribing care and antibiotics. It’d be nice just to lay around the house with her for one whole day, and, I don’t know. Watch TV. Play with her. Romance that towel off of her and bed her, good and proper. Rub her down and light her up.

  Moira bent over by their huge walk-in closet, her hair flung over her head as she towel-dried the red, silken curls. An Irish girl in spirit and heart, she’d caught his eye twenty years ago after his first marriage fell apart. Standing there in the filtered sunlight through the golden sun pouring through the blinds, she looked more like a model than a no-nonsense pediatrician. Hell. She looked like a goddess come from heaven to bless him with her divine presence, her love, and her unquestioning devotion.

  When he didn’t answer, she stopped mussing with her hair and straightened, letting it fall wild and untamed, a damp cape over her shoulders, falling nearly to her butt. She came to where he sat with a worried look, her hazel eyes bright with concern. “What’s happened? What’s going on? Are you sick?”

  Murphy pulled her onto his lap and ran his fingers over her wet tangles, loving the drift of her flowery clean scent. Lilacs. She always smelled of flowers and good things.

  She leaned into him with sudden earnestness. “You’re not going overseas again, are you?”

  “No, it’s just been a tough couple weeks. We had a little altercation at the office today. Nothing important, but Alex gave us all a couple weeks off.”

  “Wow. Two weeks. That’s not like Alex. How’s he feeling, anyway? I thought they’d keep him in the hospital for observation, at least overnight.”

  Alex had just escaped near death from a bomb blast in The TEAM parking garage. He was damned lucky to be alive.

  “You know how he is. They probably wanted to keep him overnight, but he wouldn’t stay. Kelsey says he’s going to install a hot tub in their backyard while he’s off. ’Course, he’s still deaf as a post.”

  “I’d like to know how he’s going to install a hot tub with all this snow. That man’s going to work himself to death one of these days. I don’t know how Kelsey puts up with him.”

  “That’s the way he is. I guess you might as well die doing something you love as not. I sure didn’t expect him in the office today, though.” Murphy ran a hand over his thinning hair as the shooting incident that had taken place in The TEAM’s Sit Room played over again in his mind. It was a good thing Alex was a workaholic. His showing up at the office in the nick of time saved a few of his agents’ lives, Murphy’s included. “The man’s clairvoyant or something, that’s for sure.”

  Moira’s gaze angled into Murphy’s nonchalance, probing for dirt. “What aren’t you telling me, Murph?”

  He stared into her eyes, knowing he’d do anything to make this woman happy, yet hoping she wouldn’t ask too much.

  “Murphy?” She cocked her head as if ready to scold.

  “I’m an old man, Moira. You’re such a pretty gal. What did you ever see in me that made you wanna marry me?”

  She teased. “Simple. You got me drunk, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I did do that, huh? I had no idea you couldn’t handle more than two beers.” He combed his fingers through her damp hair as he studied her beautiful, kind face. This woman was everything. She’d brought laughter and joy into his life, an unexpected blessing after his first wife had left. “I guess I just wonder if you ever wonder—”

  She put a finger quickly to his lips and shook her head. “Never. Not even once. Don’t you dare ask.”

  But ask he did. “Never?”

  “Never.” She leaned her forehead against his, her full lips in a sexy pout. “I’m a happy woman, Murphy Finnegan, and you know that. I mean, look at me. I’m married to the man I love, and he adores me. I’m what I always wanted to be, a pediatrician. Our son’s been accepted to Georgetown University. What more could I ask for? Now, what’s this really about? What happened today that’s made you question what we have together?”

  Murphy studied his young wife as she studied him right back. Again, he couldn’t respond. There was so much of his job he wouldn’t disclose to the beautiful woman sitting on his lap. She didn’t need the burden of worrying about his risky career on top of hers, and it was a good thing Moira wasn’t the sort of woman to press or nag. There were deeper depths to the man she loved that he would never disclose. Like planets around the sun, they both had separate orbits during the day, but at the end of those long hard workdays, they’d always returned to their conjoined sphere of home and family. And the beautiful gold antique bed where they shared their love.

  “Oh, oh.” She felt his brow, the same as she felt so many sick children’s fevered brows every day. “Do you know what I think you need?”

  He relaxed against the soft leather chair with a big sigh. He already had what he needed and her name was Moira. “I don’t know. What do I need?”

  “Time off together. Let’s head out to the beach or some place where Alex and Mother can’t reach you.”

  “And where your pager can’t reach you.”

  “That too. Maybe I’ll let you get me drunk all over again. Remember when I fell on my butt on the beach at Mission Bay?” Her hazel eyes sparkled in mischief. “I’m such a lush, you know. One drink and I’m wasted, falling down drunk.”

  He kissed her lips gently. “Yeah, but you’re a cute drunk.”

  “And I’m so in love with you.” Her pager buzzed on her nightstand. “You do know that was the night I fell in love with you, don’t you? The ocean was calm and all the stars were out. It was destiny, honey. Our destiny. One look at you in that Army uniform, and I knew we were meant to fall in love. Didn’t you feel it, too?”

  He had to admit, “I know I had a hard time breathing.”

  Her arm swept around the back of his neck as she flattened her luscious, pillowy breasts to his chest and leaned in. “Are you having a hard time breathing now?” she asked, her soft, minty breath in his face.

  Murphy succumbed to the velvet enticement of her warm, wet mouth, one hand on her bare naked ass, the other in the wet curls at the nape of her neck, holding her tight. He’d only ever loved one other woman, but she’d gotten tired of his military life long ago. That this younger woman was daring enough to hitch her wagon to his star amazed him, but she had, and she’d never looked back. Just moved from California to live with him on the East Coast, made a home and made him happy. The only other daring thing she’d done since then was when she’d purchased a quaint little cottage in Ireland and gave it to him for his last birthday. Moira Finnegan was full of surprises.

  He let his fingertips flutter over that bare, butt cheek peeking out from the towel, but damn. Her pager buzzed again. “Hang on a second. Let me see who wants me now.”

  He groaned when she scooted off his lap to answer her busy life, taking the warmth and the only bright spot in his day with her. And so it began. One urgent call and she’d be out the door. Too busy for him. Too busy for her.

  He rubbed a tired hand over his forehead, thankful he’d washed and scrubbed that hand before coming home. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe he needed some time alone before he enticed her to climb back into that bed beside him. Maybe work really was all there was.

  “There. It’s done. Finished. Accomplished,” she announced airily.

  He looked up into her bright eyes. “What’s that, honey?”

  “I’m yours for the rest of the week.” She fluffed her thick red hair over his shoulder as she resumed her place on his lap, her knees drawn up and her bare butt exposed at the edge of the towel. “I’ve asked my secretary to reschedule all of my appointments. Chad will handle any emergencies that come up. How’s that for a quick diagnosis? You didn’t even have to pick up a prescription.”

  With a sigh, Murphy got to his feet with his giggling wife in his arms. She squealed when he plopped her onto the antique rose bed cover and stripped away that d
amned towel.

  “Seems to me I just picked up my prescription.”

  Puppy Hearts

  Rory and Ember’s First Christmas

  This short story is a deleted scene from Rory, Book 6. It was originally intended as the epilogue, as it takes place after Rory and Ember’s mission with Nima ends. I was encouraged to drop it prior to publication, but I liked it, so here it is. I hope you’ll find it worth the telling. Amazon link: Rory, Book 6.

  “He came!” Tyler jumped square in the middle of Rory and Ember’s bed. “Yippee! He came!”

  The mattress bounced twice before Rory intervened and silenced his son. “Shh-h-h-h. It’s too early,” he whispered, but it was a losing battle. A father’s arms couldn’t contain something as big as his child’s Christmas joy.

  “But Daddy, I too ick-cited!”

  Ember could feel the little boy’s wiggles from where she laid feigning sleep. She loved these early morning moments with Rory and his son, soon to legally be their son. Tyler considered Ember his mom since before the wedding day. In a child’s mind, once he’d given her the white rose, the deal was done, but the state needed something more official, so she and Rory filed adoption papers, and one day soon, Tyler would legally become her child. Her son.

  As if in any way he wasn’t already.

  She shifted deeper into the warm covers where she and Tyler’s father had been snuggled just moments before. Watching Rory was her favorite pastime. He could curl her toes with a wink or a glance. His short hair was mussed from their late night lovemaking, and the scruff on his chin gave him the morning-after look she adored. Waking up in his arms brought a new dimension to the depth of her feelings every single day. Or night.

  Everything about Rory was rock solid, from his to-die-for body to his work ethic. And his attention to Tyler was a heart-melter. There wasn’t anything his son could do or say that made Rory lose patience. Even now he cradled Tyler under his chin to allow her a few minutes more sleep. She sneaked a quick peek when he whispered in Tyler’s ear. Tyler’s face lit up, his neck scrunched turtle-style into his shoulders with the over-stimulation of the day.