Someday Soon (16 page)

Francine laughed without humor. “My current patient is crazy about me, too, but I wouldn’t sleep with him.”

“Him?” Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“His name’s Peter McWilliams, and he’s eight.”

Tim leaned back and braced his ankle over his knee. “You’re right. Being crazy doesn’t count.” He inhaled a deep breath as though this would aid the thinking process. “I could tell you I loved you.” He exhaled in a long-drawn-out breath. “All right, if you must know, I do love you.”

“Just how much do you know about love?”

“You mean I have to bring references?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He tipped back his head. “How do I love you?” He pointed his index finger toward the ceiling. “Let me count the ways. One. I’m here, aren’t I? Two. I love you enough to resign my position from Deliverance Company. Three…” He paused and studied her. “I hoped one and two would convince you.”

Her heart started to pound faster, but she wasn’t sure yet if she should trust him. “Resign from Deliverance Company? For how long?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Forever. But there’s a condition.”

“Condition?”

“Yeah. Soldiering’s the only thing I know. If I’m going to give it up, then I’m going to need something to keep my hands occupied.” He pointedly examined her breasts.

“Tim!”

His laugh was full and rowdy. “Look. Even your nipples are blushing.”

Embarrassed, Francine quickly adjusted her clothing.

“I believe I have the answer.”

Once again her heart filled with eager anticipation.

“Llamas.”

Her shoulders sank, and so did her spirits.

“Believe it or not, I’m fairly good at this sort of thing. I’ve got a green thumb and a certain way with animals. It seems to me that if I’m going to take on this project, it wouldn’t hurt to throw in a wife and a couple of babies.”

Francine wondered if she dared believe what she heard. “A wife?”

“Only one.”

“That’s a smart idea.”

“I could always move to one of the Arab countries and take on two or three. However, the wife I have in mind is sure to demand all my time and attention.”

“Are you toying with me again?” she asked, not sure she could bear it if he was.

The teasing light left his eyes. “No, Francine.” He reached for her hand and clasped it between his own much larger ones.

“I’ve never asked a woman to marry me before. I’m not entirely sure how these things are done.” He scooted off the sofa and knelt down on one knee in front of her. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet hers. “I love you, Francine Holden. There’s nothing I want more than you in my life. Would you do me the supreme honor of being my wife?”

She would have answered him with words if her throat hadn’t been suddenly blocked shut. Instead she nodded repeatedly.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” The lone word squeezed through the tightness in her throat, high-pitched and discordant.

As if he were looking for something, Tim patted his
pockets. Francine was sure he was searching for a ring. “You bought me a ring?” she asked, so excited that it was difficult to think coherently.

His eyes grew big and round. “I was supposed to buy you a ring? I have the feeling a wife is going to be expensive.”

“No, it doesn’t matter,” she was quick to assure him, sorry now that she’d said anything.

“As it happens, I do have one with me.” Having said that, he withdrew from his coat pocket the most exquisite solitaire diamond she’d ever seen. “I hope it fits. I don’t think Cracker Jack will size it.”

Francine hugged his head. Tim buried his face between her breasts. “A man could get used to this.” Unexpectedly he pushed her back against the sofa and kissed her with a desire so hot, it sizzled.

“When are you going to make love to me, Tim Mallory?” she whispered, and spread a row of nibbling kisses along the underside of his jaw. “Might I suggest right now?”

Tim tensed, inhaled sharply, and raised his head. “Don’t ask me why I feel it’s important, but if you don’t object, I’d like to wait until after we’re married.”

After weeks of chasing her, teasing her, tempting her into his bed, he wanted to wait until after the wedding! “You’re joking?”

He shook his head. “I want everything to be right for you, Francine.”

She remembered what her mother had told her about her father, and she nodded. If she’d ever needed confirmation that he did indeed love her, this was it.

“We’ve waited this long. What’s another few days?”

“A few days?” she cried. “Why, that’s impossible—” She stopped abruptly. Only a fool would argue with a man she loved when he wanted to marry her. “Then again, I might be able to arrange it.”

“Good.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t take time buying a trousseau, either. You won’t be needing many clothes.”

Francine threw back her head and laughed. “Llamas?” she questioned.

“Llamas,” he repeated, “and a couple of kids, the human variety.”

Something wasn’t right. Cain could feel it in his bones as clearly now as the day Mallory stepped on the land mine. The threat of danger swirled around him, clinging to his skin in the humid jungle heat. The thick foliage crawled with vermin and fear.

Word had come a week earlier that Carl Lindman, a captured CEO from a major American conglomerate, would be transported that afternoon from one location to another. The informant had been reliable before, but that didn’t mean Cain trusted him. The man would sell his children for a snort of cocaine.

Cain and his men had carefully planned the ambush, and Deliverance Company were positioned in several key locations.

The waiting was always hard, especially in the jungle heat. Nervous. Ready. Uncomfortable. It was times like these, when the minutes dragged and the humidity clung to him like a second skin, that Cain fought to banish the image of a beautiful young widow from his
thoughts. She was a world away from him, a world that consisted of more than just time and distance.

The distinct whopping sound of an approaching helicopter could be heard faintly in the distance. Cain and his men were camouflaged by brush and verdant growth, so there was virtually no chance the men aboard the helicopter would see them.

The sound of the chopper intensified to deafening proportions. After surveying the area, the pilot settled into the clearing as gently as if a mother were tucking her infant in a bassinet.

Two men toting Uzis leapt onto the jungle floor, their weapons poised and ready. Their gazes scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

The two were sloppy, Cain noticed, and was grateful.

The team of men scheduled to rendezvous with the chopper wouldn’t be coming. But these guys didn’t know that.

Lindman was half dragged, half shoved out of the chopper. It was for this moment that Cain and his men had been waiting.

Another man climbed out of the chopper. He was clean, suave, and clearly disgruntled by the delay. Cain didn’t recognize him, but that pretty face of his could have been displayed on a boy-toy calendar.

When Cain gave the signal, his men rose from their positions and attacked. Weapons were fired in rapid succession. The rat-a-tat sounds burst into the serenity of the jungle.

The CEO, not understanding what was happening, hunched his shoulders and whirled around like a top. Cain screamed for the man to hit the ground. The sound
of his voice must have reached through Lindman’s panic because the CEO dropped face first to the jungle floor.

However, in instructing Lindman, Cain gave away his position. The two men with the Uzis, protected now by the belly of the chopper, trained their weapons on him. The ground around Cain was sprayed with bullets.

Cain returned the fire, rolling over and over, the roar of his own weapon bursting like firecrackers in his ears. He took out the first soldier and heard Pretty Boy scream. Murphy got the second.

The blades picked up speed slowly. Pretty Boy leapt inside, firing crazily as he went. As soon as he was on board, the chopper lifted from the ground. Elevated no more than a few feet, the gunman scanned the ground with the tip of his weapon, looking for his captive. If Cain didn’t act fast, Lindman would soon be dead.

Rearing back on his haunches and siting his weapon, Cain fired into the opening of the helicopter. His first shot went wild.

Distracted by the sudden burst of gunfire, Pretty Boy lifted his weapon and fired at Cain.

The bullet hit him. The force of it propelled him backward, knocking him to the ground. Blood gushed down his face and soaked through his clothes. Cain felt nothing. No pain. No stinging. No fear.

The chopper was gone, and Cain stared into the deep blue sky. He placed his hand over his head and felt the blood pump against his palm.

“McClellan.” Murphy was at his side. “Take it easy, man. Take it easy. You’re going to be all right.”

“Holy shit.” This was Jack, ever eloquent. He certainly had a way with words.

“He’s going to be fine.” Murphy again, with a complete lack of conviction.

Bailey was the last one to arrive with Unit One, the first-aid bag. Not that there was anything anyone would be able to do.

“You’re going to make it,” Murphy assured him again.

“Liar,” Cain murmured, and closed his eyes. He was going to die out here in this godforsaken jungle. He didn’t want the last thing he saw to be the anxious faces of his friends.

Instead he concentrated on Linette. He pictured her standing on the end of the pier at Fisherman’s Wharf, the wind tousling her hair, her eyes bright as she smiled at him. He could almost hear the sound of her laughter, and he found it more lovely than a song.

He coughed, and pain seared through him like a white-hot poker. His breathing became shallow and difficult, and it seemed that his heart labored with each beat.

“Cain.” The voice sounded as if it came from the inside of a tunnel.

He struggled to open his eyes but couldn’t make them do anything more than flutter. “Linette,” he said.

“He’s asking for someone.”

“Lynn Something or other? Who’s that?”

“Hell if I know.”

Consciousness began to fade, but Cain hadn’t the strength to cling to it. He hadn’t the will to fight any longer. Hadn’t any reason to live.

Linette was busy baking chocolate-chip cookies for Jesse and Steve’s visit when her doorbell chimed. She checked
her watch, thinking it might be Charles. If so, he was several hours early.

She opened the door to one of the largest men she could ever remember seeing. He must have stood six five and had shoulders as broad as a Mack truck. Although he was large, she didn’t find him intimidating. He appeared equally curious about her and seemed to be trying to place her. He didn’t say anything for a couple of moments.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Are you Linette Collins?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know me. My name’s Tim Mallory, and I’m a friend of Cain McClellan.”

Linette could think of only one reason one of Cain’s men would come to visit her. Something had happened to Cain.

“Please come in,” she said, and realized her voice trembled.

Tim stepped inside her living room, holding himself stiffly.

“Would you like to sit down?” She gestured toward the davenport.

“Thank you.”

They both sat, one across from the other. Both nervous and struggling to hide it. Tim planted his hands on his knees and cleared his throat. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No,” she said nervously. “Not at all.” Then, gathering her courage, she continued, speaking so fast that the words ran together. “What’s happened to Cain?”

Tim lowered his head.

“Is he dead? Please, just tell me if he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have come here like this without warning. It’s just that Murphy and the others didn’t know about you. Apparently Cain never mentioned you.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Cain left instructions that if anything ever happened to him, you were to be contacted. Your name and address are listed in his will. He must have had it revised recently.

“Keller found a copy of it in the mail when he arrived back from South America.”

The room swayed. “Oh, dear God.”

“Ma’am?…Ma’am, are you all right?…Damn, I knew I should’ve brought Francine with me.”

“
Can I get you anything
? Water?” The big man leapt to his feet and headed toward the kitchen.

A terrible tightness gripped her chest and heart. “How did it happen?” she asked, her voice a thin, emotionless thread of sound.

“During a rescue.” Tim held a half-filled glass in his hand. A wide swath of water followed him out from the kitchen.

Linette closed her eyes and bit into her lower lip.

“Do you want me to get you something more? Aspirin?” Mallory suggested awkwardly. “I really should have brought my fiancée. As you can see, I’m not much good at this sort of thing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Linette whispered in an effort to relieve his distress.

“I knew you’d be upset. I figured you’d want to know. Cain would want you to know. He listed you as his
beneficiary. It’s obvious he holds strong feelings for you.” Cain’s friend wiped his face. “Francine suggested I come and tell you personally rather than have someone phone.”

“I appreciate your letting me know.”

“If you want, I can make arrangements for someone to meet you in Grenada.”

“Grenada?”

“That’s where Cain is now. The backup medical team stabilized him in Venezuela—”

Linette’s eyes flew open. “Stabilized him?”

Mallory nodded. “They were able to med-evac him to Grenada. Be assured he’s getting absolutely the best medical attention available. Of course, he’s listed in critical condition, and has been for several days, but—”

“He’s alive?” Had her ears deceived her? Linette feared she was so desperate to believe Cain had survived that her mind was playing her for a fool.

“Yes, of course he’s alive. You thought…you mean to say you thought he was dead? Hell, I’m sorry. I guess I was trying so hard to protect you from the bad news that I led you to think worse.”

“But his will…”

“That’s where we got your name and address. Murphy said Cain whispered your name just before he lost consciousness. When he called to tell me Cain’d been shot, he asked if I knew anything about you.”

“I see.”

“Believe me, I couldn’t be more sorry.”

She shook her head, her relief so great that it was all she could do not to hurl herself into his arms and thank him. “I assumed he was dead.”

“No wonder, me talking about wills and all.”

“What happened?” she asked in a rush, all at once, needing to know. She felt euphoric and struggled to hold back the sudden need to laugh. The sudden need to cry.

“Not being there myself, I can’t really say. When I talked to Murphy and Jack, they only gave me sketchy details, other than…”

“Yes,” she coaxed.

“They said Cain put himself in the line of fire in order to save someone else.”

Cain close to death. Cain dying alone in a foreign hospital. All at once Linette was tired. Tired of pretending she didn’t love him. Tired of fearing the worst. Tired of insulating her heart.

“You can arrange a flight for me to Grenada,” she said, her voice gaining conviction. “When?”

“There’s one leaving this evening.”

“I’ll take it.”

“How’d it go?” Francine met Tim at the front door of her parents’ house. He’d been nervous about meeting Linette Collins and telling her of Cain’s mishap.

Tim pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I wish you’d gone with me,” he said. “I’m afraid I made everything sound much worse than it is.”

“Sound worse? It doesn’t get much worse than this. From what Murphy said, Cain’s holding on to his life by a thread.”

“He’ll live,” Tim said with such confidence that Francine eased her head back to meet his eyes.

“How can you be so sure?”

“He’s made it this far, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but that’s no guarantee.” Although Tim had trouble expressing his emotions, Francine knew he was thoroughly shaken by Cain’s injury. She feared he was painting a rosy picture in his mind of his friend’s condition rather than dealing with harsh reality.

“Linette’s flying into Grenada this evening. She’ll give him the incentive he needs to stay alive,” Tim said matter-of-factly.

Francine walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of iced tea. She noticed when she lifted the pitcher that her hand shook. She set it down with a clunk and closed her eyes before voicing the concerns that plagued her. “Are you sorry you weren’t with him when it happened?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice even and detached. “Do you think if you’d been there, things might have turned out differently?”

Tim stepped behind her and cupped her shoulders, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I don’t have any regrets, if that’s what you’re asking me. That portion of my life is over. I’ll never go back to soldiering.”

Francine trembled with relief. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. That would be even more cruel than to marry me and then leave me.”

Tenderly he kissed the side of her neck. “I wouldn’t have asked you to be my wife if I wasn’t sure about this.”

The kitchen door opened and Francine’s mother walked into the room, her arms full with two bags of groceries.

“Timothy Mallory, what are you doing here?” she demanded. “Tradition says you’re not supposed to see the bride the day of the wedding.”

“But the ceremony isn’t for hours yet,” he protested as if staying away from Francine were too much to ask of him. “You can’t expect me to wait that long.”

“Of course I do. Shoo. We’ve got a million things to do before this evening.” Martha Holden all but booted him out of the room.

Tim cast Francine a pleading glance on his way out the door.

“Really, Mom,” she protested on his behalf. “Don’t you think you’re going to extremes?”

“Perhaps. But that’s my prerogative as his future mother-in-law. I take my duty as mother of the bride seriously.” She laughed, her eyes gleaming with pride and happiness.

“You like Tim, don’t you?”

“You love him. That’s enough for me, but as it happens, I find him endearing. He reminds me a good deal of your father years ago. He’s got that same brash nature, with an appreciation for the mischievous. You’re going to be happy with this man, Francine. I couldn’t have chosen a husband better suited to you had I gone out and searched myself.”

Francine unloaded the first grocery sack. “I love him so much. I’ve been so afraid, ever since Murphy phoned with the news about Cain McClellan.”

“Afraid?”

Francine nodded. “I worried that Tim would somehow feel responsible for what happened. That his being there might have changed everything.”

“So that was what you were talking about when I interrupted you.”

“I was afraid to bring up the subject until now, then I
decided I had to know. If Tim did feel that way, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Does he?” her mother asked gently.

Francine shook her head. “He assured me that part of his life is over. He means it, Mom. He really means it. I’m not a passing fancy to him, he honestly loves me.”

“He had the chance to learn that on his own,” her mother said gently. “He’s confident in his decision. But he might not have been that way had you pressured him into not going back to Florida. My heart ached for you when he left.”

“But he came back, Mom, and this time he’s going to stay.”

Knowing Tim was truly hers went through her mind as Francine walked down the aisle on her father’s arm later that evening.

The wedding was a simple affair, held in the church Francine had attended from the time she was a toddler. Her immediate family was there, along with several aunts, uncles, cousins, and longtime family friends. It amazed Francine that her mother had been able to arrange a wedding on such short notice.

Her wedding gown was made of antique white satin with a lace-and-pearl overlay. When she first saw Tim in his black tuxedo with tails, she didn’t recognize him. But when he winked and pointed to the jacket pocket, she knew it could be no other. He’d carried a condom with him to his own wedding.

Francine was sure her face turned a bright, fire-engine red.

When they spoke their vows, Tim’s voice boomed proudly as he pledged his life to hers. Apparently he felt
he needed to convince her family of his sincerity by shouting out his promises. Francine’s own voice trembled with emotion and love.

The reception followed in the church hall. Her sisters-in-law stood ready to serve the cake and punch. The lace-covered table was stacked with an array of beautifully wrapped gifts. Francine was touched by such an abundant display of generosity, and Tim, too, repeatedly asked if all those gifts could possibly be for them.

“How soon can we escape?” her husband asked out of the corner of his mouth.

They’d barely arrived, and the reception line was just now getting started.

“Not yet,” she whispered, flustered by his question.

“This condom is burning a hole in my pocket,” he said as Francine’s eighty-year-old great-aunt approached. Fortunately Aunt Emma was hard of hearing.

“Tim!” Francine said.

“It’s the truth,” he muttered.

“I’m eager, too,” she assured him, and introduced him to Aunt Emma.

It didn’t take long for her family and friends to progress through the line. Afterward, Francine hurried the cake-cutting ceremony.

Before she knew where the time had gone, they’d arrived at the hotel. Tim carried her into the plush suite at the St. Francis in the heart of San Francisco. Instead of putting her down after crossing the threshold, as she expected, he went into each of the three rooms, giving her a walking tour. Only he was the one who did the walking.

He made her feel that she weighed no more than a
bird, and she fretted about his bad leg. He silenced her worries with one deep kiss.

He had a bottle of French champagne on ice, and after laying her on top of the king-size mattress, he expertly opened the bottle.

He poured them each a glass, insisted she drink from his goblet, and when some dribbled down her chin, licked it from her face. His mouth trailed the slim column of her neck, dipping at the hollow of her throat.

Francine rolled back her head and sighed. Already she felt dizzy, and it wasn’t from her one sip of champagne, either.

“Tim.”

“Humm?”

“Make love to me.”

“I am.”

“I mean really make love to me.”

He paused and lifted his head to look her in the eye. “You mean you’re ready now?”

She laughed softly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been ready for weeks.”

“But what about dinner? I thought we’d order room service.”

“We will,” she promised, so much in love with her husband, she felt as if she were about to burst. “But later. Okay?”

He stood and shucked off his suit jacket so fast, it was still in the air by the time he’d pulled the shirt over his head. He carelessly flung the shirt aside. As if he’d been too long away from her, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and kissed her once more. If he feared she was about to change her mind, he had no reason to worry.

One kiss, and in that time she felt seduced and wooed and deeply cherished. Francine opened her mouth to him and kissed him back, using her tongue as a blatant invitation for more intimacies.

Tim’s breath caught as if he’d been taken by surprise. His tongue probed deeply, swirling, mating with hers in a ritual as old as man himself. He broke off the kiss roughly and centered his attention on her neck, blazing a trail of hot kisses over her throat and back to the scented hollow.

“I intended to go much slower than this,” he whispered, and Francine could hear the apprehension in his voice.

“Next time we’ll go slow,” she promised. She sat up and lifted her hands behind her back in an effort to unfasten the row of pearl buttons that stretched down the length of the wedding dress. Her hair, which she’d wore unplaited, continued to get in the way.

Tim walked on his knees across the mattress to assist her. Francine held her hair up and out of the way.

“I didn’t know virgins were this red hot.”

“Do you want me to be shy and retiring?”

“No,” he muttered, cursing under his breath at the difficulty the buttons gave him. “This damned dress is worse than a chastity belt.”

Francine giggled and reached for her wineglass, sipping champagne. “Want me to help you undress?” she asked.

“Not when it’s going to take the two of us all night to get you out of this contraption.”

Francine couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier. “We can cut it off me.”

He cursed again. “It might come to that.”

He made progress, but it was agonizingly slow.

“I could always lift my skirts and let you have your way with me.” With that she sighed dramatically.

“The hell we will. I want you naked and beneath me. I’ve waited too damn long to get you in that position to be outsmarted by a blasted wedding dress. Who designed this thing, anyway? The Sisters of Perpetual Frustration?”

Francine smiled, and as he freed the bodice, she worked her arms free and peeled off the upper half. When he’d progressed sufficiently, she stood and slipped the material over her hips, letting the gown pool at her feet.

When she looked up, she found Tim staring at her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I had no idea a woman wore so many underthings. Are these going to be as difficult to remove?”

“Not at all.” She proved it by stripping them off one by one with what she hoped was a maddening lack of haste. It gave her a certain pleasure to watch her husband’s eyes widen with admiration.

Until she’d met Tim, Francine had always been self-conscious of her body. She was tall and thick waisted and built more like a lumberjack than a beauty queen. Yet Tim made her feel delicate and beautiful.

His eyes feasted on her. When she’d finished, he reached for her and took her back to the bed. She stood before him while he sat at the edge of the mattress. A slow smile brightened his features.

“How is it a woman so beautiful would ever marry a man like me?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” she told him, and reached for this man who was her husband.

Cain felt as if he were lost in a tunnel of pain. Drugged pain. The agony was there, but not the white-hot, searing agony he’d experienced soon after being wounded. This pain was chilling. As cold as a grave.