*DISCLAIMER** Scarecrow & Mrs. King is copyrighted to Warner
Brothers and Shoot The Moon Production Company. The original portions of this
story, however, are copyrighted to the author. This story is for entertainment
purposes only and cannot be redistributed without the permission of the author.
Situations and some dialogue have been used from the episodes "Stemwinder, Part
One" written by Robert W. Gilmer and George Geiger; "Nightcrawler" written by
George Geiger; "Do You Take This Spy?" written by Robert W. Gilmer, Tom Chehak
and George Geiger; "Mission of Gold"
written by Lynne Kelsey; "One
Flew East" written by David Brown; and "The
Kruschev List" written by Lee Maddux. And of course, the song "True Companion"
by Marc Cohn, which just happened to be playing on the radio when I was
thinking about this story. No
infringement of copyright is intended.
Title: True Companions
By: Mary
Rating: "R" for situations in parts one and four…
Summary: An inside glimpse at
"Scarecrow and Mrs. King" through four very different sets of eyes… This story has four chapters; Part One –
"Lee; Part Two – "Dotty"; Part Three – "Jamie"; and
Part Four – "Amanda".
TRUE COMPANIONS
PART ONE:
LEE STETSON
"FATE"
Three years and four months after meeting Amanda
King at a train station in Virginia, I married her. If any of my associates had asked me back then if that day would
ever come, I would have laughed out loud - right after suggesting a quick trip
to Dr. Pfaff, our agency's resident shrink. After all, I'd spent the better part of my life avoiding emotional entanglements
of any kind. Somehow it just seemed
safer to live that way.
Of course, 'safe' is
something I only applied to my personal life. Professionally, I'd never shied away from taking chances, risking life,
limb and other parts I won't mention on more than one occasion. The greater the
danger, the better I liked it. It was
probably the main reason I'd become an intelligence operative in the first
place.
"You're a spy?" Amanda
asked incredulously as I tried to charm her into helping me. Although it's a
term I'd never cared for, it summed my life up pretty accurately. My days were spent gliding effortlessly from
one dangerous scenario into another, while my nights. . . well, let's just say
those encounters held even more intrigue and excitement. A dangerous profession like mine deserved
some fringe benefits.
Unfortunately, not
everyone shared that opinion.
"If you want to waste your life chasing shadows, go right ahead," my uncle told me when I announced I'd just been recruited by the Agency, an elite organization with a top-secret profile. I tried to bite back the caustic remark that immediately sprang to mind, having learned long ago that disagreeing with my paternal half-uncle was a lost cause. The man had begrudgingly taken me in at age four and never lost an opportunity to remind me that raising an orphan was an obligation no righteous man could shirk. Yes, Colonel Robert Clayton always did his duty. And he made no secret that mine was to follow him into the military.
"I thought you'd be
happy I finally decided to do something serious," I responded sarcastically,
despite my good intentions. He had made it crystal clear after I'd been asked
to leave that last university that I'd better clean up my act or he'd do it for
me. Granted I had, as the Colonel so succinctly put it, changed colleges as
often as I changed socks, but I did finally manage to graduate. I'd even
secured a job for which there had been a slew of qualified applicants. Most parents would have been proud.
"Well, Skip," he
rejoined, invoking the old nickname I hated, "when you wash out of this, too,
don't come running back here. You're on your own this time."
"I always have been,
Sir," I replied, turning on my heel and walking away. For the first time in the course of our tenuous relationship, I'd
rendered him speechless.
We saw each other only
sporadically after that incident, a few stray lunches and dinners spread thinly
across the years. That is, until
Amanda. She somehow managed to change patterns
and responses that had been drilled into both of us for as long as I could
remember. Believe me, where the Colonel
and I were concerned, that was no small miracle.
Of course, in those
days, I wouldn't have recognized a miracle if it had jumped up and bit me on the
ass. I was pretty cocky back then, determined to be the best of the best in my
new profession. I think at first I was
so driven to succeed merely to prove my uncle wrong. However, I soon discovered
that after what seemed like years of searching, I had finally found my niche.
Fresh from my training, I was prepared to defend my country from all enemies,
foreign and domestic.
I was immediately
shipped to London.
It was the last place on
earth I wanted to be. A token tribute to inter-agency cooperation was hardly
the way I'd intended to begin my illustrious career, and veteran MI-5 operative
Emily Farnsworth was definitely not the person I'd anticipated working with. I
just didn't see her as a sp. . . operative. Conservative in word and dress, she appeared more suited to infiltrate a
formal tea than a counterfeiting ring. I decided she would soon find me more
than competent for our simple little assignment and I would be off to bigger
and better things.
Instead, Emily merely
seemed to find me amusing. "A gun won't
get you out of every situation, my boy," she stated in staid British
tones. "You have to learn to use your
brain, not your brawn. " I would later discover that Lady Farnsworth was really
an American from Santa Barbara who'd married into her British heritage, but she
seemed to instinctively understand that it worked to her advantage in my case.
While I was reluctant to offend a Brit on my freshmen mission, I was just brash
enough back then to have told a fellow American exactly where she could put her
unsolicited advice.
Of course, Emily was
right. What working in Intelligence
requires more than anything else is. . . intelligence. Patience, control and,
above all, looking before you leap. Emily Farnsworth taught me all that, along with
what it means to have a true friend in a business where that can often be a
distinct liability. By the time I headed back to the States, I knew exactly how
lucky I'd been on my first venture into the twilight world of espionage.
That luck didn't hold
too long, though, and on my next endeavor I thought my uncle might at long last
get his wish to see me in uniform. Along with a select group of seasoned agents, I found myself loaned out
to Army intelligence for a brief stint in Vietnam. It may have been a plum assignment for a rookie like me, but it
didn't seem that way trudging through the steamy jungles near Da Nang. When I
was recalled stateside six months later I was thankful to be returning to D. C.
with all my parts still in good working order.
I expected to be
assigned to one of the outlying bureaus for a few years, but it seemed I was
slated for bigger things when shortly after my return, I was chosen for the
prestigious Oz Network by Paul Barnes.
It was a real coup to be
working for him. The Wizard, as his codename so aptly dubbed him, was already
an Agency legend at the tender age of thirty-two.
If Emily Farnsworth and
the Southeast Asian jungle had started to teach me restraint, Paul Barnes
seemed determined to finish the job. "You'll be a good agent when you finally
develop a brain," he chided after I'd demonstrated my penchant for foolhardy
stunts one time too often. Grinning
from ear to ear, he promptly gave me my official codename. "Stick with the
Wizard, Scarecrow," he told me, "and we'll see about replacing that head full
of straw with something a little more functional."
I never repeated that to
anyone, neatly sidestepping Amanda's incessant questioning on the subject
during the first year of our partnership. Of course, in those days, sharing personal confidences was a habit I'd
lost long ago. But even when those early feelings of annoyance had been
replaced with a strong friendship that was well on its way to something more, I
still managed to dodge the issue. I
told myself I was too embarrassed to admit that 'Scarecrow' had once upon a
time stood for something else entirely, but deep down I knew there was more to
it than that. While my still evolving
brain insisted that Amanda cared enough to accept me flaws and all, I was
reluctant to acknowledge that most of my macho reputation was really nothing
more than bravado. She had a way of
looking at me that made me feel ten feet tall, and a part of me still foolishly
clung to my Superman image. If I
confessed how far it was from the truth, she might realize that deep inside lay
a frightened four year old still crying for his parents.
It was while I was under
the Wizard's care that I experienced my first really serious relationship.
Appropriately enough, her codename was 'Dorothy'. When she joined the team, our
connection was instantaneous. We just had so much in common. We were almost
exactly the same age, our birthdays less than a week apart. She'd lost her parents in an accident when
she was ten and had been shuttled back and forth between indifferent relatives.
We both felt we'd finally found the sense of family we'd been searching for in
Paul's elite team.
"Oz never had it so
good," she liked to joke, her eyes crinkling up when she laughed in the way I
grew to love.
We had six months
together. Then one day our world exploded in a barrage of gunfire on a routine
mission that went sour. The Russians had a nice little export business
operating out of the Silver Spring Airport, running weapons out of the country
hidden in boxes of flowers. Long stemmed roses, to be exact. We arrived at the
field that morning to shut them down, but suddenly the tables turned. When the
gunfire finally subsided, my hero Paul Barnes had been temporarily neutralized
and two team members lay dying on the hard ground.
I found Dorothy's body
on the middle of the deserted airstrip, riddled with more bullets than I cared
to count. Everywhere I looked, I saw those damned roses - red ones, the same
color as her blood. I cradled her in my arms, trying to breath life back into
her, but the hands that had held mine just that morning remained deathly still.
And our shiny future was suddenly reduced to three words on a piece of paper.
Agent killed – betrayed.
* * *
Oz recovered from the
blow, but I had a harder time of it. While my affection for Paul Barnes was
still as strong as ever, the memories were too fresh, and I left the network
shortly after Dorothy's death. I spent
a brief stint with European Operations before finally settling into the D.C.
office under the scrutiny of brand new Section Chief Billy Melrose. By that
time, I had honed my reputation for pushing things to the limit, taking
impossible missions and succeeding where more cautious agents failed. Truth be told, I enjoyed living on the edge.
Taking chances appealed somehow to my twisted sense of order. As if I was daring fate to fix the mistake
she'd made when she'd taken everyone I loved and left me still standing.
A lone wolf.
And at the time that was
just the way I wanted it. I didn't even
like to work with a partner. I'd made that mistake only once, relaxed my guard
long enough to let Eric Jarvis into my life. Why Billy thought we would work
well together, I have no idea. We were a pretty unlikely team. Eric had grown
up in a big family; I was the consummate loner. And for some unfathomable
reason, my new partner seemed determined to change all that.
Not too long after Billy
put us together, Eric dragged my reluctant butt to Christmas dinner at his
parents' house. "Sitting around stuffing your face with guacamole and feeling
sorry for yourself is no way to spend the holiday," he bullied, refusing to
accept my usual excuses. "We watch football at our house, too. I'm not taking no for an answer."
It was the first real family
Christmas I could remember. Hanging around the mess hall on countless Air Force
bases when I was growing up didn't count. As I told Amanda once, fighting over
the dark meat with four hundred other guys didn't make for a very festive
holiday.
After that, Eric and I
developed a pretty close friendship, working together by day and carousing
together by night. I allowed myself to
depend on him, trust him, like him. It
lasted for almost two years. Until fate
reared her ugly head once again and delivered him the bullet that was slated
for me.
I reverted to type after
that, tackling difficult assignments solo once again. Which is what led me to
that particular train station one cloudy October morning.
I was busy doing what I
do, on my way to a drop with a package that was the key to plugging our
departmental leak. Unfortunately, I'd brought two Russian goons along with me.
You can always tell the KGB by the way they dress. . . their suits never quite
fit. Anyway, Ivan and his 'brother' were hot on my tail and I knew I had to
think of something – and quickly.
That's when I spotted
her – a special delivery from Fate, carefully disguised beneath a tan coat and
scarf.
At the time, I didn't
think the meeting had any great significance beyond expediency. Amanda King was an emergency, nothing
more. I intended only to alter my game
plan, not my whole life. After all, I'd employed the same tactic in Munich with
great success. There was no reason it shouldn't work again. She was supposed to
simply pass on the package, then pass right on out of my life. Lucky for me she never did anything she was
supposed to do.
Of course, it took me a
while to recognize just how fortunate I'd been that day. I'm sorry to say that
in the beginning I saw her as more of a curse than a blessing, laughing along
with my good friend and fellow agent Francine Desmond over Amanda King's total
lack of everything.
Although I probably
should admit that my slightly bruised ego might have been the one doing the
talking. The only things she really lacked were the pretense and artificiality
of the empty-headed girls who usually attracted me.
She was a divorced
mother of two living in Arlington with her mother and her sons. She valued her
home and her family. She was a real person with real emotions, the kind of
woman who genuinely saw the good in everybody, even me. She had everything I'd secretly longed for
all my life. No wonder I ran like hell
in the opposite direction.
I hadn't had much
experience with women.
Well, okay, let me qualify
that – I hadn't had much experience with the caring, nurturing types like
Amanda. I'd grown up in a totally male environment and the closest thing to a
mother I'd known was old Barney Dorsey, the mess hall Sergeant on my uncle's
air base.
Amanda was a good
mother. You only had to see her with her two sons, Phillip and Jamie, to know
that. Despite the lack of a permanent
male influence in their lives, Amanda made them feel happy, secure and loved.
Yet I suspected even
then that she had a lot more than motherhood inside her. And I didn't think she should be wasting it
on that bozo she was dating when I met her.
Dan, Don, Dean. . .
hell, whatever his name was, he didn't belong with Amanda. It only took one
look at his plaid jacket to know the guy gave 'boring' a new definition. I just couldn't picture the two of them
together.
I told Amanda that very
thing, and it was shortly afterwards that she stopped seeing him. I kind of expected her to turn her attention
to me when they broke up. I knew she
had a crush on me. I recognized all the
signs – the flustered talk, the furtive glances when she thought I wasn't
looking. So I got ready to offer her the usual brand of Stetson charm, all the
while preparing my standard speech, office version – 'Amanda, we are business
associates, nothing more.'
I never got to use it.
To my chagrin, I discovered that my conceited little fantasy couldn't be
farther from the truth. Evidently,
Amanda King found my usually irresistible charms totally resistible.
I was intrigued. The
only thing she was prepared to offer me was the last thing I sought from the
opposite sex – friendship. At the time, my only female friend of consenting age
was Francine.
And even that had
started in the bedroom. A few years ago
we'd played a thoroughly enjoyable little game of 'backgammon,' as Francine
jokingly referred to our brief physical liaison. I knew at the time I wasn't the only guy Francine had played that
particular game with, so I was kind of shocked to discover she'd taken our
interlude much more seriously than I had. When I realized what was happening, I quickly pulled out the speech,
trying to let her down easy. That any
kind of friendship survived the experience was, I suppose, a testimony to both
of us. Though maybe that's why at times
we seemed more like friendly rivals than actual friends.
After Francine, I swore
that I would never again blur the lines between personal and professional. And
I have to say, while I managed to date my way through most of the Agency at one
time or another, I never extended anyone else true friendship.
Until Amanda. I don't know what it was about her that made
me break my hard and fast rule. I didn't even want to work with her at first. It
was Billy Melrose who insisted on throwing us together. She was a nuisance and,
at the same time, a necessity. A hindrance to my job and the greatest asset I'd
ever found. She was an aggravating pain
in the ass yet had an uncanny knack for making me laugh. She was hopelessly average and at the same
time, uncommonly beautiful. In other words, I'd never felt so confused in my
entire life.
Since it was my fault
that she'd ended up in this crazy business in the first place, the very least I
could do was make certain she stayed safe. I told myself that every time I
reached for her hand while we were on a case; every time I swung by her house
late at night on my way home; every time I pulled her against me in the name of
our cover. The funny thing is, for the longest time I actually believed that
was true.
Then one day, I finally
pushed things past the breaking point. The trouble with undercover work is that
sometimes the lines between what's real and what's not aren't so clear anymore.
Playing my part with a little too much gusto, I accidentally slapped her.
"It's okay," she
whispered, unable to meet my eye, but I knew it wasn't. The look on her face
said it all. I'd hurt her – maybe not physically, but in a way that was much
more painful. I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss the ache away, but my
stupidity had just rendered that impossible. I settled for a stumbling apology
that did little to convey what I was really feeling.
Naturally, she forgave
me; she was just that kind of person. She forgave her ex-husband for deserting
her and their two small children, so what was a little slap compared to that?
We fell back into our friendship when the case was finished, but it wasn't as
comfortable anymore, at least not for me. Something had changed.
I had changed.
* * *
We began to work
together more frequently. I'd just been handed the Q-Bureau and Amanda, for all
intents and purposes, became my partner. 'Unofficially official', as Billy
liked to say, she was suspended in the gray area between civilian and
agent. Our personal life seemed to have
that same status, too. We certainly weren't dating, but we were spending more
and more of our off-duty time in each other's company. I told myself it didn't mean anything; after
all, she was my best friend. It was
only a concert here, a simple dinner there, a night shivering together in a
swamp. We were just two cold people, right?
"Not exactly," she
answered enigmatically, and for the first time, I started to believe that might
be true.
Until her ex-husband suddenly hit town a few months later. Accused of murder and on the run, Joe King had never appeared more vulnerable, and I watched as the past tugged at my Amanda with invisible emotional strings. Of course, she didn't know I thought of her as 'mine' - I'd foolishly believed we could continue our little dance until I felt ready.
Unbelievably, when the smoke cleared, she was still there. I didn't think she would be, especially when I saw her in Dooley's Bar with her ex. But when she looked across the room and caught my eye, her face told it all. Joe King might have hold of her arms on that small dance floor, but I had hold of her heart. In that moment I knew that I was undeniably in love with her.
After that night, we
moved ahead, seemingly more certain that the convoluted path we traveled would
ultimately bring us together. It was full of twists and turns, moving us
forward in leaps and bounds, then driving us back. Admitting to myself that I
loved her didn't automatically change either one of us. We were still the same
two people who could disagree over something as simple as the weather.
I got a taste of that
first hand when Billy 'assigned' her to nurse me back to health in the
aftermath of the Brody case. Five days
of enforced bed rest may have been good for my concussion, but it turned out to
be a bit more than either of us could handle. Of course at that point, the last thing I wanted to do with Amanda in
bed was rest; even so, I instinctively knew that it wasn't the right time to
embark on a physical relationship. However, knowing it and feeling it were two
entirely different things, and by the time I got back to the office, my mood
had gone from bad to worse.
I don't know whether
Amanda was taking my nitpicking in her usual stride, or if maybe she just
understood my misplaced frustration better than I did. She always had an
uncanny way of knowing what I was feeling, even when I couldn't express it. But
I couldn't stay aggravated at her for very long, as she once again proved her
talent for seeing those obscure little clues I sometimes overlooked.
That's when I realized
the unthinkable had finally happened. Not only did I love her, I was fast approaching a point where I couldn't
get by without her.
I was no longer a loner.
* * *
The realization rocked
me for a moment, but I quickly recovered my equilibrium and, making the best of
my new situation, decided it was time to get to the source of my frustration.
Amanda King.
While I knew we couldn't
just jump into bed, I thought it was time to at least move in that general
direction. After what seemed like a run
of absurdly bad timing, I took matters into my very capable hands one morning.
Telling fate in no uncertain terms that I was the one in control, I locked our
office door and proceeded to kiss her.
I was totally unprepared
for my reaction.
Touching my lips to hers
this time was unlike anything I'd ever imagined. Oh, we'd kissed a few times in
the line of duty and even shared a wonderfully flirtatiously little peck a few
weeks ago on her patio. I thought I knew what to expect, but this was entirely
different. When she ran her hands over the lapel of my coat, I could have sworn
I felt my spine tingle.
"Yeah," she breathed,
shaking her head, so I knew that whatever it was, she'd felt it too. As my
mouth closed over hers, I could feel the emotion welling up inside both of us,
demanding to be released. I pulled back for a minute, looking into her
eyes. I saw total acceptance there, and
a love that had ever so patiently granted me the time I needed to complete this
three-year journey home. Burning all my
bridges, I leaned forward again. This time, she opened her mouth, and I felt
her tongue against mine. I shivered. Then, like a starving man at an
all-you-can-eat dinner, I practically devoured her.
We continued that way
for what seemed like hours, but was in reality only a few minutes. "Maybe we'd
better, ah, finish that report," I stammered, still overwhelmed by the
unexpected intensity of our encounter.
"Yeah," she whispered again,
her fingers moving to gently wipe her lipstick off my face. I kissed them tenderly as they moved over my
lips, my eyes still on hers.
"That report," she
reminded me with a smile, seeing that I was in no shape to remember.
I sat at my desk, trying
in vain to concentrate, but it wasn't any use. Having Amanda right across from
me was too distracting, and after a few more minutes I abandoned even the
pretense of work.
"Come on, let's get out
of here," I said, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her to the door.
"Billy's report can wait until tomorrow."
For once, she didn't
seem inclined to argue. We spent the rest of the day together, sharing a quiet
lunch, walking along the Potomac hand in hand and doing the silly things people
in love usually do. At sunset, I reluctantly relinquished her to her family,
but not before indulging in another series of spectacular kisses as we said
goodbye in my car. If I'd had a better
day, I couldn't remember it.
We spent the summer officially
'dating', stealing whatever time we could to be together. I was more certain than ever that I loved
her, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to say the words anywhere except in my
head. Who knows how long I would have
been struck dumb if Alexi Makarov hadn't intervened. Using the Stemwinder War
Games as a springboard, the crafty Russian sorcerer wove a complex web of lies,
turning my own Agency against me and forcing me underground. I didn't know when
I'd be able to see Amanda again. Even though I had a strong suspicion that she
knew exactly how much I cared, I couldn't disappear without giving voice to my
feelings at least once.
When I finally spoke the
words to her face, she looked almost embarrassed. She told me later it was
because she was scared. Not of Alexi or the mess we were in at the Agency, but
of the power of our feelings for each other. Scared or not, she insisted on
coming with me. I made a feeble attempt to keep her out of the line of fire,
but she pushed my arguments aside.
"I'm all mixed up in
this, too," she told me, and I knew she was talking about more than
Stemwinder. "It might be dangerous for
my family if I stay here and I can't do anything to help them from an Agency
holding cell," she finished, her rationale logical and precise.
"And I love you, too."
That was one
justification I couldn't refute. Besides, I told myself, searching for a way to
validate my selfish need to have her beside me, she did have a point. I'd come
to rely on her in the field. I might not be as effective alone.
Those days we spent
together on the run were both heaven and hell. Even though Dr. Smyth, the
Agency's Director of Covert Operations, had forced through a shoot to kill
order, we still had each other. The joy of waking up beside her every morning
might have been tempered by circumstance, but it was joy nonetheless. Part of me wanted it to last forever.
But as all things do, it
came to an end. Alexi was caught, his frame-up exposed and we returned to our
lives. Amanda went home to her family, and I returned to an apartment that
seemed even emptier after the time we'd spent together.
I knew then that I
wanted to marry her.
I didn't act on that
revelation, though. Amanda had been accepted into the Agent Candidate Program,
and she was suddenly inundated in freshman class work. I decided it would be more prudent to wait
until the newness of her status wore off before making her an official part of
my personal life, too.
So I bided my time,
mulling the idea over as I tried out different scenarios in my head. I saw
myself in a tux, with roses and champagne, solemnly asking her to be my wife.
Sometimes we were at the train station, me in a red hat, casually handing her a
package that contained a suitably romantic proposal.
Of course, when I did
ask her, it wasn't the way I had planned it at all. Fate stepped in once again
and laid waste to all my careful plotting. The setting was far from ideal, her
hostage cell in a house that was a front for a ruthless terrorist group. I
wasn't entirely sure either one of us would live to see the light of another
day. Despite our precarious situation,
she answered me in typical Amanda fashion.
"We're the luckiest two
people on the face of the earth," she gasped, sitting on a rumpled cot in a
room guarded by a madman. Only my Amanda could see things that way.
I did manage to do a
little better when I gave her the engagement ring, though. I'd given the matter
a lot of careful thought while she'd been recovering from the aftermath of her
kidnapping and finally decided on a plan.
I'd missed her while
she'd been on leave after our rescue. We hadn't seen much of each other since
she'd agreed to marry me. After the ordeal she'd been through at the hands of
that lunatic Addi Birol, she deserved some quiet time with her family, and I
didn't feel comfortable with them just yet. While I had managed to introduce
myself to her mother in her absence, things hadn't progressed much farther. My
sudden appearance at her dinner table would open a can of worms we'd both prefer
to keep closed at the moment.
Truthfully, her family
made me more than a little nervous. I wasn't sure exactly where I fit in. Children were foreign territory to me, and I
didn't have the foggiest idea how to relate to two young teenagers. I was beginning
to understand how clueless my uncle must have felt when I'd been deposited on
his doorstep. I didn't know what kind of a stepfather I'd make, but I wanted
things to be different for me with Phillip and Jamie. Personal experience had taught me that the Colonel's boots were
not the ones I wanted to walk in.
So I bided my time,
alone again in the office I'd come to regard as ours. Her empty desk seemed to be waiting for her return, just as I
was. Looking around, I noticed all those
little Amanda touches, marveling that in the few short months her desk had
officially occupied that spot, she'd managed to almost remake my workspace. The
same way she'd remade my life. I knew
then that her desk was the perfect place to make our private life official as
well.
She seemed to appreciate
the sentiment. After I slipped the ring on her finger and leaned in for a kiss,
she flashed me a cryptic little smile that I didn't know how to interpret. Her
voice barely more than a whisper, she told me that she'd thought only life and
death situations brought out the romantic in me. My confusion must have shown in my face because she brushed her
hand gently across my cheek and kissed me again. Her laughing brown eyes reflected the sparkle of the diamond on
her hand and I knew that, despite the trauma of the last few weeks, she was
happy.
We both were.
* * *
Unfortunately, the
rose-colored glasses were soon ripped from both our eyes.
It started out as
another routine case. A Vietnamese delegation bent on destroying accord with
the U.S. decided to use my friend Kai's son as a bargaining chip. We managed to
rescue little Kim and defuse the situation with the Vietnamese, but the damage
had been done. As I put Kai and his family on a plane for California, it wasn't
his children I saw, it was Phillip and Jamie.
I knew then that I'd
been kidding myself. A marriage,
children, a sprawling house in the suburbs. . . it was a beautiful dream, but
one built on shifting sands. Fate was
too stern a mistress to allow me even the facade of a normal life. As much as I
longed to be part of Amanda's family, I'd have to settle for being a secret
part.
"We'll make the best of
it," she stated stoically when I told her, and her tone said that she'd
recognized the problem long before I did. A nagging voice in the back of my
head told me to let her go, to allow her have a normal life with someone else,
maybe even someone like Joe King.
But I couldn't do it.
Maybe it was selfish,
but I'd crossed the point of no return long ago and now it was too late.
And so we married in
secret, traveling all the way to Marion so we wouldn't be discovered. It was a
small ceremony without any of the usual wedding fanfare. Just the Justice of
the Peace, the two of us, and His Honor's nosy clerk for a witness.
It didn't matter to me.
In a cathedral or a cabin, all I wanted was to make Amanda King my wife. She looked so beautiful in her simple
classic suit, her eyes bright with happy tears. Her voice almost broke when she
repeated the vows, and I could feel her hand tremble when I slipped the ring on
her finger.
"You kiss now," the
clerk said unnecessarily as we were pronounced man and wife.
I didn't need a second
invitation. Smiling, I leaned down, and for the first time, my lips touched the
lips of Amanda Stetson. It produced a euphoria that was almost indescribable.
The feeling lingered as
we finished up the paperwork, grew stronger as we thanked the judge and his
clerk and showed no sign of abating as we headed into the brisk February
night. Maybe this is what happened when
you made a lasting commitment to another person, I mused; maybe this was
'normal'. If that was the case, then
normal was something I could definitely live with.
We paused by the car, and
I felt the gentle pressure of her hand in mine. It was already dark and in the
foggy light from the streetlamp, she had never looked more beautiful.
"Are you hungry?" I
asked, reaching out to brush a stray hair from her face.
"Not for dinner," she whispered,
her hand caressing mine where it rested on her cheek. Looking down, I saw the desire in her eyes rivaled my own.
"Why don't we just head
over to the inn?" I suggested, leaning in to press a kiss on her lips. They
were wonderfully pliant, warm and inviting. I traced them lightly with my
tongue.
"Step on it," she
murmured, reaching into her coat pocket and handing me the keys.
As I slid behind the
wheel, I wondered again how we'd ever been lucky enough to find each
other. Amanda and I were finally
married; and we had an entire week together to enjoy it.
* * *
I smiled at my new wife
as we pulled up in front of the Crystal Springs Inn. It was a picturesque little place, off the beaten track, and
Amanda had fallen in love with it at first sight. When I saw that special light
in her eyes, I knew it would be the perfect place for our first night together
as man and wife.
Actually, it was our
first night together, period. Oh, we'd
shared a bed last fall during the Stemwinder mess and on our one weekend ski
trip to Pinetop, but our activities had been confined to sleeping and little
else. A few years ago if someone had
told me I would have been with a woman for this long and still not had sex with
her, I wouldn't have believed it.
But Amanda was
different. At first, I'd hesitated
because I didn't know quite how to deal with my feelings for her. Then later, I
had waited out of respect for hers. And at the end, simply because I loved her
so completely that I wanted our wedding night to be special. When she smiled up
at me in the lobby of that quaint little inn, I knew that the wait had been
worth it. And when her hand closed possessively around mine, I was equally glad
that it was finally over.
Of course, as it turned
out, we were damned to wait just a little longer. Due to some sort of snafu I couldn't quite decipher, housekeeping
was still working on the second floor. The management was suitably apologetic,
but it did little to alleviate the frustration we were both feeling. The next thirty minutes seemed more like
thirty hours as we were forced to watch the maid finish her cleaning checklist.
Where they found their help, I have no idea, but it was little wonder the rooms
weren't ready on time. The woman moved like a snail. I was beginning to think
it might take her the rest of the night just to finish this one.
I could feel Amanda's
impatience as she stood next to me in front of the fireplace, beating her head
against my shoulder in sheer exasperation. "I know, I know, I know," I mouthed, wondering whether it would be bad
form to bodily eject the offending housekeeper from the room. Who needs satin
sheets, anyway? I was pretty sure everything I needed was standing right next
to me.
The maid finally
finished her routine and giving her handiwork an approving nod, left us
alone. Turning to Amanda, I immediately
kissed her, releasing the pent up passion I'd been suppressing for months.
"Wow," she whispered
when our lips finally parted. I felt exactly the same way. Smiling, I kissed
her again, pulling her closer.
"Oh," she said in
surprise, evidently feeling the full extent of my need as I pressed up against
her. My hands slid down over her hips and she made a small groaning sound,
returning my kiss with equal desire. I
walked her slowly towards the bed, my lips never leaving hers.
"Lee," she gasped as we
broke apart, her hands caressing my chest lightly. "Wait…"
"Wait?" I replied, not
quite comprehending. "Amanda, we've been waiting for three and a half years.
I'm not sure I have much more 'wait' in me." I kissed her again to emphasize my
point.
"Just give me three and
half minutes," she whispered breathlessly, kissing her way down my neck. "I want to change out of these clothes."
"I could help you," I
grinned, slipping my hands underneath her jacket.
"I'm sure you could. But
I think I need to do it myself. . . this time." She looked up at me, the
expression in her brown eyes an odd mixture of promised passion and nervous
anticipation. I ached with love for her.
"Take all the time you
need," I whispered, trying to curb my enthusiasm as my lips brushed though her
hair. "I'll be right here."
"I just need a few
minutes," she reiterated, "and my overnight case. I have a little something in
here I think you might appreciate."
"I don't think I could
appreciate you much more," I teased, folding her in my arms again.
"Yeah, I can tell," she
laughed, trying to hide the catch in her voice by moving her hands across my
back in maddening little circles. "But
let me try anyway. It will be worth it. . . I promise."
What man could argue
with that? I let her go, watching as she disappeared into the bathroom. As the
door clicked closed, I let out the breath I'd been holding, exhaling loudly as
I deposited my jacket and tie in a nearby chair. The collar on my shirt
suddenly seemed uncomfortably tight and I paused to undo it, my fingers
fumbling over the small buttons. Evidently the nerves Amanda had felt a few minutes ago were contagious.
I circled the room a few times, absently smoothing my hair, contemplating the
enormity of the step we were about to take. This wasn't just a casual acquaintance behind that bathroom door; it was
Amanda, my partner, my best friend, my. . . wife.
That realization was
almost overwhelming. I'd waited for her for so long. Faced with the prospect of
actually having her, I suddenly had no idea what to do next. Although far from
being a novice in these matters, the moves that had served me so well in the
past now seemed horribly inadequate. Sighing,
I switched off the bright lamplight, praying that the friendlier glow from the
fireplace would cover my uncharacteristic confusion. From day one, Amanda King
had complicated my life; it should come as no surprise that she would
complicate my sex life as well.
The door opened
abruptly, and Amanda walked through it. She stood across from me in a silky negligee that left very little to
the imagination, brushing the hair from her face as if she didn't quite know
what to do with her hands.
"Hi," she murmured
shyly, her eyes darting from the fireplace to the bed before finally fixing me
in their gaze.
"Hi," I echoed, watching
her in quiet fascination. In spite of
her uncertainty, she still seemed to possess such effortless grace while I, the
great ladies' man, was reduced to a mountain of jelly.
I stood there like an
idiot, wanting to go to her but incapable of telling my feet to take me
there. I might have stayed in the same spot
all night, making love to her with my eyes, if she hadn't suddenly made
everything all right. Her lips parting in a smile, she sighed sweetly. What had
appeared so complicated was suddenly reduced to its simplest form.
She loved me.
And, letting the feeling
flow through me, I discovered I knew exactly how to show her that I loved her,
too.
"You look beautiful," I
whispered, automatically closing the distance between us.
Her delight in the
compliment spread across her face. "Thank you," she answered, absently
smoothing the front of her nightgown.
"And you were right. .
." I traced the curve of her cheek with my finger. "The wait was. . ." Leaning
down slightly, I kissed her forehead. . . "Most definitely. . ." Following the
path my finger had taken with my lips, I paused briefly by her mouth… "Worth
it," I finished, my mouth covering hers in a long, deep kiss.
"Oh, Lee," she whispered
when I finally let her catch her breath. "I've wanted this for so long. I can't
even tell you. . ."
"You don't have to tell
me anything," I murmured, my face buried in her neck. "I already know. . . I
feel the same way."
Her hands moved up and
down my back, straining against me, forcing me to hold her closer. Then
suddenly, she pulled away, her eyes sparkling as they rested on mine. "If I
don't have to tell you," she began, her fingers playing along my chest, "then
let me show you. The way I've wanted to. . ."
She smiled up at me
then, her tongue lightly moistening her lips as she reached for my shirt. Her
fingers moved quickly, adeptly releasing the remaining buttons. Tugging on the
bottom, she pulled my shirttail from my trousers, her hands slowly massaging my
chest as she worked her way up to my shoulders. Every so often she paused, burying her face in my skin, her lips
kissing, teasing, caressing.
It felt wonderful. She
pushed my shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, then made quick work of my
belt, undoing the buckle and pulling it from the loops. Dropping it, she turned her attention
elsewhere, and I felt my stomach muscles clench involuntarily as she pushed
against them. She nimbly worked the button on my trousers and tugged the zipper
down, and I sucked in a breath as her fingers trailed over me.
"Wow," she whispered
again with the hint of a smile, this time giving the word a whole new
dimension.
"Is that a wow of
approval?" I joked, shooting her an inquiring look. Even the most
self-confident types can use a little reassurance in a moment like this.
"Oh, definitely." She laughed then, the mellow sound rippling
over me seductively as she moved closer. "Although at this point, I'd say it's
still in the preliminary stages." She flashed me a sultry grin. "I'm reserving
the final 'wow' for later."
Her overt sexuality
caught me entirely by surprise. It seemed totally at odds with the picture she
presented to the world. Amanda really was an amazing mixture of contradictions,
an alluring seductress disguised beneath flowing skirts and matching sweaters.
She never ceased to amaze me.
"Yeah," she muttered as
I reacted to her touch, her teasing tone belying the seriousness of her face.
"Most definitely later."
"Oh, Amanda," I sighed,
anticipating what was about to happen between us. The thought alone was taking
me places I didn't want to go yet, and I vainly tried to recall the rushing
yardage from the recent Super-Bowl. It
would be kind of embarrassing to have this end before it even started.
Realizing the effect she
was having, her movements stilled and she took a small step backwards. Her eyes
roamed over my body as if taking inventory. She moved her hand slowly and
sensuously across my chest, coming to rest on the healing wound from the bullet
that had grazed me earlier in the week.
"Does it still hurt?"
she asked seriously, her fingers lightly stroking over it.
"Not when you do that,"
I told her with a smile, covering her hand with my own. "Besides, I've had
worse."
She nodded and removed
her hand, suddenly subdued. She tried to cover her reaction by turning away,
but she wasn't quick enough, and I could see her struggling to keep the concern
in her eyes from turning to fear. She walked over to the fireplace, staring
into the comforting flames, searching for an answer there we both knew she'd
never find.
"Amanda," I said, moving
towards her, trying to avoid tripping over the trousers that were still around
my ankles. I took a minute to kick out of my shoes, pushing the offending
clothing out of the way as I peeled off my socks. Coming up behind her, I wrapped my arms around her.
"You know it's all just
part of the job," I told her, softly kissing her shoulder.
"I know." She crossed
her arms over mine, encouraging me to hold her closer.
"And I'm careful." I
squeezed her reassuringly. "Nothing's going to happen to me if I can help it."
"I don't want to lose
you," she sighed, leaning her head back against my shoulder. "Especially after
last week."
"I know," I whispered as
I tightened my embrace. I'd just had a
narrow escape from PD-2, a new chemical weapon developed by the Russians, and
we were both still a little shaken. I hadn't looked my own mortality that
squarely in the eye for quite some time. I sighed deeply, resting my cheek tenderly against hers.
"I've always known it
was a possibility," she continued, giving my arms a gentle squeeze in
return. "It's just that. . ." She fell
silent as she looked into the fire again.
"That. . ." I prompted,
wondering a little at her reticence. I was the one who usually needed a crowbar
to loosen my feelings.
"I don't know. . . it
just hit me. As hard as it would have been before. . . after tonight, it's
going to be a thousand times worse. I don't know if I could stand it if
something. . ."
"It won't," I told her
quickly. "I promise."
"You can't promise that,
Lee, and you know it."
"Maybe not," I agreed
soberly, "but, Amanda – there are risks in just plain living every day. Maybe
in a way we're luckier because we recognize that better than most. And we'll
make every day count."
She tensed for a moment,
then I felt her relax against me. "Starting tonight," she whispered, turning in
my arms.
"Starting tonight," I
responded, my mouth seeking hers. She parted her lips, opening herself to me,
offering me both her body and her heart. The emotions she awakened seared my
soul, and for the first time since I could remember, I offered myself equally
in return. "I love you, Amanda
Stetson," I whispered roughly when we parted. "I don't think you have any idea
how much."
"It can't be as much as
I love you," she murmured in reply. "It wouldn't be possible."
"Come on then," I said,
stepping away from her. "I think it's time we showed each other." I extended my
hand, my lips turning up in an expectant smile.
"Way past time," she
answered, her fingers grasping mine. Hand in hand, we moved together toward the
bed.
* * *
Stopping at the edge, we
faced each other. This time, I took the initiative, resting my hands on her
shoulders and gently fingering the straps of her nightgown. Leaning in, I touched my lips lightly to hers,
moving from her mouth down her neck and shoulder. Her perfume heightened all my
senses, more intoxicating than the champagne that still lay untouched in the
ice bucket. I moved back across her collarbone, my tongue pressing into the
hollow of her throat. I could feel her
rapid heartbeat. Pausing for a minute,
I pulled away to look at her. She smiled back, and I saw the unspoken
permission in her look.
I slid the straps of her
negligee down. She really was so beautiful. My eyes drank in every detail – the
emotion hiding behind her eyes as they boldly met mine; the way her dark hair
framed her face, almost brushing her shoulders; the small freckles that dotted
the smooth skin of her chest; the gentle swell of her breasts as she drew the
ragged breath that spoke her desire. I
reached out, my palm tenderly caressing the smooth curve of her cheek.
She closed her eyes and
sighed. The sound played like an erotic melody in my ears, and I gently cupped
her face in both my hands, drawing her towards me. My lips closed over hers,
the kiss building until I heard her breathing quicken. I felt her hands in my
hair, her fingertips trailing tantalizingly along my scalp. I buried my face in
her neck, drinking in the delicate scent that belonged to her alone.
"Lee…"
My name on her lips
excited me, and I kissed my way back up towards her mouth. Pressing my body to
hers, I felt her hands stroke across my back then rest for a moment on the
elastic of my boxers. I helped her remove them, tossing my last piece of
clothing across the room to land on the pile in the middle of the floor. She
stood motionless for a fraction of a second, the edge of her tongue resting in
the corner of her mouth, her expression unreadable as her eyes swept over me
from head to toe. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up and caught my eye.
She grasped the folds of her nightgown and drew it up over her head ever so
slowly. I watched it drop to the floor,
a silken puddle at her feet.
She was totally naked beneath
it. I don't know why it astonished me, but it did. My body reacted instantly to
the sight, my eyes moving over the slim yet provocative form that had reduced
me to such a frenzied state of desire. I had never wanted a woman more, never
needed anyone on such a primordial level, flesh and spirit and soul.
I reminded myself to
breathe, inhaling and exhaling with studied slowness. I wanted to tell her what I was feeling, but found my brain
incapable of forming even the smallest syllables. She seemed to know anyway, or
maybe her feelings just matched mine, for she stepped closer and took me in her
arms. Reveling in the feeling of her smooth skin against my own, with nothing
between us, I kissed her deeply. She responded with equal passion, our hands roaming
freely as our mouths joined again and again.
Our touching became
heated, our kisses demanding more and, gasping, we both fell on the bed. It was an age-old sexual journey, yet one I
realized I had never truly appreciated until this moment. By this point, I was usually too firmly
focused on the ultimate goal to fully enjoy the little side trips along the
way. Tonight, with my wife, foreplay seemed to have a beauty and symmetry all
its own. The most amazing emotions
rushed over me, yet at the same time I felt we were moving almost in slow
motion. I was keenly aware of the most inconsequential things; the slightly
dampened tendrils of her hair as they curled around her face, the rhythmic
thumping of our hearts as I crushed her against me, the flash of the rings on
her finger as her hand traveled down my body.
"Lee." The sound of my name reached me from a
distance, a whispered prayer in my ear. "I want you so badly."
"I want you, too," I
choked out in gravelly tones.
"Now. . . please." The
urgency in her voice struck a familiar chord and my world was suddenly reduced
to tactile sensations and immediate needs. I clasped her hands tightly, and as
her eyes locked on mine, I felt our souls joining along with our bodies.
I knew beyond a shadow
of a doubt that I could never let her go.
* * *
We lay together in silence. Amanda's head
rested contentedly in the hollow of my shoulder, the fingers of her left hand
lazily tracing imaginary patterns on my chest. I reached out and clasped that hand in mine. In the dwindling firelight,
I could barely make out the rings on both our fingers, but I could feel them
there, a symbol of our commitment for all the world to see. At least for the
next week.
There were so many
things I wanted to say to her, but try as I might, I couldn't form the words. I
didn't know why, even after the intimacies we'd just shared, it was still so
hard for me to give voice to my feelings. Instead, I contented myself with holding her, my lips brushing through
her hair, trying to convey with a touch everything I wanted to put into words.
We stayed that way for a time, our arms and legs tangled together, so close
that it was hard to tell where I stopped and she began. Then I heard her sigh.
"Amanda," I asked,
turning her face towards mine. "Are you okay?'
"Yes," she replied
quickly, her arms tightening their hold. "I'm more than okay." She placed a
series of feather light kisses across my chest. She was quiet for a minute,
then she spoke again, this time in a voice so low I had to strain to hear it.
"Lee, can I ask you
something?"
"Anything," I responded,
surprised by the plaintive note in her voice. Releasing her, I rolled over,
leaning up on my elbow to look down into her eyes. "There's nothing I won't tell you."
"Was everything… I mean,
when we… was it. . ."
I reached out to gently
stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. "It was perfect. I can't believe you
have to ask that."
"Well, it's just that
after waiting so long. . . I was afraid maybe reality might not live up to fantasy."
"Oh, it did and then
some. " I grinned, kissing her lips lightly. "And believe me, I've had some
pretty vivid fantasies this past year."
"Me, too." Her low laugh
sent a shiver up my spine and I could feel the stirring of desire once
again. I leaned in to take possession
of her mouth, but she spoke again before I had the chance. "But I've been a little worried, too."
"About what?" I drew
back, suddenly puzzled. She'd never given me any indication that she was
concerned about our physical relationship. In fact, the brief glimpses of
passion we'd shared, especially during the last two weeks, had been evidence to
the contrary.
"You've had so much more
experience than I have," she explained, turning onto her back and staring at
the ceiling. "I didn't want to disappoint you."
"There is nothing about
you that could disappoint me, Amanda," I assured her, lying back down beside
her and pulling her close. "I thought we'd talked this through at Pine Top when
we decided to wait."
"I know we did," she answered
in low tones, "but it all seemed much more academic back then. " She snuggled
into my arms, but I could still sense a small hesitancy in her embrace, and I
realized that the only way to lessen her insecurity was to confess my own.
"You know," I murmured
softly, my hands caressing the smooth skin on her back, "maybe I have a few
things I'm worried about, too."
"Really?" she answered
and, in typical Amanda fashion, her voice immediately filled with concern.
"Really. I, uh. . ." I
exhaled loudly, mentally cursing myself for still stumbling over the words. I'd
started this, now I needed to finish it. "I just. . ."
"Tell me," she said
simply, squeezing my hand as she entwined her fingers with mine.
"I just hope. . . that
I'm able to be the husband and step-father I want to be," I finished in a rush.
"I may have had more experience in some areas, but Amanda - where this family
stuff is concerned, you're definitely the senior agent."
"Oh, Lee. . ."
I felt her hand on my
cheek, gently turning my face to hers. I could see everything she felt for me, everything we felt for each
other, so clearly reflected in her eyes. I allowed her to pull me into a kiss.
"I'll make you a deal," she
said when at last we parted. "You help my with my insecurities and I'll help
you with yours."
"Sounds like a good plan
to me." I leaned in again, lightly
tracing her lips with my tongue. "I could start right now."
"Right this second?"
I could almost feel her
desire running like a hidden undercurrent beneath the seemingly innocent words.
"Even sooner," I responded, nibbling tantalizingly on her lower lip before
engaging her in a heated kiss. "Remember, though," I admonished as my mouth
relinquished hers, "experience or not, it's been a while. . . I may be a little
rusty."
"Oh, yeah?" she teased,
and I could hear the laughter back in her voice. "If you call that rusty, I
think I'm in trouble." Her hand trailed seductively down my chest, belying the
truth of that statement. "Although, you know what they say, Scarecrow," she
whispered, her breath hot in my ear. "It's just like riding a bike. You never forget."
"Is that so?" I grinned,
rolling suddenly and pulling her on top of me. "Then in that case, Mrs.
Stetson, would you care to go for another ride?"
"Only if it's a
marathon," she replied, her face inches from mine.
"I'll give you the
entire 'Tour de France' if you want it," I murmured, my mouth against hers.
She smiled, and, parting
her lips with my tongue, we began our journey.
* * *
The sunshine filtered in
through the window, hitting me in the face. Rubbing at the spots dancing behind
my eyes, I turned my head away from the light and rolled onto my back,
displacing Amanda's hand from my waist. She moved with me, murmuring
indistinctly as she turned onto her left side, and I knew that she wasn't quite
ready yet to start the day. We'd only spent a handful of mornings together, but
already her sleeping and waking noises were becoming almost second nature to
me.
She sighed again,
pulling the sheet around her as she snuggled down into the mattress. Her hair
fanned out across the pillow and I gently fingered a few strands, marveling
again at the remarkable woman lying beside me. She'd certainly earned some
well-deserved rest.
We were both thoroughly
enjoying every moment of our newlywed status, so much so that we'd almost
missed our flight to California yesterday. I'd deliberately made the
reservations for late afternoon, not wanting to rush our first morning as
husband and wife, but I'd underestimated my new wife's innate ability to
transform even mundane things like breakfast into a sensual exploration. I was starting to believe she might just be
right when she called it the most important meal of the day. She'd certainly
made it the most exciting. We'd arrived at Dulles with only minutes to spare,
winging our way across country in an exhausted daze. I made a mental note to
stock up on strawberries and whipped cream when we got home.
It supposedly never
rains in southern California, but popular song lyrics aside, we were greeted by
a steady drizzle when we reached our hotel, thwarting my plans for a suitably
romantic stroll beneath the stars. Ever the optimist, Amanda immediately found
the silver lining.
"A perfect excuse for
room service," she grinned, and my complaints about the uncooperative climate
died on my lips when I saw the look on her face. I said a silent prayer that
housekeeping on the west coast was more efficient than its east coast
counterpart. I couldn't wait to escape to the privacy of our room, couldn't
wait to have her in my arms again, her slim body fitted so perfectly beneath
mine.
Making love with Amanda was
so different from anything I'd ever experienced. I'd known for a long time that
I loved her, but I was totally unprepared for the depth of the connection I now
felt. Maybe because we'd been best friends long before we'd ever been lovers,
the new bond we'd just forged seemed so much stronger.
I thought about all the
glamorous, jet-set women who'd littered my past, all those brief physical
encounters I'd deemed so exciting. In actuality, they were all only hollow
imitations of the real, emotionally fulfilling passion I'd discovered with a
simple housewife from Arlington. But
maybe that epithet was the real oxymoron after all. There was nothing simple
about the wonderful woman who slept so contentedly beside me.
She stirred and sighed,
and this time I knew she was waking up. I rolled over, fitting my body against
her back as I pulled her close. "Good
morning, Mrs. Stetson," I whispered, kissing her bare shoulder.
"Good morning to you,
Mr. Stetson," she answered, turning in my embrace.
I smoothed the hair from
her face, leaning in to kiss her awake. "Sleep well?"
"Wonderfully. What time
is it, anyway?"
"What does time matter
on a honeymoon?" I quipped, my lips trailing down her neck.
"I think it matters to
your old pal Barney," she laughed. "Especially if we're going to meet him at. .
. Lee," she exclaimed, pushing me aside
as she looked at the clock. "It's after ten o'clock. . . we're gonna be late."
"We have time," I
insisted, burying my head in her neck. "We don't have to be at his house until
eleven thirty."
"Maybe by a man's
standards we have time," she laughed, "but not by a woman's. I've got to
shower, fix my hair, put on some make-up. After all, he's one of your oldest
friends."
"Don't worry, he'll
think you're incredible." I kissed her again. "Just like I do."
"I love you, too, but I
still have to take a shower," she grinned, and I reluctantly released her.
"Okay, okay. I give up."
I watched her rise, glancing regretfully over her shoulder as she left the bed.
I rolled over, hugging her pillow to my chest, letting out a deep breath as my
eyes followed her wonderfully supple body as it disappeared into the bathroom.
Her new 'naked' look really seemed to suit her, and I marveled that she seemed
to have no qualms about letting me enjoy it.
I heard the sound of
running water, and I was just thinking how easily we'd embraced this latest
intimacy when her head popped around the door. "I thought you
were in a hurry to get
your shower?" I asked, wondering what she was up to.
"Oh, I am," she began,
her lips curving up in the most seductive smile I'd ever seen. "But there's no
law that says I have to shower alone, is there?"
"None that I can think
of," I laughed, whipping the pillow across the room in my haste to join
her. She disappeared into the bathroom
and I followed, eyeing the large Jacuzzi longingly. 'Later,' I thought with a
grin as I slid behind her in the much smaller shower.
The quarters may have
been a little cramped, but neither of us seemed to mind. The water beat down,
filling the stall with steam. She
turned and smiled at me, and I watched, mesmerized, as she lifted her face up
to the water, a look of delight in her eyes as it cascaded over her face. She
reached for the soap but I caught her hand, my fingers lingering for a minute
on hers.
"Let me," I mumbled,
taking the bar from her hands.
"With pleasure," she
said, trailing her hand across my chest.
Rushing off to Barney's
house was suddenly the last thing on our minds. We were lost again, deep within
the sensuous world of our own making, those tentative moments of our first few
times now a thing of the past. I knew
she wanted me every bit as much as I wanted her. I closed my eyes, delighting
in the pure joy of simply being alive. I loved the feel of her body wrapped so tightly around mine, loved the
tremor in her voice as she spoke my name, loved the way her eyes flashed in the
heat of passion, loved. . . her. My Amanda. My wife.
* * *
"California was a great
idea for a honeymoon." She flashed me her typical smile as we drove along, her
eyes mapping the scenery while her fingers mapped my thigh.
I caught her hand,
giving it a comforting squeeze. "Getting married was a better one. You know what, Barney's gonna love
you. He's like family – and while my uncle was traipsin' around the world, he
stood in like a sort of back-up dad. I spent more time in his mess hall than I
did in school."
"What did he say when
you told him we were going to be late?"
"Nothin' much. He just
laughed and said he should have known better than to spend all morning
cooking." I saw the expression on her face and I laughed, too. "Amanda, it's
fine, really. I'm only kidding."
"I wanted to make a good
impression." She gave me a playful slap on the leg.
"Hey, don't mess with the
driver when he can't fight back," I teased. "Seriously, you have nothing to
worry about. He said it was no problem, and he'd just meet us at the pier
instead."
"The pier?"
"Yeah, there's someone
there he wants us to meet. He wouldn't say on the phone, but I think he's
gotten involved in. . . something. I know, I know," I said, reacting to her
look. "No work on our honeymoon, but. . ."
She smiled. "But he's
your surrogate father, and you love him."
"Yeah," I said sheepishly,
amazed again at her ability to put a label on my unnamed feelings. "I guess I
do."
"You want to tell him
we're married, don't you?"
"Well, Amanda – he
doesn't know anyone we know, except my uncle. And he won't say a word if we ask
him not to."
I glanced at her as I
pulled the car to a stop. The look in her eyes said it all – she was dying to
tell someone, too. She nodded her head, flashing me her best conspiratorial
grin. I thanked her silently, smiling at the thought of actually calling her my
wife in the presence of someone I knew. It didn't seem fair somehow that no one
knew the most important fact in both our lives. I'd never realized that some
secrets would be so hard to keep.
I gave her hand one last
squeeze before we both got out of the car.
"Get down – get down,
Lee; they're shootin'!"
Barney's voice hit me like a ton of bricks
before I even had the door closed. Reacting instinctively, I ducked for cover,
yelling a quick warning to my partner. "Amanda, get in the car!"
Barney and another old
geezer joined me, all of us crouching together behind the back fender. Bullets
pierced through the peaceful morning, then suddenly stopped. My eyes cautiously
swept the perimeter. "It looks like it's clear but be careful, let me go
first."
Everything was quiet. I
nodded back at Barney and his pal, then turned to Amanda, shaking my head
ruefully as I opened the door. I opened my mouth to call her name, but the
words died on my lips. That's when I saw it. . . the tiny hole that had caused
the crackling effect on the windshield and an almost identical circular pattern
on her chest.
"Oh my God. . ."
* * *
The wait seemed
interminable. The afternoon had faded into evening as Barney and I sat in the
small corner of the Community Hospital. I shook my head, looking around at the
facilities. If we'd been in D.C. or even a larger city, N.E.S.T. and anything
else she needed would have been right at our fingertips, but I'd had to bring
her to this sleepy little town.
"Don't lose hope,"
Barney told me, and I remembered him saying those same words to me when I was
ten years old and my uncle's plane had been missing.
I told him. About
Amanda, our marriage, how we met. . . everything. I talked, the words pouring
out, as if by speaking them I could keep her with me. Then, suddenly, there was
nothing left to say. Barney laid a
comforting hand on my shoulder, but I was lost again, alone with the memories.
"Mr. Stetson, Dr. Neely
would like to see you now." The nurse's words cut through the oppressive silence
of the waiting area.
"How is she," I asked as
I jumped up, unable to read anything from her demeanor. "Is she all right?"
"Follow me, please."
It wasn't good news,
then. She would have delivered good news herself.
"I'll be right here if
you need me," Barney muttered, his thoughts evidently running in a similar
direction.
I bit down on my lip as
I followed her to the ICU, meeting the doctor as he came through the door. I
tried to get past him. I didn't want to hear him say the words.
He barred the way.
"Ah, Mr. Stetson, I'm
Dr. Neely." He caught my eye, then looked briefly away before facing me
again. "She's out of surgery, but I'm
not going to kid you, we still have a long way to go."
"She is going to be all
right. . . isn't she?" I refused to hear what he was implying.
"The next few hours will
be crucial," he informed me in the same professional tone I'd used myself when
I'd had to break similar news to some victim's distraught family. "It's a
miracle she's alive. The bullet went through her chest - a fraction of an inch
higher either way and she wouldn't have had a chance."
"When can I see her?"
"It's going to take a
while, and there's nothing here for you to do." I tried to slip past him again,
but his hands stopped me. "Get some rest, but leave your number. I'll phone
you." He paused, and I read the carefully hidden concern in his eyes. "Please,
Mr. Stetson. . ."
"All right," I answered
tersely, heading back to Barney. He was standing in the waiting room with
another man, some representative from the local police.
"Lee. . ." Barney's eyes
asked his unspoken question.
"She's alive, but it's.
. ." I paused, taking a quick breath, "it's touch and go. The next forty eight
hours are going to tell."
"This is Sheriff Borderhouse,
Lee." Barney indicated the uniformed man standing beside him.
"Pleased to know you,"
the sheriff mumbled almost indistinguishably.
"He's going to need a
statement," Barney continued. "I've told him what I could."
"It's not urgent, Mr.
Stetson," Borderhouse replied kindly. "Barney says you'll be staying with him,
so I know where to find you. We'll get
to the bottom of this, that I guarantee."
Damn straight we will, I
thought angrily, wishing there was something, someone, I could punch to put a
stop to the pictures that kept flashing in my head. "Thanks, Sheriff," I
muttered, dismissing him. I'd deal with this myself. "Barney, I have to make a
phone call."
I turned towards the pay
phone, trying to think of something to tell her mother. Nothing came to mind,
except the unwelcome images I couldn't banish - my uncle's sternly solemn
expression when he told me my parents were never coming home; the sickly sight
of roses littered over Dorothy's torn body; the slightly puzzled expression on
my partner Eric's lifeless face; and a bloodstain on a white sweater, a crimson
inkblot I knew only too well how to interpret.
I'd heard the regret in
Barney's voice earlier, knew he'd felt responsible, but it wasn't his fault.
It was mine.
I'd been selfish,
foolishly thinking we could have it all. I had scoffed at fate, broken all my
carefully constructed rules and let her get too close. But this time, I wasn't
the only one who had to suffer for it. Now her family, too, would be forced to
pay my bill.
Taking a deep breath, I
dialed the phone.
To be continued in Part
Two by… "Dotty"…
