Chapter Seven
Schemes and Dreams
The walk Woody went on took him passed the burger joint they had eaten at that evening, around the corner to a small bar he had spotted earlier. A drinking establishment simply named Cue's that let you know by its brick façade and ambiance that it wasn't a tourist attraction. It was a down home, talk-it-out, drink-until-you-feel-better-or-the-old-lady-makes-you-come-home bar. It was exactly what Woody needed. A place where he could have drink or three and think about what Jordan had just told him.
And hopefully get just drunk enough that he would go straight to sleep when he returned to the hotel room and the heart-shaped bed with her curled up in it…wearing nothing but a pair of soft, cotton, girl boxers and a thin, white tank top.
On reflection, there may not be enough liquor in North Carolina to make him be able to do that.
But determined to find out, he sat himself down on a barstool and ordered his first Scotch. He downed that in two gulps and held his hand up for another. The bartender obliged.
"Didn't expect to see you in here, Detective," a voice drawled from Woody's right side.
"Mike….fancy meeting you here…" Great….now I'll spend the rest of the evening talking about work and not figuring out how to get Jordan to trust me again…feel like she can love me without worrying that I'll hurt her…
Mike narrowed his eyes at the note of sarcasm in Woody's greeting. Still….if he was sharing a room with someone that looked like Dr. Cavanaugh and there had been an argument, he guessed he'd have been getting better acquainted with Johnnie Walker again, too. "Yeah…well….everyman needs somewhere to go after a hard day's work," he commented, leaning on the bar next to Woody.
"That's the truth…but I figured you for one of those head-straight-home-to-the-wife-after-five guys."
Mike chuckled, rolling a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "Normally…I am. I waited a while to get married and then was lucky enough to find a jewel of a lady that can put up with me. But….she's at her mother's for a couple of weeks….and the house gets too quiet without her and the kids."
"You have kids? How many?"
"Two. Both boys. What about you?"
"I'm not married…no kids….at least none anyone has ever let me know about…"
Mike chuckled again and tossed his toothpick into the ashtray on the bar. "So what about you and Dr. Cavanaugh?"
"Me and Jordan?"
"Yeah…you and Jordan. I mean, if you don't mind me saying….it's kind of apparent you both have the hots for one another…but the truck ain't pulling its load in that situation, if you know what I mean…" Mike eyed Woody with an understanding glint in his eye.
Woody took another gulp of Scotch, letting the liquid burn its way down his throat and loosen his tongue. "We….we had an argument."
"And I went through all that trouble of getting you one hotel room with that heart-shaped bed for nothing…"
Woody looked at the sheriff in surprise, but saw Mike's teasing expression answering him back. "Whose fault was it?" Mike asked.
"Mine…" Woody gave Mike the brief rundown of their history…his shooting….Jordan's declaration of love…him running her out of his hospital bed and his life…then the house blowing up and Jordan saving his life…and what she said afterwards.
Mike let out a low whistle. "So … after all that…you two can't get together?"
"She loves me….she still does….she's just afraid of getting hurt again…by me. I can't say I blame her. I haven't been the nicest person to her…I was trying to get over her when I realized I couldn't, because I love her too much…" Woody sighed.
"She's told you she still loves you…but is afraid you'll hurt her again?"
"Yeah."
"Can't say as I blame her."
Woody looked at Mike with disbelieving eyes. One of the reasons a man comes to a bar after a discussion like this with a woman is to get mutual support from his male friends….Mike wasn't playing that game.
"How is the lady supposed to feel?" Mike continued. "You shut her down and she's supposed to open back up just because you changed your mind? Even if she does still really love you, she's not going to set herself up to be hurt again. Sounds too smart for that. You're going to have to prove yourself, buddy. And good luck. She sounds too intelligent just to believe any cockamamie bullshit story you can hand her." Mike pulled away from his place on the bar and started to walk off.
"What am I supposed to do, Mike?" Woody called out after him, a note of near panic in his voice.
"Well….I can tell you what I did in a situation similar to that…."
"I'm all ears…."
Mike walked back over to where Woody was and sat on the bar stool next to him. "Cindy…that's my wife…and I went through a rough patch before we got married. I had been single a while…I had traveled with State, playing football. And like a lot of jocks, I had my choice of women…but every time I came back home…here…the Outer Banks…I always went out of my way to see her. Talk to her. She was a pretty, little thing…the kind that gets into your heart and just won't leave…" Mike smiled at the memory. "I guess I knew…and she did, too… that we'd end up together at some point. But Cindy was worried that somewhere along the way, I'd find greener pastures…leave her…or ask her to leave…I had to do some serious talking and dancing to get her to realize that she was the only one for me…"
"So what'd you do?"
Mike eyed the detective. Woody seemed serious…and it was apparent that he was serious about Dr. Cavanaugh. In conspiratorial whispers, out of the earshot of bar patrons, he explained what he did to convince Cindy that she was the only one…the most exciting woman in his life and he would never want another.
"And that's what I did…" Mike concluded.
"And she went along with it?" Woody shook his head. He couldn't picture Jordan …
"Well…she kind of was taken back at first….but yeah, she went along with it…" Mike grinned from ear to ear. "Think you're man enough to handle it?"
"Oh yeah. That's not a question. But how do I set that up here…I don't know anyone in North Carolina but you…"
"Leave the details to me. I won't do you wrong. But once you get her in that room, it's up to you to make her want to stay there. And how you handle things when you get back to Boston will determine if she's woman enough to want to believe you…"
"Then it's a done deal. Thanks, Mike." Woody shook hands with the sheriff
"Don't mention it….it's the least I can do. And good luck."
An hour and another round of Johnnie Walker later, Woody quietly let himself back into the "Porn Fest" to find Jordan sound asleep, still on her side, tuned away from him, hugging her pillow. He smiled down at her as he silently undressed, stripping to his boxers before he joined her in the bed, careful to stay on his side, but turned towards her to watch her sleep. If all went well, tomorrow night at this time, she would believe him…he drifted off into an alcohol induced sleep…wondering if she would really be receptive…she loved him. She said as much. He just needed to convince her that she was the only one for him and he couldn't live without her….
Those thoughts ran through his mind as his eyelids shut and unconsciousness claimed him…until he heard Jordan groan in her sleep and begin to move around.
At first he thought she had forgotten where she was at…but that wasn't it. It wasn't until he heard her call out "Woody!" and sit straight up in bed that he realized she was having a bad dream.
"Hey….whoa….it's okay…here I am…." He tugged her arm to turn her towards him. "It's just a bad dream…" Even in the dim light of the room, he could see her wide eyes and knew that a thin sheen of sweat covered her.
"Woody…" her voice trailed off and she flopped back down on the bed, this time rolling to her stomach. "Oh, God…"
"What's the matter, Jo? You've obviously had a bad dream. Want to talk about it?" Hesitantly he reached over and began to rub her back. She didn't push him away.
It was the same dream that woke her nearly every night. She didn't get him out of the building...he had died…and was lost to her forever. She gasped and at the same time prayed he wouldn't stop rubbing her back…reassuring her that he was there….alive…warm…in the same bed as she was. "The house…" she began softly, the terror still evident in her voice.
"What about the house?" He had to lean over her closely to hear her whispers.
"I didn't get you out in time…" This time he heard tears.
"But you did," Woody said, and rolled her over to face him. "You did get me out in time…I'm here, alive and well." He reached out and found one of her hands and placed it on his bare chest over his beating heart to prove it to her.
She felt the shock down to her toes that promptly curled in reaction to the sensation of his bare skin. Damn… she thought. Why in God's name didn't he at least put on a t-shirt with his sleep pants?
"Jordan? You okay?"
It's gotta be this room….the Porn Fest… "Yeah…I just keep dreaming I didn't get you and Cal out in time…" her voice did catch at the memory…
"Do you have these dreams often?"
She nodded, trying to add up all the hours of sleep she had lost over the nightmare.
"I know how you feel…I do…after the shooting…I had nightmares for months." He smiled at her, then, brushing the hair from off of her forehead. "Tell you what…tonight…no more dreams." He pulled her to him, but rolled her over to her side so her back was to his chest. "This way, you know I'm here…" One arm wound it's way around her waist. "So no more nightmares…" He lay back down and cuddled her close. "This better?"
Wordlessly she nodded, her eyes wide….Woody was wearing boxers…and….Damn the man…doesn't he know what sleep pants are?
Her eyes didn't shut again for hours later.
