Twins Under His Tree (13 page)

“Fine,” she said agreeably. “We don't have to argue. I'm merely making a few observations.” Then stepping even closer to him, laying her hand gently on his tight jaw, she whispered, “I care about you.”

The tension in his body was obvious in his granite-like expression, the squareness of his shoulders, his legs defensively widened. Did it come from more than this interchange between them? After all, although he'd never admit it, this had to have been an emotional day for him.

Looking deeply into her eyes, he seemed to try to see to her very essence. She stood silent, holding her breath.

Then he covered her hand with his. They stood that way for what seemed like hours. The ice maker in the freezer rumbled as it made new ice. The heating system pinged as it battled against the cold night. Lily could feel the pulse in Mitch's jaw jumping under her palm.

Finally he dropped his hand and wrapped his arms around her. When he kissed her, his raw hunger excited her need, ratcheted up the desire that had been building
between them, told them both that coming together again would be an explosion of passion.

After Mitch broke the kiss, he leaned away slightly and asked, “Will you stay tonight?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” she replied a bit shakily.

 

Moments later, sitting on the corner of the bed in Mitch's room, her earrings in her palm, Lily ended her call with Ellie. She'd switched on one of the dresser lamps when she'd entered. Now as she glanced around, she saw Mitch's minimalist taste reflected here, too. The bed's headboard was dark pecan, as were the dresser, chest and nightstands. The lamps were a combination of wood and black iron, with the dresser top uncluttered. Yet the multicolored rug beside the bed looked handwoven. The afghan on top of the brown suede-like spread seemed to be hand-knitted.

Rising to her feet, she walked to the dresser and laid her phone and earrings there. She hadn't packed an overnight bag. Because she hadn't wanted to think tonight was a sure thing?

When Mitch entered the room, her body knew it. She didn't turn around but rather raised her gaze in the mirror.

He came up behind her, his eyes on hers. “Everything's okay at home?”

She nodded.

Sliding his arms around her, he pulled her tight against him. “We both smell like wood smoke,” he growled against her ear.

Feeling him strong and hard against her body, excitement coursed through her. Her breaths became more
shallow, and already she was tingling in the places she imagined he might touch.

“Wood smoke can be sexy,” she teased lightly.

“
You're
sexy,” he returned, his hands covering her breasts.

Lily trembled from head to toe. At that moment her need for Mitch was go great, she felt she could melt in his hands. Even though she'd stopped breast-feeding, her breasts had remained larger than they once were. Now as they lay cupped in Mitch's palms, she was grateful for every sensation, every nuance of feeling. Yet she understood that feeling would be so much greater with her clothes
off.

“Undress me,” she requested with an urgency that Mitch could obviously hear.

His low chuckle vibrated against her back. “Sometimes making out can be more scintillating with your clothes on.” His hands moved down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans.

“Aren't we going to do more than make out?” she asked.

His answer was rough against her ear. “Eventually.”

Mitch's foreplay was driving her crazy. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed with him, their bodies naked and exposed to each other's hands and mouths.

Before she realized what Mitch was going to do, her jeans were around her hips, held up by his thighs. His hands slid inside her panties and cupped her. She'd never felt like this—on the verge of an orgasm without even a kiss.

“Do you know how often our first time together
plays in my mind?” he asked with an erotic rasp to his words.

She had those same pictures in her mind. The continuous loop the visions made came to her at odd times and could make her blush.

His finger slipped inside of her and she moaned, needing to turn and face him.

But he wouldn't let her. “Watch in the mirror,” he commanded.

There was something so sensual about what they were doing, and the way they were doing it. She'd never watched herself enjoy pleasure. When she lifted her gaze to his and stared at their reflection, his fingers started moving again. Her breath caught. She stared into his eyes as her body tensed and then released in swirls of muscle-melting sensations.

After the orgasmic release, she lay her head back against his shoulder. He held her tightly.

After a few moments of letting her catch her breath, he said, “Let's take off those boots. They make your legs look like a million bucks, but I think they could be dangerous in bed.”

They undressed each other beside the bed, and this time—unlike the first—they did it by the glow of the lamp. If Mitch had given her pleasure to blunt the experience of what she was about to see, it hadn't worked. All of her senses seemed even more sensitive to everything that was revealed. His body was hard and muscled and strong, attesting to his workouts. Silky black chest hair formed a Y, arrowing down his flat stomach, around his navel. But red scars from surgery streaked his side. The heel of her hand slid over them as she sifted her fingers through his chest hair.

“Lily,” he breathed, “we can just get in bed—”

“No.”

She wanted to see. She wanted to know. She needed to feel.

His shoulder and arm were mottled with zigzagging scars, bumps and ridges, and she could only imagine the pain of his injury. She kissed the arm that he kept covered the whole way down to his wrist. Then she took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips.

He again murmured, “Lily—”

He'd undressed her first, but now she finished undressing him. When he kicked his jeans and briefs aside, she rested her hands on his hips and gazed up into his eyes.

Then he was kissing her and his tongue was in her mouth and hers was in his. She couldn't seem to reach far enough to explore or hold him tight enough against her to hear the beat of his heart. She wasn't even sure how they managed moving, but they fell or rolled onto the bed, so hungry for each other they didn't have enough words or touches to express it. Mitch's fingertips stroked her face. Her hand passed down his thigh and cupped his arousal. They were frantic to kiss each other all over, to explore erogenous zones, to stoke their desire to the limit. Mitch's scent had become familiar to her and now it was like an aphrodisiac she couldn't get enough of. The intensity of their foreplay made her body glisten, her heart race, her limbs quiver in anticipation of release. She didn't want to admit how, at that moment, Mitch blotted out everything else in her world. She didn't want to admit to having this mindless passion she'd never felt before. Yet she had to face what was
happening, how deeply she was falling, how inexorable their attraction was.

“I need you,” she confessed with sudden tears closing her throat.

Mitch reached for a condom, prepared himself, then rose above her. He took her hands, one on either side of her head, and interlocked his fingers with hers. When she raised her knees, he entered her with a thrust of possession that made her gasp. Her climax began building from the first stroke. She wrapped her legs around him, swimming in pleasure that was bigger than the ocean, wider than the universe, higher than heaven.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” Mitch commanded, and she knew why. He wanted her to make sure she knew who he was.

“Mitch,” she cried, assuring him she did.

His rhythm became faster. She took him deeper. The explosion that rocked them both should have blown the roof off the house.

But it didn't. It simply left them both breathless and gasping and exhausted from a union that had been months in the making.

Lily lowered her legs, loving the feel of Mitch's body on hers. She wanted to postpone the “where do we go from here” moment for as long as she could.

 

At first, Lily didn't know what had awakened her. A shout. Groans.

Mitch wasn't in bed with her.

Another shout and she finally was alert enough to know what was happening.

She grabbed Mitch's flannel shirt from a chair and slipped it on as she ran from his bedroom to the guest
bedroom next door. Mitch was thrashing in the bed, calling a name—Larry. He was drenched in sweat, breathing hard, eyes open but unseeing.

Lily had learned about post-traumatic stress disorder but didn't know whether to awaken him, or whether to get too close. She'd read about the cut with reality that occurred when flashbacks became more real than life itself. What had triggered this? Being with fellow servicemen who knew what war was about? Sitting around the fire? Talking about surface life yet never going too deep?

Grabbing the metal waste can, she banged it against a tall, wrought-iron floor lamp. The noise was loud and seemed to penetrate Mitch's nightmare. He sat up, eyes open with awareness now, and stared at her still holding the waste can.

When he passed his hands down his face, rubbed his eyes and forehead as if to try to erase everything he'd just seen, she slid into the bed beside him and attempted to fold her arms around him.

He prevented her from doing that and pushed away.

“Everything's fine now, Mitch. I'm here.”

“Your being here doesn't change what happened over there.” His voice was gravelly with regret, sadness and too many memories.

“Maybe it's time you tell me about it.”

“You don't want to hear this, Lily.”

When she clasped his shoulder, he flinched, but she didn't remove her hand. “I might not want to hear it, but you need to say it out loud. You need to talk to somebody about it, and right now I think I'm the best person. Just stop fighting your subconscious, Mitch, and let it out.”

“Do you think talking about it is going to take away the nightmares? Get
real,
Lily.”

“I don't know if talking about your experience will take away anything. I suppose it could make memories worse for a while. But suffering in silence isn't the answer, either.”

In that silence Lily could hear Mitch's breathing, still not quite as regular as usual. She could feel his doubt, as if revealing
anything
could make his nightmares worse. But she sat there steadfastly, her hand on his shoulder.

His voice was detached when he said, “I got used to the scud alerts, the bunkers, the MREs. It's amazing what can become normal. I not only cared for our soldiers, but for Iraqis too, many of them children with shrapnel injuries. The sound of artillery shots and mortars coming back at us became a backdrop.”

Stopping, he seemed to prepare himself for remembering. Sending her a look that said he didn't want to do this and he was going to get it over with quickly, he continued, “We had spent a couple of days cross-training with ambulance teams, going over procedures. We slept when we could catch minutes, sometimes an hour.”

After a quiet so prolonged she didn't know if he'd continue, he did. The nerve in his jaw worked and she could hear the strain in his voice when he said, “I was traveling in a convoy when RPGs came at us. The next thing I knew we'd hit an IED.”

Lily was familiar with the military speaking in acronyms. RPG stood for rocket propelled grenade…IED, improvised explosive device.

Mitch's face took on a gray pallor as he forced himself to go on. “Blood was
everywhere.
” His voice lowered. “The man beside me was…gone. At that point I didn't
realize the extent of my injuries, because adrenaline raced so fast I didn't think about anything except helping anybody who was hurt. My ears rang, though. And rounds were still bouncing off the Humvee even though it was burning. I helped two men from the vehicle, but I saw others who'd been tossed out by the explosion. There was fire all around. I spotted Larry and somehow reached him. He had a hole in his thigh—the femoral vein—” Mitch closed his eyes. “Tony covered me with an M16. All I could think of was that I had to stop the bleeding. I
had
to stop it. What seemed like wild shots zinged over my head. Everything was on fire,” he said again. “So I threw my body over his. I heard a muffled yell. I finally saw part of the Humvee had been blown away from the fire. I dragged Larry behind it. Someone handed me a piece of a shirt. I tried to staunch the blood. Then I…must have blacked out.”

Mitch took a deep breath…stared away from her…into the past. “I had recollections of the medevac, but other than that, the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital in Germany, my spleen gone, internal injuries repaired, a pin in my shoulder and another in my leg.”

By the time Mitch finished, tears ran down Lily's cheeks. She hurt
for
him and
with
him and couldn't even fathom living with his memories. She wrapped her arms around him, and he was rigid with resistance. Yet she kept holding on and wouldn't let go.

“Larry died,” he said, his voice rough. “Larry died.”

Leaning her head against his, she didn't even breathe. After what seemed like an eon, she murmured, “Don't send me away. Let me sleep here with you.”

Whether Mitch was too exhausted to protest, too
awash in the past to care, he slid down under the covers, letting her hold on.

She didn't fall asleep again until she heard the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. Then she let herself slumber with him, knowing morning would come sooner than they both wanted.

I
n the morning everything always looked different.

That's what Lily thought as she awakened, reached across the guest room bed and found that Mitch was gone.

He'd slept in the bed with her most of the night. She'd awakened a couple of times and cuddled close to him with her head on his shoulder. He'd been asleep then…she could tell. But something had made him leave now and she had to admit to herself that that was her biggest fear—that he would leave. If not physically, then emotionally.

Their physical reunion last night had been spectacular. What he'd shared with her about Iraq had been wrenching. Did he have regrets about that now? Was that why he'd left the bed?

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was 7:00 a.m.
She knew he was meeting his friends at the bed-and-breakfast for brunch, but that wasn't until ten o'clock. She caught up the flannel shirt she'd discarded last night and slipped it on. She'd shower and dress after she found out where Mitch had gone.

After she buttoned his shirt from neckline to hem, she realized how silly that was. She certainly hadn't been so modest last night. She'd never felt so wanton or so free…so hungry or so sexual.

Sunlight poured in the hall skylight, a new, bright December day with Christmas right around the corner. What gift could she get Mitch?

She hated feeling uncertain like this. She hated not knowing how deep his feelings ran. Were they just having an affair?

That possibility made her heartsick.

She smelled the aroma of coffee and heard Mitch's voice before she saw him. He was pacing the kitchen, talking on his cell phone. He went to the French doors and looked out as he listened.

Spotting his jacket around the kitchen chair, a mug of coffee half gone, she wondered if he'd sat outside this morning in the cold before he'd come in to make his phone call. Who was he talking to? Jimmy? Matt?

Then she heard him say, “Dr. Dolman, I appreciate what you're saying. I searched your articles online this morning.” There was a pause. “Yes, that too. I trust Matt. But I wanted to check out your credentials for myself.”

Dr. Dolman. The surgeon who could possibly repair Mitch's hand. If Mitch was going to talk to him, why hadn't he discussed it with her? Why had he disappeared from the bed without a “good morning” or a kiss? Last
night had meant the world to her. Decisions they each made would affect the other's life. Unless they weren't really “together.” Unless last night hadn't meant what she thought it did.

She felt hurt and knew she shouldn't. This was
his
life. This was
his
decision. But she did feel let down. She'd thought last night they'd gotten closer than any two people could get.

Mitch sensed her presence and turned, finding her in the doorway. For a moment their gazes met, but then his mind was on the conversation again and he looked away, shutting her out.

At least that's the way it felt. She wouldn't eavesdrop if he didn't want her there.

She returned to the master bedroom and bath, catching the scent of Mitch's soap still lingering in the shower. She'd thought maybe they could shower together this morning. She'd thought—

Stop it,
she chastised herself. Disappointment pressed against her heart as she showered quickly, found a blow dryer under Mitch's sink and blew most of the wetness from her hair. She'd dressed and was picking up her own phone to call the Victorian when she heard Mitch coming down the hall.

She closed her phone and waited.

He saw her standing there with it in her hand. “How are the twins?”

“I don't know. I haven't called yet.”

The intimacy they'd shared last night seemed to have been lost. The electric buzz between them was still there, but there was nothing comfortable about it. She kept quiet to let him choose the first topic for discussion.

He asked, “You overheard some of my conversation?”

“Not much. Just the name of the doctor Matt told you about last night.”

“Dr. Dolman.”

She nodded.

“I was up early, went outside and did a ton of thinking.”

She wanted to ask,
About us?
But that obviously wasn't what was on his mind.

“I thought about everything Matt said. He thinks I have survivor guilt.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“Hell, I don't know. But I did think about why I wouldn't want to get my hand fixed. Yes, there could be more damage. But it also has to do with the life change I made.”

“In other words, why rock the boat?” she inquired.

“Exactly. Yet I've never been a half-measure person. Why in this?”

There were only about three feet between them but it seemed like so much more.

He went on. “Dr. Dolman's success rate is outstanding. I made an appointment with him for Tuesday afternoon.”

Tuesday was Mitch's day off. He could reserve an early flight and be in Houston before noon.

“I see,” she said.

Tilting his head, he studied her. “I thought you'd be happy about it.” She
was
terrifically pleased he'd made the decision. “I am. But why didn't you wake me up to talk about it? Why did you leave and cut off the closeness we'd
shared? Why didn't you think I'd want to be part of whatever you decided?”

His back became straighter, his stance a little wider, as if he had a position to defend. “Why do you think?”

“I'm not at all sure.”

“You're insightful, Lily. Take a guess.”

“Mitch…”

“No woman has ever touched my scars.
You
did. No woman has ever seen me in the throes of one of my nightmares.
You
did. I never told a civilian back here what happened over there. But I told
you.
If I had stayed in that bed this morning and you'd opened your eyes and I'd seen pity or worse yet, dismay, that even after all these years I still haven't gotten a handle on my own subconscious—” He stopped abruptly. “I just didn't want to have to deal with that.”

She didn't know what to say. There were so many levels to his statement. She didn't know how to separate it into all the aspects they needed to examine.

So she stated what was obvious to her. “Why would I feel pity? Mitch, you're a decorated hero. You were awarded a Silver Star, a Purple—”

“I'm
not
a hero. I didn't save Larry's life.”

“No, but you tried. You risked
your
life.”

“Results matter…in surgery, in helping couples conceive, in life.”

Shaking her head, she sank down onto the corner of the bed, hoping he'd do the same. “You expect too much of yourself. And maybe you don't expect enough of me.”

“Maybe that's because I think in your mind you're still married.”

His words struck her hard and stole her breath. “Did I act like I was still married last night?”

“Did you feel guilt afterwards?”

“No, I didn't,” she said almost angrily.

Then he looked down at her hand in her lap. “Then why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”

“This is about my
ring?
You're jealous because I can't forget my husband?”

“I'm
not
jealous,” Mitch protested with a vehemence she almost believed. “It's not about that,” he concluded. “It's about your ability to let go of Troy so you have something with me.”

The thought of letting go of Troy absolutely panicked her! If she let go, didn't that mean their love hadn't been very strong? If she let go, didn't that mean Sophie and Grace would never know their real dad? If she let go, and Mitch left, what would she have then?

He must have seen the color drain from her face. He must have seen how shaken she was, because he covered the few feet between them and clasped her shoulder.

But his touch, which still sent scalding heat through her body, activated her. She stood and pulled away from him. “I have to go home to Sophie and Grace.”

“I know you do.” His voice had lost its edge and was gentler than she expected. “But this is something we've needed to discuss and haven't.”

“I thought we were discussing your surgery.” Her feelings for Mitch had been simpler when the focus was on
him.

“If I have surgery, I'm doing it to move on. You say you want to move on, but I don't know if that's really true.”

She was stymied for a response and didn't know what he wanted from her.

“Why don't you go home, get the twins and meet me at the bed-and-breakfast for brunch?”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” The words reflexively spilled from her. “Why not?”

“Because…because I don't know what kind of night they had. I don't know if they're fussy or content. I should have called first thing and I didn't.”

“Why didn't you?” he probed.

Because you were on my mind,
she thought. “Because you left and I didn't know why.”

“I only went as far as the kitchen.”

Maybe that was true, but it hadn't felt that way at the time.

“I need to go,” she whispered. More than anything, she needed to hold Sophie and Grace. To kiss them. To feel the bond she had with them.

Seeming to understand that, Mitch nodded. “Okay. I'll help you carry your things to the car.”

Lily felt shell-shocked…as if her whole world had just crashed in. Mitch had turned the tables so effectively she didn't know who was more conflicted…or which one of them could figure out where they could go from here.

 

On Tuesday evening Lily sat at the kitchen table with evergreen boughs, ribbon and gold bells spread across newspaper. She was making a wreath for the front door while Angie and Ellie added more Christmas touches to the rest of the house. The last time she'd looked they were arranging a nativity set on the table by the sofa.

When the phone rang, she called into them, “I'll get it,” went to the counter and picked up the cordless. The caller ID simply read Out of Area without a number.

“Hello,” she answered, afraid to hope the caller was Mitch. Yesterday he'd been busy at the office tying up loose ends, cramming appointments together, going over histories of his patients with Jon and Hillary in case he got tied up in Houston. When she'd asked him about the brunch, he'd said everyone hated to leave the bed-and-breakfast, but they all had to get back to their lives. He'd given her one of those “Mitch” looks that was intense and full of meaning.

But then Jon had buzzed him and he'd rushed off. He didn't seem to be shutting her out, yet he didn't seem to be waiting for anything from her, either.

Before she'd left for the day, she'd placed a note on his desk, wishing him luck.

“Lily, it's Mitch. Are you tied up?”

She wanted to say,
Yes, my stomach's tied in knots and I'm worried about you.
Instead, she replied, “Sophie and Grace are sleeping. Ellie, Angie and I are decorating.”

“I wanted to let you know Dr. Dolman believes I'm a good candidate for surgery. He has a slot open on Friday afternoon, so I'm going to stay, have some tests and then let him operate.”

“That soon?” she murmured.

“I had to make a decision, Lily. This surgery will either work or it won't. One way or another, I'll know, and I'll adjust my life accordingly.”

That's what Mitch did. He adjusted his life to fit whatever happened to him. His history had shown her that. He was a decisive, confident man who didn't stall
or procrastinate or wait…unless waiting fit into the big picture. How long would he wait for her? Maybe his patience had already come to an end.

“Anyway, I'm staying at the Longhorn Inn. Matt said I could crash at his place, but he's starting a three-day rotation and will be tied up. I wanted to give you the number where I'll be in case my cell is out of reach. Got a pen and paper?”

She grabbed a pen and tablet from the counter. “Go ahead.” She jotted down the number he gave her. “How long will you be in Houston after your surgery?”

“I'll be discharged the next day, but Matt wants me to give it forty-eight hours until I fly. If all goes well, I'll be back Monday. I can do physical therapy in Lubbock.”

If all goes well.

“What about after you're discharged? Doesn't someone have to be with you?”

“I'll be fine, Lily. Matt said he'll have one of his doc friends check on me.”

She hated the fact Mitch was going through this practically alone. Like most men, he probably didn't want anyone to see him when he wasn't at his best. But she didn't like the idea he'd be alone after surgery. She didn't like the idea that he was in Houston alone now.

After a long silence, Mitch asked, “So, did you put up a Christmas tree?”

“Yes, we did. Complete with a lighted star on top. Sophie and Grace haven't seen it yet, though. When they wake up they won't know what to think.”

“You're lucky they're not walking yet. You can still keep most things out of their reach.”

“Except for the tree. Angie hung ornaments that wouldn't break on the bottom. I have a feeling they'll
have a few tantrums until they realize they can't touch it.”

“They have to learn boundaries.”

There was a commotion on Mitch's end. “Someone's at my door, Lily. It's probably room service.”

“You're just having dinner?”

“After the consultation, I talked to Matt and then drove around for a while. I needed to…think. I wasn't hungry then. But after I got back and showered, the idea of food sounded good.”

“I won't keep you then.”

“I'm sorry you're going to have a heavier load this week because of my being away.”

“Don't be concerned about that, Mitch. Hillary and Jon and I will be fine.”