Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs Page 23

  Several of the other SEALs came over and shook his hand. Jameson noticed that they all laid their money down on the tables, ignoring the tab that was supposed to be on him. They were quietly making their way out toward the doorway when he heard one of the men say, “Hey, Red. How’s that ankle?”

  Her face pinkened as she addressed the group, not sure who had called her out. “I’m fine. I told you guys last night I’m fine.”

  “That you are, sweetheart,” the same SEAL answered back. “Here I just met the love of my life, and I gotta leave her behind.” Several of the others patted him on the back as they began filing outside.

  Kyle, their leader, was last to shake Jameson’s hand. “You get tired of picking this guitar and playing for whiskey, you come out and visit us some time. We’ll show you some clubs you could do well in. ’Course, it’s not Nashville. And the girls, well they’re pretty, but not as pretty as this little one here,” he nodded to the redhead. She blushed.

  Jameson accepted a card from Kyle. “Thanks, man. Appreciate that. If I ever venture out that way, I’ll look you up.”

  “You do that. We’ll go do man things, jump out of airplanes an’ shit—pardon me, ma’am.” Kyle bent to acknowledge her. “Until then, you break a leg, or don’t they say that in the music business?”

  “Nah. We just say, ‘Give ’em hell.’”

  “That’s what they tell us, too, and that’s pretty much what we do, I guess,” Kyle answered with his wide smile and affable manner. Jameson liked the man instantly. He was a leader without being obnoxious or pushy. He was a fresh drink of water to some of the types he’d had to listen to and be around. In the music industry, a smile might not really be a smile, a handshake not really an agreement between two honorable men, in a town where you didn’t really know who to trust and who was stealing from you, where robbery of the soul was as commonplace as hookups at bars and as certain as the bevy of women only too willing to stoke the fires of a young man’s ego.

  Kyle made an unremarkable exit and was just gone. That left him standing behind with the redhead. Thomas had said his goodbyes earlier and headed over to the bar.

  He focused on the lady standing by his side. She smelled wonderful, looked soft and warm as a country kitchen. She was very pretty, without much makeup, which he preferred, and as he studied her blue-green eyes, he was affected by the gentle way about her that was soothing, not asking or expecting too much of him.

  The crowd was becoming drunker, boisterous belly laughs piercing the smoke-filled space, and he didn’t like the fact that Arlen wasn’t anywhere around. Remembering the trouble that had occurred last night made him more than a little concerned.

  “I’d offer you a drink, but I’m needing to leave this crowd. You wanna come back to my place for a bit?” It was the first time he’d actually asked a girl to his room. Her eyes angled down, hesitating, so he decided to let her off easy, if that’s what she wanted. “Oh, it’s all right, darlin’, no offense. I didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe I’ll see you around another time.”

  Her face came to pretty attention. “No, that wasn’t it. I’d be happy to have a drink with you at your place.”

  He gave her the room number and the name of the hotel.

  Back at the hotel, Jameson took the card from his wallet and flicked it back and forth between his fingers a few times. He didn’t believe in coincidence. There was some reason he was meant to meet these men tonight. Kicking off his cowboy boots, he opened a fresh bottled water without opening the minibar. A part of him just wanted a shower and a deep sleep. If she took too long coming over, he would be asleep in his clothes. He sat in the reading chair at the corner, staring at his TV, but without turning it on, listening to the words playing around in his head.

  The gentle knock on the door jolted him awake. He had fallen asleep for just a few seconds. In his stocking feet, he turned the handle and found the redhead standing in front of him.

  “Hi, Jameson.”

  “Come on in,” he said, like he always did when he saw a pretty woman standing there.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, which was different. She still had the strap of her purse over her shoulder, which made him wonder if she was planning on bolting or staying.

  “You want something?”

  “Something strong.”

  That nabbed his interest, so he chuckled. “Okay. Needing an ounce of courage, are we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” he turned in her direction to make sure it was the same girl he’d thought he’d let in. He opened the minibar. “We got vodka, orange juice. I got Jim Beam, little bottles of crummy wine, some beer, or what’s—”

  “I’ll have the Jim Beam.”

  “Okay, I’ll join you. You wanna wait here while I go for some ice?”

  “Only if you want it. I’m fine.”

  He started to walk toward the bathroom to fetch a couple of glasses when she stopped him. “Just give me the Jim Beam.” She stood, extending her arm.

  He did. She screwed the top off, toasted her tiny bottle to his tiny bottle, and downed the whole thing in one long gulp. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, and as he watched her, he could feel how the liquor was flowing down her spine. She resumed her seat on the bed. He was left standing without having touched his liquor, he was so stunned.

  “I need to take your temperature, darlin’. Am I that bad?”

  “No, don’t be silly.”

  “Maybe you misunderstood my intentions, and if I need to apologize, I’m game. You mind telling me what’s so hard about being here that you have to take a drink before you can talk or anything? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She kicked off her shoes, which made him feel a little bit better.

  “Come, sit. Here.” She patted the bed next to her.

  He took a seat in the reading chair several feet away from her and waited. He wasn’t sure he was going to like what was coming next.

  “Jameson, you obviously don’t remember me.”

  Jameson’s full attention was on the little lady now. “I’m sorry, but, no, I—”

  “I know. Too many women, too many shows, and too many towns. How could you keep them all straight?”

  “I think I’d remember you. So what you’re saying is that you and I—”

  “Yes. Several times. At my parent’s ranch, too, in North Carolina.”

  The fog began to clear. “That was a long time—” He stopped and tried to remember her, and did. But she was a blonde then. And yes, she was the one from Charlotte. “Lizzie?”

  She nodded, examining her fingers entwined in her lap. She wasn’t smiling when she looked up at him. “Good. I’m glad at least you remember.”

  “Of course I remember. One of the best weeks of my life. Your dad and mom were so nice to me.”

  She examined her hands again. “Both gone now, sorry to say.”

  He came over to her and kneeled in front, placing his hands on her upper arms and rubbed her gently. “I’m so sorry, honey. It’s the red hair. I never would have recognized you if you hadn’t told me.”

  He took her hands in his and pulled her fingers to his mouth, kissing them. She eyed him carefully as if thinking about bolting. He dropped her hands, but stayed kneeling in front of her.

  “How’ve you been, honey?”

  “I’ve been well. My folks passing has left me enough to have a little house in the country. I sold the horse ranch.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, I’m not. I mean, it reminded me too much of them. I just couldn’t keep it.”

  “I’m so glad you looked me up. I always wondered whatever happened to you. Thought maybe I’d see you sometime on the road.”

  “No, Jameson. I don’t do that. I’m not into taking numbers and waiting in line, even though it’s feeling a little like that now.”

  “Wait a minute, honey, I asked you here tonight, remember?”

  “Well, maybe you’re gonna reconsi
der this after what I have to tell you. I just wanted a quiet place to be able to have this conversation.”

  “What is it, honey?” His hand lay on top of hers still folded in her lap. His thumb rubbed her forefinger. Then he brought her palm up to his lips and kissed her tenderly again, her familiar soft scent opening up something he’d buried.

  “You have a daughter, Jameson.”

  He stood, the shock of it sending him reeling.

  “How is that possible?”

  She angled her head and squinted, staring up at him. “Really? You don’t understand how it works?”

  “Well, I thought we—” He began to pace, rubbing the back of his neck. The room seemed extra warm, and he could smell faint traces of cigarette smoke that weren’t supposed to be in a non-smoking room. When he didn’t wake up from his dream, he stopped in front of her. “How old is she?”

  “She’s three. She was conceived that week we were at the ranch, I’m pretty sure.” At last a smile formed on her pretty face. “She’s lovely, Jameson. She looks just like you. She has your eyes.”

  “Why didn’t you come find me?”

  “I’m just doing good being here now, talking to you. I was prepared to spend the rest of my life and never tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I guess I didn’t want to know that you might not be happy about it. I still don’t know how you feel about it. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know. I’m not asking you to marry me or meet her or take any responsibility for her. My life has been fine as a single mother, and having her has been the greatest joy of my life, honest. It’s all good.”

  “I wish you had told me. It wasn’t fair you had to go through all that alone.”

  She inhaled deep and then spewed it out. “I’m not lying; it was hard. Nearly broke my father’s heart, too, when I told him I wasn’t going to see you and make any claims. He thought you’d want to know. I think that’s probably why I’m here tonight. Whatever happens, Jameson, I’m glad I had her. She is the love of my life. She doesn’t have to be a part of yours. That’s not why I’m here. I just wanted you to know.”

  She stood up to go.

  “Wait. You’ve just come here to tell me this? Now you want to leave?”

  “Of course. I never came to rekindle anything we really didn’t have in the first place, Jameson.”

  “We spent a wonderful week together, Lizzie. It was special for me.” He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. “Lizzie, I was crazy about you. Do you know I wrote songs about you?”

  She accepted his embrace, but didn’t intensify it. “I’ve wondered about that. Anyway, thanks for being such a good sport.”

  “Good sport? Are you kidding? I’m a father.”

  “But not if you don’t want to be.”

  “Not a question of what I want. I am a father.” He pulled back, placing his fingers under her chin and lifting her lips to his, and whispered to her softly, “Thank you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Their lips touched, and as they rubbed against each other, he remembered the spark that had become that beautiful bonfire between them.

  “My folks were wonderful. They loved her, right up until the day they died. They were killed in a car accident two years ago. It’s taken me this long to adjust, get my affairs in order, and then I knew I had to face this. I wasn’t sure I’d be strong enough to see you disappointed or angry with me.”

  “How could I ever be disappointed, Lizzie? Just not possible.”

  He would have made moves on her, perhaps try to encourage her to stay, but he didn’t want to manipulate her. She’d already suffered with the consequences of his poor decisions earlier. He certainly didn’t trust himself now. But he knew he didn’t want her to walk out of his life again.

  “Stay. Stay with me tonight, Lizzie. No sex. I’m not asking that. Just let me hold you? Please?”

  In the awkward silence, after he’d asked her for the third time, she agreed.

  She left her underwear on, and he left his red, white, and blue boxers on. He slipped under the covers in the darkness, and she came to him, fitting perfectly in his arms. He kissed her forehead and felt the tears flow down onto his shoulder when she laid her head against him. His thigh touched hers in a natural movement she didn’t pull away from. Unforced, his arms encircling her, holding her shaking body, he was at peace with the world and suddenly grounded like he’d never been before.

  It had been a day of firsts and was continuing to be so. Everything about today had been unexpected. And now he was a father.

  Would he be able to stretch his heart to include her, as well as the woman in his arms who had borne him that child? He knew his life would never be the same.

  Chapter 8

  ‡

  She woke up alone in a strange-smelling bed, knowing it wasn’t hers. And then she remembered. Morning sunlight streaked through the window to her right. The chair in the corner was in shadows, and someone was sitting there in a pair of red, white, and blue boxers, bare chested.

  Jameson.

  She didn’t move a muscle, just let the view of him wash over her, felt her heart beat faster. He was in repose, with one leg crossed over his other knee, left hand playing an imaginary keyboard on the arm of the overstuffed chair. His right bent at the elbow, long fingers moving slowly back and forth across his lips, his eyes calculating, searching something he saw or something inside him. She wasn’t sure he could tell she’d opened her eyes, but she deliciously stole the seconds watching him in the early morning light.

  She hoped he was thinking about her, but realized he probably was considering all the information she’d given him. He’d been a gentleman last night. He never once made a gesture to slide his fingers somewhere dangerous or kiss her anywhere but on her forehead or on her cheek. But his arms around her waist told her something else about the man. She’d been right to fall for him so hard. Not smart in the way it happened, but watching him now and hearing his reaction last night to her story about Charlotte, she knew that her instincts had been correct. He was an honorable man, and it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been a part of Charlotte’s life.

  He was a protector. He’d been that way when they’d made love so many times over the course of those golden days. He’d been a careful lover, attentive, and she allowed herself the luxury of feeling fully consumed by him, nearly to the point of tears half the times they’d been together. The beauty and the mastery in the way he made her feel stirred, healing everything hurt and incomplete in her soul. Mating with him—and that’s what it was—not making love or having sex, it was a mating ritual, a religious experience.

  After he had left and went back on the road, she was seriously hoping to follow the circuit he was traveling and show up at some future venue when she found out she was pregnant. That changed everything. It changed her whole life.

  There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think of him. As she brushed Charlotte’s angel-spun hair, braided it into tiny braids no bigger than the size of her shoelaces, when she tucked her under her arm and read a story to her, or when the little one stared up into her eyes, she saw him there. It was only a matter of time before she was old enough to ask, where’s my daddy?

  Lizzie figured she could always say he’d gone away, just like her father had, before Charlotte was old enough to remember him. That brought tears to her eyes. She was happy her father was able to meet his granddaughter before he passed. At the same time, she was sad that she would forever miss the relationship only a loving man like her father could give Charlotte. This meeting was for her, after all. This was to give Charlotte the chance at a man in her life that she could call father, if he wanted that. But if he didn’t, well, then Lizzie would spare her that uncertainty and the pain of being unwanted.

  There was no other way to do it but to show up. Take a number as she’d told him last night. She’d arranged for her Nashville friend to babysit Charlotte overnight. Her friend’s toddler was nearly the same age. Ke
ndra’s husband had been killed overseas, and so the two of them spent time together, raising girls without fathers or husbands. They were good support to each other during the dark, lonely times.

  She moved her legs and stretched her arms up over her head, noting when Jameson sat erect and took notice. He dropped his hand from his lips to the chair, seeming to take a minute to adjust to the sight of her again, and then stood slowly.

  “You sleep okay?” he asked her.

  She arched back and did another stretch. This time the sheet fell back from her white lace bra, and she quickly covered it up, returning a shy grin.

  “I’ll go make some coffee,” he whispered, walking around the foot of the bed in his boxers. The tent in his shorts was hard to miss.

  “Jameson, come here for a second first.”

  “I’ll just be a second,” he whispered as he disappeared into the kitchenette. She listened to the water running and the gurgling sounds sending a fresh caffeine scent she loved even as a child.

  He sat on the bed and handed her the ivory crockery mug filled with the brown steamy liquid. “I don’t have any cream. Sorry. Just the powdered stuff, and I remember—”

  He stopped himself and gazed off through the lighted window. She had propped herself up in the bed, her knees bent, clutching the mug. With one hand, she allowed two fingers to trace down his upper arm from his shoulder to his elbow. He tilted his head to watch her touch him and then took stock of her expression. Their eyes made the connection they always had, but he didn’t act on the impulse she could see was there.

  He sighed and once again took a sip of coffee and stared out the window.

  “Tell me, Jameson. I’ve had three years to get used to the day I’d see you again. And I’m just as unsure as the first time I thought about it.”

  He nodded his agreement, clutching the mug in both his hands, his long tanned back barely visible in the early morning shadows. She found a way to touch his back without spilling her coffee and gained his attention back.