Grayson's Surrender (Wingmen Warriors #1)

Grayson's Surrender (Wingmen Warriors #1) Page 20

"Of course, sweetie. Gotta run. Tell Lori we'll pick her up at four on Friday."

"Mom, I'll let you know," he repeated, not that she seemed to be listening. The dial tone hummed in his ear, so he disconnected. Somehow his world had taken an out of control nosedive, and he wasn't quite sure what to do to level it back out.

He would worry about his folks and Lori later. First, he had a recovering kid to watch. At least with Magda be knew where he stood. No surprises there.

She hummed and moved the papa doll. The Magda doll flew higher in the swing, and Magda laughed again—only to stop short.

With a swift sweep of her hand, she knocked the swing sideways. Her words dwindled to odd noises. Swishing sound effects with her mouth. Crashing noises.

Like bombs.

Gray straightened. The father doll fell to the ground. Magda tugged the smaller doll from the swing. She gripped the mother and child dolls in one hand and ran them across the yard.

A cold core, like a lethal lead ball, lodged right below Gray's sternum. The mother shoved the child under the tiny kitchenette table and ran back outside to the father.

Another crashing sound from Magda.

She dropped the mother doll to the ground.

Magda folded her hands in her lap. Silence echoed as it always did in the aftermath of battle.

Gray blinked once, twice, wanting to deny what he'd seen, but he couldn't. Magda had acted out her parents' death. He had no doubts. Her story likely didn't differ from many other children's, but that didn't ease the clutch of anger inside him or the fierce urge to protect her.

Unable to stop his feet, he slowly walked into the room. Magda looked up at him as if she'd known all along he was watching.

Careful not to startle her, he sank to one knee beside her and stared into her dark-brown eyes, bottomless eyes that had seen too much too early.

She glanced down at her "parents" then back up at Gray. Fix them.

He heard her, as clearly as if she'd said the words, he heard her. The weight of responsibility crashed on his shoulders like a seventy-pound survival pack.

There were at least a couple thousand people in Charleston better equipped to handle this moment than he was. One of them slept in the next room—incapacitated with the stomach flu.

The moment to act was now. No time to wake Lori or consult a slew of child psychologists. Magda needed him, perhaps more than she'd needed him days ago in Sentavo.

Gray looked at the mother and father doll and thought of his own parents. During his father's years in 'Nam, Gray had dreamed of flying overseas to bring his father home.

Life would be normal again. His mother wouldn't go to bed alone, her eyes so exhausted even a kid could notice. Once again the familiar nighttime calls would sound from down the hall as his father hollered a laughing roll-call/lights-out for the kids.

Magda stared up at him with such wary hope, her "parents" lying beside her tiny bare feet. Right or wrong, he had to do something. Inaction wasn't an option.

One at a time Gray lifted the mother and father, dusting each off in turn, smoothing back their hair, silently offering up a prayer for the parents of the child by him. Side by side he placed them on the dollhouse bed and draped a miniature blanket over them.

Then he prayed like crazy again that he'd done the right thing. Surely an image of them asleep, even if forever, had to be better than visions of them dead in their yard.

Lori would be able to come up with a better answer later. For now he'd done the best he could. Hopefully, it was enough. Gray waited for Magda's verdict.

Magda cocked her head to the right. Rocking forward on her bottom, she leaned into the dollhouse. She pressed her fingers to her lips and touched the face of the father doll. She repeated the gesture with the mother.

Gray sucked air down his closing throat.

Magda turned to him, fingers pressed to her lips. For a second he thought she meant to kiss him, too. Then her fingers simply gestured forward as she'd done in communicating with Lori.

Thank you.

There wasn't enough air in the room to expand his constricted lungs.

Gray dropped a hand on top of Magda's shorn head, all the comfort she would likely allow from him. A familiar, but no less powerful, fire burned inside him, and he knew that if Lori were watching she would finally understand his single-minded commitment to his career.

This was why he served. For the people who couldn't fight for themselves and right the wrongs in their lives. He flew, he fought, he healed, whatever he could.

Because he didn't know how to do or be anything else.

Chapter 11

Maybe Gray would consider leaving the Air Force.

The ridiculous idea gnawed at Lori with tenacious determination.

She stepped from the shower, feeling almost human—at least well enough to watch Magda now. How wonderful it had been having Grayson with her through the night when Magda had been sick. Then taking care of Magda while Lori had slept, sleeping on the couch himself the second night until she'd recovered.

She couldn't hide from the truth. She wanted him back in her bed. Not that she had a clue where they were headed. They likely wouldn't head anywhere as long as she had to compete with his job. Which brought her back to her crazy, tempting thought.

Gray leaving the military?

She knew better. Hadn't he told her the military was his life?

But her mind couldn't help wandering along scenarios of him settling in Charleston, opening a practice, maybe serving time in the reserves. Reservists didn't move around or pull nearly the same number of hours. Weekend warriors, she'd heard them called.

He could stay in Charleston near his family, where he'd spent more time than anywhere else in his life. If there was one place he might put down roots, this was it. She would have the time to get to know him as she hadn't when they'd first been together. The man who brought her crackers and watched over Magda entranced Lori as much, if not more, than the man who had given her smiles—and the sex of a lifetime.

Gray leaving the military.

The idea spun in her mind with taunting power.

Fantasy. Pure fantasy. Changing Gray would take away much of what fascinated her. A Catch 22 since so many of the things that enticed her were the very traits that made any relationship between them unworkable.

Time to get dressed and take care of her responsibilities with Magda. Lori tossed aside the towel and opened her antique wardrobe. She'd had such great plans for their first day together, hours full of finger paints and paper dolls.

Gray had done more than his share. More than dishing out food and playing with Barbies, he'd dealt with heavy-duty emotional fallout.

His eyes dark with worry, he'd checked in on Lori with toast and a recounting of Magda's dollhouse revelation once Magda had drifted off for an afternoon nap. His handling of the incident had been worthy of any play therapy session with a certified counselor.

While she felt guilty for not being there for Magda, she couldn't fault the way Gray had managed. And honestly, it felt so good to have someone to share the problem with.

She slipped on a long, cotton sundress, a straight-cut burgundy favorite of hers that matched her painted toenails. She combed out her wet hair and swiped lip gloss over her mouth for color. Gray had always been fascinated with her mouth.

She stopped midswipe. She wasn't actually dressing up for him, was she?

Duh. Of course she was.

No matter what they said about learning to say goodbye, she was rapidly realizing she needed additional time to sort out her feelings. The more she learned about Gray, the more confused she became. Wary but resolute, Lori opened her bedroom door.

Gray's latest serenade wafted from the kitchen. "Old MacDonald had a farm. Eeeee-yi, eeeee-yi, oooooh."

Lori smiled. Enthusiasm had a musicality all its own.

"And on that farm he had a cow."

"Cow!" a hoarse, childish voice echoed.

Magda. Lori's heart tripped over itself, her feet following suit as her knees turned to pudding. She flattened her palm against the wall.

"With a moo-moo here," Gray sang, Magda joining in with off-key harmony for animal sounds. "Moo-moo there"

Lori rounded the corner and paused unseen in the doorway. The scene before her was so beautiful it hurt her eyes almost as much as her heart.

Magda perched on the edge of the counter clutching the cow cookie jar in her lap. Her clothes didn't match, clashing stripes and polka-dots from differing outfits, but she was clean, a red bandanna tied around her head. Gray wore the blue one this time.

Dropping pieces of bread into the toaster, he simultaneously serenaded into a wooden spoon. "Here a moo, there a moo…"

He afforded Magda equal "microphone" time as he sang. She kept the beat, her tiny heels drumming against the cabinets.

Gray danced his way around the kitchen as he cooked oatmeal and set the table. Jogging shorts displayed his muscular legs flexing with each weaving step.

He might as well slide her right into that toaster along with the next round of bread, because at the moment she was toast. He had her attention, completely, just as he'd done a year ago when he'd smiled at her that very first time.

Even more so.

Lori stepped into the kitchen. "Well, Doc, is this a duet or can anyone join in?"

The impromptu concert stopped. Gray set aside his spoon, his expression unreadable.

Magda squealed and held out her arms. "Yori!"

Lori scooped Magda off the counter and hitched the little girl onto her hip. Magda snuggled closer with total ease and trust. A child's unconditional love certainly was a powerful thing. Lori rested her cheek on Magda's bandanna, Gray's bandanna, the mix of the two of them doing odd things to Lori's heart. She stared at Gray across the kitchen. "Thank you. I seem to be saying that to you a lot lately."

"You okay now?" He shuffled from foot to foot.

A flutter of unease stirred in her chest. She knew that caged look in his eyes, the rhythm of those restless feet, too well. "Can't handle the heat of a morning-after kitchen, huh, big guy?"

Gray's feet stilled. His gaze collided with hers, linking them as firmly as that single moment he'd slid into her body. He'd set her up with the perfect morning-after breakfast, and now he was bowing out instead of joining them. She forced herself not to look away.

He turned first, spooned oatmeal into two bowls, dropped slices of toast on the plates and transferred the butter from the counter to the table. "I wish I could stay longer, but I've got rounds at the hospital."

His excuse was valid. Why then couldn't she shake the disappointment because he wouldn't be spending the rest of the day with them? Or shake the sense that he didn't want to. "Sorry. Of course you have to go. We've exhausted our house-call quota."

"Yeah, well, duty calls." His feet picked up their itchy pace again.

Magda on her hip, Lori followed Gray into the living room where he hooked his gym bag over his shoulder and charged for the door. On her porch he paused. "I've been thinking."

So had she, thoughts of waking up in his arms, of feeling his hands on her, of his being inside her.

Of never having him there again.

Could she actually be considering giving them another chance? There was also Magda to consider. Lori could so easily see herself serving as a foster parent beyond the one-month evidentiary hearing.

Maybe if she and Gray talked this time, rather than just jumping into bed whenever they didn't agree, they might solve something. Or at least keep from getting hurt again no matter how it turned out. She was wiser now. She would walk in with her eyes wide open, unlike her fairy-tale ideas of a year ago. "Thinking about what?"

"Magda should spend some time with other kids."

What a wake-up call. She'd been selfishly dreaming of time with him, and he'd been nobly considering Magda. "I'm looking into play groups once she's better."

His feet shuffled their restless dance. "Can you get off early Friday?"