Title: The Fallback Guy

Author: manette

Disclaimers: Jag belongs to DPB and Paramount

Spoilers: Takes place after the end of season nine

Rating: PG-13

AN: This was written after Hail and Farewell, but before Hail and Farewell II so it contains things that don’t follow the exact events of the show. It is a story told from inside Harm’s head. Lots of stuff happened to other people at the end of the season that would have a big impact on him. I wanted to play around and see how he thinks he fits into the scheme of things now that so many things are changing. Regardless of whose head I’m in, it is very much a pro Mac/pro Harm story, though those designations drive me nuts. I don’t take sides because in my opinion there is only one side- and that is where Harm and Mac live happily ever after. It is no secret that these two have misunderstood each other over the years, so it stands to reason that a look inside either of their heads is going to be filled with some misinformation, occasional wrong thinking and a few unnecessary side trips—but these two are also filled, most importantly, with a lot of love for each other. I can work with that—even though as usual there is little, if any, plot.

The Fallback Guy

Chapter One

I was chopping yellow squash, lost in thought—lost in thoughts about Mac and Mattie and the state of my life when a sudden knock at the door startled me. The knife sliced neatly into my finger, and I yelped, instinctively putting it into my mouth as I jumped up to answer the door. Mattie was staying with her father—again, and I wasn’t expecting anyone else. These days not many people showed up unannounced.

Even Jennifer wasn’t around much. She’d taken Mattie’s progress with her father as a signal to start doing what any young, attractive, single woman should be doing. She was going out with friends her own age, and I even suspected a special guy might be involved these days. I was happy for her. I’d always felt a little guilty about the way I’d ended up imposing on her when I needed help, and even though I knew she loved Mattie, I also felt strongly that Jen needed to be thinking about her own life rather than trying to pay off some imagined debt to me.

I swung my front door open and was surprised to find Mac with her arm poised, ready to knock again. I was relieved to see her. We’d had a disagreement that afternoon, and I had been worried that she was still upset with me, but she smiled tentatively and asked, “Are you busy?”

“No. I’m just cooking—come on in.” I waved her inside and resumed sucking on my cut finger as I walked back to the kitchen area.

She put her purse on my bookshelf and followed me. “What did you do to your finger?”

“Cut it instead of the squash,” I mumbled. I walked over to the sink and turned on the water.

She was right behind me and grabbed my hand before I could stick it under the faucet. “Do you need stitches?” She examined the cut, looking all fussy and concerned, and then forced my hand under the water and held it there. She seemed satisfied that a trip to the emergency room wasn’t necessary, but she scolded me just the same. “You need to be more careful, Harm.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I wouldn’t have cut myself if she hadn’t knocked on my door when she did. These days she could latch onto the slightest thing and feel overburdened with guilt about it. I wasn’t going to add my boo-boo to her list. I did, however, let her make a big deal out of making sure it was clean and bandaged—complete with a Spiderman band-aid. She’d raised her eyebrows when she found them in my medicine cabinet, but she refrained from commenting since it was a known fact that she favored the ones decorated with dinosaurs.

Her hands soothed me the way that I wanted to sooth her. She was still hurting about Clay’s death, and at the same time she was trying to come to terms with her health problems. So she still needed to keep some walls up to get through the days. Too much kindness from anyone made her teary eyed. That was probably why she was spending more time with me. She knew I wouldn’t go all sentimental on her. I would give her a hard time—same as always—even when all I wanted to do was pick her up and hold her in my lap and rock her until she felt safe and protected. I wanted her to find peace in my arms, but I didn’t know if that was ever going to be possible. I didn’t know what she needed, but I wanted to be around on the off chance that she decided it was me.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, hoping she would join me. I knew my days with Mattie were numbered, and every night that I cooked for myself and ate alone only served to remind me of that painful fact.

Mac eyed the pile of half chopped vegetables doubtfully, and asked, “What else are we having?”

“Barbeque chicken.”

She looked interested. “I thought I smelled something good.”

I brought out the heavy guns to clinch the deal. “And we have cheesecake for dessert.”

“Now you’re talking.” She hopped onto the barstool, grabbed the knife and started chopping with a vengeance.

I opened the oven door and took a peek at the chicken. It still needed a few minutes, so I shut the door and asked, “So, what brings you by?”

As close as we’d been over the years, Mac had never been one to just drop in without a reason. I could tell by the way she was wielding the knife with fierce determination that tonight was no different.

She whacked the last of the poor defenseless squash into submission, and then laid the knife down and looked at me. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that argument we had this afternoon. I don’t want you to be mad at me, Harm.”

“I’m not mad, Mac. In fact, I owe you another apology. I was way out of line.”

She’d been talking to me about her trip to Hawaii to identify Webb’s body, and I’d been spoiling for a fight the whole time. Everything about it upset me. Actually upset is too polite a word. I was pissed off—flat out angry, and I wasn’t even sure what I was angry about.

My own feelings about Clayton Webb were all over the map, but until this afternoon I’d tried to stay calm and unemotional for Mac’s sake. Of course, I was sorry he was dead. He’d been a friend of sorts, and though Mac and I had managed to survive our missions with him, it was rarely because of his superior planning. On the other hand, he’d gone above and beyond to get Sergei out of that prisoner of war camp and bring him to America. He’d come through for me when I was fighting to save Tom Boone’s career, and he’d even sunk his own career when he’d given me the information on the Angel Shark investigation.

But then he’d taken Mac to Paraguay and every civil feeling I’d ever had for him flew out the window. It was dangerous, poorly planned, lacked back-up, and to top it all off, I hadn’t been invited along.

I might have forgiven him all that once we were all safely back in the United States. After all, Mac was a marine—she was tough and able, and I’d always felt more invincible with her by my side. It was hard to fault him for wanting the best with him while he tried to save what was left of his sorry career. The one thing I couldn’t forgive was that he’d fallen in love with her, and somewhere along the way, she’d fallen for him, too. Then he died and broke her heart—I couldn’t forgive the bastard for that.

That afternoon I’d sat in my office and watched her pale, fragile face fight for composure as she told me about meeting Webb’s mother, and I’d momentarily lost the battle to be a reasonable and compassionate friend. I’d barked at her and told her in no uncertain terms that she had to start thinking about herself. I reminded her that her doctor had warned her about stress, and she’d done nothing but open herself up to more pain and heartache by going on that damned trip. I was on a roll by the time I informed her that it had been completely unnecessary and pointless. The startled expression in her sad, brown eyes finally penetrated my self indulgent rant, and I’d backed down enough to let her know I was sorry, although the anger I felt was still seething beneath the surface, and we both knew it. She’d scurried out of my office as soon as she could, and I’d felt like a jerk for adding to her problems.

The fact that she’d shown up on my doorstep meant she wasn’t mad at me. For now that was good enough. I could feed her—she hadn’t been taking care of herself, in my opinion—and I could refrain from lecturing her, and I could try to be the supportive friend that she needed right now. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could think of to make up for my outburst. So I steamed the squash and warmed some rolls while Mac carved the chicken. She seemed leery of letting me handle anything with sharp edges.

We sat down to eat, and I pushed my food around, more interested in watching her then in what was on my plate, but her infamous appetite seemed to have returned, and she tackled her chicken with something close to her old enthusiasm. Watching her, I smiled and suddenly felt hungry, too, for the first time in ages.

She asked about Mattie, and seemed honestly concerned. I told her that Tom was doing really well, and I hoped it would work out for both of them. She saw through my brave front and got all feisty on my behalf, saying that they both better realize how lucky they were to have me in their corner. And the tight feeling I’d carried in my chest since Mattie had told me she’d reconciled with her father loosened just a little bit.

She put her fork down with a sigh and said, “That was great, Harm.” She had barbeque sauce smeared on her cheek.

“I’m glad you liked it, but you have it all over your face.”

Without thinking I reached over and used my napkin to wipe it off. It was a mindless gesture—an automatic response—something I’d done a million times over the years when I would watch her dive face first into some messy culinary concoction. She would eat, and laugh, and make a mess. I would tease, and feign disgust, and make a half assed attempt to clean her up. Of course that was before Paraguay—just one of the many things that fell into the category of before Paraguay. After Paraguay I made a conscious effort not to touch her. She seemed off limits by then. By then, she seemed beyond my reach in all kinds of ways.

It was too simplistic to say that Webb’s death had brought her back to me. That somehow implied that she’d been mine to lose in the first place. But she’d come to me when he died, and she’d confided in me about her health problems, and ever since then I’d fought the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around her and find a way to make her world alright again. I didn’t think she would appreciate that, so I settled for wiping barbeque sauce off her face.

She laughed and grabbed my wrist while she tried to dodge my napkin. “I know I made a mess, but it was just so good.” She suddenly got serious. “Thanks for asking me to stay, Harm.”

Her eyes were deep and dark and sincere, and I knew she was thanking me for more than the meal, but I’d never wanted her gratitude, so I played it off as unimportant. “No need to thank me. I’m gonna let you do the dishes.”

“Okay,” she agreed readily, “but you’re drying.”

We decided to save the cheesecake for later and stood side by side at the sink washing dishes. She liked lots of suds and scalding hot water. Her arm jostled against mine as I dried. I reached around her for a glass she’d forgotten and my hip bumped against hers. I found a spot she’d missed on a plate, and she pretended to scowl when I made her rewash it. She used her damp wrist to push her bangs from her forehead, and I helped by tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her wet hands slid against mine as I slipped another plate beneath the soapy water, and my body hummed with an acute awareness of her. I was content in a way that I hadn’t been for years—or maybe ever.

The woman I loved was beside me, and it was enough—for now.

Chapter Two

I put the foil covered piece of cheesecake on her desk.

Mac had been in court all morning, and I’d been out on an interview for part of the day, but I’d stuck it in the refrigerator in the break room after I’d arrived at work that morning and found her office still dark and empty. Our paths never crossed so I could present it to her in person, so I was finally reduced to leaving it on her desk as a greeting—a sugar substitute for hello, how are you, I’m glad you spent the evening with me, I missed you once you left, and can we do it again sometime soon. Okay—maybe that was more meaning than a simple piece of cheesecake could convey, but it was hard to go wrong with food where Mac was concerned and my tendency to say too much or not enough had to be considered.

I was about to make my escape from her office when she came breezing in the door. She was beaming—a sure sign that things had gone her way.

“Hey Mac, you look happy.”

“Innocent on all charges,” she announced proudly. “Sturgis never knew what hit him.”

“Poor Sturgis.” I shook my head in sympathy.

“Poor Sturgis, my eye—I was simply brilliant, and my client wasn’t guilty.”

“That’s what I meant to say,” I conceded with a grin.

“What’s this?” she asked spying my offering as she sat her briefcase down and walked around to sit at her desk.

“You left last night without dessert.” I suddenly felt unsure—as awkward as a schoolboy holding out a bunch of wild flowers to the cute freckle-faced girl at recess.

Her face lit up. “I know. I was halfway home when I remembered. I nearly turned around and drove back to your apartment.”

“You should have,” I said. Turning on the charm, I added, “I wouldn’t have minded.” I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. Now was probably not the best time to be flirting. I studied my shoes, afraid my need for her would be plainly written all over my face. But I shouldn’t have worried. When I glanced up it was clear that all of her attention was focused on digging through the foil to get at what was underneath.

“I didn’t have lunch, and I’m starving.” She ignored the plastic fork I’d provided and stuck a finger right into the middle of the cherry topping and then licked it off. She closed her eyes and sighed blissfully, “Thanks, Harm, I might make it until dinnertime now.”

“You’re welcome. I live to get you from one meal to the next.” I grinned and stood there rocking on my heels, not really having a reason to stay any longer, but not really wanting to go, either. “You know, I made it myself,” I boasted.

She nodded and raised her eyebrows to acknowledge that she’d heard me, but she was too busy eating to be bothered with conversation.

Feeling extraneous, I wandered around her office and stopped short when I caught sight of the wooden carousel sitting on her bookshelf. I remembered the look of delight on her face when she’d found it on her desk—the look of wonder as she turned it on and watched it spin. All at once I could see Webb’s face mocking me from the grave, and I was flooded with the mortifying realization that I was trying to compete with a dead man for her attention.

Plying her with leftover desserts might seem innocent enough on the surface, but if I wasn’t careful I’d soon find myself donning lederhosen and standing on my head to get her to notice me. I had the sudden urge to snatch the pathetic token of my affection masquerading as cheesecake on a paper plate out from under her nose and yell, “Wait, that doesn’t count. I can do better.”

The image of her stabbing me with her plastic fork stopped me. So did the contented look on her face, and I realized that I was getting way off track. This wasn’t about me or Webb, and as I watched her happily inhaling the dessert I exhaled a deep sigh and reminded myself that my only motive should be to make her feel better. As usual I’d tried to make it more complicated than it needed to be.

But then second guessing myself where Mac was concerned had always been part of my problem. Whenever I tried to define what she meant to me I always stumbled. Sure, I’d told Mattie that I loved her. That had been a huge step for me—to actually say the words out loud to another human being. But when it came to my feelings for Mac the word ‘love’ had always seemed too small, too overused, too limiting, and so I always ended up saying next to nothing, and as a result she’d come to believe that my feelings for her were small and limited, too.

But now—still so soon after Clay’s death—was not the time to try and fix all the mistakes of the past. I felt off balance—trying to help her walk across this tight wire of grief. How much did she need from me? How much did she want? I reached out and tapped one of the tiny gondolas hanging on the carousel and watched it swing back and forth.

I hadn’t noticed her get up from her desk, but suddenly she was there, standing beside me. She touched the carousel tentatively, and then said, “Did I tell you that he had his assistant pick this out of a catalogue and send it to me?” She sounded sad and abandoned.

“No,” I answered simply, but my heart broke for her.

We were both in uniform, standing in the middle of her office and the bullpen was bustling with activity right outside her open door, but she leaned her head against my shoulder, and I let her.

“I was mad at first, but he was trying in his own way to make me happy. I know that now.” She seemed wistful and far away.

I turned my head and her hair tickled my chin. My hand barely skimmed her waist, and I dropped an almost kiss on the top of her head and murmured, “I’m sorry, Mac—”

She cut me off before I could finish, and in an abrupt change of mood said, “Hey, I’m the one that should be sorry, Harm—crying on your shoulder all the time. It’s not fair to you.” She quickly moved away from me and tried to return to her desk.

I caught her arm before she could get very far and said fiercely, “Don’t do that, Mac.”

“Don’t do what?” Her eyes were trained on the middle of my chest, and I tilted her chin up so that she had to look at me.

“Act brave for my sake. If you want to be fair to me, then let me be your friend.”

Her sad, searching eyes locked onto mine and I couldn’t have hidden what I felt for her if I’d tried. She reached a hand toward my face and with a light touch traced the worry lines on my forehead. Her palm settled on my cheek and she said softly, “I think you may be the only true friend I’ve ever had.”

Before I could respond, Sturgis stuck his head in the door. He cleared his throat and we jumped away from each other as if we’d been shot. “Excuse me, Mac. I just wanted to re-extend my invitation to come hear Varise sing tonight. Besides I owe you a meal since you beat me in court today, so we might as well make an evening of it.”

“Sounds like fun, Sturgis. I think I will.” Mac smiled at him gratefully. He’d been solicitous and gentle with her since Webb’s death. Though it made no sense he seemed to feel some responsibility for discovering that Clayton was one of the CIA agents drowned at sea. I was just glad that he seemed more like his old self since he’d been dating Varise. The love of a good woman could work wonders, or so I’d been told.

Sturgis turned to me expectantly. “What about you, Harm? I was just about to come find you. Would you like to join us? My treat. Varise is singing at the Blue Note tonight.”

There really wasn’t any question that I would say yes. If Mac was going to be there, then I wanted to be there, too. “Sure, Sturgis, I’d like that.”

“Outstanding. I’ll see you two tonight, then.” He left with a bounce in his step.

When he was gone I turned to Mac and said cheerfully, “A little dining, a little dancing—with Sturgis picking up the tab. It sounds like just what the doctor ordered.”

“I have to admit I wasn’t looking forward to another night sitting home alone.”

“I know what you mean.” My empty apartment was the last place I wanted to be.

Mac frowned and asked, “Is Mattie still with her father?”

“Yes. We have a court date for new custody hearing in a few days. It’s really just a formality though. I’m sure she will be moving back with him permanently before school starts in the fall.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mac seemed upset that I hadn’t kept her informed of the situation.

“You’ve had enough to worry about, Mac. And I’m fine. I knew this would happen eventually.”

“Don’t do that, Harm.” She touched my arm and repeated the words I’d said to her moments before.

“Don’t do what?” I knew what she meant, but I let her say it anyway.

“Act brave for my sake. This friendship thing works both ways, you know.”

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear those words from her until she said them. A hot unidentifiable emotion flooded my chest, and the trapped feelings of loneliness that had been a part of me since Paraguay finally gave way to ones of real hope. I blinked away the less than manly moisture that gathered behind my eyes and said brusquely, “In that case maybe we can rescue each other. Do you want me to pick you up tonight?”

“Sure—Bring the corvette, and we can put the top down. I want to feel the wind on my face and let the whole world rush by.” She closed her eyes as if she was flying down the freeway already.

“I can handle that.”

She opened her eyes and said with a challenge, “Maybe I’ll wear something immodest and make you dance slow dances with me all night long. Could you handle that, Harm?” There was something restless and bold in her voice that I'd never heard before.

Humans can only grieve for so long before they turn away from death and reach out for anything that makes them feel alive. It’s a temporary balm—a momentary relief from the unrelenting pain of loss, and certainly nothing solid or true ever came out of it to build a future on. I knew with my eyes wide open that I was setting myself up for a fall, but I couldn’t stop myself when I answered with a challenge of my own.

“Why don’t you try me, Mac?”

Chapter Three

This wasn’t a date—so why had I spent so much time getting ready? This was just a get together with co-workers. Something I’d done a million times before. That’s what I told myself while I was shaving—and again when I changed my shirt three times. This wasn’t a date—just a chance to have my hands on Sarah McKenzie all night long. Slow dancing all night long—that’s what she’d said. The blood in my body seemed to slow down at the thought. Lazy, drowsy, decadent thrumming impulses swamped me with the deep-down desire I’d hidden away for a long time. And suddenly I was tired of hiding it. I was tired of pretending not to feel anything—I was tired of respecting limits—self imposed or otherwise.

Brave talk when I wasn’t facing those haunted eyes of hers—brave talk when I was still at home halfway across town, but now walking down the hallway to her apartment I found my newfound resolve fading fast.

But this wasn’t a date—so I why did I need to screw up my courage before I could knock on her door? Why did I hold my breath anticipating the moment it would open and she would be standing there smiling at me? This was Mac, after all, and I’d done this a thousand times before.

“Hey, Harm.”

All at once she was there, inviting me inside with a little wave before she disappeared back into her bedroom. I stood awkwardly in the living room waiting for her to reappear, waiting for that moment when just being with her would replace this jittery, edgy feeling with something normal and mundane and everyday. She came back into the room carrying her purse and a shawl, and with a whirl of uncharacteristic enthusiasm, dragged me back out the door before I could catch my breath. She hopped into the Corvette—I’d already put the top down—and embraced the cool night air with outstretched arms.

“Oh, I needed this.” She sighed and settled into her seat. “Let’s make a deal, Harm—just for tonight—let’s not talk about any of our problems—no Mattie, no Clay, no health issues, no past, no future. What do you say?”

“I don’t know,” I teased her. “What if we can’t find anything else to talk about? We might just end up staring at each other all night long.” I glanced over to find her already staring at me.

“That would be fine, too,” she said solemnly. “You’re a very attractive man, you know.”

I felt flustered by her bluntness. With another woman I would have a cocky comeback—some not so subtle invitation to explore her remark further, but with Mac I felt tongue tied and duty bound to stay within those long established parameters. And maybe that’s what she was talking about. Would it be so wrong if for one night we didn’t have to measure and weigh every response against our past? If for one night we were free to say and do whatever we wanted—consequences be damned?

It was a dangerous idea— dangerous and tempting, and I felt myself considering it even as I offered one more candid warning. “I’m trying to be careful with you, Mac—especially now.”

The wind whipped her hair around in a crazy dance and her eyes were wide and determined when she said, “We’ve been careful for nine years, Harm. I think it’s time we tried something different.”

It was easy to let myself be convinced that she knew what she was asking. Being cautious with Mac had become a habit, and it had never gotten me what I wanted. I needed something different, too. So when she took me by the hand and led me into the club, I followed willingly, recklessly, eagerly, and with a small prayer that we would somehow get through the night undamaged.

Sturgis spotted us right away and waved us over to his table. He spotted our clasped hands, too, but he didn’t say anything beyond shooting me an inquiring look that Mac didn’t see. I ignored him and held out her chair. As she sat down he said, “Wow, Mac, you look amazing.”

“Thanks for noticing, Sturgis.” She smiled at him then pinned me with a mock glare.

“I admit—she cleans up good,” I said with a shrug and a wink. The truth was I’d avoided looking at her too closely when I picked her up. Visions of that immodest outfit she’d threatened to wear had wrecked my concentration for the rest of the afternoon—visions of some strapless, backless, neckline plunging, too short, too tight imitation of a dress swam in my head, and I’d imagined her dragging me to the dance floor while I struggled to find somewhere decent to put my hands.

The dress she was actually wearing was simple, unremarkable—plain even, until you stuck Sarah McKenzie inside it. What her body did to clothes was a source of constant torture for me. An unguarded look of lust must have crossed my face as I studied her, because Sturgis suddenly sprang into full protective mode. He was my friend, but he was above all things a gentleman, and if he felt I was about to take advantage of Mac during a vulnerable time, then he wouldn’t hesitate to bounce me on my head a few times.

“Would you like to dance, Mac? It’s going to be a few minutes before Varise starts her set,” Sturgis asked while giving me his ‘I’m going to warn her that you’re up to no good’ stare.

She looked like she might say yes, so I stood up before she could answer and said, “Wait for your own girl, Sturgis.” I held out my hand and said, “Dance with me, Mac. I think they’re playing our song.”

She placed her hand in mine and stood up. “Sorry, Sturgis, but I’m all his tonight.”

I pulled her out onto the dance floor and into my arms. The club was dark and small and in another day and age, it would have been smoky, too. A small combo played jazz that set the mood for seduction. I fought with the idea that the whole evening was starting to feel like foreplay—leading to something more—something that mattered—something I had no right to want right now.

She made no attempt to keep a safe distance between us. She wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned her cheek against my chest. My body reacted to the feel of her, and I tried to keep my hands still where they rested on her back. She snuggled into me, and I decided to relax and enjoy the moment until I suddenly realized my hand now rested on the bare skin of her back.

“Mac,” I whispered urgently. “You’re dress—I think it’s come undone.” She looked confused, so I moved my hand up and down from her neckline to her waist to let her know what I was talking about. “Your dress is wide open in the back.”

She laughed and said, “It’s made that way, Harm.”

“Oh,” I said stupidly. My fingers trailed across her skin before I forced myself to remove my hand from her bare back and place it safely at her waist. “Well, it’s—uh—nice.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and settled back into my arms.

That dress suddenly seemed anything but plain and simple. The opening in back had been unnoticeable until she moved and now like a Siren’s song it called to me, luring my hand to dive back into forbidden territory. Like a teenaged boy I couldn’t think of anything but the smooth skin that was inches from my fingertips. Her breasts which I suddenly realized were unbound were nestled snugly against me, and she smelled good, too. Something different then the stuff she usually wore in the office—something exotic that made me want to bury my face against her throat and stay there. I was in big trouble.

I moved her stiffly around the dance floor and glanced over at our table. “Sturgis is still watching us,” I said in an attempt at sparkling conversation.

She glanced over at him and shrugged. “Someone’s always watching us whether we’re doing anything or not.” She looked pointedly at the puritanical placement of my hand and asked, “And anyway, we’re not doing anything, are we? Still being careful, Harm?”

Something sad and earnest in her eyes tugged at me, and I knew with absolute certainty that this time, we wouldn’t survive if she felt I’d rejected her again. The timing of this night was all wrong, and a part of me screamed that it was unfair of her to put me in this position—unfair of her to try replacing what she’d lost with something we’d never been able to find. And despite my earlier devil-may-care agreement to go along for this ride I knew she could ruin both of us with one rash misstep.

I could protect myself, protect both of us—or just let go and trust her to know what she needed. In the end my choice was simple. I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into a dark corner of the club. I pushed her against the wall and held her still. “I’m going to kiss you, Mac, and then we’re going to sit down and listen to Varise sing. What happens after that is up to you.”

Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing hard, and my lips were just inches from hers. I was giving her one last chance to change her mind—one last chance to save us from what might be a terrible mistake, but instead she closed the distance and nothing about it felt like a mistake. I took her mouth with a savagery that surprised me, and she kissed me back with staggering raw need. I tried to tell her with that kiss that I wanted her, and that I’d always wanted her. I tried to tell her that I’d missed her—and the possibility of this for the entire last god-awful year. I kept her pinned between the hard unyielding wall and my body, and I lost all sense of what was appropriate or safe or fair.

The sound of scattered applause and a man’s voice introducing Varise penetrated my hazy brain, and I somehow found the strength to end the kiss. I pushed away from the wall and managed to ask in a voice that sounded almost normal, “Are you ready to go hear Varise sing?”

Mac watched me for a moment and said, “If you’re ready for what happens after that.”

She smiled and without waiting for my answer walked back to our table. My answer, of course, was to follow her—consequences be damned.

Chapter Four

I’ve been around the world in a plane,

I’ve settled revolutions in Spain,

The North Pole I have charted,

Still I can’t get started with you.*

*I Can’t Get Started – song by Ira Gershwin/Vernon Duke

The words Varise sang swam around in my head, and I thought I’d never heard a more perfect song to describe me and Mac. We’d always been great world beaters, but when it came to each other we sputtered and faltered and generally made a mess of things. But now, in the time it had taken me to find a dark corner and drag her to it, something had started. With that kiss we’d passed some hurdle –and—oh yes—we were definitely started. We might sputter and falter all over again before the night was done—but for now we were on our way to something. Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.

Sturgis had turned his chair to face the stage and had his back to us, and once Varise appeared onstage he’d been oblivious to everything else. I sat close to Mac, watching her as she kept her gaze trained on Varise. Her hand rested boldly on my thigh—as if it belonged there—and I tried to pay attention to something besides the way it felt—so I distracted myself by watching the pulse that throbbed in the hollow of her throat, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her dress, the way her eyelids fluttered and closed just as I leaned over to nuzzle the soft skin of her temple. I slipped my arm around the back of her chair—needing to touch her, holding on as if she and the moment might evaporate. The song ended, and her hand deserted my thigh while she clapped her appreciation. I straightened in my chair and joined in the applause. Mac finally looked at me and our eyes locked as we waited for the next song to begin.

She smiled—a soft bemused smile, and then grabbed my hand and held it with both of hers before bringing it to her face and leaning her cheek against my palm. It was a gesture—both her hands wrapped around my wrist—that we’d shared before—in moments when we’d shared doubts, in moments when we’d needed reassurance that we would always have each other’s backs, and tonight it served to remind me that while everything felt different, nothing had really changed. We’d been here before, facing each other with our hearts in our hands and fear always stopped us cold. I was still afraid. I was terrified of having my heart broken if Mac woke up and realized that she’d been acting out of loneliness and grief, but I was way past the point of no return so I cradled her face in my hand and leaned down and kissed her gently, just a mere brush of my mouth against hers. Even that slight touch sent desire sliding down my spine. I ran my thumb across her lower lip and pulled back to study her. She kissed my palm, and then tucked my hand still sandwiched between hers into her lap and turned once more to the stage.

I turned, too, suddenly filled with a calm that had eluded me all night. Decisions had been made, die had been cast, and paths had been chosen. Mac laced her fingers through mine, and I let the music wash over me. For once I didn’t have to fight the age old attraction I felt for her. Instead I reveled in it—letting it simmer inside my body. I rode the rhythm of Varise’s voice and learned the length and texture of Mac’s hand as it slid across mine. I took a deep breath—smelling her closeness, her perfume, her desire. My leg found hers beneath the table and settled snugly against the silky material of her skirt. The music played on and on and strangely enough I didn’t find myself wanting it to end. I didn’t allow myself to think beyond that moment or about what would happen when we left the club. It would come soon enough, but I wasn’t going to wish away one second of the night.

In a flurry of cheers and enthusiastic applause Varise finished her closing number and approached our table. Sturgis was beaming as he stood and kissed her on the cheek. “You were fantastic tonight.” He held out her chair so she could join us.

She sat down and said, “Thank you, Sturgis, and Harm—Mac—I’m so glad you both made it.”

Mac said, “Oh, you were wonderful.”

I agreed and added, “I’m glad Sturgis invited us.”

Sturgis pointed at Mac and informed Varise, “She had the nerve to beat me in court today, so I didn’t have much choice. I owe her dinner, so who’s hungry?”

Both women spoke up at once. “I am,” they chorused, and then they started laughing.

“I can never eat before a show,” Varise confessed, “and I’m starving.”

“Mac’s always starving,” I added for good measure.

“So feed me, already,” she demanded playfully.

With that we got up from the table and left the club after agreeing to walk to a small diner a few blocks away. We walked arm in arm, trailing behind Sturgis and Varise. They seemed happy and totally wrapped up in each other. If Mac and I had veered off in another direction I doubt they would’ve even noticed. It did my heart good to see the old Sturgis again. He’d gone through some soul searching the past year and come out of it in a better place. Maybe there was hope for the rest of us too.

“I think she’s good for him,” Mac said when Sturgis laughed at something Varise said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “So do I.”

We walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then Mac said, “I was afraid it might rain, but it’s turned into a beautiful night.”

I glanced at her, and she was looking up at the sky like she’d never seen stars before. “It’s 85 degrees out here and muggy as hell.” It was my nature to contradict her.

She shrugged, and hugged my arm close to her side. “I know, and I still think it’s a beautiful night.”

“Listen to us,” I teased. “We’ve known each other for nine years, and all we can talk about is the weather.”

She looked at me with a shy smile and asked, “Is that what we’re talking about?”

I was about ready to pull her into the nearest alley and finish the conversation in a more satisfying way, but we arrived at Ray’s Fine Dining so she was saved for the moment. We found a booth in the back that looked out onto the street. Mac scooted in one side, and I sat down beside her, while Sturgis and Varise climbed in across from us. I reached across Mac to grab the menus that were wedged behind the napkin dispenser and handed them out to everyone.

Mac took hers but didn’t open it. “I already know what I want.”

I opened my menu and said, “Let me guess—a cheeseburger and fries.”

“You know me too well,” Mac said as she leaned over to look at my menu. “Look Harm, they have a grilled chicken salad.”

I closed my menu and said, “That sounds good to me.”

“Me too,” said Sturgis.

“Well, I’m having what Mac’s having,” Varise said with a grin. “This is a diner after all.”

A young college-aged waitress brought glasses of water to the table and took our order. Once she left we talked about Varise’s upcoming two month tour, and a record deal that she had pending. Sturgis said he was going to take some leave and meet her in a couple of cities along the way, though he worried that the new JAG might have a problem with his plans. She would also fly home whenever she could because she would miss him too much to be gone that long without seeing him. They smiled at each other and seemed happy to just stare at each other for awhile.

I grinned and looked over at Mac. She was watching them wistfully, and I wondered if she was thinking about Clay. I was determined not to dwell on that so I thought about the six months I’d been gone with the CIA and wondered if she’d missed me the way I’d missed her.

The phone messages she’d left told me that she might have. It wasn’t like Mac to keep calling when I didn’t return a single one. Normally, I would have expected her pride to kick in and stop her from being the one to keep trying—but maybe she kept leaving messages for the same reason I couldn’t bring myself to erase them—for the same reason that on nights when I’d had a few beers I’d listened to them—trying to pick apart her tone and inflection—listening for a hint of what she was feeling. I would push the play button and close my eyes listening to her lost familiar voice, and I could imagine that I heard longing and loneliness that was every bit as big as what I felt. And I would reach for the phone—thinking it couldn’t hurt to talk to her—just check in for old time’s sake, but then I would see her standing at that taxi stand in Paraguay and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And after a few more beers I would convince myself that I was only hearing what I wanted to hear. Then I would fly off somewhere for the Agency and try to forget the sound of her voice and the memory of her face until the next time I came home to find a new message waiting for me. It got so the blinking light on that damn machine was the first thing I checked for when I walked in the door.

So much for forgetting about her.

Maybe the fact that she never stopped trying made going back to JAG easier. Maybe what I’d heard in her voice was that she wasn’t really finished with me anymore than I was finished with her. As a friend, as a partner, maybe as more if I had my way—but regardless we were bound up with each other in ways we couldn’t sort out simply by disappearing from each other’s lives.

The waitress returned with our food and without a word Mac took the tomatoes off of her cheeseburger and put them on the side of my salad bowl. I took the little cup of extra salad dressing I’d asked for on the side and sat it beside her French fries. She stuck a fry in it and said, “Thanks,” before popping it in her mouth.

Sturgis was watching us with a puzzled look on his face. “Why don’t you just order your cheeseburger without tomatoes, Mac?” he asked.

“I do when I’m not with Harm, but he likes tomatoes, so I just give them to him,” she explained before taking a big bite.

Score one for me. Clayton Webb hadn’t been getting her extra tomatoes while they’d been dating. I was pleased beyond all logic and reason.

“And the extra salad dressing?” he asked me.

I shrugged as if it was obvious. “Mac likes bleu cheese dressing on her french fries.”

He shook his head. “You two are like an old married couple.”

“I think it’s sweet, Sturgis,” Varise said and nudged his shoulder. “Maybe some day we’ll have little things like that we do for each other without thinking.”

“I’m sure we will, sweetheart.” He smiled at her then looked back at us speculatively.

Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny I shifted the conversation to work and the new JAG and how things would be different without Admiral Chegwidden in charge. Despite my problems with him the last year we’d come to an understanding about almost everything but the one subject we’d never broached. I still didn’t know how he could leave Mac in Paraguay. Sometimes I wondered if trying to live with that decision had been part of the reason he’d retired. It went against everything I’d ever known about the man. But he’d been a huge part of my life—of our life and it was going to be a big adjustment with him gone. We all agreed that we’d miss him. “To AJ,” I proposed and we raised our water glasses in his honor.

When we finished eating we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways outside the diner. They were parked in a different direction so we walked slowly back toward my car—this time not touching—but more aware of each other then we’d ever been. I couldn’t stand the distance so I grabbed her hand. She smiled and didn’t object. I took that as a good sign.

We reached the car, and I asked as I opened the door for her, “Do you want me to put the top back down?”

She turned just inside the open door and faced me. “You don’t need to go to all that trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Mac. Don’t you want to feel the night air on your face?” I had one hand one the door and one hand on the car trapping her inside the small space. I leaned in and brushed a kiss across her cheek.

“I’d rather hurry, Harm.” She seemed impatient and suddenly out of sorts.

I moved quickly away from her—disappointed but not surprised that her walls were back in place. “Of course. It’s been a long night –I’ll take you home.”

I’d taken a few dejected steps around the car when her voice stopped me. “I’d rather go to your place, if that’s alright.”

“But I thought—” She was confusing the hell out of me.

“If we put the top down, then we just have to turn around and put it right back up again when we get to your place. I can think of better things for us to do with our time.”

It took me a second but when I finally grasped her meaning I shouted, “Well, why didn’t you say so?” and practically sprinted around to the driver’s side and hopped into the car. She was still standing outside so I said, “Get in, Mac, or I’m leaving without you.”

I was practically pulling away from the curb by the time she got in and closed her door.

Chapter Five

She was laughing when she got inside the car. I started laughing, too. I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly anything—even happiness—seemed possible. She fastened her seat belt and then leaned her head back watching me while I drove. I tried to focus on the road but my eyes kept straying back to her, and what I saw in her eyes made my heart race.

She reached over and touched my face softly, tracing my cheek with one finger, letting it stray up to tangle in my hair. When she leaned over and kissed my ear, I nearly ran up onto the sidewalk. “You’re gonna cause me to have a wreck, Mac.”

“I didn’t think it was possible to distract a fighter pilot once he was in mission mode.” She sounded pleased with herself.

“Part of my mission is to get us home in one piece, so just stay on your side of the car, young lady. I don’t plan to spend the rest of the evening in the emergency room.”

She pretended to pout and drew back to her side of the car. “If that’s really what you want.” After a few minutes she asked, “Why are you driving so slow, Harm?”

“I’m not driving slow,” I protested automatically.

“It feels like we’re barely moving.” She leaned over to look at the speedometer and said accusingly, “You’re doing thirty eight miles an hour in a forty.”

“I don’t want to get pulled over by the cops for speeding,” I said defensively. It seemed silly, but I kept imagining all the things that could go wrong before we got to my apartment. Accidents, tickets, flat tires, meteors striking the planet—they all seemed like reasonable fears given our history.

“This time of night the police will think you’re drunk or on drugs if they see you driving this slow. Besides you can always go five miles over the speed limit without getting a ticket, and it’s a known fact that you get a two to three mile per hour cushion if you’re in a sports car. They expect you to drive faster. So speed up to forty seven—it’ll be fine.” She flapped her hand encouragingly.

I ignored her suggestion and asked, “Is that right? And exactly how did you come up with this theory?” If you added about ten miles an hour to the total it was actually the same philosophy I usually drove by, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“It’s not a theory. The last policeman that pulled me over explained it to me.”

“Was that before or after he asked for your phone number?”

“For your information he gave me a ticket.”

“Oh, so he asked and you wouldn’t give it to him.” I sped up to forty two.

She rolled her eyes and decided to keep giving me a hard time. “You’ve never driven this slowly in your life.”

“I’m taking necessary precautions, Mac. Just humor me.”

She sighed and said dramatically, “Okay, Hammer—just take your time. I’ll just stay over here—on my side—all alone, and let you drive.”

I grabbed her hand and settled it onto my leg. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you distracted me just a little.”

She smiled and said intriguingly, “I’ll do my best.”

Somehow despite her best efforts I managed to get us to my apartment without any major mishaps. The ride up in the elevator was done in silence. That was because we were too busy kissing each other to talk. I’d been a little worried that things might be awkward once we arrived—but as soon as the elevator door closed and we made eye contact we fell on each other like starving lions at a kill. I was starving for her. There was no denying that. If she was motivated by some other desperate need, I was past wanting to know about it. Not that I wouldn’t put the brakes on if she showed any sign that she’d changed her mind, but until that happened I couldn’t do anything but take what she was offering and give whatever she’d accept from me.

The elevator ground to a halt and I framed her face with my hands, brushing her hair away as I whispered, “We’re here.” She followed me as I got out of the elevator and dug in my pocket for my keys. She stood to the side while I opened the door, and as I stood back to let her enter, some of the awkwardness I’d dreaded finally caught up with me.

I turned on a lamp and asked, “Would you like something to drink, Mac?” I made clumsy small talk to ease the tension.

She put her purse on the kitchen bar and let her shawl slide from her shoulders. “No thanks.”

I walked over to the stereo and flipped through some CD’s. “How about some music?”

She kicked off her shoes and started walking toward me in a deliberate manner. Catching me by the wrist she said, “I don’t need music, either.” She started pulling me to the bedroom but stopped as we got to the step. “Am I being too bold?” The uncertainty in her voice knocked down my last bit of reserve, and I picked her up around the waist and carried her up the steps and into the darkened bedroom.

When I reached the edge of the bed I let her slide down my body until her feet touched the floor. I turned her around so her back was to me and found the one lonely hook and eye that held her dress together. As my hands went to undo it, I leaned down and asked huskily, “Am I being too bold?”

She shook her head and turned in my arms as her dress fell to her waist. Her bare breasts pressed against the material of my shirt and I wrapped her in my arms, dragging her close enough to kiss, taking her mouth in a new, possessive way that made the blood hammer in my veins. My hands ran up and down her back—rubbing the exposed skin that had tantalized me on the dance floor—letting my thumbs skim down the sides of her breasts while my fingers traced the curve of her spine.

She unbuttoned my shirt, and I shrugged out of it then went to work on getting out of my pants. She unfastened something at her waist and her dress pooled at her feet. I sat down abruptly on the bed and stared. The lamplight from the living room filtered through the glass dividers and bathed her body in shadows of gray and gold. Of course she was beautiful. Of course she was indecently sexy, but this was Mac—standing in front of me—at last—after all these years and I found the moment overwhelming.

“Harm, are you okay?” She crawled into my lap wearing nothing but a tiny pair of black panties and had the nerve to ask if I was all right.

I turned with her in my arms so that she was lying beneath me on the bed. “Hell, no,” I said before I kissed her shoulder and then her collarbone. I ran a fingertip from the hollow of her throat and down the valley between her breasts before flattening my hand across her tummy. She arched into my touch—her eyes wide and questioning. “But I will be,” I assured her, “—now, I will be.”

She closed her eyes as if we were sharing a prayer and then she was pulling me down—and the feel of her hands on my body was a blessing—a balm to my weary heart.

I’d cared about other women in my life. And I’d enjoyed sleeping with them—the closeness, the affection, the physical release of desire. But I’d never invested so much of myself in the act of making love before this night with Mac.

Every touch was a plea—every kiss, a pledge. Every stroke uncovered long buried tenderness and for once I didn’t hold back anything. I covered her with a monstrous need and demanded a response that left us both shaken and spent. I fell asleep wrapped around her and woke up in the middle of the night to find her gone.

My empty bed stretched out beside me, a familiar sight reminding me of how alone I was these days. The pillow still held the imprint of her head—the sheets still held the scent of her body—and I fought a million different feelings—loss, panic, disappointment, but not regret. I couldn’t manage regret.

A noise in the living room made me sit up in bed. I looked through the glass wall and saw her silhouetted against the front window. She was wrapped in a blanket and the memory of another night came flooding back to me—another night—another lifetime ago when I’d accepted her offer of protection from Clark Palmer because some part of me liked the fact that she was worried about my safety.

She’d given me a glimpse of her vulnerable side that night—crying for Webb, ironically enough, but then the moment had passed, and she’d slipped back into the proud, determined woman I worked with every day. I had a vague memory of wanting to scoop her up and carry her to my bed, but I’d been smart enough not to try. I had the same urge now, and despite the fact that we’d just made love, I was feeling a little too vulnerable to risk it.

I found my boxers, slipped them on and walked quietly into the living room. I stopped across the room, not wanting to startle her. She was staring out the window—looking off into the distance and she seemed so far away. I’d taken a step toward her when I heard her whisper, “I’m sorry, Clay.”

I wanted to run away. I wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and pretend I hadn’t heard her. I wanted to yell and ask her why she couldn’t see that I loved her more than he ever did. But I was a big boy and I’d known what this was all about from the beginning. While she cared about me, she’d been in love with Webb and she was still mourning him. This had been about comfort—that’s all it had been for her. And it wasn’t fair to change the rules on her now, so I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, Mac?”

She jumped at my touch, and tried to smile. “Oh, Harm, you scared me.”

“Sorry, I woke up, and you were gone.” Her response was to fall into my arms and bury her head in my chest. I felt a suspicious moisture that told me she’d been crying. Damn it. I wrapped her in my arms and rocked her back and forth.

She tightened her arms around my waist and mumbled against my bare skin, “I didn’t mean to wake you up. C’mon, let’s go back to bed.”

Why not? I thought as I hardened my heart. I was tired of sleeping alone.

We made love again—and while she was wrapped around me it was easy to tell myself I would do whatever it took to keep her in my bed. My pride was a worthless commodity, and Webb was dead. I watched her sleep and tried to convince myself I could learn to live with being her second choice.

The next morning I woke up, and she was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I pulled on a pair of jeans and stumbled out of the bedroom, feeling bad that I hadn’t gotten up first. She was wearing one of my tee shirts and scrambling eggs.

“Morning,” I said feeling shy.

She looked up and smiled. “Morning, Harm. It’s about time you woke up. I’ve been banging pots and pans for twenty minutes, but you were dead to the world.”

“I should be doing that,” I nodded at the eggs, but she waved me away.

“Don’t be silly. They’re almost done.”

I smelled coffee and headed for the coffee pot. I wanted to stop and kiss her first, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I poured the coffee and took a gulp, smiling at the Marine strength of it. I grabbed the milk from the refrigerator and lightened the coffee so that a reasonable person could drink it.

“Sorry,” she said wrinkling her nose as she watched me stir the milk into my mug.

“It’s okay. This way one cup gets me through the whole day.” I got plates from the cabinet and took them to the table. She brought the skillet over and set it on a hot pad.

I grabbed silverware while she got toast out of the oven. “I have juice,” I offered trying to be the host after she’d done all the work.

“Juice sounds good,” she said walking over to get glasses while I got the orange juice out of the refrigerator. We were being overly polite, way too considerate of each other—the way two people act when they don’t know each other very well—or the way two people act when they are afraid that spending the night together was a mistake.

I kept thinking I should just grab her and kiss her, but instead I poured her a glass of juice and she thanked me politely. We sat down to eat and talked about our plans for the weekend. She had laundry to do and a case to go over. I planned to replace the spark plugs on the Indian and shop for groceries before Mattie came home Sunday night.

We fell silent contemplating the dull weekend that lay ahead until Mac finally said, “I’ve never seen your motorcycle.”

I jumped at the opening and said eagerly, “She’s a beauty, Mac. I could change the spark plugs this morning, and then if you’d like, we could take her for a ride out in the country this afternoon.”

“Really? That sounds like fun. Maybe we could stop in one of those small inns and have lunch.” She sounded genuinely excited, and I hoped part of it was because she’d be spending time with me.

“I think we could manage that.” My invitation seemed to dispel the tension between us and soon we were arguing about where to go and what time to leave. She started clearing the table, but I wouldn’t let her wash the dishes. “Leave them,” I insisted as she stacked them in the sink. “And I better take you home, so I can get started on the spark plugs.”

“Okay, I’ll go get dressed.” She brushed past me, and I caught the hem of her tee shirt before she could get away.

“Not so fast.” I’d waited long enough. I hauled her up against my chest and kissed her. She tasted like coffee and buttered toast. My hands wandered beneath her shirt seeking and finding bare skin. She kissed me back, and then pulled away laughing, before disappearing into the bedroom to change back into her own clothes.

I watched her go and tried to remember why we needed to leave the apartment at all.

She was quiet on the way home and I could feel her drawing into herself. When we got to her apartment she insisted that I didn’t need to walk up with her. “You’re coming back to get me in a few hours, Harm.”

I allowed myself to be convinced. She hesitated before getting out of the car and I could tell that she had something on her mind. She turned sideways in her seat and grabbed my hand. “Harm, about last night.”

I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear this.

“You have been such a good friend—through everything with Webb and my illness, and I would feel awful if I thought I’d taken advantage of that last night.”

“You don’t hear me complaining.” I tried to brush it off as nothing.

“No, but I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you just because we slept together.”

That was the problem. I wanted her to expect things—hope for things—plan for a future, but it was my problem, and I wasn’t going to lay any of that on her. “Mac, I didn’t do anything I haven’t wanted to do for a long time, and I’m not sorry it happened.”

Her smile was a little shaky, but she said, “Neither am I.”

“We’re okay then?” I asked.

“We’re okay.” She nodded her head and seemed relieved as she got out of the car. She stuck her head back inside the door and said, “Harm, don’t forget to come back for me.”

“Not a chance, sweet thing.” She rolled her eyes, but laughed as she straightened to close the door.

“And Mac?”

She leaned back inside. “What now?”

“Wear something leather.”

Chapter Six

We escaped the big city and the crush of the heavy, slow moving traffic and headed out toward the Maryland countryside. The back roads that led to the mountains were lined with towering trees that filtered the sunlight making the day feel suddenly cooler, darker and more intimate. We were in our own world, going nowhere in particular, but Mac’s arms were wrapped around my waist and I was filled with a powerful feeling of completeness—despite all that was unsettled between us.

She’d been outside waiting for me on the steps of her apartment when I’d arrived to pick her up. She waved and bounded down the stairs as if she’d been waiting eagerly for my return. I hoped it was because she couldn’t wait to see me again, but it was more likely the lure of the motorcycle—it seemed to have that effect on women. I asked if she’d ridden before and she said – it had been years ago—but yes, she’d spent a few hours riding behind Chris while they’d still been together.

“Nice pants,” I said casually as I handed her an extra helmet. She was wearing leather pants—tight, brown, disturbing leather pants.

“As requested,” she said softly while strapping the helmet under her chin.

The look she gave me was unnerving. Mac would’ve normally told me to stick my request where the sun don’t shine. Feeling brave, I ventured, “Maybe I should make requests more often.”

“Maybe you should,” she said with a wink as she climbed on behind me. If she wanted to throw me off balance she was doing a good job.

We rode along a creek that threatened to overflow its banks and raced beside the rushing white water until it veered off in another direction leaving us traveling through a canopy of tree branches that formed a dense green tunnel. It opened up to wide flat fields that spread out on either side of us, and we started passing the occasional house signaling that we were nearing a town.

We stopped along the way in small antique shops—Mac had a fondness for old costume jewelry that surprised me. When she wasn’t watching I bought a small rhinestone bumble bee pin that she’d admired. She discovered an assorted collection of men’s hats, and I stood still while she tried them on me. Her hands brushed my neck and the tips of my ears as she stood on tiptoe to straighten the brim of an old felt fedora, and I let her persuade me to model a straw panama boater, but when she came at me with a tall stove top hat, I resisted—wrestling it away from her while she laughed and tried to jump high enough to get it on my head. It was a thinly disguised excuse to touch each other, and we both knew it.

The raw buzz of desire lived under the surface of my skin—an ever present reminder of how much I wanted her. Having her close was nothing new—I’d worked with her for years and learned to handle the attraction, but last night had smashed any illusion that sleeping with her would get her out of my system.

We’d crossed some threshold and there was no getting back to that place where we could pretend that this thing between us didn’t exist—that it hadn’t always existed on some level. I’d been antsy all morning wondering where we really stood with each other now. No words had been spoken last night that promised love or ever after, and it seemed so upside down from what I’d always imagined.

I’d always thought that one day, finally, somehow Mac and I would come clean with each other. I would tell her I loved her, and on good days I would even imagine her telling me that she loved me too. Then we would end up in bed as an expression of what we felt.

I wasn’t a prude, but with Mac it had always seemed important to have it all clearly spelled out before we took that final leap. Instead I’d short circuited the whole thing and dragged her to bed at her first sign of willingness last night. When she’d been willing in the past, I’d responded with common sense, restraint, a level head—all the things that were sure to kill passion.

Until last night.

I’d taken up every challenge she’d handed down—stoked the fire I’d seen in her eyes without regard for why she was pushing me for more. I could blame it on her boldness. I could blame it on the dress she’d worn. I could blame it on the position of the moon, but the truth was that after a year of watching her with Clayton Webb, I’d just been too damned tired to control my baser urges. That sounded selfish and maybe even a little vengeful since Mac was the woman I loved, but I was only human, and to suddenly be needed by her was a powerful aphrodisiac.

Lousy excuses—every one.

I had no doubt that before the day was over we’d end up back in bed together, and frankly I couldn’t wait. The air around us was thick with good old fashioned lust. No touch was innocent. Every look lasted too long to be casual, and I had every intention of finding out exactly how hard it was to get her out of those tight leather pants. It was heady knowing she wanted that too.

Sometime later—probably in the middle of the night, I’d beat myself up and worry about how smart I was to let this continue. I’d worry about how this would all end, and I’d wonder how many times I could wake up to find her crying over Clay before I started to resent it. Sooner or later I was going to have to face the reality of what this was—and what it wasn’t.

But not now—not when she was laughing and pulling me down the street and into the next shop. Not now when she was digging through old record albums insisting stubbornly that we buy anything by Sarah Vaughn regardless of how scratched up they were. Not when she would suddenly get quiet, grab my hand and squeeze it for no reason at all.

I was happy –middle of the day, punch drunk happy and I wasn’t going to ruin it by thinking too much—at least not until I had to.

We stopped for a late lunch in a small café and sat side by side on the same side of a booth. We playfully elbowed each other for room, and jostled for position until we fit together snugly hip to hip. I ordered tomato soup. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and polished it off while I was still waiting for my soup to cool.

“Want some?” I asked as I blew on a spoonful.

“No thanks,” she said staring at me intently while resting her chin on her hand.

I took a few sips and tried not to feel self conscious when she continued to stare. “Do you want something else to eat?” I asked.

“No thanks, I’m not hungry.” She looked hungry but not for food, and it was all I could do not to dribble my soup all down the front of my shirt. My eyes locked with hers, and suddenly I wasn’t hungry either. I threw some money on the table and pulled her from the booth. “Let’s get out of here, Mac.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said as she followed me outside.

We’d just made it to the parking lot when a car pulled in carrying a young family. The mother and father each opened a back door and helped two little dark haired girls out of their car seats. One looked about six years old, and the other was around three. They held hands and stared at us with big brown eyes as we put on our helmets and started to get on the motorcycle.

“Hi,” I said with a big grin.

The oldest one ducked her head shyly, but the younger one waved and yelled over her shoulder, “Look, Daddy, it’s a motor scooter.”

The father scooped her up and took the other one by the hand and with a smile and a nod in our direction headed for the restaurant. “Yes, baby, it is.” She waved at us again as they disappeared inside.

I waggled my fingers at her and waited for Mac to get on behind me, but she stood rooted in place, staring after the little girls. She turned to me, and the determination in her voice warred with the wistfulness in her eyes. “I don’t want to be one of those women who can’t look at someone else’s kids without feeling jealous because of what I’ll never have.”

The doctor had said that her endometriosis might make getting pregnant more difficult. She’d been stoic when she told me, so matter of fact. But I knew that she was still numb from everything she’d been through. Getting that news on top of Clay’s death had been a terrible blow. I knew how much she wanted children. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to have them with her until faced with the possibility that it might be too late. Just thinking about it made my stomach hurt, but it seemed selfish to be thinking about myself when she’d lost so much more.

“Mac, she didn’t say it would be impossible.” I was reduced to spouting useless platitudes, but I didn’t know what else to say.

She forced a smile and climbed on the bike. “You’re right, Harm. Let’s go home.”

The ride home felt different. The scenery was the same. Her arms were still wrapped around my waist, her head still rested occasionally on my back, and it still felt like she was exactly where she belonged, but the reality of what she was dealing with had wormed its way back into the day.

The sun was getting low in the sky when we pulled up to her apartment. She hopped off the back and handed me her helmet. I stayed on the bike, and when she noticed that I hadn’t moved she asked, “Aren’t you coming up?”

“I thought you might want some time alone.” I was trying to be sensitive, but I could only guess if this was the right approach.

She frowned and shook out her hair, then reached out a hand and picked at the leather handle bar grip without meeting my eye. “I didn’t mean to ruin the day, Harm.”

“No, Mac,” I protested gently. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Well if you go home now, I’ll just mope around and think that I did.” She looked at me, and her eyes were asking for things she didn’t want to say out loud.

I sat there a minute then said, “Hey, Mac? Would it be okay if I came up for a while?”

She smiled and gave me a quick hug. We gathered the few purchases we’d made, and I followed her up to her apartment.

I shrugged off my jacket and sat down on the couch while she checked her answering machine for messages. I wondered if she half expected to hear one from Clay. He’d been gone so often during their time together that I imagined she often came home to find some message from him waiting for her. It would be hard to stop expecting that.

“I’m making tea,” Mac said before disappearing into the kitchen.

I stretched my legs out in front of me and looked around the place. I hadn’t been to her apartment much in the last year, and I was happy not to see any obvious reminders of the time Webb must have spent here with her. Seeing his stuff mixed up with hers would have been more than I could take. Then I got irritated at myself for dredging up his ghost all the time. Mac rarely mentioned him. I was the one who couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She came back into the living room carrying a tray holding a tea pot, two cups and some little cookies and set it on the coffee table, but then she ignored it and sat down next to me. She looked so serious like she’d been doing some thinking and said, “I want to thank you, Harm.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For today. For last night. For putting up with my moods—for making me laugh when I haven’t wanted to for weeks. I could go on if you’d like.” She looked fragile and sincere and beautiful.

I wanted to pull her into my lap, but I kept my hands to myself and said, “Today was the best day I’ve had in—I don’t know how long, Mac.”

“It was?” She smiled and seemed pleased. “What about last night?” Now she was fishing.

I shrugged and said in an offhand manner, “It wasn’t bad.”

She leaned back against the cushions so that she was facing straight ahead and only our arms touched. “No,” she agreed, “It wasn’t bad.”

“I enjoyed the dancing,” I added thoughtfully.

“The dancing was nice.” She leaned her head on my shoulder.

I slipped my arm around her and drew her up against me. “We could do it again sometime.”

“Okay.” She turned in my arms so that she was facing me and stretched her legs out the length of the couch.

She wanted me to kiss her. I could see it in her eyes. I could feel it in the way her breasts brushed against my chest—in the way her arms were looped around my neck. If this was supposed to be a test of my ability to resist her I was prepared to fail. I leaned in, watching her eyes darken and close. I found her mouth with mine and sighed at the contact. It had been way too long—too many hours since I’d kissed her and I wondered how I’d made it through the day without this. She tasted familiar and necessary. I wouldn’t need much more for the rest of my life to make me happy.

She straddled my lap, unbuttoning my shirt and dragging it off my shoulders and down my arms till it was trapped at my bent elbows. She leaned back to admire her handiwork and traced my collarbone with her fingers. Then she asked nicely, “Harm, take me to bed.”

I was up and off the couch almost before the words were out of her mouth. She wrapped her legs around my waist as I stood up, and then she was kissing me again. I stumbled, knocking over the coffee table, sending the tea tray flying onto the floor, but I managed to make it to the bedroom without dropping her until we made it to the bed. I dumped her in the middle of it and stood towering over her, soaking up the wanton sight she made even with all of her clothes on. Eventually my eyes wandered to those leather pants I’d obsessed about all day.

She noticed and started working at the button on the waist band and said with a laugh. “I think I’m going to need your help getting out of these, Harm.”

I raised my eyebrows and said, “Say please.” I didn’t want to seem too easy.

She propped herself up on her elbows and gave me an exasperated glare. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.” She got off the bed, unzipped her pants and then started wriggling around trying to peel the skin tight material down her legs.

“Okay, I’ll help,” I offered, acting all magnanimous.

“Don’t bother,” she panted as she managed to move them down another half inch.

“No, really, I’d like to help.” Watching her was killing me, and she knew it.

“Say please,” she said with a smug grin as she collapsed back on the bed.

I grabbed her pants legs and began tugging in earnest. We were both laughing, and I was out of breath by the time I managed to get them all the way off.

“You never said please,” she complained as I finished taking off my shirt. I stripped off my own pants and crawled up the bed toward her.

“Please,” I said as I kissed the inside of her thigh. “Thank you,” I whispered as I licked the edge of her belly button. I collapsed on top of her and framed her face in my hands.

“You’re welcome,” she sighed before I covered her mouth with my own.

I woke up later with my heart pounding in my chest, not sure of where I was. I turned on my side and saw Mac tangled in the sheets. She looked soft and peaceful when she slept—with her eyes closed, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, her lips parted slightly. She was so damned beautiful I wanted to cry. Or maybe I wanted to cry because I was finally in her bed and it was for all the wrong reasons. I traced her bottom lip with my thumb and she smiled and nestled further into her pillow.

I got up carefully so I wouldn’t disturb her and pulled on my jeans. The lights were still on in the living room and the coffee table was sitting on its side. The tea tray and its contents were scattered all over the floor from when I’d knocked it off in my race to get Mac into bed. I started cleaning up the mess, trying to remember if I’d ever been so out of control with a woman before. Knocking over furniture wasn’t really my style, but I had no trouble imagining the two of us wrecking a whole house full of furniture before we were done.

I got some paper towels from the kitchen and then squatted down and started soaking up the spilled tea. I managed to pick up most of the cookies without cutting myself on the broken tea cups. One cup had shattered into several pieces. The other one looked like it had survived until I held it up and examined it. A small crack started at the rim and traveled down the side, not obvious at first glance but just as ruined as the one that lay in pieces on the rug. There were all sorts of ways to be broken, and Mac was every bit as fragile as these tea cups right now. In trying to help her I’d probably done everything wrong. I was in over my head, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I rocked back on my heels feeling overwhelmed by it all.

And I didn’t know how long I could go on being a substitute for the man she really wanted. I should have kept my distance until she’d finished grieving for Clay. This was my own damned fault, and it was bound to end up hurting us both.

“Harm?” I hadn’t heard her get up, but she’d thrown on a robe and come out to find me.

“Hey,” I said, “I thought I’d get this mess cleaned up.” She walked over beside me, and I warned, “Watch your feet.”

She crouched down beside me and said, “You didn’t have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to do this.” Then as if it just occurred to her she asked, “Or were you going home?”

“I don’t know, Mac. Maybe I should.” I picked up the tray and took it into the kitchen. When I came back out she was waiting for me.

“I had to practically force you to come up here this afternoon, and now you want to leave.” She asked starkly, “You think this is a mistake, don’t you?”

“You didn’t force me to do anything, Mac, but I’m not sure this is the wisest thing we’ve ever done.”

She smiled sadly. “I’ve never been wise when it comes to you.”

“Mac—”

She interrupted me before I could go on. “I’ve put you in a bad position, and I want to apologize. I should know you well enough by now to realize that you’re bound to feel a certain obligation to me—”

It was my turn to interrupt, and I was suddenly so mad I could barely talk. “If you value our friendship at all, Mac, you won’t finish that sentence. But let me get this straight. You think we had sex because I felt sorry for you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well, excuse me, but you make it sound like I’m making some noble sacrifice just to avoid hurting your feelings.”

“I never said you didn’t enjoy it,” she shot back. She was starting to get a little riled herself.

“Oh, I enjoyed it.” I leered and started toward her, and I didn’t stop until she had to look up to meet my eyes. She stood her ground, sticking her chin out stubbornly as I glared down at her. “At least I knew who I was making love to. How many times have you closed your eyes and pretended I was Clayton Webb? I won’t be a stand in for him, Mac.”

“What makes you think you’ll get the chance?” She took a step toward me and poked me in the chest with her finger. I backed up but she kept coming. “If that’s really what you think then maybe you should go home.”

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy here. What did you expect me to think when I woke up alone in bed last night and found you in my living room crying your eyes out over him?”

Her face kind of crumpled at that, but when I reached out to touch her, she shrugged me off and pulled herself together. “You’re supposed to think that I was feeling guilty.”

“Because you slept with me?” I asked gently. My anger evaporated in the face of her despair.

“I felt guilty because I hadn’t loved him enough—I tried. I really did, but he wasn’t you, so even if he’d lived it would’ve never worked, and he knew that. I felt guilty because it only took one night with you, to make me forget an entire year with him. Are you satisfied now?” She stomped over to the couch and threw herself onto it.

I was floored by her revelation. I walked over slowly and crouched down in front of her I lifted her chin with my hand and said, “Say that again.”

She squirmed a little and avoided my eyes. “I didn’t say it to stroke your ego.”

“My ego could use a little stroking where you’re concerned.”

She looked surprised and said, “It’s not like you to admit that, Harm.”

“You’re right. Forget I said it.” I grinned and got up and sat beside her on the couch. “Scoot over,” I said as I squeezed myself between her and the end of the sofa just to be ornery. I felt happy and light hearted and hopeful even though she was looking like the world had just ended.

“You know I love you, too, Mac.”

She sat still and didn’t say anything for a minute. “I didn’t say I love you. I said you were good in bed.”

“Oh.” My heart skipped a beat, but then she grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

“But I do.”

“Do what?” I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Love you,” she conceded.

“That’s good to know.”

We sat there, side by side, holding hands.

“So what now?” she asked.

“Well, if we hadn’t gone about this all backwards, we would fall into each other’s arms now and have wild crazy sex.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “But we’ve already done that.”

We sat there a minute longer, before I said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to go back to bed—just to sleep, of course.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” She kissed me on the cheek, and the forehead, and the nose, and the chin. I’d carried her halfway to the bedroom and knocked over the coffee table and a wicker chair before she reached my mouth.

The end....