Matt's Family. Lynnette Kent
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“Kristin.”
Her name had brought light to five years of darkness. Saying it aloud now built up a fierce need inside him. He’d waited so long. But he didn’t have to wait another minute.
Opening the car door, he stepped onto the pavement, once again aware of the unfamiliar sensation of shoes after spending half a decade in a tropical prison, barefoot. A soft, damp breeze blew across his face, and he closed his eyes for a second to appreciate the moisture. His life had been dry for so long.
No more. Grinning like a fool, with his heart pounding in his chest, Matt crossed the spiky grass to the front door of the house. Kristin didn’t know he was coming—none of his family knew, yet, that he was alive. The Army could keep secrets very well, when it wanted to.
His finger shook as he pressed the doorbell button. He closed his fists at his sides as he waited, braced against the wild excitement that kept stealing his breath. After so long…
The door opened. Looking over her shoulder, laughing at something behind her, Kristin didn’t see him for a second. In the time it took her to face him, his world shattered.
She held a baby in the bend of her arm, a little girl in a pink gown with a wisp of silver hair caught up in a pink bow.
If he could have moved, Matt would have left before a word was said. But he was frozen in place. And so the woman he loved—Kristin, his fiancée—turned to see him standing at her door.
Her brown eyes went round, and her lips parted on a gasp. The color left her cheeks in a rush. Staring at him, she didn’t appear to notice when the baby in her arms pulled at a strand of her bright gold hair.
“Matt?” No sound filled in the word. “Oh my God.” This time he heard her whisper. “Matt?”
Joy flashed in her face, bright as fireworks. And just as fleeting. Shock, dismay, even fear, followed immediately.
He cleared his throat. “Hi, Kris.”
The patter of bare feet on tile filled the paralyzed silence. A child peeked around Kristin’s waist, another tow-haired little girl, several years older than the baby.
“Mommy, who’s that?”
Kristin’s left hand dropped to rest on the girl’s head. In the pale winter light, Matt caught the flash of a ring on her third finger.
“This is…” Her voice died again.
“Kristin?” A man’s voice called from the back of the house. “Who’s ringing the doorbell at 8:00 a.m. on Christmas morn—”
The skin on the back of his neck crawled as Matt recognized the voice. He dragged his gaze away from Kristin’s horrified face as his brother stepped up behind her. “Hey, Luke. Merry Christmas.”
Luke’s hand—also wearing a wedding ring—closed over Kristin’s shoulder. “Matt?” Welcome shone in his gray eyes, in his wide smile. And then faded away.
Matt tried for a grin. “That’s right. Uh…surprise?”
His younger brother didn’t laugh at the feeble joke. Luke glanced at Kristin, instead, and at the baby she held. He looked down at the older girl for a long moment. And then raised his eyes to Matt’s. His next comment went straight to the heart of the matter. “Dear God, Matt. We’re in a hell of a mess now!”
CHAPTER ONE
May, 2000
MATT WOKE UP as his wife of almost a year slipped out of bed and left their room. He squinted at the clock. Two-thirty, later than usual. She was often out of bed by midnight or one.
Staring up at the ceiling, he listened to Kristin move through the house. Minutes passed, then half an hour. The microwave beeped—she’d made herself some tea. A faint glow at the doorway indicated she’d switched on a lamp.
So here they were again, him lying in the dark, waiting, while she sat in the kitchen downstairs, thinking. About what?
Did she think about the same things he did? Did she wonder how their life could be so good…yet so wrong? How two people could live together and, at the same time, be so far apart?
He rolled to his side, facing the door. He’d made love with Kris just a few hours ago. Tonight, as always, she’d given him more pleasure than any man had a right to know. She gave him everything, including her own satisfaction. Her whispers, her sighs, the shudders that ran through her body as he touched and kissed and moved—every reaction conveyed Kristin’s delight in what he did.
But she never asked, dammit. Never demanded. Never abandoned herself, selfish—even helpless—in her need for him. After nearly a year together, sex seemed almost like a contest to see who could please whom the most. A quid pro quo kind of experience—neither of them relaxed enough to simply take.
Matt knew he never felt really at ease—because he never knew what Kris was thinking anymore. Was she afraid to tell him what she wanted because she thought he would resent the implication that he’d failed? Or was sex something she did because she saw it as her responsibility?
Was the whole marriage simply a matter of responsibility? A debt to be paid?
He closed his eyes at the painful grip of that thought. The idea that Kris had married him because she owed him hurt too much to consider.
In the hallway, her footsteps padded lightly toward their door. She eased back into bed, barely disturbing the mattress or the covers. If he wanted, Matt could pretend he hadn’t known she was gone.
That wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to take her again—make love to his wife until she was so crazy she couldn’t think. Love her until she forgot about loving him back, until she just accepted everything he had to give, until she came apart in his arms and cried out his name. Then he’d know for sure she trusted him, needed him. Wanted him.
But when he finally turned over, he heard her soft, even breaths. She’d fallen asleep. He could wake her, and she would welcome him. Duty, or desire? Matt had no way to know. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to find out.
And so he just laid his hand lightly on the blanket covering her hip, and forced himself back to sleep.
“THAT’S PRETTY, Mommy!”
“Thanks, Jenny.” Kristin patted her younger daughter’s blond head and stepped back from the counter to survey the results of her morning’s work—a three-layer chocolate cake, iced with butter-cream frosting and decorated with an American flag. “I think so, too.”
The real question was whether her mother-in-law would agree. For the first time in eight years, Matt’s mother had allowed Kristin to contribute to the family’s Memorial Day picnic menu. A bowl of potato salad waited in the refrigerator, as picture perfect as she could make it. Her cake looked professional, if she did say so herself. Surely even Mrs. Brennan would be pleased.
Running footsteps sounded in the family room. Eight-year-old Erin dashed into the kitchen, sun-streaked hair flying. Her perpetual shadow trotted close behind. Buster—a dog of mixed ancestry—was nearly as tall as Erin when he stood on his hind legs, and weighed more. He followed her as far as he was allowed and slept at her feet every night, a long-haired, black-and-white bodyguard.
“Hey, Jenny, look what I found under my bed!” Erin waved a purple stuffed toy.
“That’s mine.” Jenny climbed off the stool at the counter. “Give me my dragon back.”
“I found it, I get to keep it.” Erin held the dragon above her head.
Jenny jumped, but couldn’t reach. “Mommy, tell her to give me my dragon that Daddy got for me!”
Kristin picked up the cake and held it protectively. “Erin, give Jenny her dragon. You’ve got one of your own.” As she pivoted toward the other side of the kitchen, a warm, furry