hours, holding and kissing each other. While asleep, Carol would roll over and forget Steve was at her side. Their discovery each time was worth far more than a few semiprecious hours of sleep. And Steve seemed equally excited about her being there with him.
“Currently,” he said, dragging her back to reality, “it’s going on noon.”
“Noon!” She bolted upright. She’d been in her teens the last time she’d slept this late.
“I’m sorry to wake you, honey, but I’ve got to get to the sub.”
Carol was surprised to see that he was dressed and prepared to leave. He handed her a fresh cup of coffee, which she readily took from him. “You’ll be back, won’t you?”
“Not until tomorrow morning.”
“Will you … could you stop off and see me one more time, before you leave?”
His dark gaze caressed her. “Honest to God, Carol, I don’t think I could stay away.”
* * *
As Steve walked away from his parked car at the Navy base in Bangor, less than ten miles north of Bremerton, he was convinced his strut would put a rooster to shame. Lord, he felt good.
Carol had come to him, wanted him, loved him as much as he’d always loved and wanted her. All the world felt good to him.
For the first time since they’d divorced, he felt whole. He’d been a crazed fool to harp on the subject of Todd Larson to Carol. From this moment on, he vowed never to mention the other man’s name again. Obviously whatever had been between the two was over, and she hadn’t wanted Todd back. Okay, so she’d made a mistake. Lord knew, he’d committed his share, and a lot of them had to do with Carol. He’d been wrong to think he could flippantly cast her out of his life.
In his pain, he’d lashed out at her, acted like a heel, refused to have anything to do with her because of his foolish pride. But Carol had been woman enough to forgive him. He couldn’t do anything less than be man enough to forget the past. The love they shared was too precious to muddy with doubts. They’d both made mistakes, and the time had come to rectify those and learn from them.
Dear God, he felt ready to soar. He shouldn’t be on a nuclear submarine—a feeling this good was meant for rockets.
* * *
Carol found herself humming as she whipped the cream into a frothy topping for Steve’s favorite dessert: French pudding. She licked her index finger, grinned lazily to herself and leaned her hip against the kitchen counter, feeling happier than she could remember being in a long time.
Friday night had been incredible. Steve had been incredible. The only cost had been her bruised pride when she’d arrived at his apartment with such a flimsy excuse. The price had been minor, the rewards major.
Not once during the entire evening had Steve mentioned Todd’s name. Maybe, just maybe, he was ready to put that all behind them now.
If she was pregnant from their Friday night lovemaking, which she sincerely prayed she was, it would be best for the baby to know “her” father. Originally Carol had intended to raise the child without Steve. She wasn’t sure she would ever have told him. Now the thought of suppressing the information seemed both childish and petty. But she wasn’t going to use the baby as a convenient excuse for a reconciliation. They would settle matters first—then she would tell him.
Steve would make a good father; she’d watched him around children and had often been amazed by his patience. He’d wanted a family almost from the first. Carol had been the one who’d insisted on waiting, afraid she wouldn’t be able to manage her job, a home and a baby with her husband away so much of the time, although she’d never admitted it to Steve. She knew how important it was for him to believe in her strength and independence. But this past year had matured her. Now she was ready for the responsibility.
Naturally hindsight was twenty-twenty, and she regretted having put off Steve’s desire to start a family. The roots of their marriage might have been strong enough to withstand what had happened if there’d been children binding them together. But it did no good to second-guess fate.
Children. Carol hadn’t dared think beyond one baby. But if she and Steve were to get back together—something that was beginning to look like a distinct possibility—then they could plan on having a houseful of kids!
* * *
It was early afternoon by the time Steve made it to Carol’s house. A cold wind from the north whistled through the tops of the trees and the sky was darkening with a brewing storm.
Carol tossed aside her knitting and flew across the room the minute she heard a car door close, knowing it had to be Steve. By the time he was to the porch, she had the front door open for him.
He wore his uniform, which told her he hadn’t stopped off at his apartment to change. Obviously he was eager to see her again, Carol thought, immeasurably pleased.
“I’m glad to see you’re waiting for me,” he said, and his words formed a soft fog around his mouth. He took the steps two at a time and rubbed his bare hands together.
“I can’t believe how cold it is.” Carol pulled him inside the house and closed the door.
His gaze sought hers. “Warm me, then.”
She didn’t require a second invitation, and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him, leaning her weight into his. Steve wrapped her in his embrace, kissing her back greedily, as if they had been apart six weeks instead of a single day. When he finished, they were both breathless.
“It feels like you missed me.”
“I did,” she assured him. “Give me your coat and I’ll hang it up for you.”
He gave her the thick wool jacket and strolled into the living room. “What’s this?” he asked, looking at her knitting.
Carol’s heart leaped to her throat. “A baby blanket.”
“For who?”
“A … friend.” She considered herself a friend, so that was at least a half-truth. She’d been working on the blanket in her spare time since before Christmas. It had helped her feel as if she was doing something constructive toward her goal.
Suddenly she felt as if she had a million things to tell him. “I got energetic and cleaned house. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but I don’t have the energy I used to have.”
“Have you been sick?”
She loved him for the concern in his voice. “No, I’m in perfect health … I’ve just been tired lately … not getting enough vitamins, I suppose. But it doesn’t matter now because I feel fantastic, full of ambition—I even made you French pudding.”
“Carol, I think you should see a doctor.”
“And if he advises bed rest, do you promise to, er … rest with me?”
“Good heavens, woman, you’ve become insatiable.”
“I know.” She laughed and slipped her
