With two knuckles, he rapped twice. "It's me."
"Come on in." Monica's husky Texas drawl sucker punched him right through the shabby tin door. "It's unlocked."
Unlocked? He'd address that later when he wasn't mad and she wasn't in defensive mode. And when he could stop remembering the world of want in her eyes earlier.
He swung wide the door to the office converted into sleeping quarters. A desk, a couple of chairs and a shelf littered a corner by a door open to a tiny private toilet and shower stall. A thin cot stretched against the other wall with barely enough room for a restless night. But big enough if the two of them were absolutely in sync, the way he and Monica had always been in bed.
Eyes off the cot, pal.
Her military bag lay open on the desk to reveal neat stacks of clothes. Ziplocs sealed each toiletry from an accidental spill. Orderly. Clean. His germ-nut doctor-wife all but lived with antibacterial soap holstered to her hip.
The only time she got good and messy, sweaty and relaxed, was during a ball game. And sex.
Don't look at the bed.
Instead he studied the straight curve of her spine as she leaned against the windowpane. Silky caramel-brown hair fell free just past her at attention shoulders, a few waves crimping it after being contained in a French braid. More than air, he wanted to kiss his way up her spine, under her aloe-scented strands to her neck, coax her head to fall forward and that stiff posture of hers to go limp and languid.
Time to shut down those thoughts or soon he would be stiffer than her spine. "You should have that window blacked out so you can sleep during the day when you need to."
"Sure. Later." Monica traced a finger along the pane, drawing circles in the dirt. "I'm sorry for not explaining about Yasmine before."
At the ring of her honest regret, some of his anger deflated. Who was he to toss stones when he hadn't told her about Tina? "We all have our secrets."
He still wasn't sure why he hadn't told Monica, and now sure as hell wasn't the time to bring it up. Of course, he never talked about Tina, and it had been so damned long ago. Still, no question in his mind, wife number two would be pissed to learn there'd been a wife number one she never knew about. Another hole to dig himself out of.
Damn. They were one messed-up couple.
He sauntered across the room. Stopped at the other side of the window. Looked at her while she looked at the world where her mother once lived, where both her sisters lived now. He waited, since patience seemed to be his one trump card around her.
Monica's slim finger slowed on the glass. Without a word she ducked around him, riffled through her duffel bag and pulled out a pack of antibacterial wipes. He almost smiled at the predictability, but her need to tidy her world seemed somehow sad right now.
After she cleaned her fingers, she swiped the disposable cloth over the window for a clearer view, flatted her palm over the pane as if to reach through to something outside. "How can a mother abandon her children like that? Regardless of whether she loved us or not, she was responsible. Even a dog stays with her puppies until they can fend for themselves." Her hand fell from the smudged view of endless sand mottled by rippling heat. "Of course, I guess she figured it out in time for Yasmine."
Monica paused, crinkling her nose in self-disgust. "Eww. Sibling rivalry sounds so juvenile."
He'd learned early not to pick sides in his sisters' battles, and they loved each other. The animosity between Monica and Yasmine bore no resemblance to any family relationship he'd witnessed. "She doesn't make it easy for you."
"Thanks." A wry smile flickered as she pitched the dirty paper cloth into the trash. "Even if you're sucking up, I still enjoyed hearing that."
"I aim to please."
She snorted. "Still angling for that spanking, are you?"
"Monica."
"Yeah?"
"We don't have to laugh right now."
Her head fell forward, hair sliding to shield her face and emotions. "Thank you."
He'd seen her. She was okay. He should go. He needed sleep. His boots wouldn't move.
With a toss of her hair, she looked up again. "I don't want to be one of those people who blames their parents for everything. I'm an adult. I make my own decisions."
"Yes, ma'am, you do."
"Then why can't I let this go?"