“What kind of rumors?” she demanded.
Jackson’s hand emerged with a tub of margarine. He turned to face her, but his eyes still revealed nothing. “Just some murmurings that there might be somethin’ brewing in the desert.”
“The desert?” A spark of panic ignited her belly. “You mean, the Middle East?”
Another shrug.
“Huh,” Danny said slowly. “So you guys all grow beards before you ship out? What, so you can blend in?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Jackson said vaguely.
As if on cue, the cell phone on the counter rang. It was Jackson’s, and Mia’s worry doubled as she watched him check the display.
Something indefinable flickered in his eyes. “I’ve gotta take this,” he muttered. “I’ll be right back.”
“Is it the base?” she blurted out.
He shook his head. “Naah.”
She didn’t detect any dishonesty in his reply, but the uneasiness floating inside her refused to dissipate. She knew that as a SEAL, Jackson was forever on standby. Even when he wasn’t deployed overseas, he could still get called to action at any time, and the thought of him being sent on some dangerous mission in the “desert” scared the living crap out of her.
She’d actually spoken about this very topic with Jen last week, when Cash and the blonde had accompanied her and Jackson to another one of Danny’s games. Jen had confessed to Mia that being in a relationship with a SEAL wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows—the woman worried like crazy whenever Cash was gone, and she’d admitted that she’d initially resisted dating Cash for that reason. Jen hadn’t wanted to deal with the long absences, the constant worry, the frustration that came with never knowing whether her man was safe.
The candid conversation had triggered in Mia the realization that soldiers weren’t the only ones who needed to be strong. The women who loved them had to possess that same strength in order to make a relationship between them work.
Sadly, her talk with Jen had also served as a reminder that anything long-term wasn’t in the cards for her and Jackson. Before, the only terrifying outcome she’d foreseen was a relationship that ended in her broken heart. But a relationship with a soldier could have an even deadlier end—Jackson could actually die. The grim reality hadn’t sunk in until now, and yet, even knowing that she could lose Jackson in more than just the figurative sense, Mia couldn’t bring herself to break it off with him.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I know how much you were looking forward to it…”
Jackson’s low voice wafted into the kitchen from the hall, and the chord of sadness and remorse in his tone made her uneasy all over again.
Mia glanced at Danny, whose dark head was bent in concentration as he checked on the omelet he was preparing. Satisfied that her brother was otherwise occupied, she crept toward the doorway. She knew eavesdropping was beyond rude, but Jackson had sounded so upset she couldn’t help but listen in.
His quiet murmur met Mia’s ears. “I’ll see what I can do, Mom, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to get leave.” A pause. “I know it’s Thanksgiving, but I have orders.” Another pause. “I’ll try to get leave, Mom. I’ll call you next week to let you know for sure, okay? Yeah…’kay…I love you too.”
Mia ducked away from the doorframe as Jackson’s call wrapped up. She furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of what she’d heard. Why was Jackson telling his mother that he couldn’t come home? Mia knew for a fact that he was getting three days of leave for the Thanksgiving holiday—he’d told her so himself.
So why was he lying to his mother about it?
Mia bit her tongue when Jackson returned to the kitchen. She didn’t want to confront him in front of Danny, who had plopped down on the stool by the eat-in counter and was happily munching on his omelet.
“Man, it’s nice eating something other than cereal for breakfast.” Danny swallowed, then shot Mia a pointed stare. “See how nice it is to wake up earlier and have a balanced meal before school?”
“Uh-huh, go ahead and blame me. But we both know you enjoy sleeping in as much as I do.” She glanced at Jackson. “He’s conning you. Pretending he’s an early riser in order to impress you.”
Jackson chuckled and drifted over to the stove. “How many pieces of bacon do you want, darlin’? Six or seven?”
She gaped at him. “Six or seven? I was going to ask for two. Who eats seven pieces of bacon?”
“I do.” His expression turned smug. “I’m a growing boy, Mia. Jeez.”