Love of a Marine (The Wounded Warriors Series Book 2)

by Patty Campbell

  Oh, Mama!

  He swallowed, took off his jeans and T-shirt, folded them neatly, and set them to the side.

  She plopped her big floppy hat on her head and leaned back on her hands. “What a perfect day.”

  “You got that right.” Perfect day. Perfect weather. Perfect spot. Perfect kids. And the perfect woman sitting next to him. It didn’t get any better than this.

  * * *

  The man had a strong, lean body. The body of a hardworking man who kept himself fit. She glanced sidewise through her dark glasses, hoping he didn’t notice her gawking. His well-defined shoulders, chest, and belly didn’t have an ounce of flab. Cluny dangled his big hands from the raised knees of his powerful legs. She smiled at his big feet.

  “You like my big feet?” He grinned. “Caught you looking. Don’t be embarrassed. We got that out of the way, now we can relax and enjoy ourselves.”

  She sat straight. “OK, just for the record, how big are they?”

  “Size thirteen. You could use one of my sneakers for a lifeboat.” He winked and pointed at her feet. “Yours are kinda big too.”

  Graciella laughed and leaned back on her elbows. “I deserved that, but I’ll go to my grave before I’ll reveal any statistics.” Her cheeks and neck warmed, and it wasn’t due to the bright sun.

  Cluny shifted, lay on his belly, and squinted at Amber and Santos. “He’s got the hang of it now. They’re having a great time.” He dropped his chin on his folded arms. “God, I remember the first time I saw an ocean. It was when Dwayne and I were stationed at Camp Pendleton as a couple of raw recruits. He got a charge out of my reaction. Born in California, it was old stuff to him. We were twenty years old and invincible. We knew everything.”

  She laughed and glanced at him. He had a beautiful, manly back. She itched to touch it. “Cluny, do you have sunscreen on your back?”

  “Only where I could reach.” He rolled his head to the side. “Wanna do the honors?”

  Instead of answering him, she reached in her tote bag and withdrew a large bottle of SPF 30, knelt next to him and squirted a good-size dollop between his shoulder blades. She hesitated with her hand an inch from his skin then began to massage the silky lotion over him. Cluny’s back felt as wonderfully strong as it looked. She closed her eyes at the sensuous tingle she experienced when he groaned with pleasure. It had been more than ten long years since she’d put her hands on a man like this. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until now.

  He rolled to his side, reached for the bottle and sat up. “My turn,” then reached for her shoulder and pushed gently. She didn’t resist and stretched out next to him waiting for the feeling of his big hands on her body.

  “Graciella?”

  “Yes?” Oh, my, his touch was wonderful. “If I ever say or do anything you don’t like, please tell me. If you think I’m pressuring you or making you uncomfortable, you have to let me know.”

  “OK.” She relaxed into the motion of his hands. Was this time for the friends-only talk? No, she’d wait.

  “Santos is a great kid. I’d like to spend time with him, invite him to join our park league baseball team. It’s not far from your place to Spring Grove Park. Games are on every Saturday all summer. If you can’t bring him, I’ll arrange transportation. I think he’d enjoy it.”

  She turned her head and smiled into his face. “I think he would too. He spends too much time with me. His grandfather, Earl, makes a point of encouraging him and takes him to a Dodger game now and then. I’ll ask Earl to drive him to the park.”

  “That would be great! I know you teach classes on Saturdays.” He sat back on his heels, snapped the cap on the bottle, and dropped it in her bag.

  “We’ll ask him…if we ever get them out of the water long enough for lunch.” Cluny McPherson was a good man. She wondered if he’d ever been married. He had problems sleeping, severe enough problems to require a service dog. Was it some form of PTSD due to his head injury? He’d tell her when they became friends, when he felt he could trust her.

  “What did you bring that’s cold and wet?” He pointed to the cooler.

  “I brought a variety of soft drinks and bottled water. Help yourself.”

  He dragged the cooler closer and unsnapped the lid. “Oh, my, God! Fanta Orange. I love this stuff. There are two bottles here. Want one?”

  Very pleased that she’d brought something he liked, she grinned and shook her head. “No, I’ll have a bottle of water.”

  “Coming right up.” He lifted a bottle from the ice, slicked the moisture droplets off, and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She held the bottle to her forehead. “It’s a hot day for this early in summer.” She gazed as he popped the top of the orange soda and downed about half of it. “I should have brought more.”

  “I’m going to get those two old sand chairs from the van. They’re ugly, but we’ll be more comfortable while we talk and watch the kids.” He stood, dug the keys out of his jeans, and jammed an Angel’s baseball cap over his hair. “Be right back.”

  She jumped to her feet. “I’ll come with you. We’ll be sitting for hours.” She strolled alongside him in the hot sun, waving at the lifeguard as they passed. “They get younger every year.”

  He chuckled. “Seems that way, doesn’t it? You must be an old lady of what, thirty? I’ll pass the thirty-two mark this fall. Probably start turning gray and needing a cane soon.”

  She laughed and playfully shoved his shoulder then jogged ahead of him to the edge of the parking lot. He made a fake grab for her as he passed and unlocked the back doors of the van. He grabbed the old sand chairs and locked up.

  On the way back to the blanket, Graciella smiled, warm and relaxed. She enjoyed Cluny McPherson. She enjoyed him a lot.

  He ducked his head to walk under the umbrella, unfolded the chairs, and placed them out of the sun. “Your throne awaits, Mrs. Jefferson. Take a load off.”

  “Hmm. I’m not sure I like the sound of ‘take a load off,’ but thank you. This will be much more comfortable.”

  He sat next to her. “See, that’s what I mean. If I say something you don’t like, just tell me and I’ll watch my mouth.” He smiled and gave her the once-over. “I’ll find another way to phrase it.”

  “Relax, I’m kidding and I’m not a fragile princess.” She raised an arm in the direction of the water. “The surf is higher than when we came.”

  “High tide is around noon today. I’ll drag ’em out for lunch soon. They should be getting tired.” He stretched out his long legs, leaned back, picked up the Fanta can, and took a swig. “Dwayne and I used to swill this stuff by the gallon at his mom’s ranch in Wyoming when we were teenagers.”

  “You two spent a lot of time together.”

  “We were in seventh grade when we met. I lived at the ranch with him and his mother and grandfather from the time I aged out of foster care at eighteen, up until we enlisted right out of UW.”

  Foster care? A breathless, crushing sensation enveloped her chest. “Did you say foster care?”

  “Yep, you’re looking at a poor little orphan boy.”

  “Oh, Cluny, I’m sorry. Was it terrible for you?” She laid a hand on his arm.

  He shrugged and smiled. “Nah, I had a couple of good loving families who took care of me. Ranch country isn’t like the inner city. Most everybody works hard, prays hard, and spends most of their time outdoors with the animals. I had a good life.”

  “But what—?” He’d just revealed a powerful fact about his childhood, and she wanted to know more but was reluctant to ask.

  “Both my parents were killed in a winter avalanche when I was six. I didn’t have any other relatives except my grandparents in Yellowknife, Canada. They were against my mother marrying my dad and weren’t interested in raising a kid they’d never met at their age. So, I went into the foster care system. I was probably better off.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “I enjoyed my childhood and had
a lot of friends. I made the decision early on to be happy. I am.”

  “I admire that, Cluny. We do have choices, don’t we?” Her heart ached for the little boy he’d been.

  Screams erupted from the water line. “Help! Help!”

  Queen bounded to the blanket, skidded and sprayed sand on them, barked at Cluny and raced back to the water.

  “Macfearsome!”

  “Uncle Cluny!”

  “Help my husband!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cluny sprang up and dashed across the beach, his bare feet pounding in the soft sand. Queen circled back and kept pace with him. He stumbled but didn’t slow down. Instinct had taken over and he was homed in on the mission.

  Amber and Santos hopped excitedly, arms flapping, shouting, they pointed to the water.

  “My husband!” a woman screamed again. “Something happened, he’s in trouble. Help him!”

  Without hesitation, Cluny and Queen plunged into the icy cold Pacific. He swam fast and hard through the roaring surf to the struggling man. “Gunny!” Cluny gasped. “Gunny, hang on, I’m coming.”

  The man went under, surfaced, and then disappeared again. “Gunny!” Cluny screamed frantically and spun in the water.

  Surfacing again, the man’s arms flailed. He grabbed Cluny’s neck and pulled him under. Queen paddled and barked. Finally they came up, and she nosed Cluny’s face. He turned on his side and struggled against the undertow. Another Marine reached them and took one of Gunny’s arms. They had to get him out of there before he bled to death. Between them, they got to the shallow water and onto the sand, slowed down by the ankle tether still attached to the broken surfboard. Surfboard? This made no sense.

  The other soldier rolled Gunny on his side and signaled a beach buggy with flashing emergency lights approaching from the far end of the parking lot. “Stand back,” he ordered, throwing out an arm.

  Cluny collapsed to his knees. “Gunny!” Unable to hang on to his balance, he fell forward onto his hands. The sounds of gunfire and explosions assailed him. The sickening coppery stench of blood hung heavy in the air.

  “Uncle Cluny!” Amber shook his shoulder. “Uncle Cluny, that isn’t Daddy.”

  He grabbed her at the waist and pushed her onto the sand. “Get down!” She struggled under his weight when he flopped on top of her. “Gunny’s been hit. Medic! Where’s the goddamn medic!”

  The young Marine shouted, “You have to move back, sir!”

  “Macfearsome, are you OK?” Santos knelt next to him at the edge of the shallow foamy water. “You’re mashing Amber. Get up.”

  Dazed, Cluny stared at the boy pushing against him. Ears ringing, he blinked and tried to focus. “Santos?” He grabbed the boy. “Are you hit?” Queen barked in his face and butted him. Queen? Where was he? What the hell was happening?

  The beach buggy skidded to a stop. One of the emergency crew approached Cluny. The driver assisted the lifeguard who’d helped him rescue the gasping old man who lay convulsing on the wet sand. “Everything OK here, folks? Whose dog is this?”

  Lifeguard? Not a Marine, a lifeguard. Cluny squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath. “What?” He pushed himself to his feet and lifted Amber to a standing position. She sobbed and hugged him tight around the waist.

  Graciella tugged Santos to his feet and stepped back, her face a wide-eyed mask of shock. “Cluny? Come away from here.” She extended a hand. “Come with me.”

  Instead of reaching for her, he dropped his head back, hands over his ears. “Oh, shit, oh, no.” Queen stood on her hind legs, her big paws planted on his chest. “OK, girl, I’m OK.”

  “This your dog running loose? Unleashed dogs are not allowed on this beach.”

  Cluny raised his hands. “Yes, sorry. She’s a service dog.” He dragged the soggy vest from his pocket and held it up.

  Amber took it from him. “I’ll put it on her.”

  “Keep it on her unless you want a citation. Now move away.” He turned to the crowd that had gathered, many of them more interested in Cluny and Queen than the swimmer who now sat talking to his wife. “Move away. Emergency’s over. Everybody move away.”

  Amber grasped his hand. “Come on, Uncle Cluny. Let’s go.”

  His head in turmoil, they slowly trudged across the warm sand toward the red-striped umbrella. Graciella and a silent Santos kept pace with them. Cluny sat heavily on the edge of the blanket and dropped his head between raised knees. Graciella draped a towel across his shoulders. “I’ll get you some water.”

  Santos bent close and peered at him. “Did you get hurt, Macfearsome?”

  “No, I…uh… I’m fine. I’m not hurt.” He reached for the water bottle Graciella held for him, met her eyes, pressed his lips in a grim line and shook his head. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t—”

  “Drink.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and sat next to him then pulled the towel down to cover his back against the blazing sun. Reaching for her caftan, she tugged it over her head. “Do you think we should leave?”

  Amber knelt at his side and put her arms around his neck. “I love you, Uncle Cluny. You’re so brave.” Queen sat on her haunches in front of him. “Queen too.” He hugged her tight and buried his nose in her damp salty hair. “Thanks, sugar. We’re OK.”

  “You saved that man, Macfearsome, but you scared me.”

  * * *

  Graciella patted the spot next to her on the blanket. “Sit here, son, beside me. Let Mr. McPherson catch his breath.”

  She needed to catch her own breath. Painfully aware now of the reason Cluny needed a service dog, a hard knot formed in her stomach and chest. She knew about PTS, but she’d never witnessed it. Other women at the naval base feared their husbands might return from combat with it. This big, strong former Marine, with his quiet, upbeat, gentlemanly manners and quirky sense of humor, carried a huge invisible wound from the same war that had killed her husband. Tears welled in her eyes, but she dashed them away and shoved on her sunglasses before he noticed.

  She wouldn’t cry for Cluny McPherson. He’d see it as emasculating pity. She cleared her throat. “Santos, why don’t you and Amber retrieve your belly boards? They must still be down by the water. It’s getting late. We should probably be getting home soon.”

  “We didn’t have lunch, Mama.”

  “After lunch then, all right?”

  The children walked slowly away, and she placed her hand over Cluny’s. He stared straight at his feet but didn’t rebuff her. She said nothing, because she had no idea what to say. After several seconds, he turned his hand over and squeezed hers. Her heart cracked, threatened to shatter.

  His voice barely above a whisper he said, “I can still smell it.”

  “Smell what?”

  “Black powder, smoke, cordite, dirt, shit, blood. Like it just fucking happened.”

  Shocked at his stark answer, she drew in a breath and squeezed his hand. “Tell me about it, Cluny. Marvin talked about war, what could happen. He said it was the only way to stay sane.”

  “It’s been almost ten years. I should be over it by now.” He raised his head and stared into the distance, blue eyes tragic and vacant.

  “No, Cluny. There is no timetable. Please don’t be afraid to tell me about it. Maybe it will help, maybe not.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m afraid to scare you away.”

  She leaned against him “I don’t scare that easy.” The kids were on their way back, carrying the battered belly boards. The emergency beach buggy drove away. “I’m going to set out the sandwiches and drinks. We’ll talk later.”

  “I’m taking a walk.” He nodded in the direction of the Point Dume rocks. “I’m not hungry. Don’t wait for me.” He smacked his leg and Queen fell in step beside him.

  Graciella’s tears threatened again. No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She hailed the kids and reached for towels.

  * * *

  His thoughts jumbled, Cluny walked to the far end of the beac
h, waving off a couple of comments by beachgoers who’d witnessed his actions to save the old surfer-dude. He didn’t want to talk about it, and the last thing he wanted to do was accept congratulations. No hero, he didn’t deserve congratulations for doing something that had required no thought on his part. An action he had no control over. Thank God for Amber and Santos. They shook him out of it before he ended up decking the lifeguard.

  There were only a handful of people in the world who understood what was wrong with him: Dwayne and his family, Misty Beachy, and the former servicemen who worked for him and Dempsey. Queen didn’t have the capacity to understand the nature of his wound; she just knew how to respond, to help him snap out of it.

  A couple of years ago at the jobsite for Marla’s condo project, some badasses pulled in the lot on the weekend intent on stealing tools. He, Dwayne, Jack, and Slim had caught them in the act. They went after the bastards and their truck with fists and baseball bats. If Gunny hadn’t shouted an order for him to stand down he could have done serious damage, even killed someone. He was a volcano, rumbling and ready to blow.

  Now Graciella had a taste of the real Cluny. What did this mean for the possibility of them ever developing anything beyond a wary friendship? Could he ever expect to have a family of his own? Or was he destined to bear this burden until one day he’d had enough and shot himself? He wouldn’t be the first. Or the last.

  Stop it, McPherson! You are one pathetic asshole!

  Staring vacantly at the ocean, he was startled from his reverie when his T-shirt landed in his lap.

  “You’re getting sunburned.” Graciella lowered herself in front of him. “Put it on.” She turned and slid closer until she pushed herself backward between his raised knees and leaned into his chest. Her hands rested on his knees. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he rested his chin on her tangled, windblown hair.