The Captain's Baby Bargain
Page 18
Chapter Thirteen
Almost a year later, Suze grinned as she skimmed the text message that popped up on her iPhone screen.
From: Gator
To: Swish
Hey, girl! Cowboy, Kojack, Barbie, Dingo & Elvis already here. Where U at?
“Gator wants to know where we are,” she relayed to her husband.
Gabe glanced her way, sunlight glinting off his aviator sunglasses. His left elbow rested on the open driver’s-side window while he steered their rented Jeep Wrangler along California’s fabled Highway 1. Big Sur splashed and crashed far below on their left. The rumpled, drought-parched Santa Lucia Mountains crowded close on their right. Thankfully, the massive landslide that had shut down a twelve-mile section of the highway south of Monterey last year had been cleared. They’d made good time since picking up the Jeep at LAX and heading north.
“Tell him we’re about ten miles out.”
Her thumbs worked. X-Man says 10 miles out.
The answer came back a few seconds later. Beer’s on ice. Haul ass.
Still grinning, she clicked off the phone and dropped it in the armrest’s cupholder. She could hardly believe another Badger Bash had rolled around. Or that she’d left the last one, spent what was left of the night shooting the breeze with her Air Force pals, then driven home through the just-breaking Arizona dawn, only to pull up at a red light and spot her ex-husband’s truck across the intersection.
Her ex-ex now. The designation had tickled her. So much she’d started calling him XX, which quickly morphed to X-Man. Their family and friends had quickly picked up the tag. His students loved it, too, although none would dare use it to his face. Even the members of the town council had taken to calling him Mayor X-Man.
She stretched in her seat, enjoying the breeze from the open window and trying not to worry too much about Ellie, aka the Peanut. This was the first time they’d left their three-month-old for longer than one night. Granted, her parents had plenty of backup with Gabe’s sisters and their husbands close by. And, as Suze’s mother reminded her when she’d shooed her daughter out the door, Doofus would remain on duty. The hound was totally, completely goofy about the baby. And so fiercely protective no stranger got within twenty yards of Peanut until they’d been thoroughly vetted.
Suze had quashed her maternal doubts and told herself that this short weekend jaunt would be a good first step in dealing with any incipient separation anxiety. It would also help condition her for an upcoming two-week deployment to a classified location that she and a small cadre from the 137th had been tapped for.
Her transition to full-time Air Reservist had come faster and gone smoother than she’d anticipated. The slot Colonel Amistad had discussed with her had opened up less than two months after Ellie’s birth. The competition for it had been fierce, but Swish’s training and experience during her years on active duty gave her an edge. She was back in uniform again, doing what she loved and going home most evenings to her husband and daughter.
Life was good. Very good.
The breeze tugged at the hair she’d pulled through the opening in the back of her cap. It was another Alexis Scott creation, bling-studded and sparkling in the bright sunlight. She and Alex had become close this past year, communicating regularly via text, email and Facebook on the joys and challenges of motherhood.
“It’ll be great to see Alex and Cowboy again,” she commented to Gabe. “I was surprised when she told me they weren’t bringing either Maria or little Ben with them, though.”
“Guess they needed some adult time.” Gabe glanced her way again and waggled his brows above the rim of his sunglasses. “I have to admit, I’m looking forward to it, too. Particularly the part that comes after this beach bash Gator’s organized.”
“The hotel’s right on the beach. Nothing says we can’t slip away whenever the mood strikes us. Or...” She matched his leer. “I seem to recall getting lost in the sand dunes with you once or twice when we were stationed in North Carolina.”
“Either option works for me.”
* * *
The Bash was in full swing by the time they checked into their hotel room, dumped their bags and changed into cutoffs and tank tops. Following the sound of laughter, they took the wooden stairs leading to the half-moon cove that thousands of years of pounding waves had carved out of the cliffs.
A dozen or so people now laid claim to the narrow stretch of pebbly beach fringing the cove. Wooden Adirondack chairs weathered to a silvery gray had been arranged in a circle around a stone fire pit, already lit and dancing with flames. Buckets and trays of appetizers provided by the hotel were being passed around. As Suze and Gabe descended the stairs, they caught snatches of raucous laughter as the chairs’ occupants vied with each other to recount ever more improbable exploits of Colonel Bob Dolan, aka Badger.
The organizer of this year’s Bash caught sight of them first. Interrupting the tales, he called a greeting. “Yo! Swish. X-Man. ’Bout time you two got here.”
Gator lifted his wife off his knee and heaved out of the low-slung chair. After enveloping Swish in a bear hug, he pounded Gabe on the back and gestured to the others with his dew-streaked beer bottle.
“Y’all know everybody.”
Almost everybody, she corrected with a quick sweep of the small crowd. There were a few unfamiliar faces. Kojack’s new wife was one. Barbie Doll’s fiancé was another. After quick introductions, Gabe went to retrieve two beers while Swish perched on the arm of Dingo’s chair. He was sprawled next to Alex and Cowboy, his legs thrust toward the fire pit. Despite his lazy slouch, though, Swish picked up a tense vibe.
“You okay?” she asked, nudging his knee with hers. “You look a little tight around the edges.”
“I’m good.”
The terse reply arced her brows. She looked a question at Alex, who answered it with one word. “Chelsea.”
“Uh-oh.”
From her conversations with Alex over the past twelve months, Suze knew the vivacious showgirl’s on-again, off-again relationship with Dingo was currently off. She also knew Chelsea had become a fierce advocate for a new cause. She no longer aspired to join the ranks of single mothers. In one of those too-weird-to-be-believed encounters that had even the Vegas police shaking their heads, she’d accidentally rescued a fifteen-year old sex slave. Horrified by the girl’s situation, Chelsea had now turned her formidable energy to busting up human trafficking rings.
Drawing Swish a little way apart, Alex relayed the latest news in a soft murmur. “Chelsea’s decided to go undercover. And she wants Dingo to pose as her pimp or procurer or whatever the heck they call it in the trafficking business.”
“Oh, God! Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish I could.”
“Dingo can’t have agreed to go along with that crazy scheme.”
“Chelsea says he threatened to wring her neck first. But you know how...”
“Whoa!”
The startled exclamation cut through their quiet conversation and jerked them around. Like everyone else on the tiny slice of beach, they gaped at the woman descending the wooden stairs.
Her cutoffs were probably illegal in at least a half-dozen states. Their ragged fringe had to tickle her crotch. But they also showed off disgustingly trim thighs that other women would kill for. The V of her stretchy, sleeveless top revealed a deeper crevass than the Grand Canyon, and its rib-kissing hem displayed even more skin, including a diamond belly button stud that caught the setting sun and flashed fire with every step.
For several frozen moments, the awed silence was broken only by the sputter and hiss of the fire and the wash of waves against the pebbled shore. Then Dingo bolted out of his chair and made for the stairs.
Suze was still transfixed by the scene when Gabe appeared at her side to murmur, “That, I presume, is Chelsea.”
“You presume correctly.”
In a quiet undertone she related the dancer’s hopes to draw Dingo into undercover work with her.
He handed her an icy bottle and clinked his own against it. A shift of his shoulders blocked everything else from her view. The fire. The shadowed cliffs surrounding the cove. The small drama currently taking place at the bottom of the stairs.
“Did I ever thank you, Susie Q?”
His voice was a soft, erotic caress backed by the murmur of the sea. She shivered and smiled her delight. “For?”
“For being sane, sensible, uncrazy you. And for loving me.”
“You have, actually. But if you want to express your appreciation again, we could slip away for that quality adult time we talked about earlier.”
Grinning, he plucked her beer out of her hand and plunked it down next to his on the arm of Dingo’s vacated chair. Since everyone else’s attention was still riveted on the showgirl and the ex-cop, he drew her away from the circle of chairs.
They picked their way along the rocky shore until the cliffs towered a hundred feet or more above them. The nooks and crannies carved by the relentless sea provided a good measure of privacy, but not enough for either one of them to risk a public indecency charge.
Gabe settled for propping his shoulders against a rocky wall and tugging off his wife’s sparkly hat. Her ash-blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her green eyes were as deep and beguiling as the ocean.
She leaned back against the circle of his arms and smiled up at him. “I still can’t believe everything that’s happened since last year’s Bash. You. Me. Ellie. Alex and Maria and the two Bens, big and small. If the next year is as hectic as this last one, I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“You can handle anything.” He raked back the hair at her temples and framed her face with his palms. “Now, how about you forget Ellie and Alex and the two Bens and just kiss me, Captain.”
* * * * *
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MARRY ME, MAJOR
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Keep reading for a sneak peek at the latest entry in New York Times bestselling author
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THE COTTAGES ON SILVER BEACH, the story of a disgraced FBI agent, his best friend’s sister and the loss that affected the trajectory of both their lives, available July 2018 wherever HQN books
and ebooks are sold!
The Cottages on Silver Beach
by RaeAnne Thayne
CHAPTER ONE
SOMEONE WAS TRYING to bust into the cottage next door.
Only minutes earlier, Megan Hamilton had been minding her own business, sitting on her front porch, gazing out at the stars and enjoying the peculiar quiet sweetness of a late-May evening on Lake Haven. She had earned this moment of peace after working all day at the inn’s front desk then spending the last four hours at her computer, editing photographs from Joe and Lucy White’s fiftieth anniversary party the weekend before.
Her neck was sore, her shoulders tight, and she simply wanted to savor the purity of the evening with her dog at her feet.
Unfortunately, her moment of Zen had lasted only sixty seconds before her little ancient pug, Cyrus, sat up, gazed out into the darkness and gave one small harrumphing noise before settling back down again to watch as a vehicle pulled up to the cottage next door.
Cyrus had become used to the comings and goings of their guests in the two years since he and Megan moved into the cottage after the inn’s renovations were finished. She would venture to say her pudgy little dog seemed to actually enjoy the parade of strangers who invariably stopped to greet him.
The man next door wasn’t aware of her presence, though, or that of her little pug. He was too busy trying to work the finicky lock—not an easy feat as the task typically took two hands and one of his appeared to be attached to an arm tucked into a sling.
She should probably go help him. He was obviously struggling one-handed, unable to turn the key and twist the knob at the same time.
Beyond common courtesy, there was another compelling reason she should probably get off her porch swing and assist him. He was a guest of the inn, which meant he was yet one more responsibility on her shoulders. She knew the foibles of that door handle well, since she owned the door, the porch, the house and the land that it sat on, here at Silver Beach on Lake Haven, part of the extensive grounds of the Inn at Haven Point.
She didn’t want to help him. She wanted to stay right here hidden in shadows, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. Maybe this was all a bad dream and she wouldn’t be stuck with him for the next three weeks.
Megan closed her eyes, wishing she could open them again and find the whole thing was a figment of her imagination.
Unfortunately, it was all entirely too real. Elliot Bailey. Living next door.
She didn’t want him here. Stupid online bookings. If he had called in person about renting the cottage next to hers—one of five small, charming two-bedroom vacation rentals along the lakeshore—she might have been able to concoct some excuse.
With her imagination, surely she could have come up with something good. All the cottages were being painted. A plumbing issue meant none of them had water. The entire place had to be fumigated for tarantulas.
If she had spoken with him in person, she may have been able to concoct some excuse that would keep Elliot Bailey away. But he had used the inn’s online reservation system and paid in full before she even realized who was moving in next door. Now she was stuck with him for three entire weeks.
She would have to make the best of it.
As he tried the door again, guilt poked at her. Even if she didn’t want him here, she couldn’t sit here when one of her guests needed help. It was rude, selfish and irresponsible. “Stay,” she murmured to Cyrus, then stood up and made her way down the porch steps of Primrose Cottage and back up those of Cedarwood.
“May I help?”
At her words, Elliot whirled around, the fingers of his right hand flexi
ng inside his sling as if reaching for a weapon. She could only hope he didn’t have one. Maybe she should have thought of that before sneaking up on him.
Elliot was a decorated FBI agent and always exuded an air of cold danger, as if ready to strike at any moment. It was as much a part of him as his blue eyes.
His brother had shared the same eyes, but the similarities between them ended there. Wyatt’s blue eyes had been warm, alive, brimming with personality. Elliot’s were serious and solemn and always seemed to look at her as if she were some kind of alien life form that had landed in his world.
Her heart gave a familiar pinch at the thought of Wyatt and the fledgling dreams that had been taken away from her on a snowy road so long ago.
“Megan,” he said, his voice as stiff and formal as if he were greeting J. Edgar Hoover himself. “I didn’t see you.”
“It’s a dark evening and I’m easy to miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
In the yellow glow of the porch light, his features appeared lean and alert, like a hungry mountain lion. She could feel her muscles tense in response, a helpless doe caught unawares in an alpine meadow.
She adored the rest of the Bailey family. All of them, even linebacker-big Marshall. Why was Elliot the only one who made her so blasted nervous?
“May I help you?” she asked again. “This lock can be sticky. Usually it takes two hands, one to twist the key and the other to pull the door toward you.”
“That could be an issue for the next three weeks.” His voice seemed flat and she had the vague, somewhat disconcerting impression that he was tired. Elliot always seemed so invincible but now lines bracketed his mouth and his hair was uncharacteristically rumpled. It seemed so odd to see him as anything other than perfectly controlled.
Of course he was tired. The man had just driven in from Denver. Anybody would be exhausted after an eight-hour drive—especially when he was healing from an obvious injury and probably in pain.
What happened to his arm? She wanted to ask, but couldn’t quite find the courage. It wasn’t her business anyway. Elliot was a guest of her inn and deserved all the hospitality she offered to any guest—including whatever privacy he needed and help accessing the cottage he had paid in advance to rent.