Heart of a Marine (The Wounded Warrior Series Book 1)

by Patty Campbell

  That was enough. Marla smacked her hands on the table. “What a pile of horse feathers! You believe all men think about twenty-four-seven is sex?”

  The three of them turned to her with identical smirks and bobbing heads. “Um hum.”

  * * *

  Dwayne served Amber a plate of macaroni and cheese with Vienna sausages then sat across from her at the kitchen table. “Now, that wasn’t such a lot of homework was it? I told you we’d get through it in no time.”

  She grinned, her cheeks puffed with food like a hungry squirrel. “Daddy?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”

  She nodded and swallowed. “Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “How come I don’t have a mommy? All my friends have mommies.” Her big golden eyes could always melt his heart.

  “You had a mommy. She couldn’t stay with us. You already know this, hon.”

  Amber propped her cheeks in her hands. “I don’t remember her, but I smile at her picture in my room every night before I go to sleep.”

  He touched her nose and smiled. “Your mom loved you very much.” The lie sat bitter on his tongue. Francine wouldn’t have left if she cared a damn about either one of them.

  “I know, Daddy, but couldn’t you get me another one?” She took on a practical tone. “If you got us another mama you wouldn’t have to do everything around here, you’d have a grownup lady to hug and kiss, and I’d have somebody to show me how to make a French braid.”

  Dwayne chuckled. “Yeah, I kind of botched that up, didn’t I?” He marveled at the workings of her six-year-old mind. Where had that grownup hugging and kissing idea come from?

  She wrinkled her nose when he put green beans on her plate.

  “Just a few. They’re so good for you. If you had a mom, she’d make sure you always ate your veggies.”

  “Daddy, they’re yucky.” She pulled a face. “They’re green.”

  “That’s why they’re called green beans.”

  They chewed in silence for a few minutes. Amber grudgingly ate her beans, acting all the while like they were poison. She took a big swallow of milk. “Daddy?”

  “What, honey?”

  “Are you too old to get me a new mommy? Grampa Johnny says you’re a bratcherler. What’s that?”

  He laughed. “First of all, I’m not too old, and I’m not a bachelor. Uncle Cluny is a bachelor. A bachelor is a man who never married. Grandpa’s wrong, but don’t tell him I said so. We wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, would we?”

  She grinned. “No, we’ll make it a secret from him.”

  “Good girl.” He stood. “Now, Marine, hop to and march your plate to the sink, and then go fill the bathtub. I’ll do the dishes and put the movie on when you’re ready.”

  Dwayne wasn’t sure how many more times he’d be able to sit through Cinderella. He’d coax Amber to consider a new movie next week, but tonight he was too tired to argue about it.

  Yes, he wanted to marry again, to get her “a new mommy.” He didn’t know the first thing about mothering a little girl. He was raised in a family of boys. A broken one at that. Amber could use a feminine influence, and he needed a “grownup lady” in his life. Boy, did he ever.

  He envied his buddy, Cluny. Cluny flitted from woman to woman like a bee pollinating a rose garden. When he left one rose for the other, they parted the best of friends. How did he do it?

  Dwayne would love to break his long, very long dry spell, but he had no interest in adopting Cluny’s lifestyle. He wanted permanence, a partner in every way. A steady woman he could make love with, laugh with, argue with. A smart, challenging, and uncomplicated woman who chose to be there every day for him and Amber.

  Cluny had set him up on a couple of blind dates that weren’t worth the price of a babysitter. It was a problem. At thirty-one, with a kid, his prospects were skinny. Desperate single moms scared him more than an Iraqi soldier aiming an RPG at his head, and the thought of Amber ending up with the kind of stepmother he and his brothers got kept him awake nights.

  He loved women and he loved to flirt, but the only woman who piqued his interest was Marla Danaher. She had it all in his book. Smart, sassy, opinionated, never married, a magnificent head of strawberry hair, a great rack, and lush hips he itched to get his hands on. The problem—she thought he was a jerk. Ah, well, he could dream.

  Every time he pictured gorgeous Marla he got a throbbing ache. He glanced down at his work boots. What would she think if she knew only one boot held a foot? Was Marla the kind of woman who would see beyond his reminder of Iraq and realize he didn’t need two legs to be the man for her? One of these days he’d convince her he was sincere, but for now all he seemed to do was annoy the woman. It was probably best if he’d back off and tone it down.

  Amber was his number one priority.

  Later, after her bath, Amber stood next to him and buttoned her feet-in bunny pajamas. She tugged his pant leg. “Daddy?”

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t want to watch Cinderella again. I want you to read me a story.”

  What a relief! Dwayne tossed the dishtowel on the counter and swept her over his shoulder. He smacked her little bottom then planted loud kisses on her cheeks and chewed at her neck, laughing when she squirmed and giggled.

  “Daddy, put me down!”

  “Do I have to? You’re so warm and cuddly, and you smell so good. I want to eat you up, my pretty.” He proceeded to growl at the other side of her neck.

  Kicking and squealing, she barely choked out, “Daddy, stop!”

  He reluctantly set her on her feet. “OK. What story do you want me to read?”

  “Cinderella.”

  * * *

  Marla ate peanut butter and chocolate ice cream out of the pint container she’d picked up at Baskin and Robbins on her way home from work. Why put it in a bowl? She lived alone, seldom had guests except for family, and didn’t allow Skipper to have ice cream even though he begged without letup with his bulgy brown eyes. He’d mastered the have pity expression.

  She patted the adorably fat Chihuahua. “Chocolate is poison for doggies, Skip. I’ll give you a peanut butter treat later. Don’t pout. I shouldn’t be eating this either, but at least it won’t kill me.” Although death by chocolate would be a great way to go.

  The phone rang. “Hi, Char. What, no date tonight?”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Caller I.D. Ever heard of it?”

  “Don’t be such a snarky pants. I’m working on Dadley’s birthday party next month. Do you think we should go all Mexican on the appetizers or mix it up?”

  Every year Charlene went to great lengths to plan a surprise party for their father. He hated surprise parties, so Marla always told him the date in advance. That way he could look surprised and happy and actually enjoy the party.

  “He loves anything Mexican. How can you go wrong, unless you were considering a piñata? That would be over-the-top.”

  “Forget that. Mom would kill me if a single scrap of cellophane ended up on her precious lawn.”

  “We should have the party at the country club.”

  “Costs too much.”

  “I offered to pay, don’t forget.”

  “I can’t show my face around there for a while. The golf pro’s wife nearly shot us when she caught him feeling me up in the cart shed.”

  Marla dropped her head on the back of the couch. “Have you ever given serious thought to dating single guys? What’s with you and married men?”

  “Hey! I date single men. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you go on a real date? That’s why I talked you into the singles thing tomorrow night.”

  “If by ‘real date’ you mean jumping in the sack with a man I barely know…”

  “It’d make you smile for a change. Date somebody other than Edwin Plimpton. I don’t understand what you see in him. You probably need
a magnifying glass to find his willie. How about that Dwayne guy? I bet he’d love to show you what a real man can do. I’d jump at the chance.”

  Marla shook her head and sighed. The sad fact was Edwin had shown no interest in sex since they’d started going out three months ago. Their relationship, such as it was, was purely platonic.

  “Forget I said anything. Go all Mexican, the more guacamole, the better. Have it catered. I’m not doing any of the cooking this year. I’ll take Sil shoe shopping at Cesare’s China Doll. That’ll keep her out of your hair while you and the boys get everything setup. I’m sure she can squeeze a couple more pair into her closet.”

  Charlene’s snort came through loud and clear. “Yeah, for sure, Mom’s down to fifty or sixty pair by now, poor dear.”

  “What are you complaining about? She and you wear the same size. You haven’t had to buy a pair of shoes for the past five years.”

  “Oh. Yes. There is that.”

  “Anything else? Skipper is giving me dirty looks. I promised him a treat.” She rubbed the dog’s round belly while he rolled on the couch in ecstasy.

  “You and that fat pooch. Give Edwin the heave ho. Get a man!”

  “Bye, Char. Call me again when you want to share your wisdom.” She clicked off and smiled at Skipper. “I don’t need another man as long as I have you, my sweetie-weetie. C’mon let’s find that peanut butter treat. Then I have to call Dadley to give him a heads-up about his traditional, annual surprise party.”

  Yes, she loved her dog, and she was pretty sure she could love Edwin, but as she reached in the cupboard for the box of dog cookies, she wondered what it would feel like to have Dwayne Dempsey wrap his big arms around her. To have his…don’t go there, Marla. Still, what would it be like to know that when he called her beautiful or gorgeous, he really meant it?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marla’s stomach flopped and perspiration formed at the base of her throat. The closer they got to the restaurant for the singles gathering, the more she was sure she did not want to walk through that door. How had she let Char talk her into taking part in this misadventure?

  “Char. I don’t feel well. I think I’d better head on home.”

  Charlene grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the entrance. “Oh, no you don’t. You promised you’d come. Lordy, you are the biggest coward. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “For one thing, I look ridiculous in this dress.”

  “No you don’t. You look gorgeous. I don’t know why you always wear those dull, unflattering pantsuits.”

  “They’re very practical for business. I’m in and out of the car all day.” Her eyes darted to the entrance. “I don’t think there’s an upside to this fiasco.”

  “They’re just single men. They’re not monsters. At least they shouldn’t be, because the organizer checks everyone for a past criminal record.”

  “Oh, for the love of goats! You’re making it sound better every minute.” Marla pulled her arm from Char’s hand and stopped. “Wait. Wait for just a minute. How is this going to work again?” She knew she couldn’t stall much longer. The door of Villa Sorrento beckoned with its twinkling lights and delicious aromas.

  “I told you already. They draw names based on compatible characteristics from the personality profile. Nobody knows until they start the pairings who they’re going to have dinner with.”

  “How many people are going to be here?”

  “You never listen to me. I told you that too.” Char threw her arms in the air and pretended to pull out her hair.

  “Tell me again.”

  “Twelve. Six women and six men.” She took Marla’s cold, sweaty hand. “It’s just dinner, sis. Look at it this way—you’ll have dinner with a man who’s probably more nervous than you are. There won’t be any awkward moments about the check because it’s already taken care of with the registration fee.”

  Still resisting the pull of her sister’s hand, Marla worked to push back rising panic. “How long do I have to stay?”

  “Take a breath and relax. I can’t believe you’re working yourself into a meltdown over this.”

  “How long?”

  Charlene gripped Marla’s shoulders and glared. “The organizers told me they wrap up the evening at eight-thirty.” Char squeezed her shoulders tighter. “That’s only two hours. Not a freaking lifetime.”

  Two hours? How was she going to maintain intelligent conversation with a total stranger for two hours? This would be the evening from hell.

  Charlene opened the door and nudged her into the foyer. Their mellow lighting and dark wood paneling usually comforted Marla, but not tonight. She moved as if she had a date with the gas chamber.

  “Smile,” Charlene said through gritted teeth, then let loose a dazzling smile of her own.

  Marla took a slow breath and pasted on a small, closed-lips smile. She imagined herself looking like the Mona Lisa. Enigmatic. Mysterious. Amused. Or just plain defeated.

  Charlene pulled her toward the podium. She gave their names to the tuxedoed host, received their tickets, and was directed to an informal seating area in the lounge.

  Marla took the flimsy stick-on badge and smacked it to her lapel. As they stepped away, a man approached the host, and Charlene’s eyes widened with appreciation while Marla only smirked at her sister’s reaction. She left her sister’s side and walked directly to the darkest corner. Slumping down, she turned her shoulders away from the entrance.

  Charlene walked over to her. “Lordy, lord, Marla. You look like you’re hiding from the cops.” Charlene fluffed her hair, glanced around the room, and sighed. “It’ll all be over in two hours. Can you please, please relax and smile. Look.” She pointed across the restaurant. “Harry and Barry just got here. They can’t sit with us though. They’re so cute.”

  Marla tossed a handful of nuts in her mouth. She watched their brothers from the corner of her eye, noticing that the twins hadn’t dressed alike for a change. “Why can’t they sit with us while we’re waiting?”

  “I don’t want anyone to know we’re related to them.”

  “Why in the world not?”

  “I don’t remember now, but I had a real good reason when I arranged for all of us to be here. Anyway, they’re seating the men in another section till dinner.”

  Marla swallowed hard to prevent choking on the peanuts, smiled and gave the boys a finger wave. “I’ll never understand you, Char. Your mind works in ways I can only wonder about.”

  Charlene signaled the waitress. “You’ll never admit it, but you’re lucky to have me for your sister. I’ll grab you a glass of pinot. Knock it back fast. Try and relax.”

  “In case you forgot, I’m the designated driver.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, Char looked at Marla as if she were a hopeless case. “The point is, in case you haven’t been paying attention as usual, you won’t be driving after dinner. The mystery date will be happy to take you home.”

  “What! I’m not letting some bozo I’ve never met before find out where I live, and I’m not planning to go where the mystery man lives.” She dug in her jacket pocket for some clear lip gloss and applied it without the help of a mirror. “My mouth is so dry I feel like Judah Ben Hur on his death march across the desert.”

  “All the more reason to have a glass of wine.” Char reached for two glasses of wine as the server lowered the tray before her. “Here, just sip it then. One glass won’t guarantee a major crash and grisly death on the highway.”

  “It could.”

  “Oh, lord. You won’t be leaving for over two hours, and you’ll have dinner. Look at it this way, maybe the man you meet will be more boring and colorless than Edwin, and you can swap him out for the new guy.”

  There was no point in arguing with Charlene when she started ragging on her about Edwin. Marla’s opinion of him wasn’t far off from her sister’s. She brought the class to her lips, took a single sip, and set it down.

  A tall, silver-haired man en
tered the lounge. “Ladies, may I have your attention? Those of you who’re participants in the SDO group please follow me to the dining room.”

  “SDO?” Marla asked when Charlene stood. “Is that us?”

  “Yes. Singles Dinner Only. I already told you that, but as I’ve pointed out several times already. You never listen to me.”

  Marla stood, straightened her jacket, and huffed. “If only.”

  Clearly annoyed, Charlene rounded on her. “Can’t you just for once in your life do something I say? I am the oldest you know.”

  Marla snorted. “By ten minutes!”

  “I may not be a Nobel Prize winner all wise and powerful sister, but ten minutes makes me older.”

  “OK. Let’s call a truce. You’re older.” She picked up the suede shoulder bag matching her too-high stilettos and followed Char’s swaying hips to the dining room.

  When they reached the entrance, the handsome older man said, “Our group will meet in the far end of the dining room to the left. We selected it for its quiet intimacy and conduciveness for private conversation.” He smiled warmly. “The gentlemen are seated and the tables clearly numbered. Plants and screens have been discreetly arranged around the room for added privacy. Check the number on your ticket,” he held one aloft, “and find your match for the evening. Bon Appétit, Mesdames.”

  Panic gripped Marla’s chest and throat. She took a deep breath. Two hours, she could do this. Then she’d refuse any of Char’s future matchmaker schemes.

  She grabbed her sister’s arm. “Wait. Char. Where shall we meet? In the bar? I have the car keys.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll find my way home in my own good time.” She flipped long silky blonde tresses over her shoulder and started across the room like a thoroughbred out of the starting gate.

  Clutching at her throat, Marla dragged through the room. This felt like a date with the guillotine. I can do this. I can do this.