SEAL of My Dreams
Page 6
She shook her head. “Not at all. Silky died in the service of this country, he should be honored.”
“The ceremony is tomorrow.”
“And then you’re leaving?”
He nodded. “Your PT program has given me hope of returning to the field in some capacity. So . . . thank you, Lora.”
She basked under his praise, but with mixed feelings. The progress he’d made had fueled his eagerness to leave Sweetness. She’d known from the beginning he was only visiting, but it struck her now that she’d grown alarmingly used to seeing him every day.
She was falling for Barry Ballantine.
Suddenly a squirrel darted across their path and the dog practically leapt into the air, barking frantically. The yank on the leash was enough to throw Barry off balance. He fell to his left knee hard on the concrete sidewalk. He grunted, but maintained his hold on the leash. “No,” he yelled. The dog quieted with a little yelp, then came back to lick Barry’s hand.
Lora had to hold herself back to keep from going to his aid. She tightened her grip on his cane and watched while he slowly pushed to his feet. His core muscles bunched as he levered his newfound sense of balance to straighten and lift his big body. When he was standing erect, he looked at her and beamed.
Lora smiled back, but she knew the swell of her heart was more than pride for a patient. It was love for a man . . . and sadness over her impending loss of that man.
Chapter Seven
Barry wore his dress uniform for the ceremony to bury Silky’s ashes. Porter offered him a ride and Barry accepted. When he reached the door of the quad-cab pickup carrying the precious wood box, he was surprised to see Porter’s brothers, Marcus and Kendall, in the backseat.
“I know you said you wanted a private ceremony,” Porter said. “Hope you don’t mind the extra company.”
“Not at all,” Barry said, knowing Marcus was a former Marine and Kendall, a former Airman. The men told him they’d all been around service dogs during their stints overseas, especially Kendall, who had aided in many disaster recovery efforts. Barry was proud to have them along to honor Silky . . . although he hadn’t expected the crowd that had gathered at the Clover Ridge cemetery.
“Sorry,” Porter offered with a rueful smile. “You know how word gets around in a small town.”
Emotion clogged Barry’s throat as he glanced over the faces of the men, women, and children who stood around the small square hole dug in the wet ground. His gaze stopped on Lora, whose bolstering smile gave his heart a workout as intense as any PT session.
Next to the grave sat a small concrete box with a lid—the crypt Porter had custom made for the ashes. Barry threaded his way through the crowd and knelt to lower the wooden box into the crypt, then placed the lid on top. He knew all eyes were on him as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, but for the first time in a long time, he felt strong and healthy. Porter and Kendall stepped forward to lift the crypt and lower it into the earth.
“Would you like to say a few words?” Porter asked.
“Yes,” Barry said, then turned to face the crowd. “Thank you for being here. You didn’t know my dog Silky, but he was a brave, loyal soldier who saved lives every day. I’m proud to have been his handler.” He paused, then smiled. “Will Rogers once said ‘I love a dog . . . he does nothing for political reasons,’ and that was Silky. He just did his job because he wanted to please. He didn’t know he was a hero, but I do, and I hope you think so, too.”
Barry picked up a shovel and began to scoop dirt over the crypt. Porter picked up another shovel and helped him fill the small grave. Then Kendall stepped forward.
“The town of Sweetness wanted to make sure Silky is remembered.” He revealed a flat headstone that read, “Silky . . . U.S. Navy SEAL War Dog” and the year. Barry’s chest tightened with affection and gratitude toward the townspeople. He realized it was the memory of the fellowship of the small town that had pulled him back . . . and he was happy to know the sense of community flourished once again under the hands of the Armstrong brothers.
He accepted the headstone with a grateful nod, then stooped to settle it over the top of the small grave. When he straightened, he addressed the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. You’ll never know how much it means to this hometown boy to have you all here.”
The crowd filed by the grave for a glimpse of the headstone and shook Barry’s hand, asking about his own health. He greeted everyone, but out of the corner of his eye, he looked for Lora, noticing she hung back. When the crowd dissipated, she finally stepped up.
“That was so nice,” she said.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. He was sure she could hear his heart pounding.
“You’re leaving now?”
He swallowed hard and nodded.
She smiled. “If you’ll contact the clinic when you get settled, someone will forward your exercise schedule to whatever facility you choose to continue your PT.”
“Thank you.”
From her bag she withdrew the sweatshirt he’d given her on the day he’d driven into town and handed it to him. “It’s clean.”
He wanted to tell her to keep it to remember him by, but he didn’t have the right. He’d been nothing but trouble for Lora Jansen, from the teenage teasing to the day he’d returned to Sweetness, to his stubborn attitude about what her PT could do for him, to a hijacked kiss. She had plenty to remember him by . . . and none of it was good or appropriate.
“Barry,” Porter said from a few feet away where he stood with his brothers. “Can we have a word?”
“Sure,” Barry said, then turned back to Lora.
“I’m going,” she said, gesturing vaguely to an area where cars had parked alongside the road.
“Thank you for everything,” he said, although the words felt woefully inadequate.
“Just doing my job,” she said breezily, then smiled. “But you’re welcome. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
He watched her go with a heavy heart, realizing for the first time how his fellow soldiers felt when they had to part from the women they cared about . . . from the women they loved.
The realization struck him like a thunderbolt, but he felt powerless to do anything about it. Sweetness was growing and expanding, but there was nothing here for him . . . except Lora. But if he stayed, he’d have nothing to offer her, no way to make a decent living, not with his disability.
“Earth to Barry,” Porter called good-naturedly.
“Coming,” Barry said, and grudgingly dragged his gaze away from Lora’s retreating form.
Chapter Eight
Lora fought back tears as she ran along the shoulder of the road leading out of Sweetness. Barry was long gone, no doubt, on his way to some exciting place. After the ceremony she’d returned to her room to change and to collect the stray dog that still hadn’t been claimed. She glanced down at him now, jogging happily next to her on his leash. She would have to advertise soon to find him a home. And he needed a name, although she guessed she should leave that privilege to whoever adopted him.
At the sound of a car coming up behind them, Lora tightened her hold on the leash. The car was on the opposite side of the road, but the dog might still be spooked, or tempted to chase the wheels. When the vehicle slowed, she turned her head. At the sight of Barry leaning out the driver side window of his Jeep, her heart thrashed wildly in her chest. He was unbearably handsome in his dress uniform. She slowed to a jog and the dog barked a greeting to Barry, straining at the leash.
“Hi,” he called, driving slowly to match her pace.
“Don’t you mean goodbye?” she asked, hoping desperately she didn’t look as if she’d been crying.
“For now,” he said.
She stopped. “What do you mean?”
He smiled. “I have to report to Norfolk to take care of some things. I’ve been offered the chance to set up a training facility for military dogs.”
“Wow.” She was truly happy for him, truly sad
for herself. “That’s nice—”
“Here in Sweetness.”
Her eyes widened. “Here?”
He nodded. “The Armstrongs set it up—they have connections to every branch in the Armed Services, and donated the land.”
Her pulse rocketed. “But . . . you’ve been all over the world, seen exotic places . . . are you sure you’ll be happy here?”
He angled his head. “That depends . . . will you be here when I come back?”
Her heart fluttered with the hope that he cared about her the way she cared about him. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll be happy here,” he said, and put the Jeep in park.
She looked both ways, then ran across the road and met his mouth for a kiss that resonated with promise and hope. How was it possible that life had changed so gloriously in only a few days? At her feet the dog barked excitedly. They laughed and parted.
“I hope you’ll be here, too,” he said, offering his hand out the window to the dog. “You’ll be my first recruit.”
“He’ll be here,” she said. “I was thinking of naming him Sealy.”
He grinned. “Great name.”
They kissed again, a slow, sweet pledge of their hearts. At the sound of a horn, she lifted her head to see a line of traffic had formed behind his Jeep. More horns blared and people cheered and hollered.
Lora blushed, then they exchanged another kiss for the crowd. “Go,” she said, “so you can come back to me.”
“Oh, I’ll be back,” Barry said, then he waved and pulled away.
Lora’s heart overflowed. She knew he would.
SEALed FATES
Kylie Brant
Chapter One
Cort Ramsey was not having a good day.
He got down from his horse, landing gingerly on the prosthesis attached to his right knee. The chafing where the strap rubbed against his skin was a reminder that as far as shitty days went he’d had far worse recently. It said a lot about him that he’d rather be staging covert ops with his team seven thousand miles away than riding fence on his father’s run-down Montana ranch.
But those days were behind him. He wasn’t a SEAL anymore. Wasn’t a soldier of any sort. He’d lost a leg in the mountains of Pakistan and a brother in Kabul a year earlier. Bad days had become the norm. Chasing a bat-shit crazy cow for three days across his father’s property didn’t even rank close.
The animal wasn’t in sight, but it was obvious she’d been in the vicinity. The barbed wire was snapped on the fence before him. He’d found three other areas so far where the fencing was down, but not before the cow had. It had been a while since his father had had someone ride fence. Cort didn’t know exactly how long the bunkhouse had been deserted. The old man wasn’t saying. But since Gabe Ramsey didn’t seem up to running the place these days that left Cort.
The pack mule he was leading carried the fencing supplies. But rather than unload them, he looped both sets of reins around a fence post and stepped over the downed wire to cross onto the next property. Boards in the newly constructed eight-foot high fence surrounding the back yard of the old Paulus place next door had been heaved in and posts were leaning inward at one section.
He blew out a sigh. The cow was nowhere in sight, but this was undoubtedly her handiwork. Which meant the repair was his responsibility. He turned to limp in the direction of his horse.
“See? I told you it was him.”
Cort stopped. Looked around.
“Let me see.”
The whispers were definitely not tricks of the breeze. And the voices came from kids. He narrowed his gaze in the direction of the damaged fence. Paulus’s kids were around Cort and Colton’s ages, and last he’d heard were long gone from Montana. Grandkids maybe?
“Just a minute.” A boy’s voice this time. Older than that of his companion. Cort walked closer, amused despite himself.
“I’m gonna tell Mom you’re not sharing.” A young girl’s voice, with a definite pout in it.
“Don’t be such a baby. Here.” There was movement in the fence about five feet to Cort’s left. Drawing closer, he saw something long and black extending between the slats.
“I can’t see . . . wait!” The girl’s next words were laced with disappointment. “That’s not a seal, Matt. It’s just a man.”
“Is too a seal.”
“Where’s his ball, huh? A seal can sit a ball on his nose, and . . . and clap his flipper things. Where’s his flippers?”
With a bit of maneuvering Cort went down on one knee and studied the thin tube of black plastic sticking out from the fence.
“Not that kind of seal, dummy. A seal is like a soldier. He can blow stuff up and jump out of helicopters.”
Maybe once, Cort thought. Not anymore. That part of his life was over. And he still didn’t know what the hell he was going to fill the emptiness with.
Chapter Two
“Let me look through it now,” the boy said.
‘It’ appeared to be a sort of cheap plastic telescope, complete with bends and joints in the body with a lens at the end. He picked up the end of the device and put his eye to the lens. A muffled shriek sounded on the other side of the fence.
“That seal man is looking at me!”
“Give it . . . ” A moment later the wide dark eye on the other end of the telescope was replaced by an unwavering blue stare. “You’re the seal, aren’t you?”
“Used to be.” Not even to himself would Cort admit how much the words burned. “Not anymore.”
“Did you ever blow stuff up?”
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Once or twice.”
“And jump out of helicopters?”
“More times than I can count.”
“And shoot people?”
Time to call an end to the conversation. He doubted Paulus would thank him for filling his grandkids’ ears with that sort of information. “Your grandpa around?”
“We don’t have a grandpa.”
Cort paused. Not relatives of Ed’s then. “Your dad?” Whoever was in the house, it’d be easier to deal with an adult than try to have a conversation with two little kids.
“Our daddy’s in heaven.” This from the little girl.
Okay, he was out of ideas regarding the identities of the kids. “Your mom?”
“She’s inside. You can’t come back here but you can knock on the front door. Don’t tell her we talked to you, though, ok?”
The anxiety in the boy’s voice had his doubts rising about the unseen woman but Cort assured him, “I won’t.”
Casting a backward glance to check on the bay and the mule, he followed the fence to the corner where it butted up against the house. Was nonplussed for an instant when he didn’t find a gate that would allow entry to the back yard. Who built a fence that could only be accessed from the house?
Assuming it was on the other side, he continued along the steel sided home and rounded the wide front porch. He, his brother Colton and Tucker Paulus had spent many a fine hour terrorizing Tucker’s two sisters as they played Barbies on the porch swing that still hung in the corner. The memory was accompanied by a tug of nostalgia.
But if the porch looked the same the front of the house didn’t. His boots rang hollowly as he walked up the steps and across the worn tongue and groove plank floor. Instead of Bonnie Paulus’s lace curtains, drawn blinds covered the two big front windows, and the other windows he’d passed. The screen door had been replaced with a study storm, and the carved oak door with the wavy glass pane was gone. In its place was a steel one with only a judas hole to punctuate the panels.
One thing was certain, Bonnie Paulus hadn’t made these changes.
With that in mind he gave the storm door a hard rap and stood waiting for a stranger to answer it.
And the woman who answered the door was a stranger. For all of about three seconds. Then belated recognition filtered in. He tipped his hat back with a crooked finger and smiled with the first genuine pleasure he’d fe
lt in four months. “Well, hey there, Emma.”
Chapter Three
Emma Watkins Cunningham set down the pistol she’d grabbed on the table beside the door. Although her heart was still hammering double time, relief and pleasure had her opening the storm door. She walked into Cort Ramsey’s arms and was immediately enveloped in a hard hug.
“Cort,” she murmured, memories swamping her. He’d been two years behind her in school but Colton’s younger brother had been impossible to ignore, even then. With his high spirits, infectious devil-may-care grin and streak of wildness, there had been many girls in town that had vied for his attention. She’d only had eyes for Colton at the time, but she’d been female enough to recognize his appeal.
“I’m still so sorry about your brother.” She gave him a final squeeze, then stepped back enough to tilt her head up, meet his laser blue gaze. “I wish I could have made it back for his funeral.”
He tucked the tips of his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans in a slouch that was striking in its familiarity. “We got your flowers. And the card. You had troubles of your own at the time.”
She’d just buried her husband, Emma recalled with a pang. And with the blindness of grief had been clueless about what the next year would bring. She’d been clueless about a lot of things back then. But her education had been completed in the most vicious of ways.
“I had no idea that you were back.” But she’d heard from Ed Paulus just what had ended Cort’s career in the Navy. With effort, she kept her gaze from straying to his leg and fixed firmly on his face. Pain and tragedy would have carved those angles in it. The shaggy blond hair looked military-short now beneath his hat, but was as bright as it had been when he’d been a kid. He was too lean, but his shoulders still strained under the faded denim work shirt. He looked tougher than she remembered, with a faint sheen of danger that was vaguely unsettling.
But far more unsettling was the zing of attraction that shot through her when she’d been in his arms. Emma chalked it up to lack of sleep and weeks spent running on adrenaline alone.