Once a Marine (Those Marshall Boys)

by Loree Lough

  “You’re a sweetheart to offer, but honestly, I’ll be okay. It’s just for a few days, and let’s not forget that I grew up on tofu and bean curd.”

  Rose hugged her again. “Oh, you poor little thing!” she said, and left laughing.

  As Summer finished making supper, the things Rose had said about Zach hovered in her mind. She put yesterday’s soup on the stove to warm and pictured his broad jaw and slow smile, blaming Rose’s list of his finer qualities for the fluttering of her heart. Was this silly, schoolgirl crush the byproduct of avoiding men since the attack? Or had her loneliness finally reached its peak?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ZACH STARED AT the computer and shook his head. He’d looked up six variations of her name on Google and came up with summer menus, summer getaways, summer party ideas and summer bug repellents. He finally found some links with her name, and curious, he clicked a few, learning that she’d narrated hundreds of TV and radio ads. They helped him understand why her easy-on-the-ears voice sounded so familiar, but did nothing to answer questions about her attack or the court proceedings that might have followed. Could Alex have misunderstood or exaggerated what happened to her two years ago? If he hoped to teach her how to prevent future attacks, he needed to learn as much as possible about the one that changed her life—changed her.

  He dialed Dave’s cell phone, and his former marine buddy picked up on the first ring.

  “Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the one and only Champ Marshall.”

  “How goes it, Reece?”

  “It goes. You still teaching old ladies how to do half nelsons and Argentine leg locks?”

  For some odd reason, Dave got a kick out of comparing self-defense tactics to wrestling holds, and Zach had learned the hard way that correcting him was an exercise in futility. He didn’t expect that a dose of his own medicine would cure Dave, but Zach couldn’t help himself. “And are you still the glorified secretary at Precinct Six?”

  “Hey. This place couldn’t run without a good desk sergeant.”

  “A good desk sergeant, eh? Sorry to hear they replaced you.”

  “Ha ha ha. Still a comedian, I see. If you ever get tired of coaching gymnastics, say the word. I know a guy who can get you a spot on open mic night at the Laugh Lounge.” Dave snickered. “But I’m guessing you didn’t call solely to cast aspersions on my career…”

  “You’re as perceptive as usual,” Zach countered. And then he shared what little he knew about Summer’s history. “I’m hoping you can use your powers of persuasion to get me a little more information.”

  “Why? You interested in her?”

  Zach pictured her, pretty and petite, with a smile so warm it could thaw ice, and eyes that put Bambi’s to shame.

  “Only as a potential student,” he fibbed. “She came out of that mess with some permanent injuries. I don’t want to put her in any situations that could do more damage or trigger flashbacks to the attack.”

  “I hear ya. Hold on a sec. Got another call.”

  While Zach waited, he paced from kitchen to living room and back again. The 750-square-foot apartment above the studio served him well, with a steep staircase leading to the loft bedroom, a closet-sized bathroom and a built-in storage unit that ran the entire length of the living room. He’d furnished it simply, with an overstuffed leather love seat and matching recliner, a narrow coffee table where he ate most of his meals, and a wrought-iron floor lamp. He stopped momentarily to take stock. With no knickknacks, no valances atop the wood blinds and no pictures on the white walls, the place looked bleak and boring, especially when compared with Summer’s inviting town house.

  Zach slapped a hand to the back of his neck and resumed pacing. He’d spent all of thirty minutes in her presence, and here he was, wondering what his place might look like if she had a chance to decorate it?

  “Bad idea,” he grumbled. Bad on so many levels, he didn’t know where to begin. Soon after returning home from Afghanistan, he’d made a promise to himself, thanks in no small part to Libby’s unsolicited advice: “No more knight-in-shining-armor behavior.”

  It made him more determined than ever to hand Summer off to Emma…if she decided to enroll at the studio. His assistant’s teaching methods, though vastly different from his own, produced positive results. And in Summer’s still-fragile physical and emotional state, working woman-to-woman would probably be best for her.

  In that case, why bother digging into her past? If she ever found out about it, he’d look like some crazy stalker, not someone bent on doing what was best for her.

  He was about to hang up when Dave came back on the line.

  “Sorry that took so long. Had to process a perp. Now, where were we?”

  “Y’know, I should have given this look-into-her-background thing a lot more thought. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  “Too late, Champ. The wheels of investigation are already rolling.”

  When had he had time? Zach didn’t know what went into processing a perp, but surely it required some concentration. And more than five minutes.

  “I did a cursory search,” Dave said, answering Zach’s unasked question. “But it came up empty. So I shot an email to Adam. If he can’t dig up some good dirt, it’ll mean there isn’t any.”

  Dave’s twin had earned a reputation for being one of the most hard-nosed assistant district attorneys in the Denver prosecutor’s office. Chances that he’d get involved in something as trivial as this were about as good as Summer showing up at the studio on Monday. That put Zach at ease. He thanked Dave, exchanged a few more good-natured barbs and ended the call.

  He’d no sooner returned the handset back to its cradle when the phone rang.

  “Uh oh,” Libby said, “what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, you nut. What a crazy question.”

  “Watch your language, big brother. People in my line of work are sensitive to words like nut and crazy. And you of all people should know I’m not that easily distracted. You sound…off. So how about you save us both a lot of time and tell me why your voice is all tight and gravelly, because I won’t let up until you do.”

  And she wouldn’t. Zach saw no harm in bringing her up-to-date on what he laughingly referred to as the Summer Chronicles.

  “You better hope your DA friend doesn’t decide to bend the rules just because his brother asked him to,” she warned.

  He had his own reasons for wanting the same thing, but curiosity compelled him to ask why she shared his concerns.

  “Need I remind you about that night during my senior year at the University of Denver?”

  He’d been home for a rare, month-long leave when Libby opted to spend time with him rather than join her dorm-mates for a downtown pub crawl. Both girls were from out of state, so when homesickness or trouble erupted, they turned to the Marshalls. That night, Zach answered the phone. Annie, on the verge of hysteria, explained how they’d met a guy who must have spiked Taylor’s drink. “She was only out of my sight for half an hour, and now she can’t walk or talk or keep her eyes open!” He’d ordered Annie to get Taylor to the hospital, promised to meet them at the ER, and called the police. It didn’t take long to confirm that Taylor had been drugged, and the cops and medical staff agreed she was lucky to have survived the double dose of Rohypnol.

  “Good thing no one would tell you the guy’s name,” Libby was saying.

  In hindsight, he had to agree. But that night, when he saw Taylor lying limp as a rag doll on the exam table, he’d seen red. “Where’s the guy who did that to her?” he’d demanded. Not “How is she?” or “Will she be okay?” but “I’m gonna murder him.”

  “You would have gone to jail,” Libby added.

  “It was a natural, knee-jerk reaction. Any decent person would have felt the same way.”

  “That might be true…if it was the only time you put yourself in a bad situation, defending a woman.”

  Zack knew what was coming, and he braced himself. Sure e
nough, Libby reminded him that moments before his best friend died, Buddy made Zach promise to watch over his wife. Martha didn’t handle widowhood well at all, and repeatedly tried to deaden the pain of her loss with risky behavior, booze and pills. When Martha overdosed for the third time, it was Zach to the rescue, yet again. He insisted on therapy, and to make sure she got the help she needed, he drove her to every appointment. When the psychiatrist recommended outings, Zach bought tickets and sat through operas, the ballet and stage plays. Whatever it took, he told himself, to fulfill that promise to Buddy. In time, she got better, and he told himself Buddy would rest easier knowing that Zach and Martha had fallen in love. Well, Zach thought grimly, he had fallen in love, anyway.

  “You remember what she did,” Libby was saying, “after you stood by her through all that misery?”

  Like it was yesterday.

  “And what about those months you worked as a bouncer to pay your way through college, when all those flirty girls came running to you for protection?”

  Yeah, he remembered that, too. For the most part, their fears had been legitimate, so he’d felt no remorse, escorting drunken brutes out of the bar. He’d kept a lid on his temper and got the job done without physical confrontations. He hadn’t even considered roughing up those guys.

  That wasn’t the case, though, on the night Libby’s roommate was drugged. Wasn’t the case when Libby herself was attacked, either. He’d wanted to choke the life out of the animals who’d abused them, because the way he saw it—the way he still saw it—no man should get away with mistreating a woman. Ever. Period.

  “So your quest to help this latest damsel in distress,” she continued, “just proves one thing to me.”

  If she thought he intended to ask what it was, Libby had another think coming.

  “You’re still suffering from KISAS.”

  Knight in Shining Armor Syndrome. Zach harrumphed. He hadn’t liked the title when she first labeled him with it, and he didn’t like it now.

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Libs. I’m not one of your patients.”

  “No, you’re my brother, and I don’t want to see you hurt again. If I could wish just one thing for you, it’d be that you’d hang up your superhero cape, once and for all. This Summer person probably isn’t anywhere near as vulnerable as you think she is. But even if you’re right, and she’s a big tangled mess of trouble and baggage, you can’t save her. Only she can do that.”

  He sighed, and Libby did, too. She only has your best interests at heart, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, she was right. Again.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll make all your favorites…stuffed shells, garlic bread, meatballs. If you bring a bottle of my favorite wine, I’ll even bake my famous cheesecake. And you have my word—no lectures.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “What time should I be there?”

  “Seven?”

  He decided to arrive at six so that if anything needed slicing or dicing, or involved a hot oven, he’d volunteer to do it for her.

  He was about to sign off when he heard her say, “You know I love you, right? And that I only nag you because I want you to be happy?”

  “Yeah, I know. Love you, too, kiddo.”

  Happy. What a peculiar word, he thought, hanging up. For some people, happiness was found in life’s simple things, like music or travel, or tending a garden. For others, it could only be achieved by satisfying their every whim.

  It wouldn’t take much to make him happy. A humble house with a fenced-in yard, so he could get that golden retriever pup he’d always wanted. Two or three healthy kids. A strong, loving woman to share it all with. And no way Summer was that woman.

  Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Marshall? What he knew about her would fit in one eye. She was a looker, no one could deny that. Smart, too. And not one to squander what she’d earned as a voice-over actress. Instead of spending her money on frivolous trinkets, she’d invested in the town house and filled it with things that turned it into a warm and welcoming home.

  Don’t think about that stuff, you idiot. Instead, focus on the way she recoiled when you touched her.

  He felt bad about what she’d gone through. But Libby was right. He needed to hang up his superhero cape. Put away his armor. Admit that he couldn’t rescue every damsel in distress.

  In truth, he no longer wanted to rescue all of them.

  Just the one with a smile as warm as her name.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “SO WHERE ARE your folks?”

  “Having lunch in town with friends.”

  Rose laughed. “I didn’t know Vail had any vegan restaurants.”

  “Oh, they always manage to find something organic on the menu,” Summer said.

  Rose tapped the folded edge of Zach’s flyer on the counter, nodding as she munched a cookie. “You know what I think? If you’re dead-set against ever going out of the house, you could make a handsome living, selling these cookies. I’ve never had any quite like them. What’s your secret?”

  Summer chose to ignore the “never going out” part of the observation. “If I told you,” she said, topping off her neighbor’s coffee, “it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, now would it?”

  “No, I’m serious. You could sell them to restaurants. I’ll bet a few local bakeries would even buy them. They’re that good!”

  “I can see it now.” Both hands forming the corners of an imaginary sign, she pretended to read, “Summer Lane, founder of Chips Off the Old Block.” Grinning, she shook her head. “Thanks, but no, thanks, because then I’d be obliged to fill orders. And fight off the reporters clamoring for an interview with the next Mrs. Meadows, Cookie Queen.”

  Rose threw her head back and laughed, a little too long and way too loud to sound sincere. But Summer overlooked that, too, because she wouldn’t have offended her for the world.

  “You’re a hoot, girl.” Then she got really serious, really fast. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that your parents are here. It drives me crazy, thinking of you over here alone all the time, wasting that delightful sense of humor and all that gorgeousness. But if I said something like that in front of them, only God knows what sort of Pandora’s box I’d open for you.”

  “I appreciate your discretion.” Summer had heard it all before. She glanced at the clock.

  “I’d better get supper started. They’ll be back in time to eat.”

  “Oh. That’s right. And you can count on them to be punctual.” Sarcasm rang loud in her voice. “Like they were punctual last night, when you went to all that trouble to fix them a full vegan meal—which they didn’t eat because they stopped at a restaurant on the way here, without bothering to call and let you know they were running late.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” Summer said. “They fell all over themselves, apologizing when they got here.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “But won’t they be surprised when I reheat the entire meal tonight.”

  She saw no point in telling Rose that her parents’ guilt had provided the perfect way to sidestep another In Your Own Best Interests speech about the dangers of skipping orthopedist appointments, or yet another lecture about why she should find a therapist who’d force her to get out of the house.

  But how she’d avoid all that tonight was anybody’s guess.

  “Well, I don’t envy you.”

  Rose was still holding Zach’s flyer. She had that look in her eye, and Summer had a sinking suspicion it was behind all this chitchat.

  “So how long did Zach stay this time?”

  Summer should have known Rose would have seen his truck out front. Was it her imagination, or had her friend put extra emphasis on this time?

  “He stayed just long enough for me to fill two more sandwich bags with cookies.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie, either. “He dropped off his friend’s flyer,” she said, nodding at it.

  He’d met Harry Wilson at a seminar, years earlier. And since Harry was vacationing in town, h
e’d asked Zach’s permission to lead a few classes. Monday’s class, to be precise, and Zach thought it only fair to warn her that he and Emma wouldn’t be the only instructors on site.

  Rose dismissed the flyer. “So? Have you made up your mind yet?”

  “About what?”

  “Good grief, girl. Now I know what it feels like to be a dentist. Sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth without the benefit of Novocain! What do you think of him?”

  “I think you were absolutely right. He seems like a good guy. It was nice of him to give Alex some behind-the-wheel time.” And nice of him to give me a heads-up about Harry Wilson.

  Rose huffed. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Well, he’s still raving about my cookies, so I guess you could say he has good taste, too.”

  Rose clucked her tongue. “All right, I’ll quit beating around the bush.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. It’s unnecessarily hard on the shrubbery, and a waste of time, to boot.”

  She laughed, swatting playfully at Summer. “Be honest, now—just between you and me—isn’t he the hunkiest hunk of man on two feet?”

  Rose had a good heart, but she had absolutely no control over her tongue. There was no such thing as between you and me where Rose was concerned. Summer knew that anything she said in the moments that followed would be repeated, probably before morning.

  She grabbed the teakettle, a perfect excuse to put her back to Rose. As she filled it with water, she thought of Zach, tall and blond and broad-shouldered, with a voice so deep and smooth, he could work as a voice-over actor if he wanted to. She’d had plenty of time to think about it, and still hadn’t come up with a color to describe the blue-green shade of his eyes. Hadn’t been able to rationalize the way she’d reacted when his warm fingertips grazed hers, either.

  She felt the heat of a blush creeping from her neck to her cheeks and continued facing the stove, because the ever-perceptive Rose was sure to figure out why…and would never let Summer hear the end of it.