Once a Marine (Those Marshall Boys)

by Loree Lough

  Summer nodded, and Emma turned to Zach. “Does she have a locker and everything?”

  “Not yet. But if you have a few minutes, you could help her get squared away.”

  Instantly, Summer tensed.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma asked. “Did Alex forget to tell you to bring a padlock? Don’t give it another thought. I always keep a few extras on hand. You’re welcome to borrow one until you get your own.”

  Summer glanced at the exit, and Zach sensed that Summer hadn’t gotten all fidgety and stiff because she was worried about her gear. Rather, faced with the reality of self-defense classes—and the event that had inspired her to take them—it was more likely that Summer was calculating the time it would take to escape.

  Emma took a step away from the counter. “I’ll grab one, and when you’ve finished up here, bring your stuff and meet me in the locker room.”

  Summer tore her gaze from the exit to smile at Emma. She nodded, too, but something told Zach she hadn’t heard half of what the other instructor said.

  “Once we get you settled,” Emma continued, “we’ll head into the meeting room for Zach’s, ah, lecture.” Grinning, she started walking backward. “You don’t fall asleep easily, do you, Summer?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good. ’Cause once this guy starts talking about the principles of women’s self-defense, it’s tough to stop him.”

  Summer draped her jacket over one arm, slung her purse strap over the opposite shoulder and let out a shaky breath.

  “Your lessons with Emma will be a lot of things,” Zach said as she passed by, “but boring won’t be one of them.”

  She responded with a tiny smile and fell into step beside Emma. Zach had a feeling that Emma wouldn’t be bored teaching her, either.

  Had he ever felt more conflicted about a person? Not that he could recall. What she’d gone through had been awful, he wouldn’t deny that. But she’d already wasted two years babying herself. He had no intention of encouraging her to keep traveling down Poor Summer Lane.

  Amused by his little pun, Zach opened a drawer and removed his presentation notes. He thought of his younger sister. How could two women of the same age have such vastly different reactions to a similar, horrible event? After her attack, Libby put in long, grueling hours at work. When he asked why she pushed herself so hard, she’d said, “So that when I finally climb into bed, I’m too dog-tired to have nightmares.” And Zach had always coped with tragedy in exactly the same way.

  The old “walk a mile in my shoes” adage surfaced in his mind, followed by “different strokes for different folks.” He had no idea what it was like to be in Summer’s shoes, so what business did he have hypothesizing how she should react to her trauma?

  “All set,” Alex announced. “Laptop’s ready, and I gave everybody a notepad and a pen.”

  “Good job, kiddo.” He gave the boy’s shoulder a fatherly squeeze. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Emma breezed into the room with Summer close on her heels.

  Zach did a quick head count. Eleven—if his star pupil didn’t quit. It wasn’t likely that any of them shared Summer’s background. He hoped not. They ranged in age from thirty to sixty-five, and all appeared to be in reasonable physical condition.

  Taking his place front and center, he raised a hand and got things started by asking the students to introduce themselves. Two nurses, four teachers, a lawyer, a housewife, a few office staffers…and Summer. When they finished, he signaled Alex, who lowered the lights and stood beside the laptop.

  “We don’t stand on ceremony here,” Zach began, “so if you have questions, ask them.”

  A list appeared on the screen.

  The Basics:

  Wear comfortable clothes.

  Wear thick socks (unless you prefer bare feet).

  Arrive 5-10 minutes early to stow personal items.

  No perfume. Some students are allergic.

  Sessions Will Begin Promptly.

  “If you don’t already have one, we’ll rent you a padlock for your locker, where you will leave your cell phones and jewelry. Absolutely no exceptions. We’ll also provide towels and bottled water, but you might want to bring some throat lozenges, because we do a lot of yelling in here.”

  “No kidding,” Alex said, snickering.

  Grinning at his sidekick, Zach continued. “But no gum or lozenges while we’re working out. Not only are they a choking hazard, we don’t need things sticking to the mats.”

  He pointed at the screen. “Pay particular attention to the no perfume rule, because it impacts proper breathing.” He looked at each student in turn. “Any questions so far?”

  Zach didn’t let his gaze linger on Summer, even though he wanted to; she was the prettiest woman in the group. But he couldn’t take the chance that the others might mistake his attention for favoritism.

  “Emma here will be your instructor. But I’ll make frequent visits to every class.” He stood at attention. “For those of you who don’t already know, I’m a former marine lieutenant. Which means I will not waste your time—or mine—candy-coating things. If you’re not working to potential, believe me. You. Will. Know.”

  He gave them a moment to let that sink in, more than long enough to notice that Summer was the only student who wasn’t fidgeting. Zach didn’t know what to make of that. He also noticed that she’d moved to the back of the room…and closer to the door.

  “We’ll start every session with drills. Strength training designed to build your endurance. Squats, deadlifts, crunches, sit-ups, weight exercises for your arms. Three sets of fifteen reps to begin, with short rest periods in between. I expect you to do these workouts at home, too, at least three times a week, because we’re shooting for fifty before the last class.” Zach met every woman’s eyes again. “You’re probably thinking, ‘I didn’t sign up for an aerobics class, so what’s with all the exercises?’”

  He signaled at Alex, whose deft fingers flew over the keyboard. Now, in place of the basics list, a dark, menacing image appeared: a masked man stalking an average-looking woman, who wore her hair in a ponytail. In his peripheral vision, Zach noticed that Summer had shaded her eyes.

  Alex hit play, and the video began, proving just how little time it could take an attacker to subdue an unsuspecting woman. The clip lasted less than fifteen seconds, and in that short window, the masked man grabbed the woman’s ponytail and jerked her to the ground. Alex paused on the guy’s raised fist…and the terrified woman’s face.

  “This is why I will insist that you exercise, hard. You just saw for yourself that it only takes seconds for someone to take full control of you. An attack can be fast and explosive, meaning your reactions have to be fast and explosive, too. If your legs won’t hold you up, the opponent can take you down in a heartbeat. If your arm muscles are weak, every strike you attempt will do more harm to you than to him. If he tries to subdue you with a punch to your midsection—” he pounded a fist into his open palm “—you had better have a strong core.”

  Now Summer sat, eyes closed and head down. Was she asking herself if she could have mitigated the severity of her assault, had she been more fit?

  “I’m already doing cardio,” said one of the students.

  “That’s great,” Zach said. “And we’ll soon find out if you’re doing enough.”

  He waited to see if anyone else would try to get out of the exercises. No one spoke up, so he continued. “In just a few minutes, you’ll find out why self-defense workouts are different from other programs you’ve tried. Yeah, your cardiovascular system will appreciate them, and yes, they’ll tone muscle and trim fat. But here, the objective isn’t to make you look good. It’s to make sure you can defend yourself if that—” he pointed at the frightening image on the screen “—happens to you. Our goal is to keep you safe…and alive.”

  Cardio-woman sighed.

  “I think now you see why we don’t accept enrollment fees on the first night.” Whisp
ers floated around the room as Zach added, “It’s time for you to ask yourself the tough questions, and decide whether or not to commit to improving your self-defense skills.” He crossed both arms over his chest and planted his feet shoulder-width apart. “If you believe you’re physically fit enough to prevent that on your own…” Again, he gestured toward the screen. “There’s the door.”

  Alex hit a button, and the frightening video disappeared. As he closed the laptop, Emma stood up.

  “Will those of you who are staying please follow me to the workout room?” she said.

  Now the only sound in the room was the quiet rustle of women rising from their chairs and moving toward the door. Zach wasn’t sure if Summer would follow Emma, but at least she was on her feet.

  Halfway down the hall, Emma said over her shoulder, “So who’s ready to learn how to stand like a boxer?”

  Normally, this was when Zach would excuse himself to sort paperwork or go through the checkbook. But when he saw Summer take a deep breath, as if summoning strength before following the others, he fell into step beside her at the back of the line.

  “How you doing?” he whispered.

  She looked up at him, just long enough for him to read uncertainty—and maybe a little dread—on her face.

  “I’m okay.”

  But she wasn’t, and it showed in her stance, her shaky voice and her big dark eyes. He wanted to promise her that armed with some basic skills, she’d be safe from now on. Instead, he nodded and slowed his pace, and as she caught up with the others, Zach knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep. Despite protective gear and weapons, he hadn’t been able to save all of his men from harm in mine-strewn Afghanistan.

  He stood in the hall, hands pocketed and shoulders slumped as Emma demonstrated the fighting stance, knees bent, elbows tucked to the sides, fists at cheek level, shoulders slightly forward. Next, she went through the essential moves: the jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Then the roundhouse, and inside, front and side kicks. She concluded with a spinning leg kick that produced gasps and a smattering of admiring applause.

  When Emma first came to Marshall Law, she’d been a flighty young woman, sporting a black eye and a swollen lip. “You need to teach me how to defend myself against my brothers,” she’d said. Four brothers, to be exact, all rough and rowdy and raised by an equally tough widower who apparently didn’t have the time or motivation to teach his boys the fundamentals of chivalry.

  But look at her now. Pride swelled his chest as Emma stood, poised and self-assured, telling her students that in addition to the conditioning exercises, they must maintain a balanced diet, drink lots of water and get plenty of sleep.

  “You’ve probably all signed up for these workshops for different reasons,” she was saying. “But me? I’m only here for one reason—to make sure that when this session ends, you’ll have what you need to defend yourself if, God forbid, you get into a bad situation.”

  Knowing that she had things well under control, Zach headed for the reception desk. Alex was already there, entering student data into the system.

  “How many do you think we’ll lose tonight, boss?”

  “One, maybe two. From what I could see, Emma had their full attention.”

  “Yeah. Hard not to like Emma.” He hopped up on the stool behind the counter. “You think Summer will be the one who leaves?”

  The decision to make the trip into town had taken guts. Did she have more courage to spare, or had she exhausted the supply, showing up tonight?

  “I sure hope not,” Zach said, meaning every word. “For her sake.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  ZACH’S MEETING WITH the manager of the Arrabelle at Vail Square ran longer than expected. He wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to branch out, offering self-defense workshops in the resort’s fitness center, especially after hearing the classes would only be offered on an as-needed basis to guests who signed up in advance. It meant being away from the studio and schlepping his gear back and forth, who knew how many times a week.

  His stomach growled, a reminder that he’d skipped breakfast. He walked up to the hostess stand.

  Nearby, high-pitched laughter caught his attention as a pretty young blonde said, “Just one for lunch today?”

  Unless he was mistaken, the woman laughing was Susannah Lane. Today, she looked far more like the picture on Summer’s foyer table. Beside her, Harrison tucked a handful of sugar packets into his shirt pocket. And across from them, Summer.

  “Yeah. Just one,” he said, wondering how her folks had managed to talk her into lunch in town.

  “Follow me,” the hostess said, grabbing a menu emblazoned with t2 for Tavern on the Square. Clever, Zach thought, glancing at the logo.

  He stopped when he reached the Lanes’ table.

  Susannah smiled and so did Harrison. Summer…Zach couldn’t describe the expression on her face.

  “Sorry,” her dad said, “but I’m horrible with names.”

  “Zach.” He offered his hand, and as Harrison shook it, he focused on Summer. “Didn’t mean to intrude. Just stopped by to ask how you’re feeling, after a night to think about the classes.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t quit.” She opened her menu. “Yet.”

  Susannah pointed at the empty chair across from hers. “You aren’t intruding. Please, won’t you join us?”

  Harrison gave a nod of approval, and the hostess placed Zach’s menu on the table. He’d barely seated himself when a waiter stepped up, took their drink orders and hurried away.

  “I can’t thank you enough for talking Summer into signing up for your class.”

  “I didn’t talk her into it. She came of her own volition.”

  Summer closed the menu and folded her hands on top of it. Without turning toward her, Zach couldn’t see her face. But something told him she liked his answer.

  “You’ll deal with her exactly as you will the other students, right?” her father asked. “Because her ego is already fragile enough. If you single her out, give her preferential treatment, it’ll reinforce her opinion that everyone thinks she’s a tragic little charity case.”

  “Dad! I’ve never thought of myself as a—”

  “You should know that I’ve never singled out a student, Mr. Lane, and see no reason to start with your daughter.” He risked a quick glance, just long enough to see that he’d been correct: Summer appreciated his attitude.

  “Please, none of that Mr. and Mrs. stuff. It’s Susannah, and this is Harrison.”

  The waiter delivered iced tea and a dish of sliced lemons, then he took their orders and disappeared much too soon for Zach’s taste. The Lanes pummeled him with questions about his family, his educational background, how he’d acquired his self-defense training. By the time their food arrived, he’d shared all he cared to, and decided to turn the tables.

  “So tell me, Summer,” he began. “How did you get into voice-over work?”

  “She auditioned for a part in a play,” Susannah answered for her daughter. “But the director wanted a bigger, more robust girl for the part.”

  “He liked her voice, though,” Harrison added, “so he hired her as the narrator.”

  Summer had folded her napkin into an accordion shape. She smoothed it, then rolled it into a tube. “Oh, yes. And be sure to tell him all about the very important man,” she said. Either Susannah didn’t know sarcasm when she heard it, or chose to ignore Summer’s indignant tone. Now Zach understood her comment from last night, about needing to get out of the house for a few hours.

  The important man, according to her mother, owned an advertising firm that produced TV and radio commercials for the Baltimore and Washington, DC, markets. After the show, he met with Summer backstage to set up an interview. “And you know what they say,” she added, laughing, “about one thing leading to another.”

  Harrison jumped in. “Our agent used the tapes to arrange auditions for the national market, and soon Summer was competing with some major players.”
/>   “More often than not,” Susannah added, “Summer got the work.”

  “Because I was more affordable.”

  “Only in the beginning,” Harrison corrected.

  “You should have seen her back then. Our little social butterfly!” Susannah gushed. “She dated CEOs and musicians, went to parties nearly every weekend. She was on the go so much that we barely saw her! And then…” A shaky sigh punctuated her statement.

  Harrison shook his head and picked up where she’d left off. “And then that monster—”

  “I’m sure Zach doesn’t want to hear all the gory details.” Summer daintily spread her napkin across her lap, then turned to face him. “Did you hear the latest weather report? They say it’s going to snow.”

  “Yeah, I think I did hear something about that.”

  While her parents debated how many inches would fall, Zach’s admiration for Summer rose another degree. She could have changed the subject with an outburst or by leaving the restaurant instead of the classy, respectful way she’d handled things. Zach made a mental note to admit it to her…when her folks weren’t around.

  His curiosity rose a notch, too, as he wondered what she’d meant by “all the gory details.”

  “So tell me, Zach, what kind of student do you think Summer will be?”

  He met her father’s eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to evaluate her capabilities,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I have a feeling she’ll do well.”

  “And you say that in a strictly professional capacity?”

  “Dad! You’re this close to spoiling my appetite!”

  “Sorry, honey.” Eyes on Zach again, he added, “Just looking out for my daughter.”

  “I understand.” And he did…more or less. In Harrison’s shoes, Zach would probably feel protective of her, too. Heck, he wasn’t even related to Summer and he felt protective of her!

  “Oh, now look what you’ve done, Harry. You’ve made the poor man blush.” Susannah patted Zach’s hand. “Don’t pay him any mind. He means well, even if he is a bit of a social klutz.”

  Zach noticed that Summer’s knees were now pointed toward the exit. He felt a little like bolting, too. What would she say if he suggested they leave, together?