SEAL's Technique Box Set (A Navy SEAL Romance)

by Claire Adams

  It still made me feel giddy sometimes to think that I owned this restaurant. I didn’t have much in the way of accomplishments to my name—no college degree and no husband or children to speak of—but after the previous café had been put up for sale, I used the inheritance money my grandma had left me and bought the place, shut it down for a few months while it was renovated, and re-opened it under a new name: Ollie’s.

  We did breakfast and lunch, wholesome, hearty food, not the slop you’d get at the diner right off the highway, but not the high-priced, tiny plate fare you’d get at some of the swankier establishments in town. I wanted the place to be welcoming, laid back, but also visually appealing. I’d been a little nervous about the whole thing at first because I didn’t have much restaurant experience aside from a few waitressing jobs, and I didn’t have a degree in business, but I was determined to make this work. I did not consider failure to be an option, even if no one wanted to come in to the restaurant and eat.

  “Hey, Wren,” Lena said when she saw me. “Everything go okay at your appointment?”

  “Pretty good!” I said, trying to sound cheerful. I told Lena I’d started seeing Dr. Mike, though I hadn’t specified why. I didn’t need to though; Lena was totally one of those women who was all about self-help, and she herself was “seeing” someone, though it was for the opposite reason of why I was going: Lena couldn’t seem to make any relationship work, or she was choosing the wrong guys, or some combination of the two.

  I went out back and put my purse in the office, said “hi” to Shaun and the other two cooks, then went back out to the dining room. I needed a coffee.

  There was a guy sitting at the bar, drinking a cup of coffee of his own, and working on a club sandwich. It was Ryan, one of the out-of-state employees who worked at one of the nearby guest ranches. Last season, he’d had a girlfriend, but one of the very first things he’d said to me when he set foot in the restaurant was that they’d broken up. I had acted nonchalant about this information, though I figured it would only be a matter of time before he and I hooked up.

  “Wren,” he said. “Was hoping I’d run into you.”

  “Had an appointment,” I said. “How’s the sandwich?”

  “Delicious as always. You got plans tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a bunch of things I need to take care of.” I didn’t have anything I needed to take care of, but I’d felt odd after I left Dr. Mike’s, and I knew when I was feeling like this, it was better to spend the night alone.

  “How about this weekend? You ought to come on over to the ranch. There’s going to be a barbecue and a little party of sorts to kick off the start of the season. Saturday night.”

  I nodded as I poured a giant cup of coffee in my special mug that said This is whiskey on the side in pretty pink script. It was a joke because I’d never had whiskey in this mug before, or any mug, for that matter; I got tipsy off of a few beers, so I definitely couldn’t handle something like whiskey. “I might be able to make that,” I said. I did love a good barbecue.

  “That’d be mighty nice,” Ryan said, giving me a look that plenty of guys had given me before. I used to feel dangerously thrilled, but now it didn’t really do anything. It wasn’t exciting; it wasn’t even that much fun. It was just another way to spend an evening.

  Chapter Two

  Ollie

  There was no reason to expect anyone would be there to pick me up the day I got released from the Reynolds Correctional Facility. Upon leaving, I’d been given the few belongings I’d gone in with, plus bus fare back to wherever the hell it was I wanted to go. I figured I might just get on the bus and go until I got kicked off, which might be all the way across the country—or just across town, depending on what bus I happened to get on.

  But when I stepped outside, the hot sun beating down on me, and the sky such a bright blue it hurt my eyes, there was that matte black Ford F150 that I’d recognize just about anywhere.

  Garrett Wilson was in the driver’s seat, and he lifted his hand from the steering wheel to give a little wave as I walked over.

  “There you are,” he said. I tentatively got into the passenger side. “You look surprised to see me.”

  “They gave us bus fare.”

  “Did they now?” Garrett had his beige Stetson on, the same one he always wore, his face deeply tanned and leathery from spending most of his life outside in all sorts of weather. “And where were you going to take a bus to?”

  I paused. “I don’t know.”

  “Might as well close that door then, so we can be on our way.” I pulled the door shut, and Garrett put the truck in drive. Reynolds suddenly became nothing more than a building, getting smaller and smaller in the side view mirror.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, after a few minutes of silence had passed. It felt strange to be in a vehicle again, to see the landscape rush by in a blur of greens and browns.

  “Back to the ranch,” Garrett replied, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. “I can take you somewhere else, if you’d like.” It was a nice offer, but he knew I had nowhere else to go. “In fact,” he continued, “I’d like to give you your old job back. Season’s about to start again, and these past years have been busier than ever.”

  “What?” I said, certain I’d heard him wrong. He wanted me to work on the ranch again?

  “You heard me,” he said. “You’re one of the best wranglers I’ve ever worked with, and I wasn’t just saying that to make you feel good about yourself. We’ve got seven employees already at the ranch or coming in the next couple weeks, but half of them are working in the kitchen. So, I need one more wrangler. Figured you’d be needing a job.”

  “You figured that right,” I said. “I do need work.”

  “Sounds like a win-win situation for everybody, then.”

  That was one of the things we’d gone over in the pre-release and re-entry program I’d had to go through before getting out: finding employment and how important that was to integrating successfully back into society. Those of us who had work were less likely to be repeat offenders and find ourselves back behind bars. At the time, I just sat there, trying to think of where I was going to work, figuring I’d have to travel to get to some remote ranch where no one had ever heard of me before. But now here Garrett was, offering me my old job back.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked him. “Don’t take this the wrong way or nothin’, but I just don’t understand. Don’t really deserve it, if you want the truth.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong. How long have you worked on my ranch? Since you were about eleven years old, I’d say. Got to know you pretty good in that time. Good enough that I know you’re not a bad kid. I think of you as a son, if you want the truth of it. But I know what can happen to a man if he gets released from prison and doesn’t have any prospects. Nine times outta ten, he finds himself back behind bars in real short order. Don’t want to see that happen to you.” He eyed me, taking in the tattoos that now covered my arms. “That’s quite a bit of artwork you’ve got there.”

  I looked down at my arms, feeling a pang of regret. At the time, I hadn’t thought about what people on the outside would think of them when I was finally released, because getting out seemed like such a far ways away. When a day feels like an entire year, the possibility of getting out in ten seems like an eternity.

  “It was dumb of me to do,” I said. “It was just a way to pass the time.”

  The guy who’d done them, Mark, had been an art student who had gotten drunk one night and drove his truck through a red light, causing a three-car pile-up and killing four people. The tattoos he’d given me were good enough to pass for something done at an actual parlor, of things that I liked: a roping horse, boots, a skull wearing a Stetson. I’d gotten the tattoos without thinking of the future, without considering the implications they might have for potential employment.

  “A permanent way to pass the time,” Garrett mused. “Wel
l, I guess that’s what they make long sleeves for.”

  “You really want to give me my old job back?” I asked.

  “I sure do.”

  Wilson Ranch was a working ranch, a place for people to vacation at while at the same time participating in the day-to-day activities of running a cattle ranch. Which meant, unlike some of the other ranches in the area, this place had paying guests. Paying guests that most likely wouldn’t want to be around a man who had been convicted of voluntary manslaughter.

  “I don’t really see how that could be good for business,” I said.

  “Don’t worry—we’re not going to put a big announcement on the website,” Garrett said with a wry smile. “Seven years is a long time, Ollie. People forget. People forget after seven minutes. Nobody needs to know about your past unless you decide to tell them.”

  I felt an ache in my throat and knew if I didn’t watch it, I was going to cry, which was about the last thing I’d want to do in front of Garrett, or anybody for that matter. You certainly didn’t cry in prison.

  “Well I appreciate it,” I said after a minute. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to show up here today, to be honest.”

  “You’re not alone, you know,” Garrett said. “It might feel that way, but you aren’t.” He paused. “I can take you to see your mother’s grave, if you’d like.”

  “That’d be nice.” I stared out the window. My mother had died five months after I’d been sent to Reynolds. She’d come out to see me, but I didn’t go out to the visitation area. At the time, I’d been stalwart in my belief that her last memory of me shouldn’t be in an orange jumpsuit. Our last interaction shouldn’t be in a visitation room. It was all I could think about, at least until she was gone, and I realized how much of an effort it must’ve been for her to get out there, and how I could have at least given her one last hug and told her I loved her and how sorry I was. How all of that superseded her seeing me in prison, but I’d been too selfish to realize it until it was too late.

  We didn’t talk much the rest of the ride, though I knew Garrett would listen if there was anything I felt like I had to say. It was just so weird to be out, to be a civilian again, to know that I wasn’t going to wake up in cell fifty-six. Everything looked so familiar, yet so different at the same time. I saw the sign for Wilson Ranch come into view.

  “You just gotta keep your head down and your nose clean,” Garrett said as he turned down the long, hard-packed dirt driveway that led to the ranch. He drove up to his house, though, the original log cabin that had been built in the 1890s. “You’re going to be fine, Ollie. Why don’t you stay here up here at the main house for tonight at least, and then tomorrow if you want, you can move out to one of the employee cabins. C is open. Saved that one for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Like I said, some of our employees have arrived already; the rest will be trickling in over the next week or so. They’ve all worked at least one season here before; no one’s totally green. If it feels more comfortable for you to keep to yourself at first, that’s fine. You don’t have to do anything with the guests unless you feel ready for it; Ryan and Jerry will be responsible for the leading the rides and teaching lessons, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Before I’d gone to prison, I’d been the head wrangler, even though I was young, and one of the ride leaders, taking guests out on the cattle drive, helping them figure out how to ride if they’d never been on a horse before, and giving them pointers and demonstrations on how to get the cattle from one place to another. But now, just the thought of having to face a group of people I didn’t know seemed overwhelming, an insurmountable challenge. Ryan and Jerry, whoever they were, would have to handle all that.

  “One more thing,” Garrett was saying. “Two, actually, though they both concern how you’re going to get around. The blue Ford truck’s still running, so you can use that if you need to go to town. And for around the ranch, Bebop’s still raising hell and in need of a rider who’s not going to put up with his shenanigans.”

  I smiled. Bebop, the chestnut Quarter Horse I’d started riding when I was fifteen, was fifteen years old himself now, but from the sounds of it, age hadn’t slowed him down any. “I’ll be glad to see him again,” I said.

  “He’ll be glad to see you, too. So will Marie.”

  Marie was Garrett’s wife and had been one of my mom’s close friends. It had probably been Marie who’d driven my mother out to Reynolds that one time she came to visit me. I wondered if Garrett knew about that.

  He parked the truck, and we got out. Everything seemed brighter, though not necessarily in an inspiring way. I wished I had a pair of sunglasses. Some of the guys had talked about what they thought it would be like when they got out, how they’d revel in the freedom to do whatever the hell they wanted, where they wanted. A lot of the guys were like me, outdoorsmen who were not used to spending so much time inside. But now that I was actually out, everything felt like too much. There were too many choices. I could do anything right now, but I felt paralyzed faced with all the options. I reached out and rested my hand on the side of the truck to steady myself.

  Garrett came around the truck, looking down at something he was holding.

  “What on earth is that?” I asked. He had a rectangular device in his hand and was tapping away at the screen.

  “This?” He held it out to me. “This here thing is a smart phone. Not just a phone, but a computer doodad, too. Can do all sorts of things on it.”

  It was full-color, the picture as clear as a TV. Clearer, even. I handed it back.

  “That sure is different than I remember cell phones being.”

  “This thing is a little computer you can carry in your pocket. Never thought I’d see the day. Well, never thought I’d see the day when I’d be able to operate something like this, but they do a good job making it simple for folks like myself.”

  “Isn’t that something.”

  Garrett slid the phone computer thing back into his pocket. “I expect Marie will be back later this afternoon. If you want to get yourself settled in, you can.” He pulled his wallet out and extracted some bills, which he handed to me.

  I tried to hand it back. “Garrett, I can’t take this, you’ve done enough already—”

  “This is an advance on your first paycheck,” he said. “This isn’t a handout. But you’ll be needing to get yourself some clothes. Marie looked around a bit to see if there was anything that Jacob or Keith had left behind, but really, you should start fresh in your own duds. You don’t need to be wearing their hand-me-downs.” He patted my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Ollie,” he said. “There’ll be a period of adjustment. Give yourself the time to get used to everything again.”

  I nodded, feeling an overwhelming surge of emotion filling my chest. When I’d woken up this morning, I hadn’t been sure what today was going to have in store for me, but it was certainly not this. I didn’t even dare dream about something like this.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

  “Don’t mention it. And if you need anything else, just holler.”

  “Actually…” I paused. “There is one thing. Could I use the blue Ford?”

  “Of course. Come on, I’ll get you the key.”

  I followed him into the house. “There are a few things I need to take care of,” I said, even though Garrett hadn’t asked. “Maybe I’ll get a few pairs of jeans while I’m out, too.”

  Garrett handed me a keychain with a single key on it. If he thought that I was going to take the truck out and go find some sort of trouble to get into, he didn’t say a thing. But that’s the kind of guy Garrett was; he’d give you advice if you wanted it, but he wouldn’t try to keep you from doing anything. He’d let you make your own mistakes and hopefully learn from them.

  “You can just hang onto that key,” he said. “Go take care of whatever it is you need to do, and I’ll see you back here later.”


  “Okay,” I said. “Thank you.” I walked back outside, thinking about just what it was I needed to do. What I needed to do was something for Jackson because of the deal I’d made with him. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, my first week at Reynolds, not knowing how long I’d be in that hell hole. But now that I was out, I wasn’t so sure. I had to keep my word, though. I had promised him.

  Jackson had made me memorize the address, after he told me what he’d wanted me to do. This was maybe five or six months before I got released, a day after his wife, Paula, had come to visit. I didn’t go down to the visitation room, of course; I’d never stepped foot in there. Jackson’s wife visited him regularly, but after that visit, he’d come to me with a request: When I got out, he wanted me to go look in on her.

  At first, I thought it was some sort of joke or a test of sorts. Jackson was in his mid-thirties and had taken me under his wing. I was the youngest guy at Reynolds, and I knew I’d have a target on my back. I knew the sorts of things that could happen to a guy in prison, or I thought I knew, but probably the reality of it was a whole lot worse than anything that I’d be able to imagine. I might have found out firsthand if it hadn’t been for Jackson, who later told me I reminded him a lot of his younger brother.

  “What… what do you want me to do?” I’d asked.

  “Check in on her. Take her out to dinner if she wants. A movie. You know how lonely it can be. Paula’s sister used to live a few miles away, so she had someone to visit with, but she moved to Seattle a few months ago. She’s something of an introvert, my wife, but she still needs companionship, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”

  It sounded like a recipe for disaster, if you asked me, but I wasn’t about to tell Jackson that.

  “And I trust you,” he said. “You’re about the only person I do trust, which is why I’m asking. I could just tell the last time I saw her that she’s struggling.”