Soldier, Handyman, Family Man

by Lynne Marshall

  *

  Mark had eaten until he was full, enjoying every bite. Having a glass of wine, something he didn’t do very often, had also mellowed him out. He wondered why The Drumcliffe didn’t do something similar as a perk for their guests. They put carafes of coffee out every morning in the lobby, so why not add something like this in the evening? It wouldn’t need to be as special as this, but something. Maybe Grandda could offer house wine and draft beer in the pub for their guests for a couple of hours each evening, too. Guests only, though, or the locals would flood the pub if word got out. The flowing ideas were all food for thought, along with Laurel’s amazing appetizers.

  She looked great, too. Her hair was down, and she’d put on lipstick. For him? Could a woman like her be the least bit interested in a guy like him? A handyman working for his parents? Don’t flatter yourself, buddy. This was nothing more than practice for future guests. Of course she’d dress up. He tried to convince himself he played zero part in the reason she looked so nice right then, but part of him—a long-forgotten part—wanted to think she might be attracted to him, too. He hoped so, anyway.

  What was it about Laurel that made him wish things could be different, and want things again?

  She wore a yellow summer sweater set with a knee-length, straight khaki skirt, affording him the best view of her legs yet. Narrow ankles, nice calves, smooth-looking skin. And thanks to her choice in sandals, he got another glimpse of those tangerine-colored toenails. He liked everything he saw, and most of all was glad he was here with her.

  He took another drink of the wine, she’d done the same, and their gazes overlapped midsip, causing a tiny pop of adrenalin in his chest. Her hazel-brown eyes were warm and rich like the silky taste of the three-grape blended red, and they watched him thoughtfully.

  Hopefully she wasn’t a mind reader, because he was still all kinds of messed up from his stint in the military. Part of him wanted to slide right into something nice with her, another part unsure and reluctant to try. But staring into those gorgeous eyes, he wanted to.

  “Hey, can I have a meatball?” Peter appeared, hair disheveled like he’d just woken up.

  “Of course.” Laurel quickly snapped out of their invigorating staring contest, which disappointed Mark, even though he understood she couldn’t continue making doe eyes at him in front of her son.

  “Can we have some?”

  “Can we have some?”

  The twins had arrived. Laurel handed them each a cranberry and cream cheese pinwheel.

  The boy wolfed down the last three meatballs before hitting the guacamole and toast.

  He seemed in a good enough mood, so on a whim, Mark decided to take advantage of the situation.

  “Peter, will you watch the girls for a little while so your mother and I can take a walk on the beach?”

  Midchew, Peter looked confused, probably wondering why Mark would want to hang out with his mother.

  “Play game-ios with us?” Gracie pleaded.

  Peter screwed up his face. “I’ll watch TV with you, but I get to choose,” he bargained. “And I’m taking the guacamole with me.” He gathered up the plate, and without giving a definitive answer, walked down the hall with his sisters.

  “I guess that’s a yes,” Laurel said, looking happy.

  As they started out the door, Laurel called back into the house. “Be good. I’ll be back in a while.”

  “Okay,” Peter called out, apparently unfazed by his involuntary assignment. At least he was inside. Nobody from school would see him.

  “Okay!” Claire.

  “Oh. Kay!” Gracie.

  They stepped off the porch into cool night air and a clear sky, a bit too early for most of the stars to show.

  “Since you’ve started giving Peter surfing lessons, he seems a little happier. Doesn’t brood as much. Well, maybe happy isn’t the right word for it, but…calmer? Anyway, I’ve noticed he’s not giving me as much attitude as usual.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, and I have to thank you for that.”

  He wasn’t at all sure he deserved the credit, but he liked the expression on her face as they headed for the beach, so he smiled back. Maybe he was a good influence.

  “Definite progress. He doesn’t resent every single thing I say to him, only a few.” She laughed and took off her sandals to walk barefoot in the still-warm sand. “He’s lightened up with his sisters, too.”

  Mark kept quiet, enjoying her carefree conversation. If she wanted to attribute the kid’s attitude adjustment to him, fine, but the only payment he needed was seeing the lack of stress on her beautiful face.

  And yes, he’d just secretly admitted he thought she was beautiful.

  If he continued to keep connecting with Peter, maybe he’d earn the kid’s trust. Did he want the responsibility of that, though? Mark let go of the uncertain thought, focusing instead on Laurel and her shapely legs walking ahead of him toward the waves. In the moment, attraction overruled concern. He lengthened his stride and caught up.

  “We’re not in a hurry, are we?” he asked.

  “Oh. No. I’m so used to rushing through everything, I guess I’ve forgotten how to relax.”

  Crazy thought, but he wanted to teach her how. Maybe it would help him remember, too. He took her hand, which she didn’t fight, and set a slower pace. “Take a deep breath. Enjoy yourself for a change.” Her thin fingers were cool, though her palm felt warm against his, and it was great to hold a woman’s hand again.

  She did as he suggested, slowing down to a stroll, inhaling the ocean air, then a few steps later she looked at him with a questioning gaze. “Is that how I come off? Uptight all the time?”

  She hadn’t said it defensively, or as a challenge, just a query, so he gave her his honest opinion. “You’ve got a lot of responsibilities, and let’s just say, sometimes I can tell you’re struggling.”

  She went silent as they walked past the lifeguard station, toward a long stretch of beach. A minute later she squeezed his hand. “I’ve probably taken on more than I should’ve, but we needed a new start.” She checked him out, as though wondering if it was okay to talk about her past. He sent an encouraging glance. “It was so sad at our old house, all the memories, the gaping hole Alan had left by dying. He’d written me a note telling me to do something special with his second life insurance policy. It took close to two years to decide, but I finally did. Now, most days I think I’m crazy.”

  “I think it’s great you bought that place. The house is gorgeous.” So are you. “Everything you’ve done is amazing.” He stopped to look at her before saying his next thought. “I know how it is to focus so hard on something that all the rest fades away. As a person who may have forgotten how to enjoy myself, too, I’m just saying.”

  “Takes one to know one?”

  He smiled and nodded, enjoying how the moonlight sparkled in her eyes. How she suddenly looked impish.

  She pushed him with both palms, then took off running for the damp sand, heading toward the ocean. “First one in wins!” She hiked up her skirt to her thighs so she could run faster. He definitely liked that.

  Momentarily stunned by her sudden change, Mark stood still, then quickly responded to her challenge and ran after her.

  She squealed when her feet hit the cold water. “I win!”

  “That’s just a toe dip. You said first one in.” He rushed beside her, not giving a damn that his jeans were sopping wet up to his knees, and his cross-trainers pooled with water, and swooped her up into his arms, then pretended to throw her into the next wave.

  She screamed and stiffened, then laughed, but screamed again as he pretended to hoist her into the waves, counting one, two, three! She buried her face on his shoulder, and he liked having her there, in his arms, laughing.

  A fast-moving, receding wave pulled at the backs of his knees, and he lost his footing as the sand quickly got sucked from under his feet, nearly dropping her. Staggering back to a wide stance, refusing to l
et her go, he nearly recovered until a second wave rolled in, hitting faster and harder, and higher up. Drenching both of them. His jeans were sopping and heavy, now. And they didn’t stand a chance. Down the two of them went into the cold pool of swirling ocean. He yelled and she screamed.

  “I’m sorry!” he called, worried what she’d think of him, assuming she was ticked off. But she laughed hysterically, and once he helped her stand, she splashed him, then ran back to the wet sand and took off farther down the beach. What could he do but follow? Though running in drenched denim and soggy shoes was a definite challenge. Not to mention the chaffing.

  “What’ll the kids think when I come home like this?” she called over her shoulder.

  “That you had some fun?”

  Finally, he caught up. They were both out of breath, but she was still smiling, and he realized how much he liked Peter’s mom. In fact, as he wrapped his arms around her and they smiled at each other up close—she cold and shivering—he understood exactly how much he liked her, enough to want to kiss her.

  It’d been a long time since he’d been in a good enough place to even think about kissing a woman. He hadn’t felt this drawn to someone since before his last deployment, two years ago.

  But Mark and Laurel were just getting to know each other. If he followed through on this crazy whim and kissed her, wouldn’t it mess up the friendly-neighbor bit? With three kids, she needed a helping hand more than a boyfriend.

  From the shift in her playful expression to serious, he sensed she’d figured out exactly what’d just been going on in his mind. Yeah, he still wanted to kiss her. And where he’d hesitated, with a lift of her chin she seemed to dare him.

  So he kissed her, cold, salty and wet, discovering soft, warm and inviting lips. That her pouty upper lip did indeed feel as good as it looked. The cautious kiss didn’t take long, but it planted a warm, glad feeling in the center of his chest. Though Laurel gave a modest look when it ended, like they’d just broken a rule or something, she took his hand as they walked back to her house.

  He liked holding her hand even more now, and wished he’d kissed her the way he’d really wanted.

  When they got to her gate, sopping wet from the waist down, Mark opted not to go in. “You can tell them I dared you to go swimming.”

  “I was going to tell them I had to save you from a shark.”

  “Good one.”

  She looked relaxed all right, and playful, and he wondered what she’d be like, just the two of them in that big old house now that they’d broken the ice.

  “Got anything for me to do tomorrow?”

  She took her time answering, letting her gaze travel around him, a different kind of look in her eyes. Flirty. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll come up with something.” Then she turned and headed for her porch. “Before or after your project with Peter?” she said at the door.

  “After.”

  “I’ll make lunch.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  “Okay, then, good.”

  “Good,” she said, sounding sassy.

  If he wasn’t mistaken she’d just flat out flirted with him. He liked that. A lot. So he smiled to himself. As he walked back to his room, shoes squeaking, rubbing his heels, his cold, water-laden jeans dragging on the asphalt, and scraping the insides of his thighs, even with beach sand finding its way into strange places, he kept grinning. Tonight, spending one-on-one time with Laurel had been great, and with plans to see her again, tomorrow was already looking up.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday, after five long hours of manual labor with Mark as the foreman and Peter the journeyman apprentice, they’d managed good headway with the gazebo frame. Peter had learned how to use several new-to-him power tools, including table and band saws, plus, from the way he grinned every time he used it, his personal favorite, the nail gun.

  Laurel made an appearance around 12:30 p.m. to remind them that lunch would be served at one. They worked across the street on the cul-de-sac yard abutting the side of The Drumcliffe. The rolling green lawn extended toward the beach, and was the perfect spot for the gazebo. She showed up wearing brown leggings, displaying her nice curves, and a sleeveless top, loose, but sexy, giving him a glimpse of her light olive skin and thin arms. Best of all, her hair was in a ponytail again. Mark was surprised how much he looked forward to lunch, too, so he rushed things along on the building front. They sunk the posts, braced the beams, even adding some windows in record time. In other words, they were more than ready for lunch when, a half hour later, Laurel called from her curb. What a spread she’d made, too. The kitchen island was covered in do-it-yourself sandwich fixings. Assorted meats and cheeses, three different breads, everything from lettuce to tomatoes and pickles.

  “You may want to try that before you use it,” Laurel said, pointing out a small bowl of something that looked like he’d want to spread it on bread. It sat next to the standard mayo and mustard jars.

  Mark hadn’t washed his hands yet, and Laurel dipped her index finger into the “secret sauce” and came at him.

  “Taste this. Let me know what you think.”

  He stared for an instant at her proffered finger. A dozen inappropriate thoughts crossed his mind. Did she know what she was doing to him? Innocently, she waited for his tongue to appear, then served the tip of her finger, covered in spread, for his tasting pleasure. He went for it, savoring every sensation as it came along. Warm skin, spicy spread.

  It happened so fast, he was stunned by how sexy licking her finger could be. He’d also made the mistake of looking her in the eyes when he did. Oh, yeah, this was more than tasting the spread, this was a continuation of that kiss they’d shared and took it to a whole new level. A dozen more thoughts blasted through his mind, causing his skin to heat up, and since they were in front of her kids, all crowding around the island to make their own versions of lunch, he fought off the urge to grab and kiss her.

  She’d seen it, too. His flash of desire. Because she’d been watching. Teasing? Had she done that on purpose, that uber-sexy taste-my-finger bit?

  The moment stretched on, and he realized she waited for his reaction, preferably something verbal, and definitely from above the belt.

  “Wow,” he said. “What’d you put in there?”

  She dipped her head sideways, wearing a sweet, yet smug expression. “That’s my little secret. Trust me.” Oh, he wanted to. “Spread that on your bread and it’ll make any meat pop.”

  Did she just say that? Right in front of the kids? He hadn’t been this turned on discussing sandwiches since, well, ever.

  “Definitely going to use that.” He pointed at the innocent little bowl sitting on the counter, then went to wash his hands, thinking cold, cold water over the head would be more appropriate.

  After lunch at the B&B, where his turkey definitely popped between the sheets—uh, he meant bread—Laurel, as promised, had found something for Mark to do.

  She got out her laptop, opened it on the counter and, while the twins carried the dishes and utensils to the sink and she cleaned up, she had Peter display the big surprise.

  A website for the B&B. She’d taken his advice, and that fact touched him nearly as much as tasting her finger.

  “I uploaded a website for the Prescott B&B,” Peter said. “It’s just a basic theme, but Mom helped me pick some pictures and, well, what do you think?”

  Besides the fact it was awfully late to just be doing this? “This is great.” Mark was truly impressed, and glad to get his mind off Laurel and how she made him feel. “It doesn’t look like you need my help with anything.”

  “Wasn’t it your idea to include virtual tours?” Laurel reminded, from the sink area.

  “Oh, yeah. This is the perfect place to post them.”

  “That’s why I need your help.” And there he was staring into those amazing eyes again. “You’re the guy with the fancy-schmancy seven plus smartphone.”

  “Ah,
right.” So she’d wound him tight around her finger for a reason. But he preferred to think she’d been flat out flirting with him.

  For the next hour, he and Laurel toured each of the six guest rooms using his phone video camera to film a slow 360-degree turn. They had to reshoot a couple of them because Mark had bumped into something by accident, or his hand wasn’t steady enough. How could he be steady in bedroom after bedroom, with Laurel standing close enough to breathe on his neck?

  After, he took a picture of each room from the best angle to post under the ROOMS heading on the website. Next, he went out front and filmed a walk up to the wraparound porch and entrance into the house. He got the bright idea to walk slowly up the inside stairwell to the second-floor landing, too. She’d done such a beautiful job of arranging the antique furniture there. The sitting area seemed to invite guests to try out the chairs and love seats, to linger and enjoy reading a book from the well-stocked built-in bookcases. She must have spent a lot of time in used bookstores to find most of the leather-bound classics, though she also had a wide assortment of current paperbacks. When all the filming was done, he sent the videos to Peter to upload on the new website.

  These were the only moments he had alone with Laurel, and it was strictly business. Sure, they’d accidentally bumped into each other while filming several times, followed by exaggerated “excuse mes” and “no problems,” but that wasn’t the quality time he’d been hoping for. Just her and him, alone, in her pretty house. Maybe another day.

  He still enjoyed himself, because it was time spent with Laurel. What had gotten into him? He was still fighting the idea of taking over the hotel. Why the sudden desire to get involved? With a woman who came complete with a family, no less.

  After Peter completed the website, Laurel, the twins and Mark watched Peter as he clicked the various pages, conducted each virtual room tour and signed up for the Prescott B&B newsletter. They all cheered and high-fived like they’d invented a rocket set for outer space.