by Abby Gaines
He’d hoped it might all blow over if they didn’t speak for a while.
At last John straightened, one hand pressed to the small of his back. “Lucas, when did you get in?” He came over and clasped Lucas’s hand in both of his. “How’re you doing? Your dad tells me you’ll be out by year-end. Must be disappointed.”
That was more like it. John knew how Lucas felt.
“I am,” he said, returning the handshake. “But how are you?” John had always had a spare build, but today he looked almost skinny, and his grip was bony.
John rubbed his back again. “My kidneys are giving me trouble. I’m on the blasted dialysis twice a day now. At least the hospital has set me up so I can do it here, or at home.” It was a cheerful grumble, the way a guy might complain when someone drinks the last of the two-percent, forcing him to pour skim milk over his cereal.
Or when he’s being pursued by an enemy aircraft, faster than him and with more firepower, and he doesn’t want his buddies to know he’s terrified.
Lucas had seen a flash of terror in John’s eyes.
“Your blood pressure still bad?” he asked. It was the older man’s hypertension that had damaged his kidneys in the first place. “You seen the doctor lately?”
“The doctor can’t do a thing to knock my BP down.” John chuckled, as if it was all a joke. “Though Merry has me on egg-white omelets.” His heavy sigh suggested his only daughter had devised a particularly cruel form of torture.
“Tell it to Amnesty International,” Merry said from behind Lucas.
When he turned around, she was crossing the workshop. She must have squeezed through the sliding door he hadn’t managed to open very far. She wore skinny jeans and a pale green T-shirt that crossed over in front, creating a deep V. With her shoulder-length, light brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looked more or less the way he remembered her at twelve years old.
She’d been eyeing her dad with loving exasperation, but when she turned to Lucas, the loving disappeared.
To be replaced with an entirely adult glitter in her gray eyes. A woman-scorned kind of glitter.
I should have called.
“Lucas, I didn’t realize you were coming home.” Which was more or less the same as you should have called, uttered in a cool, distant voice that didn’t suit her at all.
“Surprise,” he said, forcing a smile. He stepped closer.
John would think it odd if he didn’t at least kiss her cheek. No need to broadcast their rift to her dad, and therefore to his own father.
Lucas pressed his lips to Merry’s cheek.
And was startled by a rush of sensation, of memory that he’d thought he’d put behind him, provoked by the scent of her skin. It was sweet, like the wild strawberries they used to pick at the start of summer. If he moved an inch or two to his right, to her lips…and if she opened her mouth…he knew she would taste of wild strawberries, too.
No, no, no. Not going there.
Merry took a step backward, away from his lips. Her face was stony.
With disconcerting slowness, Lucas’s brain resumed normal service. That concussion must have done even more damage than the doctors knew.
John chuckled as he looked from Merry to Lucas. “Have you two had another tiff?” he said indulgently. “Why don’t you go to dinner tonight, clear the air?”
Merry transferred her full attention to him, and her face softened. “Sorry to disappoint you, Dad,” she said. “But Lucas isn’t back in town to see me.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. She seemed mighty sure about that. “Actually, Merry, I do want to see you,” he said.
Her father chuffed with satisfaction. “You two have your ups and downs, but you always come back to each other. One day, you’ll sort yourselves out for good.”
Not the most helpful observation, after Baltimore.
“I’m busy,” Merry said. “I have a ton of supplier payments lined up this afternoon.”
“How about I come back when you’re done, and we go for a drink?” Lucas suggested. Not as big a commitment as dinner, but still in a public place. No room for misinterpretation.
She lifted her chin. “I have a date tonight.”
Lucas felt a niggle of irritation. He wanted to apologize, for goodness’ sake.
“Not with that Patrick again,” her dad said disapprovingly. “I thought you broke up.”
“He’s been away the past week or so,” she said. “That’s all.”
Who was Patrick?
Behind Merry, a collie dog rounded the sliding door and padded across the concrete floor.
“You have a visitor,” Lucas said.
“That’s Boo. My new dog.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, boy, come to Mommy.”
Her voice went all gooey, much the way Dwight’s had when he talked to Mia. Even if it was only about the dog, Lucas figured any sign of softening had to be good.
“You dog-napped Lassie,” he said too heartily. “Way to go, Merry.”
Pointing out the resemblance was a nod to Merry’s favorite movie, a reminder of how well Lucas knew her. But it wasn’t without risk. Merry had insisted they see Lassie on their very first date; Lucas had never been so bored in his life. She’d decried his bluntly voiced opinion as a sign of a lack of emotional depth. He’d accused her of being out of touch with reality.
And there ended Date Number One.
The dog lurched from side to side like a drunken sailor.
“Why is he walking funny?” Lucas asked.
“Shh, he’ll hear you,” she said. “Boo can’t go.”
“Can’t go where?” Lucas asked. Her irises were flecked with gold…he’d never noticed that before.
“Can’t go. He’s constipated. Big-time, long-term. I’ve tried everything.”
“She sure has,” her dad said. “Not even the animal hypnotist could convince that thing to poop.”
The dog’s rolling gait suddenly looked less drunken sailor and more accident-waiting-to-happen.
“Have you tried feeding him whatever my baby sister’s eating?” Lucas asked. “That’ll fix it.”
“Patrick thinks it’s psychological,” Merry said. “Boo’s owner, Ruby, died of a heart attack late last year.”
Boo perked up at his owner’s name, his head swiveling between Merry and Lucas.
As if Lucas cared what her boyfriend thought.
“Patrick is Boo’s vet,” Merry explained. “Boo was boarding with him while Ruby was away on a cruise. After she died, her family didn’t want him, so Patrick offered him to me. He’s the sweetest thing.”
“Boo or Patrick?” Lucas asked.
“Boo—well, both. Though I wouldn’t say Boo’s entirely accepted me as his owner.”
The collie’s long nose nudged Lucas’s knee, as if to say she’s right.
Lucas ignored the dog’s purported emotional distress and homed on the most alarming aspect. “Are you saying this animal hasn’t gone in six months?”
“Of course not.” She tsked. “He’d be dead. But he doesn’t go very often, and it’s not comfortable when he—”
Lucas held up a hand. “I get the picture.” Baby diapers and a constipated collie. Such were the challenges of life in New London.
“How long are you here for, Lucas?” John asked. “What are your plans for life after the navy?”
He glanced at Merry. Since she didn’t look surprised, she must have heard the news, too. “Actually, I have some ideas for how I might be able to get back to the Gulf.”
“Maybe your eye trouble is a message that you should stay home,” Merry said. Unlike the women he dated—the ones he dated for real—she’d never been impressed by his military career.
Sometimes it rankled.
“A message from who?” Lucas demanded. “Al Qaeda? Because that sounds like a damn good reason to go out there again.”
“My hero,” she murmured.
It wasn’t a compliment.
She’d started calling h
im that back when they were kids, playing war games. Sometimes just the two of them, or sometimes he’d invite her to join him and his buddies. Lucas would set up a scenario that involved rescuing Merry from dire peril, but invariably she’d screw it up. He’d explain to her that the Viet Cong had covered her in honey and staked her to a fire ant mound, but don’t worry, he would trek through the jungle to save her. Simple, right?
Wrong. You could bet that when he turned up at the “anthill,” she would clasp her hands and say, “My hero,” in gratifying tones. Then she’d inform him she’d freed herself by using a magnifying glass and the sun to set fire to the ropes that bound her, and had destroyed the ants by, say, playing music at a deadly pitch only ants could hear. In other words, she didn’t need a hero.
Back then, Lucas never had high hopes for a girl in his platoon. Merry had managed to fall short of even his modest expectations.
He couldn’t think why he’d kept asking her to play.
“You can’t blame Merry for worrying about your safety,” John said happily. He tweaked his daughter’s ponytail. “Looks like your dog wants to go, Merry-Berry.”
Boo was circling around, sniffing the ground.
“I just took him, and he didn’t do anything—but I guess I’ll try again,” she grumbled.
Lucas seized the opportunity. “I’ll come with you.”
She glanced at her father, then pressed her lips together.
“Take your time,” John said archly, as if he imagined they were headed outside for some nookie. He started back toward his work, but after a couple of steps, halted abruptly. Lucas couldn’t see his expression, but recognized the clenching of hands at the older man’s sides, and the way John deliberately loosened the fingers, one by one.
Pain.
Lucas took a step toward him.
Merry pushed past Lucas. “Dad, are you okay?”
Boo whined.
“Fine, Merry-Berry.” John’s smile was obviously forced. “Just some stomach cramping.” He paused, as if counting silently. Then his smile grew more natural; the spasm must have passed. He made a shooing motion. “Off you go.”
She hesitated.
A guy didn’t want a bunch of people nosing around when he was in pain. Lucas jerked his head, indicating Merry should follow him.
Her reluctance was evident, but she came anyway. Which could be a positive sign. On the other hand, her demeanor didn’t exactly scream forgiveness.
I should have called.
CHAPTER TWO
ACT COOL, MERRY INSTRUCTED herself as she and Lucas walked with Boo toward the shingle cove that butted up against the wharf area, which in turn butted up against the marina. She sneaked a sidelong glance at Lucas, to find his handsome face angled down, his hands shoved in his pockets. Pretend that night never happened.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
Ugh.
“What for?” She injected surprise into her tone. Then she muttered, “Don’t answer that.” Because she really didn’t want him to elaborate.
“It seemed a good idea at the time,” he said.
Did he mean having sex or not having sex?
Boo headed for the rock pools, his usual silent, stoic, constipated self. He liked to sniff at the baby crabs, but didn’t have the enthusiasm for an actual attack.
“It was one crazy moment,” she said. “You were understandably upset, and I happened to be there....” I happened to launch myself at you, taking advantage of your vulnerability.
“You agree,” he said, “that we were right to stop?”
“Absolutely.” She did now, after what he’d done.
“It would have been for all the wrong reasons.”
“Wrong,” she agreed, wishing he would shut up.
She’d gone to visit him in Baltimore because their fathers had been nagging, asking when she and Lucas would see each other again. The visit had been as much about getting their dads off their backs as about their fluctuating friendship.
She’d arrived a few hours after Lucas had learned that two men from his unit had been killed during a minesweeping operation. An operation Lucas would have been involved in, if he’d still been in the Gulf. He’d been a mess—he’d seemed to think he could have saved his friends.
Fueled by a couple of whiskeys that he shouldn’t have drunk while on pain meds, he’d poured out guilt and self-recrimination with a depth of feeling Merry hadn’t known he was capable of. Naturally, she’d wanted to comfort him. When he slung an arm across her shoulders, she’d snuggled into him on the couch. And was reminded of Date Number Eight, in December last year. Lucas’s brother’s wedding. When for the first time ever, they’d given in to the sexual chemistry that had arced between them on and off for years, and had kissed.
That’s all. Kissed.
But it had been H-O-T.
So hot, they’d both pulled back. Yeah, there was chemistry, but they wanted different things out of life, and getting involved would be too…involved.
But in Baltimore, with Lucas all vulnerable and upset beside her, Merry had forgotten the complications and remembered the heat. In the next minute, she’d been on his lap, her mouth pressed to his.
He hadn’t objected in the slightest. In record time, he’d had her out of her clothes.
And then…
Then he’d looked down at her naked body, which, admittedly, was nothing great. She didn’t have legs up to here, or high, bouncing breasts—she was short, and had hardly any breasts at all. Lucas had paused and looked down at her for a long time, and then he’d said, “Let’s not do this.”
Merry had dressed in mortified silence. She’d left while he was in the bathroom. They hadn’t spoken since.
Boo trotted up, carrying a stick of driftwood. Merry busied herself, patting his head, cooing at him. When the sting in her eyes had gone, she straightened and threw the stick. Boo watched its trajectory, but didn’t bother to pursue it.
“So, are we okay?” Lucas was eyeing her with concern. As if she was a problem he needed to fix.
“Of course,” she said. “I’d hate to be held to one stupid moment, and so would you. Sex is one thing, but relationshipwise, I want what my parents had. You’re the last person in the world for that.”
He looked taken aback at being “the last person in the world.” But it was true. Lucas was pragmatic, protective and, in his own way, caring. But she knew from the debates—purely theoretical—they’d had over the years that he didn’t believe in the kind of soul-mate love her parents had had. He would never love a woman the way Merry wanted to be loved. Her mom had died twenty-three years ago, when Merry was three years old, and her dad still grieved.
Lucas’s mom had died when he was twelve, and Dwight had remarried in less than six months. Merry could easily imagine Lucas doing the same.
“If anything, I’m the one who should apologize,” she said. “Frankly, Lucas, given how upset you were, my behavior was predatory.”
His shout of laughter startled her.
“Merry Wyatt, sexual predator,” he mused, and she felt a sliver of relief at the release of tension.
“At the very least, I was exploitative.” She scuffed her sneaker in the sand.
“Don’t talk dumb,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I started it.”
He hadn’t, but she didn’t argue.
If only he’d turned her down before she was naked. Then she could have accepted the “too complicated” excuse without a qualm. As it was, for weeks she’d wondered, Was it something specific? My breasts, or my legs? Or did I just not turn you on?
They’d reached the stick she’d thrown for Boo. Lucas bent to pick it up with his left hand. He was right-handed.
“How’s your injury?” she asked to change the subject.
“Never better.” He let his hand swing freely at his side. Which, judging by the tightening of his jaw, caused him pain.
Stupid hero complex.
What kind of guy would want to go back to the pl
ace where he’d suffered such horrible injuries? A guy like Lucas, who couldn’t help jumping in and saving the world.
Boo nudged Merry’s thigh. She noogied his head, the way he loved. He rewarded her with a rasp of his tongue on her wrist.
“Your dad doesn’t seem too well,” Lucas said. His turn to change the subject, it seemed.
“He gets tired more easily,” she agreed. “Anyone would find five years of dialysis wearing.”
“You should get him to a doctor.”
Oh, honestly. Did he think no one was monitoring the dialysis? “Dad has regular checkups.” Before Lucas could ask, she said, “I’m not sure when the next one is.”
“Merry, your dad’s in pain. Severe pain. I know the signs.”
A chill swept her, borne on the fall breeze. “No, he’s—It’s just the doctors can’t manage his kidney condition when his blood pressure’s so high.” A sudden prickle behind her eyes made it hard to continue. “But they can’t seem to get his blood pressure down. His doctor thinks it’s emotional stress.”
“What emotional stress would he have?”
“Dad’s not the kind to talk about his worries,” she admitted. “But the past six months, I’ve caught him several times just sitting in a kind of trance.”
All she had to do was speak, and he’d snap out of his private thoughts, but still, those moments worried her. She wasn’t used to him not telling her everything. But she didn’t want to discuss this with Lucas. Didn’t want him to see how scared she was. Dad’s got through everything else. He’ll get through this, too.
“We’ve had a really mild fall,” she commented.
“So, what’s with this guy you’re dating?” Lucas asked. “This Patrick?” He whistled to Boo, who was nosing a pile of rotting seaweed. With one last sniff, the collie abandoned his find.
“He’s great,” she enthused. She wanted to say, He can’t get enough of my body. He thinks small boobs are gorgeous. He’s crazy about me. But that might sound a tad defensive. “He’s very romantic.” Despite it being true, Lucas didn’t look impressed. But then, he wouldn’t. “He’s a vet,” she added, babbling now.
