The Navy SEAL's Rescue

by Jo Leigh

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure? Remember, I’m a good listener and you sound...”

  “Like a grouch. I know. One of my waitresses was MIA when we opened, so I had to fill in. Her excuse when she finally arrived was pitiful. To atone, she’s staying late tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Which means, if you’re still up for it, we can go out anytime you want.”

  “I’m definitely up for it. Have anything specific in mind?”

  His deep, raspy chuckle made her pulse flutter. No big mystery what he was thinking. Then he said, “Not yet.”

  “Good. I have an idea. How awful would it be if I sent you to pick up food and we ended up eating on the deck at the hotel?”

  “Not awful at all. You don’t like any of the local haunts?”

  “No, I do. It’s just that this is the last day of the reunion, and I promised a friend I’d go to the mixer at the Yacht Club. I’ll be there until five. I thought we could eat at six because, well, I kind of made arrangements for a little surprise at seven thirty.”

  “For?”

  “You. For us.”

  “Oh, really?” he said, his voice lowering.

  She laughed. “Not that kind of surprise.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

  “Not that I wouldn’t be interested in that kind of... Oh, hell, you know what? I’m going to just walk away from that.” Before she tripped over the sand. “So, does the timing work for you? If you’d rather, we can order food and still do the rest. Or something else entirely.”

  She heard that deep chuckle again. “Your plan is great. I’ll see you on the deck at six, with dinner. And maybe, if you get there first, you can order me a drink.”

  “What kind?”

  “You choose. I’m looking forward to whatever you have in store.”

  “Me, too. See you later.”

  She disconnected and grinned until her cheeks ached. She’d already picked out what she was wearing tonight, and while the resort didn’t usually let people bring their own food on the deck, turned out she knew one of the assistant managers, who’d been happy to help her with her surprise. The best part would be what happened after, if Cricket had her way.

  Of course she wasn’t going to tell Ronny anything about Wyatt. Or her job. She was worried enough about him and his health to add stress to his already booked schedule. The summer was always like this for him, and she was glad she’d have a couple of hours before the mixer to meet with him. If he hadn’t already told her about tonight’s booking, she would never have accepted Wyatt’s proposal to get together.

  The thought made her butterflies stir, but she would put them to bed before she got to Ronny’s. Who already had quite a contingent of surfers spread out in front of the shack.

  She recognized Igor, Wendy and Jim, but not the others. One of whom looked a lot older than Ronny’s usual crowd. Maybe closer to her age.

  “Hey, Cricket,” Igor said, before she’d even reached the side of the shack. “You coming in today? We’ve got a nice three-foot swell, which is rare for this late in the day.”

  “Nope. I’m just visiting Ronny, but you all have fun.” Stepping over surfboards, mostly fish and longboards, she gave her shave-and-a-haircut knock, then walked in to find her father putting out the coffee makings, and also the blender and a tub of vanilla ice cream. “You’re determined to fatten me up, aren’t you?”

  “If I can. But honestly, I just like making things you love.”

  “You don’t have to, you silly man. I’m happy just to be here with you. I meant it when I told you I was staying on for a few more days.”

  “Can you make it a week?”

  “I can try. I have the vacation time I’m owed, but I also have to—”

  “Consider work. I know the drill.”

  “If I hadn’t just finished brunch with my lunatic friends—who all say hi by the way—I’d be all over that shake. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “What? I’m seeing you three days in a row?”

  He looked so happy. Wearing his board shorts and his ancient Channel Islands surf T-shirt, there was no one in the world who seemed to love his life more than Ronny. And her, of course. He’d always adored her, no matter what. “You know I still call her Mom and not Victoria.”

  He looked startled, and why not, since it came out of nowhere. “Why?”

  “She’s just Mom. That’s all. And you are always Ronny.”

  He put his hands on his narrow hips. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “Good.” She walked to the cabinet where he’d put the second coffee maker, and started fixing a drinkable pot. “Did you make an appointment with Ira?”

  “That’s Dr. Zachi to you, young lady.”

  “So, that’s a no. All right, if you won’t do it, I will.”

  “The hell you will. It’s the height of the season. I’ve got bookings up the wazoo and you want me to take hours out of my schedule for a checkup? I don’t need it.”

  She finished counting out the scoops of coffee grinds, then turned to him, her own hands on her hips. “Yes, you do. Don’t even try to talk me or yourself out of it. It’s clear you’ve lost weight you can’t afford, and I’m guessing you’re having dizzy spells you neglected to tell me about. That means a full physical.”

  “No. I will not. I am not having dizzy spells. For God’s sake, Baby Girl, I know when I’m healthy and when I’m not.”

  She laughed. Hard. “You were in a surfing competition when you had walking pneumonia. Once you had a broken wrist and still took a group of drunks deep sea fishing. You’ve pulled every muscle in your body, and I’m pretty sure you’ve broken almost every bone, and you always wait until it’s so serious that you’ve almost died twice.”

  “Fine. I was more reckless when I was young. But I’m older now—”

  “And just as reckless. I’m calling Ira first thing tomorrow.”

  He crossed to her and put his tanned hands on her shoulders. “Don’t make me get mad. You hate it when I put my foot down.”

  “Very funny. I’ll be the one getting mad if you make light of this. I’m going to take you to your appointment, and I’m going to be there when you’re done, and I’m going to speak to Ira.”

  “Baby Girl, you’re crazy if you think I’m getting a physical now. When the weather turns and business slacks off? You bet. I’ll have Ira call you with the results.” He crossed his heart.

  “As if that’s going to convince me.”

  “Gotta go get the boat ready. I have a sunset sail tonight and a fishing charter early tomorrow.”

  “It’s only a quarter to three, and you told me you were free until four.”

  He dropped his hands and turned his back. “I lied.”

  She slid her arms around him, right over his arms, holding him tight. “You never lie. Not to me, and you aren’t starting now.”

  “Let me go. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You’ve got to go, Dad. I mean it. Don’t make me go back to Chicago and worry every single day that I’m going to get a phone call that something’s happened to you. I can’t bear the thought of that.”

  Ronny moaned. “Dad? You just said I was always Ronny.”

  “Unless you’re making me terribly sad,” she said, letting him loose.

  “Blackmail. Below-the-belt blackmail.”

  “You’re mixing up your metaphors.”

  “It’s my shack, I’ll mix up whatever I please.”

  “Do you want me to call Ira tomorrow?”

  “No. I have to work things out. Find out how long this physical will take. It’ll have to be on a day I don’t have a charter booked. I can get Igor or Jim to step in for my surf lessons, so that part’s no sweat.”

  “Fine, but you’re to call me as soon as you’ve got
the arrangements made. I mean tomorrow, Ronny. Not next Friday. I do have to return to work, so please try your best.”

  “How I let you manipulate me so easily is something I will never understand.”

  “Yeah, it’s so hard when you’re the biggest softy in the world.”

  “I’m not,” he said, although it was a weak retort. Then he went to the fridge, put the ice cream back in the freezer and brought himself out a bottle of beer.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, heading toward the back of the house.

  “Don’t be long. We don’t have much more time, and I want to talk about things that will cheer me up.”

  “Think good thoughts. I won’t be a minute.” She used the facilities, then when she passed her father’s bedroom, something on his dresser stopped her before she reached the hallway door. It was a picture, one she knew wasn’t there yesterday. Expecting to find one of herself, she was a little taken aback when it turned out to be an old photo of her mother. From when Cricket was a toddler. When they were still married. She knew Ronny had taken the shot, and that the look of love and contentment on her mother’s face was from staring at her husband.

  She picked up the frame and went back to the kitchen. “What’s this?”

  “Just what it looks like.”

  “She was gorgeous, wasn’t she?”

  Ronny smiled. “Yep. Still is, I imagine.”

  “Is she the reason you never married again?”

  He stopped between one step and the next. For a split second, she thought he might be dizzy, but he slowly shook his head as he put his other foot down. “I never met the right woman.”

  “I worry about you being alone.”

  He pointed to the window, where it was blocked by surfboards that weren’t his. “I never get the chance.” He plucked the frame from her hands, and put it on the table, then pulled her into a hug. After a minute, he moved his head back so his mouth was about level with her ear, although she couldn’t see him. “I’ll always love your mother,” he whispered. “And I knew, still know, that I’d never do better.”

  Cricket sighed. She believed him. It had been a bitter blow to him, when they’d separated and eventually divorced. All because of her straitlaced, disapproving grandparents, Connecticut blue bloods from way back, who couldn’t see past their patrician noses. She doubted they’d given Ronny one single chance.

  It was all so sad. Love was such a fickle thing. Not that she had any personal experience. She just wished that Ronny could’ve let go and moved on. And now Cricket had to wonder if that was also the reason her mother had married so often.

  * * *

  WYATT HADN’T PLANNED on the food taking so long, but he managed to get to the Seaside on the Bluff five minutes early. He ended up letting the valet park his truck, which was ridiculous, but the food was hot and so was Cricket.

  He wore chinos, a button-down tan shirt and a charcoal sports jacket, although he’d actually had to think about the choices. That hadn’t happened since...in a long time. He hurried through the hotel lobby, and he found Cricket at an ideal table—great view, no one on their left, a table with a couple facing away from them on the right and a beer for each of them with the place settings. But the real treat was her.

  She stood, reaching out for one of the bags, and he looked her over with great appreciation. Her top was kind of a bra-ish type thing with flowers on it, and below it was a strip of bare skin that bordered on an almost translucent flowing skirt covered by the same floral pattern. Gave him a tempting view of her great legs.

  “My eyes are up here, sailor,” she said.

  “Pardon me, ma’am, but you look too good for a quick glance.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  He put his bag on the table, and while he wanted to pull her into a serious kiss, he held back. Not to say he didn’t kiss her lips and let her know he was happy to see her, but it wouldn’t cause a scandal.

  It helped that she kissed him back just as eagerly.

  When they parted, their eyes locked for several heartbeats. More than several. Her cheeks pinked and finally, she shifted her gaze to the bags. “I know these bags. These bags are from Iggy’s. I love their food. What did you get?”

  “Open it up.”

  Her eyes widened as she pulled out the lobster rolls, four stuffed quahogs and a large serving of cinnamon sugar doughboys. “This is everything I ever wanted.”

  “Really?” He grinned, but he was very pleased with her reaction. “More than, say, winning the lottery, or a place on the Supreme Court?”

  She looked him straight in the eye, without a hint of joking. “Yes. I dream about this food. More than is healthy. I have to eat this lobster roll right this second. I hope you don’t mind if I ignore you completely.”

  “Not at all.”

  She did exactly that. Sat down with her roll, bared it and took a large bite. Her lashes fluttered closed and her moan made him itchy for how he hoped the evening would end.

  In the meantime, he pulled out the rest of their food, and got himself comfortable. She’d even ordered Town Beach Pale Ale, the local favorite made one town over. “I should probably work more on my accent,” he said. “I’m a big fan of the cuisine.”

  She hummed a vague response, way more interested in the lobster than him. But he didn’t mind. To be fair, the lobster rolls were one of the best things he’d ever eaten. It was also sexy as hell to watch her enjoying her food so much. He had an excellent window into what he could expect if they capped the night off between the sheets, and frankly, it was difficult not to get carried away.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “Yes. I was going to have the second roll, but if you want another, I can move on to the quahog.”

  “No. God. Thanks, though.” She took a healthy drink of beer. “I plan to eat two quahogs and at least two doughboys. I like the cinnamon sugar ones the best. Very good guessing on your part.”

  He bowed his head graciously. “I tried to figure out what a woman like you would want.”

  She almost choked. “And you came up with this?”

  Wyatt frowned. “Okay, are we still talking about food?”

  “If we aren’t, I suppose we should be,” she said, laughing and dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “So, back to these lobster rolls—”

  “Hold on. Let’s not be hasty...”

  “Nope. Not going there. Yet.” She started laughing again. Must’ve been the hopeful puppy dog eyes he was giving her. “Okay, so you just got your favorites, and by sheer chance they happened to be mine. Is that your story?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then Ronny told you, although why, I can’t imagine.”

  He had to grin at that. “He did. Before I knew you, in fact.”

  “What? Why were you talking about me?”

  “I think he talks about you to everyone. He didn’t go into details, or anything touchy. Not with me, at least.”

  “What I like to eat isn’t details?”

  “Well, I meant personal things like boyfriends or what you actually did, other than that in his opinion, you’re the best and smartest lawyer in the country. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, be damned.”

  Cricket smiled. “I suppose it’s only fair. I think he’s the best surfer in the world. And a terrific dad. He really is. It’s probably easy to assume he was too permissive when I was young, but he wasn’t. He’d come down hard on me if I needed it, but he was always fair.”

  “It’s nice that you two like each other.”

  “You don’t like your parents?”

  “I respect my father, and I care for my mother, but it’s not a mutual admiration kind of thing.”

  “That’s a shame. What about siblings?”

  “One brother.”

  “Do you two get along?”

  “Yeah,
when we see each other. Which isn’t very often.”

  “I would’ve liked to have siblings. I think.” She took another bite and thought while she chewed. “Friends might be better, though. You get to choose them.”

  Wyatt smiled. “Good point.” Naturally his thoughts went to Adam. He’d been both a friend and a brother. The best kind. Huh. Wyatt realized he was thinking of Adam and still smiling. Might be a first. “Well, you hit the jackpot with Ronny. Being a friend and a father can’t be an easy thing to balance.”

  “True. And you’re right. He is something special. So is my mother in her own way. I was too young to remember anything about their split, of course, but I know my grandparents and that she’d stood up to them at all, and married Ronny... Well, that says a lot.”

  Since Wyatt had started on his lobster roll, he had to take a moment before he could respond. “My father was very strict, very Navy. I rebelled all through high school, telling everyone I was going to be a race car driver, sure I’d hit it big. But I also joined ROTC. When it came time to pick my first choice for college, it was the Naval Academy. Not just to prove myself to him, but to myself, I think. And partly because Nelson—my brother—was in his junior year there.”

  “I bet your dad’s proud as hell.”

  He took another bite, and nodded, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Just close.

  Cricket got out the stuffed quahog, the big shell filled with chopped clams, a bunch of spices, bread crumbs and hot sauce.

  “This is so good,” she said, digging in. “They sell clams in Chicago and call them quahogs, but they really aren’t.”

  “I was gonna get you a chowda and a grinda, but I was runnin’ late.”

  She giggled at his accent, so much that her cheeks and the tips of her ears were pink. “Fuggeddaboudit. Dees sangwidges and stuffies are a reglar paty.”

  “I can’t even begin to compete with that. Did you ever have an accent?”

  “No,” she said, in her natural voice. “My grandparents would’ve slapped it out of me if I had—figuratively speaking of course. Now chow down, because we have to be somewhere at seven thirty on the dot.”

  “You won’t tell me where?”

  She just kept on eating, smiling and looking beautiful.