by Tawny Weber
Gramma Irene’s meant rules. Three meals, on time with clean hands. Curfew, attending school and talking. Oh God, the talking.
About his day. His dreams. His emotions.
Brody shuddered.
Nope. Guilt only got him to Bedford.
“The guest house is fine.” He’d prefer a dark cave in the middle of nowhere. But he’d settle for no cable or phone in a doily-covered dollhouse with flowers on the walls.
“You’re a good boy, Brody,” she said, reaching up to pat his shoulder with a fragile hand before handing him the key to the guesthouse. “You might not like it. You might not agree with it. But you need this time. You’ll heal here. And you’ll be able to make some decisions.”
He glanced down at the woman next to him, her silver-streaked black hair curled softly around a face lined by more worries than anyone should deal with in a lifetime. When he’d been a teen, Gramma Irene had barely come to his shoulder, she was so tiny. Now she seemed to hit just above his elbow. He’d filled out plenty in the last ten years. A daily regimen of kicking ass did that to a guy. But he hadn’t gotten any taller, which meant she’d shrunk.
“There’s nothing for me to decide,” he told her as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. His face set, he gripped the crutches and navigated the concrete steps, numb to the pain in his leg. Numb to everything.
As far as he was concerned, his life was done. And he didn’t give a single damn about what happened next.
5
OH, MAN, THIS WAS IT.
Genna stared at Irene’s front door, the fresh white paint a glossy contrast against the peeling gray siding.
This was crazy. All she had to do was reach out and knock.
She visited here every week. Came calling with baked goods, cookies or cakes or whatever Irene was hungry for. At first, it’d just been to be nice to a lonely neighbor. But over the last few years, she and the older woman had grown close.
But she wasn’t here to see Irene.
A plate of cookies in one hand, she pressed the other against her stomach, where it felt like butterflies were morphing into dragons.
After he’d heard that Brody was to be in town, the mayor wanted to hold a special parade and maybe a benefit luncheon. As community relations liaison it was Genna’s job to arrange it. That’s why she was here. Not because she was nosy. Or horny.
Well, she was both, but that wasn’t why she was here.
She wet her lips, careful not to smudge her lipstick, then wiped her damp palm on her jeans before shifting the plate to it and drying the other. Maybe she should have worn a skirt. Something fancier. She was representing the city, after all.
Maybe she should go home and change. She glanced at her watch. It was close to dinnertime. Maybe she should come back another day. Yeah. Tomorrow. Or next week. That’d give Irene time to visit with her grandson. It was good manners to wait.
Her stomach stopped pitching and a little of the tension seeped from her shoulders at the decision. Which only proved it was the right choice.
With a relieved smile, she started mentally preparing her excuse to offer the mayor and turned toward the steps to leave.
“Genna?”
With a squeak worthy of a cartoon character, Genna jumped. She spun around so fast she damn near landed on her denim-covered butt, almost sending the plate in her hands flying across the tidy porch. Her heart pounded, blood rushing though her head so fast it sounded like a freight train passing by.
It took her three deep breaths before she could respond.
“Hi.” She cleared her throat, then tried again. “Hi, Irene. How are you?”
“I’m good, dear. I’ve been so flustered this week. Flying in planes, it’s not good for a body. Isn’t today Tuesday? Or did we change our visit and I forgot? I was on my way to a book club meeting, but I can skip that. I’d much rather chat with you.”
Looking as if those flights had definitely taken a toll, Irene pulled open the screen door. Genna hesitated. She was officially still on the clock, and supposed to be following her boss’s orders. But Irene appeared tired. The lines in her face seemed deeper, dark circles etched under her usually calm eyes.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your plans. I wanted to drop off these cookies. They’re a new recipe I made up, and was hoping for feedback,” she prevaricated, holding up the plate as proof.
This would work out great. She’d get the inside scoop on Brody before she had to see him. Maybe she could even drop a few hints, mention the parade the mayor wanted to hold in Brody’s honor, and get Irene behind the idea.
“Well, this is a treat.” Irene stepped back, welcoming Genna into the house. The inside was as cozy and comfortable as the outside run-down, reminding Genna again to research how to scrape siding and look into exterior paint.
“Sit, sit. I’ll put on coffee,” Irene said, gesturing to the wingback chairs in front of the bay window. Knowing better than to offer to help, Genna sat. Acting as if all her attention was on meticulously pulling the plastic wrap from the lime-green plate, she surreptitiously looked around for signs of Brody.
Like luggage or a jacket.
Or his body.
Nothing.
“Flustered,” Irene muttered five minutes later when she returned with the coffee. “I almost forgot your sugar. As if I don’t know how you take your coffee. But a couple of days serving it black and I’m all mixed up.”
Genna leaned forward to take the cup, murmuring her thanks. Anticipation rushed so fast through her system it was making her jittery. Figuring it was only polite, she waited for the older woman to get comfortable before grilling her about her grandson.
Before she could, though, Irene launched into the woes of traveling. She followed it up with the horrors of airplanes, with a few comments for the kindness of strangers, or the lack thereof.
Genna decided she should have been rude.
They were on their second cup of coffee and third double-fudge cookie and Irene was still talking about those lousy flights.
Yeah, yeah, traveling sucked. Recycled air was the work of the devil and the cost of a tiny drink was akin to highway robbery. She didn’t care about the trip, though. She wanted to know about the treat Irene had brought home with her.
“How is Brody doing?” she finally asked, unable to continue politely waiting for the older woman to bring him up first.
Irene frowned. It only took Genna a second to realize it was worry, not annoyance over Genna’s interruption.
“He’s hurting,” Irene finally said, staring into her cup and blinking a few times, as if shooing away tears. “Not just his body. He had horrible internal injuries, two surgeries and they’re still not sure if his leg will ever be as strong as it was before. When I walked into that hospital room, I thought they’d lied to me. I thought I’d flown all the way across the country to claim his body, he was so bruised and cut-up and broken-looking.”
Genna reached across the small table to curl her hand over Irene’s fragile wrist, giving it a gentle rub.
“But he’s okay, isn’t he?” Oh, please, let him be okay. She’d had nothing to go on but gossip. Those in the know claimed that Brody had arrived with his gramma in a big blue car, and that while he was on crutches, he’d been sporting all his parts. “The surgeries were a success.”
“He’s alive.” Irene pressed her lips together, her face closing up in a look Genna remembered seeing on her grandson’s face. In all the years they’d visited, Irene never talked about family business. She might mention Brody in passing, but never did she complain or even brag. Whether it was an inherent dislike of gossip, or a defense against the years of fodder her family had provided, Genna didn’t know.
But this time, Irene looked up with tears in those pale brown eyes, two shades darker than her grandson’s.<
br />
“His body is healing, but more than that was hurt.”
“What happened? Are you allowed to say?” Genna had only outright asked about Brody once, and that’d taken every bit of her nerve. Irene had said SEAL business was top secret and that she was doing her part to support her grandson by keeping her mouth shut. Given that Genna’s question had been along the lines of had she heard from him lately, she’d taken the hint.
“He was on a mission. Something went wrong.” Irene shrugged, the movement as helpless as her expression. “He doesn’t say anything about it. But I can see the hurt in his eyes.”
Her heart weighing heavy in her chest, worry pressing down so hard Genna wanted to cry, she could only shake her head.
“He’s going to be okay. He’s tough, Irene. He’s a SEAL.” From everything she’d read, which was everything she could find on SEALs—just out of curiosity—they were the elite, the best of the best.
“I hope so.” Irene gave a shaky sigh, then her expression lightened a little and she peered at Genna. “You and Brody were friends when he lived here, weren’t you? You’re close to the same age, at least.”
Her and Brody? Friends?
If she didn’t wish that were true so much, Genna would have laughed. Brody as a teen had been gorgeous, sexy and fascinating. And that was from afar. Then she’d discovered his sense of humor and clever mind, to say nothing of his wickedly talented hands and delicious mouth.
And, of course, his writing skills.
But she was pretty sure none of that added up to them being friends. She frowned. It hardly made them acquaintances.
“He and Joe were friends,” Genna said, sidestepping the issue. She didn’t talk about that night ten years ago, ever. To this day, she didn’t know if Brody’s decision to join the navy was his own, or if it’d been forced on him. Her father refused to discuss it, and by the time she was off restriction, Brody was long gone.
“Will you talk to him, Genna? Please, for me?” Irene pleaded, the worry in her eyes adding years to her creased face. “He’s been here three days now and said maybe twice that many words.”
“Irene—”
“I’m so worried.”
Genna started to say she didn’t think he wanted to talk to her, then stopped and sighed. For a million reasons, she wanted to talk to Brody. Heck, she was here specifically to do just that. And she wanted to do whatever she could to relieve the worry on her friend’s face.
Why bother coming up with excuses she didn’t mean?
“I’ll talk to him. Is he going to be back soon? Or is he staying at the hotel?” She’d figured if he was, someone would have mentioned it. But he was a SEAL and had all that top secret mojo going for him.
“He’s in the guesthouse. Just go on back.”
On back? To the tiny building behind the house that faced her own backyard? Genna had thought that was a storage building.
“Now?” Genna was so nervous, the word took on three syllables and ended on a squeak.
“If you don’t mind. You can take him some cookies. He does love your cookies,” Irene said with a glint in her eyes.
Mind? Of course she didn’t mind. Just as soon as she tamed the dragons suddenly doing somersaults in her belly. It was a toss-up what made her more nervous. That she was about to see Brody, for sure. Or that he was spending the next little while sleeping so close to her bedroom.
And Irene didn’t give her time to figure it out.
The sweet old lady moved impressively fast, bundling the cookies and Genna out the back door, then standing there to make sure Genna didn’t bolt across the alley.
Her fingers were damp again and her knees just a little wobbly. Genna was pretty sure they’d carry her home, though. She glanced over her shoulder and grimaced. Making an eighty-year-old woman run after her was rude, and the look on Irene’s face left no room for doubt. Genna had been told to do something, she’d damned well better do it.
She took a deep breath that did nothing but spur the tummy-tumbling dragons to spin faster, and stepped up to the door. Holding the plate so tight her knuckles were white, she lifted the other hand to knock.
Okay, so maybe it was a tap, not a knock. But still...
This was it.
A chance she’d been dreaming about off and on for over ten years. A lot more on than off since she and Brody had started exchanging letters.
She didn’t know what she felt.
Excitement, definitely. Brody Lane was her fantasy guy. He inspired feelings, reactions, emotions that she had no business thinking. At least, not while his gramma was watching.
She looked over her shoulder again to check.
Yep. Gramma was watching.
She tried to think nice thoughts instead. Good girl thoughts. Like dating. That was a possibility, right?
It wasn’t as if he was off-limits anymore, either.
He was a hero.
The mayor wanted to throw him a parade.
Even her parents couldn’t object to her dating a military hero, could they?
Not that she was counting on Brody’s wanting to date her. Sexy letters aside, it wasn’t as if they knew each other. Not really. And then there was the fact that their one and only kiss had gotten him corralled into the navy.
But who knew. Maybe all that postal flirting was going to turn into something else. There, Genna decided. Nice, delusional thoughts. Totally appropriate to entertain in front of his gramma.
Inspired, she knocked again. This time with enough force to actually make noise.
There was a loud thump inside, then the scraping sound of wood against wood.
Her stomach tumbled over itself.
She stood straighter, pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath. The move had never done a thing to make her breasts look bigger, but a girl could hope.
The door opened.
Oh, please, let the whimpering sigh be in her head and not aloud.
Oh, my.
The years had been kind, indeed, to Brody Lane.
Even as his expression folded into a scowl when he realized she wasn’t who he’d expected to see at his door, she couldn’t stop staring.
It was as if Mother Nature had looked at the perfection that had been him at nineteen and decided to add a few layers of “oh, baby” gorgeousness to her work of art.
Arresting before with its sharp planes and brooding features, his face was more intense now. Even sharper, despite being unshaven and shadowed. His eyes were just as striking, like molten gold. They’d always been distant, except when he’d smiled. But now there was a chasm there, as though he was watching from miles away. Assessing. Her, the situation, their past, present and future, all without blinking.
It was kinda scary. Not sure what he was seeing, or more important, what he thought about what he was seeing, Genna bit her lip.
It was nerves as much as curiosity that made her peel her gaze from his to check out his body. And what a body it was.
Broad and muscular, his chest and shoulders looked as though they were sculpted from marble under his black tee. He still had that lean build, his waist tapering to slender hips.
Her eyes dropped lower and she gulped.
Oh, my, the blue cotton sweatpants did nothing to hide the muscle between his legs, either.
Little dots danced in front of her eyes. She realized she’d forgotten to breath.
A gulp of air cleared the dizziness, but the tingling didn’t go away.
He was... Wow.
The things he could do with that body, she’d bet they were nothing short of amazing. And she wasn’t just talking military things. Her mouth was dry and she was starting to feel a little dizzy again.
So she forced her gaze to climb back up to his face.
His
unwelcoming scowl had turned into a ferocious frown.
She wrinkled her nose. She should have kept checking out the bod. He obviously wasn’t thrilled to have company.
So what else was new?
“Hi, Brody. I brought you some cookies.” As greetings went, it was lame. But she added her best smile. When that had no reaction, she held up the plate as proof. And, yes, as a bribe.
He didn’t even look at the plate. Her lips threatened to drop into a pout.
“Um, it’s me. Genna.” She paused, brows arched. She tried a friendly smile that was only a little shaky with nerves. When he didn’t even blink, she swallowed hard, then added, “Joe’s sister.”
Your favorite pen pal, she wanted to say. But given his reaction so far, she was a little afraid to bring that up.
Genna waited. After five seconds, her smile dimmed. At thirty, she was straight-up frowning. Knowing a glare was imminent at sixty, she crossed her arms over her chest, the cookie plate hitting her in the shoulder, and lifted her chin.
“Well? Aren’t you even going to say hello?”
Now her scowl matched his.
So much for dating. She couldn’t even get the guy to talk to her.
* * *
BRODY KNEW THERE were many levels of hell. Why Genna Reilly had to keep showing up on his was surely a way of punishing him for any of his hundreds of infractions.
Did she have to look so damned good while she did it, though?
Why hadn’t she aged in ten years?
She should have packed on some weight. Gotten bad skin. Hell, even a lousy haircut would be something.
But, no...
There she stood, long and leggy, her body still as slender as a dream. Her curves were more a whisper than a shout. Nature’s way of keeping the attention on her gorgeous face, he figured. Her hair was shorter than she’d worn it as a teen, hitting her shoulders instead of flowing down her back. And those huge eyes, with their exotic tilt and lush lashes, were narrowed with irritation.
He didn’t care.
