Harlequin Special Edition July 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Widow of Conard CountyA Match for the Single DadThe Medic's Homecoming

by Rachel Lee

  Her cheek rested against his bare chest and she could feel his heart still beating quickly from their first round of energetic lovemaking. Her own pulse still raced happily. She sighed in contentment. “What a perfect day.”

  She felt him drop a kiss on the top of her head. “It was,” he agreed.

  Trailing a fingertip down the center of his chest toward the sheet that covered him below the waist, she murmured, “It’s not quite over yet.”

  Garrett chuckled and caught her hand. “Give me a couple of minutes to recover. Remember, I’m not as young as you are.”

  She laughed and propped her chin on her hands to look at him. “I’d say you more than keep up.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. I guess.”

  “It was intended as one.”

  Smoothing a strand of hair from her cheek, he asked idly, “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

  “Anything. Everything,” she said. “I’m just loving this time alone together.”

  He smiled, but his eyes had gone suddenly grave. She studied him closely, wondering what he was thinking now.

  “Maybe I can schedule more weekends like this,” he suggested. “Just the two of us, I mean. If not a whole weekend, perhaps we could arrange a night here and there.”

  “I hope we can get away occasionally, but I understand that you have a lot of obligations at home. We both do. We’ve been coordinating our schedules pretty well, I think, getting dinner together most evenings and time together on weekends.”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s usually with family around. This is the first chance we’ve had to be alone—and you said it’s been perfect.”

  “And it has been. Which doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the time we spend with our families.”

  He sighed, sounding suddenly impatient. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t expect you to spend every spare minute away from work with me and the kids. I know you have friends, a busy social life—”

  She understood suddenly where this was leading. “You think I’m bored spending time with you and the kids? You’re wrong. I love those girls. Now that Payton has realized I’m more interested in being her friend than another authority figure in her life, we’re getting along very well—though I’m not so naive as to think we’ll never have a quarrel or disagreement in the future.

  “I’ll still see my friends when I want to,” she continued before he could say anything else, “and I’m sure I’ll have other things I’ll want to do occasionally, just as I expect you will. But that busy social life you mentioned? For the most part, it was just stuff to do when I wasn’t in the mood to stay home alone and read or sew. Now I’m very happy being with you and the girls.”

  “And we love having you with us,” he assured her, his sincerity evident in his tone. “But I remember a time when you suggested that you and I could get together away from the kids, keeping our relationship just between us.”

  She grimaced. “I was an idiot, wasn’t I? To think we could have any sort of relationship that didn’t include your girls. Or that I would even want a relationship like that. Your kids are the most important part of your life, and I can’t imagine you without them. I’ve accepted that loving you means loving them, too, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He shifted so that she was on her back with him leaning over her, one hand on her face. “You know how afraid I was to let you into my life. I worried that we’d mess this up—or maybe that I would mess it up—and the girls would be hurt again. Or that I’d do something stupid and hurt you. Hell, I worried about getting hurt again myself.”

  Her smile was soft. “That’s understandable. It couldn’t have been easy for you to admit defeat in your marriage.”

  “It wasn’t. But it was obvious that it wasn’t working. That I couldn’t make her happy.”

  “It wasn’t your responsibility to make her happy,” she murmured, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “You didn’t fail, Garrett. You were just unsuited to each other.”

  “I guess.”

  “By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say about Breanne. I’m sure she was a good woman and a brilliant attorney and a fine mother to your girls—but she was very wrong about one thing.” She reached up to touch the face of the man she loved—the sexy pilot, the ex-military officer, the talented musician, the dutiful son and grandson, the dedicated father, the thrilling lover. She would not change one thing about him, even if she could.

  Catching her hand, Garrett pressed a kiss into her palm, a flick of his tongue making her shiver in pleasure. “What’s that?”

  Tangling her legs with his, she drew him down onto her. “You are so not boring.”

  His husky chuckle sounded pleased before she smothered it with her mouth.

  Epilogue

  The wedding took place on a pleasantly mild Sunday afternoon in September. The Bell Resort pavilion had been bedecked with green garlands and white blossoms, with gold-trimmed white bows and filmy white tulle. The bride wore a simple white sheath dress and flowers in her hair, while the groom wore a dark suit and a satisfied smile. Hannah served as her sister’s matron of honor. Because Garrett’s best friend was performing the ceremony, Garrett had asked an old friend from his military days to stand as best man. Dressed in white-and-pink ruffles, Kix made a charming flower girl, and Payton had selected a pretty white lace dress for her role as ring bearer, giving them both an important task for the ceremony.

  The Bell and McHale families sat in folding chairs beneath the pavilion, not separated into bride’s side and groom’s side, but mingled into a united group. Their grandmothers occupied places of honor at the front where they could clearly see every detail of the simple but beautiful wedding. Occasionally their eyes met during the ceremony that formally connected their two families, and they shared faint, rather bemused smiles.

  Jay’s voice had just a little catch when he concluded the ceremony and invited the happy couple to exchange their first married kiss. More than a few tears were blotted as the tall, handsome pilot tenderly kissed his glowing bride. And standing off to one side, the groom’s two daughters grinned at each other and shared a smug, surreptitious high five.

  * * * * *

  The Medic’s Homecoming

  By Lynne Marshall

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  Lucas couldn’t sleep. What else was new? He thought maybe things would be different once he got home, but no.

  He threw back the covers and slid into the leather flip-flops he’d picked up at the base PX, then headed out back to the garage and his 1965 Mustang. The classic car he’d saved up for with part-time jobs—bought long before he was old enough to drive and mostly rebuilt before he’d left home at eighteen—seemed to call out to him.

  As the cool night wind pushed him along, he glanced next door, finding a light on in the upstairs bedroom. The same room he’d tossed pebbles at the night before he left for boot camp. Jocelyn hadn’t opened the window then, so he’d never gotten to say goodbye. Damn, had that been ten years ago?

  He flipped on the light at the garage side entrance, but nothing happened. Fumbling around in the dark he bumped into his car and reached above, swinging his hand back and forth until he found the dangling chain then yanked. A single bulb dimly lit the garage. Rolling back the thick plastic car-cover, he took a deep inhale. Grease and oil perked up his senses. This was home. The garage and the peace it had always offered. His classic car.

  How could his father call him a slacker when he’d never worked harder on anything in his life?

  Glancing around the countertops, he found a rag and walked the perim
eter of the Mustang, wiping away the dust on the chipped and flaking paint, the smoother areas covered in sprayed-on primer. He took his time, reacquainting himself with the sleek body and chrome.

  He’d flown into LAX from North Carolina earlier that evening, greeted by his sister, Anne, and her boyfriend, Jack. They delivered him home to the Grady idea of a hero’s welcome—Mom’s famous yellow cake with buttercream chocolate frosting. Still one of the best desserts he’d ever had.

  Lucas looked at the beat-up Harley in the corner of the garage. Though in their mid-fifties, Mom and Dad still enjoyed their weekend rides. Well, they used to, anyway—before the accident.

  It had been a little shocking to find his father in a wheelchair, his right leg and opposite arm in casts. Still an imposing figure at six feet four inches—though you couldn’t tell in that wheelchair—Kieran Grady hadn’t changed much. His sandy blond hair had been invaded by silver, mostly around the temples, and he looked craggier than Lucas remembered. Probably from all the years of coaching in the California sun catching up with him. His steel-blue stare, though, was unchanged, and he’d used those inquiring eyes to thoroughly check out Lucas tonight. Did Dad have a clue what Lucas had been through in the desert?

  No one could, unless they’d witnessed it themselves.

  Mom, other than going the bottle-brown route with her hair, had looked basically the same. She wore her signature casual jeans, though now they’d been traded in for designer jeans with shiny studs along the pockets and stitched flowers at the flared legs. Still preferring flashy patterned tops, her bright pink cast competed with the loud colors. Her welcoming smile and the tears welling in her eyes told him all he needed to know—she was happy to have him home, no matter the circumstances.

  As Lucas thought about that night, the tugging in his chest let him know it was good to see his parents again. Both of them.

  While he tinkered with the car, Lucas geared up for the next couple of weeks being his father’s medical attendant. It would be tough but a damn sight easier than performing medic duties in the desert.

  He stood back and stared at his Mustang, then scanned the family garage, littered with boxes stored in the rafters. So many memories.

  Was it good to be home?

  “Hey,” his sister Anne said from the door.

  He controlled his surprise, trained his eyes on her and kept rubbing the car. “I can’t believe Dad kept this around.”

  “I think he knew you’d come after him if he ever tried to sell it.”

  Man, the tension between him and his dad had made the welcome-home yellow cake with chocolate buttercream frosting go down like cardboard. Would Dad ever forgive him for enlisting? It was Dad’s dream to send him to college, just like Anne and Lark, but Lucas hadn’t wanted to go to college. He wasn’t one for hitting the books like his sisters. No, he preferred the basics: getting his hands dirty and fixing things. Come to think of it, being a medic in the field had a lot to do with fixing things, like gaping body injuries, burned skin and gunshot wounds. Books and papers, well, he didn’t have the patience for that stuff.

  When he’d tested out for medic over engineer on the military aptitude battery, he’d almost demanded a retest. That was Anne’s dream, to be a doctor—though she’d become a nurse—and these days baby sister Lark was the one back east in medical school.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked.

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “Too much excitement?”

  His smile felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

  The worst part of his post-traumatic stress disorder was dealing with insomnia. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than a couple hours. When he did manage to fall asleep, he’d wake with a start, heart pounding up his throat, every muscle tensed, prepared to fight for his life. Or his sleep would be restless with fits and jerks like he was still fighting the war. He’d wake up more exhausted than when he’d gone to bed.

  What he’d give for one good night’s sleep....

  Because he was exhausted most of the time, he snapped at people, which wouldn’t go over well with his dad. Only his buddies in the field understood. How would he adjust to being back to civilian life, where no one else did?

  “Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?” Of the three siblings, Anne looked the most like their mother, and she’d barely changed since the last time he’d seen her—Christmas three years ago. Her light brown hair was different, cut just above her shoulders now instead of halfway down her back. She’d borne the brunt of caring for Mom and Dad the past few weeks, and it showed in dark inverted arcs under her eyes. Or maybe it was just the dingy garage lighting. She probably thought he looked like hell, too.

  Something else was going on with her, but he didn’t have a clue. He’d picked up on that “something” between her and Jack on the drive home from the airport tonight, but he couldn’t get a handle on what it might be.

  “I’m fine, Anne, thanks.” Hell, she’d always been able to read his moods, and his go-away-and-leave-me-alone approach wouldn’t keep her off his scent for long. She’d probably noticed him flinch when he dove into the backseat of the car at the airport at the same time a car backfired. “What are you doing up?” he said.

  “I saw the light and just wanted to check and make sure everything was okay.”

  “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Nah, I was awake, anyway. I’m going back inside now,” she said.

  “I’m okay, Anne.” He glanced to make sure she wasn’t worried about him. He couldn’t read her sleepy-looking brown eyes. “See you in the morning.”

  She hesitated, looking more alert and glancing a bit longer than necessary, probably using her uncanny, sister fib-o-meter to size him up, then she nodded. “Night.”

  To her, when they were growing up, he’d always been the goofball kid brother. He’d given her plenty of reasons for that, with all his shenanigans and poorly thought-out schemes. How many times had he gotten caught and in trouble for his less-than-bright ideas? Anne had often come to his aid and stuck up for him. He fought a smile, glimpsing a portion of his face in the car’s cracked rearview mirror.

  She’d tried, though. She’d tricked him into signing up for the track team by telling him it would get him out of those dreaded physical fitness tests. And he quit smoking after she showed him horrifying pictures of cancerous lungs from her high school anatomy class.

  Lucas could have been a huge screwup if it weren’t for Anne. When she used to call him out for being a jerk, it’d felt like a stab through the heart, but she always managed to get through to him. She didn’t buy his bad-boy act for a second, even if everyone else did. And that was fine by him. Truth was, he liked it better when he made her and Mom laugh, not worry. He rubbed his chest thinking how long Mom had been worrying about him. Ten years, counting basic training. The last thing Mom needed to know was he’d cut his PTSD treatment short to come home and take care of her and Dad.

  Once Anne was gone, he switched on the old radio in the corner and listened to static oldies through the tinny speaker. When he’d finished wiping down the car, he sat inside and cleaned the tattered leather upholstery and faded dashboard, fingered the steering wheel and imagined driving with the top down, feeling the winds of Whispering Oaks rushing through his hair. Now that he had some hair. What was that word, or more importantly, that feeling, he’d forgotten? Carefree.

  He let out a breath. The last time he’d felt carefree was around the time his biggest charge was pulling little Jocelyn Howard’s braids and having her chase him around the yard. But once he’d hit puberty, that was child’s play.

  With the late hour, the static was coarse on the radio. He got out of the car to turn it off and to try for a couple hours of sleep. On his way inside, he noticed the light was out in Jocelyn’s bedroom. He thought about looking for some pebbles to toss at her window, just to bug her, but he was only wearing his army-issue brown boxers. What kind of impression woul
d that make? Besides, if this time she opened the window, he wouldn’t have a clue what to say.

  * * *

  Mere hours later, a loud knock on the door woke Lucas. “I’ll be right there,” he said, husky-voiced. He hopped to attention, threw on some shorts and a crew-neck T-shirt and fumbled for the knob. The last thing he needed was for Dad to see the tattoos on his shoulders. Pushing open the door, he saw Anne through bleary eyes.

  “We need your help,” she said.

  “That’s what I’m here for.” He strode across the hall to his parents’ room, pretending to be awake, as Anne’s cell phone rang.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Answer it. I’ll take care of this.” He continued into the bedroom as she back-stepped down the hallway, already talking.

  “Well, good morning, bright eyes!” his father said, obviously trying to get a rise out of him. How many times growing up had Lucas heard that phrase when he hadn’t looked alert enough at the breakfast table?

  “Hey, Dad. So how do we do this?” he said, scratching his chest, determined not to knee-jerk a snotty response to his father’s jab.

  Kieran sat at the edge of the bed, hair ruffled, eyes grumpy, sheets twisted and knotted around him.

  Lucas let a slow smile tug at one corner of his mouth. “You know, you’re not looking so bright-eyed yourself, Dad.”

  “It’s been hell, Lucas. These damn casts are driving me nuts. I’m counting the days until they’ll take them off.”

  Nearby, Bart, his parents’ replacement for the kids, warily eyed Lucas. Lucas approached, ignoring the Rhodesian ridgeback’s low growl. “Good boy,” he said. Though big and imposing-looking, the dog’s real personality was betrayed by a wagging long brown tail.

  Soon, the huge dog licked Lucas’s arm as if they’d been friends forever.