by Tawny Weber
Genna laughed.
“I’m glad you understand,” she said, truly grateful that he was making it so easy. Then again, maybe he was looking forward to having her—and her interfering father—out of his office.
“You’ve been great. Even though this position wasn’t my idea, you’ve been a wonderful asset to the city. It’ll be hard to replace you.”
“Thank you.” Genna hesitated, then figuring she had nothing to lose, she asked, “Can I ask a favor in return? I’ll need permits and licenses.”
“You want me to waive them?” Tucker asked, a small frown creasing his brow.
“Oh, no. I’ll get them all like I’m supposed to. Just, well, can you make sure they don’t get blocked?” She didn’t need to add who the potential blocker would be. They both knew as soon as word of this got back to her father, he was going to make things ugly. She might need Tucker’s mediation skills after all.
“I’ll take care of it,” the mayor assured her, patting her shoulder as he passed by. Then he stopped and turned with a frown. “One thing before you pack your bags. We need to finalize the arrangements for the hero appreciation day. Did you have any luck convincing our erstwhile military man to participate?”
Pleased that the event for Brody would be her last job here in the mayor’s office, Genna pulled a folder from the stack in her tote.
“I’ve organized all of the vender donations, as well as coordinated with the high school band and the ladies’ groups,” she said, handing it to him. “As soon as we finalize the date I’ll contact the sheriff’s office to arrange to close off the pertinent streets. Custodial is already giving an extra polish to the town hall so it’ll be ready for the luncheon.”
Tucker gave an impressed nod.
“And you’ve got Lane on board with it?”
“Well, not exactly on board.” Genna bit her lip. “But I think I can convince him.”
As soon as she got the nerve to ask him again.
She was sure he’d say yes. Okay, almost sure. Sort of.
Maybe it’d help if she asked while they were naked.
He seemed to be willing to do anything she wanted then.
Tucker didn’t look very assured. Given that he didn’t know Genna’s secret weapon, she couldn’t blame him.
“I’ll get a commitment,” she promised.
“By tomorrow,” the mayor prodded. “The press needs lead time to build some buzz. We want to be above the fold and it’s going to be hard to top his being decorated by the president. See if he can get a few other SEALs to attend. That’d make great press.”
Genna kept her smile in place while the mayor continued his excited recital of plans on his way to his office. At his door, he gave her a finger wag. “Tomorrow. Get it done.”
She waited for his door to close before dropping her head into her hands.
Convince Brody to play hero. Do it by tomorrow. Build buzz and drag in a few extra SEALs for a more colorful photo op.
Easy peasy.
Genna’s head snapped up when the front door ricocheted off the wall.
Her father strode in, looking as though he wanted to shoot somebody.
Guess he was back in town. And he was clearly up to speed on the gossip about his daughter’s love life. She wondered how long it’d take before the hospital called.
“Hi, Dad,” she greeted him, getting to her feet. No point letting him look down on her any further than she had to.
He barely glanced her way.
“Tucker in?”
“He is.” Genna was tempted to let it go at that. He could have his powwow with the mayor, she could sneak out and start her new life. But that was the weenie way. So she cleared her throat and said in a rush, “But I need to speak to you before you go in.”
“What’s up?” The sheriff gave her a questioning look. “Tucker giving you a rough time? Working you too hard? Want me to talk to him?”
He’d do it, too. Go in there and tell the mayor of Bedford to quit picking on his little girl, the mayor’s paid employee. Genna had always thought it kind of sweet, knowing she’d always be looked out for. But now it was stifling, like the very thought was choking all the air out of her life.
“Tucker’s fine. But it is about my job,” she said.
Then she ran out of words.
She wanted to ease into it. Make sure he understood how important this was to her. How excited she was about opening a bakery, that it was her dream job. If she could get that across first, then he’d take the news about her job much better.
A half smile on his face, her father arched one brow.
“Yeah? What about your job?”
“Um, I just quit.” Well, Genna wrinkled her nose. That was eloquent. Any chance he’d clued in to how excited she was by her shaking tone?
“You what?” Looking as if he was going to burst a vein, he didn’t wait for her to repeat the obvious. Instead he stabbed one finger toward the mayor’s door. “Then get in there and ask for it back.”
“I don’t want it back,” she said quickly, pushing the words through her nerves, knowing she had to take a stand or give up her dream altogether. “I quit because I’m going to bake full time.”
Her father sighed. He took off his Sheriff ball cap, ran one hand through his still-thick hair as if trying to comb away a headache, and tugged the cap back on.
“Genna, we’ve discussed this.” His tone shifted from angry to reasonable. So reasonable that Genna was almost nodding before he’d said another word. “You’d be dealing with complete strangers day in and day out. You’d have no stable income, no insurance, no sick pay. You simply don’t have the experience or the knowledge to run your own business.”
And he had no respect for her, Genna wanted to yell. But that’d get her nowhere.
“This isn’t some impulsive craze,” she defended instead. “I have a BA in business, and this is exactly what I studied for and it’s time to make it happen. I’m calling it Sugar and Spice. I’ve made arrangements with the café and three of the restaurants in town to carry my desserts. Even Mr. Jenson is going to sell my cookies from the pharmacy. I’ve got orders already, enough to carry me through the first month, possibly three. Then I can look at getting a storefront.”
A cute one over on Beeker, maybe. Right between the dress shop and the library. It’d get great foot traffic, plus there was a good-size parking lot across the street.
Summer, she promised herself. She’d be decorating her own shop by summer.
“When did you do all of this?” her father asked slowly, his fingers tapping on his belt as he frowned at her. “I’ve only been gone five days.”
A girl could get a lot done in five days when she was motivated. And Genna was. She wanted this job. And more, she wanted to prove to Brody that she could make things happen. That she wasn’t a wimpy little daddy’s girl who couldn’t stand on her own two feet.
“It’s something I’ve been dreaming about for a long time. I’ve been making notes, sketching out ideas, for years. Once I decided it was time, it was pretty easy to do,” she said, reaching into her tote for the expandable file folder filled with ideas, plans and orders that she’d shared earlier with the mayor.
She bit her lip, excited to see how impressed her dad would be with her work.
Before she could show him, though, he was shaking his head and giving her that cop look of his. The one that made a person want to confess to crimes they’d only thought of just to get him to look away.
“Have you been seeing Brody Lane?”
Genna pressed her lips together. Seeing, doing. Neither was something she wanted to discuss with her father. Especially given the way he felt about Brody.
She tried to settle the nerves gnawing their way through her stomach. She’d known word would get out. If Macy hadn’t told—and surprisingly, she hadn’t—someone else would have since she and Brody had been out in a lot more public places the last week or so.
“This has something to do with th
at troublemaker,” her father accused, reading her face much too well. His wasn’t tough to decipher either. Fury came across loud and clear.
“No. Starting a career is my decision, something I came to all on my own. It has nothing to do with Brody,” Genna said quickly, her fingers knotted together to keep her hands from shaking. Well, it did. But not how her father meant. “This is my dream. It’s something I’ve wanted for years.”
“And you just happened to decide it was time to make it happen this week? When I was out of town?”
That had definitely made it a lot easier.
But Genna shook her head. “I had a house filled with baked goods to find homes for. The more people I shared with, the more people talked about how they’d buy from me, the more I couldn’t see any reason to wait.”
“I can think of plenty of reasons. You go talk to Tucker and get your job back. Then we’ll sit down and go over this reasonably. You, your mother and me. If it’s the best thing for you to do, we’ll support you.”
No, they wouldn’t. They’d do exactly what they’d done every other time she’d gone to them to share her plans. They’d talk her out of it. Or they’d guilt her out of it. One or the other.
“No,” she said quietly. She untwined her hands, flexing her fingers once to shake off a little tension, then took a deep breath. “I’ve already made my decision.”
“This is that damned Lane’s fault,” her father growled. “He’s trouble. The only reason he didn’t end up in jail is because the military had him locked down and under control.”
“If he was as bad as you seem to think, he wouldn’t have made it in the military as long as he did. Nor would he be a part of the elite Special Forces, or a decorated SEAL,” she pointed out, trying to sound reasonable. She didn’t want to come across as a defensive lover. That wasn’t going to score points with her father.
“He’s just as bad as your brother was. It’s his fault Joe went the direction he did. That he found so much trouble and couldn’t climb out.”
Genna had to look away to clear the tears from her eyes. Not over her brother’s path of self-destruction. He’d made that choice and she’d cried plenty about it over the years. But that her father was so blind to his part in Joe’s choices. That he would blame someone else, someone who’d never been as bad as Joe, who’d been gone for the worst of Joe’s hell-bent-to-worthless years.
“Brody isn’t Joe. He never was.” She didn’t need to say that Joe had been raised with every privilege, often more than he’d appreciated. While Brody had been raised with nothing. No fancy toys or fast cars, no designer clothes or cool trips. Not even three healthy meals a day or a safe home. Or love. “And neither was I. But you punished me for Joe’s actions. The worse he became, the less freedom I had.”
Maybe because Joe blithely ignored every punishment their parents set. Whereas Brody had taken her father’s punishment and used it to build a life to be proud of. And that, she figured, said it all.
“I’m seeing Brody Lane. And I’ll keep seeing him as long as I choose to,” she told him quietly. Her nerves wound so tight, she felt like her hair was going to fly off. Her stomach churned, sick with nausea. But she kept her chin high and her eyes steady. “You can’t run him off this time. You can’t put me on restriction and take away my privileges.”
“You’d be surprised at what I can and can’t do.” Looking every inch the cop he was, her father seemed to tower over her. Like a threat. Or a jail sentence.
Like a light flashing in the dead of night, the truth washed over her. All of a sudden, her head started spinning. She had to stop and breathe through the dizziness.
“That’s what you’ve been doing all along, isn’t it? You didn’t like my choices, so you and Mother systematically took them away from me. You, with your rules and guidance. All along, you’ve kept me on restriction.”
“You’re being melodramatic.”
“Am I? First it was college. Then you used your influence around town to make sure I stayed between those narrow lines you drew. I lived where you wanted, worked where you chose.”
Sure, she’d realized her dad was a pain in the butt when it came to being overprotective. But until now, she’d refused to admit how bad he was. How much he’d restricted her every single freaking choice.
And the ones he’d somehow lost control of? Her mother swooped in to play the health card for the win.
How many people saw what she’d been so reluctant to face? Brody did. All his comments, his questions suddenly came into brilliant focus. He’d seen it. Her friends had commented from time to time. Even Macy, although her comments usually supported Genna’s parents.
Brody had accused her of using him to rebel. She hadn’t lied when she’d denied it, because she hadn’t been brave enough to take that kind of risk.
But he was right. She had used him. The truth was, she’d used him to find herself again. It was only through Brody that she’d been able to reconnect with her own wants, her own needs. With her own self.
That she’d had to was demoralizing.
“Everything we did was for your own good, Genna.” Still using his father-knows-best tone, her dad stepped forward as if to take her hands.
Genna stepped back.
His scowl made her want to add a few extra steps to her retreat.
“You can’t run my life, Dad. Not anymore.”
“I can, and will, do whatever I think is best for my family,” her father shot back.
“You’re so busy forcing your family to follow your rules, to fit your preconceived ideas, that you’re destroying it.” Genna swallowed hard to get past the tears clogging her throat. Her dad might be bossy and overprotective, but he was still her dad. She hated hurting him. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him continue to run her life. “If you can’t accept my choices, then maybe it’s better if you just stayed away.”
Her eyes blurred, she hurried past him and out the door before he could respond.
* * *
BRODY STEPPED INTO the room that’d once fit him like a second skin. This bunk, a cot in a tent, a rack on a ship. It didn’t matter. They’d been home. Barracks were all the same. Coronado, Little Creek, Pearl Harbor or Afghanistan. He’d fit. He’d belonged.
Now?
He looked around the bland room, his gaze avoiding the bunk next to his. Carter’s bunk.
Now he wasn’t sure.
“Dude, you’re back?”
Brody turned in time to catch Masters’s hand in a tight shake and gave a half shrug.
“Just finished physical therapy.”
“Finished a session? Or finished completely?” Masters asked, his green eyes intense.
“Both.”
“Yeah? You’re cleared for duty?”
“Gotta see the doctor on Monday. But the physical therapist said I’m solid.”
“Nice timing. We ship out in a month, start training next week.”
A week. Brody was silent. Genna’s face flashed through his mind. What would she say if she knew? After that first night, they’d never talked about his service. For the first time, he realized they’d both been avoiding it.
“So what’s the deal?” Masters asked, reading the stress in Brody’s tone. “You thinking about opting out?”
“I don’t quit.”
“No. But if you can’t give it one hundred percent, you’re not an asset.”
A brutal statement by some standards. But not Masters’s. And not Brody’s. He knew it was the truth. Their commander ran the team with a strong hand, demanding the best from each man, pushing them all to their limits, then shoving them right past to find new limits. A SEAL carrying baggage was a detriment. To himself. To the mission. To the team.
“So what’s the deal?” Masters asked, grabbing a wooden chair and spinning it around before straddling it. He waited until Brody had done the same, then he picked up the deck of cards on the table between them and started shuffling. “You’ve been cleared of PTSD, right? You say
you didn’t B.S. your way through testing. So it’s gotta be something else.”
Brody debated while Masters dealt.
He wasn’t a sharesies kind of guy. He didn’t believe confession was good for the soul. And whatever nasty crap he had in the closets of his mind was just fine hiding out there. He’d lived through plenty of ugly in his life and ignored it all just fine.
So why was this different?
He lifted his cards, tossed one down.
“You ever question your ability to do your job?” he asked quietly, taking the new card Masters flipped across the table.
His buddy stared at his hand for a couple heartbeats. Brody knew he was thinking. The guy didn’t say boo without considering all the ramifications. Finally, Masters looked up and gave a jerk of his shoulder.
“No. That’s probably not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. We’re the best. We do what nobody else can do. And we’re damned good at doing it.”
Brody nodded. He used to believe that, too.
“You questioning the job you did?” Masters asked, his words quiet as he rearranged his cards.
“I failed.” There. He’d said it. Some people might think confessing their deepest shame was cathartic. Brody had news for them. It sucked. His gut ached and his head throbbed as he heard his own words.
He’d left Bedford a loser with little or no prospects. Ten years later, he was back and not much had changed. He still had the hots for the town princess. She was sneaking around seeing him on the sly. And his prospects? Pretty freaking lousy.
He met his friend’s eyes with a shake of his head.
“My failure cost us a brother.”
Masters pursed his lips, that computer brain probably replaying the mission statement and everyone’s assignment, the operation itself, and the postmission assessment.
Then he shook his head.
“You saved a little girl. A kid who wasn’t supposed to be in that compound. Despite spotty intelligence, you listened to her old man, went back in and found her, and hauled her out with a bullet in your thigh just before the place exploded all to hell. That’s your job. You did it. What’s the problem?”
“I wasn’t the last man out.”
