Her Christmas SEAL (When SEALs Come Home Book 7)

by Anne Marsh

  Nothing like all my sins coming home to roost. I was fucked either way, and not in a good way. She wasn’t wrong—she just wasn’t seeing things the way I did. Holly was different from those other women. She made me want to be different too.

  “Did I say I wanted us to be a one-night stand?”

  She tugged on her hands. Since I outweighed her by almost a hundred pounds, she got precisely nowhere, although she didn’t answer me either.

  “Man falls out of the sky on your feet, and you don’t think you should keep him?” I was happy to let her just use me too—but for the next fifty years or so. Settling for being her five-minute quickie when she had an itch to scratch wasn’t an option.

  “I’ve got this,” she said, and I was sure she did. I’d have to get her a T-shirt with those words blazoned across her boobs. Holly was stunningly capable even when life dealt her a crap hand. Problem was, I wanted to help because I had it bad for her.

  “You need to go,” she repeated. “I have wreaths to make.”

  I squinted at the clock. “At two in the morning?”

  She shrugged. “Some of us find it harder to keep the electric on than others.”

  If she had problems keeping the lights on, it wasn’t just because she lacked cash. She’d powered all of the visible appliances in the room from a single outlet and extension cords snaked across the floor. My inner fireman was appalled. “The fire marshal isn’t gonna like your heating setup.”

  She closed her eyes. “Shut up. Go away.”

  And then just like that things fell to shit. One minute we were arguing, and the next I smelled smoke. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Lucky had decided to host a bonfire party at two in the morning.

  Or maybe the whole fucking farm was on fire.

  “Get dressed,” I snapped, already launching myself off the bed. Grabbing my jeans from the floor, I yanked them on. Not that I had a problem with bare-assing it if there was a fire, but some things were better off protected.

  “What the hell, Jacks?” Despite my giving her exactly what she’d asked for—my leaving—she rose up on her knees, and the view was pretty damned spectacular. If my instincts hadn’t been screaming we had a bigger problem than her anti-relationship stance, I’d have been happy to stand there and stare at her. She had gorgeous breasts.

  “Clothes,” I ordered, scooping up the bits and pieces I’d peeled off of her earlier. “Anything important, get ready to grab it.”

  The upside of Holly’s too-small place was that it took two steps to reach the door. I tested the doorknob. Cool to the touch. That was a good sign. I opened the door, stuck my head out, and it didn’t a genius to spot the problem. The Christmas tree lot was on fire.

  “Move. We’ve got a fire.” I dropped down on the bed, grabbed my phone, and called in the fire. What was outside the door didn’t look or smell like something I could deal with on my own with a garden hose. Plus Christmas trees could get downright flammable.

  “Who else lives on site?” I dragged on my boots.

  “One old man. Two other part-time elves,” she said.

  She started yanking on her own clothes, thank God. The smoke scent hung in the air between us now that I’d opened that door. We’d be having a conversation later about her lack of smoke detectors and general fire safety. How long would the fire have raged unchecked outside if I hadn’t been here?

  “Tell me where they sleep and what they drive,” I ordered, standing up. If anyone had spent the night elsewhere, I didn’t want to waste time looking for them. “Any pets I should know about?”

  “Just Frances,” she said quietly and then listed locations and vehicle makes. Good girl.

  “Grab a bag and pack anything important. You’ve got five minutes, and then I’m getting you out of here.” Ordinarily, I’d have gotten her ass straight off the property, but I needed to check on the other residents, so she might as well grab what she could. It didn’t take a genius to see that Holly didn’t have much, and she couldn’t afford to lose it. Since I’d also seen her POS car, and it probably ran at a maximum of twenty miles an hour thanks to its decrepit state, I handed her the keys to my truck.

  “Get in and start the engine. Be ready to roll.”

  She opened her mouth—probably because Ms. I’ve-Got-It protested anything on principle—but I was already out of there. She followed me outside, and her breath caught audibly. The air was thick with smoke now, the flames licking through the stand of trees less than a quarter mile away. The trees weren’t as dry as they could be, but they were still plenty flammable. Both our eyes went straight to the flaming plastic Santa that I’d bet was the root cause of the problem—that and the extension cord running back into one of the sheds. Which was also on fire.

  “The farm is on fire.” Holly sounded dazed now, like maybe things were finally sinking in.

  “Get your things,” I reminded her. “I’m gonna go check on the others. Then I’m coming back here, and you’re getting in my truck.”

  It would take the local fire department at least ten and possibly twenty minutes to get here. After I found the other residents of the farm, I needed to find a hose. Anything I could do to halt the flames, I’d do it.

  “Why?” she asked, which wasn’t a flat-out no, but now wasn’t the time for a fucking conversation. Plus I had no idea what she was asking. Why was the farm on fire? Fuck me if I knew. Why now? See above. Why did life crap on perfectly nice people? Again, no clue.

  “Bet those wreaths you bought just appreciated,” she mumbled and I shot her a look.

  She was in shock.

  Shit.

  “Five minutes,” I told her. “You count to three hundred, and you make sure you’re dressed and ready to roll when you hit three hundred, okay? Can you do that for me?”

  HOLLY

  Jacks sprinted across the yard, bellowing fire at the top of his lungs. When he banged on the door of the cabin nearest mine, someone opened the door. Jacks tossed a few words in the guy’s direction, then turned and ran for the main house. Right. Lucky was probably inside there, completely oblivious to his livelihood going up in smoke while he slept.

  Okay. Jacks had this handled. Somehow I stumbled back inside my cabin. It sure wasn’t much, but it was mine, and the last thing I wanted was for it to catch on fire. Grabbing my suitcase, I dumped the bulk of my clothes inside and swept up my books. Laptop? Check. My purse went on top of the suitcase.

  And… I was still only half-dressed in the clothes Jacks had peeled off me earlier. Confronting a fire in my pajamas wasn’t ideal. I grabbed panties, yoga pants and a tank top. Topped it off with a flannel. My running shoes. You know those dreams where you’re running and running but not getting anywhere except that you also know time is running out and that’s going to bite you on the ass? Yeah. I was living a real-time version and it sucked.

  Certain I’d hit my five-minute limit, I stuck my head outside the door. The entire lot was ablaze, the air thick with smoke. Jacks had Lucky outside now, so that was good, although Lucky was bellowing and looking every bit as unhappy as I’d look if that was my farm going up in smoke. Little sparks flew about and landed in front of my cabin, more Fourth of July than Christmas.

  Sirens wailed up the road. The fire department had come. The farm was too far outside Strong to have a hydrant, but the fire truck had a portable tank. Not sure what to do, I stood there and stared as the first firefighters swung down. Jacks materialized by my side.

  At first, I thought he was just checking in, but then he gestured toward his truck. “Get in, and I’ll get you out of here.”

  Not happening. “I’m not losing my car too.”

  I’d kind of lost everything in the last year. My marriage, my home, and most of my bank account. So, no I didn’t see the need to lose the car, especially not since I’d just gotten it fixed after it had crapped out and stranded me in Strong.

  “Fine,” he growled and held out his hand. “Give me your keys, and I’ll move your car a safe distance.”r />
  And once again? So not happening. “I can drive my own car.”

  Jacks just shook his head and pointed to my hands. Fuck. My hands were trembling. So maybe I wasn’t entirely okay, but I could pull it together.

  “Then I can stay here.” The fire department had this under control, right? I could wait this out even if the air was thick with smoke and God knows what else. I looked at the tree lot, which was burning like a torch. Then looked at all the little sparks twinkling around us. Okay. So maybe staying would win me the Darwin Award. The stink would be in my hair and my clothes, plus the fire could still spread further. It wasn’t like I’d have a job to rush to in the morning anyhow. I could leave.

  “Give me your keys,” Jacks growled, eyeballing the flaming carnage and clearly coming to a different conclusion than I had. “I’ll move your car a safe distance. We’ll compromise—and don’t tell me that you’ve got this.”

  Nope. I didn’t have this at all. I mutely handed over my keys and went back inside to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Jacks was back in under ten minutes, reaching down to snag my suitcase and purse.

  “Anything else you need from inside?” He asked.

  “The cat.” Who wasn’t going to make finding a place easy. I was still voting for my car. Worst case, I could sleep in it. I’d done it before; I could do it again. Still, this wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all. I settled back in Jacks’s seat and tried to brainstorm a solution. Yeah. I was coming up empty.

  Jack grunted something, and I let him herd me along to his truck. I was tired and it was just easier, I told myself. My agreeing had nothing to do with my wanting to spend just a little more time with him. He tossed my stuff in the bed, and then popped the door open for me. While I collapsed on his front seat, he disappeared inside my cabin to retrieve Frances.

  “Got a problem,” he said when he came back out a minute later.

  “I’m at my max,” I warned him. One more snowflake in my shit storm and I’d either bawl like a baby or start screaming at him.

  He opened my door and set the cardboard box on my lap. “Momma cat’s a little busy.”

  Oh. God. Sure enough, when I looked down, I was looking at one cat and one kitten. I had a bad feeling that Frances wasn’t stopping at one. The vet had warned me that cats usually took up to an hour between kittens, so she could be just getting started.

  Jacks got in and started the engine, guiding the truck carefully past the fire trucks. It looked like Lucky was getting checked out by the EMTs. I’d bet seeing his farm go up in flames had just about given the man a heart attack. Of course, the universe had pretty much pooped on my head too. I stared at the flames as Jacks drove us away.

  “It’s like running for the train and watching the doors slam shut in your face, only to discover that the station’s pigeons had used your head for a target.”

  A lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That happen to you?”

  “Once.” Heading for a Motel 6 topped my want list at the moment, but Strong didn’t have one of those. It had a cute little B&B where a single night would eat up next month’s paycheck. And since I didn’t possess a working credit card at the moment, I’d have to wait until next month anyhow before I could step through the door. Motel 6 was fifty miles down the road, which made for a hell of a long walk.

  I tapped my fingers on the side of Frances’s box. Maybe I could get arrested. Maybe the sheriff would take pity on me and let me spend the night at the jail. Frances meeped, and a second kitten made its bedraggled appearance. Or not. The jail probably had an anti-pet policy.

  “Stop worrying,” Jacks said, his voice rough. “Let me get this.”

  “Can you take me to Motel 6?” I hated asking, but I was out of options. Limited cash meant limited choices.

  He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “You could let me take care of it.”

  “I’ve—”

  “Got this,” he finished for me. “You’ve made that clear.”

  God. Delayed reaction from the fire swept over me. We’d had sex. We’d fought. Then the whole place had gone up in flames—or it felt like it—and I strongly suspected I wasn’t going to have a job tomorrow. I was homeless, and even if it was almost Christmas, I had zero desire to reenact the Christmas story and sleep in a barn. Leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, I tried to come up with a plan that didn’t involve camping in my car. I’d done it before, right after I’d broken down in Strong, and it had been both uncomfortable and scary. I’d lain awake half the night, wondering who could come out of the dark and spot me in the backseat of the car. I really, really didn’t want to do that again, which was why I’d decided to stay put in Strong until I had some cash and a plan.

  Jacks slowed and flipped on the blinker. Seconds later, he was pulling into a long, dark driveway. A slightly ramshackle farmhouse sat at the end. The truck’s headlights picked out the peeling paint on the front—and the new wood in the porch where someone had replaced old boards. It looked comfortable and kind of like a work in progress. I liked it, and hey, it wasn’t on fire or smoking, which was another plus.

  “Where are we?”

  “My place.” He threw the truck in park. I looked down at my lap. Frances appeared to be working industriously on kitten number three. Probably best not to disturb her.

  “Kidnapping is a felony,” I pointed out.

  He turned and leaned on the wheel. He looked big and comforting, but looks could be deceptive. “You need a place to stay.”

  Sometimes the truth sucked. While I chewed on that, the cat continued to give birth.

  Jacks winked and looked down into the box. “You don’t want to be a single mother, do you?”

  Frances meeped something that sounded a whole lot like cat for no fucking way. Frances was practical, and Jacks was the solution to all our current woes. I just didn’t like it—which meant I could practically feel the universe howling with laughter.

  “Look,” he said, handing me a key. “I’ll make this easy. There’s the house. It’s all yours. I’ll leave like you asked.”

  I really had no idea what to say. Which was probably why five minutes later, I was standing in the living room alone and Jacks was gone. Just like I’d asked.

  Maybe I should have rethought that plan.

  6

  HOLLY

  I slept. Funny how you think something’s impossible, but then it happens. Too much, too fast, and my body had shut me down. Hours later, when I woke up and checked on Frances, she was the proud momma of six. Two white kittens with black spots, two tabbies, and two all-black kittens, one with a tiny white moustache. Frances meeped up at me from her box, as if to say Look what I did, and I rubbed the top of her head.

  “You’re awesome,” I told her, meaning every word of it.

  Then I proceed to explore—okay, ransack carefully—Jacks’s place. It was my first opportunity to check out where he lived, and I wasn’t going to waste it. He clearly hadn’t come back last night, which made me feel ashamed. I’d driven him away, which had been my intention. What I hadn’t intended was to kick him out of his very own home. I sucked.

  The house was nice. Jacks had three bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen with a sunny breakfast nook. The place had been a working farmhouse once upon a time, and part of me fell in love with it on sight. He’d clearly been working on fixing it up too, because every single room—up to and including the bathroom and the teeny-tiny pantry I discovered off the kitchen—held an arsenal of tools.

  I found the cards on a shelf in the pantry. It wasn’t overly difficult, because the man must have either lived on takeout or eaten elsewhere. His pantry had three bottles of half-used sriracha sauce, a pepper grinder, a stack of cheap paper napkins from fast-food joints, and a Costco-sized box of energy bars. There were also fourteen matching cans of chicken noodle soup. So the cards stuck out.

  They were my cards.

  As I’d reminded him when we remet, I’d mailed him a
card for every major and minor holiday. Apparently, he’d kept them. I wasn’t sure how to interpret the gesture, but suddenly I needed to know more. Immediately. Retreating to the bedroom where I’d crashed, I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Jacks. At least this time it was on purpose, and I wasn’t masturbating at the same time.

  I heard a cell phone play a snatch of a Christmas carol somewhere close by and followed the sound—outside. The first thing I saw was my car, parked in Jacks’s driveway. He must have gone back to get it for me. The beat-up Civic didn’t even look any the worse for its closer encounter with a fire. Jacks had moved it in time, exactly as he’d promised.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what other promises he might keep.

  Going outside in December in just a T-shirt and panties was stupid. I stuffed my feet into a pair of Jacks’s boots, grabbed a blanket from the bed, and slogged outside. I wasn’t precisely equipped to scale the Matterhorn, but I’d survive.

  The cool air hit me when I stepped outside, but it was impossible not to stop and look around. The mountains dominated the sky, making me wonder if Jacks had picked his place for the view. It was gorgeous but kind of made me feel small. Although he wasn’t too far out of town, the yard was surrounded by trees and had no visible neighbors. Parked behind my tiny car was Jacks’s great big truck. There was probably enough room to squeeze past it, but somehow leaving had lost its appeal. The phone rang again—from inside the truck. Okay. I hung up, wrapped my borrowed blanket around me a little more tightly, and strolled over to take a peek through the driver’s-side window.

  For no reason at all, when Jacks had given me my space last night, I’d expected him to crash with a friend or get himself a hotel room. Instead of either of those options, however, he was sprawled on the front seat of his truck, staring at his phone. I took a moment to appreciate my view. He was a great big rumpled mountain of a man. Easy enough to pop open the door, climb inside, and—do what? I needed to figure out what I wanted. I knew that.