SEALed with a Ring

by Mary Margret Daughtridge

  "Lauren Babcock?" she asked.

  "That's right," Kelly confirmed. "She wants you to show her some cars."

  Lauren was her landlord, the owner of the Topsail Beach cottage, and also a longtime and loyal Caruthers customer. JJ always felt a little hot lick of satisfaction that Lauren, who could have bought cars anywhere, preferred to deal with them. If she wanted the VIP treat ment, she would get it.

  JJ wouldn't have said they were friends, but she liked Lauren, even though they rarely saw one another. When Lauren's daughter died unexpectedly, JJ had sent flowers and a handwritten condolence note. She'd seen Lauren at Mary Cole's daughter's wedding but had neglected to speak to her and so had written again. Come to think of it, that wedding was the last time she'd seen Lauren. But she'd heard her name men tioned just this last weekend, and now here she was. JJ searched for the word for that kind of meaningful coincidence. Synchronicity.

  "Lauren!" JJ held out her hands to the woman standing in the square of yellow sunlight the two-story windows threw across the black polished granite of the showroom floor. Lauren had been a fashion model as a young woman and still knew how to find the best light and arrange her limbs so that even standing still, she looked dramatic and dynamic.

  "Lauren, I hardly know what to say!" How did one say, You look better than I've seen you look in a couple of years without sounding grudging or offering, at best, a back handed compliment. The gray look of dissipation was gone, as was the hard, glossy shell she'd worn before Danielle's death. "You look so… beautiful," she finished lamely.

  "Better than the last time you saw me?" Lauren met the issue head-on with a wry smile.

  "Yes." There was no point in denying that grief and drinking had taken their toll on Lauren's looks when last JJ saw her. "You've always been beautiful, and now you look healthy, too. I'm glad."

  "Stopping drinking will do that. I've been sober for eleven months now."

  "Good for you." JJ quickly did the math. Eleven months ago was significant for her, too. It was when her grandfather had struck her—she'd never be able to think of it in any other way—with his ultimatum. "So, you stopped right around last Thanksgiving? Did see ing Jax remarry the Saturday after Thanksgiving have something to do with quitting?"

  For the first time, Lauren seemed embarrassed. Her lovely hazel eyes clouded. Still, after a brief internal struggle, she answered. "Only indirectly. I was drunk that night. One of the wedding guests, a SEAL who didn't even know me, told me how disgusting I was."

  "Ouch."

  "Yes. He was completely heartless. He said I was a lousy grandmother."

  "That's not true!" JJ rushed to her defense. "You've always adored Tyler. You would do anything for him."

  "Thanks. But when I finally took a look at myself, I agreed with him. No matter how much I drank, it wasn't going to make the pain of losing Danielle go away. I wasn't thinking about how much Tyler needed me, only how much I needed him. I let him down. I'm not going to do that again, though. And I'm not going to let Jax Graham keep me away from my grandson." Lauren vis ibly shook off the darkness of the past.

  "But I didn't come here to tell you my story. I've rented an apartment in Virginia Beach to be near Tyler. However, he's outgrown the car seat I had for him. I need a new car seat for Tyler, and I thought I'd get a new car to go with it."

  "Only you." JJ laughed and shook her head. "Wait. Are you saying you came all the way from Virginia Beach to buy a car from Caruthers?"

  "Of course."

  "Oh, Lauren, I'm touched. And honored. When deal erships are going under right and left, it means a lot that you would go out of your way to deal with us."

  "Not so far. Tyler's out of town anyway so I couldn't see him, even if I stayed in Virginia Beach. Since I had business in North Carolina, I decided to combine it with a trip here." Lauren dropped her social smile. "I, um, I kind of needed to see a friendly face. The note you sent… It arrived after I went into rehab, and they held all our mail, so I didn't see it until after Christmas. I have so many amends to make to so many people—I can't tell you how much it meant to know I wasn't forever beyond the pale to at least one person."

  JJ squeezed Lauren's fingers. "Well, I'm still honored by your loyalty. Okay, what kind of car are you looking for? You're going to get the very best deal and the best service Caruthers can offer."

  They stopped at the concierge desk to get sunglasses. "Kelly, I'll be out on the lot with Mrs. Babcock. I'm going to forward my calls to you," JJ said punching num bers into her cell. "Hold everything for me, will you?"

  "Uhh…" Kelly looked uncomfortable.

  "What is it?"

  "You have a call holding right now. It's Dr. Satterfield. I told him you were with a customer, but he demands I interrupt you."

  JJ had expected Blount to call sooner or later. Little as she wanted to talk to him, she guessed she owed him a "closure talk," but trust him to go through the switchboard so there would be no chance of keeping things private.

  "Tell him you've talked to me. Tell him I'm aware of his call and will call him back as soon as I can." JJ smiled with more confidence than she felt. "He under stands that at Caruthers, customers come first."

  "So how are you?" Lauren asked as they walked be tween the rows of gleaming automobiles. "I heard you're engaged."

  "Not exactly. I thought I was ready to say yes, but he turned out to be a man I couldn't marry."

  Lauren pulled dramatic black-framed reading glasses from her Prada handbag. She carefully adjusted the sunglasses over them and leaned forward to study the sticker on a car window. "Why not?"

  "He was marrying me for my money."

  "The louse," Lauren murmured without heat. She moved to the next car. "I'll say one thing for my ex son-in-law. He didn't marry Danielle for her money. And believe it or not" —she trailed a finger down the accesso ries list—"I didn't marry Daniel Babcock for his money. Everyone thought I was a trophy wife, but I honestly thought I loved him. Still, once the romance wore off, I'll admit I stayed because of Danielle—and the money." Lauren's light hazel eyes swept JJ up and down in a mea suring glance. "You don't look brokenhearted."

  "I'm not. It doesn't excuse Blount, but I was being a hypocrite, too. I led him to believe I wanted a real marriage, but really, of the men I knew, he seemed the most likely to go his way and let me go mine." JJ sucked in a big breath and let it out. "It feels good to tell the unvarnished truth."

  To JJ's surprise, Lauren chortled. "Oh, my darling, if what you want is a husband you won't have to see much of, what you need is a SEAL!"

  "A Navy SEAL?"

  "Trust me on this." Lauren's voice shook with amuse ment. "Danielle always said, 'Being married to Jax was almost the same as being divorced from him.'"

  In the end, they didn't find a model with all the features Lauren was looking for. Once Lauren had selected the correct-sized child seat for Tyler, JJ turned Lauren over to a salesman who would receive the commission to help her write up a factory order.

  With Lauren's laughingly tossed-off words seem ingly stuck on an endless tape loop in her head, JJ went up to her office where, for once, she closed the door. She turned off her phone. She sat at her desk and held herself just as still as she could.

  If what you want is a husband you won't see much of, what you need is a SEAL.

  The daring, the sheer recklessness of the idea Lauren had put in her head, made sweat prickle in her hair line and left handprints on the desk blotter. Her heart pounded. Her entire body shook with each thud. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to yell.

  She recognized her impulse to throw caution and good sense to the winds as hysteria-driven. Everything she knew about him told her less likely husband material there never was, but really, she wasn't wife material ei ther. The very first time she had needed to compromise with Blount, to find common ground and work together, she had blown it.

  If what you want is a husband you won't see much of, what you need is a SEAL.

  As it happened, she k
new a SEAL. Having talked with her friend Mary Cole this morning, she even knew where he was. Knowing where a SEAL was, she gathered from Lauren, was an accomplishment in itself.

  So she might be inviting disaster. So? The tsunami was going to tear loose the moorings of everything she cared about anyway.

  Why not?

  Why the hell not?

  Chapter 21

  IT WAS HER! SITTING ON THE BIG, RED FLOWERED SOFA that occupied the center of Pickett's living room. It was… dammit, her name had taken unauthorized leave again. He'd been able to remember it an hour ago, and now it was gone again. And he was so gobsmacked to think that by some magical somehow she had appeared that he couldn't think of anything to say. Not Hello Beautiful, not How are you, not even What the hell is going on?

  Then, cooler than cool, perfect features composed, magnificent rack framed by a contour-hugging red leather jacket, she raised emerald-green eyes and said, "I would like to marry you."

  Davy threw back his head and laughed. His scar, still new enough to be red, ached when the muscles in his cheek flexed. He didn't let the pain hold him back; he laughed anyway. "This cannot be happening! Okay, where'd the guys hide the cameras?"

  They had ragged on him all yesterday as they installed sinks, sanded drywall, and set cabinets and countertops in the bathroom Jax and Pickett were adding to Pickett's Snead's Ferry house. They thought it was a hoot that he had gone chasing after her and had come back empty handed. This practical joke was SEAL humor at its most inventive. They must have planned the whole thing for when he'd be alone in the house with Lon while every one else went off to dive.

  He should have been suspicious when Lon had come into the bathroom where he was finishing painting and said, "There's a woman who says she knows you. In the living room. I suggest you talk to her."

  Now here he stood in grubby shorts and even grub bier running shoes, shirtless because it was stuffy in the windowless bathroom, spattered with blue-green drop lets of something called Spruce Mist, and his hair matted and gray with sanding dust.

  Her air of self-possession didn't alter. She smiled politely. "I don't know what you're talking about. What cameras?"

  She was a cool one. He raised his hands in mock sur render. "You got me, okay? I didn't see it coming, and you can tell the guys they gave me the best laugh I've had in weeks. This is one hell of a practical joke. How'd they get the senior chief and you to go along with it?"

  "I'm not joking."

  Either she was one hell of an actress or she was seri ous. Or nuts. Regardless, it was time to call this to a halt. He crossed his arms over his chest knowing it made him look intimidating. The scar on his cheek added to the effect. One thing about his little gift from the Taliban, he didn't have to work to look tough anymore.

  "You want to marry me?" He loaded his tone with sarcasm. "The other night you said you were engaged. Close to it anyway. Now you want me? What the hell are you up to?"

  A shadow flickered in the intense green depths of her eyes, but they didn't waver. "Let me make myself clearer. I am in need of a husband, whether I want one or not. I'm prepared to offer you a lot of money."

  Whoever had come up with this little gag had gone too far. His worry about how he was going to scrape up the money for his little brother's tuition wasn't funny. Nor was the implication that someone had been talking about him. He made his voice hard. "What makes you think I need money?"

  With one graceful hand, she batted the question away. "Most people want more than they have." Not taking her eyes off his, she said, "Would you sit down, please? Glowering at me really won't help."

  Davy had started to settle into the green leather easy chair near the fireplace before he caught himself. Shit. He was too dirty to sit on the upholstery. He'd almost sat down just because she told him to. This lady had thrown him more completely than anything—even his mother's unexpected death. He straightened slowly. "You're not joking."

  Her full lips tightened. "I said I wasn't."

  The lady wasn't used to having her word doubted. He smiled—yeah, he liked knowing he'd discomposed her a little. If she could do it to him, he could do it to her. He didn't like the feeling that he had been set up, or that this woman, Lon, and God knew who else—everyone but him—knew what was going down.

  Still he didn't need to be so heavy-handed. He knew his way around women, and when it came to the fair sex, he'd much rather make love than war. "Pardon me while I put on a shirt, and then let's go out on the porch," he suggested, "where I can sit without ruining anything." And where, just in case this was a joke, hopefully there were no cameras.

  On the porch, he indicated one of the rockers pulled up near the railing for her. Instead of taking the chair beside it, he settled a hip on the rail in front of her.

  To make the point that he wasn't going to be messed with, he was deliberately crowding her space, intimidating her, but he didn't want to scare her to death, so he folded his hands loosely on his thighs. People relaxed better when they could see his hands had been taken out of play.

  He weighted a smile with carefully calibrated sexi ness. "Okay, you've gone to the trouble to find me here. Maybe you'd better begin at the beginning. But first," he added a charmingly diffident chuckle, "I'm sorry, but… you mind telling me your name again?"

  Twice. He'd come on to her twice, and he still didn't know her name. It wasn't flattering, but it was reassur ing in a way. For her, their first meeting had been an aberration, and if she gave him the benefit of the doubt, maybe hooking up without so much as a preliminary drink was unusual for him, too.

  Now all doubt was eliminated. She could dismiss the last of her reservations about the wisdom of her pro posal. When it came to women, it was obviously out of sight, out of mind for him. She didn't need to fear she would be raising false hopes or keeping him from find ing the right woman—her reasons for eliminating Henry and the lawyer as candidates.

  Obviously, he was one of those men for whom the woman in front of him was the right one. And she left no more lasting impression than a plane does on a radar screen once it moves out of range.

  The way he perched on the rail, lazily swinging one leg, the long muscles of his thigh knotting and smoothing out under their covering of black hair, said he intended to dominate and trusted his charm was sufficient to let him get by with it.

  This wasn't going at all the way she had imagined it in her head. She'd planned a rational discussion in which she would explain what she needed and what she was offering. The nice man who had answered the door had been perfectly polite, but by the way he had smiled at her so kindly, she'd known he thought she was one in a long line of girls who ran after Davy. She doubted if his scars had changed a thing. Her pride had gotten up.

  And then David had come in, and oh, my God—she'd seen him in full daylight. He may have been Davy when she knew him before, but he was David now.

  His bare shoulders and chest were speckled with blue-green paint. His khaki shorts rode low on his hips, as if he'd lost weight.

  His face was thinner, too. Before, the flair of his jaw had given his face weight and kept the perfection of his features from being pretty. Now, honed by God knew what sufferings seen, suffering endured, it had rock like strength. Then he had recognized her, and joy had blazed across his face. In a face tanned by foreign suns, his teeth had flashed white, and his brown eyes, which should have seemed dark, were full of light.

  Desperate to get things back on a track she under stood, she'd said the first thing that came into her mind. And he'd laughed. Long. Uproariously.

  Now he'd managed to arrange how they sat so she felt trapped. She hated to feel trapped. She hated to feel like her back was to the wall.

  She stiffened her shoulders. Her back was to the wall or she wouldn't be here, but she was tired of letting others make the moves while she adapted. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it her way.

  "My name is JJ Caruthers." She scooted her chair back and stood so forcefully the rocke
r threatened to tip. "Stop trying to tie me up with sexy charm. It won't work any better than the tough-guy act you tried a minute ago. I've come here to make you a deal."

  He stood when she did. Now they were hardly a hand's width apart. He smelled, not unpleasantly, of paint and drywall dust and working man. JJ's stomach did a backflip. She knew his smell, and every cell in her body responded to the memory. She searched his face for the man she'd known before. The man she had thought she would be dealing with.

  Before, with perfectly proportioned features and skin so smooth and fine-grained it had a light sheen, he'd looked plastic. Now, damaged, in that totally unfair ad vantage men had over women, he was actually better looking. The scar matured him. It revealed him as the kind of man who would walk into the kind of danger that left scars like that.