Set In Stone

by Rachel Robinson

  Phillipe brings me a glass of champagne. “I’m so happy for you and Steven,” he says.

  Our engagement was exciting for Steven and me. For everyone else, you would have thought it was the eighth wonder of the world. Our friends and family were ecstatic. There were squeals of delight, tears, shock, and finally acceptance. No one thought I’d want to remarry again…including Steven. It was a happy shock for everyone. And why would I not want to marry the man who has loved me through every season of my life? He’s holding the baby over his head and spinning in slow circles. He’s laughing loudly and everyone who is in a mile radius is smiling at his antics. When Maverick and Windsor come back with a soaking wet, sulking child, I watch them watch Steven.

  “Thanks, Phillipe. How are you getting on with Toni?” I have a multitude of extra office space at the farmhouse, so we’ve all taken to working together on cases.

  He eyes the room to make sure she’s not around. “It’s good. It’s different having someone else in the mix, but she’s thorough and dependable. I think someone you want in your corner.” I hug my assistant/best friend.

  “You’re so awesome,” I compliment. He pulls out of the hug, one brow raised.

  “You’re going soft. That’s what’s happening, isn’t it?” He looks like he may be half joking.

  I shrug, glancing at Steven playing with Carolina. “It’s about time the ice thawed a touch, I think.”

  Phillipe smiles, shakes his head, and sashays away. So many people surround me with love and they always have, but I never understood until recently how important it is. I embrace my life and my friends and career. When you slow down long enough to stop taking the small things for granted, life gets sweet—priceless. I don’t compare anything anymore.

  When I packed to move to the farmhouse, I found Stone’s framed tattoos. I went through them one by one, trying to glean information from the smartest person I’d ever know. I’d forgotten about one tattoo. It was a quote by Mark Twain that I now remember wrapped around his left ankle. “Comparison is the death of joy.”

  Sitting in an empty hallway, I read it at least one hundred times, letting the six words infiltrate every part of my body and soak into my brain…and heart.

  My joy came from letting go of the comparisons and allowing the new life I cultivated to thrive. It doesn’t matter if Steven and Stone have the same job. Or that sometimes when Steven says something, and I’m wrapped up in something else, I hear Stone’s voice instead. I take it as a sign that I found the person I’m supposed to be with for the rest of my life. My heart isn’t torn in half, no. There aren’t any pieces left that only belong to Stone. The sections blended—melted together creating a fierce, strong, burning love for my new life.

  Steven hands the baby over to Windsor when he sees me staring from across the room. As he approaches me, my heart wells with joy. Those familiar eyes and sweet lips call to me.

  “You make me so happy,” I say.

  “Because I look like the hottest nanny alive with Carolina?”

  I shake my head and try to staunch the flow of tears. “No, just because.”

  With one finger under my chin, he tips my head up. “Kiss me, you black haired seductress,” he whispers, smiling.

  Butterflies invade my stomach as he kisses me passionately in front of our clapping, shouting friends.

  Joy can’t die when there is even the smallest spark to thrive. If you’re lucky, the spark will turn into a flame and that fire will burn for as long as you allow it.

  “Forever,” I promise.

  Steve

  One year later

  It’s been years—too many to count—since my brother, Thomas Stone Sterns, died protecting his best friend. I think about him often and I wonder how frequently she thinks of him. Sometimes I see a shadow cross her face, her lips curl at the corner, and just as quickly the look vanishes. A memory? Something I’d be jealous of? I don’t let myself think it. What it comes down to is I’m alive and Morganna Sterns Warner is mine. She’s all mine. I creep down the hallway when I hear her sweet southern accent pierce the air.

  Pausing outside the nursery door, I merely listen. Morganna is singing a sweet, yet strong lullaby to our newborn son, her country accent punctuating the chorus. I peer around the door and find her in the rocker in the corner. She has Rocco, wrapped in a white blanket as she rocks him back and forth. The way she looks at the tiny person that we both created pierces my heart and soul. She notices me, her gray eyes flicking up to meet mine. I smile. She smiles. My heart thumps jaggedly along, unsure how much more love can fit inside. Morganna continues her song, but her eyes don’t stray from mine. Like she’s singing the sweet southern lullaby to me, instead of the baby. I have to hold onto the doorframe to keep myself standing.

  I press a finger against my lips, promising to be quiet, and I enter the room. I kiss her on the lips lightly and then carefully bend down to kiss Rocco’s forehead. He smells of Morganna’s sweet lotion and fresh baby—an intoxicating scent. I want them in eye shot anytime I’m home. It’s my new addiction.

  Exiting the room just as quietly as I entered, I head for my office at the end of the hallway. Something has been nagging me. Maverick gave me an envelope a few weeks ago. He only said, “It’s time” when he handed it to me. I recognized the handwriting immediately and that made me hesitant to even touch it.

  The room down the hall contains everything I’ll ever need. There isn’t room for fear or questioning anymore. Sitting down at my desk, Gunner puts his muzzle in my lap. “Hey, buddy. You got my back, yeah?”

  I pet his soft head and ears with one hand as I sort through a messy drawer at my desk. My hand lands on the thin envelope that I’ve looked at several times within the past few days. The front merely says “You’ll know when it’s time.” I swallow the lump down and stare at closed door in front of me. I rip it open and unfold a piece of college ruled notebook paper.

  Stevey

  You hot headed motherfucker. Guess I one-upped your hot head if I’m the one dead and you’re the one reading a grave letter. When my photo makes it up onto the wall in the highbay, it should be the one with the gloriously huge, fucking mafia style mustache. I can’t leave decisions like this to Maverick. He’ll have his hands full, but I suspect he’ll bounce back quickly. If he doesn’t, you have my permission to beat him with the Windsor stick.

  There’s a reason this letter to you is time sensitive. Unlike the others, I need something from you. It’s imperative.

  You make me laugh. You make everyone laugh. It’s not conceited if I say that humor is the best quality to have, because if I’m gone, you’re the one who wears that fucking beautiful, first-place crown. We both know who needs humor and happiness the most: Morganna, that beautiful fucking, tigress of a woman.

  Make her laugh as much as you can. Make her happy. Put that huge smile on her face any chance you can. Give her everything I failed to give her. Strip away the layers of ice and find the woman who is buried in there—the person who is soft, emotional, the person who hides from the rest of the world for fear of failing.

  Give her a life, Stevey. She’s my heart. My whole heart. But I realized somewhere along the way that maybe she’s your heart, too. Maybe I just borrowed her from you because I needed her more. There’s no denying I need her more than oxygen. There’s also no denying that she loved you first. That should piss me off, but given these circumstances nothing makes me happier. She’s told me how much of a presence you were in her life—how you befriended her when no one else took a chance on her. Morganna doesn’t belong to anyone. She owns herself. She owns the world and everything that she touches.

  I won’t say she’s yours, because that wouldn’t make much sense.

  You’re hers now.

  Love her even when it hurts—even when she pushes you away. Love her more than I did. Love her forever. It breaks my heart to write this while I’m still breathing, but you need to hear it from me. It was always you.

  Keep smilin
g, bro. Keep on smiling.

  Stone

  This book wouldn’t be possible without my readers. You championed Morganna’s story so hard and so loudly that I couldn’t ignore you. Thank you for every comment on Facebook, every tweet, hug, and message. Most of all, thank you to every single person who reviewed CRAZY GOOD and demanded more. I listened.

  Thank you to my husband who beta reads all of my SEAL stories for accuracy and to make sure I’m upholding impossibly high standards. I think he truly only likes reading them for the sex, but I can’t admit to that, can I? Love you, C. Thank you for your support, love, and gourmet cooking.

  Up next is the editor extraordinaire, Wendy Callahan. Thank you for polishing my words and making them shine in their best light, or sometimes deleting them altogether. That’s always amazing, too. Your advice is always top notch.

  I must acknowledge the wives. This book is for you. For everything you’ve been through. For the hard decisions you make and the hardships you triumph and sometimes barely live through. Your life isn’t easy and the end game is never promised, yet you stride on—chin up, back straight, smile on. Your strength is copious and pure of heart. Sometimes it’s okay if you’re not tough as nails. Sometimes it’s okay if you are.

  It wouldn’t be fitting unless I mention it: Love never dies. It changes, morphs and blends. Accept it. Always accept it.

  And don’t shoot the wrong man.

  Yes, there will be more hot Navy SEALs and swoon worthy love stories. Stay tuned…

  Contemporary Romance

  CRAZY GOOD (Maverick and Windsor’s story)

  Paranormal Romance

  Publisher: Eternal Press

  Escaped: A Samantha Scott Novel

  Embraced: A Samantha Scott Novel

  Six

  Visit Rachel Robinson online.

  www.racheljrobinson.com

  https://www.facebook.com/racheljeanrobinson