He stepped closer, taking her hands in his, not wanting any space between them. His chest hurt just seeing her, but his heart leaped as soon as his fingers wrapped around hers. “How are you?” he asked.
“Better,” she said, a smile on her face. “I’m better.”
“Have you been with Caroline?”
Her smile widened, and she nodded. “Yes. We spent Thanksgiving with my parents, and then I stayed at a little bed and breakfast near her campus.”
“I’m glad. I know it’s been good for you to take time for yourself.”
“It was, but she’s an adult now and hardly needs her mother hanging around. It was nice to meet her friends and see her dorm. It’s been lovely to go out to eat occasionally with her, but she has her own life.”
He hesitated, and then asked, “Did you speak to a trauma counselor?”
A shadow passed through her eyes for just a fleeting few seconds, but she sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I’ve gone twice weekly for the past two weeks. A lot of what I’ve needed was just to talk about the events in a safe environment without someone who was emotionally involved. I still wake up a little shaken some nights, but it’s getting better. I no longer look over my shoulder constantly. Of course, I’ll keep it up as needed.”
He reached up and tucked a wind-blown strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad.”
She held his gaze. “I’ve also been processing several things in my life.”
Uncertain of her meaning, he tilted his head to the side slightly. “What kind of things?” he asked, his gut clenching at the possible meaning of her words.
“My life has been a little harder to figure out. I told you that I took the job at NBAF because of the stability, benefits, and it allowed Caroline to finish out at the high school there in Manhattan where she had started. It was a good place to work, but it was never my dream job.” She held his gaze and added, “That’s still true.”
“And your dream job is...?” he prodded, linking his fingers with hers tighter.
She sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and let it out slowly, and he noticed the color in her cheeks was vibrant and her eyes sparkled.
“I want to go back to working as a country vet. That was always my goal. Work alongside farmers with their cattle, goats, pigs. I can even do small animals like rabbits, cats, and dogs. I want to get to know my neighbors and their pets. I want to get to know the local farmers and know that I’m helping them with their stock. I’m glad that there are researchers, but that environment was never my career goal.”
He smiled. “I can tell you’re giving me the truthful answer, because your face is glowing.” He started to ask her another question, but she beat him to it.
“What about you? Now that you’ve had a taste for missions again, is that your new pursuit?”
Shaking his head slowly, he said, “No, not really. After this last mission, I’ve come to understand that I appreciate the peace and quiet. I told them that I would not mind helping plan and coordinate, but that I don’t want to be sent out into the field again.”
They stood, side by side, quietly for a moment, looking out over the thick forest leading down to the crystal blue lake. His heart pounded with nerves as he slid his eyes sideways, and asked, “For your dream job, where do you want to be?”
He watched as she turned her head slowly toward him, her eyes seeking his. Drawing in another deep breath, as though to settle her nerves, she replied, “I don’t really care where my job is, as long as I can be near you. That is, if you still want me.”
He threw his head back, the sun warm on his face, and whooped loudly, before grabbing her around the waist, lifting her, and twirling around in circles. “From the first night we spent together, I felt something for you,” he said. “And then the first time I saw you sitting on your ass surrounded by pigs, I knew I wanted to be with you.” She laughed along with him, holding onto his shoulders as he slowly lowered her back to the deck.
With her still in his arms, he bent down, taking her lips in a kiss. Her firm body pressed tightly against his. The tangle of her thick hair against his fingers. Her lips, warm and pliant, underneath his. He wanted to memorize every second of the kiss, hardly believing that they would be sharing a lifetime of them. The kiss represented everything he felt for her, sealing them together.
* * *
One Year Later
Eric drove along the Vermont country road, the lush green pastures extending on either side of him. Turning onto another lane that ran along a fenced pasture, he observed the cattle in the fields. As he neared the house with the barn in the back, he pulled around to where he could see the farmer talking with Lydia.
She was wearing faded jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, covered by a thick jacket, and her feet were encased in knee-high rubber boots covered in mud, muck, and God knows what else. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, although a few tendrils blew in the breeze.
Unable to keep the grin from his face, he watched as she talked excitedly, her hands waving around, obviously into her story. The farmer’s head reared back as he roared with laughter and Eric laughed as well, even though he had no idea what they were talking about. He loved seeing the bright smile and energy radiating from her.
Climbing down from his truck, he walked over. Shaking Mr. Maguildy’s hand, he greeted Lydia with a hug.
“I’m so sorry you had to come,” she began.
He shushed her. “You do know this is it for your old car? I’m buying you a new one tomorrow.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he retorted with a pretend glare, but he knew she could see the twinkle in his eyes.
“Listen to your husband,” Mr. Maguildy said. “I’ll get my son to work on your junker here, and we’ll get it back to you, but I agree with Eric. A farm vet needs a good, reliable vehicle.”
She nodded, and as they walked to his truck, she looked back longingly toward her old car. “That thing brought me here all the way from Kansas.”
“Yep,” he agreed. “And now it’s time to put it out to pasture.”
She barked out a laugh as they climbed into his truck. “Oh, bad pun,” she giggled, reaching out to clasp his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.
Thirty minutes later, they parked outside their house on Caspian Lake. Inside, she immediately headed to the shower, and he grabbed the steaks out of the refrigerator where they were marinating. Stepping onto the deck, he fired up the grill.
She soon joined him and encircled her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades.
Once the steaks were sizzling, he twisted around and encircled her with his arms as well. “Thought we’d have the steaks Paul sent,” he murmured, his mouth pressed against the top of her head.
“Mmmm, a taste of Kansas all the way here in Vermont.”
“You sorry?” he asked.
She leaned back and looked up quizzically. “Sorry?”
“About moving from Kansas?”
She smiled, and said, “Not as long as I’ve got friends who can send me beef.” Her smile drooped slightly, and she lifted a hand to cup his cheek, staring into his eyes. “You know the answer to that, Eric. Out there, I had a life but wasn’t really living. Now, with Caroline happily in school and me here with you…this is all I want.”
He moved the barest inch needed to place a kiss on her lips, reveling in the feel and touch of her skin. “I had a life here also, but until you, I wasn’t living either,” he admitted.
“How long will it take the steaks to cook?” she asked, her lips still pressed against his.
“Not long,” he said, then grinned widely. “But, if you’re in the mood for a quickie, we should be able to take care of that.”
Laughing, she ran into the house with him quickly on her heels.
31
Seven Years Later
Eric sat in the rocking chair, the early dawn just beginning to peek through the windows. He had given up his ea
rly morning run for a much better activity, staring down at one-month-old Lisa. Her tiny face wiggled ever so slightly as she continued to sleep. He knew the house would soon be awake and alive with energy and cherished his few moments of quiet time with her.
Hearing a noise at the door, he looked up and smiled. Lydia, wrapped in a bright red robe tied at the waist, leaned her shoulder against the doorframe.
“I see you’ve claimed Lisa early this morning,” she said, her smile warm upon him.
Keeping his voice soft, he replied, “I figured I’d better enjoy her while I can, before the Christmas chaos begins.”
She nodded her understanding and pushed off from the doorframe, taking only a few steps into the room when a small boy rushed past her, calling, “Mom! Dad! Come on—Santa’s been here!”
Before he had a chance to respond to his son, Caroline hurried in. “Oh, my goodness, thank you Eric. I can’t believe I didn’t hear her, but the extra half hour of sleep for Bill and me was wonderful!” She bent and took her daughter from his arms, and said, “Let me nurse her, and then we’ll be downstairs.”
He kissed his granddaughter’s head before leaning over and kissing Caroline’s cheek. Looking down at Eric Jr., he said, “Let’s go, bud. Let’s find out what Santa brought you.”
Wrapping his arm around Lydia’s shoulders as they followed their exuberant six-year-old son downstairs, he knew he was living the dream that, at one time, he had thought had passed him by. He had a wife he loved and adored, and she had given him a child, when he never thought fatherhood was possible.
And, in marrying Lydia, he gained an adult daughter in Caroline, who welcomed him with open arms. He had thought his heart would burst with pride as he walked Caroline down the aisle. And now, having a granddaughter to love, brought his world full-circle.
Settling onto the sofa, he viewed the decorated Christmas tree next to the stone fireplace, and Caspian Lake in the distance through the windows. His son’s shouts of glee as he tore open his presents brought a smile to his face. Caroline and her husband, Bill, sat on the loveseat with Lisa nestled in Caroline’s arms. He looked up to see Lydia walking into the room, a tray of homemade cinnamon rolls and coffee cups in her hand.
As soon as she set the tray on the coffee table, he reached over and snagged her hand, gently pulling her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said, his arms tight around her.
“Merry Christmas,” she replied. “Happy?”
Casting his gaze once more about the room before staring back at her, he said, “There’s nothing more Santa could bring me that would make me happier than I am right now with my family here together.” He watched as her eyes misted, and he grinned. Placing a light kiss on her lips, they were interrupted by their son’s excited shout.
That evening, as the sun set over lake, he watched the evening shadows deepen. Sitting on his deck, facing the water, he propped his feet on the rail as the moon began to rise. Wrapped warmly against the Vermont December weather, he sipped his scotch whiskey.
He appreciated the view and the whiskey, but as he heard his family laughing inside, he did not miss the quiet that he had grown accustomed to. As he sipped the last of his drink, he placed his hands on the arms of his chair and hoisted his body upward. As usual, his knee twinged, reminding him of days gone by.
Moving through the sliding glass door and setting the alarm, he turned with a wide smile on his face. Everything he ever wanted was right there in that room. All of his loved ones, together.
If you liked SEAL Together, check out the other books by me (Including stories with Rank, Bart, and Logan!)
Maryann Jordan
Be sure to follow along with the rest of the books in the Silver SEAL series. Next is Donna Michael’s SEAL In Charge. Here is a sneak peek at her first chapter:
Chapter One
Deep blues and dark purple bleeding into orange and yellow with dawn, haloed the bright orange sphere as it appeared to slowly rise out of the ocean.
There was nothing like an East Coast sunrise.
Archer Malone, U.S. Navy SEAL Commander, (Ret.), had witnessed them all over the world. Some were more vibrant, some more colorful, but none took his breath quite like the ones he’d had the privilege of witnessing from this back deck since he was in diapers.
He shifted the large Adirondack chair holding his two-hundred-five-pound frame to meet the vista head on. Coffee steamed in the mug from which he sipped, while the sound of waves slapping the shore before receding to do it all again hit his ears.
Serene. Peaceful. Heaven.
His little slice of heaven.
A well-earned slice. He’d given Uncle Sam twenty-eight years, twenty-seven of them as a Navy SEAL. Been sliced, shot, battered, bruised and broken, all for the country he loved. The last injury—he rotated his right shoulder and grimaced—got him booted. So, he’d returned to his favorite place.
The small N.J. cottage on Brigantine Beach had been in his family for decades. Many fond memories of spending weekends and a majority of summers here with his parents and older brother had kept him going while trying to survive in some of the world’s worst shitholes, dealing with the darker side of humanity.
Those days were gone. So was most of his family.
No one left but his mother now. Born and raised in Queens, she was a New Yorker through and through. He knew that although she used to love the shore, the memories surrounding this place were too hard for her to bear.
Not for him. They were exactly why he’d taken it off her hands seventeen years ago. His father had worked odd side jobs when not on shift at the fire station just to afford this place. No way was Archer going to sell his dad’s dream. His blood, sweat, and tears.
It was his house now.
His home.
Over the past seven months, since Uncle Sam no longer had use for him, he gave his time and muscle to fixing up the place. The house had sat vacant since he’d purchased it and had been in dire need of repairs. He set his mug on a side table then jogged down to the shore before he turned to eye his handiwork.
The new roof and fresh coat of weatherproof paint made a huge difference to curb appeal. Working on the house had been cathartic, just like his morning jogs. He pivoted and headed south, adopting a fast, steady pace. The cool morning air and fresh ocean breeze clung to him as he ran two miles down and two miles back to complete his four-mile morning run.
Panting, wet, and invigorated, he grabbed his mug and removed a key from the side pocket of his sweats to unlock the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors. Nothing like starting off the day with a brisk run after watching a beautiful sunrise.
Once inside, he rinsed his cup in the sink of the kitchen he’d updated with high oak cabinets, stainless steel appliances, subway tiled backsplash, and granite countertops, as well as a small island snack bar.
It was open now. Not cramped. He wasn’t a fan of cramped spaces.
Yanking his T-shirt over his head, he walked to the bathroom, removing the keys from his pocket before tossing his clothes into the hamper. His bathroom was now bigger, too. He stepped into the large walk-in shower he’d added by tearing down the wall to the small, adjacent bedroom, and considered all he’d done to the place. Even though the bungalow only had two bedrooms now, the updates inside brought the place out of the eighties and into the twenty-first century.
Done with his shower, he got dressed to head down to the marina. Archer always knew he wasn’t an idle person but had thought perhaps retirement would slow him down a little. Kind of a “smell the roses” type of thing. That was a big negatory. He was a doer. Had to keep his hands busy. So after renovating the house inside and out, he went stir-crazy. He was a man of action, not inaction.
Thankfully, his old SEAL buddy, Jameson Knight, owner of the Knight Agency, threw a few bodyguard and security detail jobs his way. But when there weren’t any assignments to keep his marksmansh
ip sharp, or challenges for his physical abilities…boredom would set in.
So he’d bought a boat.
The one he used to fantasize about while on missions overseas. He’d always knew that if he didn’t die over in the sandbox, when he retired, he wanted a boat. But not just any boat.
A beautiful Pursuit OS Fishing Boat with its own bathroom, bedroom, and tiny kitchen. Great for when he’d needed to escape from the world.
Like now.
He parked his truck and headed down the dock to his slip. Only two years old, his boat—Liberty—didn’t require much maintenance. Only routine. Today, he was going to check the hull for corrosion above the water. Yesterday, he’d checked below.
Starting at the bow, he dropped to his knees, slowly working his way aft, utilizing the sun to help on the starboard side.
Although the footsteps were practically silent, he heard the sure-footed approach of what he estimated to be a large male, over two-hundred-twenty-pounds. Couldn’t be for him, though. He wasn’t expecting visitors. Hell, he never got company, and that was just the way he liked it. Must be for the chartered fishing boat in the slip at the end of the dock.
When a pair of expensive, shiny, un-scuffed loafers came into his peripheral view and stopped, he returned his attention back to his chore. All right, so not for the fishing boat, but whatever the guy was selling, he wasn’t buying.
“You’re blocking the light.” He refrained from adding “asshole.” That was yet to be determined.
“That’s the idea.” The deep, very familiar voice had him immediately straightening.
“Crash?” He shot to his feet and turned to properly greet one of his former SEAL buddies. “Good to see ya, you son-of-a-bitch” he said, deploying the old hand-shake-shoulder-bump maneuver. Releasing him, he stepped back and scowled at the guy’s attire. A well-fitting black monkey suit, white shirt, black tie, and dark sunglasses. “Ah, hell. The rumors are true. You’ve been assimilated. Man, I never thought I’d see the day you traded in your uniform for bureaucratic duds and a pencil-pushing government job.”
SEAL Together: Silver SEALs Series Page 21
