Heart of a Marine (The Wounded Warrior Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” he hummed. “Hey, Red. Wait! I’ll need a copy of the invoice.”

She stopped, dug through her briefcase with a vengeance, found the invoice and thrust it toward him, noticing again the two missing fingers on his left hand. Maybe he wasn’t as good with power tools as he seemed to think.

“Here, take it, Dempsey.” She held the paper at arm’s length to avoid getting any closer.

Why, she asked herself, did she put up with him? Two reasons—he was the best in the business, and his father and her father had been best buddies for over fifty years. The two old friends were known by their pals as
The Double D’s—
Dempsey and Danaher.

She wouldn’t fire Dwayne as long as he was doing his job, but she could plan his murder. Maybe she’d ask Char to shag him to death. No, maybe she’d do it herself. Have a little fun while getting rid of him. He’d learn not to mess with her.

Cheeks on fire over her thoughts, she rejoined Charlene. “Let’s go before I commit a felony.”

Char’s beautiful face scrunched with confusion. “Is he related to that old cutie pie, Johnny Dempsey? He looks like him, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he’s John’s middle son. The one we seldom saw when we were kids because he left to live in Wyoming with his mother.”

Light dawned like the sunrise in Charlene’s eyes. “Oh, yes, now I remember. Barry or Harry said Dwayne hated the wicked stepmother.”

Harry and Barry, their twin brothers. Identical twins, not fraternal like Charlene and Marla. Twins ran in the Danaher family. Two Danaher’s for the price of one. Or, as they privately joked behind Dadley’s back—he only got two cracks at it. Maybe that’s all Bradley wanted with their ditzy mother, Silvia. What a family. If it wasn’t for Marla, they’d fall apart. When her mother had complications after the birth of the boys, Marla spent a lot of time taking care of them. Gradually, with Silvia’s free and easy compliance, she took over more and more of their care. Taking charge came natural to her.

Fortunately for Marla’s busy schedule, the restaurant was only a short ten minutes away from the jobsite.

Barry and Harry sat waiting for them in the deli. College boys, they looked the part, like they’d come straight from Central Casting. At seven years younger than Marla and Charlene, few people, including their immediate family, could tell the two twenty-year-olds apart. The boys often finished each other’s sentences, and their gestures were like mirror images. It was beyond fascinating to watch them. She had a hunch their professors had long ago given up accusing them of cheating when their test results were nearly as identical as they were.

Electrical engineering geniuses, her boys would someday be filthy rich, live in ocean front mansions in Malibu, drive matching silver Jaguars, have gorgeous trophy wives, and two perfect sets of identical twin children. But for now they were still her baby brothers, and they understood they darn well better not cross her.

Charlene smiled as they made their way through the deli crowd. “There they are. Let’s go sit with the best-looking men in the room.” She sashayed the rest of the way to their table. “Hey there, sailors,” she vamped, “want a date?”

The boys laughed, stood up like proper gentlemen, and held chairs out for them. They’d already ordered iced tea all around.

Marla’s baby brothers always evoked a feeling of gooey warmth and love in her chest. She took credit for everything they did right, and blamed Charlene when they’d misbehaved or cursed. Insisting Charlene quit teaching them profanity, Lord and lordy lord became a permanent part of her sister’s vocabulary.

Barry, or Harry, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “How’s it going, BS?”

BS was short for Big Sis, a term of endearment the boys used for both her and Charlene. Being word misers, they spoke with as few words as possible. Why, she didn’t know. Charlene used enough for all of them, so it balanced out.

She noticed the little fleck of gold in Barry’s left iris. “I’m fine Honey Barry. Have you two visited Miss Emmaline lately?” She raised an eyebrow. “She’s very fond of you boys.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. She asked when you’d be home from Cal Tech for spring break.” She looked across the table. “Harry, did you go to the nursery to pick up that potted hydrangea for her balcony?”

“In the car.”

Charlene asked, “Why is she living in the middle of a big construction project? It must be a pain for the crew to work around her.”

Marla’s thoughts exactly. “It was a condition of the construction contract when Dempsey accepted the job. He didn’t want to displace her while they worked on the building. He insisted they could complete the project with her there with very little extra time.”

“Oh.” Charlene nodded. “Did you boys order lunch for us?”

“Cheeseburger for you and—”

“—chef salad for Marla.”

That’s what she meant about finishing sentences.

“Good. Just what I wanted.” Marla was sick of chef salads, but the boys were so smug about being able to read her mind, she didn’t want to burst their bubble.

“We know,” they said.

She barely had time to take a sip of the tea when the waitress brought their plates. Harry, Barry, and Charlene had humongous cheeseburgers and mountains of heavenly smelling fries. Marla swore the waitress twisted her lips when she handed over the salad as if to say, “Diet isn’t working, chubby.” Wait until the skinny little snot saw the tip she’d get for that look.

Charlene produced a to-do list from her large shoulder bag, purse, overnight-emergency-whatever that she always lugged. Prepared for any eventuality, her Charlene was. God bless her fun-loving little heart. She listened as Char droned on about the singles meet-up. Marla ate about half her salad and pushed the plate away. Half an hour later, she checked her watch and yawned.

Charlene rolled her eyes. “OK, Marla, I get it. You’re on a tight schedule.” Char eyed the boys. “Remember, do your dazzle-the-girls-thing and don’t mess up my perfect plans. You’re there in case Marla or I get stuck with a creep.”

The boys bobbed their heads. “Gotcha.”

Char took a dainty sip of tea to wash down a big mouthful of fries. “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you boys know Dwayne Dempsey was working on the condo project with Marla?”

“Nope,” they said.

“You probably don’t remember him, but he’s Johnny Dempsey’s middle son. He’s, oh, lordy lord, the most gorgeous bundle of testosterone on two feet, if you ask me.”

“We didn’t.” They snickered.

Marla interrupted. “First of all, Charlene, he’s working
for
me, not
with
me. I own the building. It’s my project, my design, and my money.”

Char rolled her big, expressive eyes. “So sorry. A minor detail.”

“Hardly. I pay his wages.”

Char flashed a dismissive finger wave. “Whatever. You have to admit he’s the best-looking man in town.” She smiled at the boys. “Other than you two, of course, and guess what?” She winked. “He wants to get in Marla’s pants.”

That was enough. Marla smacked her hands on the table. “What a pile of horse feathers! You believe all men think about twenty-four-seven is sex?”

The three of them turned to her with identical smirks and bobbing heads. “Um hum.”

* * *

Dwayne served Amber a plate of macaroni and cheese with Vienna sausages then sat across from her at the kitchen table. “Now, that wasn’t such a lot of homework was it? I told you we’d get through it in no time.”

She grinned, her cheeks puffed with food like a hungry squirrel. “Daddy?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”

She nodded and swallowed. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“How come I don’t have a mommy? All my friends have mommies.” Her big golden eyes could always melt his heart.

“You had a mommy. She couldn’t stay with us. You already know this, hon.”

Amber propped her cheeks in her hands. “I don’t remember her, but I smile at her picture in my room every night before I go to sleep.”

He touched her nose and smiled. “Your mom loved you very much.” The lie sat bitter on his tongue. Francine wouldn’t have left if she cared a damn about either one of them.

“I know, Daddy, but couldn’t you get me another one?” She took on a practical tone. “If you got us another mama you wouldn’t have to do everything around here, you’d have a grownup lady to hug and kiss, and I’d have somebody to show me how to make a French braid.”

Dwayne chuckled. “Yeah, I kind of botched that up, didn’t I?” He marveled at the workings of her six-year-old mind. Where had that grownup hugging and kissing idea come from?

She wrinkled her nose when he put green beans on her plate.

“Just a few. They’re so good for you. If you had a mom, she’d make sure you always ate your veggies.”

“Daddy, they’re yucky.” She pulled a face. “They’re green.”

“That’s why they’re called green beans.”

They chewed in silence for a few minutes. Amber grudgingly ate her beans, acting all the while like they were poison. She took a big swallow of milk. “Daddy?”

“What, honey?”

“Are you too old to get me a new mommy? Grampa Johnny says you’re a bratcherler. What’s that?”

He laughed. “First of all, I’m not too old, and I’m not a bachelor. Uncle Cluny is a bachelor. A bachelor is a man who never married. Grandpa’s wrong, but don’t tell him I said so. We wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, would we?”

She grinned. “No, we’ll make it a secret from him.”

“Good girl.” He stood. “Now, Marine, hop to and march your plate to the sink, and then go fill the bathtub. I’ll do the dishes and put the movie on when you’re ready.”

Dwayne wasn’t sure how many more times he’d be able to sit through Cinderella. He’d coax Amber to consider a new movie next week, but tonight he was too tired to argue about it.

Yes, he wanted to marry again, to get her “a new mommy.” He didn’t know the first thing about mothering a little girl. He was raised in a family of boys. A broken one at that. Amber could use a feminine influence, and he needed a “grownup lady” in his life. Boy, did he ever.

He envied his buddy, Cluny. Cluny flitted from woman to woman like a bee pollinating a rose garden. When he left one rose for the other, they parted the best of friends. How did he do it?

Dwayne would love to break his long, very long dry spell, but he had no interest in adopting Cluny’s lifestyle. He wanted permanence, a partner in every way. A steady woman he could make love with, laugh with, argue with. A smart, challenging, and uncomplicated woman who chose to be there every day for him and Amber.

Cluny had set him up on a couple of blind dates that weren’t worth the price of a babysitter. It was a problem. At thirty-one, with a kid, his prospects were skinny. Desperate single moms scared him more than an Iraqi soldier aiming an RPG at his head, and the thought of Amber ending up with the kind of stepmother he and his brothers got kept him awake nights.

He loved women and he loved to flirt, but the only woman who piqued his interest was Marla Danaher. She had it all in his book. Smart, sassy, opinionated, never married, a magnificent head of strawberry hair, a great rack, and lush hips he itched to get his hands on. The problem—she thought he was a jerk. Ah, well, he could dream.

Every time he pictured gorgeous Marla he got a throbbing ache. He glanced down at his work boots. What would she think if she knew only one boot held a foot? Was Marla the kind of woman who would see beyond his reminder of Iraq and realize he didn’t need two legs to be the man for her? One of these days he’d convince her he was sincere, but for now all he seemed to do was annoy the woman. It was probably best if he’d back off and tone it down.

Amber was his number one priority.

Later, after her bath, Amber stood next to him and buttoned her feet-in bunny pajamas. She tugged his pant leg. “Daddy?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“I don’t want to watch Cinderella again. I want you to read me a story.”

What a relief! Dwayne tossed the dishtowel on the counter and swept her over his shoulder. He smacked her little bottom then planted loud kisses on her cheeks and chewed at her neck, laughing when she squirmed and giggled.

“Daddy, put me down!”

“Do I have to? You’re so warm and cuddly, and you smell so good. I want to eat you up, my pretty.” He proceeded to growl at the other side of her neck.

Kicking and squealing, she barely choked out, “Daddy, stop!”

He reluctantly set her on her feet. “OK. What story do you want me to read?”

“Cinderella.”

* * *

Marla ate peanut butter and chocolate ice cream out of the pint container she’d picked up at Baskin and Robbins on her way home from work. Why put it in a bowl? She lived alone, seldom had guests except for family, and didn’t allow Skipper to have ice cream even though he begged without letup with his bulgy brown eyes. He’d mastered the
have pity
expression.

She patted the adorably fat Chihuahua. “Chocolate is poison for doggies, Skip. I’ll give you a peanut butter treat later. Don’t pout. I shouldn’t be eating this either, but at least it won’t kill me.”
Although death by chocolate would be a great way to go.

The phone rang. “Hi, Char. What, no date tonight?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Caller I.D. Ever heard of it?”

“Don’t be such a snarky pants. I’m working on Dadley’s birthday party next month. Do you think we should go all Mexican on the appetizers or mix it up?”

Every year Charlene went to great lengths to plan a
surprise
party for their father. He hated surprise parties, so Marla always told him the date in advance. That way he could look surprised and happy
and
actually enjoy the party.

“He loves anything Mexican. How can you go wrong, unless you were considering a piñata? That would be over-the-top.”

“Forget that. Mom would kill me if a single scrap of cellophane ended up on her precious lawn.”

“We should have the party at the country club.”