Mary Had a Little Problem

Mary Had a Little Problem

By Destiny Blaine

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 S Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118

Mary Had a Little Problem
Copyright © 2011 Destiny Blaine
Edited by Corrie Blackmon and Venus Cahill
Cover art by Les Byerley,
www.les3photo8.com

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-371-3

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: August, 2011

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Once again, I dedicate this novella to Corrie, my Resplendence editor.

Thank you so much for being such a conscientious editor. I appreciate and treasure your advice and thank you for your patience.

It’s been a pleasure working with you. I will miss you.

Prologue

Mourning the death of her husband began at the sound of the first shots fired. For some reason, up until then, Mary kept thinking she’d awaken and discover she’d been having another nightmare. Instead, reality set in and delivered its final blow. The ceremony in progress jolted her back to the present with a new understanding.

She was attending her husband’s memorial. Luke was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

Mary had somehow remained stoic throughout the service, fearing if she looked up, turned to her left, or glanced right, she might meet a stranger’s gaze. She refused to lock eyes with those in attendance, realizing their hearts were full of pity.

Many of them knew Luke. Some of them had fought beside him. Others were there to pay their respects to a fallen soldier, but they didn’t know the man behind the uniform, the husband behind the Navy’s finest SEAL.

There was another powerful blast, and the jarring sensation came with a deafening and most eerie sound of a three-round volley. The air was thick with tension. Those in attendance jerked with every shot resounding through the hills.

Mary’s tears finally came, flooding her cheeks until the rapid falls ran dry. It was then when Mary understood a truer meaning of taps.

This was the end, the most monumental signal of all. It was time to turn out the lights and go home. The final seconds in the last hour approached. Now, she was expected to accept the fact that her happily-ever-after ending wasn’t meant to be. Mary needed to find a way to come to terms with the facts.

Her husband was dead. She couldn’t bring him back.

Lieutenant Lucas Worthington once spoke of a soldier’s death, an honorable death, the kind of burial all soldiers hoped they’d find. If Mary had been given one last chance to talk with Luke, she would’ve told him that this death wasn’t a clean death, as he’d once discussed. This casualty, no one understood.

Luke should’ve been careful what he wished for, and Mary should’ve selected a husband more wisely, refused to fall in love with a man destined to die. Mary gave her heart to a Navy SEAL. He, in turn, fell in love with the notion that freedom was won, honor easily earned, and death only came to those who were fighting for the wrong side.

Mary wished for one last opportunity to tell Luke her point of view on the subject now, perhaps show him the error of his ways, and explain devastation in a simple woman’s terms.

At that moment, she wanted her husband to know how she felt. She longed to explain her agony. But it was too late for that, and she wasn’t sure she could put her sorrow into words.

Still, Mary longed to see Luke one last time. She would’ve given her final breath if she could’ve held something substantial in her arms, perhaps something to show her, help her grasp the idea that the love she’d cherished was lost. The man she’d worshipped was gone, and his funeral was anything but a bad dream.

Her life had turned into a nightmare. Without a body to bury, Mary had a feeling she’d never awaken from the hellish world that had somehow become her horrific reality.

Chapter One

Luke had been gone for six months, not even a year. Why Mary was sitting on a barstool listening to a bunch of drunks boast about women they’d pursued, enjoyed, or borrowed, was the million dollar question. She’d heard enough and was about ready to leave when the door slammed behind her. She turned to see her sister prance across the floor, working those hips and practically stepping high enough to slide her feet out of her expensive pair of high-heel shoes.

Snapping a kiss on her cheek, Mary said, “Nice of you to make it.”

“Sorry, hon. I got caught at the office,” she said, stripping off her business jacket. “It’s a buyer’s market out there, and right now, I can’t afford to let a potential sale get away. We have more houses on the market than we’ve had in three decades.”

Mary shrugged. She knew nothing about the current housing market and cared very little about real estate sales.

She’d grown up around the business, listening to agent babble all her life. The only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that her mother and father spent their lives rushing here and going there for one client or the next. Eventually, the job interrupted their marriage. More precisely, their careers destroyed her family. Her father just came in one day, packed his bags, kissed them goodbye, and they never heard from him again.

Mary used to imagine her father as a traveling salesman, going from town to town in order to sell homes across the United States. After she matured and realized her father was never coming home, she’d often wondered if she remembered everything there was to recall about the man she wanted desperately to understand. After she became a teenager, Mary sometimes imagined her father must have pissed off a contractor, who in turn, killed him. He’d been buried under a concrete slab, a solid foundation for a home he somehow failed to sell on speculation.

It was a morbid thought, but not as gloomy as believing her father just didn’t give a damn.

“I’m starving,” Anna said, reaching for a menu.

“We could’ve gone anywhere in Beaufort, but you chose a military hot spot. Why?”

After Anna reassembled the salt and pepper shakers, she knocked over in her pursuit for the drink list, she said, “I like Frank’s burgers.”

“Frank?”

Anna tilted her head toward the old guy behind the grill. “And they’re having karaoke tonight.”

“You’re singing?”

“She always sings,” Frank said, approaching them. “You must be Mary. Anna has told me a lot about you.”

“I hope she told you a few truths to go along with whatever fibs she’s pitching.”

“All we’ve heard here is what a pretty sister she has.”

“See there?” Mary said, grinning at her older sibling. “I can’t turn my back on her. I swear, the girl whispers tall tales whenever she has the chance.”

“I don’t know about that,” a soldier said. Dressed in civilian clothes, but every ounce of hard flesh screaming soldier, the newcomer slapped a handful of cash on the bar. “From my own assessment, looks to me like
the girl
spoke nothing but the truth.”

Mary’s skin heated. A lump lodged in her chest. She cleared her throat and looked at Anna who seemed all too pleased her sister had just been hit on by a military guy.

“Thank you,” Mary whispered, shooting Anna a sideways glance. What was it about Anna? She constantly tried to set her up with a man ready to fight—and die—for his country.

There wasn’t any doubt in Mary’s mind—Anna knew this soldier. They kept making eye contact and arching their brows at one another. Soon, they’d be whispering behind cupped hands and passing notes back and forth on bar napkins.

“What can I get you ladies tonight?” Frank asked.

“Put their drinks on me,” the big guy said, nodding toward the scattered bills.

“Do you know him?” Mary asked, lowering her voice and watching as the soldier shook hands with a few fellows at the end of the bar.

Anna grinned, stuffed a handful of peanuts in her mouth, and chewed. “Frank, set us up with two margaritas.”

“You got it.”

“Well, do you or don’t you?”

“Sure I know him,” Anna replied around a jaw filled with nuts. After she took a swig of water, she called out, “Brock, if you’re gonna buy us drinks, the least you can do is get over here and meet my sister like a proper gentleman.”

“I wasn’t sure you would formally introduce us,” Brock said, working that strut for all it was worth.

Since Luke’s death, Mary had avoided men like Brock. Anna couldn’t get enough of them.

“You have a point. A smarter woman might keep you all to herself,” Anna quipped, pushing her long auburn locks over her shoulders. “But since you’re buying drinks, Mary, meet Brock Taylor. Brock, this is Mary Worthington, my little sister.”

Brock’s dimples widened, and Mary wanted to sink back into the hole where she’d been hiding and stay there forever. Without a doubt, Brock and Anna were close friends. They were too comfortable around one another. Then again, Anna was confident with all men. A trait Mary possessed too, before Luke.

Mary could almost see Anna’s wheels turning. She was plotting, planning. Heck, she probably pictured her in an off-white wedding gown marching through a sword-drawn Sabre Arch by now.

“Give the guy a chance,” Anna whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Brock didn’t look like he had any trouble finding opportunities. If Mary had him pegged, he saw her as another notch on his belt, one more conquest to explore.

Anna had most likely told this guy about the hard times she’d fallen upon since her husband’s death. But that was the least of her worries. Mary didn’t appreciate the way Brock studied her. She didn’t like how her body reacted under his scrutiny. Her palms were clammy. Her knees knocked together.

Worse, every nerve ending in her body seemed to come alive with a tiny spark of knowledge. She was keenly aware of this guy, this handsome stranger.

The night out with Anna was not going well by any stretch of the imagination.

Brock owned an easy swagger when he strolled over and took her hand in his. Midnight blue eyes pierced through hers, and they seemed to warm her, console her in some way. He winked and smoothly said, “Mary, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard enough about you to consider us old friends.”

She wished she could say the same.

Clearing her throat, she mentally cursed herself for becoming putty in his presence. “Nice to meet you, too,” she finally managed, though she didn’t mean a word of it. Mary didn’t want to become acquainted with another military man, a soldier with rugged appeal, a sensational smile, and soothing touch.

This Brock guy was handsome, sexy, and far too dangerous. Anna’s matchmaking was uninvited and came too soon.

Mary didn’t want to respond to a man the way she’d just reacted to Brock, especially after such a short introduction. She made a mental note to give Anna a piece of her mind later. A smarter woman would’ve stood up and left without saying goodbye.