The SEAL's Valentine (Operation: Family) (4 page)

Right on cue, the school bus soon enough arrived on their street.

Cayden gave Tristan a final hug before dashing off toward his ride.

With her son gone, Brynn meandered over to where Tristan strong-armed one of the fort’s plastic roofs into position. “Need help?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

Shielding her eyes from the sun, she said, “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be done by this afternoon.”

“Hope so. Cayden told me his party’s Saturday. That’s only two days away.”

“Don’t remind me.” She groaned. “Between the added yard work and baking, I’m starting to regret the whole idea. Plus, he’ll be seeing a lot of the boys who made the little league team.”

After screwing the roof in place, he said, “I’ll tackle the lawn.”

“That’s not what I meant. Please don’t think I was fishing for a helping hand. You’ve already done too much.”

He ignored her protests in favor of continuing to work. He seemed so driven, she felt as though she were an intruder in her own backyard. And then, he stopped. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Go for it.” His expression seemed so serious, she almost smiled. Was Mr. Privacy finally going to open up? Even with his eyes narrowed and mouth set grim, he was still far too handsome for his own good—or maybe, that should be for her own good!

As if nervous, he tossed the lightweight cordless drill from hand to hand. “Like me, you had a crap marriage, right?”

“I guess...” Where in the world was he going?

“Well, last night a friend said I should date, but why? Guess my question for you is—in light of what you went through with Mack—do you feel the same? Like the train left the station on that whole part of your life?”

“You’re amazing.” Her knees nearly buckled from the shimmering relief of having a kindred spirit when it came to understanding the emotional pain of what Mack had put her through. “My friend Vivian is constantly hinting she’s found the perfect guy to hook me up with. No matter how many times I tell her I’m never going to be interested, she refuses to listen.”

A muscle popped on his square, whisker-covered jaw. “Amen.”

She told herself the sudden lightness in her chest had nothing to do with Tristan, but in truth, it had everything to do with him. Before they’d met, she’d believed herself utterly alone when it came to her rejection of all matters having to do with the heart. “No one gets the fact that Cayden and my baby girl are all I’ll ever need.”

“I do,” Tristan quietly said. “Although, at the rate your grass is growing, if you still don’t want to take me up on my offer to mow, you’re going to have a long, hot afternoon.” When he blasted her with a slow, crooked grin, Brynn lost all power to deny him. What would it hurt for him to do her one, last favor?

* * *

“
T
HAT
’
S
JUST
RIDICULOUS
...” Vivian had parted the living-room curtains and sat practically salivating over Tristan mowing Brynn’s yard wearing nothing but cargo shorts and leather flip-flops. “Outside of movies and magazines, I’ve never seen a man with a body that hard.”

“Stop!” Brynn scolded in a stage whisper even though they were alone.

“Why? It’s not like he can see or hear me. And besides, I might be married, but I’m not dead. If I were you, I’d be all over that.”

Clearing her throat, Brynn pointed to her bulging belly. “Reality check? Even if I were in the market for a man, I get the impression Tristan’s never going to be in the market for another woman.”

“They all say that.” Vivian finally lowered the curtain. “But just you wait. Before too long, I guarantee that man will be sniffing skirts just like the rest of them.”

“Do you have to be so crude?” Brynn shifted positions so that Tristan and his amazing chest were out of view.

Vivian rolled her eyes. “Do you have to be such a prude?”

“Let’s agree to disagree and work on the party.” Consulting her list, Brynn asked, “Did you ever find the pony guy’s number? I know it’s short notice, but Cayden’s been so upset about not making the team, I want this birthday to be extra special.”

Back to ogling Tristan, Vivian said, “You do know the next town over—Boynton—has a noncompetitive team? I’m sure Cayden would be more than welcome to play with them.”

Something about Vivian’s tone set Brynn on edge. “Cayden wants to play with his friends.”

“He’ll make more.” She’d again turned back from the window.

Brynn wasn’t sure how to respond. Her aunt had raised her to always be polite, but this was one case when she’d like nothing more than to give Vivian a piece of her mind. “Hasn’t your son ever wanted something, only not to get it? Cayden’s already lost his home and father and friends in St. Louis. Would it kill you to show a smidge of compassion?”

Leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, Vivian said, “Okay, whoa. You took that completely wrong. All I meant was that if you really want Cayden to play ball on Ruin Bayou’s competitive team, at the very least you’ll need to invest in a private coach.”

“Brynn, didn’t you tell her?” Tristan stood in the open door, the full, muscular breadth of him blocking the light of the sun.

Mouth dry, pulse racing, Brynn asked, “T-tell her what?”

“That I’m Cayden’s private coach. And by the time I get done helping him, he’ll easily outhit any kid on that team.”

Chapter Four

With Vivian thankfully gone, and Tristan and his mouthwatering chest in the front yard weed-eating, Brynn had finally gotten around to hanging her small family’s clothes on the line. Mack’s grandmother who’d lived in the home before her hadn’t owned a dryer. In the winter, it’d sometimes been rough finding a warm enough sunny day, but now that she’d gotten the hang of living more simply, Brynn had started to like it.

In St. Louis, the housekeeper had done laundry. Here in Ruin Bayou, Brynn had grown to find pleasure in the simple comfort of handling her son’s small clothes. She’d lost so much, but whenever she was tempted to abandon herself to pity, she remembered how many blessings she had left.

“Haven’t seen a woman under seventy doing this in a while...” Tristan rounded the corner of the house, blasting her with his lopsided smile. If she asked politely, would it be wrong for her to request he put his T-shirt back on? “If you need a dryer, I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind you doing loads at our house. Or, I could help you haul it all to the Suds & Swirl.”

“That’s okay.” She’d come to one of her bras and shoved it beneath a sheet. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Sure.” He folded his arms, which only exaggerated the size of his forearms and biceps. Like Vivian had earlier observed, his body was indeed ridiculous.

“Um, thanks, too, for your help mowing. The yard looks great for Cayden’s party.”

“Sure. By this afternoon, I should also have the fort finished.”

“You’re amazing—doing all this for strangers.” She pinned the first corner of the damp white sheet to the line. The fresh scents of laundry detergent and just-mown grass and the wholly masculine aroma of a man who’d spent hours working hard in the sun blended into an intoxicating balm that, had it been possible to bottle and sell, might’ve been called
Home.
Which only compounded the situation’s awkward-factor.

Before she’d even found the sheet’s other corner, Tristan already had it in hand, stretching it for her. “Let me.”

“Tristan, stop.” After placing a pin in the center and another near his hand, carefully avoiding even the briefest contact, Brynn shook her head. “You can’t imagine how much I appreciate your help, but I’ve got this. I might look helpless, but I’m still getting around fine. The baby’s not due for another month and that’s far too long for me to spend every day lounging on the sofa.”

Ignoring her request, he took a towel from the basket, folding it over the line before helping himself to her clothespin bag. “How was your pregnancy with Cayden?”

“Different.” Her heart couldn’t bear thinking of the exquisite nursery her little boy had had. The opulent, over-the-top showers. The private room in an exclusive VIP wing at a birthing center. Friends, servants and Mack, doting on her 24/7.

“I’ll bet.” He seemed as if he wanted to say more, but once again, didn’t.

“It’s a special time—at least it was for me with Cayden. This go around...” She shrugged, fighting back tears. Changing the subject was a must. “What you said when Vivian was here—about you helping Cayden with his baseball? I can’t thank you enough for once again offering your help, but...” She shrugged.

“But let me guess—you can do it yourself?”

Steeling her grip on the wicker clothes basket, Brynn nodded. “I made the mistake of depending on Mack for essentially everything, and I’ll never do it again. For my sake, for my children’s, I can’t.”

He laughed, which only incensed her. “My personal life might be a mess right now, but if there’s anything being in the navy has taught me, it’s that you’re always stronger surrounded by a well-oiled team.” Grabbing his T-shirt from where he’d draped it over the back of a patio chair, he shrugged it on. “Something you might want to think about as you head into battle.”

“I’m raising a little boy and will soon have a baby girl—that’s love, not war.”

He turned his back on her, sauntering toward Cayden’s fort. “Not sure what planet you’re living on, but pretty sure raising even one kid isn’t for the faint of heart—I can’t imagine what it’s going to take for you to handle two.”

* * *

T
WO
HOURS
LATER
, B
RYNN
finished applying the last of the cream-toned nursery trim paint.

Even though it’d been a while since he’d been gone, Tristan’s words still resonated deep within Brynn. Though she’d refused to admit it, he was right about parenting—especially when it came to handling it all on her own. But then what made him an expert? Did he even have a child of his own? She had enough of a financial cushion to last a few weeks after her daughter’s birth, but after that, she’d juggle infant care, housework and cooking with a job.

Did the thought scare her? You bet. But even more terrifying was the notion of once again giving up control.

With Cayden soon to be home, Brynn popped the lid on the paint can and washed her brush in the bathroom sink.

Her baby had been extra active and the kicks and rolls had taken a toll on Brynn’s lower back. Navigating the stairs proved tough, so she took her time, keeping a firm hold on the rail.

By the time she’d reached the bottom, Cayden’s bus screeched to a stop, so she put on a brave face and smiled when opening the screen door to greet him. “Hey, sweetie! Have a fun day?”

“Yeah!” He crushed her in a drive-by hug before racing through the house to bolt out the back door. “He finished! My fort’s done!”

For all the frustration she’d felt for Tristan, watching her son climb the ladder of the fort’s slide filled her with an entirely different emotion—gratitude. No matter how much she wanted to believe she could handle every aspect of her life on her own, in this particular mission, he’d proved her wrong. And considering how resolute she felt in her belief to hold tight to her independence, she hated that chink in her shiny new defensive armor.

“Mom!” Cayden hollered from his swinging bridge. “Come play pirate with me! We can use sticks for swords!”

Heart melting with love for her sweet son, Brynn not only made it across the yard to grab “sabers” from the brush pile, but she managed to hold her own against the cutest pirate she knew. Her happiness in the moment would’ve been complete, save for the lingering reminder that the only reason her son’s smile shone so bright was because of Tristan’s generosity with his time, strength and above-average assembly skills.

* * *

“Y
OO
HOO
!”

The next morning, Brynn was too pregnant to attempt ducking behind a bush to avoid her elderly neighbor, Georgia Booth. Having successfully dodged her for months, the effort itself had grown more tiring for Brynn than the fear of letting yet another new person into her life.

Kneeling in her front flower bed, planting marigolds she’d found on sale at D-Shawn’s, Brynn gave her neighbor a wave. “Good morning, Mrs. Booth!”

In ten seconds flat, the white-haired woman made it across the street and into Brynn’s yard. “Fine day for planting.”

“That it is.” Rocking back on her heels, Brynn smiled. “Your elephant ear bed makes me crazy with envy.”

Georgia reddened and the size of her grin tugged at Brynn’s heart. “Nice of you to notice. I planted those bulbs when my Harold—bless his soul—was off fighting in the South Pacific. They were so exotic. Made me feel closer to him.”

“What a nice story. Knowing the history of how those gorgeous plants came to be makes me love them even more.” Not to mention, wish she had more happy memories of her own. Mack’s death and resulting scandals had soiled everything they’d shared to the point Brynn often felt, aside from Cayden and the baby girl about to be born, she’d have been better off never knowing Mack at all. “Your husband did come home? From the war?”

“Oh, yes. Harold finished pharmacy school and ran the corner drugstore for nearly forty years. His oddball habits drove me crazy, but I still miss him.” Eyes welling, Georgia pressed her hands to her heart.

Which made Brynn teary, too. “I—I’m so sorry I haven’t taken the time to get to know you sooner. Working on the house and caring for my son—well, not that any of that is a good excuse, but I’ve been busy.”

Georgia waved off the apology. “Aren’t we all? But now that we are acquainted, no more avoiding me behind your rosebushes.”

Brynn gasped. All this time, Georgia had known?

“I might be old,” she said with a sly grin, “but I’m not blind. Whether you like it or not, the rumor mill in this town has been churning up a storm about you. I know your whole story and it breaks my heart. Mack might’ve had his wild streaks, but at heart, he was a good boy. Losing him didn’t just hurt you, but all of us.”

Chest aching, Brynn managed, “I—I’m not sure what to say.”

“No words necessary.” After taking the spade from Brynn’s hands, Georgia helped herself to the flat of marigolds, planting one before Brynn could even open her mouth. “Unless, of course, you want to invite me to this big birthday party I’ve heard your sweet Cayden is having.”

* * *

“W
HAT
’
RE
YOU
WEARING
?”

Late Saturday morning, Tristan looked up from the spy novel he’d been trying to lose himself in to check if his mom had developed spots or a fever. Nope, just a still-flushed complexion from her latest stint on the treadmill. “Why would you ask that?”

“You are planning on going to Brynn’s son’s party, aren’t you? You built the afternoon’s main attraction—other than the birthday boy himself.”

Tristan reread his latest page.

“Ignore me all you want, but not only do I think you should go, but you should wear something nice. I heard through the garden club grapevine that there will be no less than six eligible women in attendance.”

He whistled. “You want me to start something with all of them or just a few?”

“Don’t be fresh.” She took her two-pound hand weights from the coffee table. “Wouldn’t kill you to get out of here—did my heart good, seeing you help Brynn and her boy.”

Weary of his mom’s meddling, he marked his page and tossed his book to the sofa. “I’m mowing the lawn.”

“Hasn’t it only been a few days since you last did it?”

“Yeah, but it’s the only place I can go without you yapping at me.” He kissed her cheek. “I appreciate you caring—really, I do. But I’m good. Getting better every day.”

“Then prove it by for once, shaving, then putting on a pair of khakis and a nice shirt. Since I already bought a gift for Cayden, you can just add your name to my box. Not that I was invited, but I thought you might be.”

Laughing, he said, “You’ve covered all your bases...”

“Which reminds me—rumor has it you also volunteered to help little Cayden with his hitting. Want to tell me about that?”

Tristan winced. “Nope.”

His cell rang. Andrea. Was Jack okay?

“Who is it?” his mom asked.

Already on the way to the screened back porch, he told her before answering, hating the pain in his stomach that always accompanied just hearing his ex’s voice.

“Hey,” he answered, arms crossed, leaning against a wood column. “Everything all right with Jack?”

“Great.” Though the reception was crap, her tone struck him as breezy. As if she hadn’t a care in the world. Why did she get to be happy, yet he’d basically lost everything? “Only we’re on a day cruise, and I guess being on the water reminded Jack of his dad. He wants to talk to you.”

“Cool.” Tristan’s heart soared. His biggest fear wasn’t dying in a third-world country, but having his own son forget him. The fact that Jack remembered the times he and Tristan had spent on the water meant a lot.

“Dad?”

Tristan’s eyes welled and he wasn’t sure he could speak past the knot in his throat. “Hey, buddy! Hear you’re spending a day in my favorite place.”

“We’re on the Pacific and this boat is pretty big, but not even kinda the size of the ships you took me on. It doesn’t have awesome guns, either.”

Tristan laughed through silent tears. “Did you at least bring your own weapon in case pirates attack?”

“I have my best squirt pistol, but Mom said I couldn’t wear my battle helmet because I might not see good enough and fall off the boat.”

“That makes sense.” Wiping his cheeks with his wrist, Tristan laughed and nodded, picturing his son on the bow, fending off imaginary invaders.

“Well, I gotta go. Peter bought me food to feed the seagulls.”

“Be careful,” Tristan said, resenting the hell out of Andrea’s new husband for assuming his role. Although with Tristan having been gone three-quarters of the last year they’d been married, how much of an active part in Jack’s life had he really played? “They’ve got sharp beaks.”

Jack laughed. “I will, Dad! Love you!”

“Love you, too, bud.” Though his son had broken the connection, Tristan held his cell like a life raft, with the backs of his hands he took another swipe at his eyes.

“You okay?” His mom stepped up behind him, placing her comforting hand between his shoulder blades.

Though he was anything but
okay,
for her sake, he nodded. “I’m good. Sounds like he’s gonna have a great day.”

“How about you?”

“What do you mean?” Still unable to face anyone, he stared out at the lush backyard, focusing on the sweet-smelling honeysuckle winding up his mom’s pagoda. The quick-growing plant already needed a trim.

“I mean, are you going to Cayden’s party? Or you gonna sit around here and mope?”

“Mom,” he managed, aching to his core. “I know you have the best intentions, but please stay out of this.”

“But—”

Busting open the screen door with the heel of his hand, he strode across the backyard, intent on taking a run. Didn’t matter that he only wore leather flip-flops. What mattered was running as fast and far as possible from his problems—which now happened to include his well-meaning, yet nonetheless interfering, mom.

* * *

S
INCE
C
AYDEN
’
S
DAD
HAD
BEEN
gone, and he didn’t make the baseball team, Cayden hadn’t been sure he’d ever be happy again. But then Mr. Tristan built his pirate ship fort and now all his friends were over and brought presents and his mom made a cake and his face hurt from smiling. And there were a
really
whole lot of presents!