The Texas SEAL's Surprise--A Clean Romance

by Cari Lynn Webb

  Abby crossed her arms over her chest. It was darker, more intimate in the storeroom, despite the dust and those pesky cobwebs. “How many have you repaired?”

  “On this street, almost every single one,” Wes said.

  “So you’re an electrician too?” What wasn’t the man capable of? And when would she stop wanting to know his weaknesses? Stop wanting to learn about everything that made him, well, him?

  “Wes was an engineering and advanced demolitions specialist in his SEAL platoon.” Boone’s voice drifted from the doorway. The pride in his tone more than obvious.

  “Wait.” Abby held up her hand. “You were a SEAL? Like a Navy SEAL? In the military.” She didn’t know much about them, but she knew the SEALs were an elite group. Some of the best trained forces in the world. Another level of hero.

  Wes eased around Abby. “Tess, where is your main electrical panel?”

  Tess cleared her throat. “I believe it’s on the back wall. But I think the main panel is in the basement. There’s a flashlight hanging by the door if you go down there.”

  Wes headed deeper into the storeroom. Abby trailed after him.

  “We’ll leave you two to deal with the lights,” Boone hollered. “Shout if you need us.”

  Abby followed Wes down the wooden stairs into the basement. She kept her gaze trained on Wes’s hand and the wide beam of the flashlight. “How long were you a SEAL?”

  Wes stopped at the base of the stairs and opened the metal cover on the out-of-date electrical panel. He glanced at Abby. “Is this another one of your friend conversation starters?”

  “I haven’t met anyone as resistant to talking about themselves as you.” Abby laughed and gripped the railing.

  “I’m not resistant.” Resolve hardened his tone. “I’m private.”

  Abby wasn’t trusted enough to be included in his private world. She should be satisfied with that. She shouldn’t want to be included.

  He unscrewed a fuse, aimed the flashlight at it and frowned. “My mom used to tell me I could talk about my problems or fix them. And if I was talking, I wasn’t fixing.”

  Abby pressed her lips together, surprised he’d revealed something personal. “Was being a SEAL a problem?”

  “Those were some of the best years of my life, also the most challenging.” He pulled another fuse from the box and inspected it.

  Another confession. Another personal insight. Abby didn’t want to push her luck. “Those burned wires don’t look promising.”

  “It’s really not good.” Wes replaced the fuse and examined the next one. “If the others are like this, then the entire space needs to be rewired inside and out.”

  “And if this space needs to be rewired, I’m betting the rest of the building is the same.” Abby searched for her positive energy.

  “That seems to be how it is in these historic buildings,” Wes said.

  “But we can’t afford that.”

  “I can take care of it,” Wes offered. “Frieda’s husband is a general contractor. He can pull the permits, and I can do the work.”

  “Why would you do that?” Abby asked. Her voice came out more charged than she’d intended. He barely knew her or Tess. Running new electrical in a building wasn’t an offer made to acquaintances. And, personal insights aside, that’s all they really were.

  “It’s the right thing to do.” He closed the breaker box and faced her.

  “Do you always do the right thing?” She searched his dark gaze. Because the right thing was to cut off her unwise attraction to this man. Right now. Sever it like the broken wires in the electrical box.

  “Neighbors look after neighbors.” He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  His touch was there and gone. Her nerves fired. Though nothing about her attraction to him short-circuited. Right became cross-wired with wrong. Abby kept her gaze locked on his. “I’ll pay for the supplies.”

  He whispered, “It’s not a problem. Consider us friends.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  WES STOPPED OUTSIDE the Silver Penny General Store and put his truck in Park. He reached to adjust the AC vents to better cool Abby’s side but pulled back. He was giving her a ride to her doctor’s appointment. Only because he happened to be going to the same town for his own reasons that morning. He hadn’t rearranged his schedule for her. Or agreed to make any special trip just for her.

  As for looking after her, Abby seemed capable enough of doing that on her own.

  He had plenty to focus on in his own life. Most important was finding his brother, the missing money and helping Boone.

  Abby appeared. One hand braced against the slate wall of the general store and the other clutching a stainless-steel travel mug. The bun on top of her head loosened with every step, as if preparing to collapse around her shoulders. Her face was an odd gray cast, not exactly snowy-white like the crocheted sweater she wore, but not sickly-green either.

  Wes jumped out of the truck and opened the passenger door. He locked his gaze on Abby, fully prepared to catch her if she swayed into a faint.

  Steps away from the truck, he took her travel mug, then gripped her elbow to guide her into the passenger seat.

  “Sorry. The toast is not cutting it this morning.” She settled into the seat with what seemed like a full-body sigh. Her voice was a faint rattle, lacking its usual resilience.

  “Hang on.” Wes sprinted across the street and convinced himself he’d do the same for any of his passengers. Abby wasn’t special. He rushed inside the Owl, located what he wanted in the kitchen and hurried back to the truck. He set the cracker basket on the console between them. “Maybe these will work.”

  “Thanks.” Abby placed the metal wire basket on her lap and wrapped her hands around it as if cradling a priceless crystal bowl.

  Wes’s phone vibrated in the drink holder. “Do you mind if I take this call? One of our farms changed our delivery order late last night. We need to fix the menu for tomorrow.”

  There. That proved Abby wasn’t special. If she meant more to him than a simple travel companion, he wouldn’t consider answering his chef’s call.

  “Go ahead.” Abby slipped on a pair of oversize sunglasses and leaned her head back on the headrest. “I’m going to keep my eyes closed and think happy thoughts.”

  “It’s one straight road from here to Belleridge.” All the better for Wes to keep an eye on the road and on Abby. He checked her once more.

  She was calm, her elbows tucked into her sides, as if she was mentally holding herself together. The bold turquoise frames of her sunglasses the only color on her face. He added, “There won’t be any hairpin curves. No country back roads. No potholes.”

  The smallest smile flickered across her mouth.

  Wes pulled out onto the street and answered his phone. He greeted his head chef, Nolan Davis, and explained Abby was in the truck too. Nolan offered a quick hello to Abby. Wes said, “So what do we have arriving tomorrow?”

  “Too much zucchini. Broccoli. Cauliflower.” The chop of Nolan’s knife knocked across the speaker. “Limited tomatoes and spinach. No asparagus. No artichokes.”

  Wes tapped the steering wheel. The fried asparagus and artichoke-spinach dip typically sold out on Tuesdays. The dip was an original menu item: the recipe, passed down through Boone’s family, hadn’t changed since the bar had opened more than fifty years ago.

  “Zucchini corn fritters,” Abby offered. “And buffalo fried cauliflower.”

  Wes glanced at her and aimed the AC vent in her direction. Uncertain if the glare from the sun was responsible for the color creeping into her cheeks, he figured more air wouldn’t hurt. “Nolan, did you get that?”

  “Yeah.” There was a shuffling noise across the line. “Abby, what else you got?”

  “Broccoli beer cheese soup. A grown-up grilled cheese with a
vocado, tomatoes and bacon.” Abby shifted in the seat, picked up a package of crackers and ripped the wrapper open. “And bacon-wrapped onion rings.”

  Nolan’s laughter burst across the line. “Are you a chef too, Abby?”

  “Not at all.” Abby broke the cracker and stared at it as if wishing she held one of those onion rings. “Just offering a few of my favorite menu items.”

  “Abby, what’s your favorite appetizer not on our menu?” Nolan asked.

  “Soft pretzel bites and dip.” Abby chewed on her cracker, then sipped her tea. “It’s all about the dip too. It makes it or breaks it.”

  “Challenge accepted.” Nolan’s animated voice bounced around the truck cab. “I’ll make you a believer.”

  “I look forward to sampling your creations.” Abby chuckled. More color tinged her cheeks before quickly receding.

  Wes ended the call. “Thanks for the menu ideas. They were good.”

  “You sound surprised.” She opened another cracker package.

  He was. Wes knew what he liked. What he could cook without burning. But for the bar and grill he leaned heavily on Nolan for menu guidance. “Are you one of those really skilled home cooks?”

  “That was my Grandma Opal. She created her own recipes.” Abby broke the cracker into small pieces as if her stomach could only tolerate the tiniest of bites at a time. “I worked as a hostess at a popular local diner. Then became a waitress and finally had a short stint as an assistant to the manager.”

  “What happened?”

  “Diner closed.” Confusion and sadness tinged her words. “Overnight, without any notice to the employees. One day the diner was open and seating customers. We all had jobs. And the next morning we had nothing.”

  He knew that feeling. One day he had a brother, a home on the family ranch to return to and a plan for his life after the military. Within twenty-four hours, he’d lost his inheritance, his family and his future. “What did you do?”

  He’d spent an evening in a dive bar before staggering over to a dingy motel room to sleep it off. Not one of his finer moments. And the last time he’d turned to alcohol for answers to his problems. But he couldn’t picture Abby wallowing. She was too positive. Too upbeat.

  Abby straightened the cracker packages inside the metal basket. “I decided I needed something more reliable and took a job at a matchmaking company.”

  That must have been a fit for her. With her optimism and enthusiasm, she most likely believed in soul mates and true love. Happily-ever-afters and story-book romances. Nothing he subscribed to these days. “Were you good at the matchmaking?”

  “Awful.” Abby shook her head, spilling her soft laughter toward him.

  He liked the sound: light and appealing. It filled him, sweeping into those restless places inside him. He wanted more of her like this. But that would mean a course correction. Altering the lifestyle he’d built and the one he intended to maintain even after he left town.

  She added, “I did like planning the events and bringing people together for a fun evening.”

  And Wes did like Abby. For the first time in years, he wished he was someone else. Someone she deserved. But he’d lost too much to ever risk like that again. He cleared his throat. “Isn’t that what a matchmaker does?”

  “I wanted people to find each other organically. I created the space and the moment.” Abby finished her cracker and brushed the crumbs off her denim sundress. “I assumed the couples who were meant to be together would discover each other on their own.”

  “And they didn’t?” Wes kept his gaze fixed on the road and not on Abby. She wasn’t his destination.

  “Not to my boss’s expectations,” she said. “Two to three matches in a crowd of thirty potential matches was not good enough. And definitely not worth the expense of the event.”

  “What happened to the couples you matched?” he asked.

  “They are still together.” Abby crumpled the empty plastic wrapper. “I lost my job. Left my boyfriend. Then came straight to Texas for a fresh start.”

  Wes flexed his fingers around the steering wheel and tried not to release the questions backing up in his throat. Diving deeper and learning more about Abby wasn’t necessary. Served no purpose. He already liked her as she was. That was enough.

  Getting to know her better might make him reconsider his path. Whereas he had to remain focused and find his brother. His entire future hinged on that. And now, so did Boone’s. Wes’s future wasn’t a woman who’d swept into town one morning with nothing more than her suitcases and a pocketful of hope. Besides, foundations that lasted weren’t built on wishes.

  Yet whenever he looked at Abby, a twinge of hope stirred inside him.

  He pulled into the parking lot for the medical offices of Dr. Cynthia Carrillo and stopped near the entrance. “We’re here.”

  Now he was off the hook. No more getting personal with Abby. Or even considering it. Her business she could keep to herself. Like he wanted.

  “You don’t have to come inside with me.” She stuffed several cracker packages into her purse and opened her door. “I’ll be fine.”

  “The supply store isn’t open for another hour.” He tugged his keys from the ignition and reached for the baseball cap on his back seat. “And it’s already too hot to wait in the truck, even with the windows down.”

  Abby lifted her face to the sky and frowned. “Texas does take hot to another level, doesn’t it?”

  Wes laughed, and followed Abby inside Dr. Carrillo’s office and appreciated the welcome, cool air-conditioning.

  Another couple was already seated in the waiting room. The woman was much further into her pregnancy than Abby and shifted every few minutes as if uncomfortable. She clutched the hand of the man seated next to her and kept her other hand protectively curved over her stomach. Water trickled from a large rock fountain in the opposite corner of the waiting room. And a dozen colorful fish swam in a large aquarium. The misty gray walls and navy-and-white floral print of the contemporary armchairs encouraged a Zen, spalike feel.

  Wes sat in a chair beside the fountain, skipped his gaze over the baby and parenting magazines covering the coffee table and pulled out his cell phone. Nolan hadn’t texted any more updates from their farm suppliers. And there was only one shift-change request from his wait staff. The day was unfolding slow and easy like he preferred.

  Abby dropped into the chair beside him, a clipboard and pen in her hand. “Are you sure you want to wait in here?”

  Wes glanced up from his phone.

  “It’s just...” Abby stopped writing and shifted to face him. Her pen wobbled in her grip. “Doesn’t all this make you uncomfortable?”

  Uncomfortable was wearing one hundred pounds of gear and jumping out of a moving aircraft at over twelve thousand feet in the pitch dark to a blind landing on a snow-covered mountain. It was training through extreme sleep deprivation—the kind few could handle. And plunging into hypothermia-inducing waters in the middle of the night for an ambush. The SEALs had trained Wes to embrace uncomfortable, accept it and never falter.

  He watched Abby, noted her teeth pull on her bottom lip. And the nerves tremble through her uneven breath. He tucked his phone away and kept his gaze on hers. His voice shifted into neutral; he wanted to sound composed. “I’m good. But it’s not about me. How are you?”

  She blinked. Then blinked again as if his question had stumped her. “I’m...”

  “Ms. Abigail James.” A nurse stood in an open doorway. Her purple scrubs and smile cheerful.

  Abby rose, fumbled with the clipboard and adjusted her purse on her shoulder.

  The nurse held open the door for Abby, then to Wes she said, “We’ll be back to get you after her exam.” Her bubbly voice did seem reassuring.

  Wes gripped the armrests. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Partners are always
allowed back.” The nurse meant to be encouraging. Helpful.

  Abby spun around, wide-eyed and panicked. “He’s not...”

  And for the first time in years, Wes faltered. Words escaped him. Confidence drained from his voice. “I’m just the driver.”

  Abby disappeared. The nurse nodded, her smile dimmed several watts. She scribbled a note on her chart and turned away. The door clicked softly shut.

  Yet something inside Wes banged like a drum. He was desperate to know what the nurse had written on Abby’s chart: Single mom. Alone. No father. Only her driver present.

  Driver.

  That was the very best he could come up with? Not neighbor? Support? Friend?

  Wes rose and tugged on the collar of his T-shirt. Had they turned off the air conditioner? The office was suddenly hot and stifling.

  He retreated outside and headed toward the shade of a massive oak tree across the parking lot. He leaned against the thick tree trunk, lowered the brim of his baseball cap over his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Had he ever pictured himself being the other half of a couple like the one inside Dr. Carrillo’s waiting room—terrified and excited about the arrival of a child? He’d vowed never to be like his own father: a leaver. But a wife and kids and a family of his own? Those hadn’t been connections he’d wanted or even considered during his military career. But now...

  He rubbed his chest. Those things required love and trust.

  Yet he didn’t trust in family anymore. A lesson his father’s desertion had taught him and his brother’s betrayal had followed on. Blood ties meant nothing. Even his mother’s love for his father hadn’t mattered. His father had still walked away.

  Now Wes trusted in himself. As for love, he’d never trusted that. Ever.

  So he would remain Abby’s driver. Nothing more. Just as it should be.

  The trip to Belleridge had never been about exploring his misplaced feelings for Abby. He had other priorities and bigger concerns. Like making sure that Boone could keep living on the ranch and that those horses wouldn’t need to be rescued again.