by Seton, Cora
So he’d mumbled his excuses. “I’m going to drive down the coast.” The opposite direction from Bree. “And then check out the Grand Canyon.”
She’d sent him a postcard of the North Rim and the place had looked fucking gorgeous. All that open space and the rocky mountains with their backdrop of perfect blue? Absolute heaven. He should’ve asked her if she wanted to go.
But he’d chickened out.
His one chance to see her, to hold her again, and he’d wanted to do it. But…he’d known she had finals and that she was stressed over her senior thesis. Her work schedule was crazy too. She wouldn’t have time for him and he shouldn’t intrude. And…there’d been that one letter from his dad.
No, not from his dad. From his dad’s wife, a woman who was most definitely not his mother. Whatever had happened in the twenty-odd years since the man had hightailed it out of Sacramento, it was ending now in a Las Vegas hospice. His dad was dying, the new wife wrote, and he’d like it if Zack could come and say a final farewell. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other ever and, even now, they still weren’t talking. His dad’s replacement wife was doing it for them.
Still, if there was one thing that he’d learned from this last tour of duty with the SEALs, it was that you took your chance when it came. If he didn’t go and see his dad, he wouldn’t get a second chance. He could write to Bree. He knew she couldn’t come with him, even if he’d asked her to and it seemed like a hell of a lot to ask a wife he hadn’t seen in over two years because visiting a dying man wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant. She had finals and she needed to do well if she wanted to graduate this year. He wouldn’t get in the way of that. He was a grown man. He could visit his dad on his own. He didn’t have to have Bree by his side, even though he really (really) wanted her there.
So he’d gone to Vegas and Joey had gone home to Strong.
Afterwards, he’d redeployed and waited for her to write to him. And waited. Waited some more. Joey got a box and a letter. He…got nothing. Message received. He should have let go of her then, but he’d wanted their connection. Needed it. He a selfish bastard and he wanted her in his life somehow, so he’d fallen back on postcards. Eventually, the boxes started coming again, but no letters. For eighteen months, she’d sent him cookies and gag gifts that had him reading between the lines. But no words.
And he really, really wanted her words.
Wanted to hear from her. About her graduation (Joey had flashed pictures of Bree in cap and gown, beaming from ear to ear as she waved her diploma over her head) and why she’d headed back to Strong after all. Joey mentioned she had a job at a local antiques store and it took him two months, but he got a book on antiquing and forced his way through it. He’d be ready if she wanted someone to go with her.
She hadn’t asked.
And now she was asking for a divorce. Or an annulment. It was the same thing in his book: she wanted him officially out of her life. He’d had his chance and he’d blown it, unless he could convince her to give him a second chance.
“You wrote to me,” he pointed out, inches away from the living, breathing woman. This was far better than the oceans that had separated him or even reading her naughty words. No one had ever gone to so much effort for him before. “Your letters were great.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. A real pretty pink tinged her cheeks. She’d put pen to paper, but apparently she’d never planned on discussing those letters.
Which was too damned bad, because her letters had been a lifeline in the desert and an anchor when shit got rough. Of course, her words had also had been a sexy fantasy and damned fun. She’d written about what they could do to each other someday when he came home and, particularly on the bad days, he’d kept going because he’d had that future to look forward to. He knew that at least half of what she wrote had to be pure fantasy and that there was no way they’d be taking a picnic blanket out to the gazebo in Strong’s town square and going at it in public. It was fun to think about though. Too bad he had no idea how to tell her that.
Or that he’d be game to make whichever pieces she wanted come true.
*
Bree had written Zack letters and sent him care packages. Cookies. Sundries. All the bits and pieces the websites said deployed soldiers craved. Zack had been her private fantasy and, while the other women in her book club passed around romances and picked out book boyfriends, she’d hugged her secret close to her heart. She had her very own SEAL, hers until death did them part—which actually was a possibility she had to consider, given where he’d been deployed.
Eighteen months ago, he’d had his opportunity to come and see her. That was the elephant in the room, right? Joey had come home. Joey had even invited Zack to ride along but, instead, Zack had chosen to go to Vegas. Thinking about that hurt. She could have understood if he’d wanted the flash and the lights and the fun of kicking loose in Sin City—but he could have called her. She could have joined him there. They could have shared a hotel room and brought some of those fantasies to life.
But he hadn’t called.
And she’d realized that the fantasies were just that—fantasies. Words on paper and nothing more. They certainly weren’t promises or even a roadmap for the future.
Whatever the story was with his dad, he hadn’t shared it.
And he totally could have.
“Plus,” Zack continued, like she wasn’t about to implode from embarrassment, “You sent me an invite to this cookie thing.”
He produced a glitter-covered invitation from the pocked of his flannel shirt. When she’d sent him the card, she hadn’t actually expected him to accept. After all, the occasional cookie shipment aside, she hadn’t written to him in eighteen months. Sending him the invite had simply been an impulse she hadn’t been able to resist when she’d been making up her guest list. Why should this year be any different? He’d been in Afghanistan and, even when he had had leave, he hadn’t made it back to Strong. Sending him the card had been purely habit.
“Surprise,” he said dryly, interpreting her speechless silence correctly. “Here I am.”
He was her husband.
He was back.
“It’s a long distance to go for cookies,” she said, because how did she ask him What do you want? Are we going to have sex? How do I know you won’t leave again and trample my heart beneath your way-too-sexy steel-toes?
“I don’t actually like cookies,” he admitted. “Although I’m sure yours are great.”
Fantastic. Damned by faint praise.
“I sent you cookies for years,” she said and then felt stupid. He knew that. He’d been opening the boxes, although clearly he’d misunderstood the next step. He was supposed to eat the cookies and think of her and home and…she was an idiot. She couldn’t package up Strong and squeeze it into a box, anymore than she could make this man care for her. He’d married her because they’d screwed up (literally) and he was responsible.
She stared down at their hands, fingers tangled together. He was wearing his wedding band and she had no idea what that meant.
“The guys loved your packages,” he was saying. “I practically had to fight them off whenever a new one arrived.”
Great. She was the unit cookie fantasy. “Did you share everything with them?”
“Not your letters,” he said. “Those were mine.”
That was something. The lead reindeer raised and lowered its animatronic head, gears whirring.
“Why are you here?” She really, really needed to know.
Zack looked at her. “Because you’re here,” he said, like it was that simple.
A twenty-four hour, unconsummated marriage of convenience for insurance benefits and he’d crossed the ocean, driven the six-hundred-plus miles from Coronado. Did he really think they could pick up where they’d left off? She wanted to throw herself into his arms—or run into the bedroom and lock the door. Honestly, she wasn’t sure which side of the door she wanted him on. Fantasizing was all well and g
ood, but Zack was more real than anything she could have imagined.
He looked tired, exhaustion tugging at his face like he hadn’t slept well or enough for far too long. A bed would fix that, but time had also etched sun lines into his skin and left new nicks and scars on his big hands. He was a little rougher, a little more worn than thirty-six months ago, but he was also every bit as big and sexy as she remembered. And that was part of the problem right there. She’d done a whole lot of remembering.
“Bree?” Heat curled through her when he said her name, followed by a delicious lick of arousal. Her girly bits reminded her that disuse wasn’t good for anyone and that the man next to her was her legal husband. Except she was wearing an old pair of stretchy leggings that did her thighs no favors and her favorite Christmas sweater. Red plaid and reindeer stencils didn’t seem like seduction-wear. Nor did the laundry-day panties she’d grabbed because, hey, if you were going on a cookie-eating binge, you didn’t want elastic binding you. She was also twenty (thirty) pounds heavier than she’d been when he’d married her.
“What do you want?” He angled his body so he was facing her and her girly bits sighed with pleasure. He was gorgeous.
“You want to stay married?” Somehow, she’d assumed that, if and when he came back, he’d file for an annulment. Technically, they hadn’t consummated their quickie wedding, even if they’d anticipated it. She was pretty sure that was grounds for an easy break-up. “I mean, I’m no prize.” She waved a hand at herself in case he’d missed the obvious extra bits. “I work in an antiques shop and make barely enough to keep the lights on. I’m just this side of broke, although I do come with a house.”
Which she’d inherited from an auntie.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he growled, actually sounding angry. “And I’m not here for the house, although I wouldn’t mind seeing the bedroom. With you. I’m here for you.”
Wow. She blinked at him.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “Every fucking inch of you and I’m a lucky man.”
Talking had clearly been a mistake, because she was hanging on every word that came out of his mouth. He leaned in and, God, they still had chemistry. Far, far too much chemistry.
“Let me show you.” His voice came out all rough and growly and his hands were gathering her up, pulling her closer in an effortless way that made her feel sexy and desirable and—almost—made her forget about those extra pounds. Apparently, he didn’t mind. In fact, he appeared to like her just the way she was. Except that, possibly, she had on too many clothes.
“Zack.” She sighed his name, knowing the pink on her cheeks was getting brighter. She was going to kiss him on her front porch. She leaned up, her fingers tangling in his flannel. Exhaled…
The roar of a Harley approaching at Mach 2 split the silence. As Bree lurched backwards, Zack twisted, facing the street. Joey slid his bike into the empty space in front of Zack’s truck, breaking at least a half-dozen traffic laws. Out of habit, Bree checked the street for Sheriff Hernandez. The woman excelled at busting her brother’s balls, which Bree suspected was actually her brother’s twisted version of a courtship plan. He ran. He roared. The good sheriff noticed.
“I could kill him,” Zack offered. She was almost certain he didn’t mean it.
Still, it was good to be certain.
“He’s my brother. We’re part of a package deal. Give me some time to talk to him, okay?”
Zack brushed a kiss over her mouth as Joey pounded up the sidewalk. He let go of her fingers. “I’m staying at the fire station.” The unspoken words Until you invite me into your bed hung in the air between them. “Think about me.”
*
Joey stopped his forward assault, waiting for Zack halfway up Bree’s sidewalk. “Should I hit you?”
Debatable.
Zack knew the only reason Joey hadn’t hauled off and punched him was because this kind of behavior on Zack’s part was something new. Zack hadn’t fooled around on their overseas deployment. Ever. He’d enjoyed a few beers at the local bars, kicked back with the guys, but he’d always, always left when women showed up. Joey didn’t know that was because Zack was married, but maybe that reserved behavior would work in his favor now anyway. On the other hand, they’d served as Navy SEALs together for two tours of duty and Joey had asked Zack to look out for his little sister if shit hit the fan and Joey didn’t make it back home. Naturally, Zack had agreed. After all, he’d already made that promise straight to the woman herself.
While Zack considered options, Joey stood there and gave him stink eye, which Zack also totally got. The guy was here to look out for his sister and Zack respected that, even if said sister was currently beating feet back into her house. If he’d stuck around after their hasty wedding—if he’d come back from his first deployment—that bungalow could have been their house.
“Talk to Bree,” he decided, and moved to his truck. What happened next in their marriage was her call. He opened the door and slid inside.
“You don’t get to hurt her.” Joey strode over, arms folded over his chest, probably so he kept his fists to himself. For all Joey’s seeming impulsivity, the man was a master planner who thought through the consequences of his actions. Hitting Zack would be burning bridges, and Joey clearly wasn’t certain yet what his sister wanted.
Which made two of them.
Joey wasn’t done explaining his position either. “No one hurts her. That’s my deal.”
Zack thought about the last few years and where he’d been. The things he’d done. He hadn’t broken his marriage vows—when he made a promise, he kept it—but he wasn’t winning any prizes in the husband department either. Sharing health benefits wasn’t enough. He knew that. He also knew that explaining his and Bree’s relationship to Joey wasn’t something he was looking forward to.
“I’m going to head over to the firehouse. You know where to find me.” He had a bunk lined up there for the next couple of nights. While he’d rather be sharing Bree’s bed, he wasn’t that much of an ass. She might be curious about him, but he doubted she was ready to invite him for a sleepover. As much as he enjoyed teasing her, but he wouldn’t make her feel threatened. Having a big, badass SEAL show up on her doorstep probably hadn’t been part of her plans for the evening. They had stuff they needed to settle about their marriage, but he had time now.
Joey glued himself to the driver’s side door. Zack was willing to bet that he could drive off and Joey would still be hanging on.
Joey cursed. “Katie texted. She said you and Bree are married. Is that true?”
Zack had no idea who Katie was, although she must have been one of the cookie exchangers.
“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It’s true. We’re married.”
Joey bristled, clearly not happy with the news. “Mind telling me when this happened? And why the fuck no one told me?”
“Thirty-six months ago. We got married the day after that Christmas dance I took her to.” As for Joey’s second question, he had no idea. That was the God’s honest truth right there.
The blonde EMT gal came skidding out of the house, her steel-toes banging on the porch. She reached Zack’s truck in record time and elbowed Joey out of the way with ruthless efficiency. “Oh. Good. You’re still here.”
Blondie shoved a white cardboard box at him. “You forgot your cookies. If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
Reflexively, he took the box, cookies rattling as he set it on the front seat. “Good to know.”
“I mean it.” She leaned in his window and stabbed a finger into his chest. “I know people.”
He eyed the box of cookies. He’d let the guys at the firehouse enjoy the bounty and he’d hope like hell that Bloodthirsty Blondie hadn’t doctored the dough or dusted the lot with something toxic.
“Jesus, Laura.” Joey didn’t sound surprised, however, so maybe the blonde’s behavior was simply par for the course. Whatever. Laura ignored Joey and stomped back into the house. Zack was fairly certain sh
e wouldn’t be putting in a good word for him with Bree.
“She and Bree are friends,” Joey said, just in case Zack hadn’t figured that out by himself. He got it all right. “I need to talk to Bree.”
Joey sounded about as enthusiastic over the prospect as he would have been about as a root canal without anesthetic. Or storming an insurgent stronghold while under fire.
He let go of his death grip on Zack’s window and stepped back. “Were you planning on telling me?”
“It was private,” Zack admitted.
Their marriage—roughly all three thousand minutes of it—had been exactly that. Something between him and Bree. She’d clearly gotten over her infatuation. Or…he remembered the letters and grinned…had channeled it in other directions.
“Is it over between you?”
“I hope not,” he said. “I want a chance at this, Joey. I’m not messing around with her.”
“Good.” Joey didn’t take his eyes off Zack. Good that Bree had all these people watching out for her. She hadn’t been alone when he’d been gone. Hell, he was fairly certain she hadn’t needed him, except possibly for the obvious. Bree wasn’t the kind of woman who cheated, so he was betting she hadn’t had sex in the last thirty-six months either.
He flipped the key in the ignition and Joey leaned back in the open window. Apparently, his friend still wasn’t done talking.
“I knew she liked you. She sent you more boxes than she did me.”
“Jealous?” He’d looked forward to her boxes. Her letters. Pretending he could smell her touch on the things she’d packed.
Joey shrugged. “Bree’s a nice person and she loves Christmas.”
They both eyed the lawn ornaments. There was no doubt about Bree’s passion for Christmas decorating. She probably was the kind of woman who collected lawn gnomes and pink plastic flamingoes. He looked forward to finding out.
“Don’t ruin Christmas for her.” Joey shook his head. “That’s all I’m asking, okay?”