Unmasking the Maverick

by Teresa Southwick

  “Could have been a Corps drill instructor,” Brendan observed.

  “She’d take that as a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one.”

  The other man nodded then stirred cream and sugar into his coffee. “So, how long were you in?”

  Brendan knew he meant the length of his military service. “Fourteen years. I enlisted after high school.”

  “You always wanted to be a soldier?”

  “Something like that.” Mostly he’d wanted to get away from home. He’d signed up before his dad got dumped by yet another woman in his life, then felt guilty leaving Leon alone when he was going through such a rough time.

  “How many tours did you do?”

  “I deployed to Afghanistan three times.”

  “Rust Creek Falls is the polar opposite of Kabul,” J.T. said.

  “Unless a car backfires.” Brendan hadn’t meant to say that, but he saw agreement in the other man’s eyes.

  “How long have you been out?”

  “Year and a half. My father had cancer. I came home to take care of him.” Brendan stared at the coffee in his cup. “He died six months ago.”

  “Sorry for your loss, son.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So you’re still adjusting to civilian life.”

  “Still being the operative word. In most ways it feels as if I’ve just started. The first year with my dad didn’t seem to count. It was sort of regimented. Doctors, treatment, drugs, survival.”

  “And it took your mind off all the things you didn’t want to think about.”

  “Yeah.” Something clicked inside him, as if a connection was made and a current of understanding flowed freely. The memories were always there, waiting for something to trigger them. He knew that it had taken the military brass a long time to recognize post-traumatic stress as a very real syndrome for men and women who served in a theater of war.

  J.T. obviously lost his leg. He’d come home and all these years later seemed to have a normal life. What had it taken to get him here?

  “How did you get past it?” Brendan met the other man’s gaze and knew he understood the question. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Not at all.” He took a cookie from the plate and bit into it. “We got married before I was drafted and sent overseas near the end of the war. I was lucky enough to have her to come home to. Right away she got pregnant with our first child, Kyleigh. And I didn’t have time to think about ’Nam. I had a family to support and I worked as an electrician for a construction company in Kalispell. Days were busy. It was at night when the war terrors came back.”

  “How so?”

  “Nightmares. Things you push away in the day come out then and there’s no way to hide it, as much as you’d like to. Eddie’s no one’s fool.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was smart enough to open up and talk about what I experienced, and then I let her love the horror of it right out of me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And every day I try to let her know it.” J.T. drank the last of the coffee in his cup. “Speaking of that, if you’re ready, we can start here in the kitchen, replacing that ceiling light. I’ve got a stepladder in the garage. I’ll show you where it is.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, Brendan chatted with the couple as he went from changing spotlights to putting up outside Halloween decorations to checking out a noise in the refrigerator. But in the back of his mind, the veteran’s words rolled around. Love was the answer. If so, that was a problem. What did a marine veteran do when love was the enemy?

  * * *

  Fiona walked into the kitchen and smelled bacon and eggs when her taste buds had been expecting something completely different. “I thought you were going to make Grandma’s pumpkin waffles.”

  “I was.” Her mother turned off a burner on the stove. “But Grandma’s waffle iron isn’t cooperating.”

  “What’s wrong?” Fiona walked over to the counter and lifted the heavy metal lid. “Looks okay to me.”

  “It won’t heat up.”

  “But it’s October. We always have pumpkin waffles on Sundays in October.”

  “I know.” Maureen sighed.

  She didn’t miss the distress in her mother’s eyes that could turn into tears any second. The woman loved her mother’s waffle iron. It was one of only a few mementos she had and the thing was used frequently, keeping Grandma’s memory alive. Maureen O’Reilly didn’t just pull an old appliance out of the cupboard. With it came the stories, tender and quirky, about the feisty woman who had raised her.

  “Isn’t the batter already made? Can’t you make pancakes instead?”

  “I could. But the experience isn’t the same without the tradition.” She sniffled and blinked, stubbornly refusing to give in to tears.

  “Maybe Dad can look at it. I’ll go get him,” Fiona offered.

  “No. He already checked it out and pronounced the thing dead. So he went to mend fences in the north pasture.”

  “No way. It’s family day.”

  “I got a little emotional.”

  And her father couldn’t stand to see his wife cry, especially if he couldn’t make her feel better. “Oh, Mom—”

  Maureen shrugged. “He said it was old and maybe it was time to get a new one. But they don’t make things like they used to and there’s no character in them. Just instructions you can’t understand and buttons you don’t know what to do with.”

  “Maybe it can be fixed, Mom.”

  “I already told you. Your father is ready to throw it out like a used tissue.”

  “No, I meant Brendan Tanner. He took care of Eddie Halstead’s blender. She’s singing his praises all over town.”

  Her mother’s expression brightened. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you were upset and there hasn’t been anyone in Rust Creek Falls who could do it before. You should take it to him,” Fiona suggested.

  “That’s a great idea.” Maureen shook her head. “Would you mind dropping it off for me? I’m making pumpkin bread today. Halloween isn’t far off and the holidays will be here before you know it. I have to start the holiday baking and freezing.”

  Her mother baked a bazillion loaves for gifts and get-togethers from now through Christmas. Maureen O’Reilly’s pumpkin bread was a very big deal.

  “Don’t you need me to help you with that, Mom? The waffle iron can wait. You can drop it off on your way into Rust Creek Falls the next time you go.”

  Her mother arched one eyebrow. “Is there some reason you’re avoiding Brendan?”

  “No.” Did she say that too fast? “Of course not.” Was she protesting too much?

  “Then why don’t you want to see him?”

  Maybe because she wanted too much to see him? If she said that, there would be a talk, which would be a waste of time. He’d kissed her, sampled the wares so to speak, and lost interest. Apparently she didn’t light his fire.

  “Who says I don’t want to see him?” she protested.

  “Good. Then take Grandma’s waffle iron over to him today. And don’t leave until you have a prognosis.”

  “He’s probably not even there, Mom. Since he fixed our tractor, other ranchers have been after him to look at their larger equipment. His skills are in high demand.”

  “Good. Then just drop it off. You won’t have to even see him.”

  As much as Fiona didn’t want to take a chance on seeing Brendan, there was no getting out of this. “Okay.”

  Maureen O’Reilly wore stubborn like a winter coat. She put it on when necessary, then shrugged out of it when the job was done. She smiled sweetly, then hugged her daughter. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

  So that’s why, a few minutes later, with a
breakfast sandwich to go, she was on her way to Sunshine Farm with Grandma’s on-life-support waffle iron. She couldn’t shake the feeling this trip was flirting with fate, but she hadn’t done much flirting at all recently. So, what the heck?

  After turning off the road onto the property, she smiled. It was hard to look at the sunshine-yellow barn and be grumpy. She parked nearby, then grabbed the square appliance from the seat beside her and got out of the truck. A memory washed over her of chasing little Jared Stockton into the barn and meeting Brendan Tanner for the first time.

  In the looks department he was a standout, but she’d spent some time with him since and found he was so much more than just a pretty face. He had courage, loyalty, integrity—and baggage. Well, who didn’t?

  She’d really hoped to just leave the appliance and a note because he was out working on someone’s tractor, but that turned out not to be necessary. He turned when she walked through the doorway of his workshop.

  “Fiona.” He sounded a little surprised. “Hi.”

  Was it her imagination or just wishful thinking that he looked pleased to see her? “Good morning. Although I guess it’s almost afternoon now.”

  “Yeah.” His gaze dropped to the appliance she was holding against her chest like armor. “What do you have there?”

  She blinked at him, then remembered. Walking closer, she set the thing beside the lamp he was working on. “It’s a waffle iron.”

  “I figured,” he said wryly.

  “You’re probably on your way out to fix something bigger and more important. But when you get a few minutes could you take a look at this? For my mom.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “It won’t heat up.” She couldn’t say the same for her. Standing this close to him made her skin burn. Nonchalance would be so much easier if she didn’t have vivid memories of how wonderful it felt to be held in his strong arms.

  He lifted the heavy lid and glanced at the individual squares inside. “No heat makes it nothing more than a doorstop.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have a look right now.”

  “I don’t want to keep you. But I have explicit orders from my mother to stay until you’ve fixed the thing or pronounced it dead. But it really can wait.”

  “I’m in no rush.” He laughed. “And this sounds really serious.”

  Humor transformed his face, making him look younger, more carefree. It was an expression that could have a woman swooning if she wasn’t careful. “I don’t mean to sound so dramatic, but this means a lot to my mother because it belonged to her mother. She makes waffles and passes on the story of how Grandpa courted Grandma when they were still in high school.”

  “Sounds special.” He was looking at the cord. “This is frayed and that means electrical current isn’t getting through.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She touched a hand to her chest. “My mom will be so relieved.”

  “Happy to help.” He didn’t look at her, but his voice took on a wistful note when he asked, “Did you know your grandmother?”

  “Yes. She was so wonderful. I miss her, too. She died a couple of years ago, way too young. It’s one of the reasons my mom is so sentimental about this thing.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” She couldn’t read his expression.

  “I was just wondering what it’s like to have a mom,” he said.

  At dinner the day she’d met him, he made that cryptic remark. Necessity is the mother I never had. Fiona had been curious then, but said nothing. She knew him better now and if he didn’t want to answer, he would change the subject.

  “What happened to your mom?” she asked gently.

  “She left my dad when I started kindergarten.” He worked while he talked, baring the wires, stripping them with a plier-like tool.

  The words and tone were conversational, but devoid of emotion, as if he was talking about someone else. But Fiona’s heart hurt for the five-year-old boy he’d been. “She just walked out without a word?”

  “No, there were plenty of words. She explained everything to me.”

  “That must have been one heck of an explanation, because I don’t understand how a mother could leave her child.”

  “She said she’d been unhappy with my dad from the beginning. Turns out she only married Leon because she got pregnant and was scared. She didn’t know what to do.”

  “But you were just a little boy. That’s heavy stuff to lay on you.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He met her gaze for a moment. “She said she picked the name Brendan because it’s Celtic for sword. Warriors used swords and I needed to be brave.”

  “So she never planned to stay.”

  “Apparently. She waited to leave until I was in school and child care would be easier for my dad. He was handsome and a good man but she needed more excitement. The truth was she wasn’t mom material and she said I would be better off with just my dad raising me.”

  Fiona was stunned at the amount of information the woman had unloaded on such a young child. “I have to say, I agree with her about her lack of maternal instincts.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t know what to say. At least she didn’t walk away without a word? Or she’s just a selfish witch.”

  “My dad went with the witch one. And a few other more colorful descriptions that I can’t repeat in front of a lady.” Mentioning his dad put emotion in his eyes and none of it was the warm and fuzzy kind.

  “How did he take it?”

  “Nearly broke him,” Brendan admitted. “The sadness—” He shook his head. “I was young, but even I could see it.”

  “I don’t remember much from being five,” she said. “But I guess a life-altering crisis like your mom leaving is pretty hard to forget.”

  He inspected the repaired waffle iron cord, then plugged it in to test it. After lifting the lid, he felt the inside and smiled at her. “Heat.”

  No kidding, Fiona thought. When he looked like that she could almost feel steam coming out of her ears. “My mother will be so happy. She’d give you her first-born, but Ronan might have something to say about that.”

  “Something tells me you’re right,” Brendan said wryly. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “Me, too.” Then he looked a little sheepish and she asked, “What?”

  “I didn’t mean to go on about my past. Don’t know why that all came out. Sorry—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “No apology necessary. What are friends for?”

  “Is that what we are?”

  “I hope so. And friends talk to each other about what’s bothering them.”

  “So, let’s even the score. Anything bothering you?”

  “Just how much I owe you for fixing the waffle iron.”

  He thought for a moment. “What about a horseback ride?”

  Warning bells were sounding, but she could barely hear because her heart was pounding so hard. “You fix the tractor and buy me dinner, then you repair the waffle iron and want to take me riding.”

  “Is that a yes or no?”

  “It’s a ‘keep this up and I’ll be your best customer.’” She felt as sunny and happy as the cheerful color of this barn. “So, yes, it’s a yes.”

  A big fat affirmative. Because being careful was highly overrated.

  Chapter Eight

  Brendan wasn’t sure about Fiona becoming his best customer, but she was his best something. At the roundup he’d looked forward to seeing her every day. When it was over, he’d missed her. When she came in with that waffle iron, he’d been so damn glad to see her. The idea of her just walking away after he’d repaired it made him impulsive. All he could think of to keep her there was a horseback ri
de.

  He’d checked with Luke to make sure borrowing a couple of horses for a ride was all right with him. After being grilled, he had to admit that the second horse was for Fiona. That was all it took for his friend to enthusiastically give the okay. A guy would have to be exceptionally clueless not to get that Luke was all but throwing him and Fiona together. She would probably have a negative opinion after what happened the last time someone fixed her up.

  But Brendan couldn’t worry about that—or anything else. Not on such a beautiful day. It was cool but sunny. The sky was deep blue and seemed to go on forever. And there was a stunning, sexy woman riding beside him.

  As their horses trotted away from Sunshine Farm toward wide-open land, he looked over at her. Her hair gleamed like a brand-new copper penny in the sun. She looked happy and carefree, her body moving with the animal in a graceful, fluid motion. He could stare at her all day, but she’d busted his chops about making conversation, so he racked his brain for a topic.

  “I’m sorry your grandmother’s waffle iron broke and upset your mother.” That was a bald-faced lie. It’s what brought her here. “But it’s nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you, too.” The smile she sent in his direction was pleased and a little shy. “And I’m sorry your mom left. You can borrow mine if you want.”

  “I think she’s got enough kids to worry about.”

  Brendan still wasn’t sure why he’d told her about his mother. Might have something to do with his time out at the Halsteads’ yesterday. Eddie baked cookies, called her daughter once a week. She was the kind of mother he’d like to have had. And then there was his chat with J.T. The veteran was the second person who’d advised him to talk about the experiences that he couldn’t quite forget. Fiona had been the first.

  “My mom would never shut anyone out from under her worry umbrella,” Fiona said. “If someone needs to be worried about, she’s more than happy to oblige.”

  A maternal quality his own mother had been missing. He glanced over and found Fiona looking back. A feeling crept over him that she was a lot like her mom in caring for people. The way she’d come to him after the truck backfired, quietly checking to make sure he was okay. The answer to that was yes and no. He’d had a combat flashback, but guys he’d served with had it a lot worse. He wished there was something he could do to help get them past the worst like Luke was doing for him.