Navy SEAL's Match

by Amber Leigh Williams

  He felt a grin warming the rim of his lips. He laid his hand over hers. “It’s all right now.” When she took the pack away, he said, “Thanks. I haven’t seen you much lately.” Was it just him or was she wearing something strappy? He tried not to peer too closely. He saw legs, her legs. Pale, just like the rest of her. He wondered if they could boast a few leopard spots, too. Her feet were bare, he couldn’t help noticing. He cleared his throat and went back to being restless. “Avoiding me much?”

  “You flatter yourself.”

  “Maybe,” he mused.

  “You look...better,” she observed. “Much better than the last time I saw you close-up. That makes me happy.”

  He liked that she was looking at him. “You miss him? The beastie?” he said, pointing in the direction of hardwood flooring where he could hear Prometheus’s nails clipping in listless circles.

  “He’s helping you. Far be it from me to pull rank.”

  “Canine mommy trumps first-class petty officer?”

  “Always,” she said. “But he likes being with you. Otherwise, he’d come back for more than just a rainy-day visit.”

  “But I’ve robbed you of your guard dog.” He thought of the van. “You got a gun?”

  She pulled a face. “Yes. A gift from my brother.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “I don’t want to use it.”

  “Do you know how to use it?” he asked again, planting his foot on the subject.

  “Kyle taught me how to rack and fire,” she finally admitted. “I haven’t exactly been practicing. But I can handle a weapon even if the need for it won’t arise.”

  “It could,” he warned. “If I doubted for a second you’d use whatever munitions you’ve got, I’d hand the dog back to you in a second.”

  “I’ll use it,” she said, exasperated.

  Thank God. “Thank you,” he replied. Again, he looked at her, good and long. He lifted a hand. “What are you wearing now?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Well, it appears that your gams are showing.”

  “Yes. We call these shorts,” she said, grabbing the high hem of the article of clothing that revealed so much.

  “So you finally got the memo,” he said.

  “What memo?”

  “That it’s hot enough for the river to boil crawfish on its own.”

  Mavis shifted toward the glass door. The light from outside undulated over her torso in a watery wave. “I guess with this water rising we might finally find out if there’s really an alligator living under my dock. And you’ll have a little trout to break your vegan fast at Miss Zelda’s.”

  “You have a gator?” he asked, impressed.

  “Possibly. Why do you think I told you to scoot from the river’s edge?” she asked, sounding amused at least.

  He tried to see through the runny lines on the other side of the pane. It was no use. “I hear you and Zelda are driving to Mobile tomorrow to do your ghost thing.”

  “Are you interested?”

  With his forearm propped high on the door, he muttered, “You might want to start with a less loaded question.”

  She didn’t touch him. Still, he felt her like a cattle brand. His neck heated.

  She was the only one who, he thought, might still see him as a whole man, rather than half. Still, the skin at the base of his spine prickled, setting off a chain reaction until he felt the effect across the width of his shoulders. His toes curled.

  Damn but Guru Bracken had a way.

  They stood facing the wall of water for a long minute. Her Zen tone filled the vacuum. “I meant, ‘Would you like to tag along?’” He rolled his shoulder in a doubting shrug. She skipped ahead of his denial. “The job isn’t in the city. It’s rural. The bank foreclosed on a large property. The area is ripe for resale, but the family who lost the land hyped rumors that it was haunted. They ran a hayride attraction every year around Halloween.”

  “The bank doesn’t think anyone will buy it with Overlook Hotel vibes?” he asked.

  “You’d be surprised how fast a real estate prospect can dry up once neighbors start talking anomalies.”

  “How often do banks call Scooby and the gang?”

  She snorted softly at the reference. “The man handling the deed to the property is an old friend of Zelda’s.”

  “She seems to have a lot of those.”

  “Jealous?” she teased.

  “I met Errol.”

  “What’d you think of him?”

  “Not what I expected,” he said. “He never says a word, just comes over to fish. I’ve never seen him exchange anything with her other than fruit and fishing tackle. He’s a lot like you.”

  “How?”

  “He stares holes into me,” Gavin said. He traced the shape of her nose in the runny light. “Great big holes.”

  Her gaze turned from the window again to swallow him up.

  He gnawed on his lip, then winced when the abrasion on the inside tore open again. He sucked on it for a moment until the blood flow slowed. He sealed it with a flick of his tongue.

  If he could see anything clearly again, he thought...he’d want it to be her. He didn’t know exactly what is was about Mavis. “I don’t think I’ve made much of an impression on him. At least with you...well, you seem to like what you see.”

  The sharp cut of her hair came down to veil the unshaded portion of her face, leaving him groping for an impression. “Errol is a man of few words. I think I’ve only ever heard him whistle on drives.”

  “He doesn’t like drifters living with his girl,” Gavin wagered.

  “You two have a lot in common,” Mavis said cryptically. “I’m sure you’d get along, if you took the trouble to get to know each other.”

  “Blind and mute make a winning combo,” Gavin said sourly.

  “You’re not totally blind; he’s not entirely mute, from what Zelda tells me. And there are thousands of different forms of communication. Pick one. Start from there.”

  He gave a miniature salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come with us.” The light hit her face again. “The weather’s supposed to be sunny. There’s no digging involved. As I understand, the land’s something to see.” When he rolled his eyes, she added, “You used to love coming to the farm and running like a fiend through the woods and fields.”

  “I was twelve,” he reminded her. “Adolescence. Adulthood. War. You tend to lose the urge to run like something imaginary’s chasing ya.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, incisive. Her voice dropped as she tapped his sternum. “Weren’t you still trying to run two weeks ago?”

  His mouth quickly settled into a frown.

  “I’ll buy you a burger,” she offered. “A thick juicy one slathered in gooey white cheese.”

  “Careful, Frexy,” he advised. “You’re talking food porn.”

  “There could be mustard involved,” she went on. There was mischief in her voice. “Maybe onion rings...”

  “Mmm.” His mouth watered. He shook his head, closed his eyes, to fight the temptation. “You know how to make a man hungry.”

  “What do you say, frogman?”

  He stopped fighting the need to smile at her. “You play dirty, Bracken. I like that.”

  He was halfway sure she was smiling back.

  The dog ruined the moment with a loud, solitary woof.

  Mavis jerked. “Storm’s breaking.”

  Gavin had to sidestep quickly as Prometheus bounded at the door. Mavis opened it just in time for his paws to scramble across the doorstep. They heard him darting quickly across the deck and down the steps. “He has a nervous bladder,” Mavis explained. She braced her hands against the small of her back. “So...we’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “You win,” he sta
ted with some surprise. He took a step back and told himself to keep going. “See you tomorrow, Velma. And the rest of Mystery Inc.”

  “You’re not funny,” she remarked.

  “I’m a little funny,” he said in parting before descending the stairs to the yard.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “YOU’RE MANSPREADING.”

  Mavis tried not to watch how Gavin’s brow creased down the same center line she’d seen before, from his hairline to the bridge of his Oakley sunglasses. Arms crossed, knees spread, he took up half the back seat of Errol’s Cadillac. “I’m what?”

  “Manspreading,” she said again. She planted her hand on the denim-clad knee that had crossed over the middle, moving it back. “You see this line?”

  He only scowled at her.

  She grabbed him. “It’s here,” she indicated, planting his big palm across the center of the roomy bench seat.

  “So?”

  “So...this is your dance space,” she said, pointing to his side. She fanned her hands toward her side. “This is my dance space. Capisce?”

  He flipped the notebook nearest to his thigh closed. “Look, if you’re crowded, it’s because you brought half the damn library.”

  “Ah, no,” she said sharply, palming his knee again when he encroached once more. “It’s simple. Stay on your side. And don’t touch my books.”

  He grabbed a loose sheet of paper from her side of car anyway. He brought it up close in front of the black screen of his sunglasses. “You’ve been reading since we left. This isn’t more about that plantation girl in Louisiana, is it?”

  “That plantation girl has a name,” she said, extracting the page from his hand so she could file it numerically back in with the rest. “America.”

  “God bless,” he murmured.

  “That was her name,” Mavis elaborated.

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Am not,” she retorted. “Her given name was America. We know that. The surname’s a mystery for now, but I’ll find it.”

  “America.” He shook his head. “There’s some political or poetic irony in that. Especially if you tell me one of the siblings fought opposite the other.”

  “They were both Confederate officers,” Mavis admitted. “Josiah died at Antietam. Daniel followed at Gettysburg. However, those papers you were looking at don’t have anything to do with the Isnard case. As another thank-you for finding the time capsule, Olivia and Gerald gave Zelda and me photocopies of her grandparents’ letters.”

  “All of them?” he said, lifting the binder he’d closed to test the weight of its contents.

  “All of them,” she confirmed.

  “Have you read all of them?” he asked, passing it back to her. When she hesitated, he tipped it out of her reach. “You have.”

  “I might’ve.” She shrugged at him when he tilted his head. “What?”

  “You are a romantic sort, aren’t you?” he said.

  “No,” she protested. “I told you. It’s history. And... I guess it interests me how two people can commit their entire lives to each other. What it takes. How they choose who that person is.”

  “It’s not that much of a mystery,” Gavin said, stretching his legs out as far as the confines of the floorboard would let him.

  “No?” she asked, surprised.

  “All you have to do is ask your parents. Or your grandmother, for that matter. Edith and Van were married forever before he passed on.”

  “My grandparents couldn’t stand each other. And what about your parents, Gavin?”

  “My father’s on his second marriage,” he said.

  “He and Briar have been married thirty years. That’s some longevity.”

  Gavin folded one arm behind his head. “I don’t know. I always figured they were crazy.”

  “Happy crazy.” When he lifted his shoulder, she asked, “You’ve never felt that crazy about somebody?”

  “No.”

  She demurred. It wasn’t like her to probe. But she liked figuring him out. She liked the idea of swimming in the mystery of him. Even if she knew better.

  “How about you?”

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “You’ve never found anybody you wanted to exchange lofty promises with?”

  “Obviously,” she answered truthfully.

  “Not even, say, one of the Leightons?”

  She frowned at him. “No.”

  “Which one was it? Zelda won’t tell.”

  “Why do you want to know so badly?” she asked, turning the ready irritation away.

  “Did you love him?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Okay, she thought at the snappishness of the reply. That’s a negative on quelling the irritation.

  “I might need to kick his ass,” Gavin told her.

  “You’re assuming he deserves it,” she said. “What if I broke things off?”

  Gavin thought, then asked, “Did he get to second base?”

  “Um, none of your business.”

  “Hmm,” Gavin said, gleaning the answer for himself. “I’d still kick his ass.”

  He couldn’t know that she’d ended things with William because she’d wanted something more. That they’d seen each other long enough for their feelings to get mixed up in all the secrecy. That at first, it had been exciting—the sneaking around, the near misses with her family and his. But she’d grown weary of the concealment after a while. Weary enough to realize she wanted something more.

  It was funny how feelings worked. At first, she’d wanted to keep them to herself—keep William to herself. Somewhere along the way, she’d done a 180 and the desire to be open, to go so far as sharing what she felt for him with her friends and family, had taken on a life of its own.

  But a relationship born from secrecy and evasion had made it difficult to express ambitions to the contrary. Not to mention, past experience. The only boy she’d seen before William, Aaron Quarters from high school, had gone so far as introducing her to his parents and grandparents. It had helped that his grandparents had been friends of Mavis’s grandmother Edith. Or so she’d thought...

  The grandparents were taken aback by her. Maybe it was the nose ring she’d worn at the time. Perhaps it was her penchant for sarcasm, which she hadn’t thought to check at the door. They’d made a snap judgment, the grandmother going so far as to tell Mavis baldly at the end of the night that she thought Aaron deserved better.

  What had stayed with Mavis most was Edith. Her grandmother had driven her to the evening’s introductions. She’d been there when Aaron’s grandmother had told Mavis that she wasn’t the right type of girl. Edith declined to say a word in Mavis’s defense. She’d hardly spoken at all until they were halfway home. She’s right, you know, she’d said quietly. Almost smug. If someone like you came sniffing after your brother, I’d have something to say about it.

  Mavis loved the Leightons—William, his brother Finnian, Olivia and Gerald. And the idea of them rejecting her as any sort of prospect for their son had kept her awake at night. Not to mention William’s silence on the matter. If he’d wanted something more, like her, if he’d thought her worth the risk, wouldn’t he have eventually wanted to break the chain of clandestine behavior and spoken up about it? She’d waited for him to do so until those feelings had verged on that perilous four-letter L-word. They’d been friends for a lifetime, so she put a decisive end to the whole affair to make sure their friendship could remain.

  Her feelings for William were so far in the past and they’d withdrawn so far into their old friendship that she’d all but forgotten the sting of not being good enough—for him or Aaron What’s-His-Name.

  Now in the back seat with Gavin, she did her best to shrug off the uncomfortable memories. She riffled through the binder to the last xeroxed letter she’d read
and thought of something that might knock Gavin off course. “You wouldn’t happen to know how a yucca branch wound up on my balcony, would you?”

  He didn’t twitch, but there was a pause. “What kind of branch?”

  “Yucca,” she repeated. “They have large white flowers that bloom in spires and grow on the river’s edge. Particularly near Zelda’s place.”

  “Mmm, no,” he replied, a shade too quickly.

  “Right,” she drawled.

  “I don’t bring people flowers,” he pointed out.

  “Ever?” she asked.

  “Ever.”

  “As a florist’s daughter, I’m inclined to ask why.”

  “I don’t know,” he said with an insouciant shrug. “Too predictable. Too traditional.”

  He was neither of those things, she agreed. She couldn’t help but admire that. “What do you bring people?” she asked.

  He raised an indicative hand. “Charisma.”

  She barked a laugh. “Cute.”

  “Thank you.”

  She told herself that he was being arrogant and to stop smiling. Her mouth didn’t get the transmission.

  “Why’re you wearing red again?”

  Her attention strayed from the page once more. “I always wear red.”

  “Since you were, I don’t know, fourteen or something you’ve dressed like you’re going to Slash’s funeral. But you’ve been splashing red in since I moved to Zelda’s. Red sweater at her place that night at dinner. Red plaid at the orchard. I happened to see you wearing those candy-striped Jane Fonda tights to yoga earlier this week.”

  “You saw those just before you decided to turn tail and run, did you?”

  “How else do you evade someone?” he asked.

  “You knocked over a lamp.”

  “It was in the way.”

  “I won’t ask how you managed to pass BUD/S.”

  “Wasn’t blind then. Anyway, don’t change the subject. While you weren’t wearing much when I walked in on you yesterday in the storm...”

  “I was wearing plenty. It wasn’t my fault you showed up uninvited.”

  “True,” he granted, lifting the water bottle from the cup holder near his elbow. Methodically, he unscrewed the cap. “But you did paint your front door red.”