* * *
A THUNDERSTORM IN THE NIGHT had cleared the humidity, making for a gorgeous morning. As Tristan was on indefinite leave until he got his head back in what his commanding officer deemed a good place, he split his time between missing his kid, wondering what he might’ve done differently with his ex and working out.
Before the heat grew too bad, he figured he might as well get a jump start on at least one out of three.
His usual run took him down Mulberry Lane to Herring Park Trail. But something his mom had mentioned about Brynn Langtoine stuck in his head. That bit about her having a green thumb. Considering the fact that his mom and at least half the other gardening fanatics on their block had already been outside for hours, he figured it was a safe bet Brynn might already be working in her beds, as well.
Mack and his family hadn’t lived far. A half mile at most, at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac.
In just over four minutes, Tristan reached the simple two-story home. The front porch and an upper balcony were trimmed in black wrought-iron, reminding him of childhood trips to New Orleans. When they’d been high school juniors, Mack’s folks had gone out of town to visit his grandparents. Mack had thrown a party and midway through the keg, a few of the looser girls in their class had stood on that balcony, flashing the guys for Mardi Gras beads. Not long after, the Langtoine’s nosy neighbor, Georgia Booth, called the cops and the festivities had been shut down.
In front of the house, Tristan slowed his pace to barely a jog, striving to get a look in the backyard without being too obvious. Only it turned out he’d been right in his assumption Brynn would be out on such a fine day.
He got caught.
“Take a picture,” she called upon catching him staring. “It’ll last longer.”
“Guilty as charged.” Out of breath and laughing, he paused by the birdbath Mack gave his mother on her fortieth birthday. She’d died of cancer a couple years later. Mack had been playing ball for Notre Dame and his dad had taken off, never to be seen again. Mack’s grandparents had owned the house and when they died, they left it to him. “Your boy—Cayden? Already at school?”
Gardening spade in hand, she rocked back on her heels. “It was his turn to clean the class turtle’s tank and feed him. I took him in early.”
“Figured as much.”
“How so?” Sunlight slanted though Spanish moss-drizzled trees and there wasn’t a breath of wind. The school bus’s squeaky brakes could be heard at the corner of Hickory and Pine.
Grinning, Tristan said, “From my own days at Ruin Bayou High, I figure any kid on this street has about three and a half minutes to hustle to the front of his house. Plenty of time to grab a Pop-Tart or play a quick game of fetch with your dog. Meaning, if Cayden hadn’t left early, he’d still be here, horsing around.”
“You’re good,” she noted when sure enough, right on schedule, the bus screeched to a stop. Even from the backyard, the sound of kids bickering, stealing sack lunches and pulling pigtails carried on the morning’s still air. Soon, the rolling riot moved on, returning peace to Cherry Court until retracing the route at 3:25.
“I’ve been hustling Cayden out to catch the bus for over five months, but I’ve never timed it quite like that.”
Though he shrugged, the SEAL in Tristan was glad not to have lost his flair for efficiency. Also in his personal skill arsenal was being observant, which was how he came to notice an intimidating pile of redwood planks, bolts and faux wood-colored plastic roofs, slides and swing seats. The pirate-type fort was pretty cool—at least it would be once it was assembled. Any kid would love it. Which made him think of his own son, Jack. The one topic he worked hard to avoid.
Trying to focus on the ungodly mess of materials rather than thoughts of how Jack was spending his morning, Tristan was startled to look up and find Brynn standing next to him. Sure, he’d seen her at the ballpark, but in fading light and then complete darkness, he hadn’t really seen her.
Since she’d squeezed her considerable assets into a figure-hugging Cardinals T-shirt rather than a loose maternity top, he noted she was barely five foot tall with a mess of curly ginger hair and a baby bump the size of two watermelons. Barefoot, wearing a long, gauzy skirt, she pressed her hands to the small of her back. He wondered if her back was hurting. If so, he was sure she’d never admit it. Backlit by morning sun, her skirt turned transparent. It took a ton of willpower to keep his gaze from dropping to her shapely legs.
“Big mess, huh?” She nodded toward the unassembled fort. “Cayden’s had a tough time of it lately. Thought for his birthday, this might perk him up. D-Shawn’s Lumber wanted an extra five hundred for assembly, but I figured on saving the money by doing it myself. How hard can it be, you know?” She faintly smiled and damn if Tristan didn’t find himself caught up in her world, smiling and nodding right along.
“Um, yeah.” Unsure what to do with his hands, he rammed them in his pockets.
When she cocked her head, corkscrew curls tumbled over her shoulder. She was so pretty it rendered him stupid. Before he could stop the words from spilling from his mouth, he said, “Want help? With Cayden’s gift? I’m fairly decent with tools.” Listen to him—practically begging her to let him spend hours in her backyard. The whole point of Tristan being on leave back home in Louisiana was to escape the pain of losing his son to a different time zone. Last thing he needed was getting wrangled into what could turn into a multiday project. Worse yet, would be the proximity of being around another man’s child.
Another man’s wife. Even if the man was dead.
Say no, his gut silently pleaded to Brynn. As long as she turned down his offer, Tristan had nothing to fear.
Then she nodded her pretty head. “Never thought I’d hear myself say this, but honestly, if I’m going to have a prayer of finishing by Cayden’s birthday, I’d very much appreciate your help.”
Chapter Three
The moment the words left her mouth, Brynn regretted them. What had she been thinking? If she didn’t want new friends period, she certainly didn’t need one as attractive as Tristan. In the bright light of day, square jaw sporting sexy stubble and dark eyes hidden by mirrored aviator sunglasses, he not only towered over her, but reminded her how amazing it’d felt when he’d charged to her rescue—only she wasn’t in the market for a shining knight.
She’d once cast Mack in that role and look how disastrously that had turned out.
“Forgive me,” she backpedaled. “I didn’t mean to stick you with my mess. You were only being polite when you offered, so please don’t think I expect you to—”
“No,” he insisted, “I want to help. Cayden seems like a great kid. After not making the team with the rest of his friends, he deserves some fun.”
“Yeah, but that fun is going to come at too big a price to you. Really, I can handle the fort on my own.” Her huge belly made it a struggle for her to even pick up the rest of her gardening tools. Common sense dictated she may not want Tristan’s help, but she sure needed it.
When she barely made it upright without his hand on her arm holding her steady, he lowered his sunglasses to meet her gaze. “With all due respect, as big as you are, I’m not sure you’re even going to make it back into the house under your own steam.”
“Thanks.” It took a ton of self-restraint not to childishly stick out her tongue.
“Hey, I happen to think baby bumps are cute.”
“Uh-huh.” As long as she kept reminding herself she was no more in the market for romance than he was, they’d get along just fine.
* * *
“SORRY TO NOT HAVE SOMETHING fancier.”
“I’m so hungry, cardboard would taste good,” Tristan said when Brynn approached bearing a plate filled with two egg salad sandwiches, chips and a pickle. In the four hours he’d been working, Tristan had already assemble
d the fort’s exterior frame. He’d worked up one hell of an appetite. He downed the better half of his first sandwich in a couple bites before remembering he wasn’t with his SEAL buddies, Deacon, Garrett and Calder. “Jeez, sorry.” He used the napkin she’d also given him. “I do have manners—I just don’t usually have a whole lot of cause for using them.”
“You’re fine,” she said with a shy smile. “Mack was the same after a long day of games.”
Setting the plate she’d given him on the raised fort’s floor, he said, “That must’ve been a rush, huh? Him playing for the Cards?”
“It really was...” Judging by the way her smile faded, he’d touched on a sensitive issue.
He finished his second sandwich. “Never mind. None of my business.”
“No, it’s okay. Just hurts, you know? Remembering the good times. In a twisted way, it’s almost easier dwelling on the bad.”
True. When he thought of what a great little family he used to have, it killed him. Now with his ex remarried and his son in California, he preferred thinking how much he despised her instead of how much he missed his kid. While they’d been divorced for three years, she and Jack had always lived close. It’d been barely over a month since she’d sprung her marriage and cross-country move on him. The news shook him to the point that on his last mission, his concentration had been off while leading his team through a mine field. Damn near got them all killed. Once they were safely home, his CO hadn’t minced words about what a “shit storm” Tristan’s recent job performance had been. When the man whom Tristan greatly respected urged him to take time off, Tristan agreed.
“I had just found out I was pregnant when everything fell apart. The scandals only fully erupted after he was killed.” Leaning against the fort’s redwood frame, she turned reflective. “It was as if some higher power flipped a switch. One day, my life was intact. The next, it was gone.”
Exactly how he’d felt when Andrea took off.
After a few moments’ shared silence while he finished his lunch, she said, “Some days I have to force myself out of bed. For Cayden, and this little one,” she added with a pat to her belly. “I can’t just give up.”
“You’re lucky you have Cayden—and the baby.” He grabbed the cordless drill he’d brought along with an assortment of other tools from his house. He could’ve fought Andrea for joint custody, but figured in the end, it’d be harder for Jack.
The arrangement was pretty new, but he now only saw his son a couple times a year. Nowhere near enough. As much as it killed Tristan to admit, aside from him cabbaging on to his family, Jack’s stepfather was all right. An engineer. Worked nine to five and provided a more stable home life than Tristan ever could.
“You said you were in the navy, but never mentioned what you do.”
“I’m a SEAL.”
“For real?” She choked on a laugh.
He screwed in a support joist. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”
She twirled a dandelion she’d plucked from the yard. “Guess I never believed they existed outside of movies.”
“Yet you were married to a major league baseball player?”
Grinning up at him, she said, “I’ve met a hundred of those. Never met one SEAL.”
* * *
THE SECOND CAYDEN JUMPED OFF the school bus’s big bottom step, he ran across the front yard and into the house.
He dumped his book bag at the base of the stairs. “Mom!”
He ran calling from room to room, but didn’t find her—not even in the kitchen or bathroom.
She wasn’t dead, was she?
Ever since his dad died, he wondered what kept all of the other grown-ups alive. What if they all croaked? Who would make dinner and help with his baths and homework and tuck him into bed?
He dragged a chair from the kitchen table over to the counter where his mom kept the cookie jar. Climbing onto what his mom had called butcher-block wood, he grabbed three oatmeal cookies from the pig-shaped jar. He wished for chocolate chip, but ever since Mom said his baby sister was growing inside her, they had to be real healthy. That just made him hate his sister more.
The window over the kitchen sink was open.
A funny sound came from the backyard.
Still on the counter, he scooted to where he could see out the window and what he found almost made him fall. That big guy who’d saved his mom from the alligators was building his birthday fort!
Careful not to break his cookies, he grabbed one of his favorite Scooby-Doo granola bars from the cabinet and rolled onto his belly to get down, bumping open the back screen door with his butt. “Mom! It’s awesome!”
“Hey, sweetie.” When she gave him a big hug, he was so glad she wasn’t dead that he didn’t even squirm. “Remember Mr. Tristan from last night?”
“I don’t think we officially met.” The man held out his hand for Cayden to shake just like Cayden was a grown-up.
“Nice to meet you.” Cayden liked it when grown-ups didn’t treat him like a kid. He was getting awfully old. And once he had his birthday on Saturday he’d be seven. That was like super old. “Thank you for working on my fort. Mom kept saying she was gonna, but my baby sister makes her too tired.”
“You’re having a girl?” the big man—Tristan—said to Cayden’s mom. He had a kinda funny smile.
Cayden’s mom smiled, too. “I’m having a devil of a time coming up with a pretty name. Cayden, here, is supposed to be helping. But so far, all he’s come up with are Bug Guts Langtoine, Monkey Ears or Donkey Butt.” Wrinkling her nose, his mom said, “Not sure I like any of those.”
“I don’t know...” Tristan winked at Cayden. “I like Monkey Ears. Everyone knows all babies have them. My little sister does.”
“You have a sister?” Cayden and his mom asked at the same time.
She laughed.
So did Tristan. “I do. Her name’s Franny Newton. Once she married Mr. Newton, I started calling her Fig Newton. She’s a music teacher and lives all the way in Iowa with my brother-in-law, two nieces and nephew. My mom’s going to visit her in a few weeks.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But my sister’s an awful cook, so I try not to go unless my mom makes me. Or, unless I have lots of Scooby-Doo granola bars like you have there.”
“You eat these, too?” Cayden laughed. “They’re for kids!”
“When I was a kid, I used to love Scooby-Doo.”
“That’s cool! But hey, we’ve got lots to eat besides granola bars. My mom’s a super good cooker. Wanna stay for dinner? She makes the best meat loaf in the whole, wide world!”
The grown-ups looked kind of funny at each other, then Tristan said, “Thanks. But I should get home to do my chores.”
* * *
“WHAT’S WRONG?” BRYNN ASKED Cayden after Tristan had left.
While she sat at one end of the table, snapping green beans, he sat at the other, completing his handwriting homework.
“I couldn’t get you to stop talking when we were outside, but now, you’re not saying a word.”
He shrugged.
“Is it because we’re having fish for dinner instead of meat loaf? I know you don’t like it, but I’ll make the homemade tartar sauce you love.”
“Why didn’t Tristan wanna stay for dinner? Is it because you cooked fish? Couldn’t you have please made meat loaf? Then, I know he would’ve stayed.”
“It’s not that easy.” Back aching, she stood, rinsing the beans at the sink before slipping them into the pan of water she’d already put on the stove to boil.
“Sure it is.” He put down his chubby pencil. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t he like me?”
“Sweetie, of course, he likes you.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Everyone loves you.”
“Not the baseball team.”
<
br /> “That’s different,” she said, although to a kid, she could see how the issue might be confusing.
“Nobody loves me,” he cried. “Not Coach Jason or Tristan or especially Dad!”
When he ran off toward the stairs, clomping up to his room, Brynn knew she should’ve followed, but truthfully, she was too exhausted.
* * *
ONCE AGAIN, THOUGH TRISTAN wanted nothing to do with kids, as they only reminded him of Jack, that night he found himself back at the ballpark, surrounded.
He’d helped Jason set out the bases and chalk the field.
They now stood side by side while the team completed laps and circuit calisthenics. The sky was an angry, tumultuous gray, but the official rule book read if thunder was heard or lightning seen, then coaches stopped play. Since the guys needed practice, until the weather turned officially ugly, it was game on.
Jason leaned against the trunk of the big oak that’d been growing in the outfield for so long no one had the heart to cut it. “Town gossip says you spent the afternoon with Mack’s widow, building a fort for his little boy.”
“Knew there was a reason I ran from this busybody town soon as I got my diploma.” Tristan pulled his ball cap lower on his forehead.
“Looking for love in all the wrong places?”
“Hell, no,” he said to his supposed friend. “I was doing her and her kid a favor, that’s all. Might’ve been nice if you’d done the same and just let him on your team.”
“You know I couldn’t do that. This is a traveling squad and logistically, I can’t handle over twelve. Even with you as my assistant coach, I won’t have near as much time as when I was a deputy. Usually, by midseason, someone drops out. Who knows? Maybe we’ll take him on then.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Tristan said. “And I never told you I’d be your assistant coach.”
“It’s not like you’ve got anything better going on. Unless you’d rather hang out with your mom, making crafts for the rest home?”
Tristan fairly growled. “I’d rather be back in Virginia Beach, doing my job.”
The SEAL's Valentine (Operation: Family) Page 3