Righteous anger had fueled her since uncovering the deception, but now that she was here, a tingle went down her back. Her mom would have said someone had traipsed over her grave. Harper was too logical for such nonsense, but the feeling of being on the cusp of change filled her with trepidation. There was still time to turn around and go home.
But the questions she hadn’t been able to formulate in her shock after Noah’s death might finally be answered. Questions she’d never get answered through official channels. And the money. She was honor bound to return it. Knowing she would no longer be able to put her fuzzy business plan into motion soured her mood further.
After a half-dozen pep talks, she gave herself one last bolstering look in the rearview mirror and unlatched her door. A chilly wind flung it wide, and she took a deep breath. The gray skies portended rain and the air was salt tinged even this far inland. A storm fit her mood.
Yet she was entering enemy territory and needed to proceed with more caution than she was feeling at the moment. When her emotions ran hot she could be counted on to say something she would regret.
The wind helped dampen her anger. She hesitated at the Closed sign in the window. An unexpected roadblock. The shade was up, the lights were on, and the door was unlocked. Gathering her gumption, she took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold as if it were booby-trapped.
A chime sounded and made her start, but no one was there to greet her. The interior of the building was stocked with survival and outdoor gear for sale. The nearest rack held all-weather coats in different colors, and backpacks hung from hooks along the wall.
The smell of cedar wafted through the store, reminding Harper of the old trunk her mom kept at the foot of her bed filled with winter quilts. Harper had fallen asleep wrapped in the scent since she was a child. The memories of comfort were ill placed alongside her nerves.
A huge animal sat up next to the door, and she gave a breathy, “Dear Lord,” before she recognized it wasn’t a small bear but an enormous dog. Its fur was an unrelenting black and so thick, she couldn’t guess how much the dog actually weighed. It could be anywhere from 80 to 180 pounds.
The dog gave one deep, chesty woof but didn’t make any threatening growls or movements. Footsteps sounded above her head, each one growing the tension across her shoulders. The dog trotted toward a set of stairs she hadn’t noticed in the corner, its plumed tail wagging like a wind-up toy.
The clomp grew louder. First boots, then jeans-clad legs appeared on the stairs, followed by the bottom of a plaid shirt. The man reached the bottom and swept his gaze over the room, finally landing it on her.
He rubbed the dog’s head, never taking his eyes off Harper, and moved closer. A familiar upright confidence common in military men, especially SEALs, marked his movements, but his hair and beard were distinctly non–military issue.
A mixture of browns, his hair was thick, with a natural wave, and brushed his collar. Wiry gray broke up the darkness of his beard. His features were stamped with a distinct masculinity and grimness that Noah had never acquired even through his deployments.
There was something else she noticed in his expression—a lack of recognition. Anger and relief battled, but relief won. It was like drawing the Get Out of Jail Free card. A reprieve.
Even though the enormous dog stayed at his side, Harper recognized which one of them was the true threat. She’d go a round with the dog over the man any day.
Instead of jumping straight to the accusations she’d practiced on the drive from Fort Bragg to Virginia Beach, she tempered her anger with charm. A direct assault would never gain her victory. “That’s a big dog you’ve got there. Thought it was a bear at first.”
The hand he was using to stroke the dog’s head stilled. Her smile froze. If she could kick her own butt, she would. Why had she mentioned bears, considering his nickname was Grizzly?
He scratched the dog behind the ears, and it rose even higher on its paws, its eyes drooping in pleasure. “Mostly Newfoundland, I figure. No reason to worry, though, he’s a gentle giant. Good with the customers. Plus, he earns his keep. Helps on trips to calm skittish people, provide warmth, scare off predators. That sort of thing.”
“Interesting.” A lull stretched and provided an opportunity, but instead she bought more time, or perhaps more accurately, she chickened out. “What’s his name?”
“Jack London.”
A puff of laughter escaped. “I love it. Seems appropriate for his line of work.”
“Not many people read London nowadays unless it was required.”
“My mother was a librarian, so I read everything. In fact—” She clamped her mouth shut. She’d been getting ready to reveal her namesake, which would have given her away for sure. Knowing the shift was abrupt, she said, “Speaking of trips, I’m interested in your programs.”
“We’re actually closed today.” His expression was a pleasant enough mask, but hardly friendly.
“Oh, well, the door was unlocked.” She thumbed over her shoulder and tried on her sweetest smile, which her mom had likened to tart lemonade. “Since I’m here, do you mind? Not sure when I’ll make it back into town.”
He glanced down her body. Not in a sexual way, but an assessment as to her level of fitness for his school’s programs. She had a feeling the jeans she had tucked into brown riding-style boots and her pink-and-blue sweater didn’t project “hard-core survivalist.” To his credit, he didn’t say anything except, “Have you had a chance to look over the options on the website? Some are more intense than others.”
She had read through them all with a fair amount of horror. Paying to freeze her butt off in the middle of nowhere wasn’t her idea of fun. Central heat and air-conditioning had been invented for a purpose, thank you very much. Not to mention how much she enjoyed bug- and wildlife-free sleeping arrangements. Her one and only camping experience with Noah had ended with her sleeping in the backseat of the truck after a centipede had gotten into her sleeping bag.
“Could you review them for me right quick?”
He gestured toward a sales counter tucked into the corner of the room. Instead of going around to the other side, he reached over, pulled a brochure from behind the counter, and spread it between them.
His hands were broad, with a few silvery scars along the backs. The sleeves of his red-and-blue plaid flannel were rolled up revealing thick, sinewy forearms dotted with dark hair. Her shoulder brushed his biceps.
She totally got his nickname. Grizzly. He was very bear-like, huge and intimidating, especially with the beard. Her stomach did calisthenics and not just from nerves. Or at least a different type of nerves. It had been a long time since she’d been anywhere near this level of sheer manliness.
His forefinger moved down the page as he detailed each option. She only half-listened. Fire starting. Navigation. Shelter building. Bowhunting. The inflections in his voice were similar to Noah’s—a Southerner then—but with key differences. Bennett’s accent was rougher around the edges and not quite as polished, but hypnotic. When he finished, he folded the brochure and held it out to her. She didn’t take it.
He cocked his head, his brows hovering low over his deep-set eyes. Dark-brown irises framed by an amber circle classified as unusual yet striking. As if she flew light-years in the past, she remembered them staring into hers the day he’d given her the check. Clean-shaven, he’d been skinnier then, almost gaunt, and in his eyes she’d recognized a familiar reflection of grief. That’s what she remembered.
“I’m thinking you aren’t really interested in a survival weekend.” Suspicion slowed the cadence of his words even more.
“Not really, no.” She took a step back to break the dynamic pull he exhibited. Did he affect everyone that way or was it only her? “You’re Bennett Caldwell.”
“I am.” He put the pamphlet down and faced her with his hands clasped behind his back, his feet braced apart. It was a stance Noah had favored as well.
“I’m surprised yo
u don’t recognize me.”
“Why should I?”
“We met a few years ago and I want—”
He held up a hand. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re after, but we did not hook up. I damn sure would have remembered that.”
She barked out an incredulous laugh, on the cusp of asking whether he would have remembered in a good way or bad way. “You think that we…? Well, I never. I’m not here as one of your conquests, for goodness’ sake.” Her sweater had turned into a hotbox.
“How exactly are we acquainted?”
“My name is Harper Wilcox.”
His eyes flared and his body swayed backward as if she’d given him a physical shove. His throat worked, but no words emerged.
“I recently discovered something very interesting.” She continued when it became clear he was unable or unwilling to speak.
“What’s that, ma’am?” His voice was rougher and tougher and she might have been intimidated if she hadn’t been around and lived with a SEAL.
“’Ma’am’?” More than a little put out, she stepped forward and was gratified when he stepped back. A second ago, she’d been a possible hookup. “Did you actually go there? Pretty sure I’m younger than you are, sir.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Wilcox?”
“Call me Harper, please.” She advanced again and this time he didn’t give any ground, even leaning forward to loom over her. “Considering I unwittingly named my son after you, Bennett, it’s only fitting.”
“You what?” He abandoned his casually aggressive stance and grabbed hold of the counter.
Time to press her advantage while he was unsteady. “Noah suggested the name Ben our last night together. I could tell it was attached to someone important. Just didn’t realize it was you. Now, why did you make up a fake bravery award in order to give me a truckload of money?”
His gaze darted over her face as if assessing her threat level. She hoped she registered as DEFCON 1.
“Would you have taken the money otherwise?” he asked.
“Of course not!”
“Well, then, there’s your answer.” His face shuttered, his tone indicating the matter was closed for discussion. He turned away from her.
She grabbed his arm. Through the thick flannel, the muscle was taut. “Hang on. That answer isn’t good enough. You realize I have to return the money.”
“Don’t want it. Don’t need it.” He looked to where she had hold of his arm. His profile would be at home carved in marble or etched on a coin. That’s how strong and hard his face was.
She should let go of him. Instead, she held on even tighter. “It’s not about wanting and needing. It’s about right and wrong.”
“Exactly. Right and wrong. And I made a promise to Noah—” His face blanked and turned cold.
A shiver traveled up her arm. “What promise?”
“It was nothing.” He looked off into the distance—or maybe into the past.
Whatever he had promised Noah was far from nothing. In fact, it might be the key to everything. How could she extract information he was unwilling to divulge? SEALs were trained to keep their secrets.
Her frustration boiled over, and she dropped his arm to poke him in the chest. “I’m going to write you a check right now.”
“I’ll tear it up.”
“I’ll send a certified money order.”
“I’ll send it back.”
“I’ll withdraw the cash from the bank, put it in a duffel, and throw it on your porch in the middle of the night.”
A twitch of his lips broke the stone cast of his profile, and he raised his gaze to hers. “You’re still as sassy and stubborn as I remember.”
She shuffled backward, her mind whirling.
* * *
Dammit. What had happened? His tongue was out of control. He was unbalanced. Everything about her had him reeling. She belonged to a different part of his life. One he’d done his best to box up and leave behind. The money had been a last-ditch sacrifice to the gods to appease his guilt.
“What are you talking about? To my knowledge this is only the second time we’ve met. Unless I’m mistaken?” Uncertainty edged her voice.
Time to climb out of the six-foot hole he’d dug for himself in two seconds flat. “You’re not mistaken.”
At his reticence, she waved her hands in a “gimme more” gesture. “How do you know I’m stubborn?”
“You’re not denying it?” He moved to the nearest rack and straightened hangers for something to do.
She gave an impatient-sounding huff. Or maybe the sound landed closer to pissed off. “Whether or not I’m stubborn has nothing to do with the issue at hand. Did Noah talk about me or something?”
“A bit.” More than a bit. All the damn time, if he was truthful. But, beyond that, Noah had gotten into the habit of reading Harper’s emails and occasional letter out loud. They’d been chock-full of humor and wit and normalcy. She had helped Bennett understand what they were fighting for even though he didn’t have anyone to protect. No one to live for.
“What does ‘a bit’ mean exactly?” She raised one eyebrow, the corner of her mouth ticked up to match.
Their only other meeting had been a few weeks after Noah was killed. Bennett had been injured in the same raid. Bad enough to get sent stateside and be given a Purple Heart. She’d been heavily pregnant and sallow faced and red eyed, her hair scraped back into a limp ponytail. A familiar black cloak of grief had weighed across her shoulders. The same outfit had stared back at him from the mirror every morning.
A different woman stood in front of him now. This one crackled with energy, with no hint of the guilt and grief that still plagued him. Somehow she’d come out the other side of Noah’s death with her hope intact, or at least refurbished.
“Did Noah talk about me?” she asked again. “About us?”
He refused to look her in the eye and admit her letters to Noah had provided him a lifeline. “Nights were long and lonely. It helped to talk. And Noah wanted to talk about you. He loved you.”
“Yeah, I know.” Her voice had softened.
He made the mistake of looking at her. Her eyes were a striking hazel framed by her thick golden-brown hair. What would she look like in the sunlight with a smile on her face? She was pretty in a way that made his chest ache.
Pity hid poorly in her eyes. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? He shook off the feelings of melancholy. “You seem to be doing well. You have a son.”
“I am, and I do. He’s five. Happy and good natured and sweet.”
“Like his dad then.” As soon as the words were out, Bennett wanted them back. “Or maybe like you, I don’t know—”
“No, he’s a mini-Noah in attitude if not looks.”
Noah had been over-the-moon excited that he was going to be a daddy. One bullet was all it took to steal that dream. The promise he’d made to Noah standing in the middle of a soybean field in Georgia still bound him to Harper no matter that he’d tried to break it with his gift of money.
“His name is Ben?”
“You didn’t know Noah wanted to name him after you?”
“Not really. No.” He remembered joking about the possibility with Noah, but the reality was sobering. And humbling.
The ensuing silence made him shift away from her stare. A shudder made its way down his back. Sarge had told him tall tales about a Mississippi swamp witch who stole poor wanderers’ souls. Harper looked prepared to extract his painfully.
“I’m glad things are well with you,” he said. “We’ve established I’m not taking the money back, so if there’s nothing else you need, I have work to do.” He walked away. His destination? Anywhere but next to her.
His rudeness was inexcusable, but he needed this woman gone and out of his life. The longer he was around her, the worse his insides became tangled. In BUD/S, an unknottable knot was called a whammy. Harper was his whammy.
“Actually, we have not esta
blished that fact.” She had followed him into the storage area in back of the shop where he kept equipment for overnight bookings. The lighting was dim. “But I’ll let it go for now, because I have other questions.”
He found a shadow and parked himself in it. Old habits. Even after all these years, his hands felt empty without a gun. Instead, he clasped Jack London’s fur, the softness and warmth a salve. “What kind of questions?”
“You were with Noah when he died.”
He hoped she couldn’t see his face. “Who told you that?”
“Allison Teague. Darren’s wife. Is it true?”
Truth, lie. Black, white. Dream, nightmare. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t telling her or anyone else. “You need to leave, Harper.”
The warning in his voice seemed to have no effect on her. She stepped closer. “Not until you tell me about the night he died.”
“Ask for the report.” He left the shadows feeling like a wild animal being chased out of its hidey-hole and pushed the back door open. The cold air washed over him and helped control the blaze of memories she’d sparked.
“I have and they sent me some vague bullshit meant for civilian consumption. I want to know if he was in pain. If he said anything. I want to know what his last moments were like.”
The wind tumbled her hair around her face and shoulders, her shiver noticeable. In spite of the hardships Harper had endured, she retained an enviable purity and innocence. People like Harper were familiar with TV death. Movie death. Not the stark reality of your best friend bleeding out in your arms. The pain of watching life leak out of Noah’s eyes, painfully, slowly, with a recognition of all the years he would miss with the love of his life and the child he’d never meet.
Some burdens were his to bear alone for the rest of his days.
“I know you miss Noah. I do, too. But I have nothing else to say.” He presented his back, his entire body tensed, his heartbeat blocking any noise. After what felt like an eternity, gravel crunched under tires and he looked over his shoulder. She was gone.
The Military Wife Page 6