“Drugs?” Marcy’s hackles raised a bit. The suggestion seemed to be completely out of character, even for Lucas. He was, after all, an elite Navy man.
“Sure, why not? I mean, he does everything else. The man’s a fuckin’ human tornado. He and those boys of his are wreaking havoc wherever they drop their pants—”
“Look, Connie, I don’t want to—”
“Maaaaar Seee. Did that asshole try to charm his way into your pants? He can, you know. I told you he can.”
The dance Marcy had started became very tedious and she began to wonder if she had the skill to stay out of the frying pan, or avoid getting hit by it as it went flying past her head. “Look, Connie, can we just keep it simple? I don’t think he wants any trouble, he just—”
“That sweet-talkin’ dickwad.”
Marcy was walking on quicksand. These two were going to be a real piece of work. Suddenly, she wasn’t so confident she’d be able to keep them in their own corners and avoid killing each other. “You have to give the tenant notice for those kinds of things. I don’t even have any way to contact them.”
“Then I’ll go. I’ll just fuckin’ walk right up to the house, knock on the door, put little Jack on my boob, and ask to fuckin’ walk around the house that I half-own. I can take pictures, right?”
“Connie, you’re not hearing me.”
“I’ll tell them if they want to stay, they’d better cooperate with open houses, tours coming through, people walking through at all times of the day and night.”
“All things you’ll put up with on your house, is that correct?”
“Hell, no.”
Jack started to fuss. Again.
“Look, you’ve talked with him about it. He didn’t react.”
“He most certainly did react. He strongly objected. Only way I could get him to sign the contract for your house was by telling him we’d do it one step at a time. Same as I’m telling you now, Connie. Seriously, this is in your best interest.”
“Why don’t you just fill out the paperwork, and I’ll sign those two new contracts today. He can sign when he realizes I’m serious. Oh. And how much equity is in both?”
Marcy was beginning to see why they were divorcing. Connie was every bit the piece of work he was. “He didn’t tell me about the mortgages or taxes, but I did ask him.”
“That jerkoff.”
“I don’t think he would have signed the listing agreement on your house if I held him up for all three listings, Connie.” How many times did she have to repeat that fact before it sunk in?
She could hear Connie telling something to their daughter. “I have to go, Marcy. What time will you be here?”
“I can get there within an hour. After I finish a couple of things, I’ll be right over.”
Connie hung up without saying another word.
ON THE WAY over to Connie’s, Marcy couldn’t understand how two people could make babies together and still act like children themselves. And how he could go through the grueling training to become a Navy SEAL, have all the stamina—mental stamina—to do that job and not be able to reel in his emotions. That was her first thought.
Her second thought was about how completely unboring the guy was. She imagined he would be a piece of work in the bedroom if he loved like he argued. He had skin in the game. Life mattered to him. Things mattered to him. Was it because he had to control his breathing, his fear, and his thoughts of impending death so many times in the battlefield he just let it all hang out in real life?
Yeah, that’s probably it. Being a trained warrior, he was out of his element stateside, having to do things like be soft and gentle and worry about someone else’s feelings. He’d married someone else who also had a hair-trigger and needed the intense relationship a guy like him could bring. That not only wasn’t in his training, but he’d probably been trained to funnel everything emotional away from the job as a stress-coping mechanism.
And so the wife and family received the brunt of his inability to connect. The family got what was left over after his deployments, not his best side, either.
Still, she wondered what they’d been like when they first married. She imagined they’d exploded like rockets lighting up the sky. Those two were probably incapable of doing anything halfway.
She allowed herself a smile. Maybe she was going about it wrong. Maybe she should just sit back and enjoy the show. At least they weren’t turning on her.
Not yet.
She rang the doorbell, and Connie’s disembodied voice told her to come in. She laid her paperwork down on the dining room table, including the folder with his signature on the contracts and disclosure statements, and then sat and waited. She needed Connie’s John Hancock on the disclosures.
Connie wafted into the room wearing the tightest pair of jeans Marcy had seen, along with a push-up, low-cut cotton top that revealed her ample cleavage.
“He filled out the Transfer Disclosure, Connie. I gotta have you review what he put down, initial and sign these.”
The SEAL wife sneered at the stack of papers. “Wow. He musta been there for hours and hours. The guy can’t read, you know. He covers it up well, but the Neanderthal doesn’t read anything. He likes graphic novels and—”
“Connie, he reads just fine. It didn’t take long. I helped him with some of it, but he filled it all out.”
Connie crossed her arms over her chest, sending her boobs north. “Sure you did.” Connie’s look was a challenge.
“What does that mean?”
She huffed and leaned over Marcy’s shoulder, grabbing a pen. “Just sayin’. Okay, where do I sign?”
Marcy indicated where she was to initial and then sign beneath his signature. “Fuckin’ jerk signed in my spot.”
“Makes no difference—”
“So, you don’t think it makes a difference who’s on top?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Marcy looked away and felt heat creep across her cheeks.
Connie laughed. “I’ll bet this is the last divorcing SEAL you’ll ever represent, huh?”
“No. It isn’t the first, and it most certainly won’t be my last, either.”
“Well, if you can keep the cows in the barn and keep his pants on, you might get paid. One of my best friends is a realtor, and she wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.”
“I’ll bet,” Marcy said under her breath, slipping the contracts into the folder. So much for feeling lucky about winning the listing from the agents she’d had to battle it out with. Unless that was a lie, too. Sensing Connie’s unfriendly stare on the top of her head, she pulled out the blue lockbox and held it up. “This goes on a water pipe or, if there is none, the front door, but it scratches the wood. It has to be on something that won’t go anywhere.”
“Put it on his fuckin’ flagpole. And I’m not talking about his dick.”
The woman’s cursing was beginning to wear on every last one of her nerves. She’d never have guessed wives cursed like sailors, too. Marcy fought for composure. “So, that’s where, exactly?”
“Oh, that’s right. His huge honker of an American flag isn’t on it. Some days, when the breeze picks up, I’d have to battle that damned thing so I could get out the front door. He likes ’em big, like everything, except his women. He likes them with huge tits in fancy white lace, likes skinny waists and loves to talk dirty in bed.”
Marcy felt heat begin to crawl up her neck, but managed to will away the blush. She wondered how the Lucas she’d met could have hooked up with this woman, and though it wasn’t really her business, for her own sake, she needed to know. A slight worry for the health of the children began to grow as well.
Connie gave her a little wink and a half-smile.
“Gonna miss that part of things a bit. But I’m working hard to find me a replacement—quick.”
Chapter 7
‡
AFTER THE MEETING, Thom Grande came up to Lucas, the rest of the team barely within earshot. “Understand you’re havi
ng trouble with the missus.”
“That’s fuckin’ putting it mildly.”
“So that explains your behavior last night. Not that I minded tagging along.”
“You forget yourself, Grande. I think you forgot the part about us helping you walk and plopping your sorry ass on the bed at your motel. Or don’t you remember that?”
Thom nodded and grinned at his cowboy boots. They looked expensive to Lucas, but then Lucas, being a California kid, didn’t know anything about boots.
The SEAL peered up at Lucas and gave him that knowing look. “Been there, done that.”
“What, the going to strip clubs or the domestic wars?”
“Guilty on both counts. But that kind of action at clubs and bars and shit, Lucas, there’s nothing there except a fake good time. It’s all fake, man. Save your marriage if you can.”
Lucas started to chuckle. “Well, it isn’t up to me, Grande. The woman has her own ideas of where the boundary lines are, and I fuckin’ crossed into enemy territory when I wasn’t looking.”
“And she won’t forgive you?”
“Nothing to forgive. She thinks I did the thing with a transvestite who takes a really good picture. Not that the big guy wasn’t attractive, just not my thing. I’ve never been unfaithful to Connie, but I can’t convince her otherwise.”
“So, you keep pushing the envelope, hoping some woman will just grab your balls and make you forget your wife? That’s your plan? That what you’re saying? You know how dangerous that is?”
“Look, man, this is all good here, but you’re not my fuckin’ psychiatrist. No offense intended. I got Kyle and the guys here watching out for me. I’m good. I’m just going through a rough patch. I got kids I won’t be able to see, a wife who wants to have nothing to do with me for nothing I’ve done, and now she’s taking me to the cleaners. I fucking re-upped for four years to get the down payment for this fuckin’ house she’s taking away from me. And now the bitch wants my granddad’s hunting cabin and the house my mother left me.”
Grande stepped back. “No worries. I feel you. Didn’t mean to butt in, Shipley.” He held his palms out to the sides as if demonstrating he didn’t hold a weapon. “Just if there’s any advice I can give you, the best advice I didn’t get until it was too late, is to get a good divorce attorney.”
“Fuck it. She can have it all.”
“And she’ll keep taking it until you fight her, my man,” Alex said as he slapped Lucas on the back.
“Listen to him, Shitface. This guy has the scars to prove it,” added Jake.
“Come on, assholes,” Kyle called out. “Get the hell out of the building. I gotta lock up.”
THEY MET FOR beers at the Scupper. The usual parade of high school students and college party girls was in and around the bar, sliding up and down seats like they were working a pole at a club, the skirts shorter and tighter than Lucas remembered. They were looking younger and prettier the more beers he drank.
One of Kyle’s old-timers, Calvin Cooper, sat down across the table. “You’re gonna have to face your demons, Lucas, or you’ll be no good to us. Being sober is no joke, my man.”
Cooper’s gentle rolling voice was soothing, but a warning nonetheless. His plain talk and even sharper stare made Lucas sit up. Coop’s huge six-foot-four frame loomed over the table like he was the king at court.
“I can handle it.”
“Oh, sure you can. Until you can’t, and then you’ll be balling one of those sixteen-year-olds with a fake I.D., and bam, you’re off the teams. You gotta ask yourself what’s really more important, being married or being a SEAL. ’Cause right now, you can’t do both. It’s eating you alive, man. You’re hooked up with a woman who can’t handle the heat. She’s gone over the edge. She’s bent. And you’re in some la-la land, thinking you can turn her back into the little kitten she was when you married her.”
“How many times you been married, Coop?” Lucas liked the big SEAL medic.
“Mentally? Lots of times. But nah, I tried out a lot for all those teams, but in the end, there was only one lady for me. Just once, man.”
“So, how can you talk?”
“You forget I’ve been doing this over eleven years. I’ve seen it all. If Kyle doesn’t toss you, I will. I’ll give you a mental so fast you won’t be able to find your dick. Just imagine how the Navy will put you to use with that in your folder.”
As one of the team medics, Coop could easily end his career. He wouldn’t want to, of course, but if it meant saving the life of the others on the team, weeding out someone who wasn’t paying attention, it would be something he’d have to do for everyone’s safety. And though Lucas would be off the teams, his obligation to the Navy would continue. He’d get stuck cleaning toilets on a ship or perhaps being a BUD/S instructor and dishing out his brand of hate on all the young, new recruits.
“One more piece of advice, and then I’m going to get these gentlemen to escort you home. Get yourself a fuckin’ lawyer. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Quit reacting and start making a plan. Either walk away or fight. Those are your only two choices.”
The giant stood, threw down a twenty, even though he’d been drinking mineral water, and in a couple of long strides was out the doorway.
Minutes later, Lucas left as well. The night air was crisp and the stars were out. The warm, salty breeze was something Lucas loved more than just about anything.
Just about.
They had five days until they started training for hostage rescue and house-to-house searches. They’d all have to requalify on the range, and anything less than expert was not acceptable. Lucas decided he’d go visit the cabin, get in touch with his childhood and see what the ghosts of Northern California had to say to him.
Besides, it beat waiting for Connie to serve him with more papers. And the ghosts were a helluva lot kinder than Connie’s mouth.
But his dick still got hard when he thought about what wonders she could do with that mouth.
Chapter 8
‡
MARCY HAD A friend from college who lived in Sonoma County and sold real estate. And she happened to be married to an ex-SEAL. They had a small winery operation a lot of the San Diego crowd had invested in. She decided to call her.
“Hey, Devon. I’ve got a property I need to check out in Cloverdale. Was thinking maybe I’d drive up and see you and Nick for a day or two. What do you say?”
“That would be great. You want my help with the listing in any way?”
“I don’t have the listing yet. Divorcing couple. He’s a SEAL, and they don’t exactly see eye to eye on everything yet.”
Devon giggled. “They never do, unless you screw up, then they get reunited.”
“In this case, I’d actually walk away. They have two beautiful kids. A shame, really.”
“Not everyone can make it. Lots of divorces in the community. What day are you coming?”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. My place is open. We just finished the guest cottage, and I don’t have anyone renting it until the weekend. The place is yours.”
“Thanks.”
“Does Nick know him?”
“The SEAL? Name’s Shipley, Lucas Shipley.”
“I’ll ask him. Safe journeys. Why don’t you fly up? We got direct flights now, just like in the big city. I’ll pick you up at the airport. Would save you a whole day each way, unless you want the drive to ease your mind.”
“You know, I think I’ll do that. But let me pick up a car at the airport. I’m going to need my own wheels.”
“Yup, unless you want to drive one of our tractors.”
MARCY DROVE FROM the Charles Schulz airport down the freeway into Santa Rosa, and then took the two-lane country road to Bennett Valley. A small shingle sign at the end of a crushed granite driveway marked the property as Sophie’s Vineyard. The rows of lush green vines under a bright blue cloudless sky welcomed her. The rich black soil of Sonoma County provided stark contrast to th
e colors of the fresh crushed straw covering it. Something emotional was building inside, and she wasn’t quite sure what was happening. She felt like there was a new adventure looming—something unexpected was about to happen. It would alter her path forever.
Devon and Nick’s modern home was built on the site of Nick’s sister’s nursery grounds, a nursery that had failed as an enterprise, but succeeded in bringing together Nick and Devon, a couple who were living out their dreams in the wine country. Though Nick had retired from the teams without a pension, he was more than content running the day-to-day operations of the small winery. Devon made enough money for them to live on while the grapes were developing. It was a storybook romance from beginning to end.
Devon wrapped her arms around Marcy and gave her a squeeze. “So great to see you, Marcy. Wow. Things in San Diego must agree with you.”
“Thanks.” Marcy blushed. “I’ve been lucky, I guess.”
Nick appeared at the doorway. He was as handsome as Marcy remembered—tall with wide shoulders, blond hair and green eyes. Wearing jeans with suspenders and a khaki long-sleeved shirt rolled up at the sleeves, he was wiping his hands on a rag.
“Hey there, Marcy,” he said as he gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.
“You’re looking all farm boy-like, Nick. No body armor, guns, or tats covering half your body?”
“Oh, I got the tats,” Nick said, showing her the line of frog prints extending from his wrist to inside his elbow joint, just like Lucas had.
“All the guys on Kyle’s squad have them. Sort of a rite of passage. You’re working for one of us?” Nick squinted and asked, tossing the rag onto the seat of a riding mower.
“Lucas Shipley. You know him?”
“Yeah, Devon asked me. Can’t say that I do, but there were a bunch of guys at the end, coming on board. How long’s he been with the teams?”
“All I know is he re-upped a couple of years ago. His bonus was what gave them the down payment on the house I’m selling.” She allowed her voice to trail off. This was part of her job she wasn’t proud of.
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