“Ohhh, ouch. Well then, I probably knew him. Some of the guys do extra training, though. Languages, medic long course, details at Quantico, burn center in Texas. He could have been doing one of those.”
“And you took a lot of time off, Nick, when Sophie—”
Marcy had been told the story of how Nick’s sister had been poisoned with arsenic in her well water by a neighbor who was now serving time for her murder.
Devon frowned and then drew herself out of her private thought. “Well, I’m not being very hospitable leaving you out here. Nick, you want to get Marcy’s bags?”
Marcy opened the truck as Nick picked up two overnight suitcases and slung her briefcase over his shoulder.
“I still get to do all the heavy lifting around here,” he said as he widened his eyes and pretended to be overloaded.
Devon slipped an arm around Marcy’s waist. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s new? And I need to hear about all the hunks in San Diego you’re dating.”
As Marcy stepped into the doorway, she was stunned. Far from looking like a house, the place more aptly resembled a church. The living room was two stories tall, with a large glass garage door facing out to the hillside garden beyond. The carefully crafted rock walls and meandering garden paths she could see from the large window were stunning. Inside, the living and dining room contained eclectic things from all over the world, including a couple of flower boats from India and a carved sandalwood cabinet that looked like it came from a palace. She smelled fresh coffee and heard light jazz playing in the beautiful room.
“This is amazing. I guess I had a hard time visualizing it when I was up here for the wedding.” She turned around a couple of revolutions. “It doesn’t look like the same place.”
“That was before we got all the furniture in the house. Was a great place for a wedding, though,” Devon said.
Nick came back from the hallway and took his wife’s hand. “I’ve set your things on the bed in there. You have a fireplace, but I’d keep it off. We’re getting some heat these days. The pilot light keeps the room toasty, sometimes too warm.”
“Thank you so much,” Marcy said.
“You want something to drink? We were going to have an early supper.”
“Wine. You have any wine?”
Nick walked over to a huge floor-to-ceiling wine refrigerator cabinet with double doors, housing more than a hundred bottles of wine. He turned to Marcy and said, “We got white. We got red. You get to pick.”
“You have any that came from here? I’d love a red wine.”
“Excellent choice.” Nick presented the cool bottle to Marcy, where she read the label, Sophie’s Choice.
Chapter 9
‡
THE TRIP UP the coast was always enjoyable. Except for a couple of areas of commuter congestion, the ride was uneventful and stress-free. Lucas used the time to listen to several audio books he’d not made time for in San Diego. The beautiful ride went by quickly, even with the three stops for gas. Like most men on SEAL Team 3, he owned a Hummer, something Connie had been bugging him to get rid of because of the expense. Today, he was glad he’d prevailed in this one thing.
Watching the landscape change from ocean to rocky shoreline in the Monterey area, back to farmland north to Silicon Valley, and then back out to the coast at Marin, all the way nearly to Bodega Bay, it was hard to envision the beautiful scenery as a war zone. But if Thom was right, that’s exactly what it was. Stopping for oysters at Marshall’s Cove, he drank a beer and watched the sun as it began dropping to the water’s horizon. A local motorcycle club was loud and apparently staying nearby. Listening to their language, he pegged them for cops, not bandits.
It touched him as he watched the band of brothers play together, how the cops from the East Bay were trying so hard to have a normal life, just like he and his SEAL buddies did in Coronado. These men had seen the carnage left by society and chose to serve honorably, just like the SEALs. And just like the SEALs, in their off time, they didn’t want to look anything like cops. They wore their red bandanas and black leathers. Beefy arms sported tats. And every one of them had all manner of ear piercings. Some of the bikers were alone, some with wives or girlfriends. The ladies were in all sizes, shapes, and ages.
Good for them.
The public had no idea what evils lay out there, even in the brown and green hills of the wine country of California. Evil was everywhere. Lucas knew it was his job to keep evil at bay. And now he’d be doing that at home, as well.
He knew from the talk and the reaction from the other guys that this was a hard thing to wrap their minds around. Danger at home. Sure, the cops were used to it, but SEALs? Having to watch their six at home, in the land of freedom? Where everything was apple pie, and it was easier to tell the good guys from the bad guys?
Forget politics. Leave it to a bunch of politicians to make treaties and agreements they knew no one would keep, and leave it all to the fighting men and women to enforce the unenforceable. Wasn’t their fault they were losing the war, and now was it really coming over here? No one could win that kind of war. Even the zealots wouldn’t win.
It was just like the cops, trying to deal with the complexities and political decisions of local laws. Up to them to enforce the unenforceable, too.
He finished his oysters as he mentally said goodbye to the guys acting like badasses down at the designated fire pits on the beach. He drove east, and then in an hour arrived in Cloverdale.
He’d forgotten how the sound of the crickets made him feel safe. As long as they were doing their two-toned chirp thing, it meant no strange animal or person was on their way. Just like frogs at the local frog pond he’d played at as a child. When the din stopped suddenly, that was when you paid attention to your surroundings. His grandfather had taught him that.
Lucas fished for the old brass key, slipped it into the lock and instantly he was taken back twenty years, even though it had only been less than ten since he’d been here. That was the summer Granddad had passed away, and his dad soon after that, as if the two were brothers, instead of a very close father and son.
He’d always envied his dad’s relationship with his grandfather, probably forged because he’d been raised without a mother and there wasn’t anyone to dilute their relationship.
Their whispers in every corner still haunted him as he examined the crude, knotty pine cupboards the three of them had made one summer. He opened the cabinet next to the sink and, sure as shit, there were the holes in the cabinet door where he’d had to re-drill for the screws attaching the hinges three times. His dad wanted him to do it, until he learned how to do it right. The puttied holes were testament to a lesson learned, and no one ever talked about it after it was accomplished. As he grew into a teen and came up to hunt with the two most important men in his life, he liked to look at that door just to remind himself of where he’d come from. It was like proof of his existence.
The cabin had only one bedroom. The old brass bed sported the quilt his mother had made, and when he checked out the spongy mattress that always squeaked when his father happened to take his mother up sometimes, a small cloud of dust rose. Lucas quickly removed the quilt and took it outside, shaking it furiously. He left the colorful patchwork quilt over the porch handrail to air out.
Lucas reset the refrigerator switch and plugged it in, hearing the familiar purring of the old turquoise Philco appliance, stowing the milk, eggs and beer he’d brought, along with some meat for a barbeque he was looking forward to the following night. He found rags and cleaning supplies and did a thorough scrub down of the whole cabin, working until well after midnight. It was a labor of love, homage to a time long past and perhaps never coming again. Just like the refrigerator, he felt his reset switch had been tripped. He was ready for the change.
The cold shower he took before bed was exhilarating after the twelve-hour drive. He found a flannel nightshirt of his father’s in the bureau drawer, stowed his Sig Sauer under his pillow, b
rought the quilt from the porch inside and, draping it over the bed, crashed.
AT FIRST LIGHT, the birds began chirping, and Lucas found it impossible to sleep any further. He checked his gun, made his bed and unpacked the few things he’d brought with him. The tall highboy dresser with its cracked mirror stood faithfully to serve him, like a butler, showing a reflection of himself in the darkened glass. He took another cold shower, this time not feeling so cold, considered shaving and decided against it. He put on his jeans, a new t-shirt, and then a sweater of his father’s he’d found hanging in the closet.
He was going to make some coffee when he heard a car drive up. Quickly stowing his gun in the back waistband of his pants, covered by the sweater, he looked through the window to the driveway outside. Next to his burgundy Hummer, a white sedan was parking. Out stepped Marcy Gelland.
He opened the front door and leaned into the frame, arms crossed, until she looked up and saw him.
“Oh. It’s you!”
“Yes, Miss Gelland. I do own this cabin—at least for a little while longer, anyway.”
Her oversized satchel was slung over her shoulder. She had on a pair of forest green recycled ankle gardening boots, and a big white, silk shirt with a pocket stitched over one breast, covering long, tan slacks that were going to be way too warm in a couple of hours. She’d done her hair up in a clip, and she wore no makeup. He liked her better that way.
“You following me now?” he asked, not moving from the spot, daring her to try to gain entry into his private domain. “I told you I wasn’t going to sell this place.”
She turned around, glancing at the tree line before her eyes at last landed on the thatched roof of the cabin. Then she tilted her head and spoke to him. “Beautiful here. I don’t blame you a bit.”
“So, you’ve seen it. Now, you can go, Miss Gelland—or is it Mrs. Gelland?”
Her lips parted slightly, one side turned up, amused. “Marcy. You can call me Marcy. Unlike you, I’ve never been married.”
“Touché.” The sting in her comment hurt like a pinprick, but it sucked him back into his impending court battle with Connie. He dropped his arms at the sides, suddenly not knowing what to do with them. “Well, that’s it. Show’s over. I have nothing else left to offer, unless you like strong coffee and scrambled eggs.”
“I love strong coffee and scrambled eggs. I’m afraid I can’t make either one successfully.”
He didn’t know why he said it, but before he could take it back, found himself whispering, “Well, perhaps you’re better at other things.”
“I should hope so,” she said timidly. “I guess, according to you, I rob people for a living.”
“Ah, an honest woman who admits her vices. How refreshing. Do you ask for forgiveness before or after you fleece them?”
At first, she didn’t smile, just stared back at him. She wasn’t afraid, which was such a turn-on. “I solve problems. Most of my day is spent solving other people’s mistakes and problems. And I’m damn good at it.” She narrowed her eyes, as if taunting him to say something nasty.
Lucas was struck with the inability to fight with her. Whatever was going on, he couldn’t dislike her, and he wanted to, perhaps needed to.
Marcy still didn’t move an inch. There she was in the middle of the fuckin’ forest, way far away from anyone who could hear her scream. He was trying to stand up to her, trying to hate her and everything she stood for. He wanted to blame her for what his life was going to become. She was a willing accomplice to his wife’s selfish attitude.
She remained standing, as if waiting for instructions. Defiant, almost petulant, daring him to cave in and show his ungentlemanly side. She hugged her file folder and oversized purse, looking way more desirable than she probably knew. But when she broke a smile and stepped closer to his perch, she finally dropped the hand with the folder, catching it at the side of her hip, and giving him the view of her chest he’d wanted to see. Although he wasn’t going to let her catch him at it, his peripheral vision took in the whole lovely sight of her.
She glanced up, recognizing something, and gave him a playful, narrowed look. “I think we got off to a bad start. I’m not here to cause you any pain, or to rob you. Mr.—”
“Lucas. If I’m calling you Marcy, you’re calling me Lucas.”
“Yessir,” she said as she straightened her spine, her pert little lips doing that pouty thing.
What a blessing she was. What a fresh piece of something he’d never had and wanted desperately.
“Like I was saying, Lucas…”
Her large brown eyes smiled up at him, and his heart melted. He hadn’t realized he was so starved for mature female attention, the kind that wasn’t tipped or bought and paid for.
“I think you misunderstand my intentions. I’m not here to sell your cabin. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I can, or that Connie has the right to order either of them sold. That will have to be worked out in a settlement agreement between the two of you.”
He could see that the longer he watched her speak and focused on her lips, the more talkative she became. Words were nervously stringing together, and all he could think of was her light pink tongue darting out behind her white teeth, and the way she licked her lips and nervously bit her bottom one.
“You haven’t taken my suggestion and gotten an attorney yet, have you?” she finished and took in a deep breath.
“That was only a little over a day ago, Marcy.” He was thinking to himself that his perspective was changing by the minute. “But I’m all ears. Perhaps you can recommend someone for me.”
The double meaning seemed to make her blink very slowly, considering what he’d said. She quickly looked downward toward her ridiculous boots.
“Where’d you get those?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Costco.”
“No socks. Can’t go into the woods without socks. You’ll get ticks on your ankles, or worse, traveling up your pant legs.”
Marcy cocked her head and frowned then gave him that full gaze that did him in. She forged her response. “You going to continue to defend the perimeter, or am I invited in for those scrambled eggs and strong coffee? Or have I said something to cause you to change your mind?”
There was an exchange between them without words. It fell to him to speak up first, perhaps acknowledge what was going on inside him, hopefully inside her, too. He knew when a woman liked what she saw, and she was definitely transmitting it. “On the contrary. But enter at your own risk.”
He let his words linger there until she dropped her gaze again. Stepping aside, he turned and opened the door for her to walk into his life.
Once inside, she slowly took stock of the place, carefully examining the pictures on the walls, the cabinets, the hooked rug in front of the fireplace, the kitchen area, and the sparse furniture of the living room with one table lamp he’d made as a Boy Scout.
“It’s lovely. I can see why it has special meaning to you. Lots of memories here. I can feel them, I think.”
He’d been holding his breath. “Thank you.” He stepped closer to her, and slowly brought his palm to her cheek and cupped it. Letting his fingers brush against her flawless skin, and then dropped his hand. He wanted to be careful, not push his boundaries, but the granite in his pants was making him very uncomfortable.
She turned once again, and he wanted to lace his fingers through her hair, take that damned clip out and muss it all up real good, before he gave her the kiss she so deserved. Hell, he deserved that kiss. It had been a long, insane dry spell.
She set her folder down on the table, placing her bag on top of it. “Can I help you with something?”
Oh, yeah, darlin’. You can help me heal that big wound in my soul. Get me feeling right about myself again, about the world. “Let’s see. Can you crack eggs?” he asked as he brought out a carton from the refrigerator and set them next to a green bowl from the cupboard. “I even have the right implements.” He drew out a wire whisk from one
of the drawers.
Her fingers wrapped around the base of the whisk, and for a moment, their fingers touched. It would have been so easy to curl her into his chest, kiss the top of her head, and feel her blood pumping in her neck as he nibbled there. She smelled divine, and he was fairly sure her temperature had risen, since there were tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip.
He moved away from her to light the propane stove and pull out an iron skillet. As she cracked several eggs, he brushed behind her to get the butter. He felt her jump at his proximity, and it gladdened him. He would take the whole day cracking eggs and eating breakfast if she’d let him. Suddenly, he wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything.
He poured water from a gallon jug into a saucepan on the stove, and after boiling it and cooking the eggs, filled the coned coffee filter to the top and watched as it drained into a ceramic pitcher.
He added cheese and some spices to the eggs, made toast in the frying pan, poured their coffee, and put the cream on the table.
“Breakfast is served, Madame,” he said with a bow, placing the two plates on the table across from each other.
“So how often did you come here growing up?” she asked.
“Some of the best times of my life. My grandfather and father used to bring me up every summer. Sometimes my mom, but only occasionally. Learned to hunt and fish. They told stories about being a man that scared this little boy to death.”
Lucas worried he’d revealed something perhaps he shouldn’t.
The silence was awkward and in need of filling. Marcy beat him to it. “Wow. These eggs are terrific—I think the best I’ve had.”
“Not my best skill,” he said, smiling into his coffee mug.
She answered him with a smile. “You want an update on the house?”
“I don’t care about that right now, really.”
“Okay.”
“No offense.”
“None taken,” she said breathlessly. “Lucas, this property was yours before your marriage, from what I can see. Unless you encumbered it in some way.” Her eyes were soft.
SEAL Brotherhood Lucas Page 5