Hot SEAL, Salty Dog

by Elle James

  She nodded. “Why were you grinning so much?”

  “It’s my natural reaction to seeing my wife,” Chase said, the grin broadening. “I can’t help but think how lucky I am that you chose me.”

  “I thought you chose me, and I just went along with it because I had nothing better to do in Cabo San Lucas,” she teased him.

  “You mean you haven’t since falling for me because of my skills in a kayak?”

  “Uh, no,” she said. “You flipped it and took me down with you. You nearly drowned me.”

  “Hmm. That’s not how I remembered it. I thought I saved you from drowning after you capsized while trying to kiss me.” He nibbled a line along the length of her neck, slowing to test the pulse beating at the base. “Either way, we lived, and we’re here now,” he murmured against her skin.

  “Why did you bring me here? I thought you were going to take me to Montana where you’ll be working now.”

  “I had a couple of things to take care of first. You know, pack my apartment and forward my mail. And I promised your father I’d let him have time with you before I took you away to the wilds of the north. I wanted you to meet my family. The brothers who’ve meant the most to me for the past few years.” He turned her toward the group of men gathered around a large table.

  Maggie held back. “You didn’t tell me we were meeting a big group of people.”

  “I didn’t want this motley crew to scare you away before you got to know them.” Chase gave a sharp whistle to get their attention. “Hey, you bunch of dirtbags, I want you to meet Maggie.”

  “Maggie!” As one, all of the men lifted their drinks and shouted her name.

  “Because you’re all family to me, I wanted you to be here to get to know someone else I care a great deal about. This is Mrs. Maggie Flannigan, my wife.”

  “What? You’re kidding!” one yelled.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” said another.

  Yet a third man slapped his leg and laughed. “The most confirmed bachelor took the plunge. That doesn’t bode well for the rest of us.”

  “Let me introduce you to them by their favorite drinks.” He pointed to the first man to his right, a dark-haired man with soulful brown eyes. “This is Dirty Martini, or Dirtman for short. He doesn't talk much, well, except to cuss. You'll get used to him.”

  Dirty Martini shot Chase his middle finger and gave Maggie a chin lift of recognition.

  Chase pointed to a man with a high-and-tight haircut, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and a navy-blue blazer. “That’s Bourbon Neat. He likes the expensive stuff.”

  Maggie smiled at the man and shook his hand. He dressed like a man on his way to a business meeting, except relaxed like being so cool was as natural as breathing.

  Pointing to a man sipping from a wine goblet, Chase said, “This is Red Wine. He likes to think he’s sophisticated.”

  The man in question tossed a pretzel at Chase. “Nah, I just never developed a taste for beer. Why suffer drinking piss water, when I can have a smooth, red wine?” He lifted his glass to Maggie. “Welcome to the family, sister.”

  “Cold Beer likes his beer cold and his women hot,” Chase tipped his head toward a man holding a frosty beer mug. “He can flip a beer cap into any can. He’s won money from that particular skill.”

  “Damn right.” The man with the neatly trimmed beard lifted his mug in salute. “Still can’t believe Salty Dog got hitched. You must be some special kind of woman. Congrats.”

  “She is the best kind of woman,” Chase said and pointed to a man with a glass containing a dark liquid. “Single Malt’s not as pretentious as his choice of liquor would lead you to believe. He just doesn’t drink if single malt isn’t available. He’s acquired a taste for the good shit.”

  Single Malt nodded. “I don’t settle for less than what I want.”

  “Stick with your standards, man,” Chase said and turned to a man with a mixed drink. “Rusty Nail likes the hard stuff because he’s a hard case.”

  Rusty Nail lifted his glass. “Don’t listen to him. I like my liquor hard, and my women soft. I’m a teddy bear at heart.”

  “Last but not least is our permanent designated driver, Black Coffee.” Chase indicated a man with dark hair, sipping on a mug of steaming java. “We’re fortunate to have him stone sober, for the most part. Although, on occasion, he likes to mix a little Irish cream in his mug.”

  Black Coffee nodded his head. “Glad to oblige. Nice to meet you, Maggie.”

  Chase continued. “And you know Sex on the Beach, who earned his moniker by being the biggest womanizer of the lot.”

  Carson, wearing a shirt with palm trees and hula girls, grinned. “That’s right. Two of my favorite things. Sex and beaches.”

  Maggie laughed. “Thank goodness, some people can be reformed.”

  “Some of these guys need it,” Chase said.

  The men threw cardboard coasters at him.

  “Some of us don’t want to be reformed,” said the one Chase had called Dirty Martini.

  “By the way, what did you do with Delgado?” she asked Carson.

  Carson grinned. “That’s classified.”

  Maggie snorted. “Classified, my ass.” But she shook her head. “One of these days you’ll have to tell us.”

  “One of these days, I might,” Carson said.

  Maggie grinned and looked up to Chase. “Your team has some interesting names. And that’s where you got the nickname Salty Dog?” she asked. “You like grapefruit juice and vodka?”

  He nodded. “Yes, it is. Now that my rowdy family is here, and because my girl has a propensity for forgetting some of the most important moments of her life, I wanted you all to bear witness to what I’m about to do.”

  Maggie frowned. “What’s this all about?” Her heart fluttered in her chest, and butterflies erupted in her belly.

  Chase puffed out his chest and dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans. As he pulled out a small box and sank to one knee.

  His friends whistled, hooted and called out.

  “Go, Salty Dog!” Rusty Nail called out.

  “Do it right, old man!” Carson yelled.

  Dirty Martini snorted. “Another one bites the dust.”

  Chase shot them a glaring look. “Shut up and listen. I need witnesses.”

  Every one of the men pulled out their cell phones and hit their video recording buttons.

  Maggie’s knees weakened as she stared down at Chase looking up at her.

  “Just so you know,” he said. “I’ve cleared this with your father.”

  Her breath caught. “My father? You two are talking?”

  Chase nodded. “Yes, we are. He doesn’t hate me anymore.”

  She chuckled. “You’re a miracle worker. My father hates everyone.”

  “Not his son-in-law. Not anymore. We’ve bonded.” Chase took a deep breath and launched. “Maggie Neal Flannigan, you’ve shown me that marriage isn’t as scary as I always thought. You’ve shown me how strong a woman can be, and how much joy she can bring to a relationship. I wanted to show you how much that has meant to me by giving you a token of my love.” He opened the box and extracted a beautiful ring with a large diamond solitaire at the center, the band lined with smaller diamonds. “I know we skipped the whole engagement thing. So, we don’t have to do that. And we got married before we got to know each other, and I have the certificate to prove it. So, Maggie will you not annul our marriage, will you stay married to me for richer or poorer, until death do us part?” He took her left hand in his and held it with the ring poised to join the wedding band on her ring finger. He paused, waiting for her response.

  The lump forming in Maggie’s throat almost made it impossible for her to answer. She swallowed several times, delaying the inevitable conclusion.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Chase said. “Don’t hesitate. You’re getting me worried.”

  She laughed, the joy of the moment bringing tears to her eyes. Finally, she forced words past
her vocal cords. “Yes, yes, yes,” she said and pulled him to his feet and into her arms. “I wasn’t sure who you were at first, but you’ve shown me a man I can trust to save me when the cartel is after me. A man who likes to dance and isn’t afraid to do it in front of every barhopping drunk in Cabo San Lucas. And you’ve shown me that falling in love doesn’t have to take months to get there. When you find the right person, you just know. Even through a haze of alcohol. I love you, Chase Flannigan, my best friend, my hero and my husband. I’ll stay married to you for as long as we both shall live.”

  Maggie flung her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him with all the love and passion she felt for the stranger she’d woken up married to in a foreign country.

  The men congratulated Chase amid hugs and good-natured ribbing. All of them lined up to kiss Maggie’s cheek before they resumed their seats and lifted their drinks for a toast.

  “To the newlyweds!” Carson said. “May they live long and procreate. We need the next generation of Navy SEALs to carry on the tradition.”

  A cheer went up from the table of Navy SEALs, and the party of Maggie’s life began in earnest.

  * * *

  Read more books in the SEALs in Paradise Series:

  Hot SEAL, Salty Dog by Elle James

  Hot SEAL, S*x on the Beach by Delilah Devlin

  Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini by Cat Johnson

  Hot SEAL, Bourbon Neat by Parker Kincade

  Hot SEAL, Red Wine by Becca Jameson

  Hot SEAL, Cold Beer by Cynthia D’Alba

  Hot SEAL, Rusty Nail by Teresa Reasor

  Hot SEAL, Single Malt by Kris Michaels

  Hellfire, Texas

  Hellfire Series Book #1

  New York Times & USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  * * *

  ELLE JAMES

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  The hot July sun beat down on the asphalt road. Shimmering heat waves rose like mirages as Becket Grayson drove the twenty miles home to Coyote Creek Ranch outside of Hellfire, Texas. Wearing only a sweat-damp T-shirt and the fire retardant pants and boots of a firefighter, he couldn’t wait to get home, strip, and dive into the pool. Although he’d have to hose down before he clouded the water with the thick layer of soot covering his body from head to toe.

  The Hellfire Volunteer Firefighter Association met the first Saturday of every month for training in firefighting, rescues, and first responder care. Today had been particularly grueling in the late summer swelter. Old Lady Mersen graciously donated her dilapidated barn for structural fire training and rescue.

  All thirty volunteers had been on hand to participate. Though hot, the training couldn’t have gone better. Each volunteer got a real taste of how fast an old barn would go up in flames, and just how much time they had to rescue any humans or animals inside. Some had the opportunity to exercise the use of SCBA, self-contained breathing apparatus, the masks and oxygen tanks that allowed them to enter smoke-filled buildings, limiting exposure and damage to their lungs. Other volunteers manned the fire engine and tanker truck, shuttling water from a nearby pond to the portable tank deployed on the ground. They unloaded a total of five tanks onto the barn fire before it was completely extinguished. With only one tanker truck, the shuttle operation slowed their ability to put out the fire, as the blaze rebuilt each time they ran out of water in the holding pool. They needed at least two tanker trucks in operation to keep the water flowing. As small as the Hellfire community was, the first engine and tanker truck would never have happened without generous donations from everyone in the district and a government grant. But, they had an engine that could carry a thousand, and a tanker capable of thirty-five hundred gallons. Forty-five hundred gallons was better than nothing.

  Hot, tired, and satisfied with what he’d learned about combating fire without the advantages of a city fire hydrant and unlimited water supply, Becket had learned one thing that day. Firefighting involved a lot more than he’d ever imagined. As the Fire Chief said, all fires were different, just like people were different. Experience taught you the similarities, but you had to expect the unexpected.

  Two miles from his turnoff, Becket could almost taste the ice-cold beer waiting in the fridge and feel the cool water of the ranch swimming pool on his skin.

  A puff of dark smoke drifted up from a stalled vehicle on the shoulder of the road ahead. The puff grew into a billowing cloud, rising into the air.

  Becket slowed as he neared the disabled vehicle.

  A black-haired woman stood in the V of the open driver’s door, attempting to push the vehicle off the road. She didn’t need to worry about getting it off the road so much as getting herself away from the smoke and fire before the gas tank ignited and blew the car to pieces.

  A hundred yards away from the potential disaster, Becket slammed on his brakes, shifted into park, and jumped out of his truck. “Get away from the car!” he yelled, running toward the idiot woman. “Get away before it explodes!”

  The woman shot a brief glance back at him before continuing on her mission to get the car completely off the road and into the bone-dry grass.

  Becket ran up behind her, grabbed her around the middle, and hauled her away from the now-burning vehicle.

  “Let go of me!” she screamed, tearing at his hands. “I have to get it off the road.”

  “Damn it, lady, it’s not safe.” Not knowing when the tank would ignite, he didn’t have time to argue. Becket spun her around, threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and jogged away from the burning vehicle.

  “I have to get it off the road,” she said, her voice breaking with each jolt to her gut.

  “Leave it where it is. I’ll call in the fire department, they’ll have the fire out before you know it. In the meantime, that vehicle is dangerous.” He didn’t stop or put her down until he was back behind his truck.

  He set her on her feet, but she darted away from him, running back toward the vehicle, her long, jet-black hair flying out behind her.

  Becket lunged, grabbed her arm, and jerked her back. “Are you crazy?”

  “I can’t leave it in the road,” she sobbed. “Don’t you see? He’ll find it. He’ll find me!” She tried prying his fingers free of her arm.

  He wasn’t letting go.

  “The fire will ignite the gas tank. Unless you want to be fried like last year’s turkey, you need to stand clear.” He held her back to his chest, forcing her to view the fire and the inherent danger.

  She sagged against him, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. “I have to hide it.”

  “Can I trust you to stay put?”

  She nodded, her hair falling into her face.

  “I’m making a call to the Hellfire Volunteer Firefighters Association.”

  Before he finished talking, she was shaking her head. “No. You can’t. No one can know I’m here.”

  “Why?” He settled his hands on her shoulders and was about to turn her to face him when an explosion rocked the ground.

  Becket grabbed the woman around the waist.

  She yelped and whimpered as Becket ducked behind the tailgate of his pickup, and waited for the debris to settle. Then he slowly rose.

  Smoke and fire shot into the air. Where the car had been now was a raging inferno. Black smoke curled into the sky.

  “Sweetheart, I won’t have to call 911. In the next fifteen minutes, this place will be surrounded by firefighters.”

  Her head twisted left and right as she attempted to pry his hands away from her waist. “You’re hurting me.”

  He released her immediately. “The sheriff will want a statement from you.”

  “No. I can’t.” Again, she darted away from him. “I have to get as far away from here as possible.”

  Becket snagged her arm again and whipped her around. “You can’t just leave the scene of a fire. There will be an investigation.” He stared down at her, finally getting a look at her. “Do I know you?”
/>
  “I don’t…” The young woman glanced up, eyes narrowing. She reached up a hand and rubbed some of the soot off his face. Recognition dawned and her eyes grew round. “Becket? Becket Grayson?”

  He nodded. “And I know I should know you, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  Her widened eyes filled with tears, and she flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, dear God. Becket!”

  He held her, struggling to remember who she was.

  Her body trembled, her arms like clamps around his neck.

  “Hey.” Surprised by her outburst, Becket patted her back. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” she cried into his sweat-dampened shirt, further soaking it with her tears. “No, it’s not.”

  His heart contracted, feeling some of the pain in her voice. “Yes, it is. But you have to start by telling me who you are.” He hugged her again, then loosened the arms around his neck and pushed her to arms’ length. “Well?”

  The cheek she’d rested against his chest was black with soot, her hair wild and tangled. Familiar green eyes, red-rimmed and awash with tears, looked up at him. “You don’t remember me.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Sorry. You look awfully familiar, but I’m just not making the connection.” He smiled gently. “Enlighten me.”

  “I’m Kinsey Phillips. We used to be neighbors.”

  His confusion cleared, and he grinned. “Little Kinsey Phillips? The girl who used to hang out with Nash and follow us around the ranch, getting into trouble?”

  Sniffling, she nodded.

  Becket shook his head and ran his gaze over her from head to toe. “Look at you, all grown up.” He chuckled. “Although, you didn’t get much taller.”

  She straightened to her full height. “No. Sadly, I stopped growing taller when I was thirteen.”

  “Well, Little Kinsey…” He pulled her into the curve of his arm and faced the burning mess that had been her car. “What brings you back to Hellfire? Please tell me you didn’t come to have your car worked on by my brother, Rider. I’m afraid there’s no hope for it.”