SEALed With A Kiss: Heroes With Heart

by Low, Gennita

  Hawk cleared his throat before he could speak. “Let’s go talk to him. Hey, Cutter, don’t you think you’ve goldbricked enough?” he asked loudly as he approached the bed. “It’s time to rise and shine, sailor.”

  Zoe brushed a kiss across Brett’s forehead, and drew the sheet up over his bare chest.

  It seemed surreal seeing the man so unresponsive when he had always been so active. Because he ran every day and lifted weights, as did most of the other team members, he was in prime condition. The slow rise and fall of his chest made it appear as though he’d just nodded off for a brief power nap, not a two weeklong excursion into a dark nether world.

  Hawk lowered his tall frame into a chair next to the bed and propped his foot on the bottom railing of the bed. He kept up the one sided conversation with Brett, while Zoe exercised her brother’s arms and legs so the muscles wouldn’t atrophy.

  Not being much of a talker, he found it difficult to keep the unreciprocated flow going. He talked about the team, about the barbeque, and about the remodeling project he worked on at his house.

  “I could really use your help, Cutter. It’s hard as hell hanging sheetrock by myself.”

  “Why do you call him that?” she asked.

  “Most of the men have nicknames. Cutter got his during his first mission after graduating SEAL training.”

  Zoe looked so young, with her hair pulled back and the sun kissed blush upon her cheeks and nose. Reluctant to tell her anything that might put her brother, or his profession, in an adverse light he wracked his brain for an innocuous comment to explain. She beat him to it.

  “Brett was always toying with sharp instruments. Knives. Screwdrivers. Axes. I imagine that comes in handy when you’re in dangerous situations.”

  “Yeah, it does.” Damn, she was tough. She faced off the hard things without flinching.

  “Brett used to practice at targets in the back yard with a bow and arrow. He was on the archery team in high school. He won several competitions.”

  “And what were you like in high school?”

  “Very shy and self-conscious.”

  “You outgrew it.”

  She bent Brett’s knee, pushed his foot all the way up to his buttocks, then straightened the limb again. “I know my limitations and accept them.”

  His gaze dropped to the pant leg that covered her injury and he frowned.

  A cursory knock sounded on the door and it opened. A nurse entered the room. Her thick dark brown hair, though pinned up according to regulations, still managed to look attractive. The green scrubs she wore didn’t entirely hide the curves beneath.

  Cutter was going to love waking up to her. She was just his type.

  She nodded in acknowledgement of Hawk’s presence. As he started to shove himself to a standing position, with the use of the chair arms, she waved him back down. “At ease, sir.”

  Her gaze swung to Zoe. “Hello, Zoe. Captain Connelly will be by in about half an hour.”

  Zoe nodded. “How have Brett’s vitals been today, Angela?”

  Angela checked the chart she carried. “Steady and strong.”

  She came forward to unwind the hose of a blood pressure cuff and wrap it around Brett’s arm. She pumped the bulb and took the reading, then recorded it in the chart. She went through a routine of checking his pulse then looked over the reading on each machine, each time entering the data into the chart.

  Zoe resumed the exercises.

  “You might check into the hospital administration office. We subcontract some of our PT,” Angela said as she watched.

  “Thanks for the tip, but I’m not going to be here long enough to settle into a job. As soon as Brett’s on his feet again, I’ll have to return home to Kentucky.”

  Angela looked down at the chart for a moment. “It’s early days yet. He may wake up tomorrow.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Zoe said.

  The doctor showed up a few minutes later. Hawk rose to his feet, and with the help of his crutches, balanced on his good leg. Though she had demonstrated more than once she didn’t want his comfort or support, he stood beside Zoe while the doctor examined Brett.

  He could sense her worry in the stiff way she held herself and in the way her eyes followed the doctor’s every move.

  “He’s responsive to painful stimuli, his pupils are equally reactive, and his EEG shows normal brain activity.” Captain Connelly said as he turned to face them both. “He just hasn’t decided to join us, yet.”

  “I’ve been doing some PT with him, hoping the exertion will stimulate him and he’ll wake up,” Zoe said.

  “It certainly can’t hurt him. Talk to him as much as you can while you’re here.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.” Zoe squared her shoulders. Her battle-ready look slipping into place. Her jaw was set and her eyes homed in on Connelly like lasers. “I want permission to spend as much time with Brett as possible, even in between visiting hours. I’ll read to him, talk to him, do PT, whatever it takes to get his attention.”

  Dr. Connelly’s square jawed features softened in sympathy. “Miss Weaver—”

  “Zoe,” she interrupted.

  A brief smile curved his lips. “Zoe. I know you want what’s best for your brother.”

  “What’s best for Brett is for him to wake up.”

  “Yes, it is,” Dr. Connelly conceded. “But he’s also sustained a trauma to his brain. He needs time to heal. I’ve spoken to one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, and have faxed him copies of everything in your brother’s file. Let’s wait and see what he says before you launch your campaign, all right?”

  “And if he gives the go ahead?” she pressed, the determination in her expression unwavering.

  “Yes, I’ll give you a green light and you can camp out with your brother as much as you like—within reason.” He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It will ultimately be up to your brother, though. I know how frightening it is to see him lying there seemingly unresponsive. There is something going on in his brain. The readings of his electroencephalogram register brain activity. His brain pressure is normal now. His MRI shows no extensive brain damage. I don’t know why he won’t wake up.”

  “So there is hope,” Hawk said.

  Zoe frowned.

  “Yes, there is. I haven’t given up on Ensign Weaver. You shouldn’t either,” Connelly said.

  Hawk nodded, a deep sense of relief easing the taut feeling of guilt that knotted his insides. He had to hold on to the belief that Brett would wake up, just as Zoe did.

  As he looked down at his friend, his thoughts turned to other questions too hard to speak aloud. What if he woke up crippled, brain damaged, unable to care for himself? What then would Brett or his family do?

  His attention focused on Zoe’s face. The delicate curve of her cheek and jaw, the wing-like sweep of her brows, the straight narrow line of her nose, gave her features a fragile femininity that underlined her vulnerability, despite her expression of stubborn resolve. He suddenly realized that was her way of warding off the fear and uncertainty. Just as it was Brett’s.

  With the men in his command, he could give them a slap on the back, a nod, a thumbs up, a hooyah. Hawk did the only thing he could do with Zoe. He laced his fingers through hers in a show of support and comfort and immediately a thrum of electricity passed between them.

  Zoe’s attention shifted to their laced hands then refocused on the neurologist.

  Doctor Connelly spoke as he crossed to the door. “I’ll be speaking with you again tomorrow. I hope to hear something from the specialist I’ve contacted by then.”

  “We’ll both be here, Doc,” Hawk answered.

  The door thumped shut quietly behind Connelly. The silence stretched taut as the strings on a parachute.

  She stepped away, withdrawing her hand from his. She avoided his gaze as she moved back to Brett’s side. For the hundredth time, she adjusted the sheet over him.

  “I’m just trying to be
a friend, Zoe.”

  “I didn’t think anything else, Lieutenant.”

  “Hawk.”

  Her gaze rose to his face. “Hawk.”

  He grinned. “Now that we’ve settled that, when do you want to move in with me?”

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  “Hold on there little darlin’,” Ensign Dan Rivera said as he came out of the attic stairwell. He caught Zoe around the waist and swung her out of the way as his two companions muscled a chest of drawers through the door and down the hall to the bedroom.

  “Bowie—unhand that woman and grab the nightstand,” ‘Doc,’ Ensign Zack O’Connor said as they disappeared into the bedroom with the chest. Neither he, nor Lieutenant Junior Grade Harold Carney, Flash, Adam’s Executive Officer, seemed to find the bulky chest too burdensome.

  “What if I don’t want to unhand you, Zoe? How would you feel about that?” Bowie’s brown eyes held a warmth she hadn’t encouraged.

  When he flashed his dimples at her, she thought he might just have some idea how potent his smile was, and how to use it to his advantage. What was wrong with her that her heart didn’t leap at all the male sex appeal he exuded? The electric thrill seemed to be reserved for Adam “Hawk” Yazzie. He could walk into the room and every nerve in her body came to life.

  “The only man I’m interested in right now is the Sandman, Bowie. I intend to take a long, long nap, as soon as you get the bed up. I’m beat.” She knew she looked it, too. Since getting the go ahead from the neurologist, she’d spent every moment, from dawn to midnight, at the hospital.

  Bowie’s masculine tones held a hint of west Texas. “I’ll ask again, when you’re not so wore out.” He stepped away then looked over his shoulder at her. “I like long, slow kisses, cuddling, and I’ve been told I have a light touch. You might want to keep that in mind, while you’re deciding whether or not to give me a chance.”

  The heat of a blush flared in her face. She found it impossible to come up with any kind of answer.

  Bowie’s smile widened. “We’ll get the bedroom squared away for you right away.” He went up the stairs to retrieve the nightstand.

  She stood at the doorway of the bedroom, but didn’t go in. “There’s lasagna, salad, and garlic bread in the kitchen, when you want to take a break.”

  Doc looked up, his eyes as green as his Irish ancestor’s homeland. His short auburn hair stood on end where he had raked his hands through it. “We’ll be there ASAP, as soon as we get this bed frame together, and the mattress and box springs from upstairs.”

  “Lasagna is my favorite,” Flash commented as he tightened a bolt, while Doc held the metal frame in place against the footboard. “Is it a family recipe?” A slight Boston undertone flavored Flash’s voice with New England charm.

  His quiet soft-spoken manner seemed more restful than the others and his blond, blue-eyed good looks were very appealing.

  “My mother’s.”

  “Do you cook?” he asked.

  “Not a lick,” she fibbed, a smile tugging at her lips.

  Flash glanced up. “That’s all right, I do.” He winked at her.

  She smiled. “Do they give a class in flirting, along with weapon maintenance and hand to hand combat, when you train to become a SEAL?”

  “Naw,” Flash shook his head. “We just pretty much know what we want, keep our eye on the prize, and don’t give up. It’s a characteristic of the breed.”

  She’d lived with two people growing up who fit that bill. Her father and her brother. She figured she could handle that.

  “I wonder how you two would react if you met up with a female with those same characteristics?”

  The two men looked at one another. “Run,” they said together.

  She laughed. It seemed like months since she had done so. It felt good.

  “What’s going on?” Hawk asked from directly behind her.

  She turned and looked over her shoulder at him. He held a wooden lamp he had been repairing, a slight frown on his face. He had discarded his crutches for just the brace and she hadn’t heard his approach.

  “Nothing, we’re just talking.”

  “Food’s getting cold,” he said as he slipped past her. His hand lightly brushed the small of her back, with just enough pressure that her nerve endings zinged, and her heart picked up its rhythm.

  Bowie dodged around her with the nightstand. “Don’t have to tell me twice when chow’s on. Let Flash and Hawk take care of that, Doc. You and I can bring down the box springs and mattress.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” Doc straightened and stepped out of the bed frame. The two went upstairs.

  Zoe returned to the kitchen and helped herself to a small bowl of salad. She wandered out to the screened-in back porch and sat down in the old metal glider Hawk had renovated and placed against one wall. Green striped lounge pillows cushioned the seat. Propping her feet up on the brown wicker coffee table, she set the glider in motion. The sunset deepened to rose, maroon, and then purple painting the laminate floor with color. Through the screened windows, the sweet scent of honeysuckle wafted on the breeze. The cadence of the crickets thrummed in a synchronized ebb and flow, the sound draining the tension from her shoulders and neck.

  The porch was fast becoming her favorite spot. She gravitated there to unwind when she arrived home from the hospital. Her bowl empty, she set it aside on the wicker end table beside the glider and eyed the sunken hot tub a few feet away. Maybe she could fill it after dinner when everyone left. With the aid of a few potted plants, and the canvas shades that could be lowered over the windows, she could find some privacy. Perhaps it would ease the pain in her calf from standing too long.

  Imagining Hawk in the hot tub with any number of buxom, blonde beauties cost her more than a twinge or two of jealousy. A jealousy she tried to deny. Along with the feelings that inspired it. Every time she experienced the rush of excitement when he entered the room, or the hypersensitive tingle of heat when he touched her, a lingering ache centered just beneath her breastbone.

  Better the ache of regret than the pain of caring for him more deeply and something happening to him. The sound of her mother’s soft sobs coming from her bedroom late at night when she’d thought they were all asleep echoed through her head and gave her heart a sharp pinch.

  Waiting for letters, emails, telegrams, had only played a small part of their life in the military. Praying they never got a visit from an official two-man detail to notify them that their loved one was dead had played a bigger one. And damn, if it didn’t overshadow the rest. It made remembering any of the good times harder.

  Drawing her bare feet up on the seat, she hugged her knees and rested her head atop them. She rubbed the sharp pain that lanced from her knee to her ankle as the damaged muscle stretched. She tried to forget about her leg, tried to function as normally as possible. There were days she succeeded, when the pain remained slight. When her calf burned and throbbed from standing or walking too much, she resented pandering to it but was forced to wear the brace she hated.

  “Zoe,” Clara Weaver spoke from the open doorway.

  She straightened and turned her head to look up at her. The kitchen light lanced across her mother’s face, setting alight the coppery tones in her hair. Some of the strain, apparent from the week before, had drained from Clara’s features, easing the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. She had housework and shopping to attend to, which offered her a distraction and a sense of normalcy.

  Her own discomfort at being so close to Hawk would be worth it, if living here gave her mother some respite from her worry over Brett.

  “The men are finished. Come eat.”

  She lowered her feet to the floor and rocked forward to rise then stood stationary for a moment to make sure of her balance.

  “You brought your brace, didn’t you?” Clara asked.

  “I don’t need it.”

  Clara brushed a few strands of hair from Zoe’s forehead, the gesture famil
iar as the look of concern on her face. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “I just haven’t done my exercises in a couple of days. I’ll do them tonight after dinner.”

  Clara nodded and stepped back to allow her to enter the kitchen.

  Hawk and Doc looked up from serving themselves from a large pan of lasagna on the stove. She fell in behind them.

  He took her empty plate and traded it for the one he had just filled.

  “Cut me a smaller piece, Hawk.”

  His gray gaze fixed on her a moment before he scooped the lasagna onto her plate and traded with her. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to eat a little more,” he said, his deep voice only a rumble. She wondered what it would be like to hear that tone whispered in her ear as his long, lean body covered hers. Her mouth went dry and she bit her lip.

  She had to quit doing this to herself. Fantasies aside, she would never be brave enough to leave herself open to that kind of rejection again. Though he was doing all he could to make up for the situation, he had still uttered the words that guaranteed she would never let him close, “It’s my fault Brett was hurt.”

  Why did she have to keep reminding herself of that? Her loyalty belonged to her brother, not to a man she barely knew.

  Bowie pulled out her chair for her as they joined the rest at the dining room table. Doc poured her a glass of ice tea when he noticed she had forgotten a drink. Was the men’s solicitous behavior motivated by friendliness? Or was it pity? She flinched from the idea.

  She hadn’t encouraged any of their advances, and if she did? The poor man would eventually run once he saw her scars anyway. It was good she needed all her energy for Brett. She’d return home, once her brother was back on his feet, in exactly the same condition she’d arrived in California. With her heart in one piece.

  “After dinner, want to go out for ice cream?” Flash whispered from beside her.

  “No fair making time with my woman, Flash,” Doc said.

  “All things are fair in love and war, Doc.”

  She shook her head at their good-natured competitiveness.