“Hawk.”
Zoe Weaver’s heart lurched at the masculine voice behind her. She looked over her shoulder, her gaze searching the group of casually dressed naval personnel who took up most of the backyard and deck. Several men called out greetings and converged on the tall man balanced on crutches just inside the wooden gate.
Hawk’s midnight dark hair stood out against the lighter toned heads that surrounded him. His high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, and angular jaw were a study in pride and control as well as his Native American heritage. She had only a moment to admire the bone deep masculine beauty of his features before his pale gray gaze homed in on her. Shock reverberated from her midsection to the bottoms of her feet. Her heart rate kicked into a gallop.
Realizing her prolonged stare could be misconstrued; she turned her attention back to the tray of hamburgers she was replenishing. Had she known he would be coming to the Marks’ barbecue, she’d have made some excuse to avoid the gathering.
Just his presence made her hands tremble and her stomach to somersault. A burst of resentment tightened her shoulders. She took a deep breath, drawing in the scents of chlorine, suntan lotion, and grilling meat as her rapid-fire heartbeat continued to thump against her ribs.
The man was six foot, four inches of Navy Brass through and through. He’d probably bleed Brasso if he scraped his elbow. The analogy wasn’t true, but it served to remind herself of whom and what he was. A Navy SEAL. Through and through.
Since meeting him six days earlier, she’d found it hard to push aside the impression he had made, or the anger she experienced because of it.
“I screwed up,” had been the way Hawk had put it. Without any details. She understood injuries happened in combat, but he made no bones about taking the blame for her brother’s condition. Like a good team leader.
To hell with that.
She wanted answers, not military platitudes.
She couldn’t direct her rage at a situation, only at the man claiming responsibility. A likely military ploy.
Every time she went to the hospital and saw her brother hooked up to tubes and wires, she experienced another surge of emotion, grief and fear.
The strongest of them, fear.
She needed to know what had happened to Brett.
She scanned the small clumps of people scattered around the yard eating and drinking. Langley Marks, her host, had finally abandoned his position at the grill and joined some of the men at the volleyball net set up in the corner of the yard. Others sat at one end of the deck in the shade, watching the game and calling out encouragement to the players.
Under any other circumstances, this trip to California would have been a treat. The weather remained beautiful, the temperatures a moderate seventy degrees. Palm trees loomed over the wooden privacy fence encircling the yard. Hibiscus shrubs, hugged the deck, their big fuchsia blossoms a splash of color against the lightly stained wood that matched the sand-hued stucco on the house’s exterior walls.
High-pitched squeals coming from the pool drew her attention. Her mother and sister sat poolside with Trish Marks, encircled by a ring of female supporters, wives and girlfriends of the men present.
The deep worry lines etched into her mother’s face were a testament to her own beliefs. Getting involved with a man in uniform was just asking for pain. A father and possibly a brother were enough to give for her country.
The muted tones of a child’s voice broke into her reverie. She looked around the food-laden picnic table in search of the source. Limping around the corner of the table, she spied a small discarded sandal peeking out from under the tablecloth. She kneeled and pulled up the edge of the plastic to look beneath.
Pale blond ringlets obscured the child’s face as she danced a bathing suit clad Barbie doll, minus its shoes, across the decking and inserted her, legs first, into a pink, plastic convertible.
“Katie Beth what are you doing under there?”
“Playin’.” The simple logic of the child’s answer had her shaking her head. Ask a dumb question.
“Come out, baby.”
Katie Beth looked up briefly before going back to her make- believe car journey. Pale blue eyes and a rounded jaw, much like her own, held the Weaver stubbornness she recognized all too well. “Don’t want to.”
“Why not, sweetheart?”
A pale pink lip protruded. “Grandma and mommy keep crying. I don’t like it.”
With a weary sigh, she rested her forehead against the edge of the table. “May I come in with you?”
Katie Beth cocked her head as though considering the request.
“Okay.”
She crawled beneath the table with her niece. With a four year old’s trusting affection, Katie Beth climbed into her lap and cuddled back against her. Zoe rested her chin against the blond curls and breathed in the baby powder and sun block scent that clung to her.
“Grandma and mommy are very sad,” she explained as she adjusted one strap of the hot pink bathing suit over the fragile curve of the child’s shoulder.
Katie Beth’s voice dwindled to a whisper. “Uncle Brett is sick.”
“Uncle Brett was hurt while doing something very important, sweetheart.” Her voice sounded husky and soft around the lump in her throat. “He wanted us to be safe. He wanted other little girls and boys like you to be safe, too.”
“Mommy said I can’t go see him.”
“That’s right. But--” her voice wobbled, and she cleared her throat. “Once he gets better, he’ll come home and you’ll get to see him then.”
A beat of silence followed, then with her normal precocious bluntness Katie Beth asked, “Is Uncle Brett going to visit God like Grandma Rose?”
“No.” Her arms tightened around the child as she fought back her own fear and uncertainty. “He’s going to come home to us.” She sought something to distract the child. “Would you like to be my helper, Katie Beth?”
“Okay.”
“We have to help Mommy and Grandma feel better. You know what helps me feel better?”
Katie Beth shook her head.
“Getting your hugs makes me feel better. Why don’t you go give Grandma and Mommy a hug, so they can feel better, too?”
“Okay. I’ll take Barbie so she can hug them, too.”
“I think that would be a good idea, sweetheart.”
Katie Beth wiggled free and crawled from beneath the table, the doll clutched in her hand.
Some of the tension that drummed at Zoe’s temples relaxed and she rested her forehead against her bent knee.
“Hello there, little bit.”
She stiffened at the sound of Hawk’s distinctive deep voice.
“What happened to your leg?” Katie Beth asked. =
“I hurt it, but the doctor’s are making it all better.”
Zoe crawled forward to peek from beneath the table just as the child lunged forward and hugged Hawk’s good leg.
His eyes widened in surprise, and after a minute hesitation, cupped the back of her head. Her blond ringlets curled between his long fingers. A smile touched his lips. Katie Beth jerked away as quickly as she had hugged him and ran through the guests toward her grandmother.
Hawk’s attention settled on Zoe as she crawled from beneath the table and settled back on her heels. She took in the crutches and the bulk of the knee brace clamped around his leg. The denim of his cut- offs hugged his muscular thighs. A white tee shirt stretched across the broad width of his chest, delineating the shape of a well-toned torso. A strip of gauze covered a four-inch section of his arm just above his elbow. Bruises already turning yellow peppered his legs and arms. How had he gotten those injuries? The rest of the team seemed free from any.
“If you’ll have a seat I’ll fill you a plate and bring it to you, Lieutenant.”
One black brow quirked at her stiffly formal tone. “No thanks, though I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
She nodded and flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder. Conscious of his rega
rd, her limp had never seemed more conspicuous as she traversed the distance to the coffee pot and back, returning with a Styrofoam cup. “You prefer it black, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Instead of going to sit at one of the tables with the other men, he hiked a hip on the deck railing, propped his crutches beside him, and reached for the cup.
“That knee will swell if you stay on it too long,” she warned him.
“I know. Brett told me you were a physical therapist. How long have you been practicing?” He sipped the coffee.
“Two years. I can get you a chair.”
His smile flashed white against the swarthiness of his skin. “If I allow you to get me a chair, you’ll disappear as soon as I sit down.”
His words fired her cheeks with heat and her temper at the same time. She held her tongue to keep the peace in front of the other guests.
“Your mother said your sister was returning home with Katie Beth tomorrow.”
She nodded. Where was he going with this topic of conversation?
“I want to help, if you’ll let me.”
“How?”
“I know you and your mother are staying at a motel, which is pretty expensive. I also know that Brett’s one bedroom will be pretty cramped. I live off post and can offer you both a place to stay until Brett is well.”
Surprised, she studied his expression. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because Brett is a member of the team and part of our family. When you place your life in another man’s hands you get pretty close.”
Her brother had placed his life in this man’s hands and had nearly been killed. Looking into the steady gray gaze she couldn’t level that accusation at him, though the thought bounced around in her head. She didn’t wish Hawk ill. She just wanted her brother well again.
Breaking Free Page 2