by Leslie North
“I think we should sell it,” Lee announced, turning away and tromping down the hall.
“You don’t want to stay now that you’re out?” Chance asked, following behind.
Lee paused in the living room. “Are you saying you want to stay?” His amber eyes shuttered. “You’re out too. You think Springwell is going to welcome you with open arms?”
The muscle in Chance’s jaw ticked. For most of his teenage years, their hometown of Springwell, Georgia, had not been the kindest to him. Living in a small town meant no transgression was ever truly forgiven or forgotten. And no matter how unfair, Chance had a reputation as a fighter. It didn’t matter that he never started the fights, his tendency to do whatever it took to protect a weaker person from being hurt or bullied meant he settled a lot of situations with his fists. It didn’t take a genius to figure out all the suppressed anger at his mother’s death, and the constant butting heads with his dad had just added to his willingness to pound on someone else.
Thankfully, twelve years in the Navy—with eight of them as a SEAL—had given him an outlet for the rage until he no longer had to channel it. The type of bond he had formed with his teammates had given him the emotional support he hadn’t realized he needed until his confidence grew with each successful mission and the vise squeezing his chest disappeared.
“You’re probably right. This town’s going to have the same opinion of me as before.” Chance drove his fingers through his messy hair still slick with sweat. “I can’t say I want to stay, but I didn’t exactly have enough time to figure out what comes next when I retired. Dad’s health nosedived even before I landed on this doorstep, and I’ve been focused on that ever since.” He eyed his brothers. “Harris only has bereavement leave, but what about you, Lee? What are you going to do now?”
Lee sneered. “I doubt Springwell has a need for a useless sniper in SWAT—not that we’re big enough to even have a dedicated unit.” He swished his hand over his high-and-tight shorn head. “Nothing’s holding me here, but I have no fucking clue where to go.”
“You’re not useless,” Harris snapped, rounding on Lee. “You’ve still got the skills no matter what the Army says.”
“Agreed.” Chance jabbed a finger at the youngest brother. Lee’s unit had dubbed him “Puma” after his eye color and the way the large cat was also a solitary killer, hunting its prey just like a sniper, stalking its target with patience and strategy. “Your vision may not meet Ranger qualifications anymore, but I’d bet my life if I slapped a rifle in your hands, you’d nail the center of a bull’s eye with ease.”
Lee’s chin jutted mulishly, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he sauntered into the kitchen and opened the door into the single-car garage. “How’s this coming?”
Getting the message to back off, Chance stepped into the sweltering garage and his muscles loosened at the sight before him. A black 1967 Ford Shelby Mustang sat with its hood propped up, facing the garage door. His father had found the classic muscle car in an auction years ago, but had never gotten it running. The body was in pristine condition but whoever owned it before didn’t know jack about engines. To be fair, their dad hadn’t had much of a clue either. In their family, Chance was the only one who really knew what he was doing under a hood.
“I think I might be close to getting it started.” Chance fingered the blanket he had spread along the fender to keep it from getting dinged by tools or parts. Working on the car had given him a modicum of peace the past week. A much-needed outlet after watching his father die, then all the fallout of dealing with notifying banks, companies, insurance, etcetera while planning the funeral. “In fact, the carburetor I ordered should be in today at the shop.” He picked up a wrench off the multi-colored quilt. “I took a risk and ordered a much cheaper one that’s supposed to be equivalent to the original Holley. Not ideal, but I wanted to keep my savings instead of blowing it on original parts.”
“The shop, huh?” Harris asked, his voice sing-songy.
Chance stiffened.
“Would this be the same garage where your ex-girlfriend works?” Lee piled on.
The wrench bit into Chance’s palm.
“Lee, do you remember him always coming home late with grease on hands?” Harris kept going with a laugh. “I swear, he lived more at that shop than here.” His brother paused just behind Chance. “You gonna start hanging around there again like the good ol’ days?”
Chance tossed the wrench onto the blanket and inhaled against the assault of memories trying to pull him under. “Nope,” he uttered through a tight throat. “I stopped in once and spoke to a mechanic named Vince. He offered to order parts through the garage so I can use their discount with their distributer.” He glanced at his watch. “I should probably get over there if I want to catch him before he gets off his shift.” And with any luck, he’d miss…her.
“Take a shower before you leave,” Lee shot at Chance’s retreating back. “I bet Vince likes it when you smell pretty.”
Through the entire shower and change routine, and during the hot walk toward Main Street, Chance told himself that soaping twice and slathering on extra deodorant had nothing to do with heading into her territory. Nothing to do with potentially seeing her again for the first time in twelve years. Nothing to do with—
Oh, Jesus. Just one glimpse and his feet ground to a halt. He swallowed hard, experiencing the exact same gut-punching, mind-numbing reaction he had the first time he saw her fifteen years ago.
Mine.
His chest tightened as he stared across the street at the multi-bay Loomis Automotive building and the petite, russet-haired beauty, talking to a thirty-something man in a suit just outside the office door.
Impossibly, she had grown even more stunning in the last twelve years.
Charcoal coveralls enveloped her body but by the movement of the material, she still had the same mouth-watering curves he used to lick and suckle for hours. The same pin-up worthy body he’d lost his virginity to while also taking hers at the same time. The same shoulder-length, out-of-control curls he once gripped when she swallowed him deep while peering up at him from her knees.
Amanda “Mandy” Loomis. The greatest love of his life. The woman he thought he’d marry until she’d ripped his heart out right before he left for the Navy.
The woman he hadn’t seen or spoken to since that day.
Grab your copy of SEAL’s Homecoming (Seal & Veteran Book 1) from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com