Navy Rules
Navy Rules
Geri Krotow
Wounded during a military rescue, Commander Max Ford returns to a naval base on Whidbey Island to recover. And part of his treatment involves working with a therapy dog.Max is surprised to learn that the dog's owner is Winnie Armstrong, widow of his closest friend. She and Max were close in those months following her husband's death. But they drifted apart, until that one night two years ago. The night friendship turned to passion…Now he's even more shocked to learn that Winnie has been keeping a secret from him. A baby girl. His daughter. It's even more important he heal so he can be a part of his child's life–and Winnie's. Because all the attraction that pulled them together that one night is still there…only stronger.
A navy man. A hero. A father?
Wounded during a military rescue, Commander Max Ford returns to a naval base on Whidbey Island to recover. And part of his treatment involves working with a therapy dog. Max is surprised to learn that the dog’s owner is Winnie Armstrong, widow of his closest friend. She and Max were close in those months following her husband’s death. But they drifted apart, until that one night two years ago. The night friendship turned to passion…
Now he’s even more shocked to learn that Winnie has been keeping a secret from him. A baby girl. His daughter. It’s even more important he heal so he can be a part of his child’s life—and Winnie’s. Because all the attraction that pulled them together that one night is still there…only stronger.
“Is this a former girlfriend? A wife?”
Max followed Miles’s gaze to where it rested on Winnie and forced a smile. “You know I’ve never been married, Chief. And Winnie, well, she’s my best friend’s widow. We lost Tom over five years ago—EA-6B Prowler crash. I was the CACO.”
Miles shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Sorry, boss. That sucks.”
“It’s part of our business, isn’t it?” Max rubbed his chin. “It did look like we might have something between us a while back. But it was only a lark.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Ahh, let’s see. That was the summer before I took the squadron on deployment, so…” His mind leaped onto an unexpected tangent with lightning speed.
No way.
“Boss, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m...just figuring something out.” How old is her daughter? What’s the time line?
The tightness in his chest had everything to do with the reality of what Winnie had revealed to him. And what she hadn’t.
Dear Reader,
I’m a navy veteran and navy wife, so the military has played a pivotal role in my life. Our family has lived all over the United States and the world, including Whidbey Island in Washington State, the setting for Navy Rules.
I have wanted to bring the dedication and sacrifice of military families to light in my work for a long while. I’ve been so blessed, as my husband, the father of my children, came back from war alive. Others have not been so fortunate. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers—the list goes on—have paid the ultimate sacrifice so that we may live in peace and continue to cherish our freedom.
Winnie is a navy widow and mother to two beautiful girls. Max is a battle-scarred war hero. They’ve known each other for years—Max was Winnie’s Casualty Assistance Calls Officer, CACO, when Winnie’s navy husband was killed five years ago. Their attraction to each other is unexpected after years of being family friends. It’s further complicated when Winnie conceives their daughter, Maeve, after only one night together, two years before the story starts.
This story is dedicated to the strength and courage of all military spouses, men and women, who have to endure while their loved ones are in harm’s way for the sake of freedom. To my U.S. Naval Academy classmates who made the ultimate sacrifice—I salute you and I salute your surviving families. May God bless and keep you.
Peace,
Geri Krotow
P.S. Please get in touch with me through my website, www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).
Navy Rules
Geri Krotow
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A former naval intelligence officer and U.S. Naval Academy graduate, Geri Krotow writes about the people and places she’s been lucky enough to encounter. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).
Books by Geri Krotow
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1547—WHAT FAMILY MEANS
1642—SASHA’S DAD
HARLEQUIN EVERLASTING LOVE
20—A RENDEZVOUS TO REMEMBER
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
For Kathy Coughlin and Ellen Stoner
You taught me what being a military spouse means. I miss you both dearly.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u8e011a8a-fedc-5fb0-973e-37db2b48e8d1)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue5c9d30e-0ea8-5fac-b35b-d8fff4567d3c)
CHAPTER THREE (#uc0a42f5c-dd4a-5590-9b37-ea115dde804d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uf670f87c-e630-5828-bd7e-efdef8ad7d4b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u0bbd93ce-733e-5df8-b9b5-e88adc6587b8)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
BPA (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
WINNIE PERRIN ARMSTRONG stared at her computer screen while she stroked her dog’s belly with her foot. Sam, a medium-size shepherd mix, lay under the desk in her bedroom while she indulged in her morning luxury of reading the news before the girls woke up.
The only light in the room came from the glow of the screen. Winnie read the national news highlights, then switched to the local news. She kept an eye on the time—the girls would wake up in the next ten minutes or so.
Former Whidbey Commanding Officer Gives Back to Community
The headline didn’t surprise her. But the accompanying photo and its caption, Commander Max Ford Plans to Coach Youth Soccer, made her sit up straight and grasp her desk.
Commander Max Ford, USN, brought his EA-6B Prowler Squadron back from war. He saved dozens of the sailors from a suicide bomber attack just weeks before the squadron was due to depart from Afghanistan. Ford returned to Whidbey last month after a lengthy stint of rehabilitation at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Washington, D.C. He has signed up to coach community youth soccer. With so many of our children’s parents deployed, the soccer teams are in need of dedicated coaches. Ford leads the way for returning vets to fill the gap and help our young soccer players.
Good thing she planned to tell Max about Maeve—the result of their night together after the Air Show two summers ago…
Winnie looked back at the article and bit her lip. It didn’t mention Max’s wounds, no doubt out of respect for his privacy. She knew about his injuries because she and Sam were going to pay Max a visit today.
You should’ve done it ages ago.
Sam wagged his long, silky tail and she caught a glimpse of the blond fur beneath the black. It matched the fur that grew horizontally out of his pointed ears and in swirls on his belly.
“Good boy, Sam. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.” The first Monday in March. Time to finally come clean with Max. And after she met with him, she’d have to talk to her parents.
So he was going to coach community soccer. Was that going to be another complication? What if he coached Krista’s team?
Sam licked her hand as if he wanted her to know he understood. Of course he didn’t; he was a dog and while his gifts of compassion and companionship were priceless, he wasn’t the human partner Winnie had once had.
Tom.
She let a happy memory of them walking on the sand in Penn Cove wrap around her heart. It’d been more than five years since he died and she still missed him more than she’d ever told her family. Because they lived so close, less than an hour away in Anacortes, they saw her and the girls regularly. They saw how bereft she still was, yet they never pressed her about finding a new man. Even after Maeve was born last year. Winnie loved them for that.
“Mom!” Krista barged into her room, all arms and legs at thirteen. “Maeve’s up and you forgot to dry my jeans again.”
“I’ll get her. Throw them in the dryer. They’ll be done in time for the bus.” Winnie got up and headed for the baby’s room.
Krista let out a long-suffering sigh as she followed her into the hallway.
“Yes, I did, but, Mom, you’ve got to remember to dry things right away or they’ll be wrinkled.”
“Good morning, sunshine.” Winnie ignored Krista’s adolescent rant and took in every second of Maeve’s tiny-toothed grin. The eighteen-month-old clung to the side of her crib and looked up at Winnie as though she were seeing a deity.
“Hi, baby sis.” Even Krista was under Maeve’s spell, talking to the baby while Winnie changed the soggy diaper.
Winnie put on Maeve’s pants, picked up the baby and turned to Krista. “Let’s go get breakfast before you start in on me about the laundry, okay?”
This was like the beginning of any other day in the Armstrong household. Except that today Maeve’s father was going to find out he had a daughter.
Winnie was going to tell him.
No more excuses.
“Sorry, Mom.” Krista was immediately apologetic and her sincerity made Winnie want to pull her close and squeeze hard. Krista had been through so much, not the least of which was accepting that her mother was having a baby two years ago. A baby by a man Winnie had told her “once meant a lot to our family, but can’t be with us right now.”
“I know you are, honey.”
A few moments later, as Winnie prepared Maeve’s breakfast, Krista suddenly asked, “Mom, are you ever going to tell me who Maeve’s father is?”
Winnie dropped the knife she was using to spread peanut butter on a whole-wheat English muffin. It splattered peanut butter all over her slipper.
“Whoops! Thank goodness the baby’s in her high chair!” Her voice was high and brittle as she struggled with an honest answer for Krista.
“Mom?”
“I heard you, Krista. As a matter of fact, Maeve’s dad is back in town. And I plan to tell him about her soon. I’ll fill you in after I do, okay? I can’t thank you enough for being such a loving sister to Maeve through all of this, Krista.”
Krista shrugged as she ate her toasted muffin.
“It’s okay, Mom. You’ve had a hard time.”
Winnie sighed. They’d both had hard times when Tom died. But that was more than five years ago. And then the unexpected pregnancy—by a man with whom she’d shared an unexpected attraction. That was something she could beat herself up about, but what was the point? She had a beautiful baby daughter and Krista had a baby sister. They were a family.
Still, living by her motto of being open with her children, unlike the way her mother had been with her, was growing more difficult as Krista matured. She’d already been wise beyond her years, but the addition of Maeve to their family had catapulted Krista from preteen to teenage older sister.
“Honey, life isn’t all hard times. We’ve had more than our share, I admit, but there are people with problems so much bigger than ours. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Not many kids I know lost their dad in a Navy plane crash, Mom.”
“No, but trust me, there are a lot of kids your age who have lost a parent to war.”
“I know that, Mom.” Krista drank down the rest of her milk. “I can’t miss the bus and I still need to get my jeans on.”
Winnie smiled. “You mean, you don’t want to go to school wearing your airplane pajamas?”
Krista flashed her a grin before she disappeared into the laundry room. She was open with Winnie about her lifelong love of airplanes and flying, but at her sensitive middle-school age, she wasn’t so quick to share all her dreams with her friends.
“Give me a hug.”
A few minutes later, Krista allowed Winnie to kiss the top of her head before she bent down to pick up her overstuffed backpack.
“Bye, bye!” She wiggled her fingers at Maeve, who was in the step-down living room in full view of the kitchen, playing with her soft blocks. Sam sat near her, as if babysitting.
“Ba ba, sisseee!” Maeve was just like Krista had been at the same age. A busy chatterbox.
The front door closed behind Krista and Winnie looked at Maeve, who’d decided to return to the kitchen.
“Let’s get you moving, too, girlfriend. Mommy’s got a lot of work to do today.”
* * *
THE REFRAIN OF “MY Girl” came from her cell phone and she smiled when saw her sister’s ID.
“Hey, Robyn.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Winn. Brendan, put the hammer down right now!” Robyn said in her stern “Mommy” voice. Ten years older than Winnie, Robyn and her husband had undergone in vitro fertilization, which had produced the two-year-old who ruled his parents’ lives.
“How did he get the hammer?”
“Doug and Brendan made a birdhouse yesterday and the tools are still on the workbench.” Robyn’s voice reflected impatience—at Winnie’s constant nagging to be more mindful of safety or at Brendan’s morning antics, Winnie couldn’t be sure.
“So how did he get into the garage?” Winnie loved her sister but they raised their kids very differently. Winnie had been an organized parent from the start; it had seemed like a prerequisite for a Navy wife. Not to mention her sanity, which relied on tidiness. Even as a child Winnie liked to have all her toys and books organized.
Not Robyn.
“He’s figured out how to open the doors.”
“Ouch. Time for some sliding bolts, up high.”
Robyn sighed.
“Yeah, I think I’m headed to Home Depot with the little guy today. What are you up to?”
“The usual. I don’t have any orders going out until next week,” she said, referring to her fiber orders. Sales would pick up over the next several weeks, as retailers were beginning to order for the following season. She’d started the business from scratch four years ago when she’d discovered, by accident, that there were a number of private farms on the island that raised fiber-producing animals, including sheep, alpaca and llamas.
Winnie’s lifelong love of knitting had led her to the few knitting and crochet groups in the area, where she met the farm-owners and listened to their wistful dreams of being able to market their own fiber. Winnie had dreamed with them until Tom’s death—and the realization that she needed a means to provide for her and Krista. The insurance they’d received was more than generous, but Winnie never looked at it as anything other than a means to pay for Krista’s future education.
Winnie had founded Whidbey Fibers with only three sheep farmers. Today she had almost two dozen clients not just on Whidbey but on a few of the outlying islands like San Juan and Orcas, too. Her fibers included merino, alpaca, llama and angora.
Robyn chuckled.
“You always say you don’t have a lot going on, Winn, but you’ve got tons to do every day or you wouldn’t be the famous businesswoman you are.”
“Yeah, right.” Winnie brushed off Robyn’s compliment. Robyn was talking about the attention Winnie had received last season for taking her business to the international level by procuring a client in Victoria, British Columbia.
“I do have one important appointment today—an assignment with Sam, up in Dugualla.”
“When? Can you meet me for lunch?”
Winnie bit her lip. Despite her praise of Winnie’s success, Robyn didn’t really understand how much work her fiber production business was, on top of two kids, her volunteer work and no husband.
Robyn had always been there for her. Sometimes she just forgot Winnie’s extra burden.
“I’d love to meet you but I have no idea how long this one will take. I’m driving Sam out to a residence—the client wants to be able to spend time with Sam but not at the base hospital or even on the base.”
Please don’t ask any more questions.
“You’re a good soul, Winnie.” Robyn didn’t ask for more details—she knew that Winnie’s canine therapy work was confidential.
Of all people, you can trust Robyn with who your new client is.
Robyn was the one person who knew the whole story, knew who Maeve’s father was. Robyn had never betrayed her, even to their mother.
Maybe she should tell Robyn. But Robyn would kill her if she found out Winnie was driving up to Max’s today.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that the mother of the autistic boy I told you about wants you to bring Sam over at some point.” Robyn was off on another tangent, nothing new for her sis.
“Have her call the base. Maybe there’s another dog therapy team available. I only work with returning sailors at this point.”
“I told her that, but she sounds desperate.”
“She has to work through her pediatrician.” Winnie sensed Robyn’s frustration, and she wanted to help, but she and Sam could only be in one place at a time. Since she’d started dog therapy with Sam a year ago, requests for service work had increased tenfold.
She’d begun it with the intent of giving back to the Navy community that had so strongly supported her and Krista in the aftermath of Tom’s death. The basic obedience and Canine Good Citizenship tests had been easy for Sam to pass. True to his German shepherd genes, he was incredibly intelligent and motivated to please his trainer, Winnie.
“Okay, then, I’d better go. Brendan is off on a tear!”
Winnie laughed. “Of course he is. I still say you’d enjoy a day or two on your own each week. For your sanity, you know?”
“Maybe we could just switch lives for a day.”
Winnie understood what Robyn meant. Winnie had the girls taken care of, between school and day care. She had to—she didn’t have a husband or partner to support her. But true to her oversensitive nature, Robyn panicked at the immediate silence on the line.
“Oh, Winnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop it, Robyn. I know exactly what you meant. Please, please let it go.” Robyn ran on guilt as much as caffeine, a trait both girls inherited from their devout Catholic mother. Whenever the three of them got together over a cup of coffee, their father accused them of sounding like a beehive in overdrive. Thank God for their father, whose patient nature made him a revered high school teacher and track coach, and had kept their family on an even keel when they were younger.
“All right. But if your day turns out differently, come and meet me for lunch, okay? We can get takeout and eat it while Brendan naps.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Winnie turned off her phone with a sigh of relief.
Thai takeout in front of Robyn’s woodstove sounded like pure bliss. But the chances of there being enough time to drive up to Anacortes, the town north of Whidbey Island, and back again to get the girls from school in Coupeville, were slim.
She still had to finish her fiber inventory. Whidbey Fibers’ success wasn’t an accident. She’d taken the energy she’d focused on her marriage and put it into the corporation, client by client.
The farm-owners were, for the most part, great at raising livestock and producing viable quantities of fiber, but getting it spun into usable yarn was another story. Drawing on her business background, Winnie had recruited machine- and hand-spinners across the Pacific Northwest and became the liaison between the farmers, spinners and yarn shops. She’d begun receiving orders from Europe and Australia within eight months of start-up.
Her business model was unique in that instead of simply purchasing the fiber outright, she shared the profits of the finished product with the farmers. This increased their motivation to produce and created a camaraderie in the Whidbey Island fiber community that hadn’t existed before. Instead of competing, each farm benefited from the success of all the farms. She also employed hand- and machine-spinners who transformed the fresh fiber into usable yarn.
As she walked by bin after bin of sheared wool and alpaca and checked off her inventory master list, Winnie’s mind drifted back to her other commitment for today.
Her therapy-dog visit.
Max.
She’d accepted the assignment knowing full well that she risked losing the secure life she’d built for herself and the girls.
Self-recrimination washed over her. She took a ball of alpaca out of its bin and held the soft wool to her cheek. She should’ve told Robyn who her client was. When Robyn found out, and she would find out, she’d be furious that Winnie hadn’t told her she was finally going to tell Max about Maeve. Rightfully so, as Robyn had been her support and anchor through the past five years. She’d never judged Winnie and had kept her deepest secrets secret.
Ever since Winnie learned she was pregnant, Robyn had been adamant that Winnie needed to tell Max he was a father. And it wasn’t that Winnie disagreed. The timing had been hell, with Max headed to war. She’d planned to tell him when he returned, but then his deployment was extended.
Risking such a huge emotional upset to a man at war was not something Winnie would ever do.
Shivers of apprehension chilled her as she looked out the back window of her fiber studio onto Penn Cove. The gray sky covered the white-capped bay and she knew the waves on the western side of Whidbey would be even more powerful.
A spring storm was coming in from the Pacific. She hated making the drive up to the Naval Air Station on the slick black road, but her volunteer time at the base was one of the few sacrosanct commitments in her life, besides the girls.
She loved her daughters and wanted to cherish each moment with them. But she also relished her work and needed time alone to think about how to manage her burgeoning career without the neediness of a teen and toddler weighting her every move.
As she prepared to leave the studio, she paused in front of the window that overlooked the street. Her building sat in between the rocky narrow coast and a side road off Coupeville’s Main Street. Winnie watched the rain begin to fall. When she came back from this afternoon’s therapy visit, everything would be different.
She leaned her head against the studio’s front door and closed her eyes. She tried to let the rain pattering against the window panes of the century-old building soothe her.
It hadn’t been her choice to be a single parent to Krista. A mishap on an aircraft carrier had dealt a devastating blow to her life when it killed her husband and Krista’s father, Tom, more than five years ago.
She’d had a choice, however, in how she made a family for Maeve, her baby. She’d deliberately refused to tell her family, except for Robyn, who Maeve’s father was. Her parents had wondered if she’d used Tom’s frozen sperm. She’d assured them that wasn’t the case, but as they became more persistent she let them think whatever they wanted.
She’d told Robyn about Maeve’s father—with instructions to tell Max if anything happened to her. But she needed to tell Max herself; he deserved to know before anyone else did that he was Maeve’s father. Unfortunately she’d learned that a life can end with no notice, and that included her own.
While her parents had no idea who’d fathered Maeve, it was pretty clear soon after she was born—with dark, straight hair—that she had a different father than Krista, who shared Winnie’s curly blond mane.
Maeve’s father had moved back to Whidbey Island two months ago. In spite of her best intentions to tell him he was a father as soon as she could, she’d still procrastinated.
It’d been two years, three months and five days since she’d last seen U.S. Navy Commander Robert “Max” Ford. It seemed more like three minutes.
Especially when she looked at her beautiful baby daughter.
* * *
COMMANDER MAX FORD, United States Navy, sat on the deck of his dream home and stared out at Dugualla Bay. The Cascade Mountains were snowcapped, as they’d remain for most of the year.
As a junior officer, J.O., he’d idolized the Commanding Officer of his squadron who’d owned this place. When his Commanding Officer got divorced and the house was sold as part of the settlement, Max bought it. He’d rented it out while he was stationed in Florida, and eagerly returned to his prized home just under two years ago, when he took the Executive Officer/Commanding Officer, XO/CO, job in his squadron. He’d had his Change of Command party here last year and the world seemed to be his to conquer.
He’d been so much younger only a year ago. His Aviation Command of Prowler Squadron Eighty-One had been in front of him. He’d led over two hundred men and women into battle over Iraq and Afghanistan. They’d all come home intact.
Except him.
He raised his arms overhead to stretch his back, as the physical therapist had taught him. The shrapnel had been removed and the scars were healing.
Too bad his brain couldn’t get stitched back up so easily.
“You have PTSD. You know the drill, Max. You’re one of our Navy’s finest. We’ll get you a great job on Whidbey, shore duty, and give you time to heal. Then we’ll see where it all falls out for an O-6 command.”
His boss, the Wing Commander, had done everything Max would have done for one of his own charges. He’d been compassionate, honest, strong.
But having been a commanding officer himself, Max saw beyond the clichéd promises.
Max had seen the look of resignation in his boss’s eyes. He didn’t expect Max to return to a real Navy job. His operational days were done. No one came back whole from what he’d seen—the monster who’d appeared in the form of the suicide bomber he’d prevented from killing hundreds of fellow servicemen and women.
Instead of preparing his squadron for another deployment, during which they’d become the well-honed warriors they’d signed up to be, he was sitting on his deck, staring at the Cascade Mountains, waiting for some volunteer social worker to bring over a dog.
A dog.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. Max planned on having several once his Navy days were over. Hell, since he was on shore duty indefinitely, he could even consider going to the animal shelter in Coupeville and adopting himself a real dog. Something big and furry. He’d never been a tiny-dog fan. If the dog handler showed up with anything smaller than a bear cub he wasn’t going to work with it.
His problem wasn’t with the dog per se. Max’s problem was with still needing therapy. He’d accepted the weekly meetings with the on-base counselor. He’d met with the PTSD support group and shared his feelings. Yet his therapist thought he’d benefit from some dog time. Dog therapy time.
He blamed himself for asking what else he could do to help the other sailors. It was getting too painful to go back to the base day after day and not be able to walk into a hangar that he’d practically owned. Not to face a squadron of courageous young men and women and know that he was leading the best team on the planet. Know that he was the CO they could count on to lead them through hell and back.
His therapist had suggested canine therapy.
“Do you mean so I can give therapy to other vets?”
“No, Max. So you can get some healing from the dog. The caretaker isn’t a therapist, just a handler. You and the dog form the bond.”
“But you mean I’ll do this so I can then provide the same service to others, right?”
Marlene Goodreach, his therapist, had shifted in her seat. Her face was lined, no doubt because of the countless tales of horror she’d helped sailors like him unburden.
“Max. This is about you. You’ve done brilliantly—your physical wounds have healed, your memory is back. But you’re still resistant to facing your own anger and disappointment over the change in your career plans. I think working with a therapy dog would help the tension you still have in your gut.”
Max had learned that the price of throwing himself into his recovery and hoping to eventually help others was that his therapist got to know him too well. He didn’t have the option of keeping his emotions from Marlene.
At least the counselor had agreed to let him meet the dog and its handler on his own turf, away from the looks of pity on base NAS Whidbey Island.
He clenched his hands around the porch railing. Only when his grip became painful did he force himself to breathe and release his grip. He despised the well-meaning comments, the compassionate glances, the fatherly pats on the shoulder.
“Take care of yourself, Max. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Hey, you’ve had command, you brought the team home, relax.”
“You’ve earned this shore tour. Enjoy it.”
“Why not retire after this, take some time for Max? You’ll make O-6, what’s your worry?”
He didn’t even like working out on base anymore. Too many familiar faces. He flexed his feet. The soreness in his calves was a testament to the extra-long session he’d put on the spin bike he’d bought. He kept it on the glassed-in deck upstairs, so he could watch the sun come up as he rode in place.
He saw the sunrise every day. Sleep wasn’t a given for him anymore.
The dark clouds threatened rain but so far only gusts of tropical warmth rustled the underbrush under tall firs that waved with the wind. Spring on Whidbey meant chaos as far as the weather was concerned.
He saw the approaching car before he heard it. A compact station wagon. As it neared he recognized the larger shape in back—the dog.
The woman in the driver’s seat made him catch his breath.
No.
It was the same honey corkscrew hair, the same generous mouth under the too-round-to-be-classic nose.
Was this some kind of joke? The very woman he’d guided through the fires of her own hell when Tom died was here to reach a hand into his purgatory?
More importantly, the woman who’d rejected him and whom he’d avoided since his return.
He stood as she brought the car to a stop in front of his house. She stepped out and walked straight to the back. There was no mistaking her graceful gait, her purposeful stride.
Winnie always knew where she was going, save for that brief tortured time after Tom’s death.
She opened the back of the wagon and commanded the dog down. It was a big dog but not a fluffy soft breed. The mostly black coat ruffled a little in the strong breeze.
Not a tiny dog, at least.
Max let out a sigh. The dog appeared to be tough and knowing as he trotted next to Winnie up the driveway.
She drew closer and he tried to stay focused on the dog, Winnie’s muddy boots, her barn coat, her jeans. Anything but the face he had trouble forgetting… He’d prided himself on staying away from her since his return to Whidbey two months earlier. He hadn’t even checked to see if she was still on the island—he assumed she was, or nearby, since her family lived in the vicinity.
But he’d kept her out of his life, away from the mess his mental state had made of it.
Until now.
She stopped a few feet away, close enough for him to make out the almond shape of her long-lashed amber eyes, yet far enough not to invite physical contact. No hello hug.
“Max.” She’d known it was him; he saw that in the resigned line of her mouth. But she hadn’t called first, hadn’t given him fair warning.
Hell, why should she? She made her feelings clear when she didn’t return your calls over two years ago.
He’d last seen her just before he’d taken the one-year position of Executive Officer, which had led into his next tour, also one year, as Commanding Officer.
“Winnie.” He stood at the edge of the drive, his hands in his pockets. Her hands were busy, too—one thrust in her pocket and one on the leash.
He’d always loved her hands. They were warm, long-fingered, elegant.
If he thought the PTSD had robbed him of his sex drive, he’d been mistaken. The familiar surge of need he associated with Winnie made him clench his hands inside his jeans pockets.
Winnie seemed unmoved by their reunion except for the way she tossed a stray curl out of her face. He saw her do that just a few times before. When she’d heard Tom’s will read by the Navy JAG, when he’d stopped by her house in the weeks after Tom’s death and two years ago, when she’d agreed to meet him for a beer at the local microbrewery after the Air Show. If only one of them had said no that night. If only he hadn’t given in to the surprising yet delightful sexual attraction that sprang up between them. If only they’d preserved their basic friendship, this inevitable meeting might not be so bone-scrapingly painful.
“This is Sam.” She turned to Sam. “Good dog, Sam. Greet Max.”
The dog sat and wagged his tail, an expectant look on his dark face. As Max leaned lower he could see the blond eyebrows and wisps of blond coming out of Sam’s ears. He reached out his hand. “Hi, Sam.”
Sam sniffed inquisitively before he licked Max’s open palm. The dog sidled up to him and sat down next to Max’s sneakered foot.
“He likes you.” Winnie smiled at Sam while she avoided eye contact with Max.
His memory of that night two years ago was intact, always had been. She’d enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. She could have called him. But Winnie hadn’t, as he’d known she wouldn’t—it wasn’t her style. She’d probably been embarrassed that she’d revealed so much to him that night. Physically, anyhow.
He’d already seen her inside and out on an emotional level when Tom was killed and he’d been her CACO, her Casualty Assistance Calls Officer. He’d been the one, along with the base chaplain, to knock on Winnie’s door at six in the morning, to inform her that Tom was dead. He’d taken her through all the paperwork, the life insurance forms, the burial arrangements. He’d found child care for Krista when it was needed, when the proceedings were too grim for a seven-year-old child to partake in.
He’d seen sides of Winnie he’d never expected. The whiny wife he’d chalked her up to be, the woman who always wanted Tom to get out of the Navy, turned into a strong widow before his eyes. She didn’t blame the Navy or Tom for his untimely death. Through the devastating grief, he watched her accept the unwelcome change in her and Krista’s lives with dignified grace.
Her grace was one of the many things about her that attracted him. A more serious relationship with Winnie, however, had never been a remote possibility. His first allegiance was to Tom and the Navy, and he planned to keep it that way.
He had more work to do, as the counselor said. And not all of it concerned his PTSD.
“I have hot water for tea,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”
Winnie lifted her chin and her gaze finally met his. The sparks in their brown depths took him back to that night with her, that one great night.
Before his life as a Navy pilot had been shattered.
“Okay, thanks.” She offered him a smile, but it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “We won’t stay too long, just enough to make sure you’ll be comfortable with Sam this weekend.”
* * *
THE KITCHEN WAS SLEEK and modern, as she remembered. It had been “the” house when they were all so much younger. Before death had cast a long and early shadow across their lives. Winnie watched Max pour hot water from the stainless kettle into the iron teapot. She didn’t dare look at his face. But then, staring at his masculine hands was awkward, too; as she remembered the last time she’d seen him.
When those hands had been all over her.
She sighed. Not dating was the only option for her at the moment but it had its drawbacks. Being acutely aware of her sexual attraction to Max was one of them.
“How’s Krista?” His deep baritone broke the silence of the square house.
“Krista’s great, fine. She’s in middle school.”
Her reply was as bare, as unadorned, as the house. She knew it and, judging by his raised brows, so did Max.
“She’s a great kid. Tom would be proud of her.” Her cadence was still too clipped. He was going to wonder why.
Stop it.
“I’m glad. Has she—” Max pulled out a strainer for the tea “—adjusted okay?”
“It’s been almost six years, Max. It was a horrible time for her, but she doesn’t remember as much of the awfulness of it as we do.”
He poured the tea with practiced ease.
“I forgot you’re a tea drinker.” She’d grown up in Washington State where coffee was a staple. But Max’s mother was from England and his father a Harvard law professor; tea was the drink of choice in his childhood home. Years ago, Tom and their aviation friends had teased him mercilessly about it.
“Yeah, some things stay the same. Honey?” His voice triggered her awareness of him. And took her thoughts back to the night of the Air Show when he’d whispered in her ear.
“No, just plain. Thanks.” The kitchen counter stool was cold against her back. She had to focus on where she was today and stay away from memories of that night.
She had to get back to the purpose of her visit—telling Max what the fateful outcome of that night had been. Telling him he was a father.
But she couldn’t do it. “You want to have Sam for the whole weekend?” she asked. Nothing about Maeve, only the dog. She couldn’t strike the match that would ignite an explosion of feelings—recrimination, accusation, disbelief, anger.
“If it’s okay with you. Yes, I thought that would keep my therapist happy and cause the least amount of trouble for you.”
“It’s no trouble for me, Max. I come back and forth to the base every week. This is only another ten minutes past there. I can easily bring him over daily instead of leaving him.” She’d never leave Sam with a new client, but Max was hardly new to her.
“We’ll work it out.” He seemed distracted.
Tell him.
“Winnie, I owe you an apology. I was a real shit after the Air Show two years ago. I did try to reach you, but when you didn’t respond I should’ve been more persistent. I was getting ready to go to war, and frankly, that took over my life. But I want you to realize I didn’t take that night casually.”
Her stomach felt as if it had collapsed inward and she fought to keep her demeanor calm and collected. Without knowing it, Max was making her need to take responsibility more painful.
This isn’t about you. It’s about Maeve and her daddy. He deserves to know. Screw up your courage and get it over with.
“Stop it—we’re both adults. No apology needed.” Yet her face grew hotter by the second.
Where was this reaction coming from? She’d decided to keep him out of her life, away from Maeve.
You’re angry at yourself. You’ve kept him from his daughter.
“No, it was totally wrong of me on so many levels. I enjoyed my time with you, and that night, believe it or not, was special to me. But I went back to Florida, and then got the command posting here, the deployment orders to Afghanistan and, well, I figured you might have regrets and not want to talk about it. I never wanted to cause you any pain, Winnie.”
“Max, please, drop it.” She was terrible at lying.
“I tried emailing you, too, but when you didn’t reply, I felt it was probably best for both of us.”
She kept her eyes glued on the steel-gray mug she drank from, but the sense of being watched made her look up and into his dark blue eyes. Shame clawed at her and sent heat up her neck, onto her cheeks. She should have called him. But she’d found out he was going to war. Not a good time to tell someone he had a baby on the way.
“I want you to be able to trust me, Winnie.” He set his cup on the counter and leaned toward her. She felt the warmth that radiated from him, smelled the scent that had imprinted on her mind two years ago.
“I trust you, Max.” That had never been an issue between them.
“With your dog.”
She blinked.
“I don’t have a problem leaving Sam with you. I mean, as far as trust goes.”
“But?”
Winnie shifted on the hard stool This really was a bachelor’s home—it looked slick and modern but definitely lacked comfort.
“The girls and I rely on Sam for our weekends. He’s part of the family.”
“Girls?”
She winced and hoped it was inward.
God, please don’t let me blow this. Not now.
“I have two children, Max. Krista and Maeve.”
His expression went still. She saw his gaze on her left hand, watched as his eyes registered her bare ring finger.
“I didn’t know you were with someone new.”
“I’m not with anyone. But would it be such a shock? It’s been a long time.”
“Of course not. I was surprised you didn’t move on more quickly.” He had his back to her, rinsing out the teapot in the sink.
“Oh?”
“Your marriage with Tom was so solid. Most of the widows I’ve dealt with over the years remarry sooner rather than later if they had a strong first marriage.”
She sighed and forced her hands to unclench the fists they’d become on the granite counter. She felt so stiff, as if warding off an attack, and here was Max giving her a compliment.
“No, I haven’t remarried and I don’t see any reason to. The girls and I have a good life, and the thought of bringing in a third party at this point isn’t on my priority list.”
A moment ago she was ready to tell him. Now she wanted to turn tail and run.
He nodded. “I hear you. When I was Commanding Officer of my squadron, before we deployed, most of my late-night calls, unfortunately, were domestic violence or child molestation—many at the hands of a boyfriend or second husband. It’s scary out there.”
She relaxed her shoulders. This was much safer ground. As much as she’d convinced herself she was ready to tell Max about Maeve, she was nowhere near prepared to deal with the storm of emotions it would inevitably release.
Emotions from a man who’d spent the past months doing everything he could to repress all emotion, just to survive. Who was still recovering from the effects of his own hell.
Stay focused, damn it.
“Yes, it is. I’m not willing to take any risks when it comes to my girls and their safety.”
He sipped his tea and regarded her with steady eyes.
“There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned, Winnie.”
Her breath caught, her mind beginning its all-too-familiar racing. What had she forgotten? How had she left the girls vulnerable? “What?”
“What do you do when you’re lonely, Winnie? Who do you turn to?”
CHAPTER TWO
MAX EYED WINNIE as she clenched and unclenched her fists. He hadn’t forgotten one nuance of her expression. He was going on pure instinct but he knew she was hiding something from him.
He supposed he should be relieved. The blast and resulting PTSD hadn’t erased all his memory. Anything that had to with Winnie seemed to be etched on his brain. Probably on his heart, too, but he had enough soul-searching to do without adding her.
Max hadn’t dared to hope anything would happen between him and Winnie again. But from the minute he saw her get out of her car, thoughts of having her back in his bed flashed across his mind. He swallowed a grin. For months he’d tried to fight off any kind of “flashes,” especially flashbacks to the bombing. Now he’d love to relive one—of Winnie naked and begging him to push harder.
“You seem to be taking your time getting settled.” She looked around the Spartan living room and nodded at the empty bookshelves.
He followed her gaze and smiled.
“I built them myself. Helped pass the time when I first got back and couldn’t work full days yet. I just haven’t gotten around to unpacking all of my books. They’re still stacked in boxes, in the garage.”
“I know you love your World War II history. It’s hard to think of you without full bookshelves.”
He felt a warm stab in his gut. Did he care that Winnie remembered something personal about him?
“I have an electronic reader and I tend to use that for straight history. But you’re right, I miss my books. There’s nothing like looking at photographs of vintage aircraft.”
“I imagine you don’t have too many extra hours, what with work. Are you back full-time, then?”
“No, not quite. I’m close, though. I just have to do this dog thing with you—or rather, Sam.” Sam’s ears pricked but he remained at Max’s feet on the kitchen floor. “Hopefully my therapist will be satisfied that I’m ready to play like a big boy again and let me get back to a real job.”
“This ‘dog thing’ can’t be all that’s keeping you from working full-time.”
Same Winnie, same cut-the-bullshit attitude.
Instead of annoying him like they used to, her questions now seemed oddly comforting.
“No, it’s not. You’re right. I still have two more weeks before I’ll be released from the mandatory rest I had to take for my shrapnel wounds.” Truth be told, he’d needed the two days off per week. Until about a month ago, he’d found the exhaustion the hardest part of all the injuries, physical and mental.
“Are you on meds?”
“Are you a medical doctor?” His reply cut across the unavoidable buildup of sexual tension between them.
“No. I’m sorry, Max.” She did look sorry. And jumpy. When and why had she ever been jumpy around him?
She crossed her arms in front of her and stood in the middle of his living room. “We haven’t, I haven’t, we, um…”
“We haven’t spoken in over two years.” He finished it for her.
“No, and I don’t know where to start, especially since—”
“The last time we were together we didn’t have clothes on?”
Bingo. Red flush, bright eyes.
She’s still attracted to you.
“About that—” she began.
“No, Winnie, stop. We don’t have to go over any of this. It was two years ago, and like you said, we never spoke again. There’s no sense in dredging it up now. But I am curious as to why you agreed to work with me. You must’ve known it was me before you came out here.”
“Yes, of course I did.” She raised her chin. “I thought it was the least I owed you after everything you did for Krista and me.”
“You never have to thank me for that, Winnie. Tom was my friend.”
“I know, and I know I thanked you back then and again two years ago.” She paused. “But I can never thank you enough for all your help.”
He held up his hand and fought the urge to come around the counter and gather her in his arms.
“It’s over, Winnie. We’re moving on. No more reliving all that history, okay?”
He saw her eyes cloud as she bit her bottom lip.
He wanted to ease her obvious distress.
Old habits die hard.
She nodded. “You’re right, Max. It’s not fair to you, to either of us, to keep bringing up Tom and when he died.”
Was this the same Winnie he knew? The woman who’d fought so hard for whatever she wanted from Tom, who’d all but ordered him to leave the Navy after his first tour?
He was reminded of why he’d been so attracted to Winnie two years ago; that night of the Air Show. He’d seen this quality in her then, recognizing the mature woman she’d been hiding under her younger, often self-centered, persona.
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “So that’s that. Now tell me more about your new business and your life.”
The relief in her expression was almost comical.
“I love the business I started. It’s not really new anymore—heck, it’s been almost four years and I’ve been turning a decent profit for the past eighteen months. Great considering the economy, you know?”
Her eyes widened as she regarded him and he couldn’t keep his mouth from twitching.
“What, Max?”
“Winnie, we’ve known each other for how long—ten, twelve years?”
“Fifteen.” Her answer was soft and swift.
“Okay, fifteen. I’ve seen you through your best days and your not-so-good days.” He wouldn’t say “worst,” since they’d just agreed to keep Tom’s death out of it. “The Winnie I used to know says ‘hell’ and doesn’t make bullshit small-talk with her friends.”
Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lower lip. A sensual memory of how he’d licked and sucked on that lip punched him in the gut.
“I—” she began, then shook her head. “I’m a mom now, Max. I don’t swear in front of my girls.”
There it was again. Girls. Plural. When had she become involved enough with anyone to have a child? Unless she’d been lying to him the last time he saw her, or had lied this morning, dating wasn’t part of her life.
Maybe she has a friend with benefits.
He couldn’t think about that, not now. Not when the woman he’d thought of all through the war sat there in front of him… He’d ask her who Maeve’s father was some other time. Besides, she’d intimated that the man was no longer in her life.
“Fair enough. So how did you get started with canine therapy?”
Her eyes lit up and her face instantly looked ten years younger. The passionate Winnie he’d met when Tom brought her to the Navy Birthday Ball during their first tour on Whidbey Island was sitting in his kitchen. She tilted her head slightly to the left, eager to share her news with him.
“You remember my family and all their dogs? I grew up with dogs and always loved them.”
“And Tom didn’t. Not so much.”
She hesitated, her mug halfway to her mouth. Damn it, he couldn’t seem to stop talking about Tom. As though mentioning him would help keep Winnie at arm’s length, safely out of his reach.
That didn’t work the night of the Air Show.
He took a swig of his tea and waited.
“No, you’re right. Not small dogs, anyway. Our first dog, well, my dog, Daisy, was that little Jack Russell, remember? She annoyed the hell out of Tom because she’d ignore him unless I was out of the picture. Then she’d pee in his flight boots.”
“I remember more than one sortie,” Max said, referring to the Navy term for an operational or training flight, “where Tom bitched the whole way through about his wet boots. He knew that dog had got to them again, and it didn’t matter where he hid them.”
Winnie laughed and slapped her hand on the counter. “I forgot about that! One time he even put the boots on top of the bookcase—”
“But neglected to remove the smaller bookcase next to it. Daisy climbed up there like a cat and knocked the boots onto the floor.”
“Where she—”
“Peed in them!” They spoke simultaneously and the unselfconsciousness of their shared laughter sideswiped Max.
Until their eyes met and he saw the depths of Winnie’s pain and struggle of the past five years. There was joy, too, and something else he hadn’t seen before. Something harder, older than he’d ever associated with Winnie.
Resignation? Bitterness?
“Well, back to my point.” Winnie cupped her half-full mug and stared into it. “We had Daisy until two years after Tom died. Krista needed a pet. It was gut-wrenching to say goodbye to Daisy, in some ways harder than it’d been to say goodbye to her father.” Winnie’s hands stilled and she looked up at him.
“That sounds sacrilegious, doesn’t it? But she was only seven when Tom died. Two years later she was so much more aware and so attached to that dog. Daisy was a living link to Tom. It killed both of us to put her down.”
She sighed and shifted her gaze to the view outside his huge kitchen window. Her irises reflected the blue of Puget Sound and the shadows of the Cascades.
“My vet suggested getting a new dog right away. She’d been with us—with me—through everything, and she understood more than we did how a puppy would heal us. I thought I was off my rocker, and so did my family, but a couple of weeks after Daisy’s death, Krista and I went to the animal shelter in Coupeville. We looked at all those dogs that needed a home and while we could have been happy with any of them, only one made an effort to get our attention and to keep licking our hands and faces.”
She smiled down at the quiet German shepherd mix who lay beside Max’s feet.
“I told you about him at the Air Show—” Her voice trailed off, and she must have assumed he didn’t remember.
“I recall that you mentioned a new dog, but you didn’t say anything about canine therapy.”
“I’d just started to look into it. It’s not something I would’ve been talking about at that point.”
She didn’t say it but he thought it—after they’d caught up on their three years apart they’d spent their time in his hotel room, and it hadn’t been talking.
“I can’t believe you got this purebred German shepherd from a pound. I know people who’ve paid thousands for purebreds.”
Winnie laughed. The sound delighted him, like an unexpected gift. God, he’d missed her.
“Sam’s no purebred. He’s mostly German shepherd, sure, but his momma was a mixed-breed from Seattle.”
“I didn’t know you could find out lineage when you got a dog from a pound.”
“You can get a DNA test done. But Sam was dropped off with a litter of pups that’d been brought to the shelter by a young woman who had a farm. She said the mother had been killed in a freak gun accident. This woman couldn’t tend to the pups properly and manage her farm, so she brought them here, minus one pup she kept for herself. The mother had been her companion for six years and was a mixed breed. There was a purebred German shepherd guard dog from a local quarry who got out one night…”
“And they had love puppies,” he said, grinning at his own joke.
“Pretty much, yeah. You’d think a farmer would know enough to fix her animals, but in this case, I’m glad she didn’t. Sam is the best pet ever, and his talent for therapy work has made me wonder what happened to his littermates.”
“Did they all get adopted out?”
“Yes, every last one of them, all on Whidbey. Whether they’re still here or not, who knows?”
“So how did you find out he’d be good at this, uh, therapy?” He still had to fight a grimace as he said the word. As though not saying it would make him not need it.
As though the bombing had never happened and he was sitting across from Winnie whole and in control of his future. A future of Navy assignments and leadership instead of rehabilitation and retirement from the Navy, a lot sooner than he’d planned.
“Ever since he was tiny he seemed especially intuitive to my moods and Krista’s. I’ve known a lot of dogs over my lifetime and I never met one that had such a knack for knowing whether you need a lick or a little nudge when you come through the door.”
She smiled at him and he wished the smile was for him and not her dog. Still, he’d take what he could get.
“At first I took him to obedience classes with Krista. It was a family bonding time and it helped her with her self-esteem, which was shaky at best. That might have been due to my grieving and inability to bounce back from Tom’s death as quickly as some people thought I should.”
“Who thought you should have bounced back more quickly?” Maybe she’d never healed. Like him, maybe Winnie was forever affected by her loss.
“No one in particular, Max. It’s just that after the first few months of understanding and compassion, people get worn out by the exhausting nature of grief. They mean well, but have to get with their lives. And they can—they’re not the ones who lost a husband or father.”
He heard no rancor or self-pity in her voice.
“The same people who claim they’ll be there for you tend to fade away,” she added. “That’s been my experience.”
At his silence he saw her hand jerk suddenly and her spine straighten.
“I don’t mean you, Max! You were there through the worst of it and you left because of your job, not because you chose to.”
He let her words hang there. He’d sought the assignment in Florida, unbeknownst to Winnie. He’d had to. It’d been time to move on. He’d needed a career change.
Still, looking at the situation through Winnie’s eyes, he saw that he’d faded away. He’d abandoned her and Krista.
“Winnie, I know it was a difficult time for you. I—”
“No, Max. Enough! You were there for me and you went above and beyond the call of duty. You are not who I’m talking about, period.”
He didn’t say anything else, simply allowed her to continue.
“So in an effort to continue the healing process, Krista and I went to more and more dog-training classes. Sam passed the basic Good Citizenship test from the American Kennel Club, and then I heard on National Public Radio that canine therapy was helping vets when they got back. The rest,” she said with a flourish, “is history.”
Max remained silent. He’d forgotten how much positive energy could be emitted by someone so enthusiastic about his or her vocation.
Bullshit. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be around Winnie—to feel alive.
“You’re the greatest, aren’t you, boy?” Winnie cooed at Sam and the dog merely pricked his ears toward her. He still lay at Max’s feet.
“How long did it take you to train him to behave like this?” He nodded at the dog.
Winnie’s eyes widened. “Train him? Oh, no, Max, I didn’t train him to do this. It’s the intuitive streak I told you about. He knows who needs his comfort the most, and he knows when we’re in ‘work’ mode. He’s taken to you because he wants to, not because of anything I’ve done.”
“So what does that mean?”
“What does it mean? I don’t follow you.”
“The fact that he’s stuck to me like a barnacle ever since he jumped out of your car. Is he guarding you? Protecting you from me by keeping me in my place?”
Winnie leaned forward and placed her hands over Max’s tense fingers. He involuntarily jumped at the awareness that shot up his forearms.
“Max, he’s lying next to you because he senses you need him. And to be frank, judging by Sam’s behavior, you’re one of the neediest clients I’ve dealt with this year.”
Her words slammed through him almost as quickly as his reaction to her touch. But they didn’t elicit lust like her touch did. Instead, he felt only white-hot rage.
He pulled his hands out from under hers and shoved himself back from the table.
“F— Ah, shit, damn it!” He fought to control it, to control the cold stranglehold of fear.
He’d really wanted this meeting to go without a hitch.
CHAPTER THREE
WINNIE WATCHED THE cyclone of emotion twist Max’s handsome face. The only thing recognizable as “Max” was the sharp hue of his eyes.
Crapola.
Big mistake. She’d thought that by putting the focus on Max and his work with Sam, she’d be able to push aside her reaction, the quaking that was a direct result of her attraction to Max. Wrong. Their physical chemistry still made her toes curl in her comfy shearling boots.
“Needy? So this is a pity call for you, Winnie?” Max snapped. She was almost surprised that spittle didn’t shoot out of his mouth.
She sighed and grasped for the right thing to say. Like fired bullets, she couldn’t retract her words or the damage they’d caused.
“I’m sorry, Max. I was speaking too freely. Sometimes my mouth isn’t connected to my brain. I guess I’m still missing that filter you’ve always teased me about not having.”
Her jibe at herself didn’t work, either. He stayed silent, simmering with rage.
Pointing out their long-standing relationship and all its baggage—that was the stupidest comment she could have made. She needed to rely on their common bonds if she was going to salvage anything of their friendship once he knew about Maeve.
Double crapola.
He ran his fingers through his short hair. The same dark, straight hair Maeve had.
“Damn it, Winnie, I know I must still need some work or you wouldn’t be sitting here in front of me—my doc wouldn’t have suggested it. But I’m not totally mental. I’ve come a long way and what I’ve been through doesn’t come close to what so many other vets are suffering. Hell, I feel guilty taking your time.” His eyes shifted uneasily to Sam. “And this dog’s time. There are a lot of sailors who need Sam more than I do.”
“This is about you, Max. Sam sees plenty of other sailors, and there are other therapy dogs, too. You’re not keeping him from anyone else.” A white lie, as there was always another veteran in line, hoping to benefit from Sam’s ministrations, but she needed Max to buy in to her rationale—and the value of her work—if it was going to help him at all.
“Why did you get involved with this, Winnie? You can’t enjoy the constant reminder of Tom’s death whenever you drive on base. For that matter, why did you stay in Whidbey this long? And why the hell did you agree to see me? Didn’t you tell the social worker you already knew me?”
Take it easy. He’s just angry at the situation, not you.
But his words hit home. They struck the part of her that she kept cordoned off from everyone. The Navy widow part. Where she hid the knowledge that she could never handle another trauma.
Still…she might have to. His anger wasn’t personal yet, but when she told Max the secret she’d kept from him, his anger would be directed at her. He’d have every reason to accuse, convict and sentence her.
“You know why I stayed, Max. I love it here, my roots are here. I didn’t want to move up to Anacortes, and I still don’t. And I don’t live in Oak Harbor anymore—I have a nice home in Coupeville, near my shop and office. If you saw where we live, you’d understand why I stayed.”
“‘We,’ Winnie? Are you living with your daughter’s father?”
“No, I already told you, I don’t have a relationship with Maeve’s father.”
He didn’t reply, but when she raised her eyes to meet his, she froze. He could look at her as no one else could.
He knows.
Dark spots floated in her vision and she realized she was holding her breath. She released it in a measured exhalation, trying not to let him see that she was distressed.
“I never took you for the casual-sex type, Winnie.”
“Except after the Air Show two years ago?”
“We didn’t have casual sex, Winnie. It was a surprise, a shock even, but not casual.”
This is too close. He’s going to ask, he’s going to figure it out.
“Who says it was casual? Really, Max, at this point it’s none of your business.” Another lie, as Maeve was completely his business, but Winnie had to save that conversation for another time.
Drawing on what she’d learned during those first painful months after Tom’s death, she looked for the next task she needed to do. She had to tell him about Maeve, but not at this moment. He was too stressed, too wound up. She couldn’t risk putting him over the edge with his PTSD.
So now you’re God? An expert at deciding when someone needs to know what is most definitely his business?
“Why don’t we drop this, Max, and you and Sam go for a walk out on the paths?” She meant the myriad dirt walkways that snaked through the often-lush island vegetation. The water of Skagit Bay lapped against the rocky beaches and Mount Baker stood off to the east, its aquamarine glacier visible on clear days.
She hoped that if Max and Sam went for a walk, the high emotion between her and Max would diffuse. Maybe she’d find the courage to do the right thing and tell him the truth, even if it was more than two years too late.
But Max wasn’t finished with their conversation. His unhappiness was evident in his clenched fists, tight jaw and shallow breathing. She studied him and wondered how they were ever going to get past this tension.
Seconds later, he visibly relaxed his body by rolling his shoulders. He bowed his head, and she wondered if he was saying a prayer.
Max, a praying man?
She’d never met a pilot who wasn’t a believer, but Max had never demonstrated a predisposition toward any particular religious faith.
He lifted his head, and his gaze rested on her, without the rancor she’d seen moments earlier.
“I’m sorry for acting out on you, Winnie. My control over my temper is still a work in progress, or so I’m told.” His lips twitched and she thought he might smile, but it was obviously too much effort. He’d aged over the past two years; she saw it now in the resigned expression that made the lines on his face deeper than she recalled.
Max looked sad, she realized.
“It’s fine, Max. Now let’s get you out there with Sam.”
“I move a bit slower than I used to. He’s not going to pull me over, is he?”
She offered him her best smile. “Not if I can help it.”
* * *
SHE WATCHED MAX LEAD Sam onto the path across the road from his driveway. They made an interesting pair, she had to admit. A tall warrior who moved with the gait of a man twenty years older than he was, flanked by seventy pounds of exuberant dog.
Sam could be trusted to stay close to Max and match his stride. It’d taken months of repetitive training, but she’d finally communicated to him the need not to pull, to allow whoever had his leash to be the alpha “dog.”
Tears pricked at her lids and she turned her face up to the sky. She couldn’t keep watching Max and Sam together or Max would come back to a puddle of tears.
The beauty of Sam’s ability to relate to injured vets never ceased to move her. She often felt tears of pride and joy well up as the dog worked with a client, bringing out healing and survivor instincts that even the most highly trained therapists had been unable to reach.
But this wasn’t just another client. It was Max, and Max would forever be a part of her life. Not to mention Maeve’s.
You have to tell him. Now.
CHAPTER FOUR
“HE NEVER ASKED how old Maeve is?”
Robyn’s auburn curls sprang into her eyes and she brushed them away with an exasperated movement. Winnie sat with her sister on the sectional couch that occupied most of the family room in Robyn and Doug’s traditional home in Anacortes.
“No.” Winnie dug into her white container of Thai noodles and avoided eye contact with Robyn. Sam was curled up at her feet and she rubbed his belly with her toes.
Robyn was the only other person on earth who knew who Maeve’s father was because Winnie trusted her, and Robyn hadn’t let her down, which was a spectacular accomplishment considering the inquisitive nature of their family.
But Max’s return to Winnie’s life had put a knot in her stomach. Robyn had remained hands-off and kept her opinions to herself when Winnie had the baby and while Max wasn’t in the picture. Now Robyn’s impatience was reflected in her questions.
“I still don’t get why you went over there knowing it was him if you weren’t going to tell him about Maeve.” Robyn fixed her with a stern look. “Which, by the way, you should’ve done two years ago.”
Winnie stopped stroking Sam with her foot and swallowed a forkful of noodles whole.
“I know your opinion, Robyn. I don’t need to hear it again. Don’t you think I do a good enough job of beating myself up?”
When Robyn’s mouth opened, Winnie held up her hand.
“I did go over there to tell him. And I really meant to. But then he started talking about things that upset him. He almost lost his temper and I sent him for a walk with Sam.”
Sam’s ears pricked up at the mention of his name.
She put down the container of noodles and leaned against the back of the red suede couch, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“I thought it would be easier to tell Max in his house, without Maeve there. I also want to be able to help him with Sam. I owe him.”
“If you owe him anything, it’s the truth. You’re holding back the most valuable, important information of his life.” Robyn’s criticism chafed at Winnie’s patience.
“He doesn’t know that yet, Robyn. He was the best CACO at the worst of times. I’ll always be grateful to him for what he did for Krista and me.” In the aftermath of Tom’s death, Max had taken on the duty of Command Assistant Casualty Officer. His duty had been to see her through every aspect of her new, unwanted status as a military widow. From the funeral arrangements to walking her across the chapel parking lot after the service to making sure she and Krista received all the survivor benefits due to them—Max did it all.
He’d also been Tom’s best friend and had grieved for Tom more than anyone besides Winnie, Krista and his family.
“He got me through so much, Robyn. When I was acting crazy, trying to keep my mind off the pain. And when I found out he’s the one who needs the canine therapy, I felt I had to return the favor.” She paused. “No, that’s not completely true, either. Ever since I found out he was back in Whidbey, I knew I had to tell him.”
Winnie sent her sister a weak smile. Robyn’s expression remained stern.
“I’ve completely blown this,” she went on. “I would have, should have, told him I was pregnant, but he was on his way to war and I thought it’d be awful to contact him when I hadn’t replied to his calls after the Air Show. His deployment was extended, and six months turned into nine. Then he got injured and was on the East Coast for rehab. I couldn’t tell him when he was going through so much, could I?”
“Of course you could have.” Robyn could be so unyielding.
“I planned to go out there a few months ago, remember?” She’d decided to fly to D.C., find Max in the rehab center where he was spending his initial recovery period and tell him.
“Yes, I remember. But then you found out he was on his way back to Whidbey—it was in the paper. I’ve been here the whole time, Winnie. I haven’t missed any of this.” Robyn rolled her eyes. “You’re taking the risk that he’ll figure out about Maeve before you tell him. Then he’ll absolutely never trust you again.”
Winnie ignored the white-hot fear that pierced her gut, telling herself that Robyn had been the college drama major, after all.
“Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m risking nothing. Okay, so Max might put two and two together. But will he want a future with us at all? With his daughter? Doubtful. As good a man as Max is, he’s been a loner all these years. He’s not going to change now.”
“Are you really believing what you’re saying, sis? We’re talking about Max, the guy who would’ve given his left arm to keep you and Krista safe after the accident. Finding out you’re a parent changes everyone, and Max especially would want to be part of his daughter’s life. Plus, it’ll take about a minute for Tom’s family to come charging back in, looking for custody if they think that what you’re doing isn’t in Krista’s best interests.”
“They were acting out of grief. They’re over it.” Winnie’s in-laws had initially suggested that Winnie and Krista move to Oklahoma after Tom’s death, so they could be near their granddaughter. Never the most congenial of couples, they’d gone so far as to hint that there were legal steps they could take.
The Navy, namely Max, had come to her rescue again by ensuring that Winnie had complete legal custody of Krista. He’d made it clear to Tom’s parents that Tom’s wishes and Winnie’s legal right was that she be the one to raise Krista.
Tom’s parents had finally acquiesced, but not before implying that they’d pounce the moment they thought Winnie was doing anything harmful to Krista or to the memory of her father.
Winnie was grateful they’d calmed down once they realized that if they wanted to see Krista it would be at Winnie’s discretion. They’d since had cordial visits together two or three times a year, either in Oklahoma or on Whidbey.
Robyn had never trusted them.
“They may have backed out, but they’re lying in wait, honey, have no doubt. The minute they find out you’re involved with someone else but not married, they’ll ring their lawyer. You’re lucky they never pressed the issue when Maeve was born.”
True. Winnie knew the only reason Tom’s parents hadn’t made a fuss and hadn’t tried to reopen their custody case was that they wanted to believe Maeve was their biological granddaughter, too. They’d picked up on Winnie’s parents’ theory that Tom had frozen sperm in case he died—always a risk with a military career.
Winnie had let them believe whatever they wanted. As long as it kept them off her back and out of court… .
“Win, you need to tell Max. Maybe you should even consider stopping by his place again on the way home.”
Winnie sighed and picked up her container of lemongrass chicken. “Don’t worry about it, Robyn.”
“Hey, you can’t blame me for caring. Maeve’s my niece. I’d die without her and Krista.”
“As they would without you.” Winnie and Robyn had grown so much closer through the aftermath of Tom’s death, and Krista had bonded with Robyn as the safe, loving auntie. Maeve loved Robyn and her husband, Doug, but was more interested in the antics of cousin Brendan.
“So, are you going to do it?” Robyn’s persistence was almost worse than sitting in Max’s kitchen this morning, wanting to tell him, yet keeping her secret hidden.
“Do what?” She deliberately ignored her sister’s urging.
“Come off it, Winnie! Are you going to stop at Max’s on the way back?”
She put down her container. “No, not today. He’s going to have Sam this weekend. That’s soon enough, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. But you’re going to do it your way no matter what I tell you.” Robyn cocked her head, and Winnie heard her nephew’s crying over the baby monitor.
“He’s awake!” they both chimed in unison, then laughed.
“I’ll say hi to the little guy and then I’ll be going. Thanks for the lunchtime talk—I think.” Winnie figured if she ignored Robyn’s pointed looks, she’d be able to drive home without any temptation to stop at Max’s home.
* * *
MAX GRUNTED AS HE BENCH-pressed half his weight. It still bugged him that he couldn’t do as much as before, but he’d come far in the past few months. After the shock of losing his physical strength and fitness, he’d accepted what he had to do, even embraced it.
Work out harder than he ever had in his life.
He put the bar back in its notches and sat up, his breathing labored and his heart pounding. Both were a comfort to him when he worked out, a familiar reaction.
Unlike the cold sweats that woke him and left him unable to catch his breath.
Yeah, he preferred a tough workout in the gym to his night terrors any day.
He used the gym’s towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead before he lay back for another set. He raised and lowered the bar and, beyond that, focused on a small spot in the white tile ceiling.
A huge shadow obstructed his concentration.
“Boss!” The unmistakable voice of Chief Warrant Officer Miles Mikowski echoed through the weight room, and Max sat up. He offered Miles his hand.
“Warrant!”
Max was a Navy Commander, an officer, and Miles was former enlisted. The two of them were bound by a fellowship no one wanted to be part of—that of injured warriors. Max liked Miles because, like him, Miles was a survivor and still believed that he’d held the best job in the whole world as a U.S. Navy sailor.
“What are you doing, boss?” Miles looked at Max with one brow arched, his gaze raptor-sharp as usual. Max knew his friend didn’t miss a thing, from his sweat-stained gray T-shirt to the amount of the weights on the bar.
“Weren’t you in here yesterday, too, boss?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to burn some more today.”
Miles always called him “boss,” even though he’d never worked for Max. It was a sign of respect that humbled Max. Miles had lost more than he had in the war.
“You should be doing cardio, boss. Too much lifting’s not good, you know that.” Miles might call him “boss” but Max heard the tone of an older brother in his voice. They were close to the same age—Max guessed that Miles was around thirty-eight, four years younger than he was. Miles had come into the Navy later in life, after college. But he hadn’t originally sought a commission—since he’d wanted to become an expert in all aspects of Explosive Ordinance.
Miles and Max had gone through much of their reentry therapy together and they both knew that pushing too hard wasn’t part of the combat recovery process.
Max was well aware that breaking down his muscles more than he needed to wasn’t recommended by any medical professional. He knew the risks of wearing down his immune system. But he wasn’t overdoing the weights, no matter what Miles thought. And even if he was, that was better than ending up with a panic attack over Winnie’s reappearance in his life.
She’s got another kid, for God’s sake.
“I’ve got some extra steam to blow off. What are you doing here?” Max looked pointedly at Miles’s weight belt. “You sure you put the right leg on?”
Miles gave him a wide grin and tapped his prosthesis. He’d lost his left leg on the same day Max had intercepted the suicide bomber. Also in Afghanistan, but Miles had been in a remote area conducting land-mine removal ops. The military medics were the best in the world but even they couldn’t save a leg an IED had blown to bits.
“I’m trying this one out for the lab techs. The walking one is great, and the running leg lets me go for a good couple miles before I need to give it a rest. But I needed something sturdier for the weight room.”
“You’ve got a bigger selection of legs than I do sunglasses, Miles.” They smiled at each other. Miles had been Explosives Ordinance and Max an EA-6B pilot, but that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that they were both still here.
If you tell yourself this every morning and click your heels together three times, maybe one day you’ll believe it.
“What’s got you worked up, boss?”
“Not going to drop it, are you, Warrant?”
“I wouldn’t be a very good sailor if I let my shipmate get away with doing the absolute worst thing for himself.”
“There are worse things than overworking muscles.”
“I’m not worried about your muscles, boss. It’s your head I’m thinking about. What aren’t you dealing with? More nightmares?”
Max sat up and looked across the weight room at the reflection of himself in the wall mirror. The image was familiar, but still fresh to him. It was the “new” Max, the one with more gray than brown in his hair and less body mass, as evidenced by the scrawny legs that straddled the bench. He’d never be as fit as he once was. Not just because of the war but because he was getting older. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore.
Still, did forty-two have to feel so old?
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I did have a conversation with someone who knew me before.” His voice cracked on before and he cleared his throat. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I was, well, since before I went to war.”
“How’d she act toward you?”
“Fine. No different, really.”
“Can I ask, boss, is this a former girlfriend? A wife?”
Max forced a smile. “You know I’ve never been married. And Winnie, well, she’s my best friend’s widow. We lost Tom five years ago—EA-6B Prowler crash. I was the CACO.”
Miles shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Sorry, boss. That sucks.”
“It’s part of our business, isn’t it?” Max rubbed his chin. “It did look like there might be something between us a while back. But it was just a lark.” Images of that Air Show weekend had been flashing across his mind ever since Winnie drove off with that dog.
“How long ago was that?”
“Ahh, let’s see. That was the summer before I took the squadron on deployment, so…” His mind leaped onto an unexpected tangent with lightning speed.
No way.
“Boss, you okay?”
Not possible.
“Yeah, I’m…just figuring something out.”
One of the condoms broke. Did you forget that?
Miles’s strong hand wrapped around Max’s upper arm. “Buddy, you sure as hell don’t look okay.”
How old is her daughter? What’s the timeline?
“I think I’ve done it again, Miles. I’ve been shoving so much down—”
“And now your gut’s spewing emotions everywhere, isn’t it?”
Max couldn’t help laughing. It eased the tightness in his chest, a tightness that had nothing to do with bench presses and everything to do with what Winnie had revealed to him.
And what she hadn’t revealed.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He wrapped his towel around his neck. “I’m good, Miles. Thanks for sitting with me. Now I’ve got to go burn this off in a healthier way. You’re right about that.”
“Anytime, boss, anytime.”
Max walked out of the weight room with a feeling he hadn’t had since before the suicide bomber leveled the spirit he’d taken for granted. He didn’t have to report to anyone else, didn’t have to ask what he needed to do. He knew his next move.
He was going to Winnie’s. He’d get her address and if it was unlisted, he’d drive through Coupeville house by house if he had to.
Winnie had some explaining to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
“STOP IT, MAEVE, THOSE ARE my chicken nuggets.” Krista’s tone resembled a mother’s more than an older sister’s as she chastised eighteen-month-old Maeve, who had a penchant for stealing food off her older sister’s plate.
“Mine!” Maeve’s baby voice was irresistible to Winnie but annoyed Krista.
“No, these are mine.” Krista covered her plate with her hand and pointed with the other. “And those are yours, on your Fancy Nancy plate.”
“No!” Maeve screeched the word and her lower lip jutted out in warning.
“Krista, knock it off. We use our dinner manners now. Right, Maeve?” Winnie fought to keep from smiling as she stared at Maeve.
Maeve’s huge blue eyes reproached Winnie and, not for the first time, Winnie felt Max’s presence reach out through his daughter’s eyes.
You blew it today. You should’ve told him.
She had told him too much about her life—without telling him what she should have.
She tried to convince herself that she’d wanted to avoid his questions until he wasn’t so upset. That she thought it was better to wait.
That was all crapola and she knew it. Not only was she betraying Max, but each day she kept him from the truth, she kept Maeve from knowing her daddy.
Maeve.
Maeve needed her father, a father who wasn’t dead like Krista’s. He’d survived a war, for God’s sake, and was living and breathing just a drive up the road.
You are a class-A chicken.
“Maeve, don’t look at Mommy like that. You have to be a good girl and eat the food on your own plate, not Krista’s.”
Maeve’s expression reflected her inner-toddler struggle. Winnie knew she was hungry, and the cut-up chicken nuggets on her Fancy Nancy plate were just as tasty as her sister’s. But it was so much fun to annoy Krista and to get her attention. Tears shimmered in Maeve’s luminous eyes and her chin worked frantically to keep her lower lip in a pout.
No doubt due to Maeve’s hunger, sanity prevailed and she picked up a nugget from her own plate and shoved it carefully in her mouth.
Winnie expelled her breath. It’d been a long afternoon with both girls arriving home in cranky moods.
These days she was never sure who’d have the bigger fit after school—Maeve or Krista. At thirteen, Krista had started wearing a training bra this past summer and she’d shot up three inches since Christmas. She wore the same shoe size as Winnie, although Winnie didn’t think that would be for long. Krista was going to be long and lean, as Tom had been.
Maeve, however, was Winnie’s “mini-me,” except for the shape and color of her eyes and her mop of straight brown hair—clearly inherited from Max.
He’s going to know she’s his the minute he sees her.
“Krista, how much homework do you have tonight?” Her voice shook and she knew that her anxiety wasn’t going away. Not until she came clean with Max.
“I already told you when I came in, Mom. I finished it on the bus.”
“Good.” Krista probably had told her, but Winnie had been distracted since she walked through the door. Her thoughts had stayed in Dugualla Bay… .
The same sense of inevitability she’d had once she’d started labor with each of the girls filled her stomach with dread. Now, just like then, there was no escaping the pain to come. No going back. Then, it had meant the baby was on her way out; now it was the truth emerging.
With no guarantee of a happy outcome as far as Max was concerned.
Life doesn’t come with a warranty.
She’d betrayed Max, the one person who’d seen her at her best and her worst, from her and Tom’s life together, through the crash and then her short stint as a psycho-widow, when she’d tried to pick up an addiction. Any addiction—she hadn’t been fussy.
Drinking, men, shopping, whatever would take “hold” she’d tried to cling to. But Max had stepped in before anything could consume her and tear her from her life with Krista. His words to her the night he’d dragged her out of an Oak Harbor bar and dumped her back in her house had ended her quest for self-destruction.
“You can abuse yourself all you want—the hurt will still be there, and Tom won’t. He’s not coming back, Winnie. You have a daughter to raise. This isn’t the time to let Tom down.”
He’d left her alone in her empty house. Her parents had taken Krista for the weekend, which was the pattern for the first several months after Tom died, to give Winnie a break and Krista time with other family. Instead of using those free hours to heal, Winnie had been hell-bent on dousing the firestorm of pain.
Max had saved her. Ultimately, he’d saved Krista, too.
He’d never mentioned that time again. Wouldn’t comment on it if she brought it up, either.
Even today, when he was spitting angry at her stupid comment about his being a charity case, he hadn’t reminded her of when she’d been in need of charity.
Of all the people to deceive, she’d picked Max.
Crap on a cracker.
“Okay, Krista, could you play with your sister for a few minutes while I get the dishes done?”
“C’mon, Maeve, do you want to play kitchen?” Krista expertly unsnapped Maeve from her booster seat and lifted her down to the hardwood floor. Maeve took off with a squeal, her bare feet slapping the oak planks.
“Slow down, Maeve,” Winnie admonished while she cleared the table and took the plates to the sink. She looked through her garden window and sighed. The clouds were just as gray and the trees bent—almost as though they were doing yoga. The windstorm promised to continue all night.
The first time she heard a rapping out front, she thought it might be a branch. But the second time, Sam barked and she realized someone was at the door. She looked at the clock. They weren’t used to visitors this late on a school night.
“Keep an eye on her, Krista.” She glanced at the scene of domestic tranquility. Krista was helping Maeve make plastic pies and cakes in her toy microwave.
“I am, Mom.” Krista’s tone had changed overnight into that of a know-it-all teenager, and Winnie didn’t like it one bit. She missed her easygoing daughter, who’d delighted in the simple things like baking cookies and fitting a jigsaw puzzle together.
Sam trotted to the door with her, but instead of his usual bark he stood still and wagged his tail. He gazed at the door with a look of expectation.
Winnie peered through the beveled glass and recognized the shape of a man. A man who immediately made her stomach tense.
She opened the door to a rush of wind—and Max.
“May I come in?” It wasn’t really a question, since he’d already walked into her foyer and shut the door behind him. He wore a hoodie, and his T-shirt underneath was sweat-stained. His hair was damp and his eyes—oh, his eyes.
“Sam.” She started to command Sam to remain in place but she didn’t have to. He’d sat down and waited patiently for Max to acknowledge him with a pat.
“Come on in, I’ll make us some tea.” Winnie spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen in her stockinged feet. But Max was quicker.
His hand wrapped around her wrist. “Not yet. We need to talk.”
Winnie looked down at her arm, and at his hand. In spite of her heightened anxiety, his touch elicited a warm throb of excitement. She dared to look up at Max’s face.
His eyes blazed and his mouth was set in a straight line. The years seemed to fall away as she looked into his eyes.
“Of all people, you were one I thought I could trust.”
She eased her body around to face him and leaned her back against the wall. She couldn’t trust her legs. She willed herself to meet his eyes and to answer him truthfully. No matter what he asked.
“And now?”
“Where are the girls, Winnie?” He stared at her but not at her. He was obviously distracted by his inner demons.
“In the family room. But don’t you think we should talk about this first?”
He gave her a look of derision and released her wrist. But he didn’t move. She felt the nearness of his body, the scent that was uniquely Max. She remembered him like this from before, the night they’d made love.
And made a baby.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me before I walk into that room, Winnie?”
She swallowed. “Apparently I don’t have to.”
He leaned in and she thought, maybe some part of her hoped, that he was going to kiss her. Erase the years, the trauma, all of it. With a kiss.
“What you’ve done is unforgivable, Winnie.”
Shivers shot down her neck and spine as his breath swept across her ear, but the desire she’d felt fled as quickly as it had come.
He’d hate her forever.
* * *
MAX PUSHED BACK FROM the wall and strode down the hall, pausing at the entry to the family room. She heard the girls’ voices in their singsong play and Maeve’s giggles, which she saved for her time with Krista.
It was impossible to take her gaze off Max’s profile. Max, the warrior, who stood on the threshold of his new life. Once he walked into that room and got a full look at Maeve, he’d know the truth.
That he was a father.
From her own experience, Winnie understood that when you became a parent, any previous presuppositions, ideas, intentions, were irrelevant. All that had mattered to her was her child. Max would be no different. It wasn’t in him to do anything halfway, regardless of what she’d said to Robyn.
“Maeve, do you want to wash the dishes now?” Krista asked.
“Wheeee!” Maeve’s accompanying giggle was infectious. Winnie usually laughed along with her baby girl, but all she could do now was watch the rise and fall of Max’s chest. The way his nostrils flared and his hands rested on his hips. He was still in sweats and there was mud on his running shoes, as though he’d run here on foot from the Air Station gym, the soreness of his shrapnel-ridden body be damned.
The girls’ chatter died at the same moment Winnie saw Max’s lips move.
“Hello,” he said.
Silence. Plastic falling on the play kitchen counter. Then Krista’s voice.
“Uncle Max?”
She remembered him. She’d called her godfather “Uncle” from when she was a baby. But she hadn’t seen him since she was seven, since Tom died. Winnie had wondered if Krista had forgotten him and Winnie never brought him up. She made it a rule not to bring up specifics about the time of the accident. If Krista wanted to talk, she did, and she asked questions as she needed to.
Their talks about Tom were daily and loving. But Max and the time right after the crash had never been discussed. Winnie figured the questions might eventually come, when Krista was older and mature enough to wonder about those days and months, to peel back the layers of memory and take a more detached look at the heartbroken little girl she’d been when her daddy died.
“Yeah, it’s me, Uncle Max. Are you going to give me a hug?”
Winnie walked up to the threshold and did her best to smile at the girls.
“You recognized your Uncle Max! Do you remember him?”
“Of course, Mom. I just said hello to him, didn’t I?” Krista muttered in teenage bemusement as she stepped forward and offered Max a hug. He embraced her, his eyes closed and his face impassive. He opened his eyes and held Krista by the shoulders as he studied her.
“You’ve grown a yard or two, Krista!” He smiled and Krista’s face lit up while a blush crept over her cheeks. Other than her uncles and grandfather, she didn’t get a whole lot of male attention. A bittersweet pang of regret hit Winnie as she thought about how much Tom would have loved Krista, how he would’ve been the one to light up her face like a Christmas tree.
“Thanks, Uncle Max.”
“And who’s this?” Max kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked past Krista toward Maeve, who kept playing with her plastic fruits and vegetables, oblivious.
“My sister, Maeve. Mom says she’s our miracle baby.”
“She sure is.” Max walked farther into the room and knelt down in front of Maeve. Maeve paused, her thumb in her mouth and a plastic bunch of broccoli in her other hand. She stared at Max unblinking, as if she’d never seen a man before.
She’s never seen her father before.
Winnie’s throat constricted and she swallowed. This wasn’t about her, it was about Max and Maeve. About Maeve meeting her father.
Her daddy.
“Hi, honey. How are you?” Max’s voice was gentle in spite of its deep timbre. He was patient as he waited for Maeve to respond, and Winnie held her breath. She was acutely aware of Krista’s sharp gaze on the pair, as well. Winnie stood still as Krista met her glance. Krista finally knew who Maeve’s father was.
Maeve lifted up the plastic broccoli and Winnie’s pride welled. Maeve was such a sweetie—she was going to give her toy to Max, a man she’d never met. But somewhere deep down, she must’ve known Max was her father.
“Noooo!” Maeve hurled the broccoli at Max, who didn’t move. It hit him in the nose and he didn’t wince, but from having been on the receiving end herself, Winnie knew it hurt.
“Whoa, sweetie-pie. It’s okay, I don’t like strangers, either.” Max stood and smiled at Krista. “She’s tough like you, isn’t she?”
Krista laughed. “Yeah, she’s pretty crazy.”
Winnie cleared her throat.
“Max, did you eat? I have some leftovers from dinner. I was just cleaning up.”
“I’m not hungry. But I’ll take a glass of water.”
Winnie went to the kitchen and filled a plastic tumbler with water from the fridge. Her hands shook and she put the cup on the counter for a moment.
“Breathe,” she whispered in the quiet kitchen.
“It’s not so bad for you, trust me.”
She whirled around and stared at him.
“Max, I don’t know where to start.”
“When, Winnie.” He came toward her. “Not where. The question is when should you have started? How about the first time you missed your period after the Air Show?”
“I was in denial for weeks. Months. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten pregnant after just one time—and with you.”
“It was more than once, Winnie. Three or four times, if my memory serves.” He continued to look at her with that unyielding glare. “It’s not like we’d never met, like we were a one-night stand.”
“But we’d never, we’d never—” Her hands gripped the counter behind her at the panic that threatened to stop her breathing.
“We’d never what, Winnie? Made love?” His palpable anger seemed to shake the air around them. “True, but speak for yourself. You never looked at me, saw me as more than Tom’s friend.”
“Of course not—”
“I saw you, Winnie. From that first happy hour at the O Club when we were J.O.s.”
He couldn’t be talking about the night they’d all met. She, Tom and Max. Could he? She’d been intimidated by Max and his silent presence from that first moment. Tom was affectionate, loving, respectful. He put up with what she knew now were her immature demands.
“You never liked me, Max, not from the start. You even tried to keep Tom from proposing to me.”
“I didn’t like the way you behaved, Winnie. The way you treated Tom, as if he was supposed to do what you wanted with no regard for what he’d worked so hard for. He was my best friend. Of course I was going to warn him if I thought he was making a mistake. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t find you attractive. It just wasn’t ever an option.”
They were inches apart. His gaze wasn’t on her eyes anymore. His chest still heaved, his anger still simmered. But he stared at her lips and she felt his desire as if it were her own.
“But this isn’t about me. It’s about you, Winnie. I have a child and you didn’t tell me. How the hell am I supposed to take this?’”
“I’m so sorry, Max. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Just as you never meant to hurt me by not returning any of my calls or emails after the Air Show? Weak, Winnie, even from you.”
“I didn’t want you to feel you owed me anything for that…that night.” Of course, that was before she’d realized she was pregnant.
“That’s not why I was calling you, Winnie.”
His windbreaker rasped as he lifted his hand to her face and tilted up her chin with one finger.
Winnie looked into his face and prayed that her knees wouldn’t buckle. His eyes, red-rimmed from anger and probably the wind, reflected something she never expected from Max once he learned about Maeve.
Interest. Desire.
“I wanted to be with you, and not just on that night.” His gaze shifted to her lips again and she willed her defenses to kick in and push him back.
Instead, she met him halfway.
She felt the instant shock of recognition as the smoothness of his lips touched hers. His kiss ignited the fuse that always lay between them.
She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she should be concerned about the girls in the next room, somehow fighting this need to have his mouth on hers. Coherent thought wasn’t an option with Max’s tongue in her mouth and his hands wrapped around her head.
His hair was wet at his nape and she liked how the short strands rubbed against her palm. Her other hand was on his shoulder, but instead of pushing him away, she was holding on for her very sanity.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/geri-krotow/navy-rules/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Geri Krotow
Wounded during a military rescue, Commander Max Ford returns to a naval base on Whidbey Island to recover. And part of his treatment involves working with a therapy dog.Max is surprised to learn that the dog's owner is Winnie Armstrong, widow of his closest friend. She and Max were close in those months following her husband's death. But they drifted apart, until that one night two years ago. The night friendship turned to passion…Now he's even more shocked to learn that Winnie has been keeping a secret from him. A baby girl. His daughter. It's even more important he heal so he can be a part of his child's life–and Winnie's. Because all the attraction that pulled them together that one night is still there…only stronger.
A navy man. A hero. A father?
Wounded during a military rescue, Commander Max Ford returns to a naval base on Whidbey Island to recover. And part of his treatment involves working with a therapy dog. Max is surprised to learn that the dog’s owner is Winnie Armstrong, widow of his closest friend. She and Max were close in those months following her husband’s death. But they drifted apart, until that one night two years ago. The night friendship turned to passion…
Now he’s even more shocked to learn that Winnie has been keeping a secret from him. A baby girl. His daughter. It’s even more important he heal so he can be a part of his child’s life—and Winnie’s. Because all the attraction that pulled them together that one night is still there…only stronger.
“Is this a former girlfriend? A wife?”
Max followed Miles’s gaze to where it rested on Winnie and forced a smile. “You know I’ve never been married, Chief. And Winnie, well, she’s my best friend’s widow. We lost Tom over five years ago—EA-6B Prowler crash. I was the CACO.”
Miles shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Sorry, boss. That sucks.”
“It’s part of our business, isn’t it?” Max rubbed his chin. “It did look like we might have something between us a while back. But it was only a lark.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Ahh, let’s see. That was the summer before I took the squadron on deployment, so…” His mind leaped onto an unexpected tangent with lightning speed.
No way.
“Boss, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m...just figuring something out.” How old is her daughter? What’s the time line?
The tightness in his chest had everything to do with the reality of what Winnie had revealed to him. And what she hadn’t.
Dear Reader,
I’m a navy veteran and navy wife, so the military has played a pivotal role in my life. Our family has lived all over the United States and the world, including Whidbey Island in Washington State, the setting for Navy Rules.
I have wanted to bring the dedication and sacrifice of military families to light in my work for a long while. I’ve been so blessed, as my husband, the father of my children, came back from war alive. Others have not been so fortunate. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers—the list goes on—have paid the ultimate sacrifice so that we may live in peace and continue to cherish our freedom.
Winnie is a navy widow and mother to two beautiful girls. Max is a battle-scarred war hero. They’ve known each other for years—Max was Winnie’s Casualty Assistance Calls Officer, CACO, when Winnie’s navy husband was killed five years ago. Their attraction to each other is unexpected after years of being family friends. It’s further complicated when Winnie conceives their daughter, Maeve, after only one night together, two years before the story starts.
This story is dedicated to the strength and courage of all military spouses, men and women, who have to endure while their loved ones are in harm’s way for the sake of freedom. To my U.S. Naval Academy classmates who made the ultimate sacrifice—I salute you and I salute your surviving families. May God bless and keep you.
Peace,
Geri Krotow
P.S. Please get in touch with me through my website, www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).
Navy Rules
Geri Krotow
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A former naval intelligence officer and U.S. Naval Academy graduate, Geri Krotow writes about the people and places she’s been lucky enough to encounter. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).
Books by Geri Krotow
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1547—WHAT FAMILY MEANS
1642—SASHA’S DAD
HARLEQUIN EVERLASTING LOVE
20—A RENDEZVOUS TO REMEMBER
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
For Kathy Coughlin and Ellen Stoner
You taught me what being a military spouse means. I miss you both dearly.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u8e011a8a-fedc-5fb0-973e-37db2b48e8d1)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue5c9d30e-0ea8-5fac-b35b-d8fff4567d3c)
CHAPTER THREE (#uc0a42f5c-dd4a-5590-9b37-ea115dde804d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uf670f87c-e630-5828-bd7e-efdef8ad7d4b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u0bbd93ce-733e-5df8-b9b5-e88adc6587b8)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
BPA (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
WINNIE PERRIN ARMSTRONG stared at her computer screen while she stroked her dog’s belly with her foot. Sam, a medium-size shepherd mix, lay under the desk in her bedroom while she indulged in her morning luxury of reading the news before the girls woke up.
The only light in the room came from the glow of the screen. Winnie read the national news highlights, then switched to the local news. She kept an eye on the time—the girls would wake up in the next ten minutes or so.
Former Whidbey Commanding Officer Gives Back to Community
The headline didn’t surprise her. But the accompanying photo and its caption, Commander Max Ford Plans to Coach Youth Soccer, made her sit up straight and grasp her desk.
Commander Max Ford, USN, brought his EA-6B Prowler Squadron back from war. He saved dozens of the sailors from a suicide bomber attack just weeks before the squadron was due to depart from Afghanistan. Ford returned to Whidbey last month after a lengthy stint of rehabilitation at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Washington, D.C. He has signed up to coach community youth soccer. With so many of our children’s parents deployed, the soccer teams are in need of dedicated coaches. Ford leads the way for returning vets to fill the gap and help our young soccer players.
Good thing she planned to tell Max about Maeve—the result of their night together after the Air Show two summers ago…
Winnie looked back at the article and bit her lip. It didn’t mention Max’s wounds, no doubt out of respect for his privacy. She knew about his injuries because she and Sam were going to pay Max a visit today.
You should’ve done it ages ago.
Sam wagged his long, silky tail and she caught a glimpse of the blond fur beneath the black. It matched the fur that grew horizontally out of his pointed ears and in swirls on his belly.
“Good boy, Sam. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.” The first Monday in March. Time to finally come clean with Max. And after she met with him, she’d have to talk to her parents.
So he was going to coach community soccer. Was that going to be another complication? What if he coached Krista’s team?
Sam licked her hand as if he wanted her to know he understood. Of course he didn’t; he was a dog and while his gifts of compassion and companionship were priceless, he wasn’t the human partner Winnie had once had.
Tom.
She let a happy memory of them walking on the sand in Penn Cove wrap around her heart. It’d been more than five years since he died and she still missed him more than she’d ever told her family. Because they lived so close, less than an hour away in Anacortes, they saw her and the girls regularly. They saw how bereft she still was, yet they never pressed her about finding a new man. Even after Maeve was born last year. Winnie loved them for that.
“Mom!” Krista barged into her room, all arms and legs at thirteen. “Maeve’s up and you forgot to dry my jeans again.”
“I’ll get her. Throw them in the dryer. They’ll be done in time for the bus.” Winnie got up and headed for the baby’s room.
Krista let out a long-suffering sigh as she followed her into the hallway.
“Yes, I did, but, Mom, you’ve got to remember to dry things right away or they’ll be wrinkled.”
“Good morning, sunshine.” Winnie ignored Krista’s adolescent rant and took in every second of Maeve’s tiny-toothed grin. The eighteen-month-old clung to the side of her crib and looked up at Winnie as though she were seeing a deity.
“Hi, baby sis.” Even Krista was under Maeve’s spell, talking to the baby while Winnie changed the soggy diaper.
Winnie put on Maeve’s pants, picked up the baby and turned to Krista. “Let’s go get breakfast before you start in on me about the laundry, okay?”
This was like the beginning of any other day in the Armstrong household. Except that today Maeve’s father was going to find out he had a daughter.
Winnie was going to tell him.
No more excuses.
“Sorry, Mom.” Krista was immediately apologetic and her sincerity made Winnie want to pull her close and squeeze hard. Krista had been through so much, not the least of which was accepting that her mother was having a baby two years ago. A baby by a man Winnie had told her “once meant a lot to our family, but can’t be with us right now.”
“I know you are, honey.”
A few moments later, as Winnie prepared Maeve’s breakfast, Krista suddenly asked, “Mom, are you ever going to tell me who Maeve’s father is?”
Winnie dropped the knife she was using to spread peanut butter on a whole-wheat English muffin. It splattered peanut butter all over her slipper.
“Whoops! Thank goodness the baby’s in her high chair!” Her voice was high and brittle as she struggled with an honest answer for Krista.
“Mom?”
“I heard you, Krista. As a matter of fact, Maeve’s dad is back in town. And I plan to tell him about her soon. I’ll fill you in after I do, okay? I can’t thank you enough for being such a loving sister to Maeve through all of this, Krista.”
Krista shrugged as she ate her toasted muffin.
“It’s okay, Mom. You’ve had a hard time.”
Winnie sighed. They’d both had hard times when Tom died. But that was more than five years ago. And then the unexpected pregnancy—by a man with whom she’d shared an unexpected attraction. That was something she could beat herself up about, but what was the point? She had a beautiful baby daughter and Krista had a baby sister. They were a family.
Still, living by her motto of being open with her children, unlike the way her mother had been with her, was growing more difficult as Krista matured. She’d already been wise beyond her years, but the addition of Maeve to their family had catapulted Krista from preteen to teenage older sister.
“Honey, life isn’t all hard times. We’ve had more than our share, I admit, but there are people with problems so much bigger than ours. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Not many kids I know lost their dad in a Navy plane crash, Mom.”
“No, but trust me, there are a lot of kids your age who have lost a parent to war.”
“I know that, Mom.” Krista drank down the rest of her milk. “I can’t miss the bus and I still need to get my jeans on.”
Winnie smiled. “You mean, you don’t want to go to school wearing your airplane pajamas?”
Krista flashed her a grin before she disappeared into the laundry room. She was open with Winnie about her lifelong love of airplanes and flying, but at her sensitive middle-school age, she wasn’t so quick to share all her dreams with her friends.
“Give me a hug.”
A few minutes later, Krista allowed Winnie to kiss the top of her head before she bent down to pick up her overstuffed backpack.
“Bye, bye!” She wiggled her fingers at Maeve, who was in the step-down living room in full view of the kitchen, playing with her soft blocks. Sam sat near her, as if babysitting.
“Ba ba, sisseee!” Maeve was just like Krista had been at the same age. A busy chatterbox.
The front door closed behind Krista and Winnie looked at Maeve, who’d decided to return to the kitchen.
“Let’s get you moving, too, girlfriend. Mommy’s got a lot of work to do today.”
* * *
THE REFRAIN OF “MY Girl” came from her cell phone and she smiled when saw her sister’s ID.
“Hey, Robyn.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Winn. Brendan, put the hammer down right now!” Robyn said in her stern “Mommy” voice. Ten years older than Winnie, Robyn and her husband had undergone in vitro fertilization, which had produced the two-year-old who ruled his parents’ lives.
“How did he get the hammer?”
“Doug and Brendan made a birdhouse yesterday and the tools are still on the workbench.” Robyn’s voice reflected impatience—at Winnie’s constant nagging to be more mindful of safety or at Brendan’s morning antics, Winnie couldn’t be sure.
“So how did he get into the garage?” Winnie loved her sister but they raised their kids very differently. Winnie had been an organized parent from the start; it had seemed like a prerequisite for a Navy wife. Not to mention her sanity, which relied on tidiness. Even as a child Winnie liked to have all her toys and books organized.
Not Robyn.
“He’s figured out how to open the doors.”
“Ouch. Time for some sliding bolts, up high.”
Robyn sighed.
“Yeah, I think I’m headed to Home Depot with the little guy today. What are you up to?”
“The usual. I don’t have any orders going out until next week,” she said, referring to her fiber orders. Sales would pick up over the next several weeks, as retailers were beginning to order for the following season. She’d started the business from scratch four years ago when she’d discovered, by accident, that there were a number of private farms on the island that raised fiber-producing animals, including sheep, alpaca and llamas.
Winnie’s lifelong love of knitting had led her to the few knitting and crochet groups in the area, where she met the farm-owners and listened to their wistful dreams of being able to market their own fiber. Winnie had dreamed with them until Tom’s death—and the realization that she needed a means to provide for her and Krista. The insurance they’d received was more than generous, but Winnie never looked at it as anything other than a means to pay for Krista’s future education.
Winnie had founded Whidbey Fibers with only three sheep farmers. Today she had almost two dozen clients not just on Whidbey but on a few of the outlying islands like San Juan and Orcas, too. Her fibers included merino, alpaca, llama and angora.
Robyn chuckled.
“You always say you don’t have a lot going on, Winn, but you’ve got tons to do every day or you wouldn’t be the famous businesswoman you are.”
“Yeah, right.” Winnie brushed off Robyn’s compliment. Robyn was talking about the attention Winnie had received last season for taking her business to the international level by procuring a client in Victoria, British Columbia.
“I do have one important appointment today—an assignment with Sam, up in Dugualla.”
“When? Can you meet me for lunch?”
Winnie bit her lip. Despite her praise of Winnie’s success, Robyn didn’t really understand how much work her fiber production business was, on top of two kids, her volunteer work and no husband.
Robyn had always been there for her. Sometimes she just forgot Winnie’s extra burden.
“I’d love to meet you but I have no idea how long this one will take. I’m driving Sam out to a residence—the client wants to be able to spend time with Sam but not at the base hospital or even on the base.”
Please don’t ask any more questions.
“You’re a good soul, Winnie.” Robyn didn’t ask for more details—she knew that Winnie’s canine therapy work was confidential.
Of all people, you can trust Robyn with who your new client is.
Robyn was the one person who knew the whole story, knew who Maeve’s father was. Robyn had never betrayed her, even to their mother.
Maybe she should tell Robyn. But Robyn would kill her if she found out Winnie was driving up to Max’s today.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that the mother of the autistic boy I told you about wants you to bring Sam over at some point.” Robyn was off on another tangent, nothing new for her sis.
“Have her call the base. Maybe there’s another dog therapy team available. I only work with returning sailors at this point.”
“I told her that, but she sounds desperate.”
“She has to work through her pediatrician.” Winnie sensed Robyn’s frustration, and she wanted to help, but she and Sam could only be in one place at a time. Since she’d started dog therapy with Sam a year ago, requests for service work had increased tenfold.
She’d begun it with the intent of giving back to the Navy community that had so strongly supported her and Krista in the aftermath of Tom’s death. The basic obedience and Canine Good Citizenship tests had been easy for Sam to pass. True to his German shepherd genes, he was incredibly intelligent and motivated to please his trainer, Winnie.
“Okay, then, I’d better go. Brendan is off on a tear!”
Winnie laughed. “Of course he is. I still say you’d enjoy a day or two on your own each week. For your sanity, you know?”
“Maybe we could just switch lives for a day.”
Winnie understood what Robyn meant. Winnie had the girls taken care of, between school and day care. She had to—she didn’t have a husband or partner to support her. But true to her oversensitive nature, Robyn panicked at the immediate silence on the line.
“Oh, Winnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop it, Robyn. I know exactly what you meant. Please, please let it go.” Robyn ran on guilt as much as caffeine, a trait both girls inherited from their devout Catholic mother. Whenever the three of them got together over a cup of coffee, their father accused them of sounding like a beehive in overdrive. Thank God for their father, whose patient nature made him a revered high school teacher and track coach, and had kept their family on an even keel when they were younger.
“All right. But if your day turns out differently, come and meet me for lunch, okay? We can get takeout and eat it while Brendan naps.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Winnie turned off her phone with a sigh of relief.
Thai takeout in front of Robyn’s woodstove sounded like pure bliss. But the chances of there being enough time to drive up to Anacortes, the town north of Whidbey Island, and back again to get the girls from school in Coupeville, were slim.
She still had to finish her fiber inventory. Whidbey Fibers’ success wasn’t an accident. She’d taken the energy she’d focused on her marriage and put it into the corporation, client by client.
The farm-owners were, for the most part, great at raising livestock and producing viable quantities of fiber, but getting it spun into usable yarn was another story. Drawing on her business background, Winnie had recruited machine- and hand-spinners across the Pacific Northwest and became the liaison between the farmers, spinners and yarn shops. She’d begun receiving orders from Europe and Australia within eight months of start-up.
Her business model was unique in that instead of simply purchasing the fiber outright, she shared the profits of the finished product with the farmers. This increased their motivation to produce and created a camaraderie in the Whidbey Island fiber community that hadn’t existed before. Instead of competing, each farm benefited from the success of all the farms. She also employed hand- and machine-spinners who transformed the fresh fiber into usable yarn.
As she walked by bin after bin of sheared wool and alpaca and checked off her inventory master list, Winnie’s mind drifted back to her other commitment for today.
Her therapy-dog visit.
Max.
She’d accepted the assignment knowing full well that she risked losing the secure life she’d built for herself and the girls.
Self-recrimination washed over her. She took a ball of alpaca out of its bin and held the soft wool to her cheek. She should’ve told Robyn who her client was. When Robyn found out, and she would find out, she’d be furious that Winnie hadn’t told her she was finally going to tell Max about Maeve. Rightfully so, as Robyn had been her support and anchor through the past five years. She’d never judged Winnie and had kept her deepest secrets secret.
Ever since Winnie learned she was pregnant, Robyn had been adamant that Winnie needed to tell Max he was a father. And it wasn’t that Winnie disagreed. The timing had been hell, with Max headed to war. She’d planned to tell him when he returned, but then his deployment was extended.
Risking such a huge emotional upset to a man at war was not something Winnie would ever do.
Shivers of apprehension chilled her as she looked out the back window of her fiber studio onto Penn Cove. The gray sky covered the white-capped bay and she knew the waves on the western side of Whidbey would be even more powerful.
A spring storm was coming in from the Pacific. She hated making the drive up to the Naval Air Station on the slick black road, but her volunteer time at the base was one of the few sacrosanct commitments in her life, besides the girls.
She loved her daughters and wanted to cherish each moment with them. But she also relished her work and needed time alone to think about how to manage her burgeoning career without the neediness of a teen and toddler weighting her every move.
As she prepared to leave the studio, she paused in front of the window that overlooked the street. Her building sat in between the rocky narrow coast and a side road off Coupeville’s Main Street. Winnie watched the rain begin to fall. When she came back from this afternoon’s therapy visit, everything would be different.
She leaned her head against the studio’s front door and closed her eyes. She tried to let the rain pattering against the window panes of the century-old building soothe her.
It hadn’t been her choice to be a single parent to Krista. A mishap on an aircraft carrier had dealt a devastating blow to her life when it killed her husband and Krista’s father, Tom, more than five years ago.
She’d had a choice, however, in how she made a family for Maeve, her baby. She’d deliberately refused to tell her family, except for Robyn, who Maeve’s father was. Her parents had wondered if she’d used Tom’s frozen sperm. She’d assured them that wasn’t the case, but as they became more persistent she let them think whatever they wanted.
She’d told Robyn about Maeve’s father—with instructions to tell Max if anything happened to her. But she needed to tell Max herself; he deserved to know before anyone else did that he was Maeve’s father. Unfortunately she’d learned that a life can end with no notice, and that included her own.
While her parents had no idea who’d fathered Maeve, it was pretty clear soon after she was born—with dark, straight hair—that she had a different father than Krista, who shared Winnie’s curly blond mane.
Maeve’s father had moved back to Whidbey Island two months ago. In spite of her best intentions to tell him he was a father as soon as she could, she’d still procrastinated.
It’d been two years, three months and five days since she’d last seen U.S. Navy Commander Robert “Max” Ford. It seemed more like three minutes.
Especially when she looked at her beautiful baby daughter.
* * *
COMMANDER MAX FORD, United States Navy, sat on the deck of his dream home and stared out at Dugualla Bay. The Cascade Mountains were snowcapped, as they’d remain for most of the year.
As a junior officer, J.O., he’d idolized the Commanding Officer of his squadron who’d owned this place. When his Commanding Officer got divorced and the house was sold as part of the settlement, Max bought it. He’d rented it out while he was stationed in Florida, and eagerly returned to his prized home just under two years ago, when he took the Executive Officer/Commanding Officer, XO/CO, job in his squadron. He’d had his Change of Command party here last year and the world seemed to be his to conquer.
He’d been so much younger only a year ago. His Aviation Command of Prowler Squadron Eighty-One had been in front of him. He’d led over two hundred men and women into battle over Iraq and Afghanistan. They’d all come home intact.
Except him.
He raised his arms overhead to stretch his back, as the physical therapist had taught him. The shrapnel had been removed and the scars were healing.
Too bad his brain couldn’t get stitched back up so easily.
“You have PTSD. You know the drill, Max. You’re one of our Navy’s finest. We’ll get you a great job on Whidbey, shore duty, and give you time to heal. Then we’ll see where it all falls out for an O-6 command.”
His boss, the Wing Commander, had done everything Max would have done for one of his own charges. He’d been compassionate, honest, strong.
But having been a commanding officer himself, Max saw beyond the clichéd promises.
Max had seen the look of resignation in his boss’s eyes. He didn’t expect Max to return to a real Navy job. His operational days were done. No one came back whole from what he’d seen—the monster who’d appeared in the form of the suicide bomber he’d prevented from killing hundreds of fellow servicemen and women.
Instead of preparing his squadron for another deployment, during which they’d become the well-honed warriors they’d signed up to be, he was sitting on his deck, staring at the Cascade Mountains, waiting for some volunteer social worker to bring over a dog.
A dog.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. Max planned on having several once his Navy days were over. Hell, since he was on shore duty indefinitely, he could even consider going to the animal shelter in Coupeville and adopting himself a real dog. Something big and furry. He’d never been a tiny-dog fan. If the dog handler showed up with anything smaller than a bear cub he wasn’t going to work with it.
His problem wasn’t with the dog per se. Max’s problem was with still needing therapy. He’d accepted the weekly meetings with the on-base counselor. He’d met with the PTSD support group and shared his feelings. Yet his therapist thought he’d benefit from some dog time. Dog therapy time.
He blamed himself for asking what else he could do to help the other sailors. It was getting too painful to go back to the base day after day and not be able to walk into a hangar that he’d practically owned. Not to face a squadron of courageous young men and women and know that he was leading the best team on the planet. Know that he was the CO they could count on to lead them through hell and back.
His therapist had suggested canine therapy.
“Do you mean so I can give therapy to other vets?”
“No, Max. So you can get some healing from the dog. The caretaker isn’t a therapist, just a handler. You and the dog form the bond.”
“But you mean I’ll do this so I can then provide the same service to others, right?”
Marlene Goodreach, his therapist, had shifted in her seat. Her face was lined, no doubt because of the countless tales of horror she’d helped sailors like him unburden.
“Max. This is about you. You’ve done brilliantly—your physical wounds have healed, your memory is back. But you’re still resistant to facing your own anger and disappointment over the change in your career plans. I think working with a therapy dog would help the tension you still have in your gut.”
Max had learned that the price of throwing himself into his recovery and hoping to eventually help others was that his therapist got to know him too well. He didn’t have the option of keeping his emotions from Marlene.
At least the counselor had agreed to let him meet the dog and its handler on his own turf, away from the looks of pity on base NAS Whidbey Island.
He clenched his hands around the porch railing. Only when his grip became painful did he force himself to breathe and release his grip. He despised the well-meaning comments, the compassionate glances, the fatherly pats on the shoulder.
“Take care of yourself, Max. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Hey, you’ve had command, you brought the team home, relax.”
“You’ve earned this shore tour. Enjoy it.”
“Why not retire after this, take some time for Max? You’ll make O-6, what’s your worry?”
He didn’t even like working out on base anymore. Too many familiar faces. He flexed his feet. The soreness in his calves was a testament to the extra-long session he’d put on the spin bike he’d bought. He kept it on the glassed-in deck upstairs, so he could watch the sun come up as he rode in place.
He saw the sunrise every day. Sleep wasn’t a given for him anymore.
The dark clouds threatened rain but so far only gusts of tropical warmth rustled the underbrush under tall firs that waved with the wind. Spring on Whidbey meant chaos as far as the weather was concerned.
He saw the approaching car before he heard it. A compact station wagon. As it neared he recognized the larger shape in back—the dog.
The woman in the driver’s seat made him catch his breath.
No.
It was the same honey corkscrew hair, the same generous mouth under the too-round-to-be-classic nose.
Was this some kind of joke? The very woman he’d guided through the fires of her own hell when Tom died was here to reach a hand into his purgatory?
More importantly, the woman who’d rejected him and whom he’d avoided since his return.
He stood as she brought the car to a stop in front of his house. She stepped out and walked straight to the back. There was no mistaking her graceful gait, her purposeful stride.
Winnie always knew where she was going, save for that brief tortured time after Tom’s death.
She opened the back of the wagon and commanded the dog down. It was a big dog but not a fluffy soft breed. The mostly black coat ruffled a little in the strong breeze.
Not a tiny dog, at least.
Max let out a sigh. The dog appeared to be tough and knowing as he trotted next to Winnie up the driveway.
She drew closer and he tried to stay focused on the dog, Winnie’s muddy boots, her barn coat, her jeans. Anything but the face he had trouble forgetting… He’d prided himself on staying away from her since his return to Whidbey two months earlier. He hadn’t even checked to see if she was still on the island—he assumed she was, or nearby, since her family lived in the vicinity.
But he’d kept her out of his life, away from the mess his mental state had made of it.
Until now.
She stopped a few feet away, close enough for him to make out the almond shape of her long-lashed amber eyes, yet far enough not to invite physical contact. No hello hug.
“Max.” She’d known it was him; he saw that in the resigned line of her mouth. But she hadn’t called first, hadn’t given him fair warning.
Hell, why should she? She made her feelings clear when she didn’t return your calls over two years ago.
He’d last seen her just before he’d taken the one-year position of Executive Officer, which had led into his next tour, also one year, as Commanding Officer.
“Winnie.” He stood at the edge of the drive, his hands in his pockets. Her hands were busy, too—one thrust in her pocket and one on the leash.
He’d always loved her hands. They were warm, long-fingered, elegant.
If he thought the PTSD had robbed him of his sex drive, he’d been mistaken. The familiar surge of need he associated with Winnie made him clench his hands inside his jeans pockets.
Winnie seemed unmoved by their reunion except for the way she tossed a stray curl out of her face. He saw her do that just a few times before. When she’d heard Tom’s will read by the Navy JAG, when he’d stopped by her house in the weeks after Tom’s death and two years ago, when she’d agreed to meet him for a beer at the local microbrewery after the Air Show. If only one of them had said no that night. If only he hadn’t given in to the surprising yet delightful sexual attraction that sprang up between them. If only they’d preserved their basic friendship, this inevitable meeting might not be so bone-scrapingly painful.
“This is Sam.” She turned to Sam. “Good dog, Sam. Greet Max.”
The dog sat and wagged his tail, an expectant look on his dark face. As Max leaned lower he could see the blond eyebrows and wisps of blond coming out of Sam’s ears. He reached out his hand. “Hi, Sam.”
Sam sniffed inquisitively before he licked Max’s open palm. The dog sidled up to him and sat down next to Max’s sneakered foot.
“He likes you.” Winnie smiled at Sam while she avoided eye contact with Max.
His memory of that night two years ago was intact, always had been. She’d enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. She could have called him. But Winnie hadn’t, as he’d known she wouldn’t—it wasn’t her style. She’d probably been embarrassed that she’d revealed so much to him that night. Physically, anyhow.
He’d already seen her inside and out on an emotional level when Tom was killed and he’d been her CACO, her Casualty Assistance Calls Officer. He’d been the one, along with the base chaplain, to knock on Winnie’s door at six in the morning, to inform her that Tom was dead. He’d taken her through all the paperwork, the life insurance forms, the burial arrangements. He’d found child care for Krista when it was needed, when the proceedings were too grim for a seven-year-old child to partake in.
He’d seen sides of Winnie he’d never expected. The whiny wife he’d chalked her up to be, the woman who always wanted Tom to get out of the Navy, turned into a strong widow before his eyes. She didn’t blame the Navy or Tom for his untimely death. Through the devastating grief, he watched her accept the unwelcome change in her and Krista’s lives with dignified grace.
Her grace was one of the many things about her that attracted him. A more serious relationship with Winnie, however, had never been a remote possibility. His first allegiance was to Tom and the Navy, and he planned to keep it that way.
He had more work to do, as the counselor said. And not all of it concerned his PTSD.
“I have hot water for tea,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”
Winnie lifted her chin and her gaze finally met his. The sparks in their brown depths took him back to that night with her, that one great night.
Before his life as a Navy pilot had been shattered.
“Okay, thanks.” She offered him a smile, but it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “We won’t stay too long, just enough to make sure you’ll be comfortable with Sam this weekend.”
* * *
THE KITCHEN WAS SLEEK and modern, as she remembered. It had been “the” house when they were all so much younger. Before death had cast a long and early shadow across their lives. Winnie watched Max pour hot water from the stainless kettle into the iron teapot. She didn’t dare look at his face. But then, staring at his masculine hands was awkward, too; as she remembered the last time she’d seen him.
When those hands had been all over her.
She sighed. Not dating was the only option for her at the moment but it had its drawbacks. Being acutely aware of her sexual attraction to Max was one of them.
“How’s Krista?” His deep baritone broke the silence of the square house.
“Krista’s great, fine. She’s in middle school.”
Her reply was as bare, as unadorned, as the house. She knew it and, judging by his raised brows, so did Max.
“She’s a great kid. Tom would be proud of her.” Her cadence was still too clipped. He was going to wonder why.
Stop it.
“I’m glad. Has she—” Max pulled out a strainer for the tea “—adjusted okay?”
“It’s been almost six years, Max. It was a horrible time for her, but she doesn’t remember as much of the awfulness of it as we do.”
He poured the tea with practiced ease.
“I forgot you’re a tea drinker.” She’d grown up in Washington State where coffee was a staple. But Max’s mother was from England and his father a Harvard law professor; tea was the drink of choice in his childhood home. Years ago, Tom and their aviation friends had teased him mercilessly about it.
“Yeah, some things stay the same. Honey?” His voice triggered her awareness of him. And took her thoughts back to the night of the Air Show when he’d whispered in her ear.
“No, just plain. Thanks.” The kitchen counter stool was cold against her back. She had to focus on where she was today and stay away from memories of that night.
She had to get back to the purpose of her visit—telling Max what the fateful outcome of that night had been. Telling him he was a father.
But she couldn’t do it. “You want to have Sam for the whole weekend?” she asked. Nothing about Maeve, only the dog. She couldn’t strike the match that would ignite an explosion of feelings—recrimination, accusation, disbelief, anger.
“If it’s okay with you. Yes, I thought that would keep my therapist happy and cause the least amount of trouble for you.”
“It’s no trouble for me, Max. I come back and forth to the base every week. This is only another ten minutes past there. I can easily bring him over daily instead of leaving him.” She’d never leave Sam with a new client, but Max was hardly new to her.
“We’ll work it out.” He seemed distracted.
Tell him.
“Winnie, I owe you an apology. I was a real shit after the Air Show two years ago. I did try to reach you, but when you didn’t respond I should’ve been more persistent. I was getting ready to go to war, and frankly, that took over my life. But I want you to realize I didn’t take that night casually.”
Her stomach felt as if it had collapsed inward and she fought to keep her demeanor calm and collected. Without knowing it, Max was making her need to take responsibility more painful.
This isn’t about you. It’s about Maeve and her daddy. He deserves to know. Screw up your courage and get it over with.
“Stop it—we’re both adults. No apology needed.” Yet her face grew hotter by the second.
Where was this reaction coming from? She’d decided to keep him out of her life, away from Maeve.
You’re angry at yourself. You’ve kept him from his daughter.
“No, it was totally wrong of me on so many levels. I enjoyed my time with you, and that night, believe it or not, was special to me. But I went back to Florida, and then got the command posting here, the deployment orders to Afghanistan and, well, I figured you might have regrets and not want to talk about it. I never wanted to cause you any pain, Winnie.”
“Max, please, drop it.” She was terrible at lying.
“I tried emailing you, too, but when you didn’t reply, I felt it was probably best for both of us.”
She kept her eyes glued on the steel-gray mug she drank from, but the sense of being watched made her look up and into his dark blue eyes. Shame clawed at her and sent heat up her neck, onto her cheeks. She should have called him. But she’d found out he was going to war. Not a good time to tell someone he had a baby on the way.
“I want you to be able to trust me, Winnie.” He set his cup on the counter and leaned toward her. She felt the warmth that radiated from him, smelled the scent that had imprinted on her mind two years ago.
“I trust you, Max.” That had never been an issue between them.
“With your dog.”
She blinked.
“I don’t have a problem leaving Sam with you. I mean, as far as trust goes.”
“But?”
Winnie shifted on the hard stool This really was a bachelor’s home—it looked slick and modern but definitely lacked comfort.
“The girls and I rely on Sam for our weekends. He’s part of the family.”
“Girls?”
She winced and hoped it was inward.
God, please don’t let me blow this. Not now.
“I have two children, Max. Krista and Maeve.”
His expression went still. She saw his gaze on her left hand, watched as his eyes registered her bare ring finger.
“I didn’t know you were with someone new.”
“I’m not with anyone. But would it be such a shock? It’s been a long time.”
“Of course not. I was surprised you didn’t move on more quickly.” He had his back to her, rinsing out the teapot in the sink.
“Oh?”
“Your marriage with Tom was so solid. Most of the widows I’ve dealt with over the years remarry sooner rather than later if they had a strong first marriage.”
She sighed and forced her hands to unclench the fists they’d become on the granite counter. She felt so stiff, as if warding off an attack, and here was Max giving her a compliment.
“No, I haven’t remarried and I don’t see any reason to. The girls and I have a good life, and the thought of bringing in a third party at this point isn’t on my priority list.”
A moment ago she was ready to tell him. Now she wanted to turn tail and run.
He nodded. “I hear you. When I was Commanding Officer of my squadron, before we deployed, most of my late-night calls, unfortunately, were domestic violence or child molestation—many at the hands of a boyfriend or second husband. It’s scary out there.”
She relaxed her shoulders. This was much safer ground. As much as she’d convinced herself she was ready to tell Max about Maeve, she was nowhere near prepared to deal with the storm of emotions it would inevitably release.
Emotions from a man who’d spent the past months doing everything he could to repress all emotion, just to survive. Who was still recovering from the effects of his own hell.
Stay focused, damn it.
“Yes, it is. I’m not willing to take any risks when it comes to my girls and their safety.”
He sipped his tea and regarded her with steady eyes.
“There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned, Winnie.”
Her breath caught, her mind beginning its all-too-familiar racing. What had she forgotten? How had she left the girls vulnerable? “What?”
“What do you do when you’re lonely, Winnie? Who do you turn to?”
CHAPTER TWO
MAX EYED WINNIE as she clenched and unclenched her fists. He hadn’t forgotten one nuance of her expression. He was going on pure instinct but he knew she was hiding something from him.
He supposed he should be relieved. The blast and resulting PTSD hadn’t erased all his memory. Anything that had to with Winnie seemed to be etched on his brain. Probably on his heart, too, but he had enough soul-searching to do without adding her.
Max hadn’t dared to hope anything would happen between him and Winnie again. But from the minute he saw her get out of her car, thoughts of having her back in his bed flashed across his mind. He swallowed a grin. For months he’d tried to fight off any kind of “flashes,” especially flashbacks to the bombing. Now he’d love to relive one—of Winnie naked and begging him to push harder.
“You seem to be taking your time getting settled.” She looked around the Spartan living room and nodded at the empty bookshelves.
He followed her gaze and smiled.
“I built them myself. Helped pass the time when I first got back and couldn’t work full days yet. I just haven’t gotten around to unpacking all of my books. They’re still stacked in boxes, in the garage.”
“I know you love your World War II history. It’s hard to think of you without full bookshelves.”
He felt a warm stab in his gut. Did he care that Winnie remembered something personal about him?
“I have an electronic reader and I tend to use that for straight history. But you’re right, I miss my books. There’s nothing like looking at photographs of vintage aircraft.”
“I imagine you don’t have too many extra hours, what with work. Are you back full-time, then?”
“No, not quite. I’m close, though. I just have to do this dog thing with you—or rather, Sam.” Sam’s ears pricked but he remained at Max’s feet on the kitchen floor. “Hopefully my therapist will be satisfied that I’m ready to play like a big boy again and let me get back to a real job.”
“This ‘dog thing’ can’t be all that’s keeping you from working full-time.”
Same Winnie, same cut-the-bullshit attitude.
Instead of annoying him like they used to, her questions now seemed oddly comforting.
“No, it’s not. You’re right. I still have two more weeks before I’ll be released from the mandatory rest I had to take for my shrapnel wounds.” Truth be told, he’d needed the two days off per week. Until about a month ago, he’d found the exhaustion the hardest part of all the injuries, physical and mental.
“Are you on meds?”
“Are you a medical doctor?” His reply cut across the unavoidable buildup of sexual tension between them.
“No. I’m sorry, Max.” She did look sorry. And jumpy. When and why had she ever been jumpy around him?
She crossed her arms in front of her and stood in the middle of his living room. “We haven’t, I haven’t, we, um…”
“We haven’t spoken in over two years.” He finished it for her.
“No, and I don’t know where to start, especially since—”
“The last time we were together we didn’t have clothes on?”
Bingo. Red flush, bright eyes.
She’s still attracted to you.
“About that—” she began.
“No, Winnie, stop. We don’t have to go over any of this. It was two years ago, and like you said, we never spoke again. There’s no sense in dredging it up now. But I am curious as to why you agreed to work with me. You must’ve known it was me before you came out here.”
“Yes, of course I did.” She raised her chin. “I thought it was the least I owed you after everything you did for Krista and me.”
“You never have to thank me for that, Winnie. Tom was my friend.”
“I know, and I know I thanked you back then and again two years ago.” She paused. “But I can never thank you enough for all your help.”
He held up his hand and fought the urge to come around the counter and gather her in his arms.
“It’s over, Winnie. We’re moving on. No more reliving all that history, okay?”
He saw her eyes cloud as she bit her bottom lip.
He wanted to ease her obvious distress.
Old habits die hard.
She nodded. “You’re right, Max. It’s not fair to you, to either of us, to keep bringing up Tom and when he died.”
Was this the same Winnie he knew? The woman who’d fought so hard for whatever she wanted from Tom, who’d all but ordered him to leave the Navy after his first tour?
He was reminded of why he’d been so attracted to Winnie two years ago; that night of the Air Show. He’d seen this quality in her then, recognizing the mature woman she’d been hiding under her younger, often self-centered, persona.
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “So that’s that. Now tell me more about your new business and your life.”
The relief in her expression was almost comical.
“I love the business I started. It’s not really new anymore—heck, it’s been almost four years and I’ve been turning a decent profit for the past eighteen months. Great considering the economy, you know?”
Her eyes widened as she regarded him and he couldn’t keep his mouth from twitching.
“What, Max?”
“Winnie, we’ve known each other for how long—ten, twelve years?”
“Fifteen.” Her answer was soft and swift.
“Okay, fifteen. I’ve seen you through your best days and your not-so-good days.” He wouldn’t say “worst,” since they’d just agreed to keep Tom’s death out of it. “The Winnie I used to know says ‘hell’ and doesn’t make bullshit small-talk with her friends.”
Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lower lip. A sensual memory of how he’d licked and sucked on that lip punched him in the gut.
“I—” she began, then shook her head. “I’m a mom now, Max. I don’t swear in front of my girls.”
There it was again. Girls. Plural. When had she become involved enough with anyone to have a child? Unless she’d been lying to him the last time he saw her, or had lied this morning, dating wasn’t part of her life.
Maybe she has a friend with benefits.
He couldn’t think about that, not now. Not when the woman he’d thought of all through the war sat there in front of him… He’d ask her who Maeve’s father was some other time. Besides, she’d intimated that the man was no longer in her life.
“Fair enough. So how did you get started with canine therapy?”
Her eyes lit up and her face instantly looked ten years younger. The passionate Winnie he’d met when Tom brought her to the Navy Birthday Ball during their first tour on Whidbey Island was sitting in his kitchen. She tilted her head slightly to the left, eager to share her news with him.
“You remember my family and all their dogs? I grew up with dogs and always loved them.”
“And Tom didn’t. Not so much.”
She hesitated, her mug halfway to her mouth. Damn it, he couldn’t seem to stop talking about Tom. As though mentioning him would help keep Winnie at arm’s length, safely out of his reach.
That didn’t work the night of the Air Show.
He took a swig of his tea and waited.
“No, you’re right. Not small dogs, anyway. Our first dog, well, my dog, Daisy, was that little Jack Russell, remember? She annoyed the hell out of Tom because she’d ignore him unless I was out of the picture. Then she’d pee in his flight boots.”
“I remember more than one sortie,” Max said, referring to the Navy term for an operational or training flight, “where Tom bitched the whole way through about his wet boots. He knew that dog had got to them again, and it didn’t matter where he hid them.”
Winnie laughed and slapped her hand on the counter. “I forgot about that! One time he even put the boots on top of the bookcase—”
“But neglected to remove the smaller bookcase next to it. Daisy climbed up there like a cat and knocked the boots onto the floor.”
“Where she—”
“Peed in them!” They spoke simultaneously and the unselfconsciousness of their shared laughter sideswiped Max.
Until their eyes met and he saw the depths of Winnie’s pain and struggle of the past five years. There was joy, too, and something else he hadn’t seen before. Something harder, older than he’d ever associated with Winnie.
Resignation? Bitterness?
“Well, back to my point.” Winnie cupped her half-full mug and stared into it. “We had Daisy until two years after Tom died. Krista needed a pet. It was gut-wrenching to say goodbye to Daisy, in some ways harder than it’d been to say goodbye to her father.” Winnie’s hands stilled and she looked up at him.
“That sounds sacrilegious, doesn’t it? But she was only seven when Tom died. Two years later she was so much more aware and so attached to that dog. Daisy was a living link to Tom. It killed both of us to put her down.”
She sighed and shifted her gaze to the view outside his huge kitchen window. Her irises reflected the blue of Puget Sound and the shadows of the Cascades.
“My vet suggested getting a new dog right away. She’d been with us—with me—through everything, and she understood more than we did how a puppy would heal us. I thought I was off my rocker, and so did my family, but a couple of weeks after Daisy’s death, Krista and I went to the animal shelter in Coupeville. We looked at all those dogs that needed a home and while we could have been happy with any of them, only one made an effort to get our attention and to keep licking our hands and faces.”
She smiled down at the quiet German shepherd mix who lay beside Max’s feet.
“I told you about him at the Air Show—” Her voice trailed off, and she must have assumed he didn’t remember.
“I recall that you mentioned a new dog, but you didn’t say anything about canine therapy.”
“I’d just started to look into it. It’s not something I would’ve been talking about at that point.”
She didn’t say it but he thought it—after they’d caught up on their three years apart they’d spent their time in his hotel room, and it hadn’t been talking.
“I can’t believe you got this purebred German shepherd from a pound. I know people who’ve paid thousands for purebreds.”
Winnie laughed. The sound delighted him, like an unexpected gift. God, he’d missed her.
“Sam’s no purebred. He’s mostly German shepherd, sure, but his momma was a mixed-breed from Seattle.”
“I didn’t know you could find out lineage when you got a dog from a pound.”
“You can get a DNA test done. But Sam was dropped off with a litter of pups that’d been brought to the shelter by a young woman who had a farm. She said the mother had been killed in a freak gun accident. This woman couldn’t tend to the pups properly and manage her farm, so she brought them here, minus one pup she kept for herself. The mother had been her companion for six years and was a mixed breed. There was a purebred German shepherd guard dog from a local quarry who got out one night…”
“And they had love puppies,” he said, grinning at his own joke.
“Pretty much, yeah. You’d think a farmer would know enough to fix her animals, but in this case, I’m glad she didn’t. Sam is the best pet ever, and his talent for therapy work has made me wonder what happened to his littermates.”
“Did they all get adopted out?”
“Yes, every last one of them, all on Whidbey. Whether they’re still here or not, who knows?”
“So how did you find out he’d be good at this, uh, therapy?” He still had to fight a grimace as he said the word. As though not saying it would make him not need it.
As though the bombing had never happened and he was sitting across from Winnie whole and in control of his future. A future of Navy assignments and leadership instead of rehabilitation and retirement from the Navy, a lot sooner than he’d planned.
“Ever since he was tiny he seemed especially intuitive to my moods and Krista’s. I’ve known a lot of dogs over my lifetime and I never met one that had such a knack for knowing whether you need a lick or a little nudge when you come through the door.”
She smiled at him and he wished the smile was for him and not her dog. Still, he’d take what he could get.
“At first I took him to obedience classes with Krista. It was a family bonding time and it helped her with her self-esteem, which was shaky at best. That might have been due to my grieving and inability to bounce back from Tom’s death as quickly as some people thought I should.”
“Who thought you should have bounced back more quickly?” Maybe she’d never healed. Like him, maybe Winnie was forever affected by her loss.
“No one in particular, Max. It’s just that after the first few months of understanding and compassion, people get worn out by the exhausting nature of grief. They mean well, but have to get with their lives. And they can—they’re not the ones who lost a husband or father.”
He heard no rancor or self-pity in her voice.
“The same people who claim they’ll be there for you tend to fade away,” she added. “That’s been my experience.”
At his silence he saw her hand jerk suddenly and her spine straighten.
“I don’t mean you, Max! You were there through the worst of it and you left because of your job, not because you chose to.”
He let her words hang there. He’d sought the assignment in Florida, unbeknownst to Winnie. He’d had to. It’d been time to move on. He’d needed a career change.
Still, looking at the situation through Winnie’s eyes, he saw that he’d faded away. He’d abandoned her and Krista.
“Winnie, I know it was a difficult time for you. I—”
“No, Max. Enough! You were there for me and you went above and beyond the call of duty. You are not who I’m talking about, period.”
He didn’t say anything else, simply allowed her to continue.
“So in an effort to continue the healing process, Krista and I went to more and more dog-training classes. Sam passed the basic Good Citizenship test from the American Kennel Club, and then I heard on National Public Radio that canine therapy was helping vets when they got back. The rest,” she said with a flourish, “is history.”
Max remained silent. He’d forgotten how much positive energy could be emitted by someone so enthusiastic about his or her vocation.
Bullshit. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be around Winnie—to feel alive.
“You’re the greatest, aren’t you, boy?” Winnie cooed at Sam and the dog merely pricked his ears toward her. He still lay at Max’s feet.
“How long did it take you to train him to behave like this?” He nodded at the dog.
Winnie’s eyes widened. “Train him? Oh, no, Max, I didn’t train him to do this. It’s the intuitive streak I told you about. He knows who needs his comfort the most, and he knows when we’re in ‘work’ mode. He’s taken to you because he wants to, not because of anything I’ve done.”
“So what does that mean?”
“What does it mean? I don’t follow you.”
“The fact that he’s stuck to me like a barnacle ever since he jumped out of your car. Is he guarding you? Protecting you from me by keeping me in my place?”
Winnie leaned forward and placed her hands over Max’s tense fingers. He involuntarily jumped at the awareness that shot up his forearms.
“Max, he’s lying next to you because he senses you need him. And to be frank, judging by Sam’s behavior, you’re one of the neediest clients I’ve dealt with this year.”
Her words slammed through him almost as quickly as his reaction to her touch. But they didn’t elicit lust like her touch did. Instead, he felt only white-hot rage.
He pulled his hands out from under hers and shoved himself back from the table.
“F— Ah, shit, damn it!” He fought to control it, to control the cold stranglehold of fear.
He’d really wanted this meeting to go without a hitch.
CHAPTER THREE
WINNIE WATCHED THE cyclone of emotion twist Max’s handsome face. The only thing recognizable as “Max” was the sharp hue of his eyes.
Crapola.
Big mistake. She’d thought that by putting the focus on Max and his work with Sam, she’d be able to push aside her reaction, the quaking that was a direct result of her attraction to Max. Wrong. Their physical chemistry still made her toes curl in her comfy shearling boots.
“Needy? So this is a pity call for you, Winnie?” Max snapped. She was almost surprised that spittle didn’t shoot out of his mouth.
She sighed and grasped for the right thing to say. Like fired bullets, she couldn’t retract her words or the damage they’d caused.
“I’m sorry, Max. I was speaking too freely. Sometimes my mouth isn’t connected to my brain. I guess I’m still missing that filter you’ve always teased me about not having.”
Her jibe at herself didn’t work, either. He stayed silent, simmering with rage.
Pointing out their long-standing relationship and all its baggage—that was the stupidest comment she could have made. She needed to rely on their common bonds if she was going to salvage anything of their friendship once he knew about Maeve.
Double crapola.
He ran his fingers through his short hair. The same dark, straight hair Maeve had.
“Damn it, Winnie, I know I must still need some work or you wouldn’t be sitting here in front of me—my doc wouldn’t have suggested it. But I’m not totally mental. I’ve come a long way and what I’ve been through doesn’t come close to what so many other vets are suffering. Hell, I feel guilty taking your time.” His eyes shifted uneasily to Sam. “And this dog’s time. There are a lot of sailors who need Sam more than I do.”
“This is about you, Max. Sam sees plenty of other sailors, and there are other therapy dogs, too. You’re not keeping him from anyone else.” A white lie, as there was always another veteran in line, hoping to benefit from Sam’s ministrations, but she needed Max to buy in to her rationale—and the value of her work—if it was going to help him at all.
“Why did you get involved with this, Winnie? You can’t enjoy the constant reminder of Tom’s death whenever you drive on base. For that matter, why did you stay in Whidbey this long? And why the hell did you agree to see me? Didn’t you tell the social worker you already knew me?”
Take it easy. He’s just angry at the situation, not you.
But his words hit home. They struck the part of her that she kept cordoned off from everyone. The Navy widow part. Where she hid the knowledge that she could never handle another trauma.
Still…she might have to. His anger wasn’t personal yet, but when she told Max the secret she’d kept from him, his anger would be directed at her. He’d have every reason to accuse, convict and sentence her.
“You know why I stayed, Max. I love it here, my roots are here. I didn’t want to move up to Anacortes, and I still don’t. And I don’t live in Oak Harbor anymore—I have a nice home in Coupeville, near my shop and office. If you saw where we live, you’d understand why I stayed.”
“‘We,’ Winnie? Are you living with your daughter’s father?”
“No, I already told you, I don’t have a relationship with Maeve’s father.”
He didn’t reply, but when she raised her eyes to meet his, she froze. He could look at her as no one else could.
He knows.
Dark spots floated in her vision and she realized she was holding her breath. She released it in a measured exhalation, trying not to let him see that she was distressed.
“I never took you for the casual-sex type, Winnie.”
“Except after the Air Show two years ago?”
“We didn’t have casual sex, Winnie. It was a surprise, a shock even, but not casual.”
This is too close. He’s going to ask, he’s going to figure it out.
“Who says it was casual? Really, Max, at this point it’s none of your business.” Another lie, as Maeve was completely his business, but Winnie had to save that conversation for another time.
Drawing on what she’d learned during those first painful months after Tom’s death, she looked for the next task she needed to do. She had to tell him about Maeve, but not at this moment. He was too stressed, too wound up. She couldn’t risk putting him over the edge with his PTSD.
So now you’re God? An expert at deciding when someone needs to know what is most definitely his business?
“Why don’t we drop this, Max, and you and Sam go for a walk out on the paths?” She meant the myriad dirt walkways that snaked through the often-lush island vegetation. The water of Skagit Bay lapped against the rocky beaches and Mount Baker stood off to the east, its aquamarine glacier visible on clear days.
She hoped that if Max and Sam went for a walk, the high emotion between her and Max would diffuse. Maybe she’d find the courage to do the right thing and tell him the truth, even if it was more than two years too late.
But Max wasn’t finished with their conversation. His unhappiness was evident in his clenched fists, tight jaw and shallow breathing. She studied him and wondered how they were ever going to get past this tension.
Seconds later, he visibly relaxed his body by rolling his shoulders. He bowed his head, and she wondered if he was saying a prayer.
Max, a praying man?
She’d never met a pilot who wasn’t a believer, but Max had never demonstrated a predisposition toward any particular religious faith.
He lifted his head, and his gaze rested on her, without the rancor she’d seen moments earlier.
“I’m sorry for acting out on you, Winnie. My control over my temper is still a work in progress, or so I’m told.” His lips twitched and she thought he might smile, but it was obviously too much effort. He’d aged over the past two years; she saw it now in the resigned expression that made the lines on his face deeper than she recalled.
Max looked sad, she realized.
“It’s fine, Max. Now let’s get you out there with Sam.”
“I move a bit slower than I used to. He’s not going to pull me over, is he?”
She offered him her best smile. “Not if I can help it.”
* * *
SHE WATCHED MAX LEAD Sam onto the path across the road from his driveway. They made an interesting pair, she had to admit. A tall warrior who moved with the gait of a man twenty years older than he was, flanked by seventy pounds of exuberant dog.
Sam could be trusted to stay close to Max and match his stride. It’d taken months of repetitive training, but she’d finally communicated to him the need not to pull, to allow whoever had his leash to be the alpha “dog.”
Tears pricked at her lids and she turned her face up to the sky. She couldn’t keep watching Max and Sam together or Max would come back to a puddle of tears.
The beauty of Sam’s ability to relate to injured vets never ceased to move her. She often felt tears of pride and joy well up as the dog worked with a client, bringing out healing and survivor instincts that even the most highly trained therapists had been unable to reach.
But this wasn’t just another client. It was Max, and Max would forever be a part of her life. Not to mention Maeve’s.
You have to tell him. Now.
CHAPTER FOUR
“HE NEVER ASKED how old Maeve is?”
Robyn’s auburn curls sprang into her eyes and she brushed them away with an exasperated movement. Winnie sat with her sister on the sectional couch that occupied most of the family room in Robyn and Doug’s traditional home in Anacortes.
“No.” Winnie dug into her white container of Thai noodles and avoided eye contact with Robyn. Sam was curled up at her feet and she rubbed his belly with her toes.
Robyn was the only other person on earth who knew who Maeve’s father was because Winnie trusted her, and Robyn hadn’t let her down, which was a spectacular accomplishment considering the inquisitive nature of their family.
But Max’s return to Winnie’s life had put a knot in her stomach. Robyn had remained hands-off and kept her opinions to herself when Winnie had the baby and while Max wasn’t in the picture. Now Robyn’s impatience was reflected in her questions.
“I still don’t get why you went over there knowing it was him if you weren’t going to tell him about Maeve.” Robyn fixed her with a stern look. “Which, by the way, you should’ve done two years ago.”
Winnie stopped stroking Sam with her foot and swallowed a forkful of noodles whole.
“I know your opinion, Robyn. I don’t need to hear it again. Don’t you think I do a good enough job of beating myself up?”
When Robyn’s mouth opened, Winnie held up her hand.
“I did go over there to tell him. And I really meant to. But then he started talking about things that upset him. He almost lost his temper and I sent him for a walk with Sam.”
Sam’s ears pricked up at the mention of his name.
She put down the container of noodles and leaned against the back of the red suede couch, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“I thought it would be easier to tell Max in his house, without Maeve there. I also want to be able to help him with Sam. I owe him.”
“If you owe him anything, it’s the truth. You’re holding back the most valuable, important information of his life.” Robyn’s criticism chafed at Winnie’s patience.
“He doesn’t know that yet, Robyn. He was the best CACO at the worst of times. I’ll always be grateful to him for what he did for Krista and me.” In the aftermath of Tom’s death, Max had taken on the duty of Command Assistant Casualty Officer. His duty had been to see her through every aspect of her new, unwanted status as a military widow. From the funeral arrangements to walking her across the chapel parking lot after the service to making sure she and Krista received all the survivor benefits due to them—Max did it all.
He’d also been Tom’s best friend and had grieved for Tom more than anyone besides Winnie, Krista and his family.
“He got me through so much, Robyn. When I was acting crazy, trying to keep my mind off the pain. And when I found out he’s the one who needs the canine therapy, I felt I had to return the favor.” She paused. “No, that’s not completely true, either. Ever since I found out he was back in Whidbey, I knew I had to tell him.”
Winnie sent her sister a weak smile. Robyn’s expression remained stern.
“I’ve completely blown this,” she went on. “I would have, should have, told him I was pregnant, but he was on his way to war and I thought it’d be awful to contact him when I hadn’t replied to his calls after the Air Show. His deployment was extended, and six months turned into nine. Then he got injured and was on the East Coast for rehab. I couldn’t tell him when he was going through so much, could I?”
“Of course you could have.” Robyn could be so unyielding.
“I planned to go out there a few months ago, remember?” She’d decided to fly to D.C., find Max in the rehab center where he was spending his initial recovery period and tell him.
“Yes, I remember. But then you found out he was on his way back to Whidbey—it was in the paper. I’ve been here the whole time, Winnie. I haven’t missed any of this.” Robyn rolled her eyes. “You’re taking the risk that he’ll figure out about Maeve before you tell him. Then he’ll absolutely never trust you again.”
Winnie ignored the white-hot fear that pierced her gut, telling herself that Robyn had been the college drama major, after all.
“Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m risking nothing. Okay, so Max might put two and two together. But will he want a future with us at all? With his daughter? Doubtful. As good a man as Max is, he’s been a loner all these years. He’s not going to change now.”
“Are you really believing what you’re saying, sis? We’re talking about Max, the guy who would’ve given his left arm to keep you and Krista safe after the accident. Finding out you’re a parent changes everyone, and Max especially would want to be part of his daughter’s life. Plus, it’ll take about a minute for Tom’s family to come charging back in, looking for custody if they think that what you’re doing isn’t in Krista’s best interests.”
“They were acting out of grief. They’re over it.” Winnie’s in-laws had initially suggested that Winnie and Krista move to Oklahoma after Tom’s death, so they could be near their granddaughter. Never the most congenial of couples, they’d gone so far as to hint that there were legal steps they could take.
The Navy, namely Max, had come to her rescue again by ensuring that Winnie had complete legal custody of Krista. He’d made it clear to Tom’s parents that Tom’s wishes and Winnie’s legal right was that she be the one to raise Krista.
Tom’s parents had finally acquiesced, but not before implying that they’d pounce the moment they thought Winnie was doing anything harmful to Krista or to the memory of her father.
Winnie was grateful they’d calmed down once they realized that if they wanted to see Krista it would be at Winnie’s discretion. They’d since had cordial visits together two or three times a year, either in Oklahoma or on Whidbey.
Robyn had never trusted them.
“They may have backed out, but they’re lying in wait, honey, have no doubt. The minute they find out you’re involved with someone else but not married, they’ll ring their lawyer. You’re lucky they never pressed the issue when Maeve was born.”
True. Winnie knew the only reason Tom’s parents hadn’t made a fuss and hadn’t tried to reopen their custody case was that they wanted to believe Maeve was their biological granddaughter, too. They’d picked up on Winnie’s parents’ theory that Tom had frozen sperm in case he died—always a risk with a military career.
Winnie had let them believe whatever they wanted. As long as it kept them off her back and out of court… .
“Win, you need to tell Max. Maybe you should even consider stopping by his place again on the way home.”
Winnie sighed and picked up her container of lemongrass chicken. “Don’t worry about it, Robyn.”
“Hey, you can’t blame me for caring. Maeve’s my niece. I’d die without her and Krista.”
“As they would without you.” Winnie and Robyn had grown so much closer through the aftermath of Tom’s death, and Krista had bonded with Robyn as the safe, loving auntie. Maeve loved Robyn and her husband, Doug, but was more interested in the antics of cousin Brendan.
“So, are you going to do it?” Robyn’s persistence was almost worse than sitting in Max’s kitchen this morning, wanting to tell him, yet keeping her secret hidden.
“Do what?” She deliberately ignored her sister’s urging.
“Come off it, Winnie! Are you going to stop at Max’s on the way back?”
She put down her container. “No, not today. He’s going to have Sam this weekend. That’s soon enough, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. But you’re going to do it your way no matter what I tell you.” Robyn cocked her head, and Winnie heard her nephew’s crying over the baby monitor.
“He’s awake!” they both chimed in unison, then laughed.
“I’ll say hi to the little guy and then I’ll be going. Thanks for the lunchtime talk—I think.” Winnie figured if she ignored Robyn’s pointed looks, she’d be able to drive home without any temptation to stop at Max’s home.
* * *
MAX GRUNTED AS HE BENCH-pressed half his weight. It still bugged him that he couldn’t do as much as before, but he’d come far in the past few months. After the shock of losing his physical strength and fitness, he’d accepted what he had to do, even embraced it.
Work out harder than he ever had in his life.
He put the bar back in its notches and sat up, his breathing labored and his heart pounding. Both were a comfort to him when he worked out, a familiar reaction.
Unlike the cold sweats that woke him and left him unable to catch his breath.
Yeah, he preferred a tough workout in the gym to his night terrors any day.
He used the gym’s towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead before he lay back for another set. He raised and lowered the bar and, beyond that, focused on a small spot in the white tile ceiling.
A huge shadow obstructed his concentration.
“Boss!” The unmistakable voice of Chief Warrant Officer Miles Mikowski echoed through the weight room, and Max sat up. He offered Miles his hand.
“Warrant!”
Max was a Navy Commander, an officer, and Miles was former enlisted. The two of them were bound by a fellowship no one wanted to be part of—that of injured warriors. Max liked Miles because, like him, Miles was a survivor and still believed that he’d held the best job in the whole world as a U.S. Navy sailor.
“What are you doing, boss?” Miles looked at Max with one brow arched, his gaze raptor-sharp as usual. Max knew his friend didn’t miss a thing, from his sweat-stained gray T-shirt to the amount of the weights on the bar.
“Weren’t you in here yesterday, too, boss?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to burn some more today.”
Miles always called him “boss,” even though he’d never worked for Max. It was a sign of respect that humbled Max. Miles had lost more than he had in the war.
“You should be doing cardio, boss. Too much lifting’s not good, you know that.” Miles might call him “boss” but Max heard the tone of an older brother in his voice. They were close to the same age—Max guessed that Miles was around thirty-eight, four years younger than he was. Miles had come into the Navy later in life, after college. But he hadn’t originally sought a commission—since he’d wanted to become an expert in all aspects of Explosive Ordinance.
Miles and Max had gone through much of their reentry therapy together and they both knew that pushing too hard wasn’t part of the combat recovery process.
Max was well aware that breaking down his muscles more than he needed to wasn’t recommended by any medical professional. He knew the risks of wearing down his immune system. But he wasn’t overdoing the weights, no matter what Miles thought. And even if he was, that was better than ending up with a panic attack over Winnie’s reappearance in his life.
She’s got another kid, for God’s sake.
“I’ve got some extra steam to blow off. What are you doing here?” Max looked pointedly at Miles’s weight belt. “You sure you put the right leg on?”
Miles gave him a wide grin and tapped his prosthesis. He’d lost his left leg on the same day Max had intercepted the suicide bomber. Also in Afghanistan, but Miles had been in a remote area conducting land-mine removal ops. The military medics were the best in the world but even they couldn’t save a leg an IED had blown to bits.
“I’m trying this one out for the lab techs. The walking one is great, and the running leg lets me go for a good couple miles before I need to give it a rest. But I needed something sturdier for the weight room.”
“You’ve got a bigger selection of legs than I do sunglasses, Miles.” They smiled at each other. Miles had been Explosives Ordinance and Max an EA-6B pilot, but that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that they were both still here.
If you tell yourself this every morning and click your heels together three times, maybe one day you’ll believe it.
“What’s got you worked up, boss?”
“Not going to drop it, are you, Warrant?”
“I wouldn’t be a very good sailor if I let my shipmate get away with doing the absolute worst thing for himself.”
“There are worse things than overworking muscles.”
“I’m not worried about your muscles, boss. It’s your head I’m thinking about. What aren’t you dealing with? More nightmares?”
Max sat up and looked across the weight room at the reflection of himself in the wall mirror. The image was familiar, but still fresh to him. It was the “new” Max, the one with more gray than brown in his hair and less body mass, as evidenced by the scrawny legs that straddled the bench. He’d never be as fit as he once was. Not just because of the war but because he was getting older. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore.
Still, did forty-two have to feel so old?
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I did have a conversation with someone who knew me before.” His voice cracked on before and he cleared his throat. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I was, well, since before I went to war.”
“How’d she act toward you?”
“Fine. No different, really.”
“Can I ask, boss, is this a former girlfriend? A wife?”
Max forced a smile. “You know I’ve never been married. And Winnie, well, she’s my best friend’s widow. We lost Tom five years ago—EA-6B Prowler crash. I was the CACO.”
Miles shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Sorry, boss. That sucks.”
“It’s part of our business, isn’t it?” Max rubbed his chin. “It did look like there might be something between us a while back. But it was just a lark.” Images of that Air Show weekend had been flashing across his mind ever since Winnie drove off with that dog.
“How long ago was that?”
“Ahh, let’s see. That was the summer before I took the squadron on deployment, so…” His mind leaped onto an unexpected tangent with lightning speed.
No way.
“Boss, you okay?”
Not possible.
“Yeah, I’m…just figuring something out.”
One of the condoms broke. Did you forget that?
Miles’s strong hand wrapped around Max’s upper arm. “Buddy, you sure as hell don’t look okay.”
How old is her daughter? What’s the timeline?
“I think I’ve done it again, Miles. I’ve been shoving so much down—”
“And now your gut’s spewing emotions everywhere, isn’t it?”
Max couldn’t help laughing. It eased the tightness in his chest, a tightness that had nothing to do with bench presses and everything to do with what Winnie had revealed to him.
And what she hadn’t revealed.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He wrapped his towel around his neck. “I’m good, Miles. Thanks for sitting with me. Now I’ve got to go burn this off in a healthier way. You’re right about that.”
“Anytime, boss, anytime.”
Max walked out of the weight room with a feeling he hadn’t had since before the suicide bomber leveled the spirit he’d taken for granted. He didn’t have to report to anyone else, didn’t have to ask what he needed to do. He knew his next move.
He was going to Winnie’s. He’d get her address and if it was unlisted, he’d drive through Coupeville house by house if he had to.
Winnie had some explaining to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
“STOP IT, MAEVE, THOSE ARE my chicken nuggets.” Krista’s tone resembled a mother’s more than an older sister’s as she chastised eighteen-month-old Maeve, who had a penchant for stealing food off her older sister’s plate.
“Mine!” Maeve’s baby voice was irresistible to Winnie but annoyed Krista.
“No, these are mine.” Krista covered her plate with her hand and pointed with the other. “And those are yours, on your Fancy Nancy plate.”
“No!” Maeve screeched the word and her lower lip jutted out in warning.
“Krista, knock it off. We use our dinner manners now. Right, Maeve?” Winnie fought to keep from smiling as she stared at Maeve.
Maeve’s huge blue eyes reproached Winnie and, not for the first time, Winnie felt Max’s presence reach out through his daughter’s eyes.
You blew it today. You should’ve told him.
She had told him too much about her life—without telling him what she should have.
She tried to convince herself that she’d wanted to avoid his questions until he wasn’t so upset. That she thought it was better to wait.
That was all crapola and she knew it. Not only was she betraying Max, but each day she kept him from the truth, she kept Maeve from knowing her daddy.
Maeve.
Maeve needed her father, a father who wasn’t dead like Krista’s. He’d survived a war, for God’s sake, and was living and breathing just a drive up the road.
You are a class-A chicken.
“Maeve, don’t look at Mommy like that. You have to be a good girl and eat the food on your own plate, not Krista’s.”
Maeve’s expression reflected her inner-toddler struggle. Winnie knew she was hungry, and the cut-up chicken nuggets on her Fancy Nancy plate were just as tasty as her sister’s. But it was so much fun to annoy Krista and to get her attention. Tears shimmered in Maeve’s luminous eyes and her chin worked frantically to keep her lower lip in a pout.
No doubt due to Maeve’s hunger, sanity prevailed and she picked up a nugget from her own plate and shoved it carefully in her mouth.
Winnie expelled her breath. It’d been a long afternoon with both girls arriving home in cranky moods.
These days she was never sure who’d have the bigger fit after school—Maeve or Krista. At thirteen, Krista had started wearing a training bra this past summer and she’d shot up three inches since Christmas. She wore the same shoe size as Winnie, although Winnie didn’t think that would be for long. Krista was going to be long and lean, as Tom had been.
Maeve, however, was Winnie’s “mini-me,” except for the shape and color of her eyes and her mop of straight brown hair—clearly inherited from Max.
He’s going to know she’s his the minute he sees her.
“Krista, how much homework do you have tonight?” Her voice shook and she knew that her anxiety wasn’t going away. Not until she came clean with Max.
“I already told you when I came in, Mom. I finished it on the bus.”
“Good.” Krista probably had told her, but Winnie had been distracted since she walked through the door. Her thoughts had stayed in Dugualla Bay… .
The same sense of inevitability she’d had once she’d started labor with each of the girls filled her stomach with dread. Now, just like then, there was no escaping the pain to come. No going back. Then, it had meant the baby was on her way out; now it was the truth emerging.
With no guarantee of a happy outcome as far as Max was concerned.
Life doesn’t come with a warranty.
She’d betrayed Max, the one person who’d seen her at her best and her worst, from her and Tom’s life together, through the crash and then her short stint as a psycho-widow, when she’d tried to pick up an addiction. Any addiction—she hadn’t been fussy.
Drinking, men, shopping, whatever would take “hold” she’d tried to cling to. But Max had stepped in before anything could consume her and tear her from her life with Krista. His words to her the night he’d dragged her out of an Oak Harbor bar and dumped her back in her house had ended her quest for self-destruction.
“You can abuse yourself all you want—the hurt will still be there, and Tom won’t. He’s not coming back, Winnie. You have a daughter to raise. This isn’t the time to let Tom down.”
He’d left her alone in her empty house. Her parents had taken Krista for the weekend, which was the pattern for the first several months after Tom died, to give Winnie a break and Krista time with other family. Instead of using those free hours to heal, Winnie had been hell-bent on dousing the firestorm of pain.
Max had saved her. Ultimately, he’d saved Krista, too.
He’d never mentioned that time again. Wouldn’t comment on it if she brought it up, either.
Even today, when he was spitting angry at her stupid comment about his being a charity case, he hadn’t reminded her of when she’d been in need of charity.
Of all the people to deceive, she’d picked Max.
Crap on a cracker.
“Okay, Krista, could you play with your sister for a few minutes while I get the dishes done?”
“C’mon, Maeve, do you want to play kitchen?” Krista expertly unsnapped Maeve from her booster seat and lifted her down to the hardwood floor. Maeve took off with a squeal, her bare feet slapping the oak planks.
“Slow down, Maeve,” Winnie admonished while she cleared the table and took the plates to the sink. She looked through her garden window and sighed. The clouds were just as gray and the trees bent—almost as though they were doing yoga. The windstorm promised to continue all night.
The first time she heard a rapping out front, she thought it might be a branch. But the second time, Sam barked and she realized someone was at the door. She looked at the clock. They weren’t used to visitors this late on a school night.
“Keep an eye on her, Krista.” She glanced at the scene of domestic tranquility. Krista was helping Maeve make plastic pies and cakes in her toy microwave.
“I am, Mom.” Krista’s tone had changed overnight into that of a know-it-all teenager, and Winnie didn’t like it one bit. She missed her easygoing daughter, who’d delighted in the simple things like baking cookies and fitting a jigsaw puzzle together.
Sam trotted to the door with her, but instead of his usual bark he stood still and wagged his tail. He gazed at the door with a look of expectation.
Winnie peered through the beveled glass and recognized the shape of a man. A man who immediately made her stomach tense.
She opened the door to a rush of wind—and Max.
“May I come in?” It wasn’t really a question, since he’d already walked into her foyer and shut the door behind him. He wore a hoodie, and his T-shirt underneath was sweat-stained. His hair was damp and his eyes—oh, his eyes.
“Sam.” She started to command Sam to remain in place but she didn’t have to. He’d sat down and waited patiently for Max to acknowledge him with a pat.
“Come on in, I’ll make us some tea.” Winnie spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen in her stockinged feet. But Max was quicker.
His hand wrapped around her wrist. “Not yet. We need to talk.”
Winnie looked down at her arm, and at his hand. In spite of her heightened anxiety, his touch elicited a warm throb of excitement. She dared to look up at Max’s face.
His eyes blazed and his mouth was set in a straight line. The years seemed to fall away as she looked into his eyes.
“Of all people, you were one I thought I could trust.”
She eased her body around to face him and leaned her back against the wall. She couldn’t trust her legs. She willed herself to meet his eyes and to answer him truthfully. No matter what he asked.
“And now?”
“Where are the girls, Winnie?” He stared at her but not at her. He was obviously distracted by his inner demons.
“In the family room. But don’t you think we should talk about this first?”
He gave her a look of derision and released her wrist. But he didn’t move. She felt the nearness of his body, the scent that was uniquely Max. She remembered him like this from before, the night they’d made love.
And made a baby.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me before I walk into that room, Winnie?”
She swallowed. “Apparently I don’t have to.”
He leaned in and she thought, maybe some part of her hoped, that he was going to kiss her. Erase the years, the trauma, all of it. With a kiss.
“What you’ve done is unforgivable, Winnie.”
Shivers shot down her neck and spine as his breath swept across her ear, but the desire she’d felt fled as quickly as it had come.
He’d hate her forever.
* * *
MAX PUSHED BACK FROM the wall and strode down the hall, pausing at the entry to the family room. She heard the girls’ voices in their singsong play and Maeve’s giggles, which she saved for her time with Krista.
It was impossible to take her gaze off Max’s profile. Max, the warrior, who stood on the threshold of his new life. Once he walked into that room and got a full look at Maeve, he’d know the truth.
That he was a father.
From her own experience, Winnie understood that when you became a parent, any previous presuppositions, ideas, intentions, were irrelevant. All that had mattered to her was her child. Max would be no different. It wasn’t in him to do anything halfway, regardless of what she’d said to Robyn.
“Maeve, do you want to wash the dishes now?” Krista asked.
“Wheeee!” Maeve’s accompanying giggle was infectious. Winnie usually laughed along with her baby girl, but all she could do now was watch the rise and fall of Max’s chest. The way his nostrils flared and his hands rested on his hips. He was still in sweats and there was mud on his running shoes, as though he’d run here on foot from the Air Station gym, the soreness of his shrapnel-ridden body be damned.
The girls’ chatter died at the same moment Winnie saw Max’s lips move.
“Hello,” he said.
Silence. Plastic falling on the play kitchen counter. Then Krista’s voice.
“Uncle Max?”
She remembered him. She’d called her godfather “Uncle” from when she was a baby. But she hadn’t seen him since she was seven, since Tom died. Winnie had wondered if Krista had forgotten him and Winnie never brought him up. She made it a rule not to bring up specifics about the time of the accident. If Krista wanted to talk, she did, and she asked questions as she needed to.
Their talks about Tom were daily and loving. But Max and the time right after the crash had never been discussed. Winnie figured the questions might eventually come, when Krista was older and mature enough to wonder about those days and months, to peel back the layers of memory and take a more detached look at the heartbroken little girl she’d been when her daddy died.
“Yeah, it’s me, Uncle Max. Are you going to give me a hug?”
Winnie walked up to the threshold and did her best to smile at the girls.
“You recognized your Uncle Max! Do you remember him?”
“Of course, Mom. I just said hello to him, didn’t I?” Krista muttered in teenage bemusement as she stepped forward and offered Max a hug. He embraced her, his eyes closed and his face impassive. He opened his eyes and held Krista by the shoulders as he studied her.
“You’ve grown a yard or two, Krista!” He smiled and Krista’s face lit up while a blush crept over her cheeks. Other than her uncles and grandfather, she didn’t get a whole lot of male attention. A bittersweet pang of regret hit Winnie as she thought about how much Tom would have loved Krista, how he would’ve been the one to light up her face like a Christmas tree.
“Thanks, Uncle Max.”
“And who’s this?” Max kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked past Krista toward Maeve, who kept playing with her plastic fruits and vegetables, oblivious.
“My sister, Maeve. Mom says she’s our miracle baby.”
“She sure is.” Max walked farther into the room and knelt down in front of Maeve. Maeve paused, her thumb in her mouth and a plastic bunch of broccoli in her other hand. She stared at Max unblinking, as if she’d never seen a man before.
She’s never seen her father before.
Winnie’s throat constricted and she swallowed. This wasn’t about her, it was about Max and Maeve. About Maeve meeting her father.
Her daddy.
“Hi, honey. How are you?” Max’s voice was gentle in spite of its deep timbre. He was patient as he waited for Maeve to respond, and Winnie held her breath. She was acutely aware of Krista’s sharp gaze on the pair, as well. Winnie stood still as Krista met her glance. Krista finally knew who Maeve’s father was.
Maeve lifted up the plastic broccoli and Winnie’s pride welled. Maeve was such a sweetie—she was going to give her toy to Max, a man she’d never met. But somewhere deep down, she must’ve known Max was her father.
“Noooo!” Maeve hurled the broccoli at Max, who didn’t move. It hit him in the nose and he didn’t wince, but from having been on the receiving end herself, Winnie knew it hurt.
“Whoa, sweetie-pie. It’s okay, I don’t like strangers, either.” Max stood and smiled at Krista. “She’s tough like you, isn’t she?”
Krista laughed. “Yeah, she’s pretty crazy.”
Winnie cleared her throat.
“Max, did you eat? I have some leftovers from dinner. I was just cleaning up.”
“I’m not hungry. But I’ll take a glass of water.”
Winnie went to the kitchen and filled a plastic tumbler with water from the fridge. Her hands shook and she put the cup on the counter for a moment.
“Breathe,” she whispered in the quiet kitchen.
“It’s not so bad for you, trust me.”
She whirled around and stared at him.
“Max, I don’t know where to start.”
“When, Winnie.” He came toward her. “Not where. The question is when should you have started? How about the first time you missed your period after the Air Show?”
“I was in denial for weeks. Months. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten pregnant after just one time—and with you.”
“It was more than once, Winnie. Three or four times, if my memory serves.” He continued to look at her with that unyielding glare. “It’s not like we’d never met, like we were a one-night stand.”
“But we’d never, we’d never—” Her hands gripped the counter behind her at the panic that threatened to stop her breathing.
“We’d never what, Winnie? Made love?” His palpable anger seemed to shake the air around them. “True, but speak for yourself. You never looked at me, saw me as more than Tom’s friend.”
“Of course not—”
“I saw you, Winnie. From that first happy hour at the O Club when we were J.O.s.”
He couldn’t be talking about the night they’d all met. She, Tom and Max. Could he? She’d been intimidated by Max and his silent presence from that first moment. Tom was affectionate, loving, respectful. He put up with what she knew now were her immature demands.
“You never liked me, Max, not from the start. You even tried to keep Tom from proposing to me.”
“I didn’t like the way you behaved, Winnie. The way you treated Tom, as if he was supposed to do what you wanted with no regard for what he’d worked so hard for. He was my best friend. Of course I was going to warn him if I thought he was making a mistake. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t find you attractive. It just wasn’t ever an option.”
They were inches apart. His gaze wasn’t on her eyes anymore. His chest still heaved, his anger still simmered. But he stared at her lips and she felt his desire as if it were her own.
“But this isn’t about me. It’s about you, Winnie. I have a child and you didn’t tell me. How the hell am I supposed to take this?’”
“I’m so sorry, Max. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Just as you never meant to hurt me by not returning any of my calls or emails after the Air Show? Weak, Winnie, even from you.”
“I didn’t want you to feel you owed me anything for that…that night.” Of course, that was before she’d realized she was pregnant.
“That’s not why I was calling you, Winnie.”
His windbreaker rasped as he lifted his hand to her face and tilted up her chin with one finger.
Winnie looked into his face and prayed that her knees wouldn’t buckle. His eyes, red-rimmed from anger and probably the wind, reflected something she never expected from Max once he learned about Maeve.
Interest. Desire.
“I wanted to be with you, and not just on that night.” His gaze shifted to her lips again and she willed her defenses to kick in and push him back.
Instead, she met him halfway.
She felt the instant shock of recognition as the smoothness of his lips touched hers. His kiss ignited the fuse that always lay between them.
She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she should be concerned about the girls in the next room, somehow fighting this need to have his mouth on hers. Coherent thought wasn’t an option with Max’s tongue in her mouth and his hands wrapped around her head.
His hair was wet at his nape and she liked how the short strands rubbed against her palm. Her other hand was on his shoulder, but instead of pushing him away, she was holding on for her very sanity.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/geri-krotow/navy-rules/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Geri Krotow
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Wounded during a military rescue, Commander Max Ford returns to a naval base on Whidbey Island to recover. And part of his treatment involves working with a therapy dog.Max is surprised to learn that the dog′s owner is Winnie Armstrong, widow of his closest friend. She and Max were close in those months following her husband′s death. But they drifted apart, until that one night two years ago. The night friendship turned to passion…Now he′s even more shocked to learn that Winnie has been keeping a secret from him. A baby girl. His daughter. It′s even more important he heal so he can be a part of his child′s life–and Winnie′s. Because all the attraction that pulled them together that one night is still there…only stronger.