Navy Rules Page 3

  “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 tho
ught 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.”