Читать книгу The SEAL's Valentine - Laura Altom Marie - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Last thing Tristan wanted was to get in Brynn’s business. He knew all too well what it was like to be caught in a situation bigger than he could handle. That said, he’d considered Mack a friend, and had been shocked and saddened by the allegations lodged against him.

The muck they sloshed through sucked at the soles of his boots, making travel arduous. Most women he’d encountered would’ve bitched a blue streak over being caught in this kind of mess, but Brynn trekked on without complaint.

“Go ahead,” she said with a defensive tone, “ask away about my husband. Everyone else does.” She stopped, tilting her head back, giving her long curls a shake before arranging them into a messy ponytail with a band she’d had on her wrist.

“Well?” Tristan probed. “Did he do it?”

“Which of his transgressions in particular? Gambling ring—check. Game fixing, partnership in an underground casino—check, check.” She started walking.

Tristan whistled.

“That about sums it up.”

And here I thought I’d had it bad. Sidestepping a log, he said, “Hang to the left just a bit.”

She set a quicker pace than he’d expected from a woman in her condition as she asked, “What’s your story?”

“Complicated.” And it still stung plenty bad. But he didn’t discuss his past even with his mom, let alone a stranger. “Mack was a great guy. I can’t imagine him—”

“You don’t have to imagine it. I lived it.” Her snippy voice had returned with a vengeance—not that he could blame her for being cranky.

“Back in school, Mack never even cheated on tests.”

“And you did?” They kept an even pace and the look she cast his way wasn’t exactly complimentary.

“Maybe once or twice in a pinch. Who didn’t?”

“Me.” He didn’t appreciate her high-and-mighty tone. “And just think what that says about your moral character.”

“Give me a break. I was thirteen.”

Having reached a small creek, she said, “I don’t remember crossing this before. Check your navigation thingy and make sure we’re still going the right way.”

“Seriously?” He shook his head. “I’m not the one needing to be rescued. And as for cheating, now that I think about it, I only did it once—on my Algebra midterm. But for the record, I felt so bad about it I went home and learned the work inside and out. Plus, the kid I copied off of made a lousy grade, so I didn’t even reap any benefits.” Lord, listen to him—rambling like a guilty third-grader. Why? What was it about Brynn that made him even care what she thought?

* * *

“MOMMY!” TEARS CAUGHT IN Brynn’s throat when Cayden ran across the field to meet her, crushing her in a hug. Only two hours had passed since she’d last seen him, but it felt like a lifetime. “I was so scared.”

“I know, baby.” She kissed the top of his head. “Me, too.”

“Coach Jason said I was really brave, and if I practice I might be able to play later in the summer with the team.”

“That’s awesome.” Still holding her son, she looked to the man she also knew was the town police chief. “I can’t thank you enough for your help. Tristan, you, too.”

The man she’d spent a large portion of her evening with merely nodded.

The chief’s truck radio squawked, then a dispatcher called him. “Looks like I’m needed down at the Suds & Swirl, but, Cayden, no more running off when things get rough, okay?”

In the truck light’s glare, her little boy nodded.

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” Cayden said with a solemn nod.

“All right, then.” After a quick ruffle of Cayden’s hair, Jason said, “Tristan, you got this handled?”

“You know it.”

“Y’all have a good night, then.”

Brynn thanked him again for his help finding her son, waving him on his way.

When Cayden climbed into their SUV’s passenger side, she found herself once more on her own with Tristan. Immersed in darkness tempered only by the faint light of the moon, she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, let alone her galloping pulse. She owed him so much, and wanted to express her gratitude, but she was broken, and couldn’t find words to match the emotion swelling in her heart. “What you did—and the coach—helping Cayden and I...” Rather than meet his intense dark gaze she looked to her clasped hands. “Well, I appreciate your help. I haven’t had a lot of folks on my side lately, and—” Her voice cracked and that chink in her carefully constructed armor proved her undoing.

“Hey...” He approached her, but held a respectful distance.

She softly cried, covering her face with her hands. “What’s wrong with me? Tonight could’ve turned out so bad, but for once, luck shone on me. I’ve been so strong, keeping everything in.”

“Know the feeling,” he said. “The stuff I went through with my ex-wife...” Jaw clenched, he shook his head. “Hell, I’ve been shot and had it hurt less.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been shot.” She managed a smile through her tears. “But my husband was, so I have known pain. The gambling and game-fixing were humiliating, but seeing Mack killed...” Her voice had turned raspy with grief.

“Mom!” Cayden popped his head out the open car window. “I’m hungry!”

“Duty calls.” Brynn smiled and genuinely felt it. Which made her sad for having earlier been snarky and standoffish. Tristan seemed like a great guy. She needed to remember that not every man was as despicable as her ex.

* * *

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

Tristan tried sneaking into his mom’s house, but as he’d feared, the second the screen door creaked open, she was up from what she called her comfy crafting chair and paused the living room TV on one of her favorite shows.

In the kitchen, Donna grabbed two beers. He expected her to hand him one, but she kept them both for herself. “You’ve worried me to drink.”

“Sorry.” He rummaged through the fridge for his own adult beverage. “After tryouts, one of the boys who didn’t make it ran off into Lee Bayou. Jason tracked him, and I went after his mother.”

“Oh?” Always on the hunt for a future daughter-in-law, her eyebrows shot up. “Anyone I know?”

He popped the top on his beer, taking a nice, long drink. “For this, you might want to sit down.”

“I’m intrigued...” So much so that she fished through the pantry for a bag of chips.

“Whoa—thought your doctor told you to drop a few pounds?”

She fished out a handful, popping them into her mouth. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Rolling his eyes, Tristan took her second beer and returned it to the fridge but let her keep her chips. “I already lost Dad to a heart attack. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer keeping you.”

After sticking out her tongue, she snagged a few more chips before closing the bag. “All right, enough lecturing. Tell me about your mystery date.”

“It wasn’t a date, but we had to rescue Mack’s wife and son.”

“Mack Langtoine?”

“Yep.” Tristan needed another drink. Just as he never would’ve believed Andrea would leave him, he felt the same of his old friend cheating in the game he loved.

“What do you think of the whole thing? Was he guilty?”

He shrugged. “Brynn seems to think so.”

“Poor girl.” His mom drank more beer. “And then to have him gunned down like that, right in front of her. Too much for a tiny thing like her to bear—especially being pregnant.”

Joining her at the table, he asked, “How far along is she?”

“Garden club gossip has her at eight months.”

“So she’s in your club?”

“I wish.” She fingered the bag of chips. “Judging by what she’s already done with the old Langtoine place’s yard, she’s got a green thumb, but very much keeps to herself. Her neighbor to the east is Georgia Booth. She’s been over three times with muffins and Brynn never even answers the door. Georgia didn’t think it proper, and had to practically stalk her outside to even bring the girl baked goods. Peculiar, if you ask me.”

Tristan had another view. “What if Brynn’s scared? So many people have trash-talked her, associating her with Mack’s crimes, she’s probably terrified of being judged.”

“That’s pretty deep,” his mom observed. “Since when are you so smart?”

He laughed. “Know what they say about with hindsight comes twenty-twenty vision? Well, if there’s anything I’ve learned from my divorce, it’s that when it comes to relationships, like Brynn, I should be afraid—very afraid.”

* * *

“HURRY, SWEETIE.” BRYNN GAVE Cayden’s behind a light smack as he raced back upstairs for his forgotten book bag.

Her smile faded as she remembered the panic from the night before. Cayden had been concerned about not earning a spot on the baseball team, but if he’d been hurt in that swamp, she’d have lost so much more.

And yet, for all the spooky growls and grunts she’d heard, nothing had hurt them—in large part due to Tristan and his friend Jason. The last position she’d ever wanted to be in was finding herself depending on another man, but for those couple hours it’d taken Tristan to lead her back to civilization, that’s exactly what circumstance had forced her to do. And look at her—still in one piece. All limbs intact.

Strangest fact of all, she had the oddest craving to see Tristan again. To properly thank him.

“Found it, Mom.” Book bag in hand, Cayden raced down the stairs. “Let’s hurry. I have to be extra early. It’s my turn to feed Toby.” Toby was the classroom turtle. Feeding him was a great honor.

Driving her son to school, Brynn tried remembering times she’d been as excited. Nearly every one of Mack’s games. Seated with the other wives, she’d been so proud of her man. Prouder still of her little boy and of finally being accepted into the popular crowd. Her father, an East Coast fisherman, had died at sea. Her mother, not a year after, had passed of what the aunt who’d raised her diagnosed as a broken heart. Brynn hadn’t been much older than Cayden, and at times, she’d thought the pain more than she could bear. But she had. And she’d grown and done well enough in school to earn a full ride to Notre Dame—a magical place so far from all she’d ever known, she’d been convinced only magic could be found within those creamy-colored brick walls.

When she not only met and fell in love with Mack, but discovered the sheer joy of having him love her, too, never had she felt more complete.

“Mom?”

“Uh-huh?” She stopped for the light on Elm.

“Why didn’t Dad rescue us last night?”

Her stomach knotted, and she searched for just the right thing to say. No matter how many times she told Cayden his father was gone, he hadn’t fully absorbed the fact. He was still convinced Mack would appear. As if he’d only been gone on an extended series of away games.

She accelerated when the light turned green. “Sweetie, you know why. More than anything, I know he’d never have wanted anything bad to happen to you—either one of us. But remember when we talked about how he isn’t coming back?”

Chin to his chest, Cayden said, “I thought you might not’ve really meant it. Like when we order pizza and you tell me you’re so full you’re never eating again.”

Pulling up to the curb in front of the town’s only elementary school, Brynn searched for words when there were none. “I wish it was like that. I really do.”

He unfastened his seat belt, grabbed his bag from the floorboard, then hopped out of the car.

“Where’s my kiss?” she asked.

He blanched. “It’s bad enough I didn’t make the team. I can’t kiss my mom in front of my friends.”

That comment set the tone for her day....

* * *

A THUNDERSTORM IN THE NIGHT had cleared the humidity, making for a gorgeous morning. As Tristan was on indefinite leave until he got his head back in what his commanding officer deemed a good place, he split his time between missing his kid, wondering what he might’ve done differently with his ex and working out.

Before the heat grew too bad, he figured he might as well get a jump start on at least one out of three.

His usual run took him down Mulberry Lane to Herring Park Trail. But something his mom had mentioned about Brynn Langtoine stuck in his head. That bit about her having a green thumb. Considering the fact that his mom and at least half the other gardening fanatics on their block had already been outside for hours, he figured it was a safe bet Brynn might already be working in her beds, as well.

Mack and his family hadn’t lived far. A half mile at most, at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac.

In just over four minutes, Tristan reached the simple two-story home. The front porch and an upper balcony were trimmed in black wrought-iron, reminding him of childhood trips to New Orleans. When they’d been high school juniors, Mack’s folks had gone out of town to visit his grandparents. Mack had thrown a party and midway through the keg, a few of the looser girls in their class had stood on that balcony, flashing the guys for Mardi Gras beads. Not long after, the Langtoine’s nosy neighbor, Georgia Booth, called the cops and the festivities had been shut down.

In front of the house, Tristan slowed his pace to barely a jog, striving to get a look in the backyard without being too obvious. Only it turned out he’d been right in his assumption Brynn would be out on such a fine day.

He got caught.

“Take a picture,” she called upon catching him staring. “It’ll last longer.”

“Guilty as charged.” Out of breath and laughing, he paused by the birdbath Mack gave his mother on her fortieth birthday. She’d died of cancer a couple years later. Mack had been playing ball for Notre Dame and his dad had taken off, never to be seen again. Mack’s grandparents had owned the house and when they died, they left it to him. “Your boy—Cayden? Already at school?”

Gardening spade in hand, she rocked back on her heels. “It was his turn to clean the class turtle’s tank and feed him. I took him in early.”

“Figured as much.”

“How so?” Sunlight slanted though Spanish moss-drizzled trees and there wasn’t a breath of wind. The school bus’s squeaky brakes could be heard at the corner of Hickory and Pine.

Grinning, Tristan said, “From my own days at Ruin Bayou High, I figure any kid on this street has about three and a half minutes to hustle to the front of his house. Plenty of time to grab a Pop-Tart or play a quick game of fetch with your dog. Meaning, if Cayden hadn’t left early, he’d still be here, horsing around.”

“You’re good,” she noted when sure enough, right on schedule, the bus screeched to a stop. Even from the backyard, the sound of kids bickering, stealing sack lunches and pulling pigtails carried on the morning’s still air. Soon, the rolling riot moved on, returning peace to Cherry Court until retracing the route at 3:25.

“I’ve been hustling Cayden out to catch the bus for over five months, but I’ve never timed it quite like that.”

Though he shrugged, the SEAL in Tristan was glad not to have lost his flair for efficiency. Also in his personal skill arsenal was being observant, which was how he came to notice an intimidating pile of redwood planks, bolts and faux wood-colored plastic roofs, slides and swing seats. The pirate-type fort was pretty cool—at least it would be once it was assembled. Any kid would love it. Which made him think of his own son, Jack. The one topic he worked hard to avoid.

Trying to focus on the ungodly mess of materials rather than thoughts of how Jack was spending his morning, Tristan was startled to look up and find Brynn standing next to him. Sure, he’d seen her at the ballpark, but in fading light and then complete darkness, he hadn’t really seen her.

Since she’d squeezed her considerable assets into a figure-hugging Cardinals T-shirt rather than a loose maternity top, he noted she was barely five foot tall with a mess of curly ginger hair and a baby bump the size of two watermelons. Barefoot, wearing a long, gauzy skirt, she pressed her hands to the small of her back. He wondered if her back was hurting. If so, he was sure she’d never admit it. Backlit by morning sun, her skirt turned transparent. It took a ton of willpower to keep his gaze from dropping to her shapely legs.

“Big mess, huh?” She nodded toward the unassembled fort. “Cayden’s had a tough time of it lately. Thought for his birthday, this might perk him up. D-Shawn’s Lumber wanted an extra five hundred for assembly, but I figured on saving the money by doing it myself. How hard can it be, you know?” She faintly smiled and damn if Tristan didn’t find himself caught up in her world, smiling and nodding right along.

“Um, yeah.” Unsure what to do with his hands, he rammed them in his pockets.

When she cocked her head, corkscrew curls tumbled over her shoulder. She was so pretty it rendered him stupid. Before he could stop the words from spilling from his mouth, he said, “Want help? With Cayden’s gift? I’m fairly decent with tools.” Listen to him—practically begging her to let him spend hours in her backyard. The whole point of Tristan being on leave back home in Louisiana was to escape the pain of losing his son to a different time zone. Last thing he needed was getting wrangled into what could turn into a multiday project. Worse yet, would be the proximity of being around another man’s child.

Another man’s wife. Even if the man was dead.

Say no, his gut silently pleaded to Brynn. As long as she turned down his offer, Tristan had nothing to fear.

Then she nodded her pretty head. “Never thought I’d hear myself say this, but honestly, if I’m going to have a prayer of finishing by Cayden’s birthday, I’d very much appreciate your help.”