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Her Military Man
Laura Marie Altom
She Needed Him…Constance Price, aka Miss Manners, is at her wit's end. Thanks to less-than-stellar ratings on her daily radio show, her boss is demanding a turnaround–fast! And that means asking Garret Underwood–her biggest critic and past love–to join her. Whenever the navy SEAL calls in, her ratings skyrocket! There's no way Connie can ask him to help. Or can she?But Could She Keep Her Secret?Garret's in town only temporarily and is "willing" to give Connie a hand. As much as she needs him, Connie plans to keep him at an emotional distance. Keeping him away from her ten-year-old daughter, on the other hand, won't be easy. But how can she tell the man she once loved he's the father of her child?
“Now I know you’re following me.”
“Guilty,” Garret said with a grin, “but I wanted to know how things went with your boss.”
“Why?” Connie asked, turning to face him. “So you could further rub it in that I’m teetering on the brink of unemployment?”
“You’re not getting fired. From what I’ve heard, your show’s too popular to end.” He shifted so he could reach out to touch her hair. To find out if it was as silky as he remembered. Unfortunately, he stumbled and pulled out the elegant knot she’d styled, leaving her in what he thought was glorious disarray.
“What’d you do that for?” she snapped. “I’m headed to the auto parts store to apply for a job there.”
Not thinking, just doing anything he could to make those sassy lips stop snapping and start smiling, he grabbed her. Sure, the gentlemanly thing would’ve been asking her permission for what came next, but what the hell?
A gentleman wasn’t something he’d ever claimed to be.
And so he kissed her.
Dear Reader,
What a fun ride this book was, from the standpoint that I’ve always had a secret thing for navy SEALs and my hero just happens to be one! I’ve been waiting a long time to try my hand at this sort of thing, but was daunted by the fact that I’m about as far from being military as a girl can get! That said, I thought if I can’t go to a base or aircraft carrier, why not bring my own SEAL, smoldering Garret Underwood, home to Oklahoma?
Even with a busted leg, Garret brings an extraordinary amount of chaos into his old flame’s life. Uptight Constance puts up a valiant fight to resist him, but puh-leaze, he’s a navy SEAL! Nuff said. <g>
A major shout-out goes to photographer Carl Deal, who gives an amazing glimpse into SEAL life on his Web site, www.carldeal.com/seal.html. Not just logistics and fun lingo, but deep into these men’s hearts. I was deeply touched by the whole SEAL history and philosophy.
Will Constance finally give in to the temptation of her very own military man? I’m not telling! You’ll have to read the book to find out.
Happy reading!
Laura Marie
Her Military Man
Laura Marie Altom
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After college (Go Hogs!), bestselling, award-winning author Laura Marie Altom did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boy/ girl twins. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.
When not immersed in her next story, Laura enjoys an almost glamorous lifestyle of zipping around in a convertible while trying to keep her dog from leaping out, and constantly striving to reach the bottom of the laundry basket—a feat she may never accomplish! For real fun, Laura is content to read, do needlepoint and cuddle with her kids and handsome hubby.
Laura loves hearing from readers at either P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or e-mail: BaliPalm@aol.com (mailto:BaliPalm@aol.com). Love lounging on the beach while winning fun stuff? Check out www.lauramariealtom.com!
Books by Laura Marie Altom
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1028—BABIES AND BADGES
1043—SANTA BABY
1074—TEMPORARY DAD
1086—SAVING JOE * (#litres_trial_promo)
1099—MARRYING THE MARSHAL * (#litres_trial_promo)
1110—HIS BABY BONUS * (#litres_trial_promo)
1123—TO CATCH A HUSBAND * (#litres_trial_promo)
1132—DADDY DAYCARE
This book is dedicated to all SEALs out there protecting our country, and to two special warrior women closer to home—Karen Lairmore and Debbie Parks. Thanks, ladies, for all the Pom rides, and most especially for the fun you’ve shown not only to Hannah, but to me!
Contents
Chapter One (#uf45c6c56-d439-51eb-8d38-dd7eeb9b0f31)
Chapter Two (#u763e4070-751f-5fda-9bee-c2fada025c61)
Chapter Three (#ua867ede7-a761-5014-a503-f5837bf39fc1)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Pardon my French, lady, but that’s a load of—”
Beeeeeeeep.
“My, my…” Constance Price, aka Miss Manners, said with a relieved sigh. How could it be Wednesday when it felt so much like Monday? Thank goodness she’d hit the censor button in time to avoid the juiciest portions of her caller’s rant from hitting Mule Shoe, Oklahoma’s airwaves. She liked to think her talk radio program was progressive, but not in a vulgar, do-any-stunt-for-ratings way. Monday through Friday, noon to 2:30, she prided herself in tastefully providing listeners with lifestyle tips on everything from hosting the perfect dinner party to sharing the perfect relationship. Sounded great in theory, but when it came to the whole guy-girl thing? Her own life hadn’t turned out so hot. That said, how had she landed the job as Mule Shoe’s queen of manners? Well, the show she’d originally pitched had had more of a Martha Stewart domestic-type theme. Much to her daily consternation, to expand the advertising base, Constance’s boss had tagged on the show’s relationship portion. Of course, that sometimes opened the door to a lot of opinionated listeners.
“Thank you, sir, for your enlightened view.”
“Enlightened, my—”
Beeeeeeeep.
“Thanks again,” Constance said before disconnecting the caller, then taking a hasty sip of a Diet Coke she wished had a bit more kick—with an un-ladylike poke of rum! “All right, as a refresher to my listeners, today’s theme is breakups—how to handle them in a mutually respectable and mannerly fashion. Renee-Marie,” she asked her show’s redheaded Cajun producer and the station’s part-time receptionist, “do we have another caller?”
“Line two,” Renee-Marie said with a wink.
A wink?
Shaking her head, Constance hit the feed. “Miss Manners here. How may I assist you in living a more civilized existence?”
“Okay,” the same obnoxious caller said, “I get the hint about toning down my language. But while you’ve been sitting in your no doubt pink satin broadcast booth, I’ve been off serving our country in godforsaken places you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares.”
“Sorry…” Constance glared at Renee-Marie who’d held up a note that read, Felix made me do it! Felix was the station owner, her boss and a royal pain in Constance’s derriere. “Truly, I am, but—”
“Look, all I’m trying to say is there’s no such thing as a mannerly breakup. I usually wouldn’t have time for rehashing ancient history on a show about manners, but I’ve been laid up with a busted leg, giving me far too many hours for reflection. Case in point, I once knew this girl—let’s call her Lucky—well…”
Chills ran up Constance’s forearms.
A million years ago back in high school, Garret used to call her Lucky—on account of her being his lucky charm. Long story short, if ever there’d been a textbook example of an unmannerly breakup, theirs was it!
“…Lucky was a looker. In fact, she reminded me a lot of you. Oh, she put on a great self-effacing act. You know, acting all demure and polite about what a closet sex kitten she truly was, but let me tell you, that girl could purr.”
Constance cleared her throat, loosening the collar of her high-necked, long-skirted, prairie-style dress in the process. “Might I remind you this is a family show. Please refrain from the more base details of your story.”
“Yes, ma’am…” Was that a mocking grin behind his words? Garret used to do the same thing—tease her about being too formal. Like she’d been born a century too late. “So, like I was saying, Lucky—” he coughed “—better known as you—pretended to be one thing, but inside…” His sad laugh rang over otherwise dead air. Dead. Out of necessity, the way things had been left between them. “Anyway, without airing dirty laundry, all I’m trying to say is how about not just laying all the guilt for poorly done exits on guys? As in the case of a certain lucky charm I used to know, there are some she devils out there deserving credit.”
Air.
Must.
Breathe.
Now.
Constance? Renee-Marie silently screamed behind the studio’s soundproof window.
No way was the caller Garret.
The man hadn’t stepped foot in Mule Shoe since the day he’d left for the Navy ten years earlier. Since that day, all color and hope and joy had been sucked from Constance’s life. At least until her daughter—their daughter—Lindsay, had been born.
On the flip side, who else could it be? The guy’s wrath felt targeted on her.
Really? Or was that guilt and regret over never having told Garret the truth about their little girl exploding in her head? In her heart, she’d called him a hundred times, written a hundred more letters, but somehow she’d never found the right words. How many times had she told herself fear kept her secret safely locked inside? Fear of her sad childhood playing out again? Only this time, with her daughter?
For the sake of her show—her sole means of financial support—she had to pull it together. Constance cleared her throat off air, then managed somehow to inquire in a blessedly detached voice, as if she hadn’t just joined Garret’s cat-and-mouse game, “Ever considered there may have been a reason behind Lucky’s actions? That maybe she’d actually been trying to help you?”
He laughed sharply. “By making out with another guy? Worse yet, my supposed best friend?”
“Yes, but did you look hard enough to see if the kiss was genuine—or maybe all for show?” Covering her face with her hands, Constance told herself to shut up. The man wasn’t Garret any more than her heart was on the verge of pounding straight up and out of her chest over the notion that maybe he was Garret, come home to haunt her. If he’d had any idea why she’d kissed Nathan that horrible night, maybe he wouldn’t now be so cruel. “Maybe the whole time, this Lucky person to whom you keep referring, was kissing that other guy, she was thinking about you. Wondering if—”
“Give me a break. See? This is what I’m talking about. This show is bogus. Entirely one-sided with the favor always going to the ladies. You’re always talking about how guys are basically snaggle-toothed brutes and women nothing but sweetness and light.”
“That’s not true. Just the other day we did a show on women who curse and how that affects the men who love them.”
He laughed again, filling her mind and heart and soul with a huskier, world-weary vision of her first love. No way. It couldn’t be him. No, no, no. “I’m gone. Peace out.”
“Well…” she eventually said after a four- or five-second dead air lag to regain her composure.
Seriously, the guy couldn’t have been Garret.
Last she’d heard through a friend of a friend, the Navy SEAL was rarely even in the country, let alone backwoods Oklahoma. He didn’t even come home for Christmas—instead always sending his mother a plane ticket to meet him somewhere exotic.
How did she know? Strictly beauty shop gossip. Well, except for that time she’d run into his cousin Hillary at the county fair. And then, Constance had only asked about him to be polite.
Yeah, right.
“Renee-Marie, do you have our next caller?”
“Miss Manners, my name’s Pat, and I just want to tell you how much I adore your program. You don’t pay that obviously ill-bred oaf the slightest bit of attention. Oh, and for the record, though I’m sixty-eight years young, and it’s been fifty years since my last breakup, I still believe kindness is a virtue—most especially with those we no longer want in our daily lives.”
And so the afternoon lagged on…
“Miss Manners, I’m Jim, and I gotta say I agree wholeheartedly with Military Man. All this manners stuff is hoity-toity horse crap. Oh, and just curious, how long were you two an item?”
“Miss Manners, I’m Vicki, and I agree with you in that manners are a beautiful, necessary part of life. That military man you used to date is obviously never going to land another girlfriend, much less a wife, if he persists in being such a barbarian.”
“Thanks to all my callers,” Constance finally said. “That wraps the show for today, so until tomorrow, I’m Miss Manners, wishing you mannerly days and deliciously refined nights.”
Sharply exhaling, Constance disconnected her mic.
“Great show!” Felix burst into the drab, brown-paneled broadcast booth with all the grace and forewarning of a Sooner State twister. “Wowza, where’d you find that guy? Wait—don’t answer. I don’t wanna know if you two never really dated and the whole thing was rigged. But whatever you do, keep him coming. The phone’s going nuts. All twenty of your faithful listeners must’ve called everyone they know to tell them about the show. We’ve had so many calls in the last five minutes, my cousin Wanda said the first time she tried getting through, there was actually a recording saying circuits are busy.”
“That’s all well and good,” Constance said, fishing under the brown laminate counter supporting her announcer turret and mic for her worn leather purse. “But I’m pretty sure I know this guy, and trust me, he’s rough around the edges. It’s best we never hear from him again.”
“Crap on a stick,” Felix said, “you’re going straightaway to sign the guy, right? Because with that much passion between you, the show’s a surefire hit.”
