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“For real?” She choked on a laugh.
He screwed in a support joist. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”
She twirled a dandelion she’d plucked from the yard. “Guess I never believed they existed outside of movies.”
“Yet you were married to a major league baseball player?”
Grinning up at him, she said, “I’ve met a hundred of those. Never met one SEAL.”
* * *
THE SECOND CAYDEN JUMPED OFF the school bus’s big bottom step, he ran across the front yard and into the house.
He dumped his book bag at the base of the stairs. “Mom!”
He ran calling from room to room, but didn’t find her—not even in the kitchen or bathroom.
She wasn’t dead, was she?
Ever since his dad died, he wondered what kept all of the other grown-ups alive. What if they all croaked? Who would make dinner and help with his baths and homework and tuck him into bed?
He dragged a chair from the kitchen table over to the counter where his mom kept the cookie jar. Climbing onto what his mom had called butcher-block wood, he grabbed three oatmeal cookies from the pig-shaped jar. He wished for chocolate chip, but ever since Mom said his baby sister was growing inside her, they had to be real healthy. That just made him hate his sister more.
The window over the kitchen sink was open.
A funny sound came from the backyard.
Still on the counter, he scooted to where he could see out the window and what he found almost made him fall. That big guy who’d saved his mom from the alligators was building his birthday fort!
Careful not to break his cookies, he grabbed one of his favorite Scooby-Doo granola bars from the cabinet and rolled onto his belly to get down, bumping open the back screen door with his butt. “Mom! It’s awesome!”
“Hey, sweetie.” When she gave him a big hug, he was so glad she wasn’t dead that he didn’t even squirm. “Remember Mr. Tristan from last night?”
“I don’t think we officially met.” The man held out his hand for Cayden to shake just like Cayden was a grown-up.
“Nice to meet you.” Cayden liked it when grown-ups didn’t treat him like a kid. He was getting awfully old. And once he had his birthday on Saturday he’d be seven. That was like super old. “Thank you for working on my fort. Mom kept saying she was gonna, but my baby sister makes her too tired.”
“You’re having a girl?” the big man—Tristan—said to Cayden’s mom. He had a kinda funny smile.
Cayden’s mom smiled, too. “I’m having a devil of a time coming up with a pretty name. Cayden, here, is supposed to be helping. But so far, all he’s come up with are Bug Guts Langtoine, Monkey Ears or Donkey Butt.” Wrinkling her nose, his mom said, “Not sure I like any of those.”
“I don’t know...” Tristan winked at Cayden. “I like Monkey Ears. Everyone knows all babies have them. My little sister does.”
“You have a sister?” Cayden and his mom asked at the same time.
She laughed.
So did Tristan. “I do. Her name’s Franny Newton. Once she married Mr. Newton, I started calling her Fig Newton. She’s a music teacher and lives all the way in Iowa with my brother-in-law, two nieces and nephew. My mom’s going to visit her in a few weeks.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But my sister’s an awful cook, so I try not to go unless my mom makes me. Or, unless I have lots of Scooby-Doo granola bars like you have there.”
“You eat these, too?” Cayden laughed. “They’re for kids!”
“When I was a kid, I used to love Scooby-Doo.”
“That’s cool! But hey, we’ve got lots to eat besides granola bars. My mom’s a super good cooker. Wanna stay for dinner? She makes the best meat loaf in the whole, wide world!”
The grown-ups looked kind of funny at each other, then Tristan said, “Thanks. But I should get home to do my chores.”
* * *
“WHAT’S WRONG?” BRYNN ASKED Cayden after Tristan had left.
While she sat at one end of the table, snapping green beans, he sat at the other, completing his handwriting homework.
“I couldn’t get you to stop talking when we were outside, but now, you’re not saying a word.”
He shrugged.
“Is it because we’re having fish for dinner instead of meat loaf? I know you don’t like it, but I’ll make the homemade tartar sauce you love.”
“Why didn’t Tristan wanna stay for dinner? Is it because you cooked fish? Couldn’t you have please made meat loaf? Then, I know he would’ve stayed.”
“It’s not that easy.” Back aching, she stood, rinsing the beans at the sink before slipping them into the pan of water she’d already put on the stove to boil.
“Sure it is.” He put down his chubby pencil. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t he like me?”
“Sweetie, of course, he likes you.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Everyone loves you.”
“Not the baseball team.”
“That’s different,” she said, although to a kid, she could see how the issue might be confusing.
“Nobody loves me,” he cried. “Not Coach Jason or Tristan or especially Dad!”
When he ran off toward the stairs, clomping up to his room, Brynn knew she should’ve followed, but truthfully, she was too exhausted.
* * *
ONCE AGAIN, THOUGH TRISTAN wanted nothing to do with kids, as they only reminded him of Jack, that night he found himself back at the ballpark, surrounded.
He’d helped Jason set out the bases and chalk the field.
They now stood side by side while the team completed laps and circuit calisthenics. The sky was an angry, tumultuous gray, but the official rule book read if thunder was heard or lightning seen, then coaches stopped play. Since the guys needed practice, until the weather turned officially ugly, it was game on.
Jason leaned against the trunk of the big oak that’d been growing in the outfield for so long no one had the heart to cut it. “Town gossip says you spent the afternoon with Mack’s widow, building a fort for his little boy.”
“Knew there was a reason I ran from this busybody town soon as I got my diploma.” Tristan pulled his ball cap lower on his forehead.
“Looking for love in all the wrong places?”
“Hell, no,” he said to his supposed friend. “I was doing her and her kid a favor, that’s all. Might’ve been nice if you’d done the same and just let him on your team.”
“You know I couldn’t do that. This is a traveling squad and logistically, I can’t handle over twelve. Even with you as my assistant coach, I won’t have near as much time as when I was a deputy. Usually, by midseason, someone drops out. Who knows? Maybe we’ll take him on then.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Tristan said. “And I never told you I’d be your assistant coach.”
“It’s not like you’ve got anything better going on. Unless you’d rather hang out with your mom, making crafts for the rest home?”
Tristan fairly growled. “I’d rather be back in Virginia Beach, doing my job.”
“And we both know until you get your head straight about losing Jack, that’s not going to happen.” After shouting at two slackers to pick up their pace, Tristan winced when Jason elbowed him. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me? Like you prefer a certain pregnant redhead’s company to mine?”
“Watch it,” Tristan warned. Though he barely knew Brynn, out of respect for his old friend Mack, he wouldn’t tolerate jokes involving her—even if they were at his expense.
* * *
“TRISTAN!”
The next morning, Brynn’s heart ached to see Cayden run across the too-tall lawn to give their new friend a hug. With sun slanting through the trees, glistening in the dew, she should’ve been thrilled to find Tristan already in their yard, wielding his drill. Instead, she wished she’d never met him.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Cayden was desperately seeking a father figure and Tristan was his latest target.
Even if Brynn hadn’t been practically fifteen months pregnant, and interested in him in more of a romantic light than as merely a friend, she assumed he’d soon be back on his Virginia Beach base. She’d also noticed his habit of never saying anything personal about himself. Why? Like Mack, did he have something to hide? Or also like her husband, did he just not trust her enough to share certain issues? Toss in the not-so-small fact that she’d lost her husband to a shooting and Tristan had dedicated his life to playing with guns?
Well, anyone could see they were hardly well suited.
Last night, long after Cayden had gone to sleep, she’d stayed up, nursing heartburn with decaffeinated peppermint tea. Burning curiosity led to her researching navy SEALs. The one thing she’d taken from a solid two hours of internet surfing was that statistically, SEALs suffered from a high rate of divorce—not to mention getting hurt.
Even if one day she chose to open her heart again, Tristan would be her worst possible match. She’d never tell him, but truthfully she didn’t blame his wife for leaving. He’d no doubt been gone more than he was home. Only, he hadn’t just been off playing ball in Sacramento, but risking his life in war-ravaged cesspools.
Right on cue, the school bus soon enough arrived on their street.
Cayden gave Tristan a final hug before dashing off toward his ride.
With her son gone, Brynn meandered over to where Tristan strong-armed one of the fort’s plastic roofs into position. “Need help?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she said, “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be done by this afternoon.”
“Hope so. Cayden told me his party’s Saturday. That’s only two days away.”
“Don’t remind me.” She groaned. “Between the added yard work and baking, I’m starting to regret the whole idea. Plus, he’ll be seeing a lot of the boys who made the little league team.”
After screwing the roof in place, he said, “I’ll tackle the lawn.”
“That’s not what I meant. Please don’t think I was fishing for a helping hand. You’ve already done too much.”
He ignored her protests in favor of continuing to work. He seemed so driven, she felt as though she were an intruder in her own backyard. And then, he stopped. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Go for it.” His expression seemed so serious, she almost smiled. Was Mr. Privacy finally going to open up? Even with his eyes narrowed and mouth set grim, he was still far too handsome for his own good—or maybe, that should be for her own good!
As if nervous, he tossed the lightweight cordless drill from hand to hand. “Like me, you had a crap marriage, right?”
“I guess...” Where in the world was he going?
“Well, last night a friend said I should date, but why? Guess my question for you is—in light of what you went through with Mack—do you feel the same? Like the train left the station on that whole part of your life?”
“You’re amazing.” Her knees nearly buckled from the shimmering relief of having a kindred spirit when it came to understanding the emotional pain of what Mack had put her through. “My friend Vivian is constantly hinting she’s found the perfect guy to hook me up with. No matter how many times I tell her I’m never going to be interested, she refuses to listen.”
A muscle popped on his square, whisker-covered jaw. “Amen.”
She told herself the sudden lightness in her chest had nothing to do with Tristan, but in truth, it had everything to do with him. Before they’d met, she’d believed herself utterly alone when it came to her rejection of all matters having to do with the heart. “No one gets the fact that Cayden and my baby girl are all I’ll ever need.”
“I do,” Tristan quietly said. “Although, at the rate your grass is growing, if you still don’t want to take me up on my offer to mow, you’re going to have a long, hot afternoon.” When he blasted her with a slow, crooked grin, Brynn lost all power to deny him. What would it hurt for him to do her one, last favor?
* * *
“THAT’S JUST RIDICULOUS...” Vivian had parted the living-room curtains and sat practically salivating over Tristan mowing Brynn’s yard wearing nothing but cargo shorts and leather flip-flops. “Outside of movies and magazines, I’ve never seen a man with a body that hard.”
“Stop!” Brynn scolded in a stage whisper even though they were alone.
“Why? It’s not like he can see or hear me. And besides, I might be married, but I’m not dead. If I were you, I’d be all over that.”
Clearing her throat, Brynn pointed to her bulging belly. “Reality check? Even if I were in the market for a man, I get the impression Tristan’s never going to be in the market for another woman.”
“They all say that.” Vivian finally lowered the curtain. “But just you wait. Before too long, I guarantee that man will be sniffing skirts just like the rest of them.”
“Do you have to be so crude?” Brynn shifted positions so that Tristan and his amazing chest were out of view.
Vivian rolled her eyes. “Do you have to be such a prude?”
“Let’s agree to disagree and work on the party.” Consulting her list, Brynn asked, “Did you ever find the pony guy’s number? I know it’s short notice, but Cayden’s been so upset about not making the team, I want this birthday to be extra special.”
Back to ogling Tristan, Vivian said, “You do know the next town over—Boynton—has a noncompetitive team? I’m sure Cayden would be more than welcome to play with them.”
Something about Vivian’s tone set Brynn on edge. “Cayden wants to play with his friends.”
“He’ll make more.” She’d again turned back from the window.
Brynn wasn’t sure how to respond. Her aunt had raised her to always be polite, but this was one case when she’d like nothing more than to give Vivian a piece of her mind. “Hasn’t your son ever wanted something, only not to get it? Cayden’s already lost his home and father and friends in St. Louis. Would it kill you to show a smidge of compassion?”
Leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, Vivian said, “Okay, whoa. You took that completely wrong. All I meant was that if you really want Cayden to play ball on Ruin Bayou’s competitive team, at the very least you’ll need to invest in a private coach.”
“Brynn, didn’t you tell her?” Tristan stood in the open door, the full, muscular breadth of him blocking the light of the sun.
Mouth dry, pulse racing, Brynn asked, “T-tell her what?”
“That I’m Cayden’s private coach. And by the time I get done helping him, he’ll easily outhit any kid on that team.”
