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Wrong. You could bet that when he turned up at the “anthill,” she would clasp her hands and say, “My hero,” in gratifying tones. Then she’d inform him she’d freed herself by using a magnifying glass and the sun to set fire to the ropes that bound her, and had destroyed the ants by, say, playing music at a deadly pitch only ants could hear. In other words, she didn’t need a hero.
Back then, Lucas never had high hopes for a girl in his platoon. Merry had managed to fall short of even his modest expectations.
He couldn’t think why he’d kept asking her to play.
“You can’t blame Merry for worrying about your safety,” John said happily. He tweaked his daughter’s ponytail. “Looks like your dog wants to go, Merry-Berry.”
Boo was circling around, sniffing the ground.
“I just took him, and he didn’t do anything—but I guess I’ll try again,” she grumbled.
Lucas seized the opportunity. “I’ll come with you.”
She glanced at her father, then pressed her lips together.
“Take your time,” John said archly, as if he imagined they were headed outside for some nookie. He started back toward his work, but after a couple of steps, halted abruptly. Lucas couldn’t see his expression, but recognized the clenching of hands at the older man’s sides, and the way John deliberately loosened the fingers, one by one.
Pain.
Lucas took a step toward him.
Merry pushed past Lucas. “Dad, are you okay?”
Boo whined.
“Fine, Merry-Berry.” John’s smile was obviously forced. “Just some stomach cramping.” He paused, as if counting silently. Then his smile grew more natural; the spasm must have passed. He made a shooing motion. “Off you go.”
She hesitated.
A guy didn’t want a bunch of people nosing around when he was in pain. Lucas jerked his head, indicating Merry should follow him.
Her reluctance was evident, but she came anyway. Which could be a positive sign. On the other hand, her demeanor didn’t exactly scream forgiveness.
I should have called.
CHAPTER TWO
ACT COOL, MERRY INSTRUCTED herself as she and Lucas walked with Boo toward the shingle cove that butted up against the wharf area, which in turn butted up against the marina. She sneaked a sidelong glance at Lucas, to find his handsome face angled down, his hands shoved in his pockets. Pretend that night never happened.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
Ugh.
“What for?” She injected surprise into her tone. Then she muttered, “Don’t answer that.” Because she really didn’t want him to elaborate.
“It seemed a good idea at the time,” he said.
Did he mean having sex or not having sex?
Boo headed for the rock pools, his usual silent, stoic, constipated self. He liked to sniff at the baby crabs, but didn’t have the enthusiasm for an actual attack.
“It was one crazy moment,” she said. “You were understandably upset, and I happened to be there....” I happened to launch myself at you, taking advantage of your vulnerability.
“You agree,” he said, “that we were right to stop?”
“Absolutely.” She did now, after what he’d done.
“It would have been for all the wrong reasons.”
“Wrong,” she agreed, wishing he would shut up.
She’d gone to visit him in Baltimore because their fathers had been nagging, asking when she and Lucas would see each other again. The visit had been as much about getting their dads off their backs as about their fluctuating friendship.
She’d arrived a few hours after Lucas had learned that two men from his unit had been killed during a minesweeping operation. An operation Lucas would have been involved in, if he’d still been in the Gulf. He’d been a mess—he’d seemed to think he could have saved his friends.
Fueled by a couple of whiskeys that he shouldn’t have drunk while on pain meds, he’d poured out guilt and self-recrimination with a depth of feeling Merry hadn’t known he was capable of. Naturally, she’d wanted to comfort him. When he slung an arm across her shoulders, she’d snuggled into him on the couch. And was reminded of Date Number Eight, in December last year. Lucas’s brother’s wedding. When for the first time ever, they’d given in to the sexual chemistry that had arced between them on and off for years, and had kissed.
That’s all. Kissed.
But it had been H-O-T.
So hot, they’d both pulled back. Yeah, there was chemistry, but they wanted different things out of life, and getting involved would be too…involved.
But in Baltimore, with Lucas all vulnerable and upset beside her, Merry had forgotten the complications and remembered the heat. In the next minute, she’d been on his lap, her mouth pressed to his.
He hadn’t objected in the slightest. In record time, he’d had her out of her clothes.
And then…
Then he’d looked down at her naked body, which, admittedly, was nothing great. She didn’t have legs up to here, or high, bouncing breasts—she was short, and had hardly any breasts at all. Lucas had paused and looked down at her for a long time, and then he’d said, “Let’s not do this.”
Merry had dressed in mortified silence. She’d left while he was in the bathroom. They hadn’t spoken since.
Boo trotted up, carrying a stick of driftwood. Merry busied herself, patting his head, cooing at him. When the sting in her eyes had gone, she straightened and threw the stick. Boo watched its trajectory, but didn’t bother to pursue it.
“So, are we okay?” Lucas was eyeing her with concern. As if she was a problem he needed to fix.
“Of course,” she said. “I’d hate to be held to one stupid moment, and so would you. Sex is one thing, but relationshipwise, I want what my parents had. You’re the last person in the world for that.”
He looked taken aback at being “the last person in the world.” But it was true. Lucas was pragmatic, protective and, in his own way, caring. But she knew from the debates—purely theoretical—they’d had over the years that he didn’t believe in the kind of soul-mate love her parents had had. He would never love a woman the way Merry wanted to be loved. Her mom had died twenty-three years ago, when Merry was three years old, and her dad still grieved.
Lucas’s mom had died when he was twelve, and Dwight had remarried in less than six months. Merry could easily imagine Lucas doing the same.
“If anything, I’m the one who should apologize,” she said. “Frankly, Lucas, given how upset you were, my behavior was predatory.”
His shout of laughter startled her.
“Merry Wyatt, sexual predator,” he mused, and she felt a sliver of relief at the release of tension.
“At the very least, I was exploitative.” She scuffed her sneaker in the sand.
“Don’t talk dumb,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I started it.”
He hadn’t, but she didn’t argue.
If only he’d turned her down before she was naked. Then she could have accepted the “too complicated” excuse without a qualm. As it was, for weeks she’d wondered, Was it something specific? My breasts, or my legs? Or did I just not turn you on?
They’d reached the stick she’d thrown for Boo. Lucas bent to pick it up with his left hand. He was right-handed.
“How’s your injury?” she asked to change the subject.
“Never better.” He let his hand swing freely at his side. Which, judging by the tightening of his jaw, caused him pain.
Stupid hero complex.
What kind of guy would want to go back to the place where he’d suffered such horrible injuries? A guy like Lucas, who couldn’t help jumping in and saving the world.
Boo nudged Merry’s thigh. She noogied his head, the way he loved. He rewarded her with a rasp of his tongue on her wrist.
“Your dad doesn’t seem too well,” Lucas said. His turn to change the subject, it seemed.
“He gets tired more easily,” she agreed. “Anyone would find five years of dialysis wearing.”
“You should get him to a doctor.”
Oh, honestly. Did he think no one was monitoring the dialysis? “Dad has regular checkups.” Before Lucas could ask, she said, “I’m not sure when the next one is.”
“Merry, your dad’s in pain. Severe pain. I know the signs.”
A chill swept her, borne on the fall breeze. “No, he’s—It’s just the doctors can’t manage his kidney condition when his blood pressure’s so high.” A sudden prickle behind her eyes made it hard to continue. “But they can’t seem to get his blood pressure down. His doctor thinks it’s emotional stress.”
“What emotional stress would he have?”
“Dad’s not the kind to talk about his worries,” she admitted. “But the past six months, I’ve caught him several times just sitting in a kind of trance.”
All she had to do was speak, and he’d snap out of his private thoughts, but still, those moments worried her. She wasn’t used to him not telling her everything. But she didn’t want to discuss this with Lucas. Didn’t want him to see how scared she was. Dad’s got through everything else. He’ll get through this, too.
“We’ve had a really mild fall,” she commented.
“So, what’s with this guy you’re dating?” Lucas asked. “This Patrick?” He whistled to Boo, who was nosing a pile of rotting seaweed. With one last sniff, the collie abandoned his find.
“He’s great,” she enthused. She wanted to say, He can’t get enough of my body. He thinks small boobs are gorgeous. He’s crazy about me. But that might sound a tad defensive. “He’s very romantic.” Despite it being true, Lucas didn’t look impressed. But then, he wouldn’t. “He’s a vet,” she added, babbling now.
“I already got that,” he said.
So he did.
“I think it might be serious,” she said.
His head snapped around. “Really?”
“Um, yes.” Patrick certainly talked as if it was. “Yes,” she said with more certainty. “It might be.”
“But your dad doesn’t like him, right?”
“That’s the one drawback,” she agreed.
“What’s wrong with the guy?” Lucas asked.
“He’s…” For one moment she wished Patrick was a different kind of guy. “Um, you know that Shakespeare quotation, ‘Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war?’”
“One of my favorites,” Lucas deadpanned.
Entirely possible, given his penchant for rushing to the rescue. Merry sighed. “Patrick’s the founder of the Dogs of Peace.”
“The what?”
“It’s a peace protest group.”
Lucas snorted a laugh.
Merry was all in favor of the laying down of arms and everyone loving their fellow man, et cetera. Truly. But it would be a lot handier if Patrick could devote himself to a different cause. Saving trees, for example. Trees needed protestors, too.
Her father might not have much respect for tree huggers, but he didn’t despise them.
“Patrick thinks the military is evil.” She ignored Lucas’s exaggerated gasp. “He believes he has a right to say so, and he likes to exercise that right. Often. Turns out Dad doesn’t appreciate free speech, not all the time.”
“Where did you meet this flake?” Lucas asked.
In the interest of winning the war, rather than every tiny battle, Merry bit down on the urge to extol Patrick’s wonderful, manly qualities. “He was protesting outside the submarine base in Groton.”
“With…the Dogs of Peace.” Lucas said the name as if it were a rat’s carcass that Boo had dragged in.
“Right,” Merry said. “Patrick’s a veterinarian. Dogs of Peace, get it?”
“Oh, brother,” Lucas muttered. “How long have you been seeing him?”
“Several months.” Since soon after that night in Baltimore, but that was sheer coincidence.
Lucas’s forehead cleared. “So, if you and Patrick are serious, you really are fine about that night we…”
“Totally.” Ugh, her voice went too high.
“That’s great, Merry, because I want us to stay friends.” His sudden smile was oddly boyish. It tugged at the same part of her that had been attracted to Vulnerable Lucas six months ago.
“I bet you do,” she said. “I probably know more of your faults than any other woman, and I’m still willing to talk to you.” Yes, remember his faults. That’ll help.
He grinned. “That goes both ways. Does Patrick know how bad you are at letting a guy look after you?”
