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“For loans?”
Eden cringed. Handouts? Oh hell, no. She was nobody’s charity case.
“For clients. They are all big on their designer pets. I just have to get two, maybe three of them to start using my veterinary services, and more will follow.”
“How much are you going to charge?” Bev asked, her eyes huge with a horrified sort of glee.
Eden laughed.
“Just enough that they consider the services exclusive. All it will take is a few of them using me as their vet, a little behind the scenes hype and pretty soon I’ll have a well-heeled clientele. I might not be able to pay off the entire loan at once, but if I can get enough of a down payment and show the bank that I have the potential income, I’ll bet I can swing a deal.”
Maybe.
And maybe was all she needed.
Eden reached for the phone again, quickly dialing the head of the Garden Club.
Five minutes and three grimaces later, she hung up with a triumphant smile.
“Why’d you RSVP for two?” Bev asked, pulling her head out of the pantry to give Eden a suspicious look.
“Because you’re going with me.”
“Oh, no,” Bev declared, emptying an armload of bins and jars onto the chipped tile counter. “I’m not a member. They won’t let me in.”
“You’re my guest.”
“They aren’t going to want me there,” Bev predicted.
“They don’t want me there, either.” Eden shrugged. “They’ll just have to deal with us. Because I need you with me.”
“For moral support?”
Eden wasn’t sure how much good moral support would be when faced with forcing a tight-knit group of women to accept an outsider at one of their chichi meetings. But she did need someone to play off. Someone who could talk up her veterinary skills and give her the verbal setups she’d need to spike home her point if this plan was going to work.
“What are you doing?” Eden asked, eying the eggs and butter that had just joined the flour, brown sugar and peanut butter.
“This is clearly a cookie situation,” Bev said, digging a bag of chocolate morsels out of the freezer.
Before Eden could decide if the two of them eating what, if the butter and eggs were anything to go by, would be a double batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies was a good idea, there was a rumbling outside.
Company? Or another birthday surprise? Maybe her mother had found a way to send the plague by UPS.
Or, Eden squinted, in a shiny new Jaguar.
“Hey, cool. It’s like the birthday fairy heard your wish,” Bev joked, joining Eden at the door to see who was pulling up the weather-pitted driveway.
Recognizing the car, Eden frowned.
Even though they were neighbors, Robert Sullivan never visited.
So the only way the birthday fairy was playing into this particular arrival was if his son, Cade, had hijacked the Jag and was driving up to make all of Eden’s fantasies come true.
Cade Sullivan.
Tall, blond and gorgeous, with hypnotic green eyes and more charm than a proud momma’s bracelet.
The sexiest guy to ever set foot in Ocean Point.
High school quarterback. Class president. Navy SEAL.
Her hero.
She knew most people in town who didn’t have membership with the exclusive Ocean Point Country Club—and even a few who did—saw Robert Sullivan as a major asshole. But when she looked at him, all she saw was an older version of Cade. The guy who always rescued her from mishaps, who’d never made a tag-a-long girl five years his junior feel stupid.
The guy she’d had a crush on since she was seven. The one she’d spied on at the small, private lake that bordered their two properties. The man who’d formed her every basis for what spelled sexy in a guy.
Eden sighed.
Then Robert’s car swerved.
Eden gasped.
The Jaguar made a beeline for the faded brick arch that welcomed people to the Gillespie house.
Eden hit the door running. Just as she made it to the bottom of the steps, the car slid into the unyielding bricks with a sick crunch of crumpling metal.
“What’s happened? Who is it?” Bev called as Eden sprinted across the lawn, skidding on the gravel driveway in her hurry to reach the car.
“Call an ambulance. Tell them to hurry.” Eden stared at the older, colder version of her favorite fantasy, her breath tight in her chest. She checked the pulse at his throat to be sure, then gave a shaky sigh. “Robert’s hurt. I think he might have had a heart attack.”
IT WAS LIKE WATCHING a bunch of virgins tour a whorehouse. Lieutenant Commander Cade Sullivan shook his head at the current crew of Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL trainees slogging through the wet sand, each carrying a dripping log over his shoulder.
“Were we ever that green?” he wondered aloud.
“You weren’t,” Captain Seth Borden said with a laugh, clapping Cade on the back. “You were one of the most focused BUDS we’ve seen come through here. I’ve been a MTS a long time, but even I can’t always tell which guys will make it through Hell Week. Sometimes none do. But when you came through, every instructor knew you’d graduate.”
Borden was a Master Training Specialist. One of the top at Coronado’s Naval Special Warfare Center, as a matter of fact. He was a machine. A guy who’d dedicated thirty years to the navy and scared the hell out of most people.
Cade considered him a crusty old bastard who drank like the sailor he was, cussed with flare and played a wicked hand of poker. And when they weren’t in uniform or on base, he was Cade’s favorite uncle.
“Why’d you haul me down here?” Cade asked, grimacing when one guy tripped over his own feet, taking three others down with him and sending his log flying ahead into the back of two more. “Wanted to make sure I appreciate how good my team is?”
He grinned when three wannabe SEALs sidestepped the downfall and just kept on going. Those guys, they had what it took.
“You need a reminder?”
“Nope.” Cade’s smile faded. He knew damned well that he served with some of the best SEALs in existence. Guys who gave their all, like his buddy Phil Hawkins, who’d given it right to the end. A familiar band of grief tightened in Cade’s chest, as it did whenever he thought of the loss. The Three Amigos, Phil, Cade and Blake Landon had gone through BUDS together, had served in the same platoon, on countless missions together. They embraced everything that being a SEAL stood for. Brotherhood. Dedication. Excellence.
And now the Three Amigos were two.
“C’mon in. We’ll have a cup of coffee.”
Grateful for any distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had started to overshadow his SEAL career, Cade followed the captain to his office. He shook his head when Borden held up the coffeepot. While on tour, he might have to stick with field rations, but the rest of the time, he opted for quality. From the looks of that pot, the sludge in the carafe was barely digestible.
“So?” Cade prodded, knowing he didn’t need to repeat the question.
“You’re coming up on your PRD.”
Cade wasn’t surprised at the captain’s statement. Borden figured he’d recruited Cade to the SEALs. Since being a SEAL had been Cade’s goal from the time he was twelve, he didn’t think recruiting was the right term, but he let the old man have his illusions.
“Not for six months,” Cade said, referring to his Projected Rotation Date, the time when he’d be up for reassignment. He’d been based here in California for eight years. Chances of being sent to Virginia or Hawaii were slim, but possible. Maybe a transfer was a good thing, though. He could start fresh, get away from the constant reminders of his lost friend. “Why?”
“I want you to consider taking your MTS cert.”
Cade laughed and shook his head. “Why the hell would I want to be certified as a trainer?”
“You’re a freefall jumpmaster, took gold in the Excellence in Pistol Shot, and were awarded the Silver Star. You aced out of Sniper School. And then there’s the advanced counterterrorism technology training. You’re one of the elite. You got the goods, boy.”
Cade rocked back on the heels of his jump boots and grinned. Yeah. That was a pretty sweet list of qualifications. He’d worked damned hard, and loved every second of getting all of them. But all he said was, “So?”
“So we could use you here. The certification, a year as a trainer—it’d bump your pay grade and move you a lot closer to those captain’s bars.”
Cade frowned. He didn’t care about the pay or rank. But he did care about losing his edge, about this depthless funk he’d sunk into, dragging his team down, too. He glanced out the window at the grown men falling all over themselves in the surf, struggling like toddlers to reach their boats. Those guys wanted to excel. To be the best. And he could be damned good at helping them get there. But to do that, he’d have to quit being a SEAL. And he didn’t quit. Not one damned thing.
So he shook his head. “Nah. I’m good.”
“Don’t you think it’d be mighty impressive?” the captain asked as he and his steaming cup of coffee settled behind the desk.
“Borden, I’m already a SEAL. There’s not a damned thing more impressive than that.”
“Sure, maybe to the ladies.”
“Who else matters?” Cade laughed.
Hell, it was rare that he ever even had to pull out the SEAL card to impress a woman. He looked good enough that the women tended to fall all over him anyway. They always had. And it wasn’t ego talking. He credited genetics for his sandy blond hair, sharp green eyes and chiseled features and the navy for his ripped body.
He had nothing to prove to anyone else.
“You want to climb higher than Lieutenant Commander?”
Cade shrugged again. Rank and money didn’t mean anything to him. Neither one had the thrill, the excitement, or the rock-solid satisfaction of being a part of Special Ops. At least, up until last fall, when Hawkins had taken a piece of shrapnel to the head while under Cade’s command.
“I’ll bet there are some people who’d like to see you move up the ranks,” Seth said, staring into his cup like it held some fascinating secret. Or, more likely, because he didn’t want his expression to give away his trump card.
“I don’t live my life for other people,” Cade countered with a grin, dropping to a chair and getting ready to play. Mind games were almost as much fun to win as war games.
“What about Robert?”
Cade’s smile fell away.
“I definitely don’t live my life for my old man.”
“Not saying you should. But I’ll bet it’d go a long way toward keeping him off your back for a while.”
“You mean it’ll keep him off your back?”
Robert Sullivan had married Seth’s little sister Laura thirty-five years ago and had probably muttered an average of a few dozen words a year to his brother-in-law since the reception. Less after they’d lost her to cancer five summers ago. But Robert somehow managed to find a few here and there to touch base with Seth for a little secondhand haranguing for his one and only child.
“Robert doesn’t bother me,” Cade’s uncle said, dismissing him with a jerk of one shoulder. As if his ex-in-law was that easy to flick off.
Cade wished that were so. But he knew better. Robert Sullivan, of Sullivan Enterprises, specialized in tenacity, had the personality of a bulldog and the charm of a cactus. He’d been furious when Cade had joined the navy instead of taking his rightful place at the helm of the family’s financial consulting firm.
“If he doesn’t bother you, then why are you using him as bait?” Cade challenged.
“Because you’re a damned good soldier. A fine SEAL and a strong leader. I don’t want to see you derailed. You’re on edge lately. That’s the kind of thing that some people look for, try to take advantage of in order to make things go their way,” he said, referring to Cade’s father. “A break would let you figure it all out, before you’re played.”
His pleasant expression didn’t change, nor did his body shift even an inch as a painful sort of tension spiked through Cade’s system.
“No offense, Captain,” Cade said with a grin as he got to his feet. “But I don’t give a good damn what my father does. And nobody plays me. Not even the old man.”
To Robert Sullivan, Cade was a pawn. A useful tool. He’d expected his only child to follow in his footsteps, to learn the ins and outs of finance and take over the vast Sullivan holdings if and when Robert deemed it time.
Cade had never been interested in any of that. Not even as a kid. So he’d never let the old man in on his plans. He’d enlisted the day he’d turned eighteen, three months before he’d finished high school. Already knowing the value of good strategy, he’d waited to tell his father until the morning after graduation. And he’d left for basic training right after the ensuing big ugly fight.
It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to take some bullshit business major if his father covered tuition that made him decide not to go to college.
He simply hadn’t wanted to wait to get started in the navy.
And then, like now, he hadn’t given a damn about rank.
He just wanted to be a SEAL.
He was born for the military.
He just had to remember that and get through this damned … What did his squadmate and amigo, Blake’s fiancée, Alexia, call it? Journey of grief. Stupid thing to call being pissed off over losing his buddy. And definitely not something he wanted to talk about. Not to Blake, not to Alexia. And definitely not to his uncle.
Before he could make excuses to leave, Cade’s cell-phone rang.
“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, noting the number on the screen.
“The old man?”
“Close enough—it’s my grandmother.”
The only thing that kept Cade from turning his back on his family, and all the drama and crap that went along with it, was his grandmother. He would do anything, even play nice at holidays, to make Catherine Sullivan happy.
With that in mind, he gestured his apology to Borden and took the call. Five minutes later, he wished he hadn’t.
