Is He SEAL Enough For The Job?

The moment off-duty navy SEAL Tristan Bartoni meets feisty yet vulnerable Brynn Langtoine, he’s a goner. He sure didn’t have plans to be attracted to a recently widowed pregnant woman who is already mother to a troubled, grieving young son. Nope, the struggling SEAL came home to Ruin Bayou, Louisiana, to finally deal with his haunting past decisions—not to start a new relationship.

Brynn has enough problems without her hormones going crazy whenever Tristan is near. Her son, Cayden, constantly lashes out at her. Her baby will be fatherless. So...what does Tristan think he’s doing, making her life even more topsy-turvy than it already is?

But when it comes to putting her heart on the line, who could be more trustworthy than a navy SEAL?

“Hungry for more than cookies?”

Brynn asked, looking far too pretty in faded cutoffs and a pink tank that accentuated full breasts. With her hair in braids, she looked fresh from Tristan’s every naughty farm-girl fantasy.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I really should get going.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice raspy with what he could only guess was the same confusion dogging him. “You used to be the only person I could talk to—about anything. But ever since I had Mackenzie, you’ve been distant.”

“Sorry. Truth is, with the baby, I feel awkward being around you.”

“We can’t be friends? Because that’s all I’m asking for.”

He cocked his head. “Really?”

Everything about her from her flirty stance to her full, pouty lips to her heightened color told him she was a woman amenable to being kissed. Lord help him, but Tristan was up for the job. But Brynn was hardly the one-night-stand kind of girl he dallied with back in Virginia Beach. They knew up front he was interested only in fun and they were okay with it. He suspected Brynn, on the other hand, didn’t have a clue what she genuinely wanted—especially with regard to him....

Dear Reader,

As I’m writing this, we just celebrated Father’s Day here in the States and of all the heroes I’ve written, Tristan faces some of the toughest parenting battles.

Since Hubby had to work, we opted for a low-key lunch out at our fave Mexican restaurant. Though we didn’t do anything fancy, we still managed to at least share a meal and I got my requisite warm and fuzzies from being surrounded by most everyone I love.

Throughout this story, Tristan struggles with the fact that as a SEAL, his basic job requirement is that he isn’t always going to be home. Early in our marriage, I used to get so frustrated when Hubby had overtime. Now, I realize how blessed we are that he has a job. How fortunate I am to have a wonderful man in my life who loves me and his children enough to sacrifice much of his free time to ensure our kids and I lead comfortable lives.

Happy Father’s Day to all of the hardworking dads! Though I didn’t get to make the trip to Arkansas to see my dad this year, he’s always in my heart, and I know I’ll see him soon.

Poor Tristan, however, doesn’t know when—or if—he’ll see the son he loves again. Will Brynn and her family be enough to help him through his pain? I’m not telling....

Happy reading!

Laura Marie

The SEAL’s Valentine

Laura Marie Altom

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 and a bonus son. 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 teaches art at a local middle school. In her free time, she beats her kids at video games, tackles Mount Laundry and of course reads romance!

Laura loves hearing from readers at either P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or by email, BaliPalm@aol.com.

Love winning fun stuff? Check out www.lauramariealtom.com.

For my father, Edward Alisch, and the father of my sweet children, Terry Altom. I love you two!

Thank you for all you do!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Come on, baby... You can do it.

Brynn Langtoine crossed her fingers so tightly her knuckles shone white. Six-year-old Cayden had already been through so much in losing his father, he just had to make a home run for his little league tryout. Or, she prayed, for once come close to at least hitting the ball.

The metal bleachers were the only remotely cool thing on this muggy mid-April afternoon. Ruin Bayou, Louisiana, had its nicer points, but an agreeable climate wasn’t one. Fanning herself with the parent information sheet the coach’s wife had distributed to all team hopefuls, Brynn tried shifting to a more comfy position—no easy feat at eight-months pregnant.

“Relax,” her friend Vivian urged.

“Easy for you to say. Dom not only hits home runs, but sinks soccer goals and makes touchdowns—and that’s all before breakfast. Meanwhile, poor Cayden...” Brynn cupped her bulging belly as her son tripped on his way to home plate. “Well, let’s just say when it comes to athletic talent, he unfortunately inherited my family genes.”

“Stop. Little Cayden’s just going through a rough patch. Losing his dad like that...” She added a few clucks to her shaking head.

As was usually the case when recalling Mack’s untimely demise, Brynn threw up a little in her mouth.

When Cayden looked to her for reassurance, Brynn blew him a kiss. He might be trying out for a big boy team, but he’d never be too old for some good, old-fashioned mommy sugar.

As the pitcher wound up for his throw, Brynn’s stomach churned. Please, please, please, she prayed to her disaster of a dead husband, who had also happened to be one of the most celebrated hitters to ever come out of the state. If you ever had so much as a shred of decency in you, send your sweet son a smidge of your batting skill...

“Strike one!”

Not only had Cayden missed the ball, but he’d cowered when it came near him. Having grown up watching his dad play from a box seat in Busch Stadium III, Cayden had worshipped the man and the game, literally wearing a Cardinals baseball cap nearly every day since he’d been born. Any sane person would’ve thought Mack spent his free time playing catch with his son, but nothing could be further from the truth.

The pitcher threw again.

“Strike two!”

This time, Cayden had ducked to avoid the ball.

Vivian let loose with a low wolf whistle. “Who is that?”

Brynn’s gaze drifted to where her friend pointed. A giant of a man strode to the outfield, kneeling to talk to a pint-size player. His faded jeans, white T-shirt and Geaux Saints baseball cap didn’t mask hard-edged masculinity. A certain larger-than-life, take-charge essence emanated from the man even as he had a simple conversation with a child. The way the man leaned in, seemed to genuinely listen to whatever the distraught child had on his mind, told a different story from the guy’s tough outer shell. His body language said he cared like a father, but Brynn was familiar with most of the little league crowd and was sure she’d have remembered a dad who looked like him.

“Whew...” Vivian was also using her info packet as a fan. “What I wouldn’t give to be single right about now.”

“Excuse me?” Sean, Vivian’s husband, nudged her shoulder. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Oh, yeah.” She apologized with a kiss. “Looking at that hunk, I temporarily forgot.”

Brynn fought not to roll her eyes. Vivian had it all. A great husband who adored her and a perfect son and home. She had everything Brynn had once taken for granted, but now knew she’d never have again.

The pitcher wound up for Cayden’s third and final try as he’d already had four other turns and failed to hit a single pitch. In the span of a heartbeat, the ball flashed straight for her son, only to clang the chain-link fence behind him.

“Strike three! You’re out!”

As he scuffed his little sneakered feet off the field, Cayden dropped his chin to his chest. Brynn’s heart ached for him. Why, at this age, did Ruin Bayou’s team have to be about competition? Why couldn’t it be purely about fun and learning good sportsmanship? Once Cayden was old enough to learn the facts about his father, he’d receive harsh truths no child should ever learn. Until then, Brynn wanted to shelter him and hold him close. She’d tried a dozen times to talk him out of even going for this team, but he’d insisted.

He’d been so despondent ever since Mack’s death, Brynn hoped maybe for once luck would be on his side.

“He gave it a good try...” Brynn resented Vivian’s stab at comfort when she slipped her arm around her for a supportive squeeze. “He’s a full year younger than a lot of these other boys. You wait and see, next year at this time, Cayden’s going to set this field on fire.”

“Give it a rest,” Sean said to his wife. “Coach hasn’t even posted the team yet. Let’s not count Cayden out until this is official.”

Though Sean’s words were kind, Brynn wasn’t delusional. Boy after boy strode to home base, swinging and hitting for all they were worth. Six home runs had been made. Twelve triples. Not only didn’t her son make a single hit, but no catches.

When tryouts were over, the coach, surrounded by players and parents, called the numbers of the kids who’d made that season’s Ruin Bayou Mud Bugs.

Cayden’s number wasn’t called.

While around him, his friends gave each other high fives, Cayden’s eyes welled and lower lip trembled.

Brynn took his hand, leading him away from the crowd. “You did a great job, sweetie. Your dad would be proud.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Her son kicked the dirt in the parking lot. “I’m a loser. Dad hated losers. That’s why he left us. He hated me.”

Stopping short of their SUV, Brynn knelt in front of her son. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself again,” she said fiercely. “Baseball is just a stupid game, you hear me? Life is about much more. Your dad—”

“Baseball isn’t stupid!” Cayden cried, pitching his bat and glove on the ground. “You are!”

Brynn reached for him, trying to grab the red T-shirt that had been so thoughtfully provided in return for the Mud Bug’s fifty-dollar tryout fee, but he was too fast. He took off across a weed-choked field.

She started after him, but a male voice behind her called, “Let him go. He’ll be all right.”

Brynn turned to find the man she’d seen earlier in the outfield. Up close and personal, he was as intimidating as he was impressive. He’d also inserted himself smack in the middle of an intensely personal conversation to which he hadn’t been invited. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be the judge of what’s best for my son.”

“By all means.” The stranger held up his hands. Hyper kids and their parents made their way to their cars. An audience compounded the awkward factor. “Sorry. Last thing I want is to get into your family business, but I remember the sting of being cut from my grade-school team. Only by my senior year, I’d filled out a little and we went on to win the AA State Championship.”

Mack had been on that team. Had this man known her husband?

“Anyway,” he went on to say, “your boy might think this is the end of his world, but he’ll turn out okay.”

With everything in her, Brynn fought a flippant comeback. This stranger had no idea what Cayden had already been through—not to mention the baseball legend he’d had for a father. It was a cruel twist of fate that a sporting talent that should’ve come to the boy as naturally as breathing had escaped him.

“Thanks for your insight,” Brynn muttered, “but instead of letting my six-year-old run away, I’d rather handle this loss by the traditional mom method—with plenty of ice cream and hugs.”

“Sure.” Hands tucked in his jeans pockets, the guy backed off. “And for the record—I never said either of those things were bad.” Then as abruptly as he’d appeared, the stranger melded into the crowd.

Brynn was again alone, worrying about her son, only she now carried the additional burden of being embarrassed by her snippy attitude toward someone who was undoubtedly a friend of a friend and had meant well. She never used to be this angry, bitter shell of a woman, but then Cayden never used to run off crying, either.

Glad she’d worn jeans with sneakers, Brynn chased after her son as quickly as her pregnant belly allowed. “Cayden! Come here, sweetie!”

“Leave me alone!”

The closer she got, the deeper into the boggy woods he ran.

With sunlight fading, Brynn’s stomach knotted. Not only were the woods home to whining mosquitoes, ticks and other biting bugs, but poisonous snakes and gators. “Cayden, sweetie, I know you’re upset, but this is getting dangerous.”

“Go away! I wanna be alone!”

Brynn wasn’t especially prone to panic, but she honestly was at a loss as to what to do. Hands to her temples, she urged her mind to think and her pulse to slow. Her single-parenting books frowned on rewarding a child’s poor behavior, but it wasn’t as if Cayden had run off with malice in his heart. He was understandably hurt that his friends had the God-given skills to play baseball and not him.

The ground squished beneath her rubber soles and the air smelled dank. Darkness was closing in, accompanied by a cacophony of foreign sounds. Though the ballpark wasn’t that far behind them, they might as well have been in a different world.

“Cayden, please, come here!” she called. “This isn’t funny!”

When he failed to answer, her blood ran cold.

Anything could’ve happened.

Brynn now trekked through sloppy mud, making her footing treacherous. The vegetation was dense, choked with brambles and vines.

“Cayden! Answer me!”

Still nothing.

If something happened to her son, Brynn wasn’t sure how she’d survive. Aside from a smattering of friends, she had no one. Prescandal, at the height of his fame, it’d seemed she and Mack were never alone. They’d been the golden couple everyone wanted to be with. Postscandal, she’d become a pariah. Assets frozen and beyond broke. If it hadn’t been for Mack outright owning his old family home, Brynn and Cayden wouldn’t even have a roof over their heads.

“Cayden!” Deeper and deeper into the now dark woods Brynn crept.

“Mommy...” His voice barely carried.

“Sweetie, call me again so I can find you!”

She heard her son, but also a low, guttural grunt.

Panic set in and the faster she tried reaching her son, the tougher time she had finding solid footing. Her feet and the hems of her maternity jeans were cold-soaked, yet her upper body was sticky with sweat. The stench of rotting leaves turned her stomach. The humidity was as unbearable as her storming pulse.

“I’m scared...”

“I know, angel.” She trudged forward. “Do I sound closer?”

“I don’t know.”

Foliage clawed at Brynn, making her every move torture. The grunt came again, filling her mind’s eye with horrific images of her baby boy clamped between an alligator’s jaws.

“Mommy, please hurry! It’s gonna eat me!”

Panic surged through Brynn, making her strong but stupid, chasing after her boy without a clue where to find him.

* * *

“THANKS FOR HELPING ME OUT.”

“Anytime, man. Looks like you’re going to have a great team.” Tristan Bartoni shook Jason’s hand. They’d been friends since Mrs. Fleck sat them next to each other in the second grade. A week later, he remembered with a chuckle, she’d separated them for talking too much.

“What’s caught your funny bone?” Jason hefted the last of the equipment into his truck bed. The vehicle had come along with his recent election win as Ruin Bayou Chief of Police. Not only was the rig equipped with flashing lights and a siren, but tires that could handle damn near any terrain—a good thing considering the whole town was practically a swamp. His wife and toddler son had already long since gone home.

“Just thinking how much trouble we used to get in. Hard to believe where we are now.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah. Back when we used to sit in detention every afternoon, who’d have thought we’d now be in charge?” He elbowed Tristan. “Well, me anyway. I don’t know what you fancy navy SEALs do.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tristan took out the keys to his own more modest black Ford pickup. “Just keep tellin’ yourself that. You might keep Ruin Bayou safe, but my jurisdiction’s the world.”

“Modest much?” Jason had climbed behind his wheel.

“Nah.” Tristan slipped his key into the ignition when he noticed the SUV the crabby pregnant woman had stood alongside was still parked at the far end of the lot, only with no one inside. She hadn’t chased after her kid on her own, had she? Mother Nature was a full-on raving bitch in these parts. “Hold up a minute. We might have a situation...”

* * *

CAYDEN LOVED HIS MOM A WHOLE, big bunch, but right now he wanted his dad. His mom said his dad died, but most times Cayden wasn’t even sure what that meant. All he really knew was that his dad was gone and ever since they left their house in St. Louis, all his mom ever did was cry.

Now he was stuck up in a tree and his big toe hurt really bad and he was pretty sure something giant was trying to eat him.

“Mommy!”

He barely heard her say, “I’m coming, sweetie!”

He usually hated it when his mom called him sweetie pie and stuff like he was a little kid, but out here, it was kind of nice, knowing how much she loved him. He worried once the baby came, she’d only love his new sister, then he’d be all alone.

Cayden started to cry, and he hated crying.

Crying was for stupid babies.

He called out for her again and again, but this time, heard nothing. Forever and ever he sat alone in the tree, until even his own breathing sounded scary.

“Cayden?” Who was that? Sounded like Coach Jason. “Mrs. Langtoine?” Was he coming to tell him he made the team?

Light bounced through the dark trees, making everything look waaaay more spookier. “Coach? I’m up here! All my bones are broke bad! And there’s an alligator trying to eat me!”

“You mean this guy?” Coach held up a loudmouthed frog.

“Guess it could’ve been him.”

Coach asked, “Where’s your mom?”

“Don’t know. I—I think she’s lost.”

* * *

FROM DEEP WITHIN THE WOODS, Brynn glanced over her shoulder and saw a light bobbing in the gloom. Not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her, she did a double take. “Hello?”

A hulking figure emerged from the brush. “Mrs. Langtoine?”

“You...” The man she’d admired on the field for his knack for talking with the players and whom she’d later regretted snapping at for sharing his advice concerning her son had now come to her rescue. Relief sagging her shoulders, she cupped her hands to her belly.

He extended his hand. “High time for a formal introduction. Tristan Bartoni. Guess I owe you an apology. Seems letting your boy run off wasn’t such a great idea.”

“Brynn Langtoine. And actually, if I’d done as you suggested and left him alone instead of chasing him, he probably wouldn’t have gone so far.” The man’s fingers enveloped hers. His height and breadth made her feel all at once vulnerable, yet strangely safe. “Have you seen my son? I thought I had him, but this swamp got me all turned around. Sounds don’t carry right, and...” She shook her head. “I need to find Cayden. He’s all I have.”

“Understood.” Tristan punched numbers into an electronic gadget, then took a handheld radio from a side pocket in his cargo pants. Into the radio, he said, “I’ve got the mom. How’s it going with the boy?”

“Got him,” came a static-garbled voice.

Relief turned Brynn’s knees to rubber. When she nearly collapsed, her new friend was there to support her. “Whoa. We’ve had enough excitement for tonight.

“Copy that,” he said into his radio. “Meet up back at the trucks.” With the radio returned to its pocket, he again consulted his gadget. “You hauled ass through rough terrain.”

“Um, thanks, I guess.” Legs again steady beneath her, Brynn straightened, trying to regain her composure. “Desperation makes a body do crazy things.”

“No kidding. Now we have to trek damn near two miles to get back.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, hey—” he held back an armful of brush for her to pass “—I’m not complaining. Truth is, you’re doing me a favor. This beats the hell out of watching reality TV. Been cooped up at my mom’s too long.”

“Oh?” She wanted to ask why, but figured not only wasn’t it her business, but the last thing she needed was to form a connection with someone when it would inevitably fail. Since moving to Ruin Bayou just after Christmas, Brynn had done a good job of keeping to herself. Selling Mack’s Escalade had given her enough cash to buy a less expensive SUV, and not have to get a job right away. But with that money dwindling, she couldn’t hide forever.

Maybe not forever, her wounded heart cried, but at least until she had her baby.

After ten minutes walking in silence, he said, “I grew up around here and only knew one Langtoine. My mom said Mack’s widow was back with their little boy. You her?”

“Yep.” So much for hiding.

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.”

Chapter Three

The moment the words left her mouth, Brynn regretted them. What had she been thinking? If she didn’t want new friends period, she certainly didn’t need one as attractive as Tristan. In the bright light of day, square jaw sporting sexy stubble and dark eyes hidden by mirrored aviator sunglasses, he not only towered over her, but reminded her how amazing it’d felt when he’d charged to her rescue—only she wasn’t in the market for a shining knight.

She’d once cast Mack in that role and look how disastrously that had turned out.

“Forgive me,” she backpedaled. “I didn’t mean to stick you with my mess. You were only being polite when you offered, so please don’t think I expect you to—”

“No,” he insisted, “I want to help. Cayden seems like a great kid. After not making the team with the rest of his friends, he deserves some fun.”

“Yeah, but that fun is going to come at too big a price to you. Really, I can handle the fort on my own.” Her huge belly made it a struggle for her to even pick up the rest of her gardening tools. Common sense dictated she may not want Tristan’s help, but she sure needed it.

When she barely made it upright without his hand on her arm holding her steady, he lowered his sunglasses to meet her gaze. “With all due respect, as big as you are, I’m not sure you’re even going to make it back into the house under your own steam.”

“Thanks.” It took a ton of self-restraint not to childishly stick out her tongue.

“Hey, I happen to think baby bumps are cute.”

“Uh-huh.” As long as she kept reminding herself she was no more in the market for romance than he was, they’d get along just fine.

* * *

“SORRY TO NOT HAVE SOMETHING fancier.”

“I’m so hungry, cardboard would taste good,” Tristan said when Brynn approached bearing a plate filled with two egg salad sandwiches, chips and a pickle. In the four hours he’d been working, Tristan had already assembled the fort’s exterior frame. He’d worked up one hell of an appetite. He downed the better half of his first sandwich in a couple bites before remembering he wasn’t with his SEAL buddies, Deacon, Garrett and Calder. “Jeez, sorry.” He used the napkin she’d also given him. “I do have manners—I just don’t usually have a whole lot of cause for using them.”

“You’re fine,” she said with a shy smile. “Mack was the same after a long day of games.”

Setting the plate she’d given him on the raised fort’s floor, he said, “That must’ve been a rush, huh? Him playing for the Cards?”

“It really was...” Judging by the way her smile faded, he’d touched on a sensitive issue.

He finished his second sandwich. “Never mind. None of my business.”

“No, it’s okay. Just hurts, you know? Remembering the good times. In a twisted way, it’s almost easier dwelling on the bad.”

True. When he thought of what a great little family he used to have, it killed him. Now with his ex remarried and his son in California, he preferred thinking how much he despised her instead of how much he missed his kid. While they’d been divorced for three years, she and Jack had always lived close. It’d been barely over a month since she’d sprung her marriage and cross-country move on him. The news shook him to the point that on his last mission, his concentration had been off while leading his team through a mine field. Damn near got them all killed. Once they were safely home, his CO hadn’t minced words about what a “shit storm” Tristan’s recent job performance had been. When the man whom Tristan greatly respected urged him to take time off, Tristan agreed.

“I had just found out I was pregnant when everything fell apart. The scandals only fully erupted after he was killed.” Leaning against the fort’s redwood frame, she turned reflective. “It was as if some higher power flipped a switch. One day, my life was intact. The next, it was gone.”

Exactly how he’d felt when Andrea took off.

After a few moments’ shared silence while he finished his lunch, she said, “Some days I have to force myself out of bed. For Cayden, and this little one,” she added with a pat to her belly. “I can’t just give up.”

“You’re lucky you have Cayden—and the baby.” He grabbed the cordless drill he’d brought along with an assortment of other tools from his house. He could’ve fought Andrea for joint custody, but figured in the end, it’d be harder for Jack.

The arrangement was pretty new, but he now only saw his son a couple times a year. Nowhere near enough. As much as it killed Tristan to admit, aside from him cabbaging on to his family, Jack’s stepfather was all right. An engineer. Worked nine to five and provided a more stable home life than Tristan ever could.

“You said you were in the navy, but never mentioned what you do.”

“I’m a SEAL.”

“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.”

Chapter Four

With Vivian thankfully gone, and Tristan and his mouthwatering chest in the front yard weed-eating, Brynn had finally gotten around to hanging her small family’s clothes on the line. Mack’s grandmother who’d lived in the home before her hadn’t owned a dryer. In the winter, it’d sometimes been rough finding a warm enough sunny day, but now that she’d gotten the hang of living more simply, Brynn had started to like it.

In St. Louis, the housekeeper had done laundry. Here in Ruin Bayou, Brynn had grown to find pleasure in the simple comfort of handling her son’s small clothes. She’d lost so much, but whenever she was tempted to abandon herself to pity, she remembered how many blessings she had left.

“Haven’t seen a woman under seventy doing this in a while...” Tristan rounded the corner of the house, blasting her with his lopsided smile. If she asked politely, would it be wrong for her to request he put his T-shirt back on? “If you need a dryer, I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind you doing loads at our house. Or, I could help you haul it all to the Suds & Swirl.”

“That’s okay.” She’d come to one of her bras and shoved it beneath a sheet. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Sure.” He folded his arms, which only exaggerated the size of his forearms and biceps. Like Vivian had earlier observed, his body was indeed ridiculous.

“Um, thanks, too, for your help mowing. The yard looks great for Cayden’s party.”

“Sure. By this afternoon, I should also have the fort finished.”

“You’re amazing—doing all this for strangers.” She pinned the first corner of the damp white sheet to the line. The fresh scents of laundry detergent and just-mown grass and the wholly masculine aroma of a man who’d spent hours working hard in the sun blended into an intoxicating balm that, had it been possible to bottle and sell, might’ve been called Home. Which only compounded the situation’s awkward-factor.

Before she’d even found the sheet’s other corner, Tristan already had it in hand, stretching it for her. “Let me.”

“Tristan, stop.” After placing a pin in the center and another near his hand, carefully avoiding even the briefest contact, Brynn shook her head. “You can’t imagine how much I appreciate your help, but I’ve got this. I might look helpless, but I’m still getting around fine. The baby’s not due for another month and that’s far too long for me to spend every day lounging on the sofa.”

Ignoring her request, he took a towel from the basket, folding it over the line before helping himself to her clothespin bag. “How was your pregnancy with Cayden?”

“Different.” Her heart couldn’t bear thinking of the exquisite nursery her little boy had had. The opulent, over-the-top showers. The private room in an exclusive VIP wing at a birthing center. Friends, servants and Mack, doting on her 24/7.

“I’ll bet.” He seemed as if he wanted to say more, but once again, didn’t.

“It’s a special time—at least it was for me with Cayden. This go around...” She shrugged, fighting back tears. Changing the subject was a must. “What you said when Vivian was here—about you helping Cayden with his baseball? I can’t thank you enough for once again offering your help, but...” She shrugged.

“But let me guess—you can do it yourself?”

Steeling her grip on the wicker clothes basket, Brynn nodded. “I made the mistake of depending on Mack for essentially everything, and I’ll never do it again. For my sake, for my children’s, I can’t.”

He laughed, which only incensed her. “My personal life might be a mess right now, but if there’s anything being in the navy has taught me, it’s that you’re always stronger surrounded by a well-oiled team.” Grabbing his T-shirt from where he’d draped it over the back of a patio chair, he shrugged it on. “Something you might want to think about as you head into battle.”

“I’m raising a little boy and will soon have a baby girl—that’s love, not war.”

He turned his back on her, sauntering toward Cayden’s fort. “Not sure what planet you’re living on, but pretty sure raising even one kid isn’t for the faint of heart—I can’t imagine what it’s going to take for you to handle two.”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, BRYNN finished applying the last of the cream-toned nursery trim paint.

Even though it’d been a while since he’d been gone, Tristan’s words still resonated deep within Brynn. Though she’d refused to admit it, he was right about parenting—especially when it came to handling it all on her own. But then what made him an expert? Did he even have a child of his own? She had enough of a financial cushion to last a few weeks after her daughter’s birth, but after that, she’d juggle infant care, housework and cooking with a job.

Did the thought scare her? You bet. But even more terrifying was the notion of once again giving up control.

With Cayden soon to be home, Brynn popped the lid on the paint can and washed her brush in the bathroom sink.

Her baby had been extra active and the kicks and rolls had taken a toll on Brynn’s lower back. Navigating the stairs proved tough, so she took her time, keeping a firm hold on the rail.

By the time she’d reached the bottom, Cayden’s bus screeched to a stop, so she put on a brave face and smiled when opening the screen door to greet him. “Hey, sweetie! Have a fun day?”

“Yeah!” He crushed her in a drive-by hug before racing through the house to bolt out the back door. “He finished! My fort’s done!”

For all the frustration she’d felt for Tristan, watching her son climb the ladder of the fort’s slide filled her with an entirely different emotion—gratitude. No matter how much she wanted to believe she could handle every aspect of her life on her own, in this particular mission, he’d proved her wrong. And considering how resolute she felt in her belief to hold tight to her independence, she hated that chink in her shiny new defensive armor.

“Mom!” Cayden hollered from his swinging bridge. “Come play pirate with me! We can use sticks for swords!”

Heart melting with love for her sweet son, Brynn not only made it across the yard to grab “sabers” from the brush pile, but she managed to hold her own against the cutest pirate she knew. Her happiness in the moment would’ve been complete, save for the lingering reminder that the only reason her son’s smile shone so bright was because of Tristan’s generosity with his time, strength and above-average assembly skills.

* * *

“YOO HOO!”

The next morning, Brynn was too pregnant to attempt ducking behind a bush to avoid her elderly neighbor, Georgia Booth. Having successfully dodged her for months, the effort itself had grown more tiring for Brynn than the fear of letting yet another new person into her life.

Kneeling in her front flower bed, planting marigolds she’d found on sale at D-Shawn’s, Brynn gave her neighbor a wave. “Good morning, Mrs. Booth!”

In ten seconds flat, the white-haired woman made it across the street and into Brynn’s yard. “Fine day for planting.”

“That it is.” Rocking back on her heels, Brynn smiled. “Your elephant ear bed makes me crazy with envy.”

Georgia reddened and the size of her grin tugged at Brynn’s heart. “Nice of you to notice. I planted those bulbs when my Harold—bless his soul—was off fighting in the South Pacific. They were so exotic. Made me feel closer to him.”

“What a nice story. Knowing the history of how those gorgeous plants came to be makes me love them even more.” Not to mention, wish she had more happy memories of her own. Mack’s death and resulting scandals had soiled everything they’d shared to the point Brynn often felt, aside from Cayden and the baby girl about to be born, she’d have been better off never knowing Mack at all. “Your husband did come home? From the war?”

“Oh, yes. Harold finished pharmacy school and ran the corner drugstore for nearly forty years. His oddball habits drove me crazy, but I still miss him.” Eyes welling, Georgia pressed her hands to her heart.

Which made Brynn teary, too. “I—I’m so sorry I haven’t taken the time to get to know you sooner. Working on the house and caring for my son—well, not that any of that is a good excuse, but I’ve been busy.”

Georgia waved off the apology. “Aren’t we all? But now that we are acquainted, no more avoiding me behind your rosebushes.”

Brynn gasped. All this time, Georgia had known?

“I might be old,” she said with a sly grin, “but I’m not blind. Whether you like it or not, the rumor mill in this town has been churning up a storm about you. I know your whole story and it breaks my heart. Mack might’ve had his wild streaks, but at heart, he was a good boy. Losing him didn’t just hurt you, but all of us.”

Chest aching, Brynn managed, “I—I’m not sure what to say.”

“No words necessary.” After taking the spade from Brynn’s hands, Georgia helped herself to the flat of marigolds, planting one before Brynn could even open her mouth. “Unless, of course, you want to invite me to this big birthday party I’ve heard your sweet Cayden is having.”

* * *

“WHAT’RE YOU WEARING?”

Late Saturday morning, Tristan looked up from the spy novel he’d been trying to lose himself in to check if his mom had developed spots or a fever. Nope, just a still-flushed complexion from her latest stint on the treadmill. “Why would you ask that?”

“You are planning on going to Brynn’s son’s party, aren’t you? You built the afternoon’s main attraction—other than the birthday boy himself.”

Tristan reread his latest page.

“Ignore me all you want, but not only do I think you should go, but you should wear something nice. I heard through the garden club grapevine that there will be no less than six eligible women in attendance.”

He whistled. “You want me to start something with all of them or just a few?”

“Don’t be fresh.” She took her two-pound hand weights from the coffee table. “Wouldn’t kill you to get out of here—did my heart good, seeing you help Brynn and her boy.”

Weary of his mom’s meddling, he marked his page and tossed his book to the sofa. “I’m mowing the lawn.”

“Hasn’t it only been a few days since you last did it?”

“Yeah, but it’s the only place I can go without you yapping at me.” He kissed her cheek. “I appreciate you caring—really, I do. But I’m good. Getting better every day.”

“Then prove it by for once, shaving, then putting on a pair of khakis and a nice shirt. Since I already bought a gift for Cayden, you can just add your name to my box. Not that I was invited, but I thought you might be.”

Laughing, he said, “You’ve covered all your bases...”

“Which reminds me—rumor has it you also volunteered to help little Cayden with his hitting. Want to tell me about that?”

Tristan winced. “Nope.”

His cell rang. Andrea. Was Jack okay?

“Who is it?” his mom asked.

Already on the way to the screened back porch, he told her before answering, hating the pain in his stomach that always accompanied just hearing his ex’s voice.

“Hey,” he answered, arms crossed, leaning against a wood column. “Everything all right with Jack?”

“Great.” Though the reception was crap, her tone struck him as breezy. As if she hadn’t a care in the world. Why did she get to be happy, yet he’d basically lost everything? “Only we’re on a day cruise, and I guess being on the water reminded Jack of his dad. He wants to talk to you.”

“Cool.” Tristan’s heart soared. His biggest fear wasn’t dying in a third-world country, but having his own son forget him. The fact that Jack remembered the times he and Tristan had spent on the water meant a lot.

“Dad?”

Tristan’s eyes welled and he wasn’t sure he could speak past the knot in his throat. “Hey, buddy! Hear you’re spending a day in my favorite place.”

“We’re on the Pacific and this boat is pretty big, but not even kinda the size of the ships you took me on. It doesn’t have awesome guns, either.”

Tristan laughed through silent tears. “Did you at least bring your own weapon in case pirates attack?”

“I have my best squirt pistol, but Mom said I couldn’t wear my battle helmet because I might not see good enough and fall off the boat.”

“That makes sense.” Wiping his cheeks with his wrist, Tristan laughed and nodded, picturing his son on the bow, fending off imaginary invaders.

“Well, I gotta go. Peter bought me food to feed the seagulls.”

“Be careful,” Tristan said, resenting the hell out of Andrea’s new husband for assuming his role. Although with Tristan having been gone three-quarters of the last year they’d been married, how much of an active part in Jack’s life had he really played? “They’ve got sharp beaks.”

Jack laughed. “I will, Dad! Love you!”

“Love you, too, bud.” Though his son had broken the connection, Tristan held his cell like a life raft, with the backs of his hands he took another swipe at his eyes.

“You okay?” His mom stepped up behind him, placing her comforting hand between his shoulder blades.

Though he was anything but okay, for her sake, he nodded. “I’m good. Sounds like he’s gonna have a great day.”

“How about you?”

“What do you mean?” Still unable to face anyone, he stared out at the lush backyard, focusing on the sweet-smelling honeysuckle winding up his mom’s pagoda. The quick-growing plant already needed a trim.

“I mean, are you going to Cayden’s party? Or you gonna sit around here and mope?”

“Mom,” he managed, aching to his core. “I know you have the best intentions, but please stay out of this.”

“But—”

Busting open the screen door with the heel of his hand, he strode across the backyard, intent on taking a run. Didn’t matter that he only wore leather flip-flops. What mattered was running as fast and far as possible from his problems—which now happened to include his well-meaning, yet nonetheless interfering, mom.

* * *

SINCE CAYDEN’S DAD HAD BEEN gone, and he didn’t make the baseball team, Cayden hadn’t been sure he’d ever be happy again. But then Mr. Tristan built his pirate ship fort and now all his friends were over and brought presents and his mom made a cake and his face hurt from smiling. And there were a really whole lot of presents!

“Having fun?” his mom asked when he was looking at the gift table.

“Uh-huh! When can I open stuff?”

She laughed, which made him even happier. “Pretty soon. First, we all need to sing to you and let you blow out the candles on your cake.”

“Okay. Is Mr. Tristan here? I want him to play pirate!”

“I haven’t seen him.” She looked around. “But maybe he’ll be here soon?”

“Hope so! He’s cool!”

Cayden went back to his fort, where his friend Dominic hung upside down while eating grape Laffy Taffy. “Well? Is Coach Tristan coming?”

“Maybe.” Cayden not only told all his friends the cool SEAL would be there, but Dominic said his mom told him that Tristan was gonna help Cayden with his hitting. Cayden hoped since it was his birthday, Tristan was just waiting to tell him about it at the party.

The longer the party was, the more Cayden worried Tristan wasn’t gonna come. Everyone he knew on the whole planet was there—except for his dad and old friends back in St. Louis. Even Coach Jason and his wife and their bad little kid were in the backyard.

For a few minutes, while blowing out his candles and opening presents, Cayden forgot about his new grown-up friend, but it was weird, no matter how many great toys he got, he still felt kinda sad about not seeing Tristan.

* * *

“YOU WERE KIND TO INVITE an old geezer like me to your son’s big day.” Georgia helped herself to seconds of Cayden’s chocolate, pirate-themed cake.

“Stop,” Brynn said from the lawn chair she was embarrassingly trapped in. “You get around far better than I do. Pretty sure I’m stuck.”

In a flash, Georgia was up and had Brynn’s hands, tugging her to her feet.

“Thanks.” Laughing, Brynn was surprised by the easy camaraderie she felt with the neighbor she’d avoided for so long. Yet in the same respect, the snippets of happiness she stole like this were what stood to hurt the most should her world once again fall apart.

Georgia had already returned her focus to cake. “Kindly don’t sit again until I’m done.”

“I won’t,” Brynn promised.

“Is that Tristan?”

Was it wrong that just hearing his name caused Brynn’s heart to skip a beat? Striving for a casual tone, she asked, “Where?”

“He’s gone now, but I swear I just saw him pulling one of your old tricks and ducking behind my hedge.” With a put-out sigh, she dropped her paper cake plate back to the picnic table. “At this rate, I’ll never satisfy my sweet tooth.”

Though the party was in full swing around her, classic Beach Boys playing on the ancient stereo she’d hauled outside, and practically every soul she’d met since moving to Ruin Bayou milling about her backyard, Brynn’s gaze—her very breath—felt centered around the sight of Georgia tugging a sheepish-looking Tristan from behind her overgrown forsythia.

Chapter Five

“Ouch.” Nothing served as more of a reminder that Tristan had lost his SEAL’s edge than being yanked by his ear out from under defensive cover by a woman old enough to be his great-grandmother.

“Don’t you ‘ouch’ me, young man. I’m still miffed at you from when you stole bubble gum from our drugstore.”

“Mrs. Booth, I was eight, and not only did I return it, but I wrote you a formal apology.”

She snorted. “Kids today, think you can get away with anything. Now, why are you snooping on Brynn’s party? Weren’t you invited?”

“Sure, I was invited, I just—”

“Don’t want to get too close to Cayden because he reminds you of Jack?”

Having been raised on the ideal that if he didn’t have anything nice to say then he shouldn’t say anything at all, Tristan clamped his mouth tight. Damn this busybody town. Why hadn’t he taken leave in Miami or Vegas?

“Go ahead and be mad at me.” Georgia was back to tugging, only this time she’d grabbed hold of his arm and was pulling him toward the party. “But when you get to my age, I don’t much care who thinks what and I call things like I see ’em. Ask me, you and Brynn and Cayden would make a nice family. She’s gonna need a man around, what with her new baby on the way.”

On that nutty note, Tristan had lost all patience. “Not only am I not in the market for a new wife, I’m still not over my old one.” Their official split may have been three years ago, but for him, it hadn’t seemed real until Andrea’s unexpected wedding and sudden move. “Pretty sure Brynn feels the same.”

“Snippy, huh?” Instead of looking properly chastised, Georgia grinned. “Only proves my point.”

Thankfully, Brynn’s mouthy neighbor returned to her chair and cake.

Though he knew everyone in Brynn’s yard, Tristan felt like an outsider. He had nothing in common with these people anymore. When he’d come home with Andrea and Jack in tow, his life had been in sync with his friends’. He and Jason talked fishing or sports while their wives dissed them on everything from leaving clothes on the floor to drinking milk from the carton. Jason’s wife, Trina, had been pregnant with their son Nathan during Tristan and Andrea’s last trip to town. Trina had been so happy in her pregnancy, she glowed. It’d brought back good memories of Andrea carrying Jack.

Eyeing very pregnant Brynn, Tristan wasn’t sure what to think. It went without saying, she was off-the-charts adorable—not that her looks mattered.

When she glanced up, almost as if having felt his stare, he died even more than when Georgia had caught him behind her bushes. “Hi,” she said, sounding so much from the north.

Everyone he knew from down south said hey. Not that it mattered. Just a thought to further put off the embarrassment of talking to her now that he’d been busted spying on her son’s big day.

“Cayden hoped you’d come.” She ducked her gaze. “Me, too. Can I get you some cake?”

Mouth dry, he nodded. “Sounds good. And sorry about that.” He gestured toward Georgia’s yard. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come. Nothing personal, you understand, just...” He stopped short of admitting how painful it was, being in the presence of boys nearly the same age as his son.

“I get it.” When she curved her slight fingers to his forearm, the warmth and comfort stemming from her simple touch felt akin to sipping his mother’s honeyed tea when battling a cold. Casting a shy smile, she shocked him by admitting, “I’ve done the same.”

While he tried and failed in coming up with a witty reply, she cut him a generous corner piece of her son’s cake. In passing the plate, their hands brushed. He wanted to ignore the faint rush of awareness—as if he were back in junior high and passing notes with the hottie sitting in front of him in English—but despite his best efforts, even after the fleeting moment passed, the sensation had not.

“Good to see you, man.” Jason delivered a light smack to his shoulder. After general small talk about high school kids having spray painted their school mascot on Polk Bayou bridge, and Trina pulling Brynn aside to discuss her potato salad recipe, Jason asked, “Vivian told me you want to privately coach Cayden. That true?”

“I s’pose.” Tristan tossed his plate and fork in a nearby trash can. He knew now he should never have made the offer. Being around Cayden might be good for the boy, but it would bring nothing but added pain for himself. “Though since his mom seems against it, I’ll probably steer clear of the whole situation.”

“Not so fast.” Jason downed the rest of his punch. “Your offer got me to thinking. Little Cayden was pretty torn up about not making the team, and Oliver Crouch’s mom called last night to tell me they’re probably moving. Since you already agreed to be my assistant coach, what do you think of going ahead and letting Cayden join his friends? Assuming you’ll get him up to speed.”

Tristan tipped his gaze to the sun, covering his face with his hands. The day he’d made that offer, Vivian had been a full-on bitch to Brynn. It hadn’t been right, and his suggestion to help had shut her up. He couldn’t have said then why he’d done it, meaning he sure as hell didn’t know now. All he did know was that he felt backed into a corner on the whole issue and didn’t like it. On his own with Brynn, when they’d stood side by side at her clothesline, and warm sun beat down on them and the smell of those fresh-washed clothes brought on sentimental longings for his more simple, younger years, he’d made that speech to her about everything being easier with a team. But after the painful call with his son, for his own self-preservation, he needed to retreat. “For the record, I never said I’d be your assistant coach.”

His old friend grinned. “Pretty sure you did.”

Tristan sighed. “Look, I need to start thinking about getting back to the base. I’m out of shape and—”

Jason whistled loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Someone mind temporarily killing the music?”

One of the older kids obliged.

“Seeing as this is Cayden’s birthday, my friend Tristan and I have cooked up a little surprise.”

“Jason...” Tristan said under his breath. “I never agreed to squat.”

“What is it, Coach? Hi, Tristan!” Cayden stood in front of them.

For Tristan, the kid’s huge grin and jumping brought on a wicked case of indigestion.

“Not sure if you knew this,” Jason said to the boy, “but your dad and I were good friends. He was the greatest ball player to ever come out of this town—heck, the whole state. Because of that, I’m betting somewhere inside you is just as great a hitter. You only need a little extra practice to coax him out.”

Cayden cocked his head. “What’s that mean?”

His mom stood behind him, her hands on his slight shoulders. “Jason...”

“All that means,” the coach said, “is that Tristan is going to teach you a few things about the game, and I’m inviting you to play with the Mud Bugs.”

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