Navy Seal Promise

Kyle walked around the car, studying its unpolished lines. Dents. Scratches. A paint job was the least of her worries. But she could ride again.

The license plate on the back bumper snagged Kyle’s attention. “MERCY,” he read out loud.

“Maybe it’s a gift from the gods,” Hick proposed. As both Kyle and Pappy frowned at him in turn, he gesticulated in a brusque motion toward the car, “As benediction for past crimes. Christ. He’s been on his best behavior for now on thirty years.”

Kyle fought a grin. “Are you waxing poetic on us, Hick?”

Hick scowled, uncomfortable. “Ah, to hell with ya’.”

Kyle chuckled. He’d grown to like Hick as much as Pappy. The man had battled PTSD for well on a decade after his time in the service, a fact which Kyle hadn’t known until after his recovery and several time-consuming talks working overtime in the garage alone with the man. Through the long hours, he and Hick had developed a quiet understanding of one another.

“Say you’re right, Hick...” Pappy shook his head at the unlikelihood of the scenario, but a smile worked at the creases of his mouth. With two fingers, he smoothed his Roosevelt ’stache. “...why a broken-down Trans Am? Why not a Cobra? Or a Ferrari?”

“Do I look like I commune with the righteous?” Hick muttered.

“So how ’bout asking him for us?” Pappy nudged Kyle. “I think I speak for every man here—and Mavis—when I say that we’d love to know who she came from and what Jim Boy plans to do with her when he’s done figuring her out.”

Kyle spared a glance for the sky through the open doors. A stiff breeze blew in steady drafts. It kicked up sand from ditches and spread it across the lot. The vintage cars would have to be moved inside within the next hour. “I’m sure he’d tell either of you if you ponied up and asked.”

The quick cacophony of knocking broke through the chatter. Kyle glanced back at the half-walled office. Mavis peered through one of its three-sixty windows and offered him a brisk come-hither motion. “’Scuse me,” he said to the men. Ducking his head through the door, he asked, “What’s up?”

Mavis cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear. Pulling her mouth away from the receiver, she covered it. “Customer complaint. Wants to talk to my superior.” She tuned in to the caller and uncovered the mouthpiece as her spine straightened. “Yes, he’s a man. What’s that got to do with anything?” Her mouth fell open. “Now listen. Just because I am a woman does not mean I can’t tell you that the service you received last week was quality and you wouldn’t find better anywhere south of Demopolis. This is your fourth service and your third complaint in two years, Mr. Lowman. That’s right; I remember. If you don’t like our work, then why haven’t you taken your Chevy to one of those dime-a-dozen, select-service auto chains they stick on every corner? And another thing—”

Kyle eased back against the door, smiling as his little sister chewed the chauvinist on the line down to size. He knew his father would’ve moved heaven and earth for her to give up her spooky line of work and take up the banner of executive assistant at Bracken Mechanics. She could be a bit of a rough diamond, but among her various talents she could boast an eidetic memory, a talent for negotiation and bargaining, and an excellent knack for reading people. She also knew as much about cars as Kyle. She’d refused their father’s many offers, however, and had stuck to part-time bookkeeping and payroll.

As Pappy approached the office door, Kyle nodded for him to join him. They split a stick of gum. Pappy took the only available seat in the office, kicking back with his heels on the desk.

Before Mavis finished talking Lowman down, Pappy’s head bobbed, and he snorted, startling himself out of a snatched nap. When he peered at Kyle and saw the raised brow, he reluctantly lowered his feet from the desk.

“Not getting any sleep at home?” Kyle wondered.

Pappy yawned until his jaw popped. “Ah, it’s the great-grands. They’ve been staying with us for a few weeks. You forget how noisy the parent life is.” Shifting on the chair, he opened a newspaper on the desktop, wetting his fingertips to flick through the pages to the auto section. “Laurel’s getting a divorce, you know.”

Caught off guard, Kyle frowned at the man. “No. Really?”

“Yep,” Pappy said with a grim nod. “Stress got to her. Joey’s hours. He kept taking extra shifts, especially when the last couple of babies came along. Twins.”

“Twins,” Kyle said, trying to digest it. “Holy shit.”

“Laurel quit her job at the school to take care of the brood. She loves those babies, but she never could get a break. In the end, she and Joey realized they couldn’t get back to one another. Pressure broke them.”

“She okay?” Kyle asked, shifting against the jamb. It was odd, talking about his ex in this manner.

“Ah, she’ll be all right,” Pappy wagered. “She’s working again, teaching summer school. It’s been good for Alva, having all that time alone with the children. And Laurel’s starting to stand up straight again now that some of the burden has been lifted.”

“I reckon so,” Kyle muttered. “Especially with... How many kids did you say?”

“Four.”

Kyle might’ve choked. “Four?”

Pappy chuckled at his reaction. “Yes, sir. Her and Joey managed to turn out four in four years.”

It sounded like a lot. Still, Kyle didn’t know quite how to take the news of the divorce. It wasn’t long after their long-term relationship had gone belly-up that Laurel had taken up with Joe Louth, a local firefighter. It hadn’t been long after that that the two announced plans to marry. Laurel had always been vocal about her desire for traditional family life, down to the kids—a whole baseball team’s worth. Before Joe, before BUD/S, she and Kyle had talked about making that a reality.

The damn frag changed a lot of things.

It wasn’t a surprise to him that Laurel had moved on to make her dream of marriage and kids a reality. Nor was it a surprise that she’d grown weary of Joey’s firefighting hours. She’d barely lasted through Kyle’s first deployment.

Mavis finally hung up the phone. Pappy chuckled at her smug expression. “Ah, honey, ain’t no mistake. Hearing you take J. T. Lowman down a few pegs cheers me up somethin’ fierce.”

“It wasn’t the worst part of my day,” she admitted, shredding the complaint report methodically down the middle. “Sorry, bro. Guess I didn’t need you after all.”

Kyle held up a hand. “You lullabied Pappy into an afternoon siesta and saved me a hassle. Good work.” He pushed off the jamb and walked back into the garage.

It was beginning to feel crowded with Hick and a few of the other boys rounding up the show cars and parking them bumper to bumper in the empty service stations. Kyle smiled when one of them tested the motor of his father’s old Mustang, revving it so the deep-throated growl of high-performance ponies galloped up the walls in a chill-inducing charge. A few of the boys leaned out of the cars to whistle appreciatively. Kyle applauded. He’d fallen in love with the noise early, much as he’d fallen in love with the laugh of a strident redheaded girl.

The last had always been platonic. Decidedly platonic. He’d never wanted to kiss Harmony. Never thought about kissing her. Never thought overtly about any particular part of her body. Especially not her mouth in all the colorful imaginative ways he had over the last sixteen hours...

He didn’t want this. Any of it. It threatened to take one of the most important relationships in his life and rend it in half. What had seemed ironclad yesterday was now on the verge of being crushed beneath the heel of his boot—like some intricate origami bird. Sure, it looked sturdy, but how well would it hold up under the flat side of his shit-kickers?

Kyle had to lock it down. If it meant retreating to all the training techniques he’d learned through the years, so be it. The white-winged crane that was him and Harmony and, partially, Bea’s connection was crucial to each of them. And, damn it, no bad mission, questionable homecoming or lack of female companionship was going to undermine it.

He found himself facing the Trans Am again, this time from the back. The word MERCY caught his eye once more.

Something crawled down the back of his neck. A feeling he didn’t like. It was usually his chief indicator that something was about to go terribly wrong on a mission. The Spidey sense had saved his life more than a time or two overseas as well as the lives of his teammates.

As much as he’d like to give the engine another look, he sidestepped the car, giving it a wide berth. No, he didn’t know where or who it had come from. At this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It smelled like trouble in Goodyear tires and a double coat of dust.

CHAPTER FIVE

“THIS IS JUST EMBARRASSING,” Mavis mumbled, slouching farther into the white rocker on the front porch of Hanna’s Inn.

“How long have they been at this?” Harmony asked from the next chair, scarfing a triangular-shaped sandwich. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Storm prep at B.S. had kept her and the other airfield employees hopping throughout the day. She still had to go home and put up her own storm shutters, but her parents lived on the bay. They didn’t just have to contend with the possibility of wind. There was the very real threat of flooding. So she’d come to make sure they were okay first.

While her father and several other strong-armed fellas connected to Flora, Belle Brides and the tavern were still tying down and boarding up, the women had taken a well-deserved break with tall glasses of lemon ice water and cucumber sandwiches.

Mavis frowned sideways at the others. “What’s wrong with them? They’re supposed to be the grown-ups.”

Harmony gobbled another sandwich. “Mmm. Let them have their fun.”

“Ooh, ooh,” Adrian Bracken said, straightening against the high back of her rocker. “He’s coming.”

“Yes,” Olivia Leighton hissed as she leaned forward to get a better look down the street. “’Bout time. I’ve earned this today.”

Harmony watched, amused, as her mother, Briar, ran her fingers through her medium-length hair and smirked when she caught Mavis inching up a bit in her chair. “Oh, good God.”

“What?” Mavis asked, trying to look as surly as Kyle had the night before.

“Look at you, trying to get a peek.” Harmony slapped her knee as she sat back and laughed. “You’re just like them.”

“Am not,” Mavis said, offended.

“Are, too,” Harmony returned.

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

“Sh, sh! Girls!” Olivia said, waving a blind hand at them as the object of their fascination finally jogged into view on the sidewalk lining the scenic highway beyond the gravel lot.

He wore red running shorts, low-cut socks, running shoes and nothing else except a black band around his bicep that held a portable speaker. Music followed him, the crash of heavy metal angry enough for Mavis to appreciate. He’d been bronzed by the sun and was fit to please.

A fine male specimen indeed. Harmony slowly licked a dab of dill cream cheese from the corner of her mouth and reached for the cool glass on the small table next to her chair. The temperature was rising.

A shrill whistle cut across the porch, followed by the impressive strain of a rebel yell. When the man’s head swiveled, Olivia called out, “Get you some, hot stuff!”

The runner grinned back and jerked his chin in their direction. “Right back at ya, ma’am!”

Mavis groaned and turned fifty shades of red, failing epically to blend in with the yellow seat cushions.

Harmony guffawed. “Do y’all do this every day?”

“We have a standing appointment with Running Man every other weekday,” Briar admitted, having the decency to look somewhat embarrassed by the display.

“Rain or shine.” Adrian sighed. “He never disappoints.”

“Does Dad know about this?” Mavis drawled.

“He knows it’s harmless,” Adrian replied.

Harmony tilted her head to see her mother better. “Is Bea with the guys? I couldn’t find her downstairs.”

“In the breakfast room of the new wing,” Briar told her. “A visitor stopped by to help us prep, but she snagged him first.”

Kyle. Harmony caught Mavis’s knowing look and brushed the crumbs from her blouse. The one person who knew about her long-ago feelings for Kyle was Mavis. They were close in age and had grown chummy through the years. Chummy enough for secrets. They never spoke of it, mostly because Mavis found the idea mortifying. No one was more relieved nothing had come of Harmony’s crush on Kyle than his baby sister.

Someone clattered up the porch steps and Harmony turned her attention to Roxie Strong. She wore high-arched heels and an immaculate day dress. Nobody ever found a wrinkle on Roxie. She had aged superbly. Though lately she looked tired. Despite her busy hours as a wedding coordinator, seamstress and the taxing business of being a mother of three, she’d hidden the wear that came with her combined workload with admirable ease.

“Harmony,” Roxie greeted, embracing her warmly. “I saw Bea earlier. I gave her sweets. I hope that’s okay.”

“Did she give you the lip?” Harmony asked.

“The pouty one, yes.” Roxie nodded. “It’s impossible to resist. How do you say no to her?”

“I’m the local bad witch around these parts,” Harmony admitted. She narrowed her eyes on her mother. “Especially with the Good Witch on the loose.”

Briar blinked innocently. “What? I’m the Mammy. I’m allowed to indulge her.”

“Hmm,” was Harmony’s response. “I’m going inside. Hopefully, I won’t find her on the downhill slope of a sugar high.”

Harmony left the women to their devices, retreating into the hushed cool lobby. The building encapsulated the essence of her mother’s soul. No wonder her father, Cole, had found refuge here. It wasn’t easy, the life of innkeepers. But his past penchant for wandering had washed ashore here at Hanna’s, and, under its roof, in Briar’s embrace, it had quickly checked out.

Growing up the innkeepers’ daughter had had the opposite effect. Like Gavin, Harmony was more of a wild thing. Living in the third floor with guest suites below, there had been no running or stomping. She’d learned how to maintain a proper “inside voice” early on. Meeting new people every day and hearing their stories had always been a source of enjoyment. But was it any wonder she’d craved days at The Farm and its wide open spaces?

There was something about coming home, however. As she followed the long, curving hall with its ornate line of floor-to-ceiling windows into the new wing, Harmony trailed her fingertips along the edge of an antique breakfront. The paintings lining the new hallway were local artistry, their subject dedicated solely to bay life. Today the view was obstructed by wood panels that would protect against surge should the storm bring it.

The new suites were built into the far end of the wing, allowing more privacy. They were larger with modern touches that the old rooms, regardless of charm, weren’t able to accommodate. The bed-and-breakfast now boasted ten suites in all—four in the original floor plan, six more in the new. It would open with a spectacular showing in a few short weeks, courtesy of Roxie, whose party planning vision knew no rival. Harmony looked forward to watching the inn come alive in its newfound evolution. Her parents were already training new help to take on a percentage of the expanding workload.

About time, she thought. Briar had held the same staunch notion for decades—since her mother, Hanna, had run the inn from top to bottom until her death, and so could she. Until recently, she’d ignored entreaties to hire a small staff.

It wasn’t just the new rooms that had worn Briar down, Harmony knew. The pain in her hands, a gift from arthritis, had gone steeply uphill over the last two years. Instead of admitting it out loud, she’d hired an assistant gardener on the sly. Others had followed—an office boy to answer phones, a maid, another maid... Loosening her hold on the reins was difficult for Briar, Harmony could see, but she was glad her mother was no longer carrying the full load of responsibilities.

The breakfast room would greet guests with coffee and vittles in the coming weeks. For now, it was roped off until furnishings were set and décor had been given the final nod.

The ropes hadn’t stopped Bea from sneaking in. Neither Briar nor Cole would’ve stopped her anyway. Her companion hadn’t thought twice about skirting the red velvet cordon or its Please Keep Out sign, either.

The pair had set up a tea service on the black lacquered coffee table in the center of the room. Bea sat on one of the pristine new sofa cushions. She wore a plastic tiara. She held her teacup in one hand, pinkie out for good measure, and a magic wand in the other. As Harmony watched from the doorway, her daughter slurped the remains of her imaginary tea and set it down. “Bibbity bobbity boo!” she chirped, tapping the wand on the end of the cup. As she picked it up again, she addressed her companion. “Would you care for more tea, dear prince?”

“Sure thing, princess.” Kyle held out his teacup. In his hands, it looked like something Alice might drink from at the bottom of the rabbit hole. Through his two-fingered hold, there was a teensy, visible fault line along its rounded edge, likely from his handling.

Bea repeated the incantation, flicking her wand over the rim. “Here are your magic sprinkles,” she chimed, picking up a glitter-filled salt shaker her Mammy had loaned her. She tipped it over Kyle’s cup.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kyle said. He tapped his cup lightly against hers and the two drank, Bea slurping again. “Ah,” Kyle said with a nod. “That’s the stuff.”

“Unicorn biscuit?” she asked, offering him a pink plastic crumpet on a plate. “I had Gar-song make them special.”

Harmony hid a snort of laughter behind her hand. Under the shaded brim of his battered cap, Kyle’s gaze lifted over Bea’s waxen hair and zeroed in on Harmony’s hiding place. The amusement that had woven warm filaments around his eyes and mouth staggered. His smile tapered slightly. The glitch bothered her, but the frisson of worry it brought was singed away by the zing of intensity he threw at her.

“My compliments to the chef,” he said instead of giving her away. “It’s been a while since I had a decent unicorn biscuit.”

“Unicorns don’t like when Gar-song gives their biscuits to strangers,” Bea expounded, nibbling a purple crumpet.

“I imagine not.”

“They poke him,” Bea divulged. She emitted a conspiratorial giggle. “Right in the—”

The words ended on a shriek as Harmony’s arms wrapped around Bea’s middle and she turned the point of her nose into the sensitive place beneath her daughter’s jaw. The shriek merged into laughter, sweet clangors of it. “Right in the what?” Harmony asked.

“Nothing!” Bea claimed.

“Ah, now I’ll never know,” Kyle groaned, setting his teacup down with a clack.

Harmony hugged Bea, tugging her on to her lap. She noticed the lace-trimmed handkerchief with the Hanna’s Inn crest Kyle had unfolded over one muscled thigh in lieu of a napkin. He was sitting cross-legged with knees raised several inches, thanks to the confines of the sofa at his back. As a result, his jeans, worn soft but still a good shade of blue like his eyes, stretched taut underneath the hem of his gray T-shirt. Harmony cleared her throat, making some effort not to stare at his inseam. She lowered her head to Bea’s again. “Did you tell Prince Charming about your new pet unicorn?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Bea said with a pert nod. “We’re going riding together when the storm’s gone.”

“Oh,” Harmony said. “Playdate for two.”

“He said you could come, too,” Bea added almost as an afterthought after slurping from her teacup once more.

Harmony darted a glance over the table. Kyle’s bronze arms, the pronounced black-inked SEAL trident tattooed on his bicep peeking out from underneath his left sleeve, rested on his knees. His hands were linked. Watching. Demurring again from his laser focus, she still couldn’t miss the introspection that muffled the relaxed affection she was so used to seeing. He hadn’t moved but an inch or two since he saw her standing at the door. Yet she sensed that nothing about him was relaxed anymore. Even with the ottoman between them, she could feel the strains of tension. The type a watchful panther might coil inside itself while waiting for its prey.

She didn’t feel like the hunted. Her heart palpitated, out of sync. The frown. The wariness. It was almost as if he saw the hunter in her. She was the threat.

She didn’t like that one bit.

“Ooo, I forgot,” Bea chirped. She reached into the picnic basket, rooting around. “The rainbow cake!”

It was a loaf of apple bread wrapped in cellophane. Several slices were gone from it so the pattern on the inside could be seen: rainbow swirls. It was Briar’s work, today’s special treat for the granddaughter she so loved to indulge. Before Bea could even think about cutting it, Harmony took the plastic knife from her hand. She unwrapped the cellophane on the tray so no crumbs would scatter on the coffee table.

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