Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Penny
I t was well after nine p.m. when I pulled onto the private road that led to a massive house built onto the side of a mountain.
The rock had to have been blasted away and earth moving equipment must have been used to clear enough space for the wide expanse of level ground that stretches before the cabin-style structure before being handed back to nature where the rugged terrain resumes and plunges over steep drop.
This man isn't relying on military retirement money.
Of course, I read about Calvin Murdock and his brothers when I was trying to find the man my husband spoke of in awe. After retiring from the Navy, Calvin returned to his hometown of Moonshine Ridge where he helps run Murdock timber with his two brothers, Carver and Clinton.
Even through the rain-soaked dark of night, the house is impressive. Looks like the timber business is good in Moonshine Ridge.
No one answered my knocking when I arrived. I could see any lights on inside, and the porch light is lit, but dim. Maybe so it doesn't block the stars on nights with better weather. Maybe it's solar and the rain kept it from getting a full charge through the day.
Either way, this is the end of the road for me. If this isn't the right Calvin Murdock-- or if he refuses to help me-- I don't know where to turn next.
Whether no one's home despite the late hour, or not answering the door, I have nothing better to do than wait. Climbing back into my car, I put the seat back as far as it'll go and shiver in my rain-soaked clothes.
It's close to eleven when I'm awakened by the flash of bright headlights through my windows.
The lights flood the interior of my car and then turn, heading into the mountain. It only takes a second for me to realize the car is heading into one of the bays of the four-car garage.
Scrambling out of the driver's seat, wrapped in a towel I found in the back seat that I've been using as a blanket, I quickly rush to intercept the car before it can pull into the garage and close the massive door behind it.
"Excuse me." I stop just past the eves of the garage, out of the rain that's still pouring down.
I'm not sure if I should go any further inside, at least, not until the person inside the sleek, black pick-up truck knows I'm here.
But the automatic opener engages above me and the heavy, decorative door of the garage begins to descend, forcing me to make the split-second decision to move all the way inside the surprisingly warm interior of the space.
The driver's side door of the truck swings open and I resist the urge to run up to it and immediately accost the driver.
"Excuse me?"
I call a little louder, hoping not to startle the person still inside.
One long leg slides into view, a booted foot resting on the heavy-duty step rail before going still.
"Mr. Murdock?" I take a step closer.
That leg is long. It's thick, and wrapped in faded denim. It doesn't look like it belongs to a man in his fifties-- but it definitely belongs to a man.
I gulp.
Of course, Calvin Murdock probably has a family. A wife who's blissfully asleep somewhere in this mammoth cabin. From what Tyler told me when he was serving under his command, Calvin is several years older than I am. He could have grown children. This could be his son.
A hand reaches out and takes hold of the door frame above the window.
That hand is not the hand of a twenty-something man. It's large, and gnarled, the skin tanned and rough, and there's no ring on the third finger.
"Commander Calvin James Murdock?"
The hand on the door tightens and a head slowly moves into sight as the man peers from the driver's seat to look toward me.
He's not what I was expecting.
I was expecting an old man. Someone who might remind me of my dad. With thinning hair and kind eyes, maybe some paunch to his stomach.
The man that cautiously eases his way out of the truck until he's standing at his full height beside it makes my mouth dry.
My knees feel unsure and I don't think it's from the days of driving, the freezing rain, or the hope that the man in front of me might be willing to help me when no one else has been able-- or willing-- to.
He's easily over six foot, with a broad, stocky build and muscles that fill out the worn jeans and flannel shirt.
Unruly hair that's more salt than pepper curls above his collar, the lower half of his face covered with thick whiskers even more gray than his hair, and dark eyes intensely bore into me like he's reading my soul.
This man looks like he's still every bit the Navy SEAL he once was. Like he's kept up with his training and the only thing he's let go since retiring was the haircut. They could call him back up tomorrow and he'd probably be ready to go.
"What are you doing in my garage?"
I notice his right hand is still out of sight, appearing to lay casually somewhere inside the cab of his truck. But I was married to a military man for close to a decade before Tyler was killed in action. I remember the caution, the hidden weapons always close at hand.
I try to smile, but the cold is setting in. Or maybe the stress. Or maybe it's the man regarding me with cautious curiosity that has my body reacting in ways that have me confused.
"I think you knew my husband."
Calvin
H er husband. Fuck.
I feel like an asshole. The worst kind of old man; the kind that leers at a woman who's far too young for him and is in obvious need of help, and only sees the feminine shape of her curves under her soaked clothes.
From the moment I caught my first glimpse of her in the rear view mirror, my body has been spinning out of control with need. Now that I'm standing in front of her and have my first real look, the only thought my brain can hang on to is mine .
"His name was Tyler," the woman offers, tentatively. "Tyler Cook."
The primal drumbeat pulsing in my veins picks up at the word "was."
"He was a SEAL in your--"
"I remember him." I cut her off with a slow nod, images of a confident young seaman in my command, what-- I do the math in my head, cross-referencing with location and missions-- must have been twelve years back now, coming to mind.
"Oh. Good." She licks her lips and worries the lower one between her teeth, pulling a faded beach towel tighter around her shoulders like a shawl.
"He always spoke very highly of you," she says softly, her gaze dropping to the concrete floor between us. "You're the only person I could think of who might help me."
With my brain partially back online, I usher my mysterious guest into the house where I can find her some dry clothes to put on.
After a shower, she joins me back downstairs, finding me in the kitchen microwaving a frozen pizza and halfway through a glass of bourbon that was poured fuller than usual to begin with.
Her name is Penny and she brings back memories of a kid in his twenties; the homegrown, farm boy type, with blonde hair and blue eyes.
Tyler Cook was smart, and he was brave, with the kind of cockiness that comes with youth.
Mostly, I remember he was in love with his girl back home. Talked about her every chance he got.
Now, it seems, that girl is sitting at my kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea while she talks about a husband that came home from his last deployment in a box.
That's not why she drove across five states to find me though.
"The local police think I'm making it up." She stares into the cooling mug in her hands and lets out a heavy sigh. "Friends, family, neighbors; everyone thinks I'm either paranoid or looking for attention. My family staged an intervention and demanded I go back to counseling."
"What about your in-laws? What does Tyler's family think?"
I push my attraction to the distraught woman in my table into some far corner of my brain, running the cutter through the pizza and forcing my focus onto the details of her story.
"Sorry. Not much of a cook," I apologize as I set the nuked pizza on the table. "Wasn't expecting company, or I'd have been more prepared."
Penny looks at the pizza, with its unidentifiable toppings, the burnt edges and the soggy middle, like it's a gourmet meal. I open the freezer door to pull out another one and pop it in the microwave. If she's hungry, I want her to eat.
"Tyler's family and I kinda fell out a while ago," she confesses quietly. "I don't think they approved of me moving on after his death. It was like they were allowed to keep living, but I was supposed to stop everything and just sit with it forever."
Three years, she told me. Three years since uniformed soldiers showed up on her doorstep to tell her that her husband was dead. Three years to absorb the news and adjust her expectations of the future she'd planned on living.
"So you started dating again, I take it?"
My attempt to sound casual turns my voice gruff instead. It's none of my business if she's dating again. She should be. She's young and beautiful and she deserves the happy ending that got stolen from her.
The fact that thinking of another man touching her has jealousy boiling my blood is completely beside the point. Beside the point-- and inappropriate.
I take my frustration with myself out on the second pizza as I attack it with the cutter.
"No." Penny laughs softly, as I take a seat across from her. "I started gardening."