Chapter 7
The afternoon sun beat down on Jackie’s shoulders, her knit pants rolled up high onto her thighs, sweat sticking her tank top to her back. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, palm fronds scraping her face.
Mother Nature’s latest tantrum had left a real mess in its wake, which Jackie had been working to clean up for almost five hours now.
It was one of those tasks with no end in sight, when all you could do was the next thing before you, one after the other.
At least it would keep her occupied while she waited for the roads to clear and her path to freedom to open up.
Selena squealed with laughter in the distance.
Sloan was with her on the beach, alternating between making his security rounds of the resort and playing with the girl and kitten, Mimi, who had returned unscathed the morning after the storm.
Jackie smiled. Her daughter’s happiness was the best sound she’d heard in ages, and Sloan was worth his weight in gold, if only for his babysitting abilities.
There’d been a time when she’d dreamed of having a husband to share her life with again, a man to be a father to Selena, to help Jackie pick up from even the biggest storm.
But there was no one to help her, no one to share this journey, and in that moment she felt the absence of a man in her life more acutely than she had in years.
It’s worse because Bill’s gone now, too.
“Hey, can I help?”
Razorback stood a few yards away, his fatigues replaced by khaki shorts and a running shirt that made him look like a plastic manikin in a department store window. Real men didn’t have bodies like that, did they? “You didn’t sleep long,” she said.
“Almost five hours. That’s all I need.” He bent and picked up an armful of broken fronds, the muscles of his forearms standing out in relief. “Where are you putting these?”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes, enjoying the sight he made. “To the left of that dune. You don’t have to help, you know. I’ve got this.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” He smiled, the gesture transforming his face from formidably strong to handsome and kind. He filled his arms completely and brought the detritus to the pile. “Leave yours here,” he said when he returned. “I’ll bring them over with mine.”
They fell into a rhythm, each collecting branches and palm fronds, with Razorback carrying them to the dunes. Together they worked far more quickly than she’d been able to alone, a satisfying clearing taking shape between the resort pool and the tall grasses that separated them from the beach.
She moved toward the pile, her arms full, just as he was scooping up the rest of the branches.
“Here,” he said, opening his arms just enough for her to press her bundle into his.
His hand touched the length of her upper arm as she pulled away, an electric tingle traveling up to her neck, down her spine, and settling in her pelvis.
Holy moly.
She stepped back. “Thanks.” He turned and walked toward the dune, her eyes lingering on his backside and the strong stride of his steps.
She blew out air and went back to the work at hand, suddenly realizing she knew virtually nothing about this man.
When he returned, she set about rectifying that. “Tell me about your life in New York.”
“What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The usual stuff. Are you married?”
“Divorced.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“Shortly after your time with the SEALs.”
“That’s right.”
There was a story there. One that likely involved an emotional landmine, if she guessed correctly. But didn’t divorce usually come from some kind of explosion?
“You?” he asked.
“Widow.” It was her standard response, usually spoken in her most heavily accented Spanish. People asked far fewer questions when they thought you might not understand.
“I’m sorry. How did he die?”
“Car accident. Where do you live?”
“Upper East Side.”
“Brownstone?”
“Yes.”
“Nice.”
“It keeps out the cold. You don’t like answering questions about your husband.”
“No, and you don’t like answering questions at all.”
“This is fun. Let’s keep going.”
She looked up then, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not. The heat was getting to her, and the quick movement of her head made her dizzy. “Seriously?”
“What did you do before this?”
“I was a reporter.”
“For whom?” he asked.
“Do you always say whom?”
“Only when it’s appropriate. Who did you work for?”
“None of your beeswax.” She plopped down on her bottom in the sand. “Why did you become a SEAL?”
“To see if I could.” He kept working.
“You do that a lot? Try something just to see if you can do it?”
“Everyone does that.”
“No, they don’t.”
He braced his elbows on his thighs and looked at her. “You opened a resort on the beach with no husband and no help. Why did you do that?”
She laughed. “Utter desperation.”
“I became a doctor to see if I could. A surgeon, too. The best things in life are hovering on that edge of can and cannot.”
“You’re a SEAL and a surgeon? Bit of an overachiever there, aren’t you? But I have to disagree. I think the best things in life come easy. The things you’re meant to find are put firmly in your path.”
He laughed. “You have money, don’t you? Only someone with money would think like that.”
“You’re not supposed to ask people about money.”
“So what?”
She looked at the horizon. The sun was low in the sky.
Soon it would set, and she hadn’t even thought about making dinner.
She considered whether or not to be honest with him, and wondered why this question would give her pause more than the others.
“I grew up with money. I don’t have any now.
” Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m not even sure how I’m going to pay the bill for you two coming here.
” She was quiet for a minute. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t do girlfriends.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Boyfriend?”
He laughed toward the sky, a deep baritone sound she liked immediately. He pointed to her. “That’s not what I meant.”
“So why no girlfriend?”
“I don’t need one. Been there, done that.”
“Your ex.”
“I don’t see a man around here, helping you pick up the branches around your glass house.”
She pursed her lips. There was a dark cloud on the horizon, and she feared this break in the stormy weather would be short-lived. “I have to think of Selena.”
“And what about yourself?”
“I’m fine.”
He picked up his pile and walked it to the dune, then sat beside her in the sand, facing the water. “You’re lonely.”
“So are you.”
“My needs are met.”
He meant sex. She shook her head. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Did your husband make you happy?”
“No.”
“Yet you still think happiness exists.”
“And you don’t.” Her eyes raked over his features, so masculine and strong. There was a stubbornness to the set of his jaw, a flame somewhere behind his eyes that spoke of great pain and even lower expectations of other people. “You never have.”
“No.”
It showed. He held out no hope for the one thing she wanted to believe above all others. That there was someone for her in this life, that she wasn’t meant to be alone, that it was possible she would find happiness as part of a couple one day. A family for Selena.
Something about this man resonated inside her, like the thinnest of wine glasses vibrating with a soprano’s voice.
But she would find no happiness here, only emptiness that resembled what she was after, a mirror image of the real thing.
She didn’t know how she knew it, but she was certain just the same.
Razorback was not the answer to any of her questions.
“I need to get dinner started.” She moved to stand up, but he beat her to it and offered his hand.
Grudgingly, she took it, letting him pull her to her feet.
He smelled like hard work and virile male, and she stood perilously close to him, his hand still holding hers.
Her heart skipped a beat. “What happened to your face?”
He pulled away from her hand. “Afghanistan. I was carrying an oxygen tank for a patient—a kid who’d taken a bullet in his lung. The shrapnel from a roadside bomb punctured the tank and set it on fire.”
She inhaled sharply, the back of her hand coming reflexively to her mouth as she imagined the scene he described. “I’m so sor—”
“The kid died. If you want to feel sorry for somebody, feel sorry for him.”