The SEAL's Valentine

“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.”