The SEAL's Valentine

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.”