Romance: Military Romance: Protected by the SEAL (Contemporary Hero Bad Boy Navy SEAL Romance) (New Adult BBW Alpha Male Virgin Protector Short Stories) (24 page)

The nurse hollered at him over the pulsing of the chopper’s blades, “She’s fading fast, how far out are we?”

“Ten minutes,”
Hold on Sydney.
  Max pushed the chopper as fast as it could go.  He’d waited his entire life for a woman like her, he wasn’t about to lose her now.

***

Epilogue

Sydney sat in the padded glider on the wrap-around porch.  Her broken bones were finally healed, and the casts had come off a week before.  Her body remained bandaged, but the bandages were nothing compared to the heavy plaster.  She watched the horses in the field running and smiled.  They would never replace her Concerto, but Sydney’s heart would heal as her bones had.  It had been almost two months since her accident and she hadn’t heard a word from James.  Max was vague about what had happened, but she knew that he’d called on the family lawyer to make sure James would never hunt Sydney down in such a way again.

Max had never left her side while she lay broken in the hospital bed.  She’d awoken from her haze to see him bent over her bed, tears flowing freely as he bargained with God for her life.  She’d tried to reach out to him, to tell him that she was fine, but her arms were impossibly heavy; her lips cracked and dry after weeks in a coma.  All she had managed was a soft groan, which had Max standing straight up and running to call for a nurse.  She was finally awake and the joy and relief were evident on his face.  He touched her face, made her promises about their future together and she’d fallen back to sleep, the pain and broken bones too much for her to bear.  She slipped in and out for days before she was finally able to stay awake long enough to start physical therapy.  Within a week, she was ready to go home, and Max talked her into living on his sprawling ranch outside of Pinedale.  The property edged up to the Wind River Range and went for as far as the eye could see.  Sydney wasn’t sure if she was ready for forever, but the promise of a real bed and a home nurse to help her recover in the fresh mountain air was enticing, so she said yes. 

Max devoted every waking minute to caring for her, carrying her out onto the porch each day so she could watch his horses and enjoy the warm sun.  She hadn’t asked what he’d done with Concerto.  She’d heard enough in the hospital as she slipped in and out to know that he’d been badly injured.  There would never be another horse like him, and Sydney grieved for that quietly each night as she lay in bed.  She’d ride again; her physical therapist had insisted that it would help her heal.  But for now, just looking at the horses in the pasture tore at her heart.

Sydney looked up as a truck and trailer pulled into the drive.  Max had a cabin and stalls available on his property, far enough from the main house to afford quite a bit of privacy for the people who rented it.  It was a common sight to see them pulling in on their way to the cabin. 

The truck drove straight to the house, apparently unsure of where they were going.  Sydney still couldn’t stand on her own yet, and was about to call for Max when the screen door to her left flew open and Max hurried out.  He spoke to the driver for a minute and she parked the rig right there on their front lawn.  Max walked to Sydney, his face covered with a broad smile. 

Oh no,
she thought,
he’s bought me a horse.
  Sydney didn’t know what to say to him.  She wasn’t ready, but it was clear from his face that he’d done this for her and she didn’t want to hurt him. 

He took the porch steps in one leap and scooped her up out of the chair.  He carried her to the trailer as the woman opened the door and unhooked the horse.  Sydney was trying to find the words when the horse began to back cautiously down the ramp.  Her throat constricted with unshed tears as a scarred and battered Concerto carefully picked his way off the trailer.  Max looked at her and her tears spilled freely.  Somehow, Concerto had survived his fall, though his coat showed the leftover marks of his pain.  He walked slowly, a slight limp in his bandaged leg.  The vet walked him up to Sydney and she buried her face in his neck.  He was alive and he was
here.
 

Max whispered in her ear, “Concerto belongs to you now. If there was any doubt before it’s gone now. I’ve seen to that. You never have to worry about your father coming for him again.” 

Sydney started sobbing, rubbing her hands over his neck and through his mane.  Her fingers caught on a tiny braid.  She’d probably left it in the last time she’d prettied him up for some event.  She pulled the band on the braid and started working the braid out when her fingers brushed against something hard.  She pulled on it as she unwound his hair and the object out in her hand.  The thin, simple ring was beautiful.  Sydney looked at Max, confused.  He smiled at her and winked, his intention clear.  Not only was he giving her back her horse, but he was giving her the rest of his life.  Sydney looked deep into his eyes and said the one word that would make everything right in their world.

“Yes.”

THE END

Bonus Story 5 of 17

Daisy Wilson looked up from her desk to the desk at the other side of the office – the August sun slanted into the office, illuming the sunny half of the office floor and reflecting from the edges of pens like beacons – and straight at Dorian Sykes, the
new guy
. She didn’t want to be looking at him. She told herself that she had more self-control than that, that after two husbands she was done with men, and yet again and again she found her gaze pulled towards this man. He was over six feet with short brown hair and a strong, square jaw. His eyes were a blue so pale they were almost white, and his body was all ripped and toned muscle, visible even beneath his shirt. Then Dorian looked up, straight at her – as though he knew she was looking at him – and Daisy snapped her gaze down at her work.

Come on,
she told herself.
Get a hold. You don’t need to be staring at some new guy at work all day, for God’s sake. What are you, some teenager? You’re nearly forty, Daisy, come on, now, get a hold of yourself. Maybe this would be okay for some star-eyed teenager, but a twice-divorced call center worker?
She shook her head and then the next call came in. Her Fake Voice took over for the next hour or so: that bright and chirpy voice that was nothing like her normal calm-sounding tenor. When the lull in the calls came, she looked once more at Dorian Sykes. He was talking with apparent ease on the phone. The only sign that he didn’t really want to be here was the constant tapping of his foot.
Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap
.

She knew what that tapping meant. She had done it enough times herself. It meant that one wanted to vacate one’s current situation as quickly as possible, preferably forever, and fly off into some unknown, exciting land. But they were the phone drones. That was their purpose. Who were they to argue their lot? This was them; leave the outside world to its excitement. Then Dorian caught her eye. Daisy flinched, grimaced – not the most attractive expression, she knew – and then Dorian smiled and nodded. Daisy, flabbergasted, nodded back. Then another call came in and she had to be Friendly Daisy again. She actually welcomed the reprieve.

Later that day – after work – she and Angela went to the movies. They had been doing this a lot lately. They were both movie buffs. Angela, Daisy was proud to say, was one of her two friends. She only had two friends. When she was married (both times) she had had wide circles of friends, but it’s funny, isn’t it, how quick those friends dissipate once the marriage collapses. After the movie they walked through the city, past the lit-up taxis and groups of college kids from the nearby college with their brown bags full of liquor.

“Did you see the new guy?” Daisy eventually blurted out, unable to stop herself.

“Hmm?” Angela said. “What new guy?”

“The
new
guy,” Daisy said. She couldn’t believe that Angela hadn’t noticed him – Angela was the Gossip Queen – and she was in no mood for Angela’s pretend coyness. “His name is Dorian-something.” (She knew his name, had overheard it in the break room, but she didn’t want to appear
too
eager.)

“Oh, yeah,” Angela said, like it was the furthest thing from her mind. “Yeah, he’s alright, isn’t he? If I wasn’t a married woman I might have a go at it.”

Daisy clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, sweet one!” she exclaimed. “How I feel for you!”

“Bite me,” Angela said. “Anyway, are you thinking of making a move on Mr. Muscle?”

“No,” Daisy said. “I’m done with men, don’t you remember? Soon I’ll retreat into a convent and become a life-loving nun. I cannot wait, in truth. I’ll live out my golden years surrounded by like-minded men-hating women. It will be glorious.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Human closeness is an essential human need, silly,” she said. “That is probably why you feel so attracted towards this man. And
don’t
say you’re not. I saw you looking at him earlier.”

“Cheat!” Daisy cried. “I
knew
you had noticed him.”

“I noticed you, dear,” Angela said. “You were staring like a befuddled cartoon character. I’m surprised your jaw didn’t hit the floor.”

“Sacrilege! Blasphemy!”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Have I ever told you how odd you are?”

“Lots and lots of times,” Daisy said.

“So you like this guy. So what? It’s not illegal.”

That night Daisy lay awake in bed wondering if she could break the covenant she’d made with herself concerning men. She had good reason for boycotting men. Her first husband had cheated on her God knew how many times, and her second husband had been about as clinging as a leech. There was no way she wanted to enter into an arrangement that made her lose the will to live again anytime soon. But then—she found herself thinking of the way his arms had tightened as he’d leaned forward on his desk during one of his calls. She wished she could banish such thoughts from her mind – what would the ladies at the convent say? And yet the thoughts kept returning.

So when Dorian approached her at work the next day – paced straight to her desk, like a man on a mission – she felt her heart lurch in her chest, up, up, almost as though it wanted to squeeze through her throat and leap out of her mouth. Suddenly, her hands had become slick with sweat. She took a quick drink of water. He leaned down to her on the desk. Luckily, the woman who usually sat next to Daisy on the two-person desk was ill, so nobody could hear what he said. But that didn’t stop Angela making kissing faces across the room.

“Hello,” Dorian said.

“Uh, hello,” Daisy said.

He smiled, showing rows of white teeth. “Do you drink?” he said.

“Yes,” Daisy said, confused.

“Good,” Dorian said. “So you’ll come for a drink with me after work?”

Oh, how Daisy wanted to say yes! But it was too abrupt, too out-of-nowhere. How could she just go for a drink with a man she didn’t know? She had been separated from her ex-husband for just over a year, and in all that time she hadn’t so much as looked at another man, until Dorian. And now here he was asking her for a drink. It should’ve been a moment for rejoicing, but—

“No,” Daisy said. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Dorian shrugged. “I’ll ask you again tomorrow,” he said, and then sauntered back to his desk, apparently unaffected by her refusal.

I’ll ask you again tomorrow
. Daisy swallowed.

*****

Dorian did ask her the next day, and the day after that,
and
the day after that. On that day she was on the phone with her one other true friend. Jessica was the only friend who had been with her through both marriages, who had been with her
before
the marriages. They had known each other since college, and Daisy could think of nobody better to talk to about her problems. The problem was, Daisy was so hyped about it all that Jessica could barely get a single word in.

Daisy talked like a machinegun, words shooting out like rounds, as she paced around her apartment like she was training for a sprint. “The thing is, Jess, I don’t even
know
if I like him. I mean, I don’t know him at all. Who is he? Yes, I had that dream about him, the one I texted you about: he was naked, I was naked, it was awesome. But—I’m done with men. I said that after Mark and I meant it. I can’t just go out with this man now because I’ll be going back on what I said, you know? What sort of person would that make me?”

“I know—”

“Exactly!” Daisy interjected. “Exactly… How can I just go with this man and not beat myself up about it? Is it because we’re in the twenty-first century? Is that it? Is it because I’m scared of being called a
slut
or whatever word people are using these days to brand women with? It used to be Jezebel, you know. But, but—I don’t
think
it’s that. I think it’s something else. Fear? Maybe. Maybe it
is
fear. Maybe I’m scared – terrified – that I’ll mess things up straightaway and then it all really would have been for nothing. I mean, right now if I keep rejecting him at least I can say
I kept my word
. But if I go with him and then I mess it up, I would have broken my word for nothing.”

“Daisy,” Jessica said. She sounded tired.

“Hmm?”

“It’s two a.m.”

Daisy looked at the luminous clock that hung on her bedroom wall, doubling as a nightlight. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” Daisy said. “Um, sorry.”

Jessica laughed: the laugh of a woman who is happily married and doesn’t understand the single woman anymore; can barely remember being a single woman. “It’s okay,” Jessica said. “Do you remember English class at college, when you would talk so fast that Professor Jones would have to keep telling you to repeat yourself? I know how she felt now. I think I caught one word in about five. But here’s my advice, if you want it. Just go on one date with the guy. It can’t do any harm.”

“But—”

“That’s my advice!” Jessica cried, giggling. “You shall not rob me of sleep anymore!”

They said goodbye and hung up. Daisy paced her apartment for the next half-hour under the pretense of cleaning, but the duster stayed unused and it was too late to vacuum. She tried to sleep for a while, but then the sun began to rise, so she went into her library (her apartment was lined with shelves and shelves of books: classics, crime, literature, plays, and so on). She retrieved her
Complete Works of William Shakespeare
and began reading
The Tempest
. For some reason, she felt an unusual affinity with Caliban today; she
was
on an island, after all, only hers was an island of indecision and ignorance and fear.

When it was time for work she splashed her face with water and downed two cups of coffee. That morning, as usual, Dorian came over to her desk, leaned down, and asked her to have a drink with him. “I’ll keep asking forever,” he said, smiling. “I will ask until this world of ours crumbles, if that’s what it takes.”

“I could get a restraining order,” Daisy said, only half-joking.

“You could,” Dorian said, unfazed. “But you won’t.”

He’s right, dearly daring Daisy. You won’t get a restraining order because you like him asking you too much. If you truly didn’t want him to keep asking you could just go and see Human Resources and file a complaint for harassment. Why haven’t you done that yet, you little minx? Is it because you want to touch those arms, to have those arms wrapped around you, to see what he has down below?

“Okay,” Daisy said. “If it means you’ll leave me alone for the rest of the day, I’ll have a drink with you.”

“Great. I’ll wait for you after work.”

“Okay,” Daisy said.

Dorian strolled back to his desk and sunk into his seat. For the rest of the day Daisy’s heart was pounding like a bongo. She truly did feel like a teenager again; she felt as though the angst and the uncertainty of those cruel years had come again and tackled her in her thirties. She even
blushed
when Angela asked her about it. She hadn’t blushed in years.

And then five-thirty came – time for the date, if that was what it was – and she couldn’t fool herself any longer. This was real. This was happening.

*****

Dorian was waiting for her outside the call center. He smiled when she walked through the revolving doors. Angela said goodbye with a playful smirk on her face, and
of course
she couldn’t resist shooting off a wink as Daisy and Dorian walked down towards the other end of the street. The sun was still blaring down, compressed by the skyscrapers and the city air. Daisy took off her jacket and when Dorian offered to hold it for her she gave it to him without hesitation.

They were silent for a few minutes, listening to the afternoon noise of the city, and then Daisy, unable to endure the oppressive silence any longer, had to speak. “Why were you so persistent?” she said. “I mean, you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t see why you have to be so persistent.”

“Then you clearly haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror,” Dorian said.

Daisy laughed. It
was
funny. She didn’t think of herself as the sort of woman who merited such ham-fisted flattery. She was aging well(ish), it was true, and she was careful with her appearance, but she wasn’t super-model hot or anything, nothing like those airbrushed, rake-thin girls in the magazines men seemed so fond of these days. And she was nothing like those porn stars men seemed even fond
er
of nowadays. She realized Dorian was staring at her.

“Yes?” she said, sounding indignant.

“You weren’t talking.”

“Yes,” she said.

He smiled, his blue-white eyes glimmered, and then he nodded. “You’re strange,” he said. “But in a good way,” he added. “You’re strange, like a puzzle. You’re the sort of person I am drawn to. That is why I was so persistent. When I meet a person like you – which doesn’t happen very often – I have to know more about her. That is why I would’ve asked until the men in white coats dragged me away.”

“I’m afraid you’re reading too much into me,” Daisy said. “I work in a call center. That is all.”