Poor Dean would find only a note tonight when he came by to assemble her tree.
"The CO wants to talk to you," Luther informed Chase, putting away his cell phone. The four-man SEAL squad and their pilot had just exited a C-17 Globemaster transport plane and were crossing the tarmac at Oceana's airfield. They'd just touched down from a sixteen-hour flight, routed through Bonham Air Force Base in Germany, when Luther's cell phone rang. It was quarter to midnight, and Chase was running on fumes.
"Now, sir?" Chase asked, savoring the bite of cold air after two weeks in the tropics.
"Yes. I'm coming with you."
Peering up at the taller man's profile, Chase tried to guess whether an impromptu meeting with the powers that be was a good thing or whether he was going to get his ass chewed for the poorly executed Nigerian job. Couldn't this wait until after Christmas?
"Isn't it Christmas Eve?" he asked, consulting his mental calendar.
"It will be in, like, fifteen minutes," Luther confirmed. "You're still on Pacific time."
Oh. Well, that sort of explained why the CO was still at the office at this time of night. The man worked obsessive hours, perhaps to mitigate rumors of his Playboy lifestyle — a lifestyle that had ended abruptly in a disfiguring accident.
"You want a ride?" Luther asked Chase, heading toward his Ford F150 pickup truck.
"I got my motorcycle," Chase replied.
"You're going to freeze," Luther warned him. "It's supposed to snow tonight."
"It'll wake me up," Chase assured him. From his evaluation of Commander Montgomery, he had better be incredibly coherent, or the man would show him no respect.
By the time Chase swept through the gates of Dam Neck Naval Annex on his Harley, his face felt frostbitten, his ears ached, but his brain was wide-awake. Shucking his biker's gloves, he strode toward the halogen light that glared over the entrance to Spec Ops. Luther, who was waiting on the other side of the door, pushed it open for him.
His face, which had stared off the cover of
Sports Illustrated
more than once when he played professional football, betrayed not a hint of what Chase was walking into: a dressing down or a rally for moral support.
"They're waiting," Luther said.
They? Who was they, exactly? With butterflies in his stomach, Chase followed Luther down the hallway into the CO's office.
Both the CO and the XO were in the room. Commander Montgomery sat behind his desk. The lamplight cast an unkind light on the scarred portion of his face. Chase didn't know him well enough to read his stone-faced expression, but his hazel eyes struck Chase as guarded.
Hadn't he been the driver in that accident that had killed two much younger women? Obviously, he hadn't been to blame or he wouldn't be in command of Team Twelve today.
Lieutenant Renault, aka Jaguar, was standing behind the CO looking like the cat that ate the canary. Chase knew the man like a brother, and seeing contentment in the man's gold-green eyes, he heaved a silent sigh of relief. "Sirs," Chase greeted them, snapping both men a smart salute.
"At ease, Chief, Lieutenant." The CO waved them both into armchairs. "You must be crusty as hell after all that travel."
Chase was way past crusty. Right now, the only thing that kept him going was the hope of getting to the ranch in time for Christmas.
Lieutenant Renault crossed to the window to draw the blinds against the night sky, and Chase's curiosity went through the roof. This had all the earmarks of an under-the-table job.
Drumming big-knuckled fingers on the surface of his desk, Montgomery frowned at the paperwork before him. From where Chase sat, he couldn't make out what the man was looking at. Was that his personnel file?
"You've been a sniper for what, fifteen years?" the CO queried. Greenish brown eyes assessed Chase impassively.
"Sixteen, sir," Chase confirmed.
"You've had thirty-eight kills as opposed to a career average of nineteen." Was that a flicker of respect in the man's murky eyes? "One shot, one kill. What happened with Faisal Fashanu?" he inquired.
The fucking Nigerian. The man had opened his eyes and looked at him, that's what'd happened. "I hit a wall, sir." It had taken three shots to make him close his eyes forever.
Montgomery grunted. "I see you reenlisted in August, but now you want to be rotated out of sniper detail?" He sent Chase a vaguely disappointed look.
"Yes, sir," Chase confirmed.
"We'll have to scrounge to come up with a replacement," the commander groused. "It's not easy to find a man with your experience, not to mention your language skills." He flipped through the pages of Chase's personnel files, noting the many commendation letters. "Are you sure you want to give up what you do best, Chief?" the man inquired.
Chase didn't hesitate. "I am absolutely sure, sir."
Montgomery studied him, his eyes as hard marbles. Chase stared back. He would make no excuses for the way he felt. "You tell him," Montgomery said to Lieutenant Renault.
"Ever heard of Camp Gruber, Oklahoma, Chief?" Jaguar asked, his eyes far warmer than the commander's.
Startled to hear the name of his home state, Chase sat straighter. They couldn't have . . . "Of course, sir." Camp Gruber was an hour's drive southeast of Broken Arrow. "It's a training base, if I'm not mistaken."
"You're not," Jaguar confirmed. "It trains National Guardsmen and law enforcement personnel, primarily. They're looking for an active duty, field artillery expert to instruct the trainees. You'd fit that billet, wouldn't you, Chief? It's a four-year assignment, which would put you at twenty years, eligible for retirement."
Chase could scarcely hear him through the humming in his ears. The room seemed to fill with sparkling dust as he regarded his colleagues in stunned silence.
"Merry Christmas, Chase," said Luther softly.
His buddies had gone to bat for him, Chase realized, feeling his heart expand. They hadn't just rotated him away from sniper duty, they'd eased the pain of long distance love by securing orders for him at a base, commuting distance from Broken Arrow. Hot damn! "I'd sure as hell fit that billet, sir," Chase replied with feeling.
"Good," said the CO, slapping the folder shut. "You'll PCS to Oklahoma over the holidays and start work there the first of the year. You've given the teams a good sixteen years," he added, with unexpected fairness. "There's no shame in that."
Chase leapt to his feet, his opinion of Montgomery soaring. "Thank you, sir!"
"Don't thank me," the commander retorted, heading for his coat. "Your superiors, here, have badgered me nonstop for two weeks. They wore me down," he confessed.
"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."
Montgomery punched his arms through a Navy-issue trench coat and headed for the door. "Turn out the lights when you leave," he said, considerate enough to give them all a moment alone.
"God damn," Chase said, eyeing his teammates. "I don't know what to say. I fucking love you guys."
Lieutenant Renault chuckled. "Well, that pretty much sums it up, and we fucking love you, too, don't we, Luther?"
"Absolutely," Luther replied. "We'll toast to your new job at my place tomorrow, starting at 1600. Hannah's been planning this party for a while."
"Oh, damn," swore Jaguar, glancing at his watch. "I told Helen I'd stop by the store and pick up confectioner's sugar on my way home."
"Food Lion's open twenty-four hours," Chase divulged. "Ya'll go ahead. You've got women waitin' for you. I'll get the lights." He didn't have the heart to turn down Luther's invitation. Tomorrow at 1600, he'd be in Oklahoma.
The thought warmed him as much as it terrified him.
"Say hey to Hannah for me," Chase called, as the two men left the room before him.
"You may have more than that to say to her," he thought he heard Luther mutter.
Chase stuck his head out of the door. "What's that, sir?"
"Oh, nothing." Luther shot him his best Boy Scout smile.
Then he and the XO disappeared down the hall murmuring confidences under their breath. Chase narrowed his eyes as he locked the door. He sensed a conspiracy, but he was too tired to guess what it could be.
Sixteen minutes later, he dismounted his Harley before his small, white, bungalow-style house and unstrapped his duffel bag to carry it inside. The scent of woodsmoke hung in the air. Christmas lights twinkled on the facades of every house on the street but his. It wasn't the first time he'd come home to a house plunged in darkness, colder than a witch's tit.
With his senses dulled, he inserted a key into his front door before noticing the amber glow behind his drawn curtains. By habit he reached uselessly for the SIG that was stowed in his duffel bag.
Who the hell is in my house?
At the sound of a key jiggling in the lock, Sara jerked awake. She was slouched at the foot of Chase's utilitarian couch, while Kendal lay along the length of it, fast asleep. At last, following hours of agonizing uncertainty, Chase was back.
She'd paced the floors of his modest, one-and-a-half story home, reviewing Hannah's reassurances and wondering, but what if the woman was wrong? What if Chase took one look at her, and said, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
She was about to find out. Her heart trembled with mixed anticipation and dread.
The door swung open, there stood Chase, looking stupefied, clutching a sea bag to his chest. "Sara!" he breathed.
Oh, God, he looked gorgeous, with his sun-streaked goatee and glinting earrings.
His bag hit the floor. "What are you doing here?" he asked. A low murmur from Kendal drew his gaze. "You're both here!"
"Is that okay?" Sara wanted to stand up, but there was no way her legs would bear her up right now. "It was Hannah's suggestion. She mailed us airline tickets and met us at the airport. We can leave if you—"
Before she could finish her sentence, he'd crossed the room and pulled her to her feet. The rest of her words were cut short as he crushed her to him, so that every inch of their bodies touched. "Stay," he said in her ear. And in the next instant, he was kissing her, with such fervor that any misgivings Sara still harbored evaporated.
At last, he lifted his head. "You came for nothing," he rasped.
"What?" Her misgivings returned.
"I was gonna fly to Oklahoma tomorrow," he explained, with laughter in his blue eyes.
"You were?" she asked. "Why?"
"Why? Because I wanted to say, 'I think I love you, Sara.'"
Her breath caught at the confession.
"No, in fact, I
know
I love you. And I wanted to ask you if you'd wait for me. But now I don't have to."
"What do you mean?" The contradictions pouring out of him confused her.
"I just got reassigned."
"You did?"
"Yes, to Fort Gruber. It's right down the road from the ranch—a bit of a commute, but it beats the hell out of goin' overseas."
"How's that possible?" she asked, her head reeling.
"Luther and Lieutenant Renault," he answered with a grin. "They went to bat for me."
"I can't believe it," she whispered.
"Think you can stand to have me around?" he asked. "Bet you got used to bein' there alone, just the two of you."
"I don't think I would ever have gotten used to it," she answered honestly.
"Me neither. Don't know how you did it, Sara, but you got to me like no one ever has." His eyes turned suspiciously bright. "I could never go back to bein' who I was before."
"Oh, Chase." This was all happening so fast. She was dizzy with euphoria.
He drew her hand from his shoulder to the center of his chest. "Feel this?" His heart beat with a steady
thump-thump.
"This is for you," he added.
Her eyes welled with tears of joy. "I can't believe this. Wait till Kendal hears. He's going to be thrilled!" If anyone adored Chase as much as she did, it was her son.
They turned their heads to look at the boy. He slept so peacefully, one hand tucked beneath his chin. "Should we tell him?"
"Yep," said Chase, "but not yet. I've been dreamin' 'bout you for two months. Just give me half an hour with you alone," he begged.
Like teenagers, they slipped into the darkened kitchen and up the crooked stairs, giggling. Under the eaves of Chase's sloping roof, on a bed that creaked outrageously, they made love.
"You know what makes me happiest?" Sara said afterward, stroking the soft whorls of his tawny chest hair.
"What's that?" he asked on a sleepy note.
"Knowing you'll never be alone again."
He rolled up on one elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes lit with an inner glow. "You promise?" he asked her. " 'Cause I tried that, and I didn't like it."
"I promise," she whispered, pulling his head down for a long, dreamy kiss.
At this rate, telling Kendal was going to have to wait till morning.
Four months later
Spring was a time when animals got restless, shaking off the lethargy of a long, cold winter. That was obviously the case on the ranch. Cinnamon, Kendal's golden retriever, adopted from the local shelter, bounded across the field in pursuit of a hare. The pair of swallows nesting under the porch eaves darted in and out to fetch larvae for their young. And Sara, who watched Chase tinker under the hood of the truck as she washed their morning dishes, wondered if he'd ever get around to asking her to marry him.
By all indications, he was about to set out on his Saturday morning atonement. He'd made a habit of visiting the victims of the skinheads because he felt, on some level, responsible for what had happened at the country club. With a
clang,
he closed the hood of the truck and headed for the house.
He entered into the kitchen, catching and holding Sara's thoughtful gaze as he approached the sink to wash the grease from his hands. "You want to come with me this mornin'?" he asked, with a speculative look.
"Um," she said, handing him a towel to dry with. He had more courage than she did, visiting victims of violence, some of whom were scarred for life. "Okay."
"Great," he said, turning toward the rear of the house. "Let me just fetch somethin'."