Jo Leigh - The Navy Seal's Rescue

Just as someone knocked at his door.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered and threw in a curse.

Another loud bang.

“Hold on, for crying out loud,” he yelled and glanced at the text, then searched the floor for his jeans.

When he’d bought Sam’s Sugar Shack two years ago, he’d left everything intact—the funky decor, the staff, the pseudo uniforms, which amounted to very short denim cutoffs and a cropped T-shirt with the bar’s logo. In good conscience he had offered to get rid of the Hooters look, but the waitresses shot it down. Better tips. Who was he to argue?

Hell, he’d hadn’t even changed the name of the place, which every local seemed to have a strong opinion about. The purchase price had included the apartment above it. Never having had a conventional job before, it seemed like a major win.

Big mistake. It made him too accessible.

He couldn’t even get away with turning off his phone. If he didn’t answer, someone always came knocking. Usually over something stupid. Civilians were a bunch of damn crybabies.

He pulled on his jeans and opened the door.

“Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you but—” Tiffy’s gaze froze on his bare chest. He was pretty sure she wasn’t admiring his pecs, although he did keep in shape. She was staring at the scars left by a pair of particularly nasty knife wounds.

He rubbed his stubbled jaw, using his arm to obstruct her view. “You were saying?”

“Oh, um, right. We’re really getting slammed downstairs and Cara and Viv are both late. Well, we knew ahead of time Cara was going to be late because she has an appointment with—I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, if you could come in early that would be totally awesome.”

“Early?”

“Yeah, um, like now?”

Wyatt sighed. “I gotta take a quick shower and I’ll be right down.”

Tiffy was still staring at his chest as he closed the door.

Chapter Three

CRICKET STOOD ON the balcony of her suite, inhaling the salt air and feeling it cleanse the body and soul of Jessica and her problems. At least for the moment. This far up the coast you couldn’t smell the fish market. As a kid she’d rarely minded the odor, though sometimes if the temperature climbed too high in the peak of summer, the stink could get to anyone.

One of the advantages of the resort sitting on the bluff was being able to look down at the clear, beautiful water. She could make out the green roofs of the bungalows that had been a recent addition to the resort. Her first choice would’ve been to stay in one of them so she could be right on the beach. But there were only a half dozen available and they’d been booked quickly.

She glanced at her watch, startled that a whole hour had slipped by. With barely enough time to change her clothes, she had fifteen minutes to meet Ginny at Sam’s Sugar Shack.

After hurriedly changing into tan capris and a casual blouse, she rode the elevator down to the “beach and pool level” below the lobby, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. Something was clearly bothering Ginny and they didn’t need old classmates inviting themselves along. After all these years and having seen each other only twice, Jessica was glad her old friend felt she could confide in her.

The second before she hit the beach, she kicked off her sandals. Feeling the warmth of the sand and the cooling breeze made it a whole lot easier to shift gears now that everyone would be calling her Cricket. She’d laughed when she picked up her nametag earlier. It had been a hard transition in college becoming Jessica, but since she’d decided early that she wanted to study law, she needed a serious name. But nobody here knew her as an attorney. Even her dad called her Cricket occasionally, but mostly he called her Baby Girl.

After a ten-minute walk, Sam’s came into view. Shading her face from the bright sunlight, she saw Ginny standing at one of the tall umbrella tables outside, wearing a green sundress, which showed off her stupidly perfect arms and the legs that had made half the boys in school walk around with books in front of their jeans. When a couple leaving the bar caught Ginny’s eye, she waved and disappeared inside. The place was probably as packed as the resort bars. Cricket quickened her pace. Hopefully Ginny was able to grab a table. It would be more private and comfortable talking inside.

Removing her sunglasses, she hesitated at the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting.

“Over here.”

She followed the voice and saw Ginny sitting at a small table for two in the corner. It was slightly out of the way and couldn’t be more perfect. All except for the donkey piñata hanging over the wicker chair Cricket sank onto. No, not wicker, more like straw, firm enough to poke her behind. She doubted investing in a few cushions would’ve broken the new owner.

When she saw the pink-and-green Hula-Hoops hanging on the back wall, she grinned. “Oh, my God. This place hasn’t changed one bit. I wonder if they still have Hula-Hoop contests for free drinks.”

Ginny glanced up at the large piñata over Cricket’s head. “I don’t know if I trust that thing.”

“So, you left this chair for me?”

“Well, yeah. I have a kid, you don’t. And you’re an attorney. You can sue without it costing you.” Ginny barely got it all out without laughing.

They were both cracking up and pointing out the strange assortment of hanging decorations. Aside from piñatas of all types, there were also dangling skateboards, a couple of bikini tops, several license plates and a group of visors with dumb sayings. And then Ginny looked at the hula girl bobblehead sitting in the middle of their table. With a flick of her long elegant fingers she set it in motion and they laughed until they both had to wipe away tears.

Sniffling, Cricket moved in for a closer look at the hula girl. “Is that thing glued to the table?”

“I think so.”

“For God’s sake, who would steal that?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve definitely been away too long.”

Cricket glanced around, saw the coast was clear and bowed her head to use the hem of her shirt to dab at her nose and eyes. “Do not make me laugh like that again.”

“It felt good, didn’t it?” The trace of wistfulness in Ginny’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Look, I’m sorry for pulling you away from everyone,” she said. “It isn’t fair, I know, but I figured it would be harder to find time toward the end of the weekend.”

“Oh, please. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Cricket did a quick survey of the place and thought she recognized a woman in an absurdly short skirt downing shots at the bar. “Could just be me, but I have a feeling we’re going to be pretty sick of some of these people by Sunday.”

“It’s not just you.” Ginny’s smile softened the worry lines between her brows. “Does everyone drink so much at reunions?”

“Beats me. I’ve never been... You must’ve come to the ten-year. It was at the hotel, wasn’t it?”

“I’d planned on it but Tilda was sick and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“Isn’t your dad—?”

“Tilda and I are living in the family home. He’s still in his apartment in Providence.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s for the best. He’ll never accept Tilda or forgive me for not wanting to spend my life playing a piano.”

“It must hurt, though.”

“No, actually, I’ve let it go. I don’t think he ever recovered from my mom’s death, and he never will. It’s sad, and if I thought I could help him I would. But honestly, I think there’s a part of him that blames me. After all, she died giving me life.”

“Of course he doesn’t blame you.” Cricket knew Ginny’s dad. Robert Landry was a well-known attorney, and not just in Rhode Island. “That’s completely irrational.”