Geri Krotow - Navy Rules

“No one in particular, Max. It’s just that after the first few months of understanding and compassion, people get worn out by the exhausting nature of grief. They mean well, but have to get with their lives. And they can—they’re not the ones who lost a husband or father.”

He heard no rancor or self-pity in her voice.

“The same people who claim they’ll be there for you tend to fade away,” she added. “That’s been my experience.”

At his silence he saw her hand jerk suddenly and her spine straighten.

“I don’t mean you, Max! You were there through the worst of it and you left because of your job, not because you chose to.”

He let her words hang there. He’d sought the assignment in Florida, unbeknownst to Winnie. He’d had to. It’d been time to move on. He’d needed a career change.

Still, looking at the situation through Winnie’s eyes, he saw that he’d faded away. He’d abandoned her and Krista.

“Winnie, I know it was a difficult time for you. I—”

“No, Max. Enough! You were there for me and you went above and beyond the call of duty. You are not who I’m talking about, period.”

He didn’t say anything else, simply allowed her to continue.

“So in an effort to continue the healing process, Krista and I went to more and more dog-training classes. Sam passed the basic Good Citizenship test from the American Kennel Club, and then I heard on National Public Radio that canine therapy was helping vets when they got back. The rest,” she said with a flourish, “is history.”

Max remained silent. He’d forgotten how much positive energy could be emitted by someone so enthusiastic about his or her vocation.

Bullshit. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be around Winnie—to feel alive.

“You’re the greatest, aren’t you, boy?” Winnie cooed at Sam and the dog merely pricked his ears toward her. He still lay at Max’s feet.

“How long did it take you to train him to behave like this?” He nodded at the dog.

Winnie’s eyes widened. “Train him? Oh, no, Max, I didn’t train him to do this. It’s the intuitive streak I told you about. He knows who needs his comfort the most, and he knows when we’re in ‘work’ mode. He’s taken to you because he wants to, not because of anything I’ve done.”

“So what does that mean?”

“What does it mean? I don’t follow you.”

“The fact that he’s stuck to me like a barnacle ever since he jumped out of your car. Is he guarding you? Protecting you from me by keeping me in my place?”

Winnie leaned forward and placed her hands over Max’s tense fingers. He involuntarily jumped at the awareness that shot up his forearms.

“Max, he’s lying next to you because he senses you need him. And to be frank, judging by Sam’s behavior, you’re one of the neediest clients I’ve dealt with this year.”

Her words slammed through him almost as quickly as his reaction to her touch. But they didn’t elicit lust like her touch did. Instead, he felt only white-hot rage.

He pulled his hands out from under hers and shoved himself back from the table.

“F— Ah, shit, damn it!” He fought to control it, to control the cold stranglehold of fear.

He’d really wanted this meeting to go without a hitch.

CHAPTER THREE

WINNIE WATCHED THE cyclone of emotion twist Max’s handsome face. The only thing recognizable as “Max” was the sharp hue of his eyes.

Crapola.

Big mistake. She’d thought that by putting the focus on Max and his work with Sam, she’d be able to push aside her reaction, the quaking that was a direct result of her attraction to Max. Wrong. Their physical chemistry still made her toes curl in her comfy shearling boots.

“Needy? So this is a pity call for you, Winnie?” Max snapped. She was almost surprised that spittle didn’t shoot out of his mouth.

She sighed and grasped for the right thing to say. Like fired bullets, she couldn’t retract her words or the damage they’d caused.

“I’m sorry, Max. I was speaking too freely. Sometimes my mouth isn’t connected to my brain. I guess I’m still missing that filter you’ve always teased me about not having.”

Her jibe at herself didn’t work, either. He stayed silent, simmering with rage.

Pointing out their long-standing relationship and all its baggage—that was the stupidest comment she could have made. She needed to rely on their common bonds if she was going to salvage anything of their friendship once he knew about Maeve.

Double crapola.

He ran his fingers through his short hair. The same dark, straight hair Maeve had.

“Damn it, Winnie, I know I must still need some work or you wouldn’t be sitting here in front of me—my doc wouldn’t have suggested it. But I’m not totally mental. I’ve come a long way and what I’ve been through doesn’t come close to what so many other vets are suffering. Hell, I feel guilty taking your time.” His eyes shifted uneasily to Sam. “And this dog’s time. There are a lot of sailors who need Sam more than I do.”

“This is about you, Max. Sam sees plenty of other sailors, and there are other therapy dogs, too. You’re not keeping him from anyone else.” A white lie, as there was always another veteran in line, hoping to benefit from Sam’s ministrations, but she needed Max to buy in to her rationale—and the value of her work—if it was going to help him at all.

“Why did you get involved with this, Winnie? You can’t enjoy the constant reminder of Tom’s death whenever you drive on base. For that matter, why did you stay in Whidbey this long? And why the hell did you agree to see me? Didn’t you tell the social worker you already knew me?”

Take it easy. He’s just angry at the situation, not you.

But his words hit home. They struck the part of her that she kept cordoned off from everyone. The Navy widow part. Where she hid the knowledge that she could never handle another trauma.

Still…she might have to. His anger wasn’t personal yet, but when she told Max the secret she’d kept from him, his anger would be directed at her. He’d have every reason to accuse, convict and sentence her.

“You know why I stayed, Max. I love it here, my roots are here. I didn’t want to move up to Anacortes, and I still don’t. And I don’t live in Oak Harbor anymore—I have a nice home in Coupeville, near my shop and office. If you saw where we live, you’d understand why I stayed.”

“‘We,’ Winnie? Are you living with your daughter’s father?”

“No, I already told you, I don’t have a relationship with Maeve’s father.”

He didn’t reply, but when she raised her eyes to meet his, she froze. He could look at her as no one else could.

He knows.

Dark spots floated in her vision and she realized she was holding her breath. She released it in a measured exhalation, trying not to let him see that she was distressed.

“I never took you for the casual-sex type, Winnie.”

“Except after the Air Show two years ago?”

“We didn’t have casual sex, Winnie. It was a surprise, a shock even, but not casual.”

This is too close. He’s going to ask, he’s going to figure it out.

“Who says it was casual? Really, Max, at this point it’s none of your business.” Another lie, as Maeve was completely his business, but Winnie had to save that conversation for another time.

Drawing on what she’d learned during those first painful months after Tom’s death, she looked for the next task she needed to do. She had to tell him about Maeve, but not at this moment. He was too stressed, too wound up. She couldn’t risk putting him over the edge with his PTSD.

So now you’re God? An expert at deciding when someone needs to know what is most definitely his business?