Abby Gaines - The Wedding Plan

“Boo or Patrick?” Lucas asked.

“Boo—well, both. Though I wouldn’t say Boo’s entirely accepted me as his owner.”

The collie’s long nose nudged Lucas’s knee, as if to say she’s right.

Lucas ignored the dog’s purported emotional distress and homed on the most alarming aspect. “Are you saying this animal hasn’t gone in six months?”

“Of course not.” She tsked. “He’d be dead. But he doesn’t go very often, and it’s not comfortable when he—”

Lucas held up a hand. “I get the picture.” Baby diapers and a constipated collie. Such were the challenges of life in New London.

“How long are you here for, Lucas?” John asked. “What are your plans for life after the navy?”

He glanced at Merry. Since she didn’t look surprised, she must have heard the news, too. “Actually, I have some ideas for how I might be able to get back to the Gulf.”

“Maybe your eye trouble is a message that you should stay home,” Merry said. Unlike the women he dated—the ones he dated for real—she’d never been impressed by his military career.

Sometimes it rankled.

“A message from who?” Lucas demanded. “Al Qaeda? Because that sounds like a damn good reason to go out there again.”

“My hero,” she murmured.

It wasn’t a compliment.

She’d started calling him that back when they were kids, playing war games. Sometimes just the two of them, or sometimes he’d invite her to join him and his buddies. Lucas would set up a scenario that involved rescuing Merry from dire peril, but invariably she’d screw it up. He’d explain to her that the Viet Cong had covered her in honey and staked her to a fire ant mound, but don’t worry, he would trek through the jungle to save her. Simple, right?

Wrong. You could bet that when he turned up at the “anthill,” she would clasp her hands and say, “My hero,” in gratifying tones. Then she’d inform him she’d freed herself by using a magnifying glass and the sun to set fire to the ropes that bound her, and had destroyed the ants by, say, playing music at a deadly pitch only ants could hear. In other words, she didn’t need a hero.

Back then, Lucas never had high hopes for a girl in his platoon. Merry had managed to fall short of even his modest expectations.

He couldn’t think why he’d kept asking her to play.

“You can’t blame Merry for worrying about your safety,” John said happily. He tweaked his daughter’s ponytail. “Looks like your dog wants to go, Merry-Berry.”

Boo was circling around, sniffing the ground.

“I just took him, and he didn’t do anything—but I guess I’ll try again,” she grumbled.

Lucas seized the opportunity. “I’ll come with you.”

She glanced at her father, then pressed her lips together.

“Take your time,” John said archly, as if he imagined they were headed outside for some nookie. He started back toward his work, but after a couple of steps, halted abruptly. Lucas couldn’t see his expression, but recognized the clenching of hands at the older man’s sides, and the way John deliberately loosened the fingers, one by one.

Pain.

Lucas took a step toward him.

Merry pushed past Lucas. “Dad, are you okay?”

Boo whined.

“Fine, Merry-Berry.” John’s smile was obviously forced. “Just some stomach cramping.” He paused, as if counting silently. Then his smile grew more natural; the spasm must have passed. He made a shooing motion. “Off you go.”

She hesitated.

A guy didn’t want a bunch of people nosing around when he was in pain. Lucas jerked his head, indicating Merry should follow him.

Her reluctance was evident, but she came anyway. Which could be a positive sign. On the other hand, her demeanor didn’t exactly scream forgiveness.

I should have called.

CHAPTER TWO

ACT COOL, MERRY INSTRUCTED herself as she and Lucas walked with Boo toward the shingle cove that butted up against the wharf area, which in turn butted up against the marina. She sneaked a sidelong glance at Lucas, to find his handsome face angled down, his hands shoved in his pockets. Pretend that night never happened.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

Ugh.

“What for?” She injected surprise into her tone. Then she muttered, “Don’t answer that.” Because she really didn’t want him to elaborate.

“It seemed a good idea at the time,” he said.

Did he mean having sex or not having sex?

Boo headed for the rock pools, his usual silent, stoic, constipated self. He liked to sniff at the baby crabs, but didn’t have the enthusiasm for an actual attack.

“It was one crazy moment,” she said. “You were understandably upset, and I happened to be there....” I happened to launch myself at you, taking advantage of your vulnerability.

“You agree,” he said, “that we were right to stop?”

“Absolutely.” She did now, after what he’d done.

“It would have been for all the wrong reasons.”

“Wrong,” she agreed, wishing he would shut up.

She’d gone to visit him in Baltimore because their fathers had been nagging, asking when she and Lucas would see each other again. The visit had been as much about getting their dads off their backs as about their fluctuating friendship.

She’d arrived a few hours after Lucas had learned that two men from his unit had been killed during a minesweeping operation. An operation Lucas would have been involved in, if he’d still been in the Gulf. He’d been a mess—he’d seemed to think he could have saved his friends.

Fueled by a couple of whiskeys that he shouldn’t have drunk while on pain meds, he’d poured out guilt and self-recrimination with a depth of feeling Merry hadn’t known he was capable of. Naturally, she’d wanted to comfort him. When he slung an arm across her shoulders, she’d snuggled into him on the couch. And was reminded of Date Number Eight, in December last year. Lucas’s brother’s wedding. When for the first time ever, they’d given in to the sexual chemistry that had arced between them on and off for years, and had kissed.

That’s all. Kissed.

But it had been H-O-T.

So hot, they’d both pulled back. Yeah, there was chemistry, but they wanted different things out of life, and getting involved would be too…involved.

But in Baltimore, with Lucas all vulnerable and upset beside her, Merry had forgotten the complications and remembered the heat. In the next minute, she’d been on his lap, her mouth pressed to his.

He hadn’t objected in the slightest. In record time, he’d had her out of her clothes.

And then…

Then he’d looked down at her naked body, which, admittedly, was nothing great. She didn’t have legs up to here, or high, bouncing breasts—she was short, and had hardly any breasts at all. Lucas had paused and looked down at her for a long time, and then he’d said, “Let’s not do this.”

Merry had dressed in mortified silence. She’d left while he was in the bathroom. They hadn’t spoken since.

Boo trotted up, carrying a stick of driftwood. Merry busied herself, patting his head, cooing at him. When the sting in her eyes had gone, she straightened and threw the stick. Boo watched its trajectory, but didn’t bother to pursue it.

“So, are we okay?” Lucas was eyeing her with concern. As if she was a problem he needed to fix.

“Of course,” she said. “I’d hate to be held to one stupid moment, and so would you. Sex is one thing, but relationshipwise, I want what my parents had. You’re the last person in the world for that.”

He looked taken aback at being “the last person in the world.” But it was true. Lucas was pragmatic, protective and, in his own way, caring. But she knew from the debates—purely theoretical—they’d had over the years that he didn’t believe in the kind of soul-mate love her parents had had. He would never love a woman the way Merry wanted to be loved. Her mom had died twenty-three years ago, when Merry was three years old, and her dad still grieved.