Once a Marine

“Black. High-test if you’ve got it.”

“Cool,” Alex said, looking from Zach to Summer and back again. “Something else you two have in common.”

Summer’s left brow quirked upward.

“Something else?” Zach said.

“Black coffee and...and...” The teen blinked then helped himself to another cookie as a red flush crept up his neck. “Well, you guys are about the same age.”

Nice recovery. He could almost read the kid’s mind: black coffee and a close connection to violent crime. Had Summer picked up on it, too?

“Much as I hate to quote my mom,” Alex said, “I have to eat and run. Midterms. Argh.” Alex stood beside Summer and whispered, “Will you, uh, are you okay being alone with you-know-who?” He aimed a thumb at Zach, trying to hide it behind a cupped hand.

Goofy kid, he thought. If God ever blessed him with a son, Zach wouldn’t mind a bit if he was just like Alex.

“I sent a short grocery list to your email,” she said. “Specialty items for my parents’ visit. Bean sprouts, oatmeal, tofu...”

“Gross!” He wrinkled his nose. “I almost forgot they’re vegetarians.”

“Vegans.”

Alex groaned, whimpered and opened the door. “Guess we won’t be grilling any steaks while they’re in town, then, huh?”

Smiling, Summer said, “If we do, we won’t have to worry about sharing them with Mom and Dad.”

He stepped outside, but turned back. “Do me a favor, will ya, and tell them boiling cabbage is against community association rules. My grandmother had an apartment in a seniors’ high-rise. Every time we visited, the whole building reeked of the stuff.” He pointed left. “There’s just a wall between your house and mine, and you remember the time I burned popcorn in the microwave.”

It was Summer’s turn to groan. “I didn’t think I’d ever get that awful smell out of here!”

Alex was still snickering as the door clicked shut.

The room fell silent, save for the trickle of coffee filling a big white mug, the ticking clock and the hum of the fridge.

“That’s one great kid,” Zach said.

“Yes, he is.” She clasped her hands at her waist. “So tell me, how many of your other clients are like me?”

Like her? If she meant beautiful, barely bigger than a minute, with a voice even more lovely than her face, he’d have to say none. But he knew what she meant. “Just one. My sister, Libby.”

She handed him his coffee. “I’m sorry to hear she had to go through that.”

“Happened a little over two years ago. The whole Marshall clan is proud of the way she pulled through it.”

And to ensure Summer wouldn’t think he was comparing her recovery to Libby’s, Zach quickly added, “But she’s a shrink, so she knows all the tricks. Too bad she can’t nail down the reason she’s the clumsiest person for miles around.”

She gave him a look that said “What does that have to do with anything?” then slid a red mug under the coffeemaker’s spout. North Pole, Alaska, was printed on one side.

Zach pointed. “Gift, or souvenir?”

“Both. I bought it for myself. Alaska had been at the top of my bucket list for years, and I crossed it off with a cruise along the Inside Passage, then went overland by train...”

Alone?

“...with a friend,” she said, answering his unasked question.

Ah. Ex-boyfriend, probably. And based on her tone of voice, the breakup hadn’t been easy.

“Have you been there? To Alaska, I mean?”

“Yeah. College pal and I backpacked and camped in Denali after graduation, before we enlisted with the marines. Alaska was our last hoorah, in case...” In case we didn’t make it home, like some of my guys.

Her slow nod told him she understood. “Where did they send you?”

“One tour in Kuwait, three in Afghanistan.” He hated talking about this stuff. Too many regrets. Too many hard memories. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“It’s a free country, thanks to men like you.”

He never knew how to react when people said things like that. He’d enlisted because, after earning a business degree from Colorado State, he couldn’t picture himself at a desk, balancing the Double M’s books, or taking orders from his younger cousin, Nate. How heroic was that?

He set both forearms on the counter, putting his face a foot closer to hers. “How did you know it was safe to let Alex leave?”

“I didn’t.” She sat back, running her fingers through her bangs. “But as you pointed out, he’s a great kid. If he says you’re okay, that’s good enough for me.” Summer branded him with those big dark eyes, then frowned slightly. “That’s a big fat lie. Letting him leave was a test.”

He was mildly surprised. “Is that so? And did I pass?”

A quiet, melodic laugh passed her lips. “Oh, I wasn’t testing you.” Her brows drew together, and he read it as a sign that the subject was closed. “Besides, I’ve never met a marine who couldn’t be trusted.”

Oh, he could name a few. Zach knew one guy who’d survived hand-to-hand combat, only to return home so mentally scarred that he’d turned to whiskey for comfort. Another, plagued by nightmares of the things he’d seen, chose drugs to help him forget...and chose crime to help fund his addiction. There were a few skeletons in Zach’s own closet, too, but what would be gained by admitting it?

Summer picked up a cookie, held it out to him. “They really are good, if I do say so myself.”

He understood this gesture as another signal to change the subject. When he reached for it, his fingertips brushed hers. She inhaled sharply, a quick little gasp, and snapped back her hand so fast, the cookie broke. A succession of emotions skittered across her pretty face, from shock to dread to embarrassment.

“Guess your sister isn’t the only clumsy one.” Summer brushed crumbs into an upturned palm and ate them, then grabbed another cookie. “Let’s try this again.”

This time, Zach was careful not to touch her. He took a small bite and decided that if she signed up for a self-defense class, he’d pass her off to Emma. Somehow, he’d summoned the patience to help his sister cope with her male-induced skittishness, but Summer was a stranger. Besides, what worked for Libby might backfire with Summer.

“Wow,” she said. “Just look at that frown. Don’t you like chocolate chips?”

“Of course I do. Sorry. They’re good. Really good.” He met her eyes again. Those enormous, long-lashed, brown eyes. Zach swallowed. Hard. If he admitted his part in Libby’s attack, Summer might never give the classes a chance. And he couldn’t think of a person who needed them more.

Zach sipped his coffee. “Your recipe beats my mom’s all to pieces, but if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Either she didn’t get the joke, or saw it as proof of his blatant dishonesty, because Summer got up and riffled through a drawer.

“I really am kind of clumsy sometimes,” she said, patting her thigh, “thanks to this bum leg.”

They hadn’t been talking about the leg, or clumsiness, so he didn’t understand why she’d mentioned either.

She plucked a sandwich bag from its box and added, “Do you think it’ll be a problem? If I enroll in classes, that is?”

He still didn’t get the connection. “The leg? No, it won’t matter at all.” Dave Reece was the only other person he knew who favored one leg the way Summer did. He’d earned his limp stepping on a land mine, and now he wore a prosthesis. Jeans hid her legs, so he had no way of knowing if she’d been fitted for one, too. If so, she’d earned it in a battle of an entirely different kind.

“One of my students is in her mideighties. And Emma, my assistant, teaches two kids who wear leg braces.”

“Emma?” She began filling a second bag. “I thought Alex was your assistant.”

“Well, he helps out. A lot. But until he earns his certificate, I can’t let him work one-on-one with students. Insurance regs, you know?”

“I didn’t realize credentials were a requirement for self-defense instructors.”

“They are in my studio.”

“Once a marine,” she said, smiling, “always a marine, eh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He shrugged one shoulder and returned her grin. “Well, that might be part of it.”

Zach wrapped his hands around the mug. “It’s just that I won’t take a chance that my students could get hurt in class—or afterward—because an instructor lacks experience or maturity. It’s my responsibility to figure out what each person needs to learn. Some instinctively know how to spot danger before it happens. Some need to be taught what to look for. Because self-defense is as much psychological as it is physical, and involves a whole lot more than stance and protective maneuvers.”

He hadn’t said anything funny. At least, he didn’t think he had. So why were her eyes glittering with amusement?

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“So Alex was right.”

“About?”

“You really are the Amazing Zach.”

“The Amazing... He called me that?”

“No, but that’s the impression I get whenever he talks about you.”

He felt the heat of a blush creep into his face. And how must that look? Big, tough, battle-scarred marine, sitting here all pink-cheeked, like a starry-eyed teenage girl. If he hadn’t already finished his coffee, he’d take a sip now, just so he could hide behind the mug.

“I call him my one-man PR firm,” Zach admitted. “But from the sound of things, he goes overboard from time to time.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll see if your teaching skills are as amazing as Alex says they are.”

So, she’d decided to enroll in classes and begin accepting help? Good!

Summer zipped both plastic bags, slid them near Zach’s elbow then stood at the end of the counter and faced the front door.

Well, no one would accuse her of being overly subtle. But he hadn’t planned to stay this long, anyway. Zach got to his feet and helped himself to one of the bags. “Thanks. These will make a great breakfast, dunked in coffee in the morning.”

“Not the healthiest breakfast, but it’s your stomach,” she said, picking up the second bag. “Would you do me a favor and bring these to Alex on your way out?”

He was tempted to do it, but thought better of it. “Lesson number one—there are some things that, no matter how difficult, you need to do for yourself.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Alex only lives next door,” he said quickly.

Blinking, she snapped her mouth shut and took a half step back. He’d only told her what she needed to hear. So why did he feel like such a heel?

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll stand at the end of the sidewalk and keep a close eye on you while you deliver the cookies. Will that make it easier to go outside?”

For a second there, it looked like she might take him up on the offer. But pride must have gotten the better of her because she pulled back her shoulders and said, “No, you’re right. I should do it myself.” Her chin lifted a notch. “Don’t worry. You needn’t babysit me.”

When you’re right, you’re right, he thought. But he didn’t have time for moodiness. Zach grabbed the door handle, but a wood-framed photo on the foyer table stopped him. “Your folks?” he asked, pointing at it.

Summer nodded.

“I recognize them from a couple movies.” He nodded. “Must be cool, having parents who are big stars. Ever been on the set when they’re filming?”

“A few times. Mostly when I was a kid, and they couldn’t line up a sitter.”

“What are their names again?”

“Susannah and Harrison Lane.”

She crossed her arms over her chest again, and Zach decided it was her shut-out-the-world stance.

He held up the baggy. “Well, thanks for these. And for the coffee, too.”

“No problem.”

He’d read the phrase, her smile never made it to her eyes, in a couple of novels, but it had never made sense to him...until this moment.

“There’s a beginners class starting up on Monday evening. If you get there at five-thirty or so, you’ll have plenty of time to fill out the enrollment forms before we get going at six.”

“I’ll be there.”

He almost believed her.

But if she hadn’t left the house in who knew how long, how would she get to the studio?

“Do you need a ride?”

“No,” she said resignedly, “I have a car. I open the garage door once a week and start it, to keep the engine from getting all gummed up. And when my parents are in town, they drive it.”

Something about her posture and sad eyes reminded him of the war-orphaned kids he’d met while deployed. She’d taken a beating. Maybe even more than a beating. But if those youngsters could pick their way through rubble and find ways to survive, so could a full-grown woman who lived in a luxurious town house in one of the nation’s most prestigious ski resorts. He might be tempted to feel a little sorry for her...if she wasn’t doing such a great job feeling sorry for herself.

“Guess I’d better head out.”

“See you Monday,” she said, closing the door.

Fractions of a second later, he heard the bolt slide into place. “Can’t deliver cookies through a steel entry door...” he said to himself.

Would he see her on Monday? Or had she only made the promise to get rid of him? For her sake, he hoped she’d been serious. Hoped, too, that if she showed up, she’d stick with the program. Because if anybody needed some confidence-building lessons, it was Summer Lane.

“Strange woman,” he muttered, taking out his keys. “Gorgeous, but strange.”

He turned the key in the ignition, and as the pickup’s motor came to life, he pictured her unenthusiastic reaction to stepping outside, even long enough to deliver a zipper bag of treats to her next-door neighbor.

If she met him halfway, he could show her how to strengthen muscle, help build her self-confidence; teach her how to feel in control of her surroundings. But dealing with her scary brew of emotional issues? That was Libby’s field, not his.

He had three choices: call Libby and ask for tips on dealing with a woman like Summer, or get online, as he’d thought of earlier, to find out what he could about her past. Easiest of all, he could avoid her altogether. It wasn’t likely she’d show up on Monday, anyway. He knew better than most that she couldn’t hide from the evil in the world, but if she wanted to spend the rest of her days trying, he couldn’t talk her out of it. Didn’t want to talk her out of it.

At the stop sign half a block from her town house, Zach peered into the rearview mirror, and almost didn’t believe his eyes.

There stood Summer, sandwich bag of cookies in one hand, the other raised to ring Alex’s doorbell.

“Well, good for you, Summer. Good for you.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He was happy for her, and strangely proud, too. What was it the sages said about every journey beginning with a single step? She’d finally taken it, and—

A car horn blared behind him. Startled, Zach waved a quick apology to the driver and took his foot off the brake. He was halfway home before reality dawned: going to Summer’s house had been a stupid idea. Because now, like it or not—and he did not—he was committed to helping her.

From kindergarten on, teachers and parents alike praised him for coming to the aid of others: the new kid, too timid to play kick ball at recess; the boy in the wheelchair who couldn’t reach a book from a high shelf; the girl with thick glasses and an overbite he’d invited to junior prom because no one else would. In marine boot camp, that same tendency earned him the nickname Champ, aka Champion of the Underdog. He’d used his precious few off-duty hours to coach the smaller, weaker guys who often got stuck with kitchen patrol or latrine duty when they fell seconds short of passing muster during drills.

If his mom hadn’t done such a good job drilling the “do unto others” rule into his head, he wouldn’t be in this fix. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, grinning despite himself.

Helping others made him feel good, even when he hadn’t been around to see the positive aftereffects. But getting involved had gotten him into serious trouble, too. He pictured Martha, and instantly shut down the memory. It wouldn’t be like that with Summer. Zach accepted his fate, much as he’d accepted every awful assignment from his superiors.

But he didn’t have to like it.

CHAPTER FOUR

ROSE HELPED HERSELF to a chocolate-chip cookie then perched on a kitchen stool. “I should hang out here more often. Maybe your homemaker skills will rub off on me.”

The place did look good, if Summer said so herself. But then, why wouldn’t it, when she had little else to do but decorate and keep things tidy?

“Once I’ve done my exercises, I have nothing but time on my hands. And a person can only read and watch TV so many hours a day.”

Her friend stared at her long and hard, and Summer braced herself for another lecture about getting out of the house.

Instead, Rose polished off the cookie. “How many of these fattening, addictive things did you make this time?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Six, maybe eight dozen.”

“Keep that up, and this—” Rose crossed her long legs “—will be impossible.”

Summer laughed, hoping she’d escaped the spiel.

“So what’s this I hear about you signing up for self-defense classes with Zach Marshall?”

Summer had thought the blabbermouth gene had skipped a generation, but clearly, Alex had inherited it. Summer ran a hand through her hair. “I probably will, but I’m not sure yet.”

“I hope you’re joking, because Alex is feeling pretty good about himself for talking you into it.”

If she signed up, it would be because of Zach, not Alex. But if she admitted that to Rose, she’d tell Alex and hurt his feelings.

Summer flipped through her recipe file and plucked out the card for veggie lasagna. “My parents’ plane will land soon, and I’m sure they’ll be hungry when they get here.”

“Where are they flying in from this time?”

“Malta.”

“Malta? I don’t even know where that is!”

When Summer entered high school, her folks thought it best that she stay in one place to attend school and live a more stable life than their own, and she’d kept track of their whereabouts on the big world map that now hung above her living room sofa. Knowing Rose would cry tears of boredom if she recited the precise location at 35.9̊ N and 14.5̊ E, she said, “It’s in the Mediterranean, near Italy and Libya.”

Rose nodded, squinting as if trying to picture the region. “Hmm. And where to next?”

“Who knows? They’re nomads.”

“It sounds like such a fascinating life.” Rose sighed wistfully.

Summer knew better than to agree. “Would you and Alex like to join us for supper?” she said instead. “I’m sure they’d love to see you guys and share pictures and stories about the island and the movie, with all its pirates and scallywags and doubloons.”

Rose glanced at the ingredients on the recipe card and wrinkled her nose. “Tofu?”

“’Fraid so.”

She shoved the card closer to Summer. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather see that annoying superheroes movie Alex has been raving about.”

Summer put a pot of water on to boil. “Tofu isn’t all that horrible.”

“Not all that horrible? Gee, there’s a convincing argument.” Rose laughed. “And speaking of arguments, help me understand why you’re on the fence about these self-defense lessons.”

Rose held her gaze then said, “I know you. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or in your case, it’s all-in, or 100 percent out.”

Much as Summer hated to admit it, Rose was right.

“How much do you know about the instructor?” she asked.

“Zach? Well, he’s single, if that’s what you mean.”

No, it wasn’t, but for a reason Summer couldn’t explain, that came as good news.

“He’s also a man of his word. Honest to a fault. If anything ever happened to me, I’d like nothing better than for him to finish raising Alex.” She sighed. “Only reason I can’t name him as legal guardian is because it would break my brother’s heart. He thinks the world of my kid.”

“A whole lot of people think the world of Alex.”

Rose waved away the compliment. “I have an uncle who was a marine. Never shuts up about his time in ’Nam. But Zach? He won’t talk about his years in the military. I’m guessing that means he saw some pretty ugly stuff over there.”

Summer added wide, whole wheat noodles to the boiling water and recalled the strange expression that had come over Zach’s face when she’d said, “Once a marine, always a marine.” Something between distress and dissatisfaction. Maybe what he’d survived explained the sadness that tinged his green eyes.

“If I’d been over there, they’d have to outfit me with a straitjacket and lock me in a padded room. I don’t have the backbone to face danger and hardship, especially not all at the same time.”

Rose’s husband had been a logger, and died on the job when Alex was just a few months old. His insurance helped get her through those first rough months. Teaching third grade at Red Sandstone Elementary kept the wolf from the door during the school year. Only recently, after inheriting her unmarried aunt’s estate, had she been able to give up her second job, waitressing weekends and summers. But as far as Summer knew, no one had helped Rose through the emotional hardships of widowhood and raising a kid alone.

“You’re tougher than you let on,” Summer said. “I wish I could be more like you.”

“Whatever,” Rose said, glossing over the comment. “So? What did you think of him?”

“The Amazing Zach, you mean?”

“You say that like you think he isn’t amazing. Are you dippy, girl? The man is positively dreamy!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, if he’s so great, then why is he still single at his age?”

“Listen to you.” Rose chuckled. “Talking about him as if he’s some doddering old man. I happen to know he’ll turn thirty-five on his next birthday.”

Summer glanced at the clock. Unless her parents’ plane got in late, they’d arrive in an hour or so. She turned on the oven and opened a jar of pasta sauce as Rose counted off Zach’s qualities on her fingers.

“He loves his family. He served his country. He moved into his sister, Libby’s, condo after her attack and nursed her back to health. He owns his own business. He’s great with kids. He’s strong and handsome and decent and—”

“Why aren’t you dating him?”

Rose’s blue eyes widened. “Zach? And me? Oh, you’re a regular comedian, aren’t you? For one thing, he’s too young for me.”

“You talk about yourself as if you’re a doddering old woman. You’re only forty.”

“Oh, like I needed the reminder.” Rose grabbed another cookie. “Truth is, I couldn’t date Zach. It would be like...like dating my brother!”

“Yeah, I guess I understand that. You and Zach have been friends a long time. I’d feel the same way if someone suggested I start dating Justin.” Summer began assembling the pasta dish. “You’re sure you won’t join us for supper? I’m serving minestrone, salad and garlic bread, too—and chocolate mousse for dessert—so I guarantee you and Alex won’t go home hungry, even if you don’t want the lasagna.”

“You haven’t seen your folks in months. I think you need some family time. How long will they be in town?”

“Hard to say. A week, maybe two?”

“Plenty of time, then, for Alex and me to interrogate them before they hit the road again.” Rose hopped down from the stool and put on her jacket. “Can you believe the weather guy is calling for snow?”

“He also said this cold snap should end soon, and we’ll go back to temps in the sixties during the day and thirties at night.”

“I hope he’s right. I’m not ready for full-fledged winter weather just yet.” She opened the door then drew Summer into a sisterly hug. “Listen,” she said, holding her at arm’s length, “any time you want some real food while your mom and dad are here, just text me. I’ll send Alex over with a plate of hot dogs or pizza. You can eat it after they’ve gone to bed.”