Heart of a Marine (The Wounded Warrior Series Book 1) (7 page)

“She did?” Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “Were those the men I saw? How’d they get in? Where was Hercules?”

“His handler brings him over just before dark. He works the night shift. We never thought anybody’d try to rip us off in broad daylight.” He grasped his left leg just below the knee. “Dammit! Will you do me a favor and grab those crutches by the front door?”

Marla pressed the towel against his cheek. “This town is going down the tubes. Did those thieves get arrested?”

“Youch! Take it easy.” He leaned back to ease up the pressure. “The cops took them in. All but a guy in a blue car who was probably their lookout. He hauled ass right after the fight started.”

“Sorry, you probably need a couple of stitches. Shall I take you to the ER?”

“No, it’s only a scratch. Just bring the crutches, please. I need to get my weight off this leg and take my pants off so I can have a look at it.”

“Keep the towel pressed there while I get them.”

When she retrieved the crutches and handed them over, he dropped the towel and struggled to his feet. She sighed with relief that the bleeding on his face had stopped.

Dwayne thumped down the hallway in the direction of his bedroom. She followed.

“I’m gonna drop my pants, Danaher. You might want to stay out.”

She huffed and stepped in front of him to open the bedroom door. “I’ve seen men’s underwear before, Dempsey. I have two brothers I practically raised on my own.”

“In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’m not your brother.”

“Shut up. I couldn’t care less about how you look in your underpants. I want to make sure I don’t need to get you medical help.”

“Your call.”

Leaning his crutches against the bed, his back to her, Dwayne unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them below his briefs.

Marla swallowed,
Oh, my.
Then she brushed off her reaction to step in for a closer look.
Right the first time, he isn’t my brother.

He twisted around, sat on the bedspread, and pushed his jeans below his knees.

Sharp shock took her breath away when she gaped at the prosthesis attached to his left leg. “Dwayne…what hap—?”

“Daddy?”

Marla spun around to see Amber standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Skipper’s toenails tapped on the floor as he trailed behind.

“I’m here, squirt. Come on in.” He pointed to his pants. “Help me pull these pants off, OK?”

“Are your toes itching again?” Amber knelt on the floor in front of him and scratched the toe of his empty boot. “I’ll scratch ’em for you.”

Marla’s head swam, her breathing rapid and shallow. Dwayne had part of his leg missing! When had that happened? How had she not known it before now?

“They don’t itch tonight, sweet pea. I just need you to help me get this contraption off.”

“What happened, Daddy?”

“I took a spill and it’s sore. I gotta get the pressure off, that’s all.”

Without realizing she’d moved, Marla knelt beside Amber and untied the leather thongs on his right work boot. “Do you have something to put on that?”

Amber jumped to her feet. “I know where Daddy’s feel-good goop is. I’ll get it.” She ran to the bathroom. Marla heard the opening and closing of cupboard doors. She returned holding a large jar. “Here it is.”

“Thanks, honey. I’ll unhitch my gear and you can help Marla pull Daddy’s jeans off.” He undid the fasteners on the prosthesis, then leaned back on his elbows and held out his leg so Marla could haul his right boot off.

Amber tugged the prosthesis free from his left pant leg, and then together they pulled on the hem of his jeans.

Dwayne exhaled. “Jeez, what a relief. This thing hurts like a son-of-a-gun.” He sat straight, hooked his hand under his right knee, twisted sideways, and lifted it so both of his legs rested on the bed. He tugged off the gel-sock covering the stump. It flamed red with an angry bruise slashed across the area above and below his knee where the brace had been attached.

He reached for the jar, but Amber held out of his reach. “I can do it.”

Marla’s heart banged against her ribs. She stared at this little girl who had taken over the care of her father. Her little fingers dipped in the jar and plucked out a blob of clear gel. She massaged it on Dempsey’s damaged limb.

The medication was odorless, but Marla got a whiff of Dwayne. Even though sweaty and disheveled, his seductive male scent got her heart tripping.

He sighed and fell back against the pillows. “Thank you, squirt. You’re the best nurse I ever had.”

Marla blinked when Dwayne pointed to the chair next to the bed. “Sit down before you fall down, Red.”

Desperately working to organize her thoughts before she spoke, Marla sat and stared. Skip hopped onto the bed to investigate Amber’s progress. He sniffed around then walked up Dempsey’s body to his chest where he flopped on his belly as if to hold Dwayne prisoner while Amber worked.

“Skipper! Get down from there.”

Before she could move, he placed his hand on the dog’s back and grinned at the mutt’s bulgy-eyed stare. “He’s OK. You’re fine, aren’t you, soldier?”

Skipper’s tail thumped a steady rhythm against the man’s flat belly.

Dwayne faced Marla. “You better start breathing soon, Red, or my nurse will have two patients on her hands.”

Marla closed her mouth and wondered how long it had been hanging open. A hot flush burned her cheeks. “I’m…I…wow. How long have you had…what happened?”

“Operation Iraqi Freedom, March ’03. Nearly got my ass blown off over there.”

Amber aimed a disapproving face at him. “You’re saying a lot of bad words today, Daddy. No ice cream for you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll clean up my act.” He tugged a lock of her hair. “You keep me in line.”

Marla marveled at the easy interplay between father and daughter. Even though six-year-old Amber had innocently prayed for Dempsey to get her a new mom, heaven help the woman who ever tried to get between those two.

“Does everybody know about your…your uh…foot, except me, Dempsey?”

“I don’t advertise it. My family knows. And that includes Miss Emmaline. The men on the job know. They’re all Iraq vets.”

Hoping she wasn’t being obnoxiously nosy, Marla asked, “Are any of the other men…wounded?”

“Cluny got hit in the same battle.” He threw his forearm over his eyes. “But nothing you can see.”

She twisted her hands. “Shall I get you something? Tylenol? Aspirin? I can see how uncomfortable you are.”

Dwayne lowered his arm. “Thanks, Danaher, but no. You and your mouse have had enough excitement for one day. It’s late. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ve got a great nurse, and I’ll be ship-shape by Monday morning. Why don’t you take off? You have some work to do tomorrow to wrap up the sale on the house for Pete and Rosie.”

With a sigh, Marla stood. “Are you sure? If you need me to pick up something, or do anything before I leave, tell me now.” When Dwayne rolled his head on the pillow, she lifted Skip off his chest. “I kept your dinner in the oven. It’s probably pretty dried out by now.”

“No sweat, Danaher. It’ll be a helluva lot better than an MRE.” They glimpsed Amber’s expression when she grumbled. “Sorry, nurse, I’ll get to work cleaning up my language.”

“You better, or you’ll never ever get to eat ice cream again, Daddy. Rilly.”

Marla chuckled and hugged Skipper against her sweat-shirted bosom. “OK then. I’ll see you Monday. I had a good time visiting with you, Amber. So did Skip.”

“Me too, Marla. I love him.”

“You take good care of your daddy. I’ll find my way out.”

* * *

So now Marla knew.

He’d have had to reveal it at some point, so tonight was as good a time as any. She
was
shocked, but to give Red credit, he hadn’t detected any pity in her reaction. She’d been as bossy as ever, ready to take charge. No phony blushing when he’d dropped his pants, she’d done what needed to be done.

Dwayne couldn’t stomach pity. He was lucky to be alive and had no regrets about his tour of duty. He’d volunteered to go and would go again if they’d have him.

One thing he did know—an Iraqi dad loved his kids just as much as Dwayne loved Amber. Nobody deserved to live under the heel of a murdering tyrant. Some of the things he’d seen over there would always haunt him. Whatever it took, he’d defend his home, his daughter, his town against any evil bastard intent on doing harm.

Amber sat back on her heels and screwed the top on the jar of salve. “Is that better, Daddy?”

“I’m good as new thanks to you.” He dragged his pajama bottoms from under his pillow and pulled them on. “I’m starved. What say we see what’s left of my supper?”

“Wait, I’ll get a Band-Aid.” Amber hopped down and held his crutches in front of him. “Sit on the side of the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled on a sock and waited patiently while she dabbed his cut with antibiotic ointment and stuck the bandage on his cheek.

“Will I live?”

“Probly.”

“That’s a relief.” He stood and put the pads of the crutches under his arms and headed down the hall.

Amber darted ahead of him. “I’ll get your soda. Marla put it back in ’frigerator when you left. I rilly like her. She’s not married and her boyfriend is rilly boring. She told me. Did you know she had a twin sister who doesn’t look anything like her and twin brothers who nobody can tell apart but her? Her dad is best friends with Grampa Johnny, and her mother’s name is Silvia, but they call her Silly Silvia when she isn’t listening. They make a surprise party every year for their dad’s birthday, but Marla always tells him before because she says he doesn’t like surprises. I like surprises.”

Dwayne laughed as he followed her running dialogue to the kitchen. “I’m calling the FBI Monday morning to see if they’ll give you a job interview. You wormed more information out of Marla Danaher in one evening than I have in the last six months.”

“She said we could be girlfriends and tell each other everything. She wondered where my mom was, and I told her you revorced her last year because she had to leave and wasn’t ever coming back and she wanted to know if you had a girlfriend and I told her no.” Amber opened the fridge and set his Dr. Pepper on the table.

“Whoa. I changed my mind about the FBI. You must already be moonlighting as an agent for the CIA.”

He propped one of his crutches against the counter and opened the door of the barely warm oven. Holding a dishtowel, he lifted his plate off the rack. “Mmm, mmm, mmm, just the way I like it. When it’s brown it’s cookin’ and when it’s black it’s done.”

Amber set the salad bowl on the table and removed the plastic wrap. “Marla made me eat all my salad.”

“How’d she manage that miraculous feat?”

Amber wrinkled her nose. “She’s rilly bossy.”

He laughed. Yes, Marla was “rilly bossy.” Definitely a take-charge woman. A woman he liked more every day, and who apparently had some interest in him, or why had she wormed so much information out of his daughter?

He shook his head when he thought of the monumental paperwork battle required to finally get his divorce from Francine. She’d deserted them, and he hadn’t seen or heard a peep from her in nearly six years. He’d spent a fortune on all the legal advertising and hoops he’d had to jump through. For all he knew, she was dead by now.

The way Francine liked to live in the fast lane, he wouldn’t be surprised. He’d been totally seduced by her wild child ways in those days. Their first explosive sexual encounter had been her idea, and he’d enjoyed every down-and-dirty minute of it. What a dumb kid he’d been back then.

“If I eat all my salad will you let me have some ice cream, nurse? I promise to clean up my act.”

Amber pursed her lips with skepticism. “You always promise.” She scowled across the table, arms crossed in front of her. “OK, but this is the last time. I rilly mean it, Daddy.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Dang it!” Marla was halfway home when she remembered she’d forgotten her promise to Charlene to return to their parent’s house after she met with the Wylands. She’d left her cell phone in the car while at Dwayne’s. Her mother and sister had probably left a gazillion hysterical voicemails by now. She looked at the screen and groaned.

“What am I going to do, Skippy?” She sighed and made an abrupt U-turn in the middle of the block to retrace her route. Might as well face the music.

Her parent’s house appeared quiet when she pulled in the driveway. Charlene’s car wasn’t there. Gritting her teeth against the expected meltdown, she picked up Skipper, went to the front door, and pushed the bell.

Her dad opened the door. “Hi, honey. Come on in.” He stepped aside and held the door open.

“Hi, Dadley. Is Mom here? She’s probably ready to kill me.”

“No, and I doubt it.” He took Skipper from her and let the dog lap his face. “Why would you think that?”

“She called me in a fury over your birthday party. I got the impression you’d soon be divorced or she’d be a widow. She said you told her you wouldn’t come to your own party if John Dempsey couldn’t bring his wife. What a mess.”

Bradley Danaher pointed to a chair next to his recliner. “Take a load off.” He took a seat and set Skip in his lap, held up a glass of Irish whiskey and raised his eyebrows.

“No, thanks. Where is Mom? Where’s Char? I want to get it over with.”

“They were smiling and yapping when they went out shopping this afternoon, then they called and said they were adding dinner and a movie. Your mother seemed reconciled to my ultimatum. I think it took her all of five minutes to get over it.”

“You gave her an ultimatum?” Dadley never gave ultimatums.
“Wow! I almost got an ulcer on the way over here.” Marla stuck her legs straight out in front of her, slid down in the chair, and dropped her head back. “I’ll have a wee dram after all, Dad. Those two are making me old before my time.”

Bradley chuckled and poured Jameson’s into a heavy crystal glass and handed it to her. “You were born grown up, my darling girl. You’re an old soul.” He tipped his glass at her. “Slainte!”