Make Mine a Ranger (Special Ops: Homefront Book 4) (4 page)

She had a nice laugh, Tyler decided. “I
don’t think I’ve ever had homemade pasta before.”

“Really?” She sliced off another piece
for him as he finished his first.

He really should stop. The last thing he
could do is gain weight in this job if he wanted to stay in the Rangers.

But still, one more piece wouldn’t kill
him. He’d do extra PT tomorrow, he promised himself as she placed another chunk
of oven-baked decadence onto his plate.

“Lacey and Maeve gave me the pasta maker
for Christmas last year,” she continued, completely unaware that her lasagna
was a shade away from giving him a hard-on. “I’m still trying to get the hang
of it.”

“Believe me, you got the hang of it.” He
swallowed and looked at her. “Why aren’t you working as a chef somewhere or
something like that?”

Bess shrugged. “I don’t have the training,
for one thing. And I also need a steady paycheck and good benefits for Abby. The
hours are good where I work. I can finish early and pick up Abby from day care
at a decent hour. You can’t get that if you’re working in a restaurant.”

It made sense, he figured, but still…

She had told him she worked as an office
manager for a dental practice. Not exactly the kind of place where she could
stretch the wings of her culinary talents. But he guessed that’s what happened
to single moms, thinking back to the financial struggles of his own mother when
he was younger.

Bess gathered up Abby’s silverware and
added it to her own. “I work for a caterer sometimes on the weekends when they
get overbooked. I get some of my recipes from that. Edith babysits Abby on
those days.”

“Edith?”

“She’s sort of a family friend. She was
Mick’s sponsor when he went to the Academy years ago, and she’s kind of adopted
us, for some reason.”

“You mean Mrs. B?”

“Yeah. That’s right. Did you meet her at Maeve’s
party last year?”

Tyler smiled. “Yeah, I saw her then, but I
met her a long time before that. She hosted a crab feast for the West Point
exchange cadets when I was here a few years back. She’s an incredible lady. So
she babysits for Abby?”

“More than that. Treats her like a doting
grandmother. Not sure what I’d do without her. With what babysitters charge,
I’d never be able to do the catering job without her just because I’d barely
break even.”

“Well, if she’s ever not available, I can
watch her,” Tyler said, making a mental note to pick up a spare car seat for Abby
so that he could take her in his car if the need ever arose. Never hurt to be
prepared, deployments overseas had taught him.

Bess dropped her gaze. “You’ll have
better things to do on Saturday nights than chase after a three-year-old after
you get settled in your job.”

Tyler thought back to the two phone
messages from women he had already met here. Yeah, he could be busy any night
he wanted, but right now the promise of a few hours babysitting seemed a small
price to pay for a meal like this.

Give him another week or so, and he’d
probably change his mind. A guy’s got needs.

He scooped up another bite before taking
his plate to the sink. “Any chance this caterer thing might turn into something
more regular?”

“I doubt it. The only reason they hired
me is they were trying to get a friend of mine to sign on with them for her
wedding this fall. Vi said she’d go with someone else if they didn’t hire me part-time.
And seeing as her wedding’s going to get a lot of press coverage, they figured
it would be a good deal for them.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s on CNN or CNBC or one of
those financial networks, isn’t she?”

“Sometimes,” Bess answered. “Not as
regularly as she used to be, though. She’s a partner in a financial firm now.
She’s marrying Joe Shey.”

“The SEAL CO? Wow. Both sisters fell for SEALs.”
He chuckled softly.

“They’re easy to fall for, I guess.”

Tyler shrugged. SEALs got a lot more
press than Rangers did, but the risks were no different. “Thanks for dinner. I
owe you.”

“Anytime,” she said, rising from her
chair.

He blocked her as she headed toward the
sink. “No way. You cook. I clean up afterward. Least I can do.”

For a moment, she looked like she might
put up a fight about it. She had a bit of fire in her eyes, to match her red
hair. But then she sat down again at the table. “It’s a deal. But don’t be
surprised if I cook for you more often then.”

Turning her chair slightly, she stretched
out her legs. She looked exhausted, he thought, and there was always a hint of
worry in her eyes. Maybe that came with motherhood. “Do you want a beer? I’m
having one.”

“No. I never drink anymore.”

“Why not?”
Shit
. He cursed himself
for asking. Maybe she was recovering from an addiction.
Way to go, idiot.

“Being alone with a daughter does that to
me. I just worry that something will happen and I won’t be able to respond as
quickly because I had a drink. What if she needs me to drive her to the ER or
something? It’s just me, being a control freak. I’m a bit of a paranoid mom.”

“You’re not paranoid. But I’m here. You
can pass a little of the control to me. I never drink enough that I can’t drive
sober to base. With the Rangers, I was on one-hour recall. If I needed to
deploy, I had to be ready. The enemy won’t wait for us to sober up. So, do you
want a beer? Truth.”

Pausing, she looked as though there was a
debate brewing inside of her. Finally she answered, “I’m not really a beer
drinker. But a glass of wine sounds divine right now.”

“Then I’m getting you a glass of wine. If
Abby needs to make a run to the ER, God forbid, I’m ready. Where do you keep
the wine?”

Bess glanced upward. “I think Maeve left
some in the cabinet above the fridge.”

He reached up for a bottle and glanced at
the label. He knew little to nothing about wine. White or red. That was it. “Chardonnay,”
he read. “Sound up your alley?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He felt her eyes follow him as he
searched for the corkscrew in the silverware drawer.

“One hour recall,” she said thoughtfully.
“Sounds a little like motherhood. But I don’t get to drive a tank.”

Stabbing the cork and twisting, Tyler
laughed. “Recall is one thing I don’t miss about being down there.”

“But the rest you miss?”

“Yeah. I’ve wanted to be a Ranger since I
was a kid. Even though I’m still working on their behalf up here for the year,
I’d rather be in the action. There’s not a lot of years you can do this, you
know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you get banged up pretty bad, even
in the best of circumstances. Even in training, I’ve known guys to get serious injuries.
I’m 27, and I’ve already got two compressed discs in my back from the Infantry
lifestyle. And this,” he said, kicking his one foot against his other calf as
he poured a glass of wine.

“What?”

“This. Got a good chuck of flesh blown
off me in my last mission.” He pointed to a long, jagged scar on his calf
camouflaged by the ripples of muscles and the hairs on his leg. “Half the
reason they sent me here rather than someone else is because my leg needed more
time to heal. I’m much more of a field guy than MI.”

“MI?”

“Sorry. Military Intelligence.” He
laughed. “Though there are those who will tell you that’s an oxymoron.”

Bess shook her head, eyes fixed on the
scar. “I don’t know why you do it.”

Tyler set the glass in front of her.
“Ahhh. Then you weren’t paying attention in your freshman history class.”

“Huh?”

“That was the year we studied World War
II in high school—the first time I heard about Ranger Battalion. They
were the ones who led the charge onto Omaha Beach to establish a foothold,
retake France, and defeat the Nazis. We saw a documentary on it, and it blew my
mind. The footage was phenomenal. We saw these guys storming the beach,
climbing ropes to get up those cliffs, doing whatever it took to make it. If
they had turned back, we might be speaking German right now.” He sat back down
at the table. “I wanted to be a part of that fighting force. That history. That’s
where the motto comes from, you know. ‘Rangers lead the way.’ It dates back to
Omaha Beach.”

“I never knew that,” she said softly.
“I’m not too up on the whole Special Operations thing.” A soft laugh escaped
her.

“What?”

Amused at something, she shook her head. “When
we first met back when I was pregnant, and you said you wanted to be a Ranger,
I thought you meant Park Ranger.”

Tyler tossed back his head, laughing.
“That’s just classic.”

“Yeah. I asked Mick later why you were
going to West Point if you wanted to eventually become a Park Ranger and he
never lets me forget it. He still brings it up.”

Tyler was still chuckling. “Well, you’re
the first then. Down in Savannah all the girls know who the Rangers are. In the
St. Paddy’s Day Parade, we march in formation at the front of the parade, and
they jump into the street to kiss us. By the end of the parade, we’ve got
lipstick all over our faces.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Not one bit. I have pictures for proof.”

She took a sip of wine. “So is that why
you went to West Point? So you could become a Ranger?”

“No, that’s why I enlisted.”

Bess paused. “Enlisted? I don’t get it. You’re
an officer.”

“I enlisted in the Army right out of high
school. Got a couple deployments under my belt. Then one of my commanders, a
West Point grad, suggested I try to get in. He walked me through the process,
wrote a recommendation, and suddenly, I’m on the road to being an officer.”

Bess took another sip from her glass, and
Tyler noticed how her eyelids half shut as she did, as though in intense
appreciation of the drink. Yep, it had definitely been a while since she’d had
any alcohol. Not very typical for a 24-year old, he thought, his mind wandering
to his recent dates who all seemed to be addicted to the party scene.

She should be out, having fun with her
friends, like other girls her age.

Instead, she was working two jobs,
ignoring her talents so that she could provide for her daughter, and getting
buzzed off one glass of chardonnay with a guy who was more like a brother to
her than anything else.

He couldn’t help feeling sorry for her,
even though he knew she’d hate that.

“I really meant what I said, Bess. About
babysitting,” he heard himself say. He nearly cringed, knowing that if she took
him up on it too regularly, his sex life could only go south. But this was
Bess. She wasn’t the type to take advantage.

“Oh, thanks. But Edith really loves being
around Abby any chance she gets.”

“But you should get out more. You should—”
he paused, gathering the daring to step on a hornet’s nest, “—date. You
know? You’re 24. You need more fun in your life.”

Bess shrank slightly in her chair and he
immediately regretted saying it.

“I do date sometimes,” she countered, and
from the uneasiness of her tone, he knew it wasn’t true. A woman like Bess
didn’t lie easily, even to save face.

“I’m sure you do,” he said quickly. “But
I’m just saying if you need a little more fun in your life, may as well get it
now, while I’m living here and available.”

Eyes widening, she gave him the strangest
look. An odd mix of amusement and disbelief, as if she had some inside joke she
almost wanted to share. Almost, but not quite, because all she chose to say was,
“Thanks, Tyler. I’ll keep that in mind.”

 “If you need a little more fun in
your life, may as well get it now
while I’m living here and available
?” Lacey
repeated in between peals of laughter. Her hands dangerously covered in paint,
she doubled over onto her bed in hysterics. “Does he seriously not know how that
would sound to you?”

Bess pulled her paint roller from the
wall to glance over her shoulder at her friend. “No clue whatsoever. I think he
sees me as a little sister or something, and just assumes that I think he’s my adopted
big brother.”

“If only he knew.” Lacey blew a lock of
hair from her eyes as she stood up from the bed. Even speckled with beige paint
and dressed in her most utilitarian painting clothes, she looked so much better
than she had in ages. The past year had been hard on her, but now that Mick had
returned to duty, the light had come back into her eyes.

“Yeah, no kidding. If I had a second
glass of wine, I might have stripped my clothes off and told him just what kind
of fun I needed right now.” Bess poured more paint from the can into the roller
tray. They were only half finished painting Lacey and Mick’s bedroom and almost
out of paint. Who would have known it would take three coats to cover the
oxblood red walls favored by the condo’s previous owner?

“Is he still gone most the time?” Lacey
asked.

An ache building in her hand, Bess set
down her roller and stretched her fingers. “He’s at the house more now than he
was at first. Always seems to make it home in time for dinner.”

“What man wouldn’t after he’s sampled
your cooking? I think Mick still wants to move back in with you. Those months
when we were trying to settle on a condo he got spoiled with you making him
dinner every night.”

Sighing, Bess leaned against the bed. “I
don’t know, Lacey. Seeing Tyler walk in the door in his uniform every day? Looking
like a total ‘muffin,’ as Maeve would say. It’s starting to kind of get to me.”

Lacey eyed her friend. “Don’t say I
didn’t warn you.”

Bess rolled her eyes dramatically. “You
were right. I was wrong. Do you want me to put it in writing?”

In triumph, Lacey gave a smirk before she
resumed painting. “Well, does having him around at least make you feel better
about the Dan problem?”

Bess gave a careless wave of her hand,
nearly dripping paint on the floor as she did. “Oh, yeah. Completely. I haven’t
thought I’ve seen Dan since that time in the car.”

“Good. It was probably just nerves, you
know. After four years, I really doubt you’d even recognize him. And it’s hard
living by yourself in your situation, especially with your history. The wounds
that are the hardest to heal are the ones you can’t see. That’s what Mick
really learned this past year.”

“How’s he doing?” Bess lifted the glass
of lemonade that rested on Lacey’s dresser. “I mean, he looks great. But what’s
going on inside, you know?”

Frowning, Lacey tossed her head to the
side. “He still struggles. His hands shake sometimes, and for a guy who used to
be able to change a magazine in an HK416 in under a second, it’s really knocked
his ego down a couple notches.”

“How’s his memory?”

Lacey raised her brow. “Well, I promise
he won’t forget to bring Abby home from the zoo in time for lunch.”

Bess wasn’t worried about such a thing. Mick
would never take a risk when it came to Abigail. “I know that. I mean, just
overall—at work and stuff?”

“He writes a lot of lists to keep track
of things, like his therapist told him to. He always comes home from work with
fifteen notes he wrote on the back of his hand in pen. I tell him he should
write it all on a sheet of paper, but then he laughs and tells me he’d forget
where he left the paper.” She smiled. “But he must be doing all right because
they’re loving him at the Pentagon. It’s not often they get a SEAL with as much
field experience in these planning jobs.” Pulling her roller off the wall, she
paused briefly to look out the window at the entrance to the National Zoo
across the street. “It’s not the same for him, though.”

“I can imagine.” Bess wiped off a drip of
paint that had fallen onto the hardwood floor.

“He always told me he’d be fine if I told
him I needed him to give up the risky stuff. But it’s different when the
decision was made
for
him, rather than
by
him.”

“I don’t think anyone would like that.” Bess
could somehow relate to that in the smallest sense, though she’d never admit
it, even to her best friends. Being a single mom tended to make her decisions
for her. Instead of going to culinary school, or even just working in a
restaurant kitchen full-time, she was sitting in an office chair, with the
sound of a dentist’s drill providing background noise forty hours a week.

But, how she loved her little girl! And
if this job provided stability and benefits, then Bess would gladly postpone
her own dreams for the next fifteen or so years till Abby was ready to live on
her own.

Lacey rested her hands on her hips,
stepping back from her work. As her friend cocked a critical eye at the wall,
Bess braced herself. Lacey was notorious for changing her mind about paint colors.

“What?” Bess dared to ask.

“I hope I chose the right color. Doesn’t
it look a little pinkish to you?”

Bess answered quickly. “It’s cream. There’s
no pink in there.”

Pressing her lips together, Lacey glowered
at the wall. “Maybe it’s just the lighting. Mick would have a fit if he had to
sleep in a pink bedroom.”

Bess laughed. “Well, Maeve will have a
fit when she hears you painted it cream and not something a little more
daring.” Maeve was an interior designer who often said hell for her would be a
beige house.

“I know. But if I want to turn around and
sell this place in a year, I want to keep it pretty neutral.” Lacey set down
her roller and massaged her wrist. “Let’s take a break, huh?”

“You’ll get no complaint from me.” Bess put
her roller in the pan and went to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, with
Lacey following behind her. “I thought it would be easier to paint than pushing
Abby’s stroller all over the zoo today. But I’m thinking we got the bad end of
the deal.”

“No kidding.”

“I just hope Abby sees that lion roar. It’s
all she talks about. She’s obsessed with lions.”

Lacey frowned. “Won’t happen. All it does
is sleep during the day. But sometimes when we leave the windows open at night
we can hear it first thing in the morning.”

“Really?” Crossing the room, Bess glanced
out the living room window briefly at the view of the zoo. A prime location in
Washington, DC, Lacey’s Connecticut Avenue address was impressive, and the deal
she had struck with the seller was even better. Her eyes wandered to the new
granite countertop in the kitchen and built-in shelves framing the gas
fireplace. Already, the condo was looking like a showpiece. “I don’t know why
you’d want to sell this place after you’ve put so much work into it. It’s gorgeous
now.”

“Not quite. But it’s getting there. We
should make a nice profit on it since we got it for such a low price.”

“You’re sounding more and more like your
sister every day.”

“I do get to see her more now that we’re
living in the same city. So maybe she’s rubbing off on me.” Lacey laughed. “But
really, it’s time for us to be living in a house, not a condo. Something with a
yard. And good schools.”

“Schools?” Bess said warily.

“Yep.” Lacey sent her a smile. “We’ve
decided we want to start trying to have a baby.”

“Oh, Lacey, that’s wonderful.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

Bess’s brow creased. “How could it not
be?”

“I don’t know. It’s been such a hard
year, you know? We just couldn’t even think about having a newborn around when
Mick was still recovering. But things are as normal as they’re ever going to be
now. I guess it’s time.”

“Another friend for Abby. With just three
years difference, they’ll probably want to play together at some point.”

“Four years difference at least,” Lacey
corrected. “I’m not pregnant yet.”

“Everything changes so quickly, doesn’t
it? Maeve’s a mom now, and you’re headed that way. Vi will probably be next. Can
you just see her bouncing around a baby?”

Lacey scoffed. “Actually, no. I really
doubt she and Joe will have kids. Vi’s never expressed much interest, and I
think Joe’s on the same page.”

“I know. But after they get married this
fall, those baby-making hormones might kick in yet. You never know.”

Lacey smiled, walking into the kitchen. “Did
you pick up your bridesmaid dress yet?”

Bess nodded glumly, following her in and
pulling out a counter stool. “It’s hanging in my closet, but I haven’t put it
on yet. I hope I didn’t gain weight again.”

“I hope not too, because Vi will kill
you.”

Bess noted that there wasn’t much sarcasm
in Lacey’s tone. Vi was so stressed about her upcoming wedding. At first, they
had thought they’d do something small. But when Joe managed to snag the U.S. Naval
Academy Chapel for the service, the guest list started to explode. “It’ll fit. If
I have to sweat off ten pounds of water in a sauna the morning of the wedding,
that’s what I’ll do.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lacey assured her. “Did
you see her talking on CNN about hedge funds last week? The guy who was
interviewing her actually asked about her wedding. She played it off, but looked
totally annoyed with the guy. I mean, what does her wedding have to do with
hedge funds? There will probably be lots of press there.”

“So long as they’re taking pictures of Vi
and Joe and not my lard ass in chiffon dress.”

“Bess, stop talking about yourself like
that,” Lacey scolded as she handed her a Diet Coke. “We’re all sick of it. Is
that how you want Abby to think of you? As a lard ass?”

Slumping slightly, Bess opened the can.
“I know. And I don’t say those things in front of her. But since becoming a
mom, my weight only seems to move in one direction. Up.”

“Kids are smart,” Lacey continued. “They
pick up on things. If you started wearing something other than ratty old
t-shirts, maybe you’d feel better about yourself. I mean, Bess, there’s a hole
in that t-shirt.” Lacey eyed the lower portion of Bess’s shirt. “It belongs in
the trash.”

“It’s a good painting t-shirt. Besides,
it’s a tiny hole. No one can see.” Bess narrowed her eyes on Lacey.

“We all know your rule for holes in your
clothes, Bess. You won’t throw it away unless a fist can fit through it. Now
that Tyler’s living with you—”

“We’re just friends, Lacey. Housemates. I’m
not getting a new wardrobe just because I’ve got a man in the house, okay? Now
lay off me or I won’t help you re-paint your damn room when Mick comes home and
tells you it’s pink.”

Laughing, Lacey raised her hands up in
surrender. “Okay, okay.”

***

It was nearly midnight, a respectable
hour to come home after a date. But in reality, the hours spent with Kristina,
an aesthetician he had met while filling up at the gas station, had been more
painful than Ranger School.

He stepped through the door, quickly
punching the code into the security system. He didn’t know why they bothered with
the expense of a security system in this safe of a neighborhood. But if he had
a kid himself, then he’d probably be just as cautious.

The house was silent, except for the
hardwood creaking beneath his feet as he padded across the kitchen. The site of
Bess and Abby asleep in his recliner in the living room caught his eye.

Abby probably had fallen asleep first, he
imagined, and Bess right after. It was Saturday, so Bess had likely been
working her second job that night, and was too tired to even make it up the
stairs with Abby.

The woman worked too damn hard.

Cautiously, Tyler stepped toward them and
rested his hand against the bottom of Abby’s pants. The diaper was still dry,
he could tell. Abby was struggling with potty training, and most nights she pretty
much floated out of bed if she didn’t wear a diaper.

He pulled the throw blanket from the sofa
and placed it gently over them both.

Watching them for a moment, both in a peaceful
slumber, Tyler was struck by their similarities. Abby looked so much like her
mother that he had to remind himself that half of Abby’s genes came from
someone else.

Tyler never asked about him. Why would
he? The guy, whoever he was, obviously wasn’t a father. It took action, not
just a genetic donation, to make a guy a father. Sleepless nights rocking a
colicky baby. Wrinkles of worry each time cold and flu season crept into the
house. Frantic doctor appointments when a child didn’t meet a milestone on
time.

So the guy who donated 50% of Abby’s
chromosomes was as much of a dad as Tyler’s own father had been. As useless as
tits on a bull.

It was no wonder Tyler felt a kinship
with the little girl. He had been lucky in the same way Abby was; he had been
gifted with a mother who would do anything for him, even if she had to do it alone.