Welcoming the Bad Boy: A Hero's Welcome Novel (4 page)

“Whoa, there. What’s that one?” Alma asked.

“N-nothing. Just, you know…um…” Val felt her temperature rising. Sometimes she liked to read her older books, just to remind herself that she had done it before and could do it again.

“It’s a romance novel,” Marge said.

Val laughed nervously. “Yes. I read romance novels on my own. Nothing you ladies would be interested in.” She looked up, ready to change the subject. “So back to our next book club pick. What are you ladies in the mood for? Adventure? Another mystery? Nonfiction?” She glanced at Helen, who obviously had no interest in hearing an autobiography right now, regardless of what Griffin had suggested.

“I want to read that romance,” Alma said, looking around at the others. “I haven’t had romance in ages. That’s what I want to read.”

The other women nodded their agreement.

“Well…” Val laughed softly. “I don’t think the administration here would like me reading”—she lowered her voice—“sex scenes to you guys.”

Louise from the front desk stood behind her now.
Where did she come from?
“Oh, don’t worry, Val. We don’t care. We’d rather these ladies get their needs met by hearing it in a book. That beats some of the other ways they get their needs met.” Louise’s laugh bellowed as she walked away.

Ew!

“Well, okay then.” Val looked around the circle of women. “Are you sure? Maybe a different romance, though? I have a lot of books at home. I can bring a stack next time and we can choose.” And she’d keep her Sophie Evans books out of the running.

“That one.” Helen pointed. “That’s the one.”

Val frowned. “This one, huh? Really?”

“I like the guy on the cover,” someone else confirmed. “He looks like my dead husband.”

Yeah, Val had liked that guy, too. Too bad real guys didn’t look like that. Except for Griffin. “Okay,” she said, nodding and forcing a smile. What did it matter if they read the book she’d written? It didn’t. None of them knew she was the author.

As she got into her car ten minutes later, she looked at the bright side of things. Maybe seeing one of her books provide entertainment for someone would inspire her to write more. As if on cue, Val’s phone buzzed in the seat beside her. Her heart sunk as she glanced at the caller ID and read her literary agent’s name on the phone. She loved her agent. Dearly. But she hated to disappoint her.

“How’s it coming, Val?” Nikki asked, getting straight to the point. Val liked that about her. She was direct and pulled no punches.

Val cringed. “Oh, you know,” she said as she drove, looking for the bright side of this conversation, too.

“You’ve got nothing,” Nikki responded. “I can hear it in your voice. What’s wrong, sunshine?”

Val shook her head. She wished she knew. The words just weren’t coming anymore. Or they were, but they were all crap. She wasn’t feeling romantic.

“I know what you need,” Nikki continued. “You need inspiration.”

“I’ve watched all the romantic comedies on Netflix. My radio is set to Love Songs of the ’80s.”

“No, no, no.” Nikki laughed. “That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t beat the real thing. Or the fake real thing. You need a summer romance. Something to get you in the mood.”

Val was nodding as she listened. “Because those are so easy to find.”

“You could always do one of those dating services,” Nikki suggested.

Val shook her head, passing the spot where she’d run Griffin off the road the week before. He could be very inspiring if he wanted to be, she suspected. “I’ll do my best,” Val promised.

“No more extensions. A writing author means a happy publisher.” Nikki recapped the same advice she always gave, followed by her usual pep talk. Val didn’t need a pep talk, though. Apparently, what she needed was a man, and quick if she expected to have this book written by August.

Griffin glanced at the clock on his office wall and blew out a breath. He had thirty minutes left on shift. He’d filled out the incident report for Jaws’s biting of the jerk-off with an Everest-sized attitude yesterday. And all day he’d been waiting for the kennel master to find him, wanting to talk about what happened. Charlie Myer hadn’t said a word, though.

Maybe it wasn’t as big a deal as Griffin thought. Jaws was still new on the unit. There had to be leeway for newbies.

A knock on his door shot those hopes down. Griffin hesitated, sucking in a breath, before turning to meet Charlie’s gaze.

“Hey.” Griffin leaned back in his chair and drew his clicker pen toward his shoulder.
Click. Click. Click.
“What’s up, Charlie?”

Charlie crossed his arms in the doorway. “I think you know. What happened? I’ve seen Jaws on the courses. Has he ever attacked without cause before?”

Click. Click.
“I wouldn’t really say he attacked without cause, sir. The suspect was getting loud. He approached me.”

“Threatened you?” Charlie asked, his brow dipping as he tried to understand the situation.

Griffin shook his head and continued to click his pen. “Not exactly.”

“I see.”

Silence drifted between them. Griffin could only imagine what Charlie was thinking. Jaws was a loose cannon. A risk. And Marines eliminated risk.

“He’s a good dog. You’ve seen him. He just needs a little extra training,” Griffin said, forcing what he hoped was a convincing smile. He clicked his pen.
Click. Click.
“I can train him, sir. Jaws won’t be a problem.”

Charlie nodded, although he didn’t look convinced. “I’m just glad the suspect didn’t press charges. We can’t have a live wire in this setting. It won’t work.”

“He’s not a live wire.” Griffin held Charlie’s gaze. Man to man. “I promise this won’t happen again.”

Charlie laughed. “So you’re the fool who thinks you actually do control your dog, huh?” He pointed at the incident report in his hand. “This is what we get for taking a dog named Jaws…Okay, Officer Black. I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“Yes, sir.” Griffin exhaled as Charlie’s heavy boots retreated down the hall. With one more click of his pen, Griffin put it down and grabbed his keys. His shift was over and a ride on his motorcycle would clear his head and put things in perspective. It always did.

An hour later, he pulled into his driveway as the sun began to sink below the tree line behind his townhome. He got Trooper and walked to the mailbox while Trooper pissed in the neighbor’s flowers. For some reason his dog loved to mark the flowers and, after all Trooper had sacrificed in his life, if he wanted to piss on flowers, Griffin wasn’t going to stop him.

Griffin thumbed through the various-sized envelopes in his box. There were the usual bills and an official-looking envelope that made him smile. Glancing down at Trooper, who was back at his side, he said, “Looks like you got a new honor today. You’re approved to be a therapy dog.”

Unlocking the front door, Griffin walked inside and grabbed his remote, flipping the TV on for background noise. His thoughts drifted back to Val as he dipped inside the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. Maybe she was right. Maybe his mother would be more receptive to him if he worked at the nursing home. He could bring his newly certified therapy dog with him. He’d mainly gotten the certification so that Trooper could come with him in hotels, restaurants, and planes. A war hero didn’t deserve to be left behind or caged in the luggage area. But now he was realizing that the certification might have some other benefits to it.

He plopped down on his sofa and stared at the TV, patting the seat beside him for Trooper to jump up, too. “What do you think, boy? Want to come out of retirement for a good cause?”

Trooper wagged his tail.

Griffin took that as a yes.

Val returned from a day at the beach with sand in places she didn’t know you could get sand. She pulled the strap of her tank top down to examine the red skin of her shoulder underneath. She’d always had fair skin that contrasted sharply with her dark hair and blue eyes. Fair skin that required slathering and re-slathering of sunscreen during the summer.

Sweet Cheeks barked and Val directed her attention to the little dog who’d nipped at every heel that passed by on the beach today. Then, to cap off the “perfect” day, Sweet Cheeks had lunged after a five-year-old boy. Lunged so hard that the leash had come untied from Val’s beach umbrella. The boy went running with Sweet Cheeks following, and Val had chased them both. Thus the sand all over her body, including inside her mouth from when she’d fallen and eaten someone’s sandcastle. To Sweet Cheeks’s credit, she’d come running when Val had tripped, and she’d licked Val’s face despite its thick coating of sunblock and sand.

“A shower for me and a can of Alpo for you.” Then Val would solve the problems of the world. The first problem being that Alma got out of rehab in two weeks and there was no way Sweet Cheeks could return home to live with her as she was. The second problem was that Val had watched every hot, muscled guy on the beach today, begging her muse to get busy and…nothing.

With a sigh, Val retreated down the hall and took a long, hot shower, then dressed in her oversized pajamas. Grabbing a pint of ice cream to soothe herself, she scooted over to the couch where Sweet Cheeks was licking herself. “That’s impolite, lady.”

Val reached for the remote control, then turned to the knock on her door. It was early yet. Most normal people were not already dressed for bed. But most normal people didn’t have alter egos they kept hidden from the world, either. Val set her ice cream on the table beside the couch and went to open the door.

“Delivery,” the tall guy dressed in dark khaki pants said, politely pretending not to notice her polka dot, elastic-waisted pants and matching tank top.

“I didn’t order anything,” Val said.

He shrugged and handed her a box that was nearly as tall as she was. It was surprisingly light, though.

“Thanks.” Val started to pull it inside when another vehicle pulled into her driveway. “Oh, geez.” Her father parked and headed toward her.

“I see you’re spending your time off wisely,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek when he was close enough.

“Dad. What are you doing here?” she asked, still holding on to the box.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” Val gestured for him to enter, then wondered why the watch-dog-extraordinaire wasn’t yapping at her guest. Closing the door behind her, she faced her father, her stomach clenching at the look of worry in his eyes. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about you.”

Val drew back. “Me? Why?”

“You missed church last Sunday. You haven’t returned my calls.”

Oh, yeah. She’d been “sick” on Sunday, the kind of sickness that demanded staying in bed and eating Pop-Tarts while catching up on late-night TV on her DVR. Sometimes life required mornings like that. And she’d intended to call her father back eventually.

“I’m fine,” she said, offering up a smile instead of an excuse, and hoping it was enough.

He nodded. “Good. So you’ll be able to help the Martins?”

Val sucked in a breath. She was always being volunteered to help someone somewhere without her consent. “The Martins? What’s going on with the Martins?”

“I left you a voicemail. They got orders to move to Virginia. Ellen needs help with the baby while she packs up. It’d be nice if the church provided some meals to them, too. You know it’s hard to cook when you’re packing,” he said.

No, she didn’t know that. She’d never moved from her hometown of Seaside, which was maybe part of the problem.

“And since you have time on your hands,” he continued, giving her a pointed look.

He almost made it sound like having the summer off was a sin. And no, she didn’t have time on her hands. She had a looming deadline that, if she didn’t meet it, might have her looking for a new publisher. She couldn’t tell him that, though. If he knew about her other job, he would really be concerned. According to him, the only book worth reading was the Good Book. Val liked that book, too, but she wasn’t going to apologize for the love stories she wrote. Not to anyone.
Better to hide it altogether,
she thought, nodding along at whatever her father was saying.

“Valerie? Are you listening?”

“Yes, of course,” she lied, looking up. But she had no clue what he’d said over the last few minutes.

“Great. I’ll tell Ellen you’ll be over tomorrow night then.”

Val frowned. “Wait. What?”

“To bring them dinner and watch the baby while they pack. The church always pitches in when our military families move. You know that.”

“Why am
I
always the church?” Val placed her hands on her hips. “I can’t go over tomorrow night. I have plans.”

“What plans?”

“Well, book club at the nursing home for one,” she said, starting to panic. She needed to be writing. She didn’t have time to cook meals and coo over babies, as much as she liked them.

“This takes priority.”

“Says who?” Val’s voice was rising. “The ladies in the club expect me to be there. It’s important.”

By the look on his face, he didn’t think so. “Have you considered doing a Bible study instead with the group? Reading is a good thing, but read something worthwhile, Val. You have an opportunity to preach.”

Val shook her head. “You’re the preacher, Daddy. Not me.”

He held up his hands. “Another discussion, another time. Right now the church needs you to help the Martins. After the book club?”

Val sighed, resigned to donate her time if her father would leave her alone. “Fine.”

“Good.” He smiled finally, the first since he’d stopped by. “What’s in the box?” he asked.

Good question.

“I don’t know. I haven’t ordered anything.”

He reached in his pocket and handed her his set of keys. There was a pocketknife keychain attached.

Without thinking, she slid the blade along the taped edges of the box, eager to see what was inside, too. Her birthday had just passed and her aunt Jessie always sent things late. Last year her gift had been in a similar-sized box and had held a nice floor lamp inside.

Val handed the set of keys back to her dad and pushed back the box’s flaps. A blow-up man-doll smiled back at her.
Oh, God.
This was definitely not from Aunt Jessie. The blow-up man was tall, tan-skinned, and only wearing a painted-on pair of blue bikini briefs.

Her father looked like he might implode as he peeked inside the box. “Valerie?” he said, his voice strained, reminding her of the time he’d caught her making out with a boy from youth group in the back of the church.

That had been a bad night.

“It’s a joke,” she said, her cheeks burning. And whoever the joker was would be getting an earful from her later. Kat? Julie? There was no card attached, so she’d have to wait for one of them to ’fess up.

“With friends like that, who needs enemies?” her father said, his cheeks red and his lips pinched.

“Right.” She tried not to laugh. She’d agreed to his request. Now she just needed him to leave. “So I’ll bring the Martins dinner tomorrow after book club.” Which meant she’d be spending the next day at the grocery store and then at the stove before going to the nursing home and ending up at the Martins’ house. Which meant tonight she’d be pulling long hours trying to coax a story from her head that just wouldn’t come. Her agent’s words earlier returned to haunt her. She needed a man for inspiration. Val glanced at the blow-up doll again and knew exactly who’d sent it. She laughed out loud, unable to help herself. Coming from her sassy literary agent, it was hilarious.

Her father’s left eyebrow hooked upward. “Good. Thank you, Valerie.” He turned to head out the door, causing a pang of regret to stab inside her chest. If her mother were still alive, maybe her relationship with her father would be different. There was no time for that kind of thinking, though. And no use for it. It was what it was and there was no changing history.

She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Dad. Drive safe.”

“Good night. Make sure you lock this door.”

“I love you, too,” she said, reading between the lines.

When the door was closed and she was alone, she grinned at the blow-up doll and pulled out her phone to type a quick text to Nikki.

Point taken.

Then Val’s heart took a sudden dive as she remembered Sweet Cheeks, who should’ve been barking and harassing her father just now. Sweet Cheeks hadn’t even made an appearance. Val ran back into the living room and stopped cold at the sight of the little puppy licking the last remaining bits of her chocolate chip ice cream that she’d put down when she’d gone to answer the door.

“No. No, no, no.” Val moved to the couch and sat beside the dog, rubbing her full little belly. “Why did you do that? I wouldn’t even have eaten the whole carton.” Or she’d have tried not to.

The puppy licked her lips.

Wasn’t chocolate deadly to dogs? Val had heard that somewhere. She couldn’t be responsible for killing Alma’s dog. Whipping out her phone, Val started searching for local vet offices. It was after hours, though. All of them would be closed except the emergency vet, which would cost a small fortune that she didn’t have right now.

As she freaked, Griffin came to mind. He worked with dogs. He’d know exactly what to do. And he’d offered to help her. She just didn’t know how to get ahold of him. She chewed her lip as she stared at Sweet Cheeks nuzzled up to her thigh, resting her sweet little head.

She could call the nursing home. They’d have a phone number for him and he’d help her. Sending up a prayer, she started dialing.