Navy Rules. Geri Krotow
cyclone of emotion twist Max’s handsome face. The only thing recognizable as “Max” was the sharp hue of his eyes.
Crapola.
Big mistake. She’d thought that by putting the focus on Max and his work with Sam, she’d be able to push aside her reaction, the quaking that was a direct result of her attraction to Max. Wrong. Their physical chemistry still made her toes curl in her comfy shearling boots.
“Needy? So this is a pity call for you, Winnie?” Max snapped. She was almost surprised that spittle didn’t shoot out of his mouth.
She sighed and grasped for the right thing to say. Like fired bullets, she couldn’t retract her words or the damage they’d caused.
“I’m sorry, Max. I was speaking too freely. Sometimes my mouth isn’t connected to my brain. I guess I’m still missing that filter you’ve always teased me about not having.”
Her jibe at herself didn’t work, either. He stayed silent, simmering with rage.
Pointing out their long-standing relationship and all its baggage—that was the stupidest comment she could have made. She needed to rely on their common bonds if she was going to salvage anything of their friendship once he knew about Maeve.
Double crapola.
He ran his fingers through his short hair. The same dark, straight hair Maeve had.
“Damn it, Winnie, I know I must still need some work or you wouldn’t be sitting here in front of me—my doc wouldn’t have suggested it. But I’m not totally mental. I’ve come a long way and what I’ve been through doesn’t come close to what so many other vets are suffering. Hell, I feel guilty taking your time.” His eyes shifted uneasily to Sam. “And this dog’s time. There are a lot of sailors who need Sam more than I do.”
“This is about you, Max. Sam sees plenty of other sailors, and there are other therapy dogs, too. You’re not keeping him from anyone else.” A white lie, as there was always another veteran in line, hoping to benefit from Sam’s ministrations, but she needed Max to buy in to her rationale—and the value of her work—if it was going to help him at all.
“Why did you get involved with this, Winnie? You can’t enjoy the constant reminder of Tom’s death whenever you drive on base. For that matter, why did you stay in Whidbey this long? And why the hell did you agree to see me? Didn’t you tell the social worker you already knew me?”
Take it easy. He’s just angry at the situation, not you.
But his words hit home. They struck the part of her that she kept cordoned off from everyone. The Navy widow part. Where she hid the knowledge that she could never handle another trauma.
Still…she might have to. His anger wasn’t personal yet, but when she told Max the secret she’d kept from him, his anger would be directed at her. He’d have every reason to accuse, convict and sentence her.
“You know why I stayed, Max. I love it here, my roots are here. I didn’t want to move up to Anacortes, and I still don’t. And I don’t live in Oak Harbor anymore—I have a nice home in Coupeville, near my shop and office. If you saw where we live, you’d understand why I stayed.”
“‘We,’ Winnie? Are you living with your daughter’s father?”
“No, I already told you, I don’t have a relationship with Maeve’s father.”
He didn’t reply, but when she raised her eyes to meet his, she froze. He could look at her as no one else could.
He knows.
Dark spots floated in her vision and she realized she was holding her breath. She released it in a measured exhalation, trying not to let him see that she was distressed.
“I never took you for the casual-sex type, Winnie.”
“Except after the Air Show two years ago?”
“We didn’t have casual sex, Winnie. It was a surprise, a shock even, but not casual.”
This is too close. He’s going to ask, he’s going to figure it out.
“Who says it was casual? Really, Max, at this point it’s none of your business.” Another lie, as Maeve was completely his business, but Winnie had to save that conversation for another time.
Drawing on what she’d learned during those first painful months after Tom’s death, she looked for the next task she needed to do. She had to tell him about Maeve, but not at this moment. He was too stressed, too wound up. She couldn’t risk putting him over the edge with his PTSD.
So now you’re God? An expert at deciding when someone needs to know what is most definitely his business?
“Why don’t we drop this, Max, and you and Sam go for a walk out on the paths?” She meant the myriad dirt walkways that snaked through the often-lush island vegetation. The water of Skagit Bay lapped against the rocky beaches and Mount Baker stood off to the east, its aquamarine glacier visible on clear days.
She hoped that if Max and Sam went for a walk, the high emotion between her and Max would diffuse. Maybe she’d find the courage to do the right thing and tell him the truth, even if it was more than two years too late.
But Max wasn’t finished with their conversation. His unhappiness was evident in his clenched fists, tight jaw and shallow breathing. She studied him and wondered how they were ever going to get past this tension.
Seconds later, he visibly relaxed his body by rolling his shoulders. He bowed his head, and she wondered if he was saying a prayer.
Max, a praying man?
She’d never met a pilot who wasn’t a believer, but Max had never demonstrated a predisposition toward any particular religious faith.
He lifted his head, and his gaze rested on her, without the rancor she’d seen moments earlier.
“I’m sorry for acting out on you, Winnie. My control over my temper is still a work in progress, or so I’m told.” His lips twitched and she thought he might smile, but it was obviously too much effort. He’d aged over the past two years; she saw it now in the resigned expression that made the lines on his face deeper than she recalled.
Max looked sad, she realized.
“It’s fine, Max. Now let’s get you out there with Sam.”
“I move a bit slower than I used to. He’s not going to pull me over, is he?”
She offered him her best smile. “Not if I can help it.”
* * *
SHE WATCHED MAX LEAD Sam onto the path across the road from his driveway. They made an interesting pair, she had to admit. A tall warrior who moved with the gait of a man twenty years older than he was, flanked by seventy pounds of exuberant dog.
Sam could be trusted to stay close to Max and match his stride. It’d taken months of repetitive training, but she’d finally communicated to him the need not to pull, to allow whoever had his leash to be the alpha “dog.”
Tears pricked at her lids and she turned her face up to the sky. She couldn’t keep watching Max and Sam together or Max would come back to a puddle of tears.
The beauty of Sam’s ability to relate to injured vets never ceased to move her. She often felt tears of pride and joy well up as the dog worked with a client, bringing out healing and survivor instincts that even the most highly trained therapists had been unable to reach.
But this wasn’t just another client. It was Max, and Max would forever be a part of her life. Not to mention Maeve’s.
You have to tell him. Now.
CHAPTER FOUR
“HE NEVER ASKED how old Maeve is?”
Robyn’s auburn curls sprang into her eyes and she brushed them away with an exasperated