Marine for Hire (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Mac!” Sheri screamed, leaping to her feet and launching herself across the room at her brother. “Ohmygod, why are you here?”

“To offer you protection.” He glanced at the prone figure on the ground and frowned. “Something you don’t appear to need at the moment.”

“Protection? Protection from what?”

Mac stooped down and studied Jonathan, checking to be sure his wrists were secure. Then he grabbed him by the hair and brought his face down close.

“You were never good enough for her,” Mac said calmly. “Now that you’ve answered to her, you’re going to answer to me.”

He thrust Jonathan away and glanced at each of the babies, ensuring everyone was safe. Then he stood up and turned to face his sister.

“Sam called me after you kicked him out,” Mac said. “Said he was worried about Jonathan showing up and doing something stupid. He said if you wouldn’t let him watch over you, he wanted me here to do it for him. I moved up the date of my visit to be here in his place.”

Sheri swallowed, feeling hollow all of a sudden. “Sam called you?”

“And I’ve called the police. They should be here momentarily, so let’s clear up a few things before they arrive, shall we?”

Sheri opened her mouth to speak—to tell her brother what she thought about his conniving, lying, manipulative behavior—but Mac grabbed her hand and leveled her with a steely stare.

“
You
are not speaking. You’re listening. And here’s what I have to say to you.” Mac caught her other hand, his grip warm and loving while his eyes flashed cold in the dim light of the house. Sheri realized it was one of the few times in her adult life she’d seen her brother without sunglasses, even at night.

“Number one,” Mac said. “You are a good mother. An
amazing
mother, and if your demonstration of pure, primal maternal instinct just now didn’t prove that to you, you need to seriously reevaluate your judgment.”

Sheri swallowed, struck speechless by his words. “How did you know?”

“I know everything, Sheri. This bullshit I’ve been hearing from Sam about your certainty you lack some ‘mommy chip’—that stops
now
.”

“But—”

“Number two,” Mac said, ignoring her feeble attempt at protest as he gripped her hands harder. “Sam is a good Marine, a good man, and a good friend who did his best to return a favor to me. What I asked him to do was watch out for my beautiful, competent, overachieving, stubborn-as-fuck sister. Did he, or did he not do that?”

Sheri felt her eyes filling with tears. She thought about the last twenty-four hours, about her chaotic day without Sam around to laugh with or cook with or tend to her babies with his offbeat brand of caregiver instinct. She swallowed again, picturing his face in her mind, remembering the feel of his hands on her body, the smell of his skin against hers.

Did she
need
a man in her life?

Maybe not. But she sure as hell wanted one. Her life certainly felt richer and more joyful with Sam in it.

“Is he still on island?” she whispered, her eyes fixed on her brother’s.

Mac nodded once, curtly. “I believe so. I can’t say for certain where. His plane doesn’t leave until morning.”

Sheri stepped back, her stomach flipping over in her abdomen as her heart began to race. “I have to find him.”

“Why?”

“I have to tell him I’m sorry and that I understand now and that I want to make love to him forever and—wait, why am I telling you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Can you watch the boys, please?”

“The police will be here any minute,” Mac said. “Don’t you think you should wait?”

“You can explain.” She scanned the room feverishly, looking for her purse. She couldn’t find it, but she spotted her phone on the table and grabbed that. “You’re good at handling authority figures, just tell them I had to run out. And, um—try not to kill Jonathan.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find Sam,” Sheri said, already moving toward the door. “To throw myself at him and beg him to come back and make a life with the boys and with me.”

“Sheri?”

“Don’t try to stop me, Mac.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But don’t you think you should put on some shoes? Maybe a shirt that’s not ripped open?”

But Sheri was already out the door, car keys in her hand, an idea forming in the back of her brain where Sam might have gone.

Please say it’s not too late.

She tried his number once, twice, three times while she drove, but the call just went to voicemail. Was the phone dead, or was he just ignoring her calls?

Either way, she had to find him. She had to tell him what she’d realized.

She careened into the parking lot at Smith’s Tropical Paradise. There were plenty of cars in the lot, though she couldn’t pick out his Jeep anywhere. Still she had to try.

She sprinted to the gate, barely noticing the gravel biting into her bare feet, the breeze through her half-buttoned top, the chunk of carrot in her hair that smacked her in the face as she ran.

The smell of tropical flowers and river water was heavy in the air, and a light breeze tousled her curls, reminding her she hadn’t combed her hair for God knows how long.

As she approached the gate, an attendant stepped forward in a grass skirt and coconut bra. The woman looked at Sheri, her eyes traveling from the torn shirt to the crazy hair to the crazier eyes. Sheri brushed a hand over her cheek and felt something crusted there, oatmeal, probably.

Christ, had she even looked in a mirror today?

“Sorry ma’am,” the attendant said, not unkindly. “The park closed at four. Only luau guests at this point.”

Sheri looked down at her disheveled appearance. She was hardly dressed for dinner and a show, so she couldn’t blame the woman for assuming the worst.

“Please,” Sheri begged, spitting a carrot-caked curl out of her mouth. “There’s a man.”

The woman smiled, understanding flickering across her features. “There always is.”

“No, I mean—inside. I think. I need to go find him. I need to tell him—”

“I understand, but I can’t let you in without a ticket.”

“I’ll buy a ticket!” She looked down, realizing she’d left her purse, her driver’s license, her credit cards, her shoes—hell, pretty much everything, including her sanity—at home.

She didn’t even have lipstick to make a good impression, but that was the least of her concerns right now. She had to find Sam.

She looked back at the woman and felt the tears prick the back of her throat. There had to be a way.

“Please,” she whispered. “This might be my only chance with him.”

The woman’s face softened. “Tell you what. I’m a sucker for a good love story, and I can see you’re having a rough night. Go find your man. Come back tomorrow and pay for a ticket. And if it works out, you have your wedding here.”

Relief flooded her whole body, coursing through her veins to mix with the adrenaline. “I promise,” Sheri whispered, knowing for certain it was a promise she meant to keep. “You’re an angel. An angel in a coconut bra.”

“That’s the best kind of angel,” the woman said, and stepped aside to let Sheri pass. Sheri rushed by her, gravel and discarded bird seed biting into her feet.

“You want a brush or something, honey?”

“No time!” Sheri called as she moved through the entrance, her eyes already scanning the grounds for signs of Sam.

She sprinted across the grass toward a group of tiki torches near a large hut. A cluster of peacocks scattered, squawking their displeasure at her disruption. Hawaiian music lilted on the breeze, and she inhaled the rich smell of smoked pork. Her gut twisted a little at that as she thought of Sam and the burned dinner and how much she wanted him around to burn dinners forever and ever.

She tripped over something that might have been a coconut or a rooster, but she kept going. She didn’t care. All she cared about was finding Sam and telling him she loved him. That she understood now what he’d been trying to do.

Her eyes scanned the crowd milling around outside the hut. A few people stopped and stared, probably wondering about the crazy-eyed, food-covered, half-dressed woman barging in on their special event.

Sheri didn’t care.

Dinner must’ve ended, but the show hadn’t started yet. Was he even here? Had her instincts led her wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe—

She spotted him against a row of tiki torches. At least she thought it was him. It was definitely a big guy with rumpled hair that curled at the collar, his massive shoulders silhouetted by torch flames and smoke from the fire pits. He was tossing handfuls of birdseed to a cluster of peacocks who pecked and squawked and strutted at his feet.

She couldn’t see his face, but she was sure it was him. She’d know that body anywhere.

“Sam!”

He turned slowly, his face registering surprise, then shock as his eyes found hers. Sheri reached up to smooth her frizzed hair, to adjust the torn shirt, to wipe the smears of food off her face.

To hell with it.

She dropped her hands and stepped forward, determined not to be self-conscious. Determined to say what she needed to say. She took a shaky breath and met his eyes.

“I want to talk to you about lying.”

His face creased with guilt and disappointment. “Sheri, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I did it so soon after you had your heart ripped out by another dishonest bastard. I know what you said about lying. That it’s the absolute worst thing. Worse than riptides and parking tickets and pubic lice and—”

“I said that?”

He nodded once. “Something like that.”

She stepped closer, shivering a little in the night air as she folded her arms over her torn shirt. “I’m sure I said that. I’m sure I even meant it at the time. But here’s the thing I’ve realized about lying—sometimes, people have good reasons for doing it.”

“What?” Sam blinked, his eyes flickering with firelight.

“I’m not talking about cheaters who lie to stick their dick in a stripper,” she said. Her voice carried farther than she meant it to, and a few luau guests turned to stare. She pressed on, determined to make this right. To say what she needed to say.

“I’m talking about self-preservation,” she said, not sure she was getting the words quite right. “I’m talking about lies to protect someone or help someone who won’t accept help or to be true to a friend or yourself or to—”

“Sheri,” he said, taking another step forward and reaching out to catch her hands in his. The warmth of them gave her strength, though his eyes were questioning. “What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”

“I’m saying sometimes lying
isn’t
the worst thing,” she said, clenching his fingers in hers as a curl of smoke stung her eyes. Or maybe it was a tear of emotion, she wasn’t sure. “I’m saying I weigh ten pounds more than I admitted on my driver’s license. I’m saying I color my hair because I started going gray before the twins were born. I’m saying I wear Spanx under a cocktail dress, and that I haven’t really read
War and Peace
even though I meant to. I’m saying I didn’t tell you Jonathan was harassing me because I was scared and didn’t want to admit that, not even to myself. I’m saying I ate the last Twinkie but told you it was Kelli, and I’m saying that personal massager under my bed isn’t really for neck pain. I’m saying—”

“Sheri,” he said, his eyes flickering with more than firelight now. There was humor there. And love. It definitely looked like love.

“I love you,” she said, wanting to make sure she said it before he could. “I love you and I want you and I need you and I don’t want you to go. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

He smiled, the first time she’d seen him do it since last night. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen, and she felt herself crumpling into him. He caught her in his strong hands, his body supporting hers, his arms folding around her and engulfing her in the sweetest, warmest embrace she’d ever felt.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but you kinda smell like baby vomit.”

She drew back, laughing, and looked into his eyes. “So do you. And it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my whole life.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

When they returned to the house, Mac was reading the boys a bedtime story.

“…and this type of flak vest is designed to provide protection from case fragments, high-explosive weaponry, antiaircraft artillery, grenades, and some types of shot used in shotguns and land mines, though it is not designed to—hey, Sam, hey Sheri. What’s up?”

Mac smiled at them both, though his eyes held Sheri’s with a question. She smiled back and squeezed Sam’s hand before stepping forward to greet her brother.

“What are you read— Never mind.” She dropped to her knees in front of him and hugged her babies one at a time. Then she looked up at Mac. “Thank you for watching them.”

“My pleasure.”

“Where’s Jonathan?”

“He’s been dealt with.” Mac pressed his lips together, the familiar signal he was done discussing a subject. “I take it from the glow on your faces things went well?”

She grinned. “You can take it from the glow on our faces that we just had sex in the car.”

Mac closed the book in his lap. “I didn’t need to know that.”

Sam stepped forward and helped Sheri to her feet again. “Well, here’s something you do need to know, Mac. Your sister and I are together and in love. Deal with it.”

Mac stood, his expression surprisingly warm, as he shook Sam’s hand. “Congratulations, Sam. You’re getting the best girl in the world.” He turned to her, leaning in for a hug. “Congratulations, Sher.”

Sheri let him pull her into a hug for a moment before drawing back. “Wait a minute.” She looked her brother in the eye, brimming with equal parts love and annoyance. “This is for tricking me.”

She punched him squarely in the shoulder, her knuckles cracking hard against solid muscle. Mac staggered back, sputtering.

“Goddammit,” he barked, rubbing his arm. “That hurt. Why can’t you punch like a girl instead of like a bare-knuckle boxer?”

“Why can’t you stop being a meddling, no-good, overprotective bastard of a—”

“Um, guys?” Sam interrupted, stepping between them. Sheri looked at Sam, and Mac followed suit, looking a little more reluctant. “How about we focus on our happy news here instead of your instinct to kill each other?”

“I’m good with that,” Sheri said, and hugged her brother again.

“So what is the plan here?” Mac asked, giving Sheri a squeeze before stepping back to survey them. “Sam? Your military record is clear and untarnished. You’re reporting to Kaneohe Bay in a couple weeks, but that’s not far from here. Will you drop your letter or—”

“I’m not sure. Not yet anyway, or at least not about my future with the military.” He looked down at Sheri, his expression so warm she felt her skin prickle. “That’s something I need to discuss with the woman I’d like to make a home with, regardless of where that home ends up being.”

“Home,” Sheri repeated, thinking she’d never heard a more beautiful word in her whole life.

His blue eyes held hers, and she had to stop herself from throwing herself into his arms all over again.

“I have something for you.” Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out an object.

Sheri frowned. “Your night-vision goggles?”

“No, wait.” He reached back into the same pocket, this time drawing out an ornate silver brooch in the shape of a devil dog.

Sheri gasped. “What in the world—”

“I found it in a gift shop today. I was going to come back before my flight left to make one more grand gesture. To give it to you as a token of who I really am, in case you’re willing make a fresh start together with everything out in the open.” He swallowed, emotion flickering in his eyes.

Sheri took the brooch, feeling the warmth of his hand in the metal. She turned it over in her hand and peered at the design. “What does it say on the back—‘I’m stuck in you’?”

“Uh, it was supposed to say
on
you—not in you. Like a pin? It was a lame joke. The engraver misunderstood. I can have it redone—”

“No.” She clutched it to her chest. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”

Mac folded his arms over his chest and peered at Sam. “You might need to work on your romantic approach.”

“Shut up, Mac,” she said as she looked at the brooch again. “It’s beautiful, Sam. I can’t believe you did this.”

“I want us to start over,” he said. “You, me, and the boys. A family.”

“Absolutely,” she whispered. “I love the sound of that.”

Mac cleared his throat. “I think this is the part where you apologize for punching me and say thank you for bringing Sam into your life. You can start with either one.”

“Go away, Mac,” Sheri said, smiling. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Actually, I do. Not to overshadow this happy occasion, but I came back here to solicit your wisdom on procuring a connubial companion.”

Sheri blinked. “Say what?”

“A wife,” Sam said, putting an arm around Sheri. “Or a fiancée or girlfriend or something. Is this like that time I got that antique NTW-20 anti-materiel sniper rifle with the 20-millimeter barrel and you suddenly had to have the same gun?”

Mac snorted, looking indignant. “Of course not. It’s a long story. A business proposition, really, which I’ll tell you about if one of you would like to join me in the kitchen to rustle up some sort of dinner?”

“Not it!” Sam and Sheri chorused before dissolving into laughter.

She stepped toward the kitchen, grabbing her brother by one arm and Sam by the other, dragging them both with her. “Fine, Mac. We’ll make dinner. And we’ll arrange your marriage, too, while we’re at it. Why don’t you tell us all about it?”

She towed the men into the kitchen, her mind already bubbling with this crazy idea in the back of her brain.

She knew just the wife for MacArthur.

And just the way to make him pay.