SEALed With a Kiss: Even a Hero Needs Help Sometimes...

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Copyright © 2008 by Mary Margret Daughtridge Cover and internal design © 2008 by Sourcebooks, Inc. Cover photo © iStock

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

Fax: (630) 961-2168

www.sourcebooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Daughtridge, Mary Margret.

SEALed with a Kiss : Even a Hero Needs Help Sometimes / Mary Margret Daughtridge. p. cm.

ISBN-13: 978-1-4022-1551-3

ISBN-10: 1-4022-1551-7

1. United States. Navy. SEALs—Fiction. 2. Single fathers— Fiction. 3. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 4. Custody of children— Fiction. 5. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3604.A92S43 2008

813'.6-dc22

2008002284

Printed and bound in Canada

TR 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my mother, Besse Holloman, who taught me to love words,

To my tenth-grade English teacher, Dorothy Powell, who taught me to craft with those words,

and

To Diane Spitler, an extraordinary friend who, even from the Other Side, made me write a book.

Working on a book isn't a realistic thing to do. It's an act of faith. Without faith in a book's possibility, contributed by many people other than the writer, a book doesn't come into existence.

Elsa McKeithan kept the faith through my ups and downs of writer angst while I chiseled characters from the bedrock of my unconscious. Katherine Highfill held out the carrot of Starbucks once a week, if I'd show up with a rewritten chapter. MariBeth Graham discussed theme, premise, and plot; cut my synopses to the bone; and knew when Mercury was retrograde.

Yvonne Harris, Jennifer Loman, and Amy Padgett ignored their own writing many times to squeeze me under deadlines. Nancy Yow proofread the manuscript on her vacation, and Ben Wilson rescued lost files.

All credit for the insider feel of the book goes to two former SEALs, John Carl Roat and Martin Strong. They answered hundreds of emails, exemplifying the generosity, humor, and perseverance of the men who put the "special" in Special Operations. Lt. Josh Wilson provided modern navy background. Any errors are my own.

Sensitive to the nuances of character-based plot, Stephanie Evans, agent extraordinaire, and Deb Werksman of Sourcebooks suggested changes, subtle yet powerful, that brought the book to its final form.

Finally, in talking about faith, I must mention Pat Moore, Glenda Gayle Sink, and Alma Pender-gast, who had the fortitude to read rough drafts and still believe the book was publishable, and my family—Daughtridges, Greens, and Hollomans— who contributed their faith by believing in
me
.

Little Creek, Virginia

Sometimes, even the most dedicated workaholic needs to unwind in a low-class dive. Jax Graham signaled the bar girl to bring him and Do-Lord two more beers. The Sea Shanty, as neon grunge on the inside as it was dilapidated on the outside, could always be trusted to live down to its name. A smart man would be grateful that darkness hid the dirt, and the odors of beer and ancient cigarette smoke obliterated smells even less savory. Nobody who gave a damn would see him, a lieutenant, having a drink with his best friend, Caleb "Do-Lord" Dulaude, a Chief Petty Officer.

The beer joint would fill up later with a volatile mix of bikers, SEALs, and Marines, but it was early now. Only a few tables were occupied.

In one corner a couple of SEAL groupies used a lazy game of pool to offer generous displays of tits and ass, occasionally casting acquisitive eyes in Jax and Do-Lord's direction.

The tall blonde wasn't bad, Jax mused in unconscious, automatic assessment, but neither girl was anything special. Still, neither one would leave alone at closing time—not that he'd be here to see it.

Picking up groupies or closing down bars wasn't something he did much anymore. He'd done plenty of both almost five years ago after Danielle left him, taking his baby son. But it didn't take him long to learn all he achieved was a hangover. Hard work and dedication turned out to be more effective for blotting out the pain. And paid off in career advancement. Since his latest deployment to Afghanistan his superiors had recommended him for early promotion to lieutenant commander.

Ironic. Danielle left him because being a SEAL claimed most of his time. But after she took Tyler, the only thing that eased his grief was spending even more time at work. Danielle's death last month wouldn't really impact his life now. Not at all. It gave him a hollow feeling, but it was the truth.

"You haven't said much." Do-Lord's soft Alabama drawl slid easily through the happy-hour chatter. "You worried about Commander Kohn chewing you out?" That his friend knew what had taken place behind closed doors between him and his mentor didn't surprise Jax. Chiefs knew everything.

"Nah." Jax used the bottom of his beer mug to press interlocking rings of condensation on the tabletop until he made an Olympics symbol. "It's not a problem."

Do-Lord made a dubious rumbling sound and raised one reddish eyebrow.

"Okay, yeah, I was ticked. Kohn questions whether I really know what I'm doing about my son. He kept asking how often I see Tyler.
Shit.
How much does any SEAL see his kids? And because Danielle and I were divorced, I saw him even less."

"He thinks you should bring Tyler to live with you?"

"No, he didn't tell me what to do, except to make sure I spent some time with Tyler—more than a couple of days—before I made up my mind." Jax scrubbed at his hairline with a fist, a habit when he was frustrated—a habit he
thought
he'd broken. "But here's the deal. Sure, custody reverted to me at Danielle's death, but I know what it's like to be raised by housekeepers and babysitters. Screw 'im. I'm doing what I think is right."