Navy Seal Dad. Metsy Hingle
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So what are you going to do about it?
Dammit, he was still a SEAL, Mac reminded himself. A member of the U.S. military’s fiercest, bravest and smartest band of warriors. A SEAL didn’t walk away from a battle because the odds were stacked against him. A SEAL found a way to even the odds and win.
“Hey, sailor,” a sidewalk barker standing outside one of the nightclubs called out in that unmistakable drawl that marked him as a New Orleanian. Opening the door a fraction, the giant of a man offered Mac a glimpse of a long-limbed woman dancing onstage to the seductive wail of a sax. “Why don’t you come on in out of the cold, my man? Lovely Lola’s next show is about to start any minute. You have my word,” he said with a smile that glinted with gold. “Lola’s act will warm you right up and make you glad you’re a man.”
“Thanks, pal,” Mac said with an answering grin. “But there’s another lady I’ve got to see.”
Rachel didn’t see him at first—not until after she had climbed the stairs and deactivated the alarm to the house. Bone tired from a day that had started with the shock of Mac showing up at the hospital and ended with her pulling an extra stint in the E.R., she’d driven home on automatic pilot. Tomorrow she would worry about Mac, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would sort out how she felt about the things he’d said to her, and she would figure out how to break the news to him about P.J.
But right now…right now all she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and sleep. Stifling a yawn, she reached into her purse for the house key when a movement from the far end of the veranda caught her eye.
Rachel froze. The weariness of a moment ago dissolved in a heartbeat. Fear-induced adrenaline took its place. Suddenly she realized how vulnerable she was, standing alone in the darkness, illuminated by the glow of the porch lamp Chloe had left on for her. Since it was long past midnight, the street was quiet save for the wind whistling through the oaks. No lights burned in her neighbor’s homes. No cars made their way down the silent street. She was alone and even if she screamed for help, no one was likely to come to her aid in time.
Quickly she gauged her chances of getting the door unlocked and safely inside before he realized she’d spotted him. She couldn’t risk it, she decided. Not with P.J. asleep in the house. Seconds ticked by in which fear knotted like an icy fist in her stomach. She tried to recall the techniques she’d learned in that self-defense class and drew a blank.
She had to do something! Beads of perspiration dampened her brow despite the cold temperatures. Fighting back the panic that threatened, she told herself to think. Then she remembered—the mace! She had a can of mace in her purse. Her heart thundering in her ears, Rachel closed her fingers around the metal cylinder. “Who’s there?” she demanded in a voice that sounded surprisingly strong given the fact that her legs felt like jelly.
Keeping her eyes trained on the corner where she’d detected the movement, Rachel lifted the can like a gun and aimed. “I know you’re there. So you might as well come out.”
Suddenly a hand shot out from behind her, disarming her so quickly that her finger was still poised to shoot. At the same time another hand clamped over her mouth midscream, and she felt herself being pulled back against a very hard, very strong, very male body.
“Rach, it’s me.”
With the metallic taste of fear in her mouth and her heart beating frantically, his words failed to register. She kicked at his legs. She jabbed her elbow into his midsection. Panicked, she wished for a pair of killer stilettos as she lifted her foot and did a karate-style back kick to his shin. She barely heard her captor’s grunt as stars exploded in front of her eyes and pain ricocheted up her leg.
“Rach, cut it out! It’s me,” he repeated. “It’s Mac.”
Rachel stilled. “Mac?” she mumbled the name against the hand covering her mouth.
“Yeah,” he told her as he removed his hand from over her mouth.
Suddenly weak with relief, Rachel whooshed out a breath. It was Mac. Not a mugger. Not a burglar. It was Mac. And, she realized in the next breath, it was Mac who had just scared her silly.
Slowly he loosened the arm anchored around her waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Relief swiftly gave way to anger, and Rachel whirled around to face him. “Frighten me? You scared me half to death,” she accused, her voice shaking with fury. “What are you doing here slinking around in the dark? And how did you find out where I live?”
“I wasn’t slinking around. I was waiting for you. Since you never made it to the restaurant, I came by hoping we could talk. And as for finding out where you live, I’m a SEAL, Rach,” he said crisply. “Finding you wasn’t hard.”
Her breath was still coming fast, but already the edge of her anger was cooling. “I-I’m sorry about dinner. But you still should have said something. You should have at least let me know you were there.”
“I started to, but when I saw how tired you looked, I decided tonight wasn’t a good time. I was waiting to make sure you got inside safely before I left. Then I was going to call you in the morning and see about rescheduling our date.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Rachel corrected. “It was dinner between…between acquaintances.”
Mac snorted. “We were a bit more than acquaintances.”
Deciding it best to ignore that remark, Rachel explained, “I got tied up at the hospital. That’s why I didn’t meet you at the restaurant. There was an accident. A bus filled with high school kids on their way to a football game was rear-ended by an eighteen-wheeler.”
“I heard. Was it bad?”
“Not really. Mostly bumps and bruises. A few stitches, a couple of sprains and one broken ankle.” Suddenly, standing alone in the dim porch light with Mac felt too intimate. It reminded Rachel of other nights when they had stood in the moonlight and she’d recounted the events of her day for him. Slamming the door shut on her memories, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Anyway, by the time I got a break and was able to call the restaurant, you’d already left. I didn’t know how else to contact you.”
“It’s all right,” Mac told her, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He ran his thumb along her jaw in a gesture that was tender, loving…like the look in his eyes.
No, she wouldn’t do that to herself again, Rachel vowed, and turned her face away from his touch. But not before she caught the flare of emotion in his eyes. For a second she almost believed that she had hurt Mac. Just as quickly, Rachel dismissed the notion. More likely she’d been right earlier today, and she had simply dashed Mac’s hopes for a quick reunion while he was in town. Swallowing hard, she reminded herself of what a mistake their relationship had been the first time. It was a mistake she had no intention of repeating. “All the same I’m sorry about standing you up.”
“Quit apologizing, Rachel. Your roommate already explained about the flu hitting the hospital’s staff and how you had to pull an extra shift in the E.R.”
“My roommate?”
“Chloe.”
Rachel sucked in a breath. “You talked to Chloe?”
“Yeah. When I came over to find out why you didn’t show up at the restaurant, she answered the door and told me what happened.”
“I see,” Rachel murmured. She had called Chloe to let her know she’d be even later than she’d first thought tonight. And then she had called the restaurant for Mac.
“I liked her. She seems really nice.”
“She is,” Rachel informed him. Chloe Chancellor was nice. And she was so much more than a roommate. She was also Rachel’s friend. It had been Chloe who had comforted her during those first lonely weeks after Mac had left. It had been Chloe who had bullied her into taking care of herself when