Her Only Chance. Cheryl Anne Porter
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sat down, gesturing to the upholstered leather chair on the other side of the desk.
With measured precision and a few sharp moves worthy of a military parade…as if to show the general that the sutured and bandaged cut on his thigh didn’t bother him…Kell sat, holding his Special Ops beret in his hand while he awaited the general’s next words. He tried to convince himself that his heart wasn’t about to thump out of his chest.
The general sat forward, resting his elbows atop his desk and tenting his fingers together. “All right, here’s the thing. How old are you?”
Startled, Kell almost dropped his precise military bearing. “I’m thirty-two, sir.”
“Thirty-two. And you’re a lieutenant commander. I’ve always believed that only in our profession and in professional athletics is thirty-two getting up there in age. Most of our field officers are still in their twenties.”
Kell knew instantly where this was going. A desk job. His chest tightened around his heart, which felt as if it were expanding. “Begging the general’s pardon, sir, but I’m as fit as any man in my—”
“Yes, you are, even despite your injury. And you’re a fine commander. Your men are extremely loyal to you, and your superiors sing your praises, me among them. You’re also a highly decorated officer with more successful missions under your belt than anyone else. No one doubts your dedication, son.”
Until this last mission. It was unspoken between them. As the general talked, Kell’s jaw got tighter and tighter.
“It’s time for a change, Kell. I know how you feel about a desk job. But you have to admit this isn’t any ordinary office. You know what SOCOM is—a mixed-branch military nerve center where the strategy is done for the four services, where the missions originate. And it’s a tremendous responsibility. I feel we need someone like you in-house. No one knows Special Ops like you. And, of course, there’s a promotion in this.”
Kell sat rigid. The only thing worse would be to get assigned to the Pentagon—it was considered a graveyard for commanders. However, the one-foot-in-the-grave assignment was the desk job. Which he’d just been handed. A dead end. The last of the line. Kicked off the team for a lack of performance. Total loss of respect, of self-esteem. And there wasn’t one damn thing he could do about it, except say, “Thank you, sir. I’m honored, sir.”
“Like hell you are, Commander. I wasn’t when I got these stars—” he pointed to the insignia of his rank on his shoulders “—and this corner office. I thought my military life was over, that I was washed up. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And neither can you. This isn’t punishment, Kell. But it will seem like it when you’re sitting here safely, knowing you’re putting young men out in the field in jeopardy. You’re going to fret like you’re their daddy. And you’ll find you’re extremely careful of every detail so none of them gets hurt. That’s what I want from you. In one way, having you here is a way of making sure that what happened to you and your men will never happen again.”
Kell met his commanding officer’s steel-gray eyes. The general was referring to the intelligence officer who’d been relieved of command after Kell’s latest mission had failed. But Kell couldn’t help thinking that the general also meant that if Kell was sitting here at a desk, he couldn’t lead any other men into a trap. He swallowed, knowing the general was awaiting some comment from him. He stood up, coming again to attention. General Halter followed suit. Kell met the older man’s gaze. “Thank you, sir. Will that be all, sir?”
The general looked Kell up and down, narrowing his eyes assessingly. “You’re a fine man and a fine officer, Commander Chance. It’s just time for a change, for a move up the chain of command. It will be an honor to have you in the building and to work with you directly.”
Like the general had said—it sure as hell didn’t feel like an honor. Still, Kell put his beret back on, carefully adjusting it to the perfect angle. Then he saluted the general. “Thank you, sir. I look forward to the opportunity to serve you and my country in my new capacity.”
The general nodded and returned Kell’s salute.
Guilt ate at Kell. He’d gone too far one time too many. He’d asked too much from his men, and they’d almost paid the price with their lives—and all at his command. Maybe the general was right. Maybe he was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time to quit gambling, something his parents had never learned. Maybe it was time for a desk, time for change. No more risks.
Like hell it was. A bit of the fire in Kell’s belly went out. Who was he kidding? He didn’t believe any of that. He was Kellan Chance. A warrior. It was too bad his mother and father had just left after coming to see about him. He could have asked them what the Gaelic term for desk jockey was. Thank God they’d returned to New Orleans before he’d been put out to pasture. That wasn’t something he wanted them to know right off. But he’d better get used to the idea, he told himself. Because apparently he was going to have to live it.
He was also going to have to find a way to avoid losing face with his risk-taking brothers. Or himself.
THREE DAYS and as many doctoral-degree celebrations later, Jamie sat with Donna in the sun-splashed Tampa International Airport. True to Winslow form, the three of them—Jamie, her sister and their mother—had arrived chronically early for the flight that would take Jamie’s family back to New Orleans. So, with time to kill, their mother had wandered into a glass-fronted bookstore in search of the latest thriller to read during the flight.
That left Jamie and Donna to chat as they camped out with the carry-on luggage at one of the upscale coffee bars in the terminal. But even with all the traffic around them, all heads turned their way when Donna squealed, “You have got to be kidding—”
“Shh.” Jamie immediately leaned across the table. “Mom and half of Tampa will hear you.”
Donna’s blue eyes danced with delicious intrigue as she, too, leaned forward, speaking in a lowered voice. “Mom’s over there in that bookstore. She can’t hear us.”
“Ha. The woman can hear through walls. We’re talking about Mom here, Donna.” Jamie sipped the last of her coffee.
“Like heck we are. We’re talking about Kellan Chance. I was right, wasn’t I? You’re going to have to confront him.” Triumphant, Donna sat back. “Damn. I’m good.”
Jamie wondered what her sister would say once she could finally tell her about the book deal. “Yes, you are. But I knew it would all be about Kell, if you’ll remember.”
“Yes, you knew.” Donna turned serious. “But I’m worried about you, little sister. You walked away from that man and a church full of people on your wedding day eight years ago. And then you broke up with him again last year. And now these psycho professors of yours want you to see him again?” Donna sipped her coffee and eyed Jamie over the cup’s rim. “Have they lost their collective minds, playing Cupid like this? Kell is not going to be amused.”
“They’re not playing Cupid. They say I need closure. Can’t you just hear me telling someone as practical-minded as Kellan Chance that we need closure? He’s going to think I’m crazy.”
“Well, add my name to that list,” Donna said. “I’ve thought you were nuts ever since you ditched him right out of college.”
Jamie let out a guilty breath. “Will you quit saying I ditched him? I didn’t ditch him. I had…issues.”
“Issues? Such as…?”
“It’s not obvious? The way he plays with life and limb, Donna. I mean, come on, he’s thirty-two now. When do these Chance boys get over it?”
As if suddenly too warm, Donna fanned herself with her hand and sent her sister an arch expression. “They’re hardly boys, honey. Whew. Kell and his brothers are men to the nth degree. Wow.” Then she popped forward in her seat. “Wait a minute. You knew that Kell hadn’t changed a couple of years ago when y’all got back together. Shoot, we expected you two to finally