Mary Had a Little Problem

Luke had been gone for six months, not even a year. Why Mary was sitting on a barstool listening to a bunch of drunks boast about women they’d pursued, enjoyed, or borrowed, was the million dollar question. She’d heard enough and was about ready to leave when the door slammed behind her. She turned to see her sister prance across the floor, working those hips and practically stepping high enough to slide her feet out of her expensive pair of high-heel shoes.

Snapping a kiss on her cheek, Mary said, “Nice of you to make it.”

“Sorry, hon. I got caught at the office,” she said, stripping off her business jacket. “It’s a buyer’s market out there, and right now, I can’t afford to let a potential sale get away. We have more houses on the market than we’ve had in three decades.”

Mary shrugged. She knew nothing about the current housing market and cared very little about real estate sales.

She’d grown up around the business, listening to agent babble all her life. The only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that her mother and father spent their lives rushing here and going there for one client or the next. Eventually, the job interrupted their marriage. More precisely, their careers destroyed her family. Her father just came in one day, packed his bags, kissed them goodbye, and they never heard from him again.

Mary used to imagine her father as a traveling salesman, going from town to town in order to sell homes across the United States. After she matured and realized her father was never coming home, she’d often wondered if she remembered everything there was to recall about the man she wanted desperately to understand. After she became a teenager, Mary sometimes imagined her father must have pissed off a contractor, who in turn, killed him. He’d been buried under a concrete slab, a solid foundation for a home he somehow failed to sell on speculation.

It was a morbid thought, but not as gloomy as believing her father just didn’t give a damn.

“I’m starving,” Anna said, reaching for a menu.

“We could’ve gone anywhere in Beaufort, but you chose a military hot spot. Why?”

After Anna reassembled the salt and pepper shakers, she knocked over in her pursuit for the drink list, she said, “I like Frank’s burgers.”

“Frank?”

Anna tilted her head toward the old guy behind the grill. “And they’re having karaoke tonight.”

“You’re singing?”

“She always sings,” Frank said, approaching them. “You must be Mary. Anna has told me a lot about you.”

“I hope she told you a few truths to go along with whatever fibs she’s pitching.”

“All we’ve heard here is what a pretty sister she has.”

“See there?” Mary said, grinning at her older sibling. “I can’t turn my back on her. I swear, the girl whispers tall tales whenever she has the chance.”

“I don’t know about that,” a soldier said. Dressed in civilian clothes, but every ounce of hard flesh screaming soldier, the newcomer slapped a handful of cash on the bar. “From my own assessment, looks to me like the girl spoke nothing but the truth.”

Mary’s skin heated. A lump lodged in her chest. She cleared her throat and looked at Anna who seemed all too pleased her sister had just been hit on by a military guy.

“Thank you,” Mary whispered, shooting Anna a sideways glance. What was it about Anna? She constantly tried to set her up with a man ready to fight—and die—for his country.

There wasn’t any doubt in Mary’s mind—Anna knew this soldier. They kept making eye contact and arching their brows at one another. Soon, they’d be whispering behind cupped hands and passing notes back and forth on bar napkins.

“What can I get you ladies tonight?” Frank asked.

“Put their drinks on me,” the big guy said, nodding toward the scattered bills.

“Do you know him?” Mary asked, lowering her voice and watching as the soldier shook hands with a few fellows at the end of the bar.

Anna grinned, stuffed a handful of peanuts in her mouth, and chewed. “Frank, set us up with two margaritas.”

“You got it.”

“Well, do you or don’t you?”

“Sure I know him,” Anna replied around a jaw filled with nuts. After she took a swig of water, she called out, “Brock, if you’re gonna buy us drinks, the least you can do is get over here and meet my sister like a proper gentleman.”

“I wasn’t sure you would formally introduce us,” Brock said, working that strut for all it was worth.

Since Luke’s death, Mary had avoided men like Brock. Anna couldn’t get enough of them.

“You have a point. A smarter woman might keep you all to herself,” Anna quipped, pushing her long auburn locks over her shoulders. “But since you’re buying drinks, Mary, meet Brock Taylor. Brock, this is Mary Worthington, my little sister.”

Brock’s dimples widened, and Mary wanted to sink back into the hole where she’d been hiding and stay there forever. Without a doubt, Brock and Anna were close friends. They were too comfortable around one another. Then again, Anna was confident with all men. A trait Mary possessed too, before Luke.

Mary could almost see Anna’s wheels turning. She was plotting, planning. Heck, she probably pictured her in an off-white wedding gown marching through a sword-drawn Sabre Arch by now.

“Give the guy a chance,” Anna whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Brock didn’t look like he had any trouble finding opportunities. If Mary had him pegged, he saw her as another notch on his belt, one more conquest to explore.

Anna had most likely told this guy about the hard times she’d fallen upon since her husband’s death. But that was the least of her worries. Mary didn’t appreciate the way Brock studied her. She didn’t like how her body reacted under his scrutiny. Her palms were clammy. Her knees knocked together.

Worse, every nerve ending in her body seemed to come alive with a tiny spark of knowledge. She was keenly aware of this guy, this handsome stranger.

The night out with Anna was not going well by any stretch of the imagination.

Brock owned an easy swagger when he strolled over and took her hand in his. Midnight blue eyes pierced through hers, and they seemed to warm her, console her in some way. He winked and smoothly said, “Mary, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard enough about you to consider us old friends.”

She wished she could say the same.

Clearing her throat, she mentally cursed herself for becoming putty in his presence. “Nice to meet you, too,” she finally managed, though she didn’t mean a word of it. Mary didn’t want to become acquainted with another military man, a soldier with rugged appeal, a sensational smile, and soothing touch.

This Brock guy was handsome, sexy, and far too dangerous. Anna’s matchmaking was uninvited and came too soon.

Mary didn’t want to respond to a man the way she’d just reacted to Brock, especially after such a short introduction. She made a mental note to give Anna a piece of her mind later. A smarter woman would’ve stood up and left without saying goodbye.

“Do you sing?” Brock asked, turning up a beer. His hot gaze poured over her like melted margarine, sliding from side to side with no direction, but leaving behind plenty of sizzle all the same.

“Me? Carry a tune?”

“Why sure,” he sang, rolling a thick tongue over his bottom lip. Mary silently prayed she hadn’t sighed as she’d watched the whole act unfold. Lord have mercy, she was acting like a woman in heat.

“No. I’m not the entertainer in the family, per se.”

“Anna here is our local vocal darling,” Brock explained. “She wears the microphone out up there. You don’t expect me to believe one sister has all the talent and the other has all the beauty, do you?”

“Thanks, Brock,” Anna grumbled.

“Don’t mention it.”

“So Anna is a regular here?” Mary asked. “Imagine that. She couldn’t sing a lick back in high school chorus.”

“A crowd gathers when she takes the stage,” Frank said, setting two drinks before them.

“Still can’t hit the high notes,” Anna remarked. “But they never know the difference. I always take the stage late. By the time I’m up there, it’s almost last call. Everyone in the place swears I’m as good as Elvis.”

“Do they?”

Brock laughed. “She can wiggle like the King of Rock-n-Roll. That’s all anyone here cares about by the time the clock strikes three.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Mary said, taking a sip of her drink.

For a split second, Mary relaxed. She was even having a good time. Brock wasn’t as intimidating as she’d first thought, so she settled down, leaned against the wooden high-back stool, and made herself comfortable. That’s when she caught a glimpse of Tom Tolsen, a Casualty Assistance Calls Officer with the Navy.

Tom was also the man who’d delivered the news of her late husband’s death. He’d provided resources and assistance. He’d passed along useless information, the kind of data the military allowed him to share.

Tom hadn’t supplied a body. He never relayed the Intel a widow needed most.

Mary still didn’t know how or why her husband died. The day Tom visited her home, he’d remained true to his uniform and passed along the information the military wanted her to have. He gave her nothing more.

His words were practiced, fully rehearsed. His speech was short and direct, straight to the point.

Mary’s husband was dead. The military was sorry for her loss. There was nothing more they could tell her. Grief counseling was available and recommended. That was it. That was all. She was a widow and expected to accept the fact.

Anna and Brock must’ve spotted Tom, too. Brock locked eyes with the officer, shook his head firmly, and then swung his sharp gaze toward Mary.

Tom turned to leave.

Mary grabbed her purse. “Tom, wait!” She glared at Brock. Just who did he think he was? Why was he trying to get Tom out of there? Who died and left him in charge?

She gasped at that.

“Tom, please!” Mary leapt from the stool and trailed behind him. “I need to talk to you!”

“Mary, stop,” Anna said, grabbing for her arm.

“I just want to say hello. I’ll be right back,” Mary assured her, shaking off her sister’s grip.

Tom had just stepped outside when Mary rushed to the sidewalk, trying to stop him. “Didn’t you see me over at the bar?”

Tom squared his shoulders and dropped his gaze. “I saw you.”

“Then why didn’t you come over and say hello?”

“You know why, Mary.”

Mary swallowed. Oh sure, she forgot. How stupid of her. She understood protocol enough to realize Tom was trying to show her some measure of respect by avoiding her.

Apparently, the word was out. Mary had become a recluse since her husband’s death. Immediately following his funeral, she was certifiable. Maybe that’s why Tom didn’t want to be around her. Perhaps he thought she blamed him. She did to an extent. As ridiculous as that seemed, she couldn’t help herself.

The day he’d visited her home, she’d opened up her door and greeted the man destined to ruin her life.

“Mary, I know what I represent. It’s hard for us to run into one another without you remembering the reason why we were first introduced. That’s understandable.”

“We could still be friends, Tom. I mean, I don’t want you to run from me whenever you see me.”

“Mary, you and I have nothing left to say to one another. I’ve supplied the resources you need. I suggested some counseling. Have you talked to anyone?”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone!” she yelled, immediately ashamed of herself for the outburst. “I need to talk to you.”

Tom looked at her with pure pity oozing from his eyes. “Give my best to your sister and Brock.”

“Tom! I just want to know something more! Don’t you understand? Do you know what kind of hell this has been? Do you?” She followed him down the city street, but he wouldn’t turn around. They passed a few soldiers, several officers, but no one looked her in the eye.

When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging. Mary’s mother’s words stopped her from pursuing the officer.