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.
Acknowlegments
A million thanks to the best critique partners and beta readers a girl could wish for. Cynthia Reese, Linda Grimes, Linda Brundage, Larie Borden, Bridget McGinn, and Minta Powelson—you rock so hard you make me seasick.
I’m eternally thankful to everyone at Entangled Publishing, especially Heather Howland, Liz Pelletier, Kerri-Leigh Grady, Kari Olson, Jacki Rosellen, Jessica Turner, and Tara Gonzalez. Publishing is a team effort, and I’m glad you’re in the dugout with me offering wisdom, enthusiasm, and encouraging butt pats.
I’m so grateful to Michelle Wolfson for being the ultimate champion of my career, and for handling all the details that would otherwise make my brain explode. I thank you from the bottom of my heart (not to mention my non-exploded brain).
Huge hugs and thank yous to my family, especially my parents, Dixie and David Fenske. I’m not sure whether to be more grateful for your love and support, or for your decision to live half the year in Kauai so I have the excuse to visit frequently in the name of book research.
And thank you to Craig Zagurski for supporting my writing from, “don’t talk, I’m plotting!” to “come quick, I need to see if a guy can unhook a girl’s bra when she’s kneeling in front of him!” I love you always, babe.