and Foxtrot, the two most promising and troublesome puppies, ran in different directions, each holding a leg of her jeans between their teeth.
“Come on, guys, I need my pants,” she said.
Foxtrot won the tug-of-war game, ripping the jeans from Charlie’s mouth. Amy smiled. Out of this litter, Foxtrot showed the most promise. He had the drive to win. Just like a solider entering Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training had to want a place on the SEAL teams so badly he’d push past anything to get there, the dogs selected to work with the SEALs had to be the best. And being the best meant they never gave up. Every game of tug-of-war mattered. They had to win. Every ball thrown had to be retrieved. The dog wouldn’t have it any other way. And that was Foxtrot, always the winner.
Charlie, the loser, tumbled but quickly recovered to chase his brother around the corner and into the kitchen.
Following them, she heard a loud rip. Maybe Charlie had it in him to serve with the SEALs, too. He’d just won half of her pants.
“Okay, you can keep the jeans,” she said. “I’ll find another pair. But I need you guys to go back to the guest room.”
Ignoring her, the dogs disappeared from view, heading for the front room. While two stories, the farmhouse’s footprint was small. A living room off the main entrance with a hall that led to the kitchen, the spare bedroom and the stairs. The upper floor featured an open, loft-style master bedroom. When the puppies escaped their room, they had free rein of the house. And she was starting to suspect they knew it. All the more reason to whelp this litter and move them into the kennel.
She heard a knocking from the front room followed by a series of barks and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to know what they’d done to make that sound.
Amy rounded the corner and found the puppies on the couch shredding her jeans.
“Drop it,” she said in a loud, authoritative tone.
This time they released her pants and looked up at her. But a second knocking diverted their attention. The front door.
“Amy?”
Oh, no. For the past eighteen months, she’d heard that voice through her computer every Sunday.
“Just a minute.” But the puppies barked, drowning out her words. They jumped off the couch, taking her destroyed jeans with them.
She heard the knob turn, and Gabe say, “It should be unlocked. She knows we’re coming.”
Amy glanced down and groaned. Leopard-print undies with the words Feeling Lucky in big red letters. She’d bought them on sale months ago. At the time she’d thought no one would ever see them.
Her three brothers-in-law stepped into her living room. Mark followed, his rucksack over his shoulder, still wearing his uniform. She watched as four sets of eyes widened.
“Shit, Amy. The door was open. I’m sorry,” Gabe said, redirecting his gaze. The rest of the brothers did the same, looking at the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but at her.
Not Mark. His were the only eyes in the room still fixed on her. And judging from the intensity of his stare, he wasn’t embarrassed. He looked...interested. But it had been so long since a man had glanced at her with even a hint of desire that she was probably imagining it. She watched his lips move and realized he was reading the words on her underwear.
“The puppies stole my pants,” she said.
Amy saw the exact moment it clicked for Mark. He heard her voice, and he no longer saw her as a woman in her undies, but as Darren’s widow. That hint of desire, the one she may or may not have imagined, vanished. He looked away, shaking his head.
And great, now she was standing in a room full of drop-dead gorgeous men, in her underwear, and not one of them was looking at her.
FEELING LUCKY?
Mark read the red letters, knowing he should look away. The other guys radiated discomfort, shifting restlessly. But Mark couldn’t do it.
Those long bare legs begged a man to fall to his knees and worship her. One glance and he knew he’d start by running his hands over her calves, gently guiding her legs farther apart, until he reached her thighs. He’d lean forward and run his lips, his tongue, his teeth over those red letters...
Shit, he shouldn’t go there, not even in his freaking imagination. Make that especially not in his imagination after that dream he’d had on the flight back. But seeing Amy in her underwear uncovered a feeling that bordered on foreign. Desire, need, whatever the hell it was, looking at her, it hit him hard—and left him aching to touch and taste.
His gaze narrowed in, focusing on those sparkling words. If only luck was on his side.
While deployed, fear was his constant companion. It kept him vigilant, ready for the worst. The way he looked at it, skill kept him alive. Beneath the fear was a boatload of sadness and loss. Nothing lucky about that.
He heard her say something about puppies and pants. But Jango distracted him. One look at the dog and the desire vanished. The animal was like a shadow, always there. He was a four-legged, living and breathing reminder that Amy belonged to his best friend. He shouldn’t be reading the words on her underwear. Not now, not ever.
“I’ll go throw on some pants,” she said. “Make yourselves at home.”
Mark heard Amy’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards, but kept his gaze trained on the wall. The stairs creaked, and he felt the brothers breathe a collective sigh of relief.
“Didn’t need to see that,” T.J. muttered.
“We should get back to work,” Gabe said, turning to the door. “Tell Amy we’ll catch up with her later. Over drinks at the Tall Pines Tavern?”
Mark nodded. “Sure thing. And thanks for the ride.”
Luke slapped his shoulder as they walked past. “Anytime, man. Good to have you home.”
The brothers hightailed it out the door. Mark dropped his rucksack on the floor and thought about following them. But it seemed like a bad idea to let the discomfort fester. Not when he’d come all this way to help her. He’d seen Amy in a bathing suit before. This wasn’t any different.
Two puppies raced through the room, each dragging a piece of what he guessed had been her jeans. They paused to bark at him, the unfamiliar person in their home, and then raced off again with their prize.
Watching the remains of her pants disappear around the corner, Mark realized a bathing suit was one thing. Leopard-print underwear was another. Someone was supposed to read those words—feeling lucky—and take action.
Was she seeing someone? She’d never said anything. But he was probably the last person she’d tell. Or at least on the list of last people. Darren’s brothers were up there, too. If she was...well, hell, that was exactly what she needed. Someone new. A fresh start.
His jaw tightened. But whoever the guy was, he’d better be worthy of Amy. She’d been through so much. If some jerk thought
