Basic Training (3 page)

He had to get out of there. And fast.

T
RAVIS HAD ROLLED
up the sleeves of his camo shirt and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He stood in the shadows beneath the log pier and watched the moon rise high into the midnight sky.

The gray-green water of Chesapeake Bay lapped against the Virginia shoreline, throwing up an occasional spray to cool the steamy July night. Tomorrow, he’d get to dress in his civvies. Shorts or jeans, and a beat-up top that would be thin enough and cool enough to deal with the summer heat.

But he wasn’t looking forward to it.

The Corps actually expected him to shed his uniform for four to six weeks. Forced R and R to get his body back in shape and his head in the right place. Even two weeks was too long to suit him. It felt like quitting. Like throwing in the towel when he knew there was still some fight left in him.

But what if he didn’t have it in him anymore—the
skills, the edge, the drive—the able body and clear-headed mindset to be a captain in Special Ops? If that were the case, he’d have been better off if that explosion
had
killed him.

“Hell.” He shook his head and inhaled a deep, steadying breath, focusing his attention on the gentle rocking of the boats anchored beneath the pier. He didn’t need to go to that dark place again. Men and women in uniform died every day, not because they wanted to, but because they understood their duty. They fought to survive, to carry out their assignments, driven by the faith put in them by their country and the Corps.

He needed to fight just as hard to carry out his duty.

Because if he couldn’t fight his way back to his field service assignment with the Corps, he didn’t have a clue about what he would do.

His hometown thought he was some kind of hero. What a joke. He couldn’t even help an old buddy get out of a boring night working the fair next week. The Action Man might not be fit for action anymore. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? It scared him senseless.

But Travis’s senses weren’t so far gone that he couldn’t hear the soft squish of footsteps approaching across the golden sand beach. That he didn’t recognize the intruder who’d found his childhood hiding place, even before she spoke.

“Hey, stranger.” Tess’s familiar voice feathered across his eardrums like a soothing breeze in the night. “Skipping out on your own party?”

“I’m not much of a partier.”

The top of her head barely reached his shoulder as she stood barefoot beside him. “Since when?”

Since blowing my body to kingdom come and being sentenced to half a life because I can’t function as a man or a Marine should any longer.

He stared sightlessly out into the water. This was as comfortable as he’d been since leaving the hospital at Quantico with his dad and Ethan. This hiding place reminded him of simpler times. Or maybe it was Tess’s rock steady presence that had finally taken the edge off his mood.

Travis shrugged. “Since I got tired. Seems I get that way a lot lately.”

“It’s not surprising. You almost died. You’ve been through several major surgeries. Months of rehabilitation. Your body’s still in the process of healing. You have a right to be tired.”

“It’s no excuse.” He turned to face her. He captured a caramel-colored tendril that blew across her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “It’s no excuse for jumpin’ down your throat the way I did this afternoon.”

Her smile glinted in the moonlight like a fond memory. “You have many fine qualities, Travis. But patience has never been one of them. Your body needs time. Your spirit, too, from the sound of things.”

He nodded and pulled his hand away before sensations of silky hair and warm skin imprinted themselves on his fingertips. “I know Dad’s worried about me. Hell, half of Ashton’s worried. But I don’t know if I can do the vacation thing here. It feels like I’m hiding out, like I’m running from the fight.”

“Do you want to hire someone else to do your PT?”

“No. I don’t want to admit that I still need four more weeks of physical therapy, period.” A bit of the now-
familiar frustration licked through his veins again. “My men are in a war zone right now. Hell. They’re not even my men anymore. I need to be there. I need to do my job. I’m letting them down.”

“Because you nearly lost your leg? Your life? I know you McCormicks live and breathe the military, but do you really have to be a superhero every waking moment?”

“You wouldn’t understand, T-bone. There’s never been something you wanted so bad for so long that that wanting becomes a part of you.”

With a sound that was almost a snicker, she turned away, leaving the shadows of the pier’s giant support pylons and heading along the beach, back toward their homes a half-mile away. Her dismissive sigh was a sobering reminder that he really knew how to spoil a mood these days. After grabbing his boots and socks, he followed her down near the water and watched her pick up a small stone. She drew back her right arm, waited for the right moment, and skipped the stone across the waves. Four, five, six hits. Nice.

“Hey, I see you’ve still got your throwing arm. Did you ever figure out how to hit a curve ball?”

Tess laughed and he felt a little less like the jerk he’d been earlier, a little more like the friend he’d been forever. She scooped up her sandals in her fingers and fell into step beside him. “I don’t play much hard-core softball anymore. The hospital has a team, but it’s pretty much for fun and not all that competitive. Not like what we played back in school.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Travis!” She swatted his arm and dashed ahead to pick up a relatively straight piece of driftwood, about
three-feet long. She dropped her shoes, turned and lifted the skinny log up onto her shoulder like a baseball bat. “Okay, hotshot,” she dared him, “let’s see if you still have a curve ball before you start criticizing
my
game.”

He laughed. This was what he needed. Something normal. Something familiar. Something that didn’t depend on the state of his leg or his questionable ability to play the hero. “You want me to throw you a curve ball?”

The bat danced against her shoulder. “If you think you’ve still got it in you. Find a rock.”

He followed the nod of her head and picked up a palm-size rock. The little lady wanted to play, huh? Travis dropped his boots, spit on the rock and rubbed it smooth between his hands. “I led the baseball team to a state championship my junior year,” he reminded her.

“And I led the softball team my senior year.” She pointed the bat in his direction, tapped the sand, then put it back on her shoulder. “So far, you’re just a bunch of talk, McCormick. Let’s see some action.”

It didn’t take long to get into the spirit of a midnight game of stickball on the deserted beach. With his stronger right leg to brace himself, Travis reared back, went through the dramatic motion of an overhead pitch, then stopped his momentum to toss it underhand. Tess swung and missed, and the rock plopped into the sand behind her.

“What, are you afraid I’m going to actually hit the thing?” She tossed the rock back to him. “Now put it over the plate.”

Travis pitched. Tess swung. The smack of rock against wood startled them both into laughter. She jammed the rock into the sand just a few feet in front of her.

Travis snatched up the rock and moved in behind Tess. “You call that a swing?”

“You call that a pitch?” she countered.

“Like this, T-bone.” Travis grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. He tucked his chin against her temple and adjusted the bat over her shoulder. With one hand covering both of hers on the bat, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and turned her so that she was lined up with the imaginary plate. He tossed the rock into the air and swung the bat with her, making solid contact with the rock and driving it deep into Chesapeake Bay. He moved the makeshift bat back up into place and repositioned her, repeating the movement a second time. “You have to swing under it like this so you can drive the ball up instead of down into the ground.”

The sharp catch of Tess’s breathy sigh reached him over the rustle of waves on the beach. She went still in his arms, except for the curly tendrils of golden brown hair that blew against his cheek.

Travis froze. But he didn’t move his hand from the nip of her waist or move his face from the salty fresh dampness that clung to her hair. He didn’t want to move. Unless he moved
closer
.

Oh, man. He was in worse shape than he’d thought. This was not normal. If he was in this position with any other woman, he’d be nuzzling her neck right now. He’d be tossing the bat and pulling her down into the sand. He’d slide his hands beneath her shirt and unzip her shorts.

But Travis stood there, holding his breath.

This was Tess! A year off his game couldn’t have short-circuited every instinct in him, could it? Hot,
needy urges careened through his body, but his brain couldn’t make any sense of them. This was so completely not the feeling he usually got hanging out with her. Yet the evidence was right there, nestled against his crotch and stirring things that were better left alone.

Tess Bartlett had a rockin’ ass to go along with those tits.

And he wanted them. He wanted her.

Bad.

“I’
M AFRAID
I’m gonna have to cancel our trip out to Longbow Island this week,” Hal McCormick’s chest-deep sigh revealed the depth of his disappointment.

Travis paused outside the kitchen, leaning on his cane as he eavesdropped on his father’s telephone conversation.
Cancel?
His father
loved
fishing.

“That’s not it,” Hal continued. “From what I hear, the striped bass are biting in the rock piles along the shore. We could catch our limit and have plenty to throw back…. Nope, that’s not the problem either. There’s a line of storms due in mid-week, but everything looks great right now.”

Was he hearing things right? Only the threat of severe weather kept his father on dry land these days. As a family, they’d always loved outdoor sports, but since the death of Travis’s mother nearly a decade ago, spending time on the water—preferably with a fishing rod in his hand—had become a way of life for his father.

After developing a heart condition, forced retirement from his position as a brigadier general in the USMC’s Quartermaster Corps had left widower Hal McCormick with two obsessions. One was his three children, and the other his fishing boat, which seemed to grow larger and newer with each passing year.

Travis tilted his head to spy out the sliding glass doors that faced the presently tranquil waters of Chesapeake Bay. Not a cloud in sight this afternoon. What was his dad up to? Frowning, Travis leaned back toward the archway to the kitchen. He had a bad feeling about this.

“There’s nothing wrong with the trawler, either,” Hal continued. “I would have loved you and the missus to come visit us but, well, it’s Travis. Personally, I’m just grateful he’s alive after that explosion. But he’s having a hard time with his recovery. It’s mental as much as physical if you ask me. You know how hard it is to keep a Marine down when his buddies are in the line of fire. You and I were the same way. A couple decades ago, at any rate.” Hal laughed as guilty bile pooled in the pit of Travis’s stomach. “Trav won’t even consider retirement from Special Ops. If he’s not careful, he’ll permanently cripple himself doing too much too soon. I need to be here to keep an eye on him.”

Well, didn’t that make him feel like he was about five years old again? Apparently, Travis wasn’t the only McCormick whose life had been altered by the accident.

“Ethan and J.C. helped me get him home, but Ethan has to report back to Quantico to prep for his class on Monday.” Travis had thought getting big brother out of the way would mellow out the elevated level of concern around here. Instead, it sounded as if his father was dialing his stress up another notch. “No, Caitlin and her husband couldn’t make it,” Hal went on. “She’s so close to term on her pregnancy, Walter, that I can’t ask her to leave Alexandria to take care of her brother. Maybe if she wasn’t in her ninth month.”

Travis shook his head, cursing silently. He was thirty-
three. A grown man. A Marine captain. Not a child. And certainly not a wash-out who needed his daddy or anyone else to babysit him.

He could add guilt to the layers of frustration already weighing him down. Yeah, he had issues. But they were
his
problems to deal with, not his family’s. His life might have been put on hold for a year. but they weren’t going to suffer the same fate—not on his account.

Travis silently leaned the cane against the wall outside the kitchen. If the Velcro on the brace binding his left leg from thigh to ankle wouldn’t have made such a noise, he would have removed it as well to make the illusion complete. As it was, he tugged the frayed edge of his cut-off denim shorts over the top of the brace, fixed a grin on his face to counter the ache in his bones, and strolled into the kitchen to raid the leftovers from last night’s party.

“What, am I dying?” Travis teased, unwrapping a tray of cookies on the counter and studying them as though choosing between chocolate chip or ginger snap was the biggest challenge he had to face that day. “You aren’t seriously giving up a fishing trip for me, are you?”

Hal covered the receiver with his palm. “You’ve come home for a reason, son. I’m not about to abandon my duty. Walter understands.”

The sweet, spicy cookie he munched on suddenly tasted like sawdust.

Walter
. As in General Walter Craddock. One of his father’s military cronies. Travis’s older brother, Ethan, had once reported to Craddock at the DOD—Department of Defense—at the Pentagon. He was one of the chiefs overseeing personnel assignments. An officer
whose recommendation—or lack thereof—could make or break Travis’s chances of returning to Special Ops.

Not a man he wanted to appear weak in front of.

Travis swallowed the lump of sawdust and gestured for the phone. “Let me talk to him.”

“It’s General Craddock.”

Travis took heed of both the concern and the warning in his father’s blue eyes. “I’ll make sure I salute.”

“Uh-huh.” Reluctantly, Hal turned his attention back to the phone. “Walter, my son would like to have a few words with you. Go easy on him.”

Go easy?
Hell. Why not just tell the general he was a panty-waist who couldn’t cut it in the Corps anymore?

But Travis buried his knee-jerk reaction behind a charming, chilled-out facade. He perched on a barstool at the end of the kitchen counter, taking the weight off his leg so he could concentrate on saying all the right things to reassure both his father and Walter Craddock. “General. Travis McCormick here.”

“Captain. I’m sorry to hear about your relapse. Do they have the proper medical facilities there in Ashton? If there’s anything Millie or I can do to help, let us know.” A touch of something that just might be construed as pity colored the general’s voice.

Convincing the doctors, the Corps, his friends and family that he wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture was going to be an uphill battle all the way. He might as well draw a line in the dirt right now and start the good fight. Forming a vague plan in his head, Travis watched his father cross the room to check the cookie tray for himself. “The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, sir. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good to hear. The Corps relies on men like you.”

He hoped so. “Actually, General, I need to ask you a favor. From one Marine to another.”

“Name it. What can I do for you?”

“You can keep your plans with Dad.” Travis let a grin filter into the timbre of his voice. “If you and Mrs. Craddock don’t drive down from D.C. tomorrow and give him a chance to try out his new Mainship Trawler, we’re going to have a national crisis on our hands. Chesapeake Bay could be overrun with striped bass.”

“Travis Harold McCormick…”

Craddock’s laugh drowned out his dad’s reprimand. “Hal’s cramping your style?”

Travis didn’t want to make light of his father’s concerns; he just didn’t want the stress-free retirement his father had earned to be another casualty of Travis’s lengthy recovery. “I know he was looking forward to your visit. And trust me, if I can survive four weeks in a Central American jungle with nothing but MRE’s and a sidearm, then I can manage a couple of days in a well-stocked beach house with satellite TV and a remote control.”

“It’s that bad, eh?”

“Save me, sir.”

Craddock laughed over a rustle of papers at his desk. “Millie and I
were
looking forward to getting out of the city for a few days.”

“There’s no need for you and Mrs. Craddock to alter your itinerary on my account.”

“I was going to ask your father about bringing along a family friend as well.”

“The more the merrier,” Travis insisted.

“Unfortunately, that could be a problem. I can’t guarantee how merry she’ll be.”

“She?”

“Eileen Ward. She’s my secretary here at the DOD. A civilian.”

Was the general playing match-maker to his dad? From the corner of his eye, Travis watched his father studiously debate between the chocolate chips and ginger snaps, then ultimately choose one of each. Was that the old man’s idea of conflict and excitement these days?

Though he was a little gray on top, and definitely set in his ways, Hal McCormick was still in pretty decent fighting shape. He had pills he took regularly for his heart, but his outdoorsy hobbies and regimented diet—okay, so he still had a weakness for sweets—kept him trim. According to a few articles Travis had read, a sixty-year-old man in his father’s relatively sound health and secure financial position made a pretty good catch. Still, he’d remained steadfastly unattached since being widowed. He didn’t date, didn’t flirt. He just…fished.

Travis frowned as Hal gazed out the window above the sink and chewed. Was his father content with his early retirement? Was he bored? Lonely? Looking for action? Did Hal McCormick even remember what
action
was?

Eeuw.

Travis cringed, remembering his own body’s wildly inappropriate reaction to Tess Bartlett yesterday afternoon and last night on the beach. His skin prickled with an instantaneous, self-conscious awareness as he recalled vivid details from the erotic dreams that had haunted him through the night.

His and Tess’s second-floor bedrooms faced each other. Only, instead of replaying their silly childhood hand signals that they’d once used to communicate with each other after lights-out, he’d pictured her trim, athletic body standing buck naked in her window. Definitely all grown up. And the gestures she’d sent across the moonlit night between them had all been provocative invitations. In his dreams, she’d touched herself, pleasured herself, served herself up on a silver platter for him to watch and want. And then they’d been on the beach together. In the water. In his bed. He’d been inside her mouth. Inside her body. He’d tasted her from stem to stern. She’d tasted him. He’d been the Action Man in his prime, and she’d been his match in every sexy, seductive way possible.

In his dreams.

Travis had awakened, tangled in his covers, feeling hot and achy and unsatisfied. And mortally concerned that he’d been fantasizing about his best friend in such a raw, uncensored fashion. Apparently, a year of recuperation had taken its toll on his sanity as well as his body. He’d certainly found that out at the beach last night. The only thing that had stopped him from taking her for a roll in the sand had been her reluctant but necessary suggestion that they should get back to the party.

Friend or no, did his father have fantasies about a woman the way Travis had about Tess? Did Hal ever crave that kind of action?

Did Travis really want to be thinking about
father
and
action
in the same sentence?

“Damn.”

“McCormick?”

Focus.

Travis shifted on the barstool, uncomfortably aware that his life was completely out of whack. He hadn’t done a very good job of taking care of himself this past year. He didn’t intend to jeopardize his future friendship with Tess by listening to his lusty hormones.

But in the here and now, he could pull it together and help his dad. He had a sneaking suspicion that Hal McCormick had put his whole life on hold for the sake of his children—the same way he wanted to put this fishing trip on hold.

Pulling his shoulders back to attention, Travis concentrated on a brand new strategy. Time to redirect the opposition. He raised the volume of his voice so Hal could hear every word. “Tell me more about this Eileen who’s coming with you.”

“Eileen?” Hal stopped mid-chew and frowned. “Who’s Eileen? What happened to Millie?”

Good. His father’s attention had just shifted to a new topic. Travis patted the air with a placating hand, silently telling him not to worry, yet secretly glad he was distracted.

General Craddock gave the low-down. “Eileen’s been with me for years. Works her butt off. She’s not much for socializing, but her ex is getting re-married this weekend, and Millie thinks Eileen needs to get out and meet some people instead of moping at home.”

Hmm. Depressed hermit. Obsessed with work. Been with the general for years. Eileen sounded like a real stick in the mud. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about that bothersome picture of his sixty-year-old father getting some action. “Does she enjoy being on the water?” Travis asked.

Unable to stop his curiosity, Hal brushed the crumbs from his hands over the sink, then crossed close enough to whisper, “This woman’s coming here with Walter?”

Travis hushed his voice as well. “It’s his secretary, Dad. Millie and Eileen are both coming.”

“I have no idea what her hobbies are, besides the plants she always has on her desk. She doesn’t talk about her personal life much.” Craddock’s tone altered with a mix of apology and admiration. “I don’t know if you remember my wife, but Millie can be quite formidable once she sets her mind to a thing.”

It was Travis’s turn to laugh. He’d heard that Millie Craddock had played a small but key role in getting his brother, Ethan, and his wife, J.C., together.

“I remember her.” Mrs. Craddock’s determination might prove his best ally when it came to easing his guilt. Whether this Eileen proved date-worthy or not, Travis would see to it that his father didn’t sacrifice one more thing on his account. “It doesn’t sound wise to disappoint the missus, sir. You come on down to Ashton and bring your guest. Dad will appreciate the company.” Now for the lie. He raised his voice a notch. “I’ve got plans myself, anyway. Dad’ll be here by himself if you don’t come.”

Hal rested a warning hand on Travis’s shoulder. “What plans?”

Travis winked to reassure his dad, but spoke to the general. He was making this up as he went along. He may have a bum leg, but his bullshit skills were completely intact. “I have a class reunion thing going on, meeting with some high school friends.” Why not go all the way? “I promised I’d help them with the Bay Festival
this week. I don’t know why Dad wants to hang around the house—I’ll be gone most of the time, anyway.”

Hal’s grip tightened. “When did you make these plans? The doctor said you needed rest.”

“Rest
and
recreation, Dad. This is the recreation part. Besides, I’ll be hangin’ with Tess. I can’t get any safer than that, can I?” Travis offered a brief explanation to the general. “One of my classmates just happens to be my physical therapist. She’ll keep an eye on me.”