Page 3 of Navy Daddy

“Your dad and me are doing the dealings. All you need to do is learn how to fight. But relax. Even if the delivery was poor, I’m kidding around.” My reassuring tone makes Eva perk up, and her sunken lips flip back to a smile. “Now, are we gonna get on with it, or do either of you have any more questions before we begin?”

“None from me,” Bart says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’ve got questions, all right. But they’ll be best asked and answered when it’s you and me alone,” Eva replies.

“Oh, Lord, have mercy on this man,” Bart groans to the heavens. “I’ll leave you to it then, Arthur. Hopefully, you can talk some sense into the girl. Her mother and I have tried our best, but she just won’t see reason.”

Bart spins around and starts making his way up the porch and back to his house, but I don’t pay his words much mind.

I’ve never met a filly I couldn’t break, and I don’t see Eva Collins ending my streak.

3

EVA

“We’re not doing much today. I want to assess your abilities and find out where your strengths lie to see what needs the most work.” Arthur drops his duffel bag onto a dry stump of a cut-down tree.

We’ve moved to the backyard—a long expanse of green grass surrounded on one side by Father’s stables and a man-made lake on the other.

“What does that entail?”

The giant kneels down to gain easy access to his bag. He unzips it and pulls it open, exposing the plethora of weapons he brought with him. A pistol, a machine gun, a blade, grenades, and a host of other dangerous items shuffle around inside. So much killing power in something so flimsy makes me nervous.

Somehow, Arthur’s charming smile and calm demeanor manage to still the bubbling tension inside me. He’s in complete control over all the toys of destruction he’s rifling through. A true master of his craft, and I’m left wishing it was something other than killing.

“Questions.” He draws the pistol and sets it down on the stump. The machine gun gets the same treatment. He continues removing items and placing them down neatly, some on the stump, others on the grass, until he finds a yellow paged notebook.

Even with an armory scattered across my lawn, he still has more tucked away inside his bag. Like a magician pulling items and creatures out of a hat.

“You’re telling me you drove all this way to ask me a few questions? Could’ve saved us both time and money if you just called,” I say with snark to test his resolve.

I don’t want to do this, and I’ve made it clear. The best-won battles are done with words, not muscles—even if his look like they can do some serious damage. I shake my head to snap away the thought. No fantasizing about the enemy, at least not yet.

“There’s more to it, but we’re starting with questions,” he says, ignoring the rest.

“If I’m answering yours, I want you to answer mine.”

His eyes start at my ankles, and he cranes his neck up slowly, scanning my body before he meets my eyes. His smile is bordering on a grin, pleased with his inspection and my ironclad resolve.

“I’ve got nothing to hide, so why not?” He stands again, and his towering form blocks out the sun behind him. He flips the book open, finds a pen in his pocket, and asks, “Have you ever been in a fight?”

“No. How long were you in the military?” No break between answers and questions. We’ll rapid-fire this session, and I’ll be back in bed before the sun starts setting.

“Fifteen years. Served a tour as a Marine before joining the Navy for three.” He speaks with fond remembrance of the good old days. And the smile it brings to his face is damn hot. I have to stop myself from gawking or losing myself to whatever road my mind wants to wander down. “Ever held a gun before?”

“No. I’ve never had the need to,” I say. He writes my answer down and stares at me, anticipating my question. Gosh, I could get lost in those eyes for hours. Soft, warm, and inviting tenderness resting on the face of a monster. “What did you do as a soldier?”

“Sniper.” The fond twinkle turns grim with this response. He pauses a moment and breaks his firm concentration away from me. “A whole lot of sitting around doing nothing until it wasn’t. Why are you so against learning how to defend yourself?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt people.” I hold off on my next question because I can tell he wants to speak.

“You’re not learning to throw a punch to immediately head out and break someone’s nose. You’re doing it so that if the need arises, you can protect yourself.” He gestures over the backyard before the hand moves to the house. “This bubble you’re living in, this comfort, it doesn’t exist out there. You’re lucky, you’re sheltered, you’re safe, but dear old Dad’s money won’t save you in the real world. It takes without care or consequence.”

“I never thought about it like that.” I swallow hard while hairs prick up along my neck. The intensity in his voice says a lot more than his words. It’s what my father’s been trying to drill into myhead, failing completely. But hearing it from someone who has seen the worst life has to offer brings a different perspective.

Maybe it’s not a bad idea to throw myself into this properly.

“No one ever does until it’s too late.” Arthur touches a nerve all by himself. The softness in his eyes turns to stone while he speaks, and the tender smile vanishes behind a grim scowl. He even throws a hand behind his neck, scratching an invisible itch, trying to calm down.

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