Page 18 of Buck (Diver Downeast #2)

Buck was almost to his destination in New Hampshire, and his brain hadn’t let up for the entire trip.

It had been really tough to leave Bobbie last night after they’d talked things out. And not just because his libido had begged him to prolong their encounter. No. It was deeper than that.

Bobbie believed him.

It was such an enormous relief. After all these years, he was no longer the bad guy in her life.

But…the real villains were still lurking.

Buck had always known, in the back of his mind, who’d been behind the crimes; who’d framed him. But fifteen years ago, he’d been hustled off so quickly, he’d lost the opportunity to investigate; and authorities hadn’t had a reason to look into the culpability of Drew and Jeff Follster.

Well, now he was back. And that was all going to change. Sure, there was the statute of limitations and all, which meant that the assholes wouldn’t be prosecuted for their crimes, but Buck would damned well be making sure the pair wouldn’t get a chance to derail Bobbie’s life. Ever again.

Because, who knew how the brothers were feeling now that Buck was back in town? Would they attempt some of their shit to try and shake him loose again? Maybe. But Buck didn’t plan to back down and not see Bobbie.

Screw those two.

If they caused trouble, they’d find that Buck wasn’t the green youngster he’d once been.

At this point in his life, he was not only highly trained and more than capable of taking care of himself and Bobbie, he had seven brothers—well, six, because Seifer was still a student—who would have his back and get to the bottom of any new crap that arose.

Buck turned into the driveway in Portsmouth where his GPS indicated. It was a long, dirt drive, but at the end, there was a red, shingled cape, along with an enormous barn that towered over the small house.

Pretty. Neat. And obviously very friendly because…

Two very large dogs bounded from the porch, tails wagging frantically as they attempted to wiggle their way into his vehicle and sit on his lap after he opened his door.

Buck knew they both wouldn’t fit, but the pair were trying their darndest. Laughter overtook him as he got lots of slobbery doggie-kisses and happy whines, all while scruffing their long, golden fur that was sure to become one with his shirt and jeans.

“Langley, Tinker. Heel.”

A commanding voice came from somewhere. Buck couldn’t see exactly where, because his vision was severely pup-blocked.

The dogs—very reluctantly if Buck were any judge—slowly eased their way back to the ground, but they continued to yip at him, tongues hanging out in hopes they might get another shot at him once he left his vehicle.

“Langley and Tinker, huh?” Buck called out with a chuckle, catching sight of a weathered looking man with salt and pepper hair walking toward him from around the house. “I don’t suppose you were in the Air Force?”

The dogs having the names of two bases couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Nope. But my daughter is. She’s a PJ,” the man answered proudly. “And these are her dogs. She’s in the process of either separating, or taking a new assignment and moving to a new base, so I’m keeping an eye on them for her until she’s made her decision.”

Buck was impressed. The Air Force PJs, once known as Pararescue Jumpers but now going by the title, Pararescue Specialists, was a group who were highly skilled in water rescue, free-fall parachuting, and high angle rescue from cliffs and other vertical surfaces.

Buck was momentarily confused however. If the guys’ daughter was a PJ… “You don’t think she’d want this equipment you’re trying to sell if she gets out?” he asked, patting two, much calmer dogs now that they’d completely sniffed him over.

“Nope,” the man said again. “She’s not interested.

Told me she’s either going to be a career Airman, or start her own parachuting school.

I had been hanging onto it for her, but now that she’s made up her mind that diving isn’t in her future…

” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s tough, closing my business for good, but I’m down to one lung after a goddamned fungal infection went rogue on my bellows.

The doctors told me that diving at only half capacity could easily kill me. So… Here we are.”

Buck hated that the man’s compromised health was the reason the gear was available, but he also understood the guy’s need for cash if he wasn’t able to work. “Well, lets have a look at what you’ve got.”

He took a few steps forward to close the gap between them. “Buck Sothard, by the way.”

Buck stuck out his hand.

“Randal DeLuca.” The man took his clasp. “You’re the one with his brother or brothers who’ll be opening up a shop in Maine?”

“That’s right.” Buck ended the contact and, nonchalantly he hoped, stepped back a few paces. Randal seemed like a great guy, but he absolutely reeked of onions; his clothes, his breath…

Randal laughed. “Oh. I see you’ve caught a whiff of my special perfume,” he joked.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been dosing this morning…

Well, to be honest, I dose every morning.

I found out from the interwebs that red onions have properties that combat fungal infections, so I practically bathe in the things.

My wife passed a few years back, but even when she was alive it didn’t bother her because she had anosmia. ”

“Uh, anosmia?” Buck questioned, maintaining his distance as they walked toward the barn.

“Yup. Couldn’t smell a thing. She’d been like that for years.”

Randal slid the big barn door open, and there, inside, were neat piles of diving equipment stacked on several carts.

Randal continued. “Knowing you were coming, I filled the tanks about an hour ago to pressure test them since they haven’t been used this year. You can see, though, they’re all holding air.”

Buck walked forward and checked the gauges on the eight available tanks, noting that they all looked good.

He perused further.

Along with those cylinders, there was a compressor, masks and fins; wet suits and dry suits including booties, gloves, and hoods. There were regulator sets, buoyancy control devices, dive computers, and even a few dive lights and knives.

As Buck shuffled through everything, he saw it was all in great shape. Randal had clearly taken good care of his equipment.

“This stuff is close to perfect,” Buck acknowledged, picking up each piece individually to check things over.

“No reason to treat rigs poorly,” Randall answered, picking up and running his thumb over one glove, fondly. “I’m sure these things will help a lot while you’re establishing your business, at least until you can afford to buy new.”

“Are you kidding me?” Buck countered. “We might not have to do that for a while. It looks like we’ll be able to use this stuff for years.”

“Or at least until regulations change,” Randal chuckled. “There’s always some new-fangled advancement in materials and safety coming down the pike.”

“True,” Buck agreed. “But I don’t foresee any of this gear going obsolete anytime soon.” He cleared his throat. The moment was right to get down to business. “I know you talked to my brother, Spencer, but he didn’t say anything to me about price. What are you asking?”

Randal named a figure that was more than reasonable.

Buck raised his brows. “Why so cheap? Not to torpedo my own chances, but you know you can get half again as much for all this stuff. I’m sure of it. I’ve been looking.”

Randal stroked his chin. “You’re right, but let me put it to you this way.

I’m giving you a discount on taking the whole lot.

If I wanted to sell it by the piece, then sure, I could get more.

But I’m not up for the hassle. Do I want every Tom, Dick, and Harriet traipsing through my place to pick up one dry suit?

Nope. The dogs might be happy for the company, but I wouldn’t be.

” He spat on the ground, and the onion smell bloomed around them.

Buck was tempted to hold his breath, but managed to laugh instead. “Okay. I get it. But I still don’t feel right, taking it for so little. How about…?” Buck named a figure that was twenty percent higher than what Randal had asked, which as far as he was concerned, was still a huge bargain.

“You drive a hard deal, son,” Randal cackled. “But I’ll take it. You’ve got yourself some gear.”

“Awesome. Will a check do?” Buck asked. “We just opened our company account a few days ago, and we don’t have our debit cards or any pay apps set up yet.”

“Hah,” the man scoffed. “I wouldn’t know what to do with that new stuff even if you had it.” Randal snorted. “A check is fine. I know where to find you if it bounces.”

“It won’t. I promise.” Buck practically ran back to his van to get the checkbook, taking deep breaths of fresh air along the way. Damn . Randal was one hell of a nice guy, but the smell was downright overwhelming.

Their transaction took no time at all, and in another ten minutes Buck was all loaded up and ready to go.

“Come visit us, any time,” Buck told Randal. “Maybe we can set you up for a few shallow dives that won’t tax your lung.”

“I might just take you up on that,” Randal nodded. “Maybe next time my daughter is home, on leave or for good, we’ll both come up to see you.”

“I’d like that. And thank you so much for all this.”

“My pleasure.”

Buck shook the man’s hand again while holding his breath surreptitiously, then got into his van and drove away.

It was a shame about Randal’s onion addiction. If Buck hadn’t been gassed out, he would have loved to have spent more time picking the man’s brains.

The nearly three-hour drive north passed quickly, which was probably due to Buck’s excitement over seeing Bobbie again.

Last night she’d more than hinted at it being okay if things got a little physical, and he was trying to work up the courage that upon greeting her in a few minutes, he’d approach with a gentle kiss.