Page 29 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

Cait idled at the reception counter, studying the cream walls, muted landscape art, and the large desk area. Not only were there work files stacked in neat order, but there was also an Intro to American Literature book on the corner and a backpack against the wall. “She says to go on in.”

“Are you going to school?”

The thirty-something woman blushed, flipping her dark hair behind her ear. “Yes. Should have done it sooner.”

“Now is as good a time as any. You go!” Cait went through the private doors to the inner sanctum of QM and kept her stride past Mackey’s office, the conference room, Quaid’s office, and the Operations Center sprawled on the left.

Elizabeth had the best office at the end of the long hall. She knocked before turning the knob.

“Come.”

Elizabeth stood by her office window. Her ensemble struck awe with the perfect balance between work and style.

Her tailored ivory trousers accentuated her long lean body, and the sleeveless blouse had beautiful embroidery with intricate royal blue floral lace.

Her blonde hair stayed flawlessly tucked in a French roll at the back of her head.

Admiration flooded her, especially when she noted the soft beige peep-toe boots with the high stiletto heels.

She couldn’t wear those, but dang she could covet.

A sapphire blue cardigan was draped over the back of her work chair.

If one fell for the dazzle, the intelligence and the steel in her blue eyes would be missed along with the empathy and sadness.

“You like?” Elizabeth’s eyes danced with laughter, but her mouth remained stern.

“Your top is beautiful. You look fabulous. But you always do.”

“Thank you. It’s a shield of sorts when you work with a ton of men. It stuns them into silence, and I can talk before they realize what’s happening.”

“I am definitely going to try that.”

“You look good as well, Doctor. I figured you’d be home asleep already.”

“Not the way the day worked out. I’ll get there. Did you get my request about hiring a new doctor and possibly a nurse?”

“Yes, let’s talk.” She indicated the way to her white sofa with blue accents. French provincial all the way. Elizabeth would never settle for a bland office.

Both seated, Elizabeth waited for her to speak. Cait took a deep breath and launched her argument. “Quaid and Mackey are concerned I’m overbooked and need a break. I have been lately, but it’s not an ongoing thing.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “You work six days a week.”

“So do you.”

A slight smile eased the censure on her face. “Agreed.”

“It’s not a matter of less scheduled time. It’s a matter of spreading out the workload, and there is no one right now to trade off with. I have to keep the three days a week at Med. It keeps me proficient to the benefit of our people.”

“I agree.” She raised a hand. “You don’t have to convince me. Quaid’s already approved hiring another doctor part-time. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“No. Everybody I have networked with is already tied into full-time practices.”

“Could we find a retired military doctor?”

Cait mulled over the problem for a moment, then shook her head. “I have no channel to find anyone, but I can ask around with some of the people I served with. I do have two experienced nurses at the hospital who would fit for some part-time services.”

“Get me their names. I’ll see what I can sort out. Anything else?”

Cait squirmed, resolve a fist in her stomach. “I met a man last night. A veteran. His name is Marcus Delaney.”

Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. “At the hospital?”

“He was in for an emergency. I found a problem with his records that has denied him treatment for a warzone injury. He’s given up, stuck in a mess of red-tape. He’s homeless, so I don’t even know how to find him. But I want to get him treatment through other sources.”

“Do you want QM to be one of those sources? Or are you asking me to talk to Zephren?”

“Both. Neither. I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to Mackey and Quaid. I only talked to the man last night, and I’m not even sure he’ll agree. What’s your sense?”

“Charity can be a hard sell for some men.” Elizabeth rose and went to the window, her arms crossed and hands on her elbows. Her thinking pose. “As we both know, it’s easy to slap a ‘We Support Our Troops’ sticker on a car or a building. It’s harder to fix what’s broken.”

Cait stayed quiet, trying to separate her medical logic from her emotions. Sometimes because you could do a thing didn’t mean it came about. Veterans’ issues were an emotional quagmire for so many. Elizabeth was no exception. The loss of her son would always be an edgy, difficult subject.

Her friend and boss finally turned, her eyes clouded.

“If you can help, I think we should. But ultimately, it’s Quaid’s decision.

He should ask Zephren to provide the backing.

Gives the process weight. What you’re proposing is going to cost – time, money, resources from this company and the hospital, favors called in across the board. For one person. Then what?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Cait sighed. “Will there be another? I don’t have the answer.”

“Well, we should think this through and work on one. Some companies do step in on a one-shot situation, but the action will help this man and do nothing for anyone else. We hire veterans. A lot of them. I believe the idea deserves deeper consideration.”

“Agreed. With Quaid, Mackey, and Harrison included.”

“Of course. Their experience matters in this situation. I’ll take care of arranging the meeting. You talk to Mackey about finding the man and convincing him or rule it out definitively.”

“I’ll talk to Mackey now.”

“You sure you want to take this on?”

If Hunt hadn’t married her, advocated for her, believed in her recovery, she could have been Delaney. Forgotten. Written off. Left hurting. “I haven’t requested the man’s service record, but I’m guessing it’s stellar. He deserves better. So, yes, I’m sure.”

Elizabeth took her hand and squeezed. “Then we’ll try.”

Coincidentally, her friend squeezed her formerly injured left hand.

§§§§§§§§§§

? Unspoken Things ?

Cait sat in one of the front porch chairs and gave a sigh at the softness of the cushions.

Stuffed from a full spaghetti dinner with salad and bread, she breathed in the flower-scented night air.

A late October fall in San Diego was one of her favorite times.

Her day-off visit to her garden center had netted the display of pumpkins on the edge of the steps and the pots of orange and red chrysanthemums across the porch.

How long did she planned to sit here and wave at neighbors? Only Hunt knew. Eventually, he’d come home. Ops tempo didn’t conform to bankers’ hours. She knew this. But his dinner was cold, and it irked.

When he was home, he was supposed to be hers.

The Navy never agreed with her sentiment, but it was a constant wish.

Currently, he was inside the wire, coming home, eating, and sleeping with her, but he was closed off.

Was it work? Something else? Should she push?

She’d never had to ask herself these questions before.

In general, they weren’t together enough to get into arguments where bad feelings lingered. But this was different. Distant.

She heard his truck before he pulled into the driveway. Conflicted, she took her time rising to meet him. He got out of the truck, grabbed his bag, and met her in the middle of their lawn. “What? No run and jump into my arms?”

She didn’t answer but tipped her head and gave him a quick kiss on the neck.

“You’re mad at me.”

“No.” A little fib. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Yeah, something. What?”

She looped her arm through his and led him across the lawn to the porch. “I thought the longer we were married the easier this would get. I remember the speech about how we can do hard things. But these hard things keep getting harder.”

“I don’t disagree.” He went silent, intensifying her worry.

“We both run into the fire. It’s who we are. You go do you. I go do me. I worry. There is no priority for us.”

“Do you think we’re failing?” Hunt sat on the step; his voice had quieted with the night.

She sat next to him, kicking her bare feet out in front of her, but keeping a hand on his thigh. “No, but I feel like we’re drifting from one tough spot to the next.”

Hunt’s fingers gripped her neck. “Are you trying to tell me you want out?” His tone frosted over causing a chill to snake down her back.

She straddled his lap and cupped his face. “No. I’m with you always. I knew exactly who you were when I met you, and I know who you are now. I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

“You don’t have to ask me. I come home.” His eyes shifted to the street.

“I come home, too. ” She forced his eyes to hers. “What?”

“Do we need to talk about this crap?” His tone roughened, eyes hard, yet something was there, and it was stuck between them.

“Tell me.”

His mouth pressed into a stern line. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if going for a dive. “It started in Afghanistan,” he muttered. “The failed rescue mission. The way I came apart afterward. I’ve never let anyone see me like that. Not my team. Not you. Not ever.”

“You think I judged you? The mission was three years ago. Awful things were happening. Everybody was suffering through the horror. I didn’t judge you.”

“I judged me.” The harsh words fell wrong into the night air of home.

Cait rubbed his neck. “You kept it in a box while you needed to. I wade in blood and need the box, too. We both have to let down sometime.”

“I’ve always kept the job separate. But after I lost it, I couldn’t figure out how to regain control. I coasted. Faked it. Now, Stemmons gets hurt, and I’m back to questioning every reaction. Again.”

“You’re human, not perfect. The Navy trusts you with the job because you’ll run into the fire, and you’re a great leader. They can’t ask for more.”

“So what are we talking about? What do you need?”