LITMIR.BIZ

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a confused look.

      “I’ll hit up the country club ladies.”

      “For loans?”

      Eden cringed. Handouts? Oh hell, no. She was nobody’s charity case.

      “For clients. They are all big on their designer pets. I just have to get two, maybe three of them to start using my veterinary services, and more will follow.”

      “How much are you going to charge?” Bev asked, her eyes huge with a horrified sort of glee.

      Eden laughed.

      “Just enough that they consider the services exclusive. All it will take is a few of them using me as their vet, a little behind the scenes hype and pretty soon I’ll have a well-heeled clientele. I might not be able to pay off the entire loan at once, but if I can get enough of a down payment and show the bank that I have the potential income, I’ll bet I can swing a deal.”

      Maybe.

      And maybe was all she needed.

      Eden reached for the phone again, quickly dialing the head of the Garden Club.

      Five minutes and three grimaces later, she hung up with a triumphant smile.

      “Why’d you RSVP for two?” Bev asked, pulling her head out of the pantry to give Eden a suspicious look.

      “Because you’re going with me.”

      “Oh, no,” Bev declared, emptying an armload of bins and jars onto the chipped tile counter. “I’m not a member. They won’t let me in.”

      “You’re my guest.”

      “They aren’t going to want me there,” Bev predicted.

      “They don’t want me there, either.” Eden shrugged. “They’ll just have to deal with us. Because I need you with me.”

      “For moral support?”

      Eden wasn’t sure how much good moral support would be when faced with forcing a tight-knit group of women to accept an outsider at one of their chichi meetings. But she did need someone to play off. Someone who could talk up her veterinary skills and give her the verbal setups she’d need to spike home her point if this plan was going to work.

      “What are you doing?” Eden asked, eying the eggs and butter that had just joined the flour, brown sugar and peanut butter.

      “This is clearly a cookie situation,” Bev said, digging a bag of chocolate morsels out of the freezer.

      Before Eden could decide if the two of them eating what, if the butter and eggs were anything to go by, would be a double batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies was a good idea, there was a rumbling outside.

      Company? Or another birthday surprise? Maybe her mother had found a way to send the plague by UPS.

      Or, Eden squinted, in a shiny new Jaguar.

      “Hey, cool. It’s like the birthday fairy heard your wish,” Bev joked, joining Eden at the door to see who was pulling up the weather-pitted driveway.

      Recognizing the car, Eden frowned.

      Even though they were neighbors, Robert Sullivan never visited.

      So the only way the birthday fairy was playing into this particular arrival was if his son, Cade, had hijacked the Jag and was driving up to make all of Eden’s fantasies come true.

       Cade Sullivan.

      Tall, blond and gorgeous, with hypnotic green eyes and more charm than a proud momma’s bracelet.

      The sexiest guy to ever set foot in Ocean Point.

      High school quarterback. Class president. Navy SEAL.

      Her hero.

      She knew most people in town who didn’t have membership with the exclusive Ocean Point Country Club—and even a few who did—saw Robert Sullivan as a major asshole. But when she looked at him, all she saw was an older version of Cade. The guy who always rescued her from mishaps, who’d never made a tag-a-long girl five years his junior feel stupid.

      The guy she’d had a crush on since she was seven. The one she’d spied on at the small, private lake that bordered their two properties. The man who’d formed her every basis for what spelled sexy in a guy.

      Eden sighed.

      Then Robert’s car swerved.

      Eden gasped.

      The Jaguar made a beeline for the faded brick arch that welcomed people to the Gillespie house.

      Eden hit the door running. Just as she made it to the bottom of the steps, the car slid into the unyielding bricks with a sick crunch of crumpling metal.

      “What’s happened? Who is it?” Bev called as Eden sprinted across the lawn, skidding on the gravel driveway in her hurry to reach the car.

      “Call an ambulance. Tell them to hurry.” Eden stared at the older, colder version of her favorite fantasy, her breath tight in her chest. She checked the pulse at his throat to be sure, then gave a shaky sigh. “Robert’s hurt. I think he might have had a heart attack.”

      IT WAS LIKE WATCHING a bunch of virgins tour a whorehouse. Lieutenant Commander Cade Sullivan shook his head at the current crew of Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL trainees slogging through the wet sand, each carrying a dripping log over his shoulder.

      “Were we ever that green?” he wondered aloud.

      “You weren’t,” Captain Seth Borden said with a laugh, clapping Cade on the back. “You were one of the most focused BUDS we’ve seen come through here. I’ve been a MTS a long time, but even I can’t always tell which guys will make it through Hell Week. Sometimes none do. But when you came through, every instructor knew you’d graduate.”

      Borden was a Master Training Specialist. One of the top at Coronado’s Naval Special Warfare Center, as a matter of fact. He was a machine. A guy who’d dedicated thirty years to the navy and scared the hell out of most people.

      Cade considered him a crusty old bastard who drank like the sailor he was, cussed with flare and played a wicked hand of poker. And when they weren’t in uniform or on base, he was Cade’s favorite uncle.

      “Why’d you haul me down here?” Cade asked, grimacing when one guy tripped over his own feet, taking three others down with him and sending his log flying ahead into the back of two more. “Wanted to make sure I appreciate how good my team is?”

      He grinned when three wannabe SEALs sidestepped the downfall and just kept on going. Those guys, they had what it took.

      “You need a reminder?”

      “Nope.” Cade’s smile faded. He knew damned well that he served with some of the best SEALs in existence. Guys who gave their all, like his buddy Phil Hawkins, who’d given it right to the end. A familiar band of grief tightened in Cade’s chest, as it did whenever he thought of the loss. The Three Amigos, Phil, Cade and Blake Landon had gone through BUDS together, had served in the same platoon, on countless missions together. They embraced everything that being a SEAL stood for. Brotherhood. Dedication. Excellence.

      And now the Three Amigos were two.

      “C’mon in. We’ll have a cup of coffee.”

      Grateful for any distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had started to overshadow his SEAL career, Cade followed the captain to his office. He shook his head when Borden held up the coffeepot. While on tour, he might have to stick with field rations, but the rest of the time, he opted for quality. From the looks of that pot, the sludge in the carafe was barely digestible.

      “So?” Cade prodded, knowing he didn’t need to repeat the question.

      “You’re coming up on your PRD.”

      Cade wasn’t surprised at the captain’s statement.

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