Page 37 of Under Pressure
Her eyes glassed over again. She knew how much Sean’s grandma meant to him.
“Sandy’s birthday party is on Friday,” Don said. “Why don’t you come? I know she’d love to see you; Wayne too.”
She spun the ring around her finger. “I don’t know, Don.”
“Bring that fiancé of yours,” Don added quickly before she could reject the idea altogether.
“Really?” Bluebell asked, a happy smile spreading over her face.
Nancy sidled up next to them. “You’re coming to Sandy’s birthday party?” She glanced at Don and then back to Bluebell, her jaw set.
Bluebell laughed and threw her hands up. “I guess so!”
“Great,” Don said.
He wrote all the details down for Bluebell on a sticky note, and after one more big squeeze, he and Nancy headed out.
Nancy waited until they were several steps from the door before she let him know what was on her mind. “What are you thinking inviting Bluebell and her fiancé into a houseful ofClayton men?” she seethed. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” she tugged at her tracksuit sleeves and squared her shoulders.
Don felt a grin tugging at his face. The sensation was tight, like clay breaking. “I was thinking that I’d like to meet the man who’s going to marry her. Make sure he’s a good guy.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re hoping he’ll get eaten alive.”
Turning quickly, he faced her. “No, what I’m hoping is to not see my grandson go to pieces. And he is, Nancy. Sean’s not handling Amelia’s loss well at all. Bluebell can help.”
“Are you sure it’s him not handling it well?” Nancy asked.
He placed his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nancy gripped the handle of her purse on her shoulder. “You know what I mean, Don. It’s okay to grieve.” She arched a brow. “Did you forget I’m a widow too? I know what it’s like to wake up and not know what you’re going to do that day because every day before that your life revolved around someone else’s care.”
“I’m fine,” Don said as he turned and marched toward the golf cart. “Just worried about Sean.”
And soon, he wouldn’t have to be anymore. Bluebell was the answer to all his prayers.
6
Chapter 6
Sean
Sean backed his salvage boat and trailer into Bob’s Underwater Salvage building, and Wolfe, his unit’s Special Reconnaissance Scout, shut the hanger door behind him. Wolfe was a couple inches shorter than Sean’s six foot three inches, but he had Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine thing going on with a quiff haircut with tight sides—thanks to Ryker who insisted they all stay well-groomed. Out of everyone in the group, Wolfe was the hardest to read emotionally, he was practically a vacuum seal of emotions, and right now, Sean wished he could poke a hole in the side of him and release the pressure.
Cicadas chirped loudly outside, their voices echoing throughout his warehouse. As Sean unhooked his Jeep, Knoxand Gray jumped in the boat to unload gear, giving Sean a moment of reprieve from the needling the two had given him over being hosed down with soda water like a dog on the beach.
Thirty-six hours of pure torture.
Thirty-six hours of knowing Blue lived nearby and that she was upset with him. He shook his head, trying to clear it of non-pertinent thoughts. He had work to do. People were counting on him.
He headed to the passenger side of his vehicle and pulled out the laptop used for streaming the sonar images and the footage from the underwater camera he’d been wearing. He cradled the device to his chest, knowing full well it might hold evidence of the Isladorian treasure they hunted.
The door to the building flew open, clanging when metal met metal. Sean spun toward it in a flash, the rest the guys following suit—though Wolfe had been faster to face the apparent threat than all of them.
“Bonasera.” Ryker strolled in hand-in-hand with his new wife, Grace. Grace’s blond hair was in a hundred tiny braids like she’d had it when she’d first come to Diamond Cove months ago.
“Ryker,” Wolfe acknowledged him and went back to work.
Blue had braids in her short hair on one side of her head close to the scalp. It’d looked edgy. Cool. It stood out. Like her outfit. That bright, curve-hugging masterpiece he’d barely gotten a look at before she’d spritzed him.
