"I'll tell you tonight. It's getting wild in Santa's workshop, though, Jack. Wild."
Somehow, I wasn't even a little surprised. I said goodbye, got in my truck, and drove myself, my sandwiches, and my cookies out to the swamp.
I had some commandos to see.
13
Jack
Swamp Commando Airboat Rides was hopping.
There was a line of tourists waiting to climb onto the boat, and two guys wearing S.C.A.R. shirts were busy taking care of them. This probably meant making sure they wouldn't fall out of the boat—becausetourists—and preparing to tell them about what they'd see on the forty-five-minute tour.
The umbrella of trees over shady spots, the Spanish moss, the birds, the gators—there was no denying the natural beauty of the place. I'd brought Shelley here several times when she was going through the bad times after her mom died. She loved the place and seemed to find a kind of peace here.
It surprised me to see the group of tourists on the deck—it was the week before Christmas, after all. On second thought, though, a lot of people probably had the days around the holidays off. And it was a heck of a lot more fun to go on an airboat ride through the swamp and see wildlife and nature than to spend the day in a mall, shopping.
Malls.
Presents.
Crap.
I really needed to get Tess something small and pretty I could wrap. A garage didn't lend itself to wrapping paper and ribbon. Plus, I was only going to give her theplans. Since I'd sprung the pool on her already installed, I didn't want to presume to know what she might want in a garage.
Or if she still wanted one at all.
I planned to give her the plans in a wrapped box and then explain.
Sure. Because a sketch of a building in a box is so romantic. She'll be bowled over by that,hissed a nasty voice in my mind.
I banged my head back against the headrest and groaned. "What do I know about romance?"
"If you're looking for romance, you might be in the wrong place," an amused Southern voice said.
I turned my head to see Lucky Tremaine, an ex-special forces guy with blond-haired, blue-eyed, surfer-boy looks, standing next to my open window, grinning at me.
"I might be losing my mind," I told him. "I can't believe I didn't hear you sneak up on me."
"Superior tiger hearing, too," he said, straight-faced.
I threw my head back and laughed. "Okay, okay, already. Help me carry this food over to the picnic table. I brought enough for everybody."
He walked around, opened the passenger door of my truck, and then whistled. "Jack. Did you mug a little old lady for these cookies?"
He grabbed one, stuffed it in his mouth, and made moaning noises.
"It's embarrassing to see a grown man act like that over a cookie," I said, ignoring the fact that I'd done just that about a half-hour earlier.
He swallowed and then pointed at the platter. "These are Mrs. Frost's special chocolate-walnut-surprise cookies! She wins with these at the Swamp Cabbage Festival every year! How did you get your hands on these?"
"She gave them to me. Said I was a nice young man," I said smugly.
He rolled his eyes. "Right. She doesn't even share the recipe for these with her own family.Didyou mug a little old lady, Jack?"
"You caught me. I didn't want to confess, but after I disabled her crossbow …"
By the time we lugged all the food to the extra-long picnic table on the grass about twenty feet from the water, a half-dozen guys had shown up and were jostling for spots and good-naturedly arguing about who got which sandwich. I knew all of them, but the two guys dealing with the tourists must be new hires. The business was going well, which was great to see.
