The SEAL's Secret Daughter

by Christy Jeffries

  “It’s fine if you don’t want me,” Trina said when Ethan apparently couldn’t finish whatever it was he’d been trying to say. Whatever cheap apologies he might’ve offered for missing the first eleven years of her life. “I have a caseworker back in Galveston. If you call her, she’ll get me a bus ticket or an emergency foster home or something.”

  “Have you been in foster care before?” Ethan asked, inching closer, and Monica held her breath, praying the young girl had somehow had a happy and fulfilling life up until now.

  “Every year or so, my mother decides that she can’t deal with me or with life and takes off somewhere. I used to live with my grandmother, but Gran died a few months ago.”

  “Oh,” was all Ethan could say, and Monica clenched the spatula tighter, her heart clenching at the girl’s casual indifference about her situation.

  “I have a Gran, too,” Monica offered, sliding a very uneven pancake onto a plate. Cooking wasn’t exactly her forte, but neither was waitressing. “She also raised me after my father left.”

  Trina smiled and mumbled a “Thanks.” But Monica wasn’t sure if it was for the attempt at making her breakfast or for the attempt at understanding her situation. Or both.

  Ethan must’ve heard something he didn’t like, though, because he scrunched up his nose and attempted a subtle head shake at Monica. Perhaps he didn’t appreciate someone pointing out the obvious comparison to another deadbeat dad, but he couldn’t very well deny that he’d also left his daughter. Well, Monica supposed he could deny knowing about her in the first place, but he apparently knew better than to discuss all of his excuses right in front of the poor girl.

  Monica set the dish in front of Trina and said, “Eat up and then we’ll figure out who we need to call.”

  “Why would we need to call anyone?” Ethan asked. “And can I get one of those pancakes?”

  “No, you may not.” Monica squared her shoulders and turned toward him. Stepping behind Trina, who was drowning her plate in syrup, Monica jerked her thumb at the area in the corner where Freckles kept the stacks of flour and the cans of shortening for her famous biscuits. Walking that way, she had to wave an arm at Ethan who was slow to get the hint.

  It was a tighter spot than she’d anticipated, and when he wedged his muscular six-foot frame in next to her, she was hit with the lemony scent of his shampoo. His face was only inches from hers and she lowered her gaze to the soft flannel of his work shirt and the way it stretched across his broad chest.

  To get her mind off his physical nearness, Monica curled her fingers into her palms, squeezing until her nails dug into her hands. Finally, she was able to lift her head and unclench her jaw long enough to whisper, “What do you mean ‘why would we need to call anyone?’”

  “If she’s my daughter, then she’s not going back to some social worker in Galveston.”

  If she’s his daughter? It didn’t take a paternity test to prove the two looked exactly alike, including those haunted blue eyes.

  “Lower your voice,” she admonished, squinting past him to see if Trina had overheard. “She isn’t a lost puppy. You can’t just take a child home and keep her.”

  “Why not?” he asked, and her frustration mounted, heating her face. Or maybe it was the way his bicep brushed against her shoulder when he shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

  She didn’t have a legal argument, or at least she wouldn’t until her shift was over and she went to the library and did some research. So Monica attempted to argue using common sense. “Because she doesn’t know you, Ethan. She’s got to be terrified.”

  “And sending her off with some stranger to a foster home wouldn’t be even scarier?”

  “I can hear you, you know,” Trina called out, not bothering to turn around.

  Monica pursed her lips and shot Ethan a pointed look of annoyance since she couldn’t very well say, Now look what you did.

  “Sorry, Trina.” Ethan returned to where his daughter was seated.

  Monica held her breath. She really should be back in the dining room, checking on her customers. But her heart was tearing apart at the way the girl just shrugged everything off, no longer making eye contact with the man who’d fathered her.

  “I’m normally not so rude,” he offered, and Monica had to give him that. In fact, Ethan was usually quite a smooth talker. Too smooth, if you asked her. “But seeing you, finding out...well, I’ve just been caught off guard.”

  Just then, Scooter Deets, one of the old-timers who ate at the café every morning, sauntered by the pass-through window and held up a hot pink coffee mug. Scooter had checked out a book on plumbing two years ago and his overdue fine was pushing triple digits. “Don’t mind me, y’all. I’m just grabbing myself a refill.”

  Trying to fill up on gossip was more like it, Monica thought.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said to the cowboy, who was normally hard of hearing unless there was something juicy going on. Monica turned to Trina. “Give me a couple of minutes and we’ll put our heads together and figure something out.”

  “What’s there to figure out? She’s my daughter. She’s coming home with me.”

  Monica pursed her lips and pointed to the corner of shelves so that Trina wouldn’t have to listen to them talking about her. Again. This time, when he followed her, Monica steeled herself for his closeness. “What do you even know about raising a child, much less a daughter?”

  “Like I said, I’m a bit out of sorts, so you’ll have to forgive me for being rude,” Ethan started, indicating that something rude was about to come out of his normally smirking mouth. “But it really isn’t your business.”

  The insult hit its mark and Monica’s aggravated groan sounded more like a defensive gasp. “You’re right, Ethan Renault. You’re not my business at all, thank God. However, someone needs to be looking out for what’s best for Trina and you obviously haven’t shown an interest in doing so in the past.”

  “I didn’t even know she existed before this morning,” he hissed. “So how could I have shown anything in the past?”

  “Psfhh.” Monica’s hands went to her hips. “The fact that you didn’t know in the first place is telling enough.”

  “I was in high school the last time I saw her mom. I was just a dumb kid back then. How would you like someone to judge you for what you did when you were a teenager?”

  The breath caught in Monica’s throat. When she’d been that age, she’d been working two jobs and studying around the clock to keep her grades high enough to win a college scholarship. She was more likely to be judged for being a boring stick-in-the-mud.

  The squeaking hinge of the kitchen’s back door sounded and Monica looked up, expecting to see the cook returning from his break. Instead, she saw nobody. When she glanced over to where Trina was sitting, the only thing left was an empty plate.

  “Oh hell,” Ethan said, running a hand through his short hair and sprinting toward the door.

  The flash of panic had been evident on his face and Monica suddenly regretted every accusation she’d just thrown his way. She’d been reliving all of her old painful memories of her own father and projecting those past hurts onto an easy target.

  She followed Ethan to the back door, but before she could exit, he came barreling back inside. “She’s not in the alley.”

  “Where do you think she could’ve gone?” Monica gnawed on her lower lip.

  “I have no idea. I really don’t know anything about her. When she showed up on my doorstep an hour ago, she looked cold and hungry. I didn’t have anything for her to eat so that’s why we came here. I was hoping to get some answers, but now she’s disappeared.”

  A tinkling bell sounded over the front door and Monica wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. Now wasn’t the time for more customers to show up.

  “Maybe she went back to your place?” Monica suggested. E
very fiber in her body wanted to chase after the poor girl and keep her safe, but she couldn’t until the second waitress came on duty for her shift. “You go look for her there and I’ll stay here in case she comes back.”

  “It took me eleven years to find her,” Ethan said, his eyes pleading with Monica’s as though she was the only one who could help him. “I don’t want to lose her again.”

  * * *

  “I have no clue where to even look for her,” Ethan said to his boss over the phone’s speaker as he slowly cruised his truck up and down Snowflake Boulevard, the center of the touristy Victorian downtown. Since he was expected at his contracting job at eight, it seemed only responsible to call his employer and confide in everything that had happened.

  “Maybe you should call the police department,” Kane Chatterson offered.

  “I’m pretty sure I heard Monica Alvarez say she was going to call when I tore out of the Cowgirl Up half an hour ago. Hold on, my call waiting is beeping.” Ethan looked at his screen and saw the number. His adrenaline, which had been pumping steadily until this point, suddenly nosedived. “It’s the police. I’ll call you back.”

  Switching over to the other line, Ethan didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Carmen, did you find her?”

  “Monica found her in the ladies’ room at the Cowgirl Up,” Officer Carmen Gregson replied, and Ethan’s exhale came out in a whoosh. “Apparently, she circled back and went in the front door, but Monica didn’t have your cell number. I’m heading over there now, but we might want to go somewhere a little less gossipy than the local diner so we can get this worked out.”

  The fear clenching around his gut lessened, yet Ethan’s pulse remained elevated with apprehension. And confusion. Two hours ago, he didn’t even know he had a daughter, didn’t know his world could be so thrown off its axis before it got shaken up and thrown again.

  Ethan eased his truck off the road and scrubbed at the lower half of his face, the face he hadn’t had time to shave this morning. More air released from his lungs before he asked, “What do we need to work out?”

  “Just a heads-up, Renault...” The police officer, his best friend’s wife, was also former military and it put Ethan more at ease to have someone use his last name. “When Monica called it in, she said the girl mentioned something about a caseworker back in Texas. That means, by law, I’m required to notify them or the local child protective services.”

  “Will they take her from me?” Ethan hadn’t exactly been doing cartwheels at the opportunity to be a father, but there was a ball of nausea welling up in his belly at the thought of his child—someone who shared his blood—being raised by a complete stranger.

  “Why don’t you meet me at the café and we can walk the girl over to the station or someplace else where we can talk.”

  “Right,” Ethan said, returning his foot to the accelerator and steering back onto the road. “I’m on my way.”

  Thankfully, his first instinct wasn’t to stop by the bar or the liquor store before he got there—not that either would be open this early. Still, it was a relief that his steady hands now offered his mixed-up mind some focus. Ethan again toyed with the idea of calling his sponsor to tell him about this recent development, but he didn’t quite know what was going on, let alone know how to explain it. The best thing he could do was talk to Trina and the authorities and figure out his next step.

  By the time he found a parking spot on the street between the Cowgirl Up Café and his apartment, Officer Gregson and Monica were already walking his way. His daughter appeared even more fragile between the two adult females, her head down and her face hidden behind a mess of stringy, limp hair.

  He’d heard about dads who fell in love with their newborns right there in the delivery room. Something must be wrong with Ethan then, because he hadn’t experienced an instant bond with the girl when he’d first seen her outside his door this morning. In fact, she’d been a sullen, quiet little thing who would barely look at him—not that he could blame her. But now, desperation pricked at his skin as Trina approached and he needed some sort of sign that she was okay. Or at least, that she would be okay.

  Carmen must’ve taken pity on Ethan’s panicked expression because she told him, “The three of us had a good talk in the ladies’ room and we all agreed that everyone would feel more comfortable talking at your place so we can get a better handle on the situation.”

  Ethan definitely didn’t have a handle on any of this and it had to be obvious. Worse, they’d most likely overwhelmed the poor girl when he and Monica stood there arguing about his inability to raise a child right in front of her, essentially driving her away. While Monica’s earlier accusations still rankled at him, now wasn’t the time to continue that discussion.

  As the trio of females silently trudged up the stairs behind him, Ethan unlocked his front door for more visitors than his apartment had ever held at one time. At least in the few months that he’d lived there.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” Trina mumbled as she walked past him and toward his hallway. His first instinct was to ask the girl why she was always running to the restroom, however, it might be easier to talk with the others if he didn’t have to watch his words. Plus, there wasn’t a window in there so it wasn’t like Trina could escape. Again.

  “Is this everything she has?” Monica folded a denim pair of shorts that had fallen out of the plastic grocery bag Trina had left on the dining room table earlier. “There isn’t much inside here.”

  “Any paperwork?” Carmen asked her, and Ethan had to bite his tongue to keep from asking why Monica was even a part of this. “It would help if we had an official name or something to go by before I call any other agencies.”

  For such a seemingly shy and reserved woman, Monica certainly had no problem barging into his personal life and offering up her opinions. Although, Trina had definitely opened up more when the quiet librarian and part-time waitress had spoken to her. He wondered what else she and his daughter had discussed in that ladies’ room while Ethan had been tearing through town in a full panic.

  “Here,” Monica said, holding up a pink-and-blue document titled Birth Certificate. Despite the lenses of her glasses, he could still see the hint of accusation in the woman’s brown eyes as she focused on Ethan, her forehead lifted in a questioning crease. “Your name is listed under Father.”

  What had Ethan done wrong? He’d always used protection, even back then, never relying on someone else’s methods of birth control. Yet, Monica was frowning at him as though he’d gotten her pregnant. As if her sleeping with him would ever be a possibility now.

  Her rich, dark brown hair was piled up into its usual messy ponytail of curls and he preferred her in the snug, turquoise T-shirt all the waitresses at the café sported rather than in the monotone cardigan sweaters she usually wore at the library. Ethan thought Monica had been warming up to him the past month—she’d even begun to smile at him on the mornings she’d pulled extra shifts at the Cowgirl Up. She had a cute little dimple in the side of one cheek and each time he’d caught a flash of it, Ethan felt as though someone had given him a key to Heaven.

  He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t already given plenty of thought to what it would be like to get her out of her clothes completely, to be able to kiss every bit of her light amber skin and hopefully be the one to make her smile, over and over. Judging by her current glare, though, he doubted that he’d ever see that dimple again, let alone find out what was underneath that T-shirt. Maybe he’d dodged a bullet by not asking her out, after all.

  “Let me see that.” Carmen took the certificate before studying it. “Yep, your name is definitely on it.”

  Ethan walked over to Carmen and scanned the paper over her shoulder. “Trina DeVecchio Renault.” She even had his last name.

  “Date of birth, February 8.” Eleven years ago. He didn’t have to do much calculating to know the timing wa
s right. Confusion made the corners of his lips turn down. “But I never signed anything. And my birth date on it is wrong. Hell, I didn’t even know about the girl until today.”

  “Well, someone signed off on it and that’s all that matters.” Carmen hooked her thumbs in her leather duty belt. “I would still need to run everything through the system to make sure the document is legitimate, but if it is, then the kinship law would apply here.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Ethan admitted, glancing at Monica to see if she was judging him even more for not knowing anything about family law.

  “Technically,” Carmen continued. “This Chantal DeVecchio, assuming she had legal custody of the girl in the first place, gave you temporary guardianship as another family member when she left her in your care. Therefore, the state will recognize you as Trina’s temporary guardian.”

  “Is there a note or a paper in there that says she was giving her to me?” Ethan asked, looking at the bag in Monica’s hands.

  “No, just two pictures.” Monica held up a photograph of an older woman sitting on the front porch of a mobile home—Trina’s grandmother, perhaps. The second photo was actually on shiny magazine paper and showed a basket full of calico kittens.

  Even Ethan had more personal belongings and mementos when he’d shipped off to basic training.

  “For whatever it’s worth—” Monica gave a quick glance toward the hallway then lowered her voice to the whisper-soft tone she normally used inside the library “—when I spoke to her in the ladies’ room, she admitted that she would rather stay with you than go into foster care.”

  “Then why did she run off?” Ethan tried to whisper back, but it sounded more like an angry hiss.

  “Probably because she thought you didn’t want her?” Monica put her hands on her hips and, if Ethan had been in his right mind, he would’ve appreciated the way her defensive stance showed off her lush curves. He’d been trying to get this woman out of her shell for the past few months, yet now that she was finally directing some passion his way, the angry heat in her eyes caused him to take a step back.